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[ToC] Round 3 Thread


Active member
Jun 18, 2004
Here you go. The unveiling of Round 3's theme!

- Your task this round:

The scenario - You have made the TEAM Tournament of Champions Final. You're wrestling in the last match and it's nearing the end. Your goal is to write the finish of that match from the first person perspective. You are not restricted by tense, but you must write from your character's perspective. You may choose any of those who are still left in the tournament (ie, those who didn't no-show Round 1) as your final opponent; anyone who pulled out voluntarily (Payne, Kurtis) and anyone who no-showed are off-limits. There is no retaliation. IE, say Tchu uses Nova as his opponent in his RP, then Nova cannot use Tchu in his. Also, each character can only be used as an opponent once. IE, if Tchu uses Nova as his opponent in his RP, then Professor Tremendous, Jay Smash, Jake Devins or anyone else left may NOT use Nova as their opponents.

- You have a 1 RP limit. The deadline is Thursday, July 5th at 11:59:59 PM (pushed back a day because I really don't want the deadline to coincide with Our Nation's Birthday :eek: )

- All normal rules apply; ie, if you use any other characters that aren't handled by yourself, you need explicit permission to use them. No shooting; keep everything in character. All work must be written by you and it must be an original piece (no recycling!). You'd think these would go without saying, but you'd be surprised.

- You MUST post a round 2 RP before you can post a round 3 RP.


League Member
May 29, 2007
Re: [ToC] JP Severs v. Khalid Jad

As my head landed from the ddt, I caught a glimpse of light, which isn't good. I knew my dome had been rocked a bit. I'd have to figure a way to buy some time to recuperate. To my favor though, I could tell Khalid was slow to get back up. We were after all, giving tit for tat so far, and neither one of us have had a very strong advantage over the other. But I knew there would be more I'd have to do right then, to get the job done. But sure enough, he still made it to his feet before I could even get to a crawling stance. He grabbed me by my weakened head and wrapped his arm around it into a triangle headlock. "****" I thought. People don't usually put this one on me, but I always dread my situation when it finally comes. I don't know why, but I always feel edgy in this position, so to say the least, I was not happy about it.

"Are you ok, JP? Do you want to quit?" The ref asked casually. From the bottom of my stomach, I knew I wouldn't last long in this position. I shook my head, but Khalid had such a hold on me, I guess the ref couldn't tell, "JP, do you give up?" he said, seemingly a little distraught by my lack of reaction.

"No!" I said. I was almost hateful. I would have felt bad, but now's not the time to concern with the feelings that the ref may or may not be harboring over a single word I've said. Hopefully he knows I didn't mean anything personal about it. But who knows.

I can feel his fingers locking, pressing my skull inward tighter. I squinted my eyes, and gutted up as best as I could. I scooted a few inches-felt like miles-over towards the ropes, but Khalid rolls us over back to the center all over again.

And again, "****" was all I could think to say in my head. Instinct kicking in though, and I grabbed his arm, and as I pushed myself off the mat, I turned inward and lifted him up and over me in a variation of a fireman's carry. But I wasn't out of the water yet, I knew there was more, all just get my breath back. So I got to my feet as quickly as I could, and slingshot'd myself off the ropes, and as Khalid was getting back up, I leaped into a clothesline that sent us both down to the mat. But I had so much force behind it out of desperation, that when I landed, I rolled to the outside. I thought "I got my time to breathe, but it's only a ten count" to myself.

I was panting. I was hoping Khalid would stay down long enough for me to recuperate and be the one man standing in the ring, but as I grabbed the ring apron, I felt waves of movement. My arm was higher than I was, I couldn't see anything going on. I was expecting to hear a count started, but instead, I feel the obscure thumping. But it was enough to let me know that Khalid was not only back up by this point, but that he was scuffling to come after me, against the ref's discretion. Or maybe they were simply arguing about something. I don't know. I can't hear it. The fans are loud at ringside.

I finally reached the bottom rope and pulled myself up. Without warning, Khalid ran a baseball slide into me and knocked backwards into the guard rail spine first, but at the end of the impact, my head bounced-it rocked into the top of it and I was whip lashed. So I crumbled to the floor. And Khalid came out shortly out thereafter, I guess to assess the situation. He leans down, and as I' m struggling back up, I catch him gawking at me somewhat surprised. Almost concerned. He even asked me if I was alright. I couldn't answer. My pride was on the line. So as I got to my knees, Khalid backed up a few paces. I got to me feet, and that's when he came towards me. He grabbed me by the end of my tights and the back of my head and shoved me back into the ring.

Khalid in right after, grabs my right leg and presses it into my chest as hard as he could. "Not good." ...THUMP "No!" ...THUMP and at the last possible moment, I get my shoulder up at the last millisecond, leg pressing him away from me. I think Khalid half-thought he got the win, because by the time I moved, the ref's hand did come down a third time.

While the ref was explaining the situation to Khalid, I rolled to my stomach. I figured, I'd have a chance if he came after me, wouldn't be the easiest way to pin me. To my surprise, I managed to my feet, staggering however. Khalid sees me up and charges, forgetting about the ref. I don't take it personally though that Khalid had thought he won. Emotions were running high and he was so close he could taste it. I've been there. Anyway, he charges, but I fall to the floor with a drop toe hold and quickly roll over Khalid's back into a headlock of my own. I thought "this was a good chance to wear him down a bit." You know, to take the heat off my own lag. As I tighten the hold, I ram by head into his as hard as I can, and while I felt the affects as well, I could tell they were painful for him, which was the payoff I thought.

A little less fatigued than I was, he maneuvered himself up much quicker, and I placed my left leg further back, to keep a steady balance over whatever Khalid was going to try and do to get free. But I quickly decided not to fight it, since I was hardly in the condition to muscle my weight around. So I leaned him into the ropes and whipped off towards the other side. And ran to meet him, but he gave me a shoulder bump that knocked me down. Khalid bolted left to another set of ropes and swung himself back in, and I got back up just in time for a back body drop. I had a split second to breathe again, before I whipped my head around and realized I needed something longer lasting. So I got to the second rope and came down quickly with an diving elbow. I then rolled out and away, sitting on my ass and just breathing. My arms are all sweaty, getting sticky. Which reminds me that I should quit drinking soda, but when that information comes in handy, it's nowhere to be found.

I finally get my second wind. I feel a little bit recharged. I get over to Khalid and pick him up by the head, lay in a stiff uppercut. Spit...or gum shot out his mouth upward. I could think was "gross" and right after that I had to continue. I pushed him off the ropes again, this time setting up for a clothesline. Khalid ducks. i come back off the ropes and he is lunging back at me and I flip him over into what was almost a hip toss, but he landed on his feet. He jumps up for the dropkick. I staggered back to the ropes. He went for a spear, but I moved out of the way. He got himself caught in the ropes. And instinctively, the ref wanted me to back off.

I placed my hands on the top ropes nearby and rested my head for what seems like nothing, but was probably a few seconds. It was then that I decided something. I walked over against the discretion of the ref, and I grabbed the ropes. I twisted and moved the ropes. Khalid fell free and I took a few steps back with my hands up. Heh, now I surprised the hell out of the referee. He thought for sure I was going in for a cheap shot. I guess this is a good example that people can change, and not always the worst can be expected.

I started getting an applause for what I had done, but it quickly died down as I intended the action to keep moving along. I wanted to catch my breath, but I didn't want to do it at the cost of Khalid being allowed the same. Hey, it's honest. ...So while he's pushing up on his left knee to stand, I come in with an elbow across the broad area of his shoulders. I stand and do a stomp. At this point, I want it to end. I know I gotta do something big, but that I can't rely on my normal tactics.

Here, in front of everyone on Earth and even a few cable channels in space, I'd have to reach past what I normally do. So I go for the unthinkable. I duck through the ropes and start climbing the post. I look down at Khalid who is getting to his feet again. In a moment of desperation, I rush performing a moonsault. You could tell I don't do those. No poise, no art. Not to mention, heh, I missed. Khalid swatted my effort and climbed the ropes himself. Because as I opened my eyes, here comes Khalid with a moonsault of beauty. But of course, at the time, all I could say was "****" which seemed to be a reoccurring theme, I guess. But he landed hard and knocked what little wind I had, feeling like I had gotten nowhere in the last few minutes. But again, I hear that sound... ...THUMP ...THUMP "Oh thank God...I got my foot on the rope." is what I thought next, and felt relieved, but the moment was soon killed. THUMP! "WHAT?" I thought. Khalid caught it and showed the referee. Right before he went to ring the bell, he noticed the foot and nodded his head, waving the third count invalid. The fans applauded Khalid for the gesture, and even I was a bit surprised. I commend him. He showed what a great man he can be.

So I pressed myself up to a knee and used it to push off of to get back to my feet. As Khalid came into do something, I cut him off with a kick to the midsection, then executed a hip toss. As he got up, I waited for him with a snap neck breaker. The crowd seemed to love it. Almost like they could hear his neck cracking. I think it was simply a good move to watch given the unique circumstances behind how quickly I did it. I drop a leg over his chest. With my leg, I roll him over, now closer to the ropes. I grab a hold of the top ropes and jump into the air. As I come back down, I have left knee exposed, and I catch Khalid right in the sternum. He was not expecting that, I think. He didn't even try to block it. I have a feeling he thought I was letting him catch his bearings. I couldn't expect him to do that for me, likewise, he shouldn't have expected that from me.

I pull him back up, knowing full well he wasn't ready for me to perform a pin-attempt. Sure enough, he wraps his hands around my head, placing his skull under my chin, then using his weight to drop down. Man that hurt. My jaw felt dislocated as I leaned back on the ropes for solace. But Khalid back on the ball, is up, gives me a drop kick. I'm pushed between the top and middle ropes, but at the last possible moment I hang on. I muscle my way back through from which I went and I catch a back heel across the side of my face. He irish whips me across the ring. I bounce off the ropes and he catches me up with right arm and spins me in a hundred and eighty degrees and drops me down with a side slam. Already having my left hooked, he decided on a pin-attempt. ...THUMP ..THU No, not yet. I kicked out and he went right back on the attack. He used a right fist on my head as he pulled me back up. He flip me around and shoved my chin into his armpit. From here I could see the arena's rafters. He lifted me up and over himself and as I came down technically behind him, he snatched my head again and dropped my neck right onto his right shoulder with all my weight used against me. I swear, upon impact, I leap backwards in a panic, eventually falling to the mat, completely stunned and unaware of where I was for a brief moment. He tried to pin me, but I grabbed the ropes without thinking. He backed off.

He backed off, but just enough for me to roll over. Which is fine. We've been at this match awhile now it seems and we're both blown up. I know he was as eager to get this match finished as I was. He picked me up and went into a backbreaker setup, but I began hitting the back of his head as hard as I could and it forced him to let me go. I went right into a russian leg sweep. I rolled right into a pin, not wasting a possible chance. I caught him off-guard, which you never know; could be enough. ...THUMP ...THUMP "Come on, one more." I said to myself. But no, he kicked out right after two. But I didn't let that discourage me. I got back up, grabbed Khalid by the legs and pulled him to the center of the ring. Now before I worked on his legs as I decided I would, I gave a devastating elbow across his chin if I do say so myself. After knocking some sense out of him, I went back after the legs. I locked on, what my brother calls "The Dreamcatcher", but really, it looks like a reverse figure-four, and I applied that sum***** as tightly as I could, and it seemed to be paying off by the look of agony on Khalid's face, just trying to last and hang on. He reached for the ropes but was too far away. But as I wasn't really familiar with the move, since it was more my brother's field to do submission, Khalid moved a leg free and kicked me right across the face. He caught the edge of my right eye and I lost sight. I felt myself started to tear up from the agitation. Khalid yanked free.

As I'm scattering, placing my blind hand out trying to reach the ropes to get my bearings, I feel Khalid running towards me, and as he gets there, he comes down with a snapping leg drop. And man, that hurt. My face plants right into the mat. I get another flash of white in my skull, giving me the danger warning. This time, the mat is left with a souvenir. I had begun bleeding from the nose. I didn't think it was broken, just busted. I don't feel too bad, minus the fact that on top of my fatigue, I got blood loss to worry about.

I get to my knees and I head butt Khalid who was going for a double axe handle. I stun him long enough to get back to my feet. I push him off the ropes. My plan's to clobber him with another clothesline, but as I got there, Khalid saw it coming and ducked, holding the ropes. I fly over it and crash to ringside. I think Khalid thought the same thing I did earlier, "time to breathe." Things seem like a million minutes apart, but I get to my feet. As I turn towards the ring, I see Khalid at the top turnbuckle measuring me up. He lunges. And to tell you the truth, I don't know how I did it, but I caught him in perfect sway, giving him an impactful snapping running power slam as he got close enough. Now we're both down and out, and I cane barely hear the ref counting, but I know he is. I just can't tell how far his count has gotten.

With a glazed look in my eyes, I glance at Khalid who seems dead. I think this is my chance to capitalize. But not on him. On myself. I gather enough energy to crawl. I get to the ring and muscle up. I look back at Khalid and think a moment. I slide myself into the ring. This close to the ref, I hear "NINE!" from the ref, and that didn't sit right with me. I remember Khalid getting me back in the ring, hopefully because he wanted to end this match the right way, in the ring where we belonged to be, after all in the finals. So I did what I felt I had to do, if not only because I was compelled. I snuck back under the ropes to the outside, breaking the ref's count. I stagger over to Khalid and get him up, but he's mostly limp. I get Khalid in and I begin walking the steps into the ring. As I get to the top, Khalid is starting to move about, shaking his head, trying to get rid of the cobwebs. I see that and I start climbing to the top rope, ready to do something I would normally do. I'm patient, so I wait. I'm anticipating Khalid's getting up. He does. "Perfect. Time to nail him with my missile dropkick" I figured comfortably. But in the heat of the moment, I botched, waited too long or something, but Khalid saw it coming and lean his body forcibly on the ropes. I tripped and well, frankly, my junk has an unpleasant visit by the top turnbuckle. Khalid comes over and hooks my left arm around his head. He grabs some tights and falls back, landing a great-but painful-superplex off the top.

We both start crawling, both feeling the effects off the fall, gather ourselves to our feet. Khalid rushes the ropes and comes back. I prepare with a knee waiting for his abdomen, but Khalid rolls into it hooking his right arm between my legs and pulling me back and down. ...THUMP ...THU and I kicked out. But boy did that surprise me. I knew right then, it would take more than parlor tricks to put this man down. I knew I'd have to go much further if I wanted this to end in my favor.

We maneuver up at the same time, and I swear it felt like we were back to square one. We've both suddenly got a jolt of energy, and we're swinging back and forth, our pride and honor all on the line. We hear the crowd into it. Khalid drops to his knees and swoops my feet out from under me. He goes for the cover, but I quickly grab his arm and roll over into an arm lock. He pushes up and reverses it on me. I spin in and under Khalid's left armpit into a hammerlock. Khalid just as quickly, moves in and puts on a headlock. I shove him as hard as I can and he bumps into a turnbuckle. I run at him but he gets his boot up, smashing into my head. I move back a few steps, check for a bloody lip but I turn out ok. I rush again, this time with a shoulder tackle. Khalid lifts his body up holding both sides of the top rope. I ram my shoulder right through the middle and top ropes, my shoulder meeting with the ring post. Khalid flips himself forward, wrapping his arms around my calves as he does so, pulling me down to the mat. ...THUMP ...THUMP "No!" I said out loud, for as many to hear as possible. And with that, I kicked out, but truthfully, the damage was done. My shoulder was killing me now.

We both rolled out at the same time and did our best to jump to our feet. We met at the same time and froze. The crowd applauded our being so equally matched. We shrugged it off, into a collar and elbow tie-up. Again, "back to square one" I was thinking. This time though, I made good on it and rolled around into an arm bar, right into headlock into a snap mare. I got up to climb to the second rope for a quick leg drop. But Khalid was up and charging. I duck out of the way and his knee crashes into the turnbuckle. As he turns himself around, I'm right there with a right hand, followed by an elbow. I grab him by the left arm and whip him across to the other side. I ran at him and BAM with a jumping splash, but it was so forceful, I not only nailed him, I rolled over him and landed on the outside.

As I pulls myself up facing the crowd, I notice them stirring. I turn and see Khalid on the top turnbuckle. He jumps off with a spinning heel kick and dammit, it caught me square in the side of the head. Khalid pulls me up as quickly as he can, and shoves me into the ring. He drops an elbow across my chest then a leg drop across my face. He walks over to my legs and pulls my right one up, he leaps over me with my leg with him, into a snapping leg pull of some kind. All I know is I felt like I had a torn hamstring. It was a burning sensation and it was getting tighter. But thankfully, the pain itself was dying out. Khalid gets out of the ring still on the apron and lunges himself with the momentum of pulling down on the ropes. His feet land on the top rope long enough to springboard again into a flipping motion, his back landing across my chest with a severe popping. All I'm thinking now is "damn I'll surely need a chiropractor after this one." I think Khalid would have gone for the cover, but I was too close to the ropes for another try. My favor there.

He pulls me up though, and gets me in a snap-like cradle piledriver. He goes for the cover, but does it loosely, probably because he was getting tired. ...THUMP ...THUMP ...THUM "Whew" I thought as I got the shoulder up just in the knick of time, relying too much on that last second for comfort. I started thinking "I don't care if I'm dead, I need to start kicking out at two, or I may push my luck too far." I used the ropes and got up. Didn't know what Khalid was doing, but probably waiting for me. And if he was waiting, I'd make him wait a little longer. A little desperate mind game on my part, but effective in the moment, when I'm running out of options, just looking for the slight edge to step ahead.

Khalid grabs my left shoulder and spins me around. He hooks quick and does a snap suplex on me. He and I both struggle up at the same time. Khalid leaps to my shoulders for a hurracanrana. But I catch him and rush him into a powerbomb slam right into the turnbuckles. Heh, I hear the crowd awe that one. Khalid drops to the mat. I'm leaning against the ropes for a few seconds' rest. I decide a stomp on Khalid's back is in order, followed by a standing stall head butt to the lower back. I go to pull him back up, but Khalid rolls me up in a small package. ...THUMP Uh no, I kicked out right then and there. Surprised me, but I wasn't going to play that game anymore. Too much was riding on it, and I wanted him to know I was getting my juices flowing again.

Khalid did some kind of signal to the crowd. It was too blurry for me to make out. I simply put the few signs together to make my presumption. Anyway, he pulled me back up and elevated me over into what I thought was a stalling suplex, as the blood rushed to my brain. All I wanted was for him to drop me and get this thing towards the end. As it turns out though, he had other plans. He dropped my head into a brainbuster, and I swear, I heard a popping sound of the most unpleasant nature and I tried to trick myself almost, into thinking I didn't just get my neck cracked. Right then, that's when I had my rush of adrenaline...

Khalid got to his feet and did a standing senton across my chest, followed by a stomp, then a backward flip that rolled him back to his feet. His hands raised into the air and leaped to the top rope. From what I could hear, the crowd felt that the end was close, and that it would be Khalid's hands raised. And while that would be fitting, there's a level of confidence and self-respect to my own needs, that rushed through my body to gather enough to stop that ending from taking place.

I rushed up and over to Khalid to catch him off-guard. I grabbed him by the head by hooking him under my left arm, and the I hooked between his legs. I pushed off the turnbuckle with my feet and I landed his Khalid's shoulders on the mat with a top tope version of my brother's specialty, the Bad Dream, known in some circles as the Emerald Fusion. I was so badly hurt, I couldn't believe I nailed it so well. Khalid is sprawled. I kneeled weightlessly. I then took one desperate move forward and in an exaggerated movement, placed my right arm over Khalid's chest as I began to rest. ...THUMP ...THUMP By this point, I'm not thinking a damn thing. I'm out of it. ...THUMP! I hear the bells and I'm motionless. I just can't move. My back is killing me, and my head is jarred. But I hear the fans yelling and screaming. The ref-I'm guessing-rolls me over. He raises my hand, as the blood continues to trickle down.

But the next moment when I finally caught on to what had happened, the weight and pain on my shoulders had lifted, and felt the blood as tears. I knew it was true that I had won, when I had specially asked for a new particular song to hit, should I win the tournament tonight. "Hit The Floor" by Linkin Park cranked up. I looked over at Khalid who was still down and the ref checking on him. I managed to my feet and looked around to the crowd all standing to their feet. I acknowledge them passionately. I salute them and mouth the words "thank you" which I felt was well received. As I go to walk towards the other side of the ring to tip my proverbial hat to that section of fans, I see Khalid getting up, of course frustrated, but seemingly relieved that the match was finally over and done with one way or another. I put my hands on my hips casually, still taking deep breaths, and simply wait. I wait. We look into each others eyes. I nod my head. I put my hand out to shake is, but I don't know how I'm going to be received. I assure him he can trust me, especially by this point that I have already won. I have no need nor thought of a cheap shot.

I wanted Khalid's respect. Khalid stares at my hand. He nods. He grabs my hand and shakes it! The crowd is getting even louder. With his left hand he grabs me by the right and raises it into the air and I return the respect by pointing favorably back at Khalid for his tremendous effort. He patted me on the back and said that this was my moment. He then left the ring quietly to allow me to enjoy it alone, but the fans wouldn't let that happen and as much as they were proud of what I had done, I was proud that they showed Khalid the respect he deserved making it so far, giving him a round of applause as he walked down the aisle and into the back. I felt alienated at that point, the focus of this uniquely adoring crowd. I felt alone. But I wasn't.

I had thousands of fans all screaming, tearing and otherwise appreciative of everything I had done to get this far in the tournament. I looked back at all the great spots we had in the early stages of our match, and of the matches before the finale, and I give credit to everyone involved. I wish the ending of the finals had been better, but after the stiff competition we had all night long, it's amazing we got through it, as far as we did. We were dead tired, and it showed. People would expect that a group of Champions would go even further, and that's what we did, which is exactly why we were so drained. But well worth it, I think, to both me and to the fans. And to Khalid as well. By the end of the night, after my grueling match with Khalid and to see his sportsmanship, and the welcome I have gotten from TEAM's management staff, all I could think was "Yes! This; was indeed a Tournament of Champions."


League Member
Jun 6, 2007
Tchu Vs Nova

Jesus Christ.

I can distinguish between contrasts in lights and a handful of different hues. I can hear the hum of the fans swarming, so I assume I’m conscious, though, given my currently massive headache, It’d be fine with me if I weren’t.

Everything is blurry, like someone threw two fistfuls of goop into my eyes. There’s nothing specific I can make out of the hazy shapes around me. So, I just listen to the garble of a few thousand voices in anything but unison, and hope that the marching band in my head will go the f*ck away.​


A loud boom goes off about three inches from my skull, practically popping my eardrum and doing nothing to help my headache, but alerting me to the fact that, suddenly, the weight of the world is on my shoulders.​


It’s just Nova.​


Another boom.​

I should kick out.​

It’s not easy. It’s not fun. It’s exhausting and painful, but I manage to lift my left shoulder off the canvas before the referee’s hand explodes in my ear for the third time. I feel Nova’s weight roll of me, and as I sit up and feel my shattered spine crumble apart inside me… I wish I would have just played dead.​

I try to stand, difficult to do with blurry vision and an inability to feel my legs. Sh*t! One baby girl, a boy on the way, and I’m going to get to play catch with them from a wheel chair, all because Daddy just had to win the Tournament of Champions.​

The ropes aid my journey, and once vertical, I can thankfully feel both wheels beneath me. That’s good. They hurt like hell. That… I could do without.​

Steadying myself with my left hand firmly clenching the top cable, I rub my eyes with my right, trying to regain as much of my senses as possible. Defeating a superstar the caliber of Nova is never easy, and if I’m going to try and do for a second time, something that was damn near impossible to do once… its going to take a clear field of vision.​

Another rub, and steadily, the blur goes away.​

A good thing too, cuz Nova’s fist flying towards my face is the first clear image I’ve seen in a couple minutes.​

I’m able to get a forearm up to block the shot, and return the favor.​


I can feel his cheek bone turn to Jell-O against my knuckles. It’s disturbing, but I throw another punch anyways. It connects, much the same, and the punches begin to fuel the crowd, which rise to their feet, sensing the climax to what has been an unbelievable tournament.​

With The Risen Star reeling, I grab his arm and start to pull him towards me. Strangely, I see half the arena whirl past me, and the next thing I know, I’m bouncing off the ropes, momentum reversed, and barreling right back towards Nova. He steps forward and sticks out his right arm, attempting a stiff clothesline, but fortunately, my brain works without thinking and I duck underneath. Backs together, we both spin on our heels to face another, and as he once again steps forward, I dip a shoulder and hoist him up, turning ninety degrees and driving him down with a savage spinebuster.​

The crowd roars, but my own screams of pain nearly drown them out, as I fail to get my hand out from underneath his weight in time. Jerking my crushed fingers from under his back, I reposition myself and hook whichever leg is closest.​

The referee slides into position to make the count. I hear his hand hit once and suddenly feel entirely exhausted. As his palm strikes the mat for the second time, I forget that I’m not much of a religious man and pray that this will be enough to put Nova away. I don’t know if there’s enough left in my tank for anything more.​

The third smack of flesh on canvas seems to take longer than the first two, and the reaction from the crowd lets me know why. That third count isn’t coming.​

I push myself off of Nova and run my fingers through my hair, trying to think of what exactly it is I’m going to do to bring an end to this thing. I don’t know how long we’ve been wrestling, but I’d say its been pushing twenty-five minutes. Quite a long time in and of itself, but coupled with the fact that we’ve both competed already this evening, and that twenty-five hurts every bit like two hours.​

Crawling to my feet, I reach down to drag The Risen Star up by his hair.​

It’s a mistake.​

A depressing gasp of air escapes my lungs as his forearm slams into my stomach. I clenched my ribs as the former PRIME Universal Champion wraps his arm around my neck and pulls down.​

There’s a moment of nothingness. Nothingness except for a high pitched ringing in my ears. I let my body slump to the mat and wait for two hands to roll me over on my back for the cover.​

I don’t feel them.​

A few moments pass after the DDT. Then finally, my body starts to move, but its not being flipped over. I’m dragged to my feet much as I’d just attempted to do to The Risen Star.​

Once standing, Nova slides a shoulder into me and pushes me up. He’s looking to end this. With a quick burst, I shift my weight and slide down his back. Standing behind him, I wrap my arms around his head, locking in a sleeper. Before I can throw myself to the canvas and connect with the Downfall, Nova pushes himself backward. Still locked in the hold, we stumble clumsily towards the corner. I cringe as my body is crushed between the turnbuckle and The Risen Star’s frame.​

My arms involuntarily let go of his head. I don’t want them to, but I can’t stop it. I put a hand on my spine and stagger out of the corner, carelessly… right into Nova’s waiting arms.​

Hoisted onto his shoulders, I look six feet down at the canvas next to his boots… the spot where I’m about to land. It’s stained with sweat and blood. I know I’m going to take a shot of Bourbon for Breakfast, and I know there’s no energy left my body to do anything about it.​

Not a pleasant final thought.​

My legs swing up into the air as my upper body angles downward.​

For just a split second, before everything goes black, I can hear the thud of my skull kissing canvas.​

As the blackness breaks up and my ears start to work again, the first thing I hear is "Twwwoooooo" spewing forth from the back of a few thousand voices.​

I can’t lift either shoulder.​

I swing my leg about wildly, hoping it can find rope, but my heel just keeps banging against he mat. I’m in the center of the ring.​

And then the crowd erupts into cheers halfway through "Threee" as I feel the vibration of the ref slamming down his hand for the third and final time.​

It’s over.​

Four times?​

King of Kings. UltraViolence. OverKill. Tournament of Champions.​

Yeah. Four times this guy has pinned me. More than anyone and everyone else combined in the last two years.​

The next sound I hear is that of "Maggot Brain", barely audible over the cheers from the fans.​

The Risen Star slides off of my torso, rolling onto his back, joining me in motionless exhaustion on the mat. I hear an announcer proclaim Nova the winner of the match.​

That makes me the loser.​

His music still plays. The fans give a standing ovation for the match. We just lie there, the only difference between us, the smile on his face.​

There are worse things than losing this match. I can’t name any at the moment, but when my head clears up, a few will come to mind. It was a helluva run, and runner-up in a tournament this large, this prestigious… not a bad paragraph for the final chapter of my career. And for some reason… probably because he’s done so more times than anyone else ever has… the fact that Nova is the man to beat me… seems fitting. Brings an old piece of wisdom to mind.​

I take a deep breath and use what little bit of strength I have to roll over towards my nemesis.​

"I guess there’s always someone out there bigger and better." I can hardly get the words out through heavy breaths.​

"…yeah…" His response is short, yet thankful.​

The applause continues to fight with Nova’s music to fill the arena. The tournament finally concluded, a few fans begin to filter out of the building, hoping to beat the traffic. But most them… most of them stay right where they’re at, paying tribute to a great performance.​

"Congratulations." I drape an arm across his neck, wrap it around his head and pull it against my shoulder, pushing my forehead against his… an exhausted warriors embrace of sorts. "I f*cking hate you, dude."​

That’s not really the truth.​



League Member
Jun 28, 2005
Chicago burbs
Looking down, I can see the back of the head of NAPW World and TEAM Challenge champion, Ravager. My hands are intertwined just under his jaw as I wrench back on his head, applying pressure in this version of a Camel Clutch.

Flashing back, the memory of the Dupree Cup comes back. We were in this same position when Ravager finally yelled "I Quit" into the microphone.

We didn't even know each other before that match, but for some reason I really wanted to hear "I Quit" from Ravager that night. Maybe it was the string of younger guys who had passed me by on the pecking order in my home federation of A1E. Maybe it was something unrelated to Ravager at all. All I knew was that I really wanted to hear those two words.

Back to the present, I wrench back on his head once again. This one isn't an "I Quit" match, but I still want this victory just as much. We're in the finals of the Tournament of Champions, and I can't stop now. It's taken everything I have to get this far, and I'm not about to go down without one hell of a fight.

Ravager stretches toward the ropes as I rip back on his jaw again.

In the time since that match in the Dupree Cup, we've both gone on to bigger things. He is the NAPW World champ as well as the TEAM Challenge champ. I'm the A1E World champ as well as one half of the tag team champs. And yet, we're both still just men. Both wanting to prove to the other that we're the best in the world.

Ravager reaches out again, and this time his fingers find the bottom rope. The referee quickly taps me on the shoulder, wanting me to release the hold. I let go and use the ropes to pull myself to my feet. It takes nearly everything I have.

His punches and kicks have taken away a lot of my breath through the course of this match. Every part of me aches. The first time I held the world title, it seemed so much easier. I don't remember ever hurting like this. Nearly made me tap to that last Dragon Sleeper.

I grab Ravager by the wrist and whip him into the opposite ropes. As he comes off, I go for a hard clothesline.

Miss! Dammit!! Turn around, find him!

I spin around, and there he is bouncing off the opposite ropes. As he rebounds, he leaps at me.

Set your feet!

I catch him as he goes for a flying body press. Hitching him up, I put him up on my shoulder.

Come on. Let's plant him here and get this match over with.

I take my usual three running steps and then plant him into the mat with the Dog Pound. The referee is down for the count. One ... two ... THREE!!

Wait a minute! Where was the three?

I look at the referee who points behind me. I spin quickly, only to find Ravager's foot draped over the bottom rope.

How is that even possible? He shouldn't have enough fight left in him to even move, let alone to know he was that close to the ropes.

I get slowly to my feet. Still not quite sure how or why this match isn't over at this point, I lean over to pull Ravager to his feet. Suddenly, he scoops both my legs out from under me. Before I can react, he is spinning around my left leg. I try scooting away, but I can't seem to move.

Come on! Push, push!! Don't let him get this locked on.

I swipe at Ravager's hands as he reaches for my head. The first time, I actually knock his hand away and manage to slide a little closer to the ropes. The second time, however, I'm not so lucky. He hooks on the facelock, and now I know I'm in trouble.

Son of a ...!!! The Garotte! Dammit, you know better than this. Come on, think! You studied the tapes. How do you get out of this?

I can't even hear the crowd roaring as Ravager squeezes tighter around my head. They are all on their feet, sensing that this might be the end.

Damn, I don't remember this hurting so much the last time. I can't give up! I can't ... ARGHH!! Dammit! I can't ...

I'm not even sure I consciously thought about tapping. Somewhere in the back of my brain, the impulse went straight down my arm. Before I even knew what was happening, the referee was breaking the hold and raising Ravager's hand in the air.

I drag myself up, barely putting any weight at all on that left foot. The ring announcer is telling the whole world that Ravager has just won the 2007 TEAM Tournament of Champions. At this very minute, I have never hated anyone more in my life. And yet, there is no reason for it. He didn't cheat, didn't bend any rules. He just beat me.

I call out his name just as he's climbing through the ropes. He stops and comes back inside toward me, stepping right in my face.

"Congratulations. This time, you were the better man."

And with that, I smiled and shook his hand. Anything resembling hatred was gone.

Irish Fire

League Member
May 29, 2007
The Thoughts of David Paige, exhausted from combat

I sweat. The lights are hot. I can barely hear. The crowd is chanting. What are they chanting? I listen. The chant is too distorted, I cannot make out the words. Let’s go… someone. Let’s go David? Let’s go Devins? Maybe they are chanting both. The distraction is brief, but enough. I see white. For a moment I feel weightless, like I am floating. The ropes catch me. I can barely stand. My jaw is numb, I can taste blood from the right side of my mouth. Devins is readying another kick, I do not have time to react. He catches my sternum with his heel. I lose my balance against the ropes. I feel myself slip. Again I am floating. My back hits the concrete of the arena floor.
<o:p> </o:p>
He broke my ribs. I can barely breathe. Can I quit? I want to quit. I do not want to get up again. My body is tired. I want to sleep, just sleep here like this. My breath comes in short spurts. Each lungful stings. I feel my ribs. They are sore. Sore, but not broken. Can I continue? Yes, I think I can. The crowd gasps suddenly. A shadow passes over the lights above my head. I try to move. I make it, just barely. Devins crashes into the ground beside me, right where my chest used to be. I can hear him groan. He rolls on the ground clutching his back.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
I close my eyes.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
What’s that sound?
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
The ref, the ref is counting.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
I need to get up.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
My feet won’t obey.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
I try to rise. My quads burn.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
One hand reaches the bottom rope.
<o:p> </o:p>
I pull.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
I am in
<o:p> </o:p>
I have won.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
I lose my grip.
<o:p> </o:p>
I fall back out again.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
The ref starts again.
<o:p> </o:p>
I ignore the counting. I am on my feet. Devins isn’t. I can use this. This was the end result of Team WR. My foot stomping his spine. His foot striking my face. The WR t-shirt torn in the center of the ring. I kick him three times. I reach up for a fourth stomp. Something catches me. A force hits the back of my knee. I hit the ground. My hair stings. Devins is grabbing it. My hand grabs his. He lifts me. I follow the pain. He leads me to the ring. I roll inside. Devins follows.
<o:p> </o:p>
My hair stings again. Devins is pulling me up. Flash of white. Trickle of red. I am bleeding from my brow. Devins’ knuckles are red. Another flash. I fall backwards. My body falls perfectly into the turnbuckle. I see Devins charge. I raise my leg. I catch him just in time. Devins stumbles back, clutching his face. This is my chance. My arms wrap around his waist. His back is to my chest. He can sense it coming. His fingers try to pry my hands apart. I struggle against the burning of my quads. My teeth grind together. He lifts. I extend my legs. It gets easier when he is above me. Gravity takes over. I drop him on his head. The crowd cheers.
<o:p> </o:p>
I cannot see. Something is in my eyes. I wipe away the sweat. My hands are red. Devins is still on the ground. I grab his legs. The left side of my face is beginning to swell. Devins squirms in my grasp. I manage to knot both of his legs under my right arm. He still kicks, but I hold on strong. First I bring my left leg over his body. Devins keeps fighting me. He refuses to turn over. I struggle to turn him, he struggles back. The blood is in my eyes. It stings. I want to wipe it away, but I cannot. I cannot break the hold. I force him to turn over. I put my knee on his spine and recline. He is locked in. Now I wait. Wait to win…
<o:p> </o:p>
Devins is screaming behind me. Their voices are drowned by the crowd. I recline a little further. I think I hear something crack. Devins screams again.
<o:p> </o:p>
“Do you quit”
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
“Do you quit”
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
I recline a little further. My muscles strain against the strength of his spine. He cries out again.
<o:p> </o:p>
“Do you quit”
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
He begins to move. I cannot see him, but I can feel the tug. I try to hold my ground, but cannot. Slowly we move together. I try to apply pressure, but cannot. Its too hard without steady ground. The ref is tapping my shoulder. I block him out. I hold on. He taps again.
<o:p> </o:p>
“Let go!”
<o:p> </o:p>
Why? I am going to win.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
I do not argue. I release the hold. I turn around. Devins is clinging helplessly to the bottom rope. So he made it. There is a brief moment of peace. I use it to clean my face. There is a trail of red droplets following me around the ring. Devins is still laying there, catching his breath. I grab Devins again around the waist. He is heavier than me. I struggle against the weight. He lifts a little. I almost have him. The pain is terrible. I try to turn, to plant him again. Its too much, my legs cannot handle it. I collapse. Devins follows.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
Devins lands on top of me.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
I manage to lift a shoulder. Flash of white.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
I do not remember him counting one. I kick out again.
<o:p> </o:p>
His foot buries into my stomach. I want to vomit. Again. All I manage is some thick saliva. My eyes are closed. They cannot open. I cannot think. It hurts. Where is Devins? I force myself to see. There are thousand lights above me. They are beautiful. For a moment I imagine I can see the night sky. It reminds me of <st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Dublin</st1:place></st1:City>. Of home. This will all be over soon. Then I can go back. My bed. My apartment. My books. Brisk <st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Dublin</st1:place></st1:City> mornings. Thick roasted coffee. Good beer. I cannot smile. I wish I could. I miss <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Ireland</st1:place></st1:country-region>. I wish I were back.
<o:p> </o:p>
Something crashes into me. I try to scream. I cannot. There is no air in my lungs. It feels like a rock fell upon me. Someone grabs my legs, forces my shoulder to the mat.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
I take a deep breath
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
I scream and force my body lose. A shoulder gets up.
<o:p> </o:p>
I am looking at two blurry figures. They argue with each other. They point to me. They point to Devins. I manage to get to one foot. I try the other. I feel a crack like lightening against my back, but do not fall. It cracks again. Its like a whip. I still refuse to fall. There is some strength in my other leg. I make it to my feet as the third crack reddens my flesh. Its not enough to take me down. Something turns me. I see Devin’s face. He shifts his balance. He is readying a kick. There is a flash inside of me. I feel whole. I feel fresh. I catch his leg as it comes at me.
<o:p> </o:p>
Devins is flexible. I force his leg up above his head. Quickly I grab him, trapping his extended leg between us. Its easier to lift him. At the arch I let go, and let myself fall backwards. I can see Devins, float above me. I do not see him land, but I can hear the sound of impact. My heart races. I am on my feet already. I lift him by the hair, and slide him onto my back. Its easy to carry him like this. My legs hardly hurt, hardly burn. He struggles weakly. It has to be done soon. I fall backwards and let myself land upon him.
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
Come on…
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
<o:p> </o:p>
He kicks out, somehow, he kicks out. I lift him again, and place his head underneath my arms. There is hardly any resistance left in him. The crowd senses it. I can see them begin to rise. Silence. I jump, and drive his head into the canvas. He goes limp. My legs wrap around him. I tighten every part of my body. He begins to squirm, to pry, to scratch. I will not let go. I can tell he is beginning to fade. Tap. Tap. TAP. Am I saying it? Am I thinking it? I tighten further. He is like a rag doll. He does not tap. I begin to lose my strength. I let go.
<o:p> </o:p>
I stomp him. I lose count of how many times. I want to make sure he is down. I want to finish this. Finish this now. Before he can come back. We are close to a turnbuckle. Not too close. There will be no rope break. I gesture to the crowd. Its time. I climb the turnbuckle. Everything hurts. Its hard to climb. I manage somehow. The ropes are shaky. It takes me a second to balance. Devins is still there. Still unconscious. I look to the crowd. They are standing. They are cheering. Above the ring, the air is cooler. I enjoy it for a second. I look down. I am terrified. No matter. Now is the time. I jump.
<o:p> </o:p>
My body turns in the air. It feels like I am floating. Everything is slow. Everything is clear. I smell the sweat. I hear the crowd. Every nerve is tingling. This is it. I look down, my head pointed towards the canvas. I see Devins. I am on target. His eyes open. He smiles. He rolls away. It is too late to change. I close my eyes. I tense up. I do not feel myself land. I only remember seeing the approaching white of the mat, and then black.
<o:p> </o:p>
I am back in <st1:City w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Dublin</st1:place></st1:City>. It’s my old school. The walls are a different color. I see my principal, he hasn’t aged. He doesn’t notice me, and I cannot speak. There is a door to my old classroom. I walk through it. On the other side is the gym I train at. No one is there right now. It must be closed. There is a weight bench, and I sit down upon it. My body feels refreshed, so I decide to work out. I grab the bar. I lift. It’s heavier than usual. Have I gotten weaker? I close my eyes and focus all my strength. The bar gets lighter. When I open my eyes, I am holding on to a rope over the sea.
<o:p> </o:p>
A tooth falls out of mouth. It falls down into the abyss, and makes ripples in the calm blue water. There is an island in the distance. I start to climb along the rope towards it. The cord is rough, and chafes my hands. I hold on though. The fall to the water will kill me. I climb, hand to hand, and yet never seem any closer. I am beginning to slip. The water looks darker now. Waves begins to form, like in a terrible storm. They are so large they almost reach up to me. I don’t want to fall.
<o:p> </o:p>
My eyes open, I see stars. Hundreds of stars.
<o:p> </o:p>
“Ring the bell.”
<o:p> </o:p>
The Stars begin to blink and flash wildly. There is an eruption of human voices. A face appears in front of the hundreds of stars. It’s the ref. He checks my eyes with a flashlight. There is music playing. I cannot make it out over the din of the crowd and the ringing in my head. The ref helps me to my feet. I look around with glossy eyes. Devins is still on the ground. Did I pin him? I cannot remember. I listen to the music. Is it mine?
<o:p> </o:p>
Did I win?
<o:p> </o:p>
Did I win?


League Member
Jun 28, 2006
This is not good. Not good at all. What was I just doing? ... Get off my back. Those lights are blinding. Get on my stomach and figure out what's going on... I remember coming to the arena this morning... But then... The ropes. get to the ropes. Pull myself up. For the love of all things good and holy...

The match. Right. I made it this far. The finals ... Got hit in the head. Not good. Not good at all... and neither is that foot coming towards your face..






Well. This is much better. I'm staring at the lights again. But at least I'm on the floor. Great. Great showing by the NAPW Champion. Great showing by the TEAM Challenge Champion. And is someone shouting?

Class is almost over!

Great. Professor Tremendous. I'm losing to Professor ****ing Tremendous. God I hate that guy. Get back in the ring... That's it. get in there. Beat his ass silly.. DON'T LET HIM SUPLEX! ..... Well. On the mat again. In pain. And about to lose. To Professor Tremendous. AGAIN. Come on! Even if he hadn't eliminated me from the ToC last year, I'd still hate this guy. I shouldn't need extra motivation. He's an opponent. Keeping me from winning the ToC. He stopped me last year. Don't let it happen again. He's stalking me right now. Going in for the kill. Can't let him... He's grabbing my hair.. what's he.


Humiliation. He thinks he'll break me.


Last year. Might have worked. But I've had a year to improve. I year to think about my mistakes. A year to get better at counters...


That's it. Go for one more. I just need the opening...


No. My turn, prof.


No more! I've beaten bigger.


I've beaten better.


I will not go down so easy.


Okay, that hurt. But he's hurt more. He's staggering back. Clear the cobwebs quick. Don't let up for a second. One mis step and he hits you with something huge and you're on the mat counting the lights again. NOT AGAIN!! Remember how I beat Simply Beautiful? LARIAT! TAKE HIS HEAD OFF! NOW COVER!




You didn't think it'd be that easy, did you? COME ON!! Drag his ass up! He likes to suplex? I like to suplex! Show him how a German suplex is done! Now drive that elbow into his chest. Cover him!



His shoulder's up.


Breathe. BREATHE. Don't lose it yet...


What does the ref want?


So what if his foot's on the ropes?

Why do I have to stop driving knees into his head?

He's a bigger dick than me. I thought you'd be happy with me doing this!

I have until the count of FIVE!!

You were not at four!







Get up. Don't turn your back again. Don't let him win like that. Don't let him..


Son of a *****! Get to the ropes quick don't let him get... he's scared. He used the cheapest move available to get the advantage. Don't let him.. He's got a full nelson on me. What does he think he's... Oh no he better not be thinking about a



Wow. I can see why this has served me so well. It's really painful. I wonder if there's permanent damage. No, seem to have full mobility. Just got to get up... And get Professor Tremendous off of me.


Losing is going to sting enough.


But getting beaten with your own move? That's going to be humiliating. Unless you..

KICKS OUT! Good. I kicked out. Doesn't mean I won the match. Don't be a jackass, he's already made me look bad enough. Look at him. He's complaining about the call. Remember what he did when I was complaining? HIT HIM WITH SOMETHING!!! Kick him in the head! ... Not bad, too bad it didn't come clean off. He's in the turnbuckles. Get him onto the top rope! Get Instant Karma! It won me the NAPW title twice, it can get me the ToC.. No. He's fighting. Rabbit punch the ****er... He's not letting go. Got to.. ****! Thumb to the throat. It's okay, you can breathe just...

Great. Let him push me off the ropes. I hate being on my back, I really do.

What's he doing? What does he call this again? The Final Exam? No, Pop Quiz? I had notes on him, just got to remember what he calls it..


Oh hey. It doesn't matter what the name is when it misses. bet that hurt Prof. But I bet this'll hurt more...

If I don't end this now, O never will. Hit him hard. Hit him fast. But finish this! Forget about being fancy. Get to the top rope. Faster than that, he's starting to stir. Good. Now hit him..

He's pretty far away.

I've never hit the move from this far away.

What if he moves?

One chance to hit this. One chance to win it all.

If I blow this, he'll capitalize.

If I blow this, I could cripple myself.

Is it worth it? Do I want to win that badly?






I hope he doesn't move...



That move never feels good, even when I hit it right! Why do I do it? ...

Oh right, because it gets me the win every time. Hook that bastard's leg. It's time to go home...


Oh please let me have this one..


I don't ask for much, but please let me have this one..


Okay. I did it. Don't let this go to my head. I'm on top, but there'll always be somebody looking to knock me down. Savor this moment like all my other wins. Listen to the fans cheer. And be ready for the next fight. They'll never be easy. I have a big ****ing bullseye on my back now. Remember that. I avenged a loss, got future title shot, and made myself an enemy to anyone who wants to make it big. Be happy with that, but above all else.. Who's tapping my shoulder?

Professor Tre-


Class isn't over, Ravager. I'll see you soon.

Let him go. Fight's over for the night. I won. Keep thinking that. I won...



God I hate that guy...

Fade to black.
Last edited:


League Member
Oct 31, 2005
Did I leave a cake in the oven?

Good God! I think I forgot to take that cake out of the oven!!!


Look at those fools. Look at them just standing there all slack-jawed like they don’t have the faintest clue what I am getting at. Remind me later to fire the entire lot of them and update my lackey search on Monster.”


Ouch. That hurt.


Oh. And there’s another cap that’s going to have to be redone.



Who the hell keeps kicking me?

Oh…it’s him.

This guy.

Big Dog, I guess they call him. Big Dork is more like it.



Wow. That was a pretty cool throw. Hurts like hell too. I wonder what he calls it.


DUDE! CHILL! I get the point!

Strong S.O.B. in any event. I need to kick him in the nuts.



Okay. Where are the ropes? I gotta get to the ropes.

Got ‘em.

That’s it ref, back him off. And look at those spazzes out on the floor. Not a brain amongst them. Come on, one of you slide me a role of quarters or something.

Man, why’d I have to go and can the midget. It’s not his fault the power went off in that Diner just as he was walking in.

Or was it?

God, I hate little people.

REF: “All right, Tremendous. Let go of those ropes. Let’s have some action here.”

Look at that ref. Looks a bit like mom’s cousin, Tim. I wonder if he’s queer.

REF: “One… Two… C’mon now. Quit stalling.”

Oh shut up. And get out of the way so I can get a clear shot at his nuts.

There it is!




Now this in an interesting view of the world. I just hope he does drop me on my head.

No! Don’t you dare.

Stupid, jackass mutt!


Damn. Did I leave a cake in the oven?


Yo man. Yo. Arms aren’t supposed to twist like that.


REF: “What do you say, Professor?”



What’s that I see?

Is that a pair of green spandex clad testicle right there in front of me?


AGH! Goddam busted cap!

But puppy boy does seem to have released his gripe quite nicely.

There we go.

Okay. Spin Kick.


Spin Kick.


Spin Kick.


Now let’s whip him into the ref.


And now the coup d’gras.

“Okay, one of you retards fetch me a chair”

God, look at them. Look at my “TEAM”. Running around like a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off. I mean, this is a wrestling arena – how can you not find a steel chair?

“Allworld, you moron, check under the ring. Tuss, you dolt, I am sure the Spanish announce team has an extra. Tyrone, you big fat goof, just rip up a steel barrier rail if you have to!”

Here I am beaten half to heck, and still the only one with half a brain amongst them.

Imbeciles. And they wonder why I always spend their holiday bonuses on myself.

“Ah there you go. Was that so hard, dork patrol? It’s nice to finally see you guys do something right.”

Just don't get used to it.

“Except I really don’t think I’m going to need three chairs.”


Last edited:

Khalid Jad

League Member
Jun 1, 2007
The blood continues to run down my face, like a waterfall, obscuring my vision. My body aches, exhaustion threatening to overcome me. Thank God my adrenaline keeps me going on. Otherwise, this match would be over.

He swings a punch at me, but I duck at the last minute, the only thing that connects with my face is a whoosh of air, as his arm sails over my head. His follow up punch, however, finds its mark, staggering me against the ropes.

Thank God for those ropes, otherwise that might have been a knock out punch.

I feel him grab onto my arm, and with a grunt of exertion, he sends me toward the opposite ropes. I attempt to halt my momentum by grabbing onto the ropes, but I'm a split second too slow. As I bounce off the ropes, I'm rewarded with a dropkick to the face, my body wanting to continue on forward a direct contrast to my head deciding to remain in place.

I fall to the mat.

I can sense, rather than see, him getting to his feet. The fans are cheering. For some reason, they are on his side. A part of me feels betrayed by this, but another part of me doesn't care. The fans can cheer for whoever they like. It won't change what I need to do to win this match.

He lifts me up off the mat. Putting my head under his arm, he attempts to lift me up, vertical suplex-style. But this time I'm not a split second too late. This time I wrap my leg around his, impeding his progress. He attempts it a second time, but this time I throw a speculative punch at his rib area, connecting harder than I thought I could.

Maybe his ribs are still tender from me throwing him over the top rope and causing him to land awkwardly on the outside. Good thing. Maybe that's why they say that the early part of a match is for softening up your opponent. That strategy saved me now.

Following up, I then start laying into his ribs with closed-fist right hands. The referee is barking at me, telling me to unclench my fists. But eventually he releases his hold on me, and instead concentrates on covering up his battered ribcage.

I use the opportunity to separate myself from him. Taking a second to wipe the blood from my eyes -- it's already starting to dry and cake -- I then charge at him, and nail him with a low drop kick to the knees. He lets out an anguished scream. Then he topples to the mat, giving me more time to get my breath.

I take a split second -- it's all I can spare -- to look out into the crowd, and I see the expressions on their faces. They're angry at me. They're not happy that I'm regaining control of the match. They want me to lose.

I intend to disappoint them.

As I move in on him, stalking him, I feel a weird sense of deja vu. We've played this game before, me and Christian Light. It's like a replay of our match. Except, I don't remember being busted open like this before. Oh well, he'll pay for that with a loss.

Grabbing him, lifting him to his feet, I send him to the ropes. He bounces off the opposite ropes toward me, so I put my head down. My mind is already thinking two moves ahead. Back body drop, followed by a submission hold, perhaps a camel clutch, or a Boston crab. Anything to work on his back.

Unfortunately, I should have just been thinking one move at a time. It seems I lowered my head a bit too soon. He sees what I have planned all along, and leap frogs over me. I have to tell you, seeing a six-foot-six, almost three-hundred pound man sore over my head like that is quite a sight. If I didn't know it was about about bite me in the ass, I'd have been impressed.

He continued on, using his momentum to charge the ropes. I turn around, just in time to see him bounce off the ropes, and explode at me, taking all the air out of my lungs with a massive, bone-jarring spear.

To make matters worse, as I'm fighting for breath, the stupid fans are chanting his name.




He's got me now. I'm bloody, I'm bruised, and I can't seem to fill my lungs back up with any oxygen. Christian must sense it as well. If I remember correctly, this is when he'll pick me up, and toss me to the ropes to go for his spinebuster. That's his favorite to lead into his Light Leg-Lock -- An elevated Texas cloverleaf.

So I'm not surprised when it comes. He grabs me behind my head, and drags me to my feet. I feel him throw me toward the ropes. I don't fight it. Instead, I use his power to my own advantage, gaining speed to send myself hurtling to the ropes, and bouncing off them.

He waits for me, the look on his face almost as though he's got a sign that says "you're about to be spinebustered". And I leave my expression blank, as though I've already accepted the inevitable. But just as we're about to come together in the middle of the ring, and just as he's about to wrap his arms around me, I decide that the script needs to be changed.

So as he wraps his arms around me, I bring my own arms together as hard as I can, to smack him on both sides of his head. Or to be more accurate, against his ears, ringing his bell.

He brings his arms up to hold his now ringing ears, and our momentum carries us to the mat. I scramble up off of him before he has a chance to grab hold of me, and take a few steps back.

The shot to the ears must have disoriented him, because as he stumbles to his feet, he looks like a drunk man trying to find a bed to lay down on. Which is perfect for me.

He turns to me, and is rewarded with a kick to the mid section. And I mean I really let fly. If he was a football, I'd have booted him the length of the entire field. As he's bent over, and execute a facebuster on him, sending his face screaming toward the mat, to connect with the canvas with a satisfying smack.

Now it's time to finish this, before he has a chance to recover.

I quickly make my way to the corner, and scale the turnbuckles. Perched atop the top rope, arms out wide for balance, and with the booing and jeering of the fans so loud that I feel like there are two speakers right next to my head, I look down on Light.

Then I take flight.

Life's Redemption -- a senton bomb from the top rope -- later, I go for the cover, making sure to wrap my arm around his leg. The referee begins his count, but I already know the outcome.


League Member
Jun 1, 2007
[Light] "Like A Window Shade"

It’s not often I find myself in this position...but being held up in the air by my arms really gives me an excellent view of the fans, who seem genuinely excited to see my opponent trying to finish me.​

View’s nice, sure. But it’s the long trip down that’ll kill you. And I’m not ready to die just yet.​

I use all the might left in my body to struggle against the iron grip of the giant man holding me aloft. Understandably, he doesn't want to let go, but there’s no way he’s going to toss me across the ring without a fight. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, I use my weight to pull his arms back to the point where he either lets go of me or separates his shoulders.​

Obviously, he chooses to let go.​

Falling to my feet, I turn and plant a quick back elbow to the lower back of my opponent. That’ll only stun him for a few seconds, but that’s all I need. Running to the opposite ropes, I come back to my opponent and spear him right in the overall-covered small of the back.​

The crowd roars in appreciation of the move. John Henry howls for a much different reason as he falls face-first to the ground. As quickly as I am able I roll over the gentle giant and lay my two hundred and eighty-pound frame over his shoulders for the cover. Sliding in near my head, the referee checks the massive shoulders of The Steel Drivin’ Man before beginning his count.​


I can feel him struggling against my weight. I doubt I’ll get him here...but I have to try.​


And just as I thought, Henry pushes a shoulder up shortly after the second cadence. No matter. I’ve got a few moves left in my arsenal to win this one.​

Getting to his hands and knees, Henry tries to shake out the cobwebs out. No way can I let that happen again. Standing quickly, I run at my opponent. Leaping over his body, I kick my legs out and land back-to-back on my opponent, flattening him against the canvas. Once more, the crowd roars for the high-impact move. Once more, I roll him over and lean my full weight over his shoulders, going for the pinfall. Once more, the referee slides into position, and after a quick check of the shoulders, he begins the count.​


John is struggling to catch his breath. I must have knocked the wind out of him. I wonder if this will be enough?​


I can feel him getting his strength back. Even after taking some time off, he’s in good shape.​

And just as the referee’s hand is coming down to make the third count, Henry summons up strength from his reserves and throws his right shoulder out from under me, breaking the pinfall. Maybe it was a little too presumptuous to think I could beat him with a simple senton splash, but then again, I’ve been beating on his back at just about every turn. That splash could have been the straw that broke the man’s back, so to speak.​

As a lay a stomp into the lower back of The Steel Drivin’ Man, I remember all the tape I watched of John coming back from far worse positions than this. I know I’ve got to finish him now or risk being part of the John Henry highlight reel. John’s not much of a technical wrestler, I think to myself. Maybe a Fisherman’s suplex will prove too much for him to kick out of.​

Picking up my opponent by his bald head, I hook him in a front facelock. Quickly, I throw Henry’s left arm over my head and, while that is happening, reach down and grab the left leg of the gentle giant. With a massive straining of all my muscles and a popping of my hips, I pull John’s three hundred seventy-five pound frame over my head and send him crashing to the ground with a big thud. I can’t quite hook my hands together...he’s too darn big...but I pull them as close together as I can and bridge as high as my bruised and beaten body will allow. I feel a slight breeze as the referee slides by my right leg and checks the big man’s shoulders before laying in a count.​


Tough to tell from this angle, but I might have him.​


One more count, please just one...​

...more kickout.​

Okay, no more of this stuff. Time to get back to the big moves that brought me to the dance. Spinebuster, Light Leg-Lock, goodnight everybody. That’s how it’s going to be.​

I pick up John, once more. Backing him against the near ropes, I lean into him, trying to up the momentum with which I’ll whip him across the ring. Pulling with all my might, I take John off of the ropes, but as he takes a step past me, I feel him gripping my wrist.​

Oh crap. Can’t let him do this.​

I try to pull away from his grip, but I can’t move my arm. I try to think quick as to how I’m gonna get away from him, but I’m nowhere near quick enough, as John pulls me towards him and, with a mighty roar, lifts me high in the air and falls backwards in a flapjack.

I roll around on the canvas, struggling to shake the pain racking my whole body. By now, well after the thirty-minute mark, no one particular part of my body hurts so much as my whole nervous system lights up like a Christmas tree every time he hits me. That’s the kind of effect John Henry’s power will have on you. If I weren’t in so much pain, I’d find it ironic, since I’m usually the one with the strength advantage in a match​

It’s tough to hear anything since the crowd is clapping and cheering. I have no idea if the referee’s counting us both out. I’ve gotta get to my feet. Slowly, I use my upper-body strength to push myself off the canvas. Planting my feet underneath me, I stand on wobbly legs...​

...only to be sent right back down again with a John Henry running elbow smash.

The force is so strong it almost knocks me back to my feet. I’m back up quick, almost on instinct. But I’m in no position to defend myself, and down I go again, to a brutal running lariat that sent shivers through my nervous system. Punch-drunk now, I stumble back to my feet. I take a wild swing with a knife-edge chop, missing by a mile. John takes the opportunity to slip behind me a lock in a full nelson.​

As he lifts me, the only thought in my head is that I could remember a couple years back when John didn’t know what a full nelson was and how far he’s come since then. That oddly timed thought is quickly drilled out of me when John shifts his grip and hurls me into the canvas with a full-nelson slam. I’m seeing lights, but only for a second, as the large, overall-wearing form of The Steel Drivin’ Man covers me.​


Gotta get my shoulder up.​


Come on...!​

Got it! Phew, that was close.​

John’s not relenting, though. He’s right back on me, pulling me to my feet. He backs me into the corner and, after a second of measuring me, he plants a head butt right to my forehead. And again, my entire nervous system just lights up, racked with pain. Grabbing me by my arm, he whips me across the ring into the opposite corner, where I land back first. No more than two seconds later, I’m compacted back into the turnbuckle by the giant freight train that is The Steel Drivin’ Man. He backs off of me for a sec, and all I can see in stars. I’m not even capable of defending myself as he grabs me and lifts me in the gorilla press position. He holds me up there for what feels like an eternity before dropping me gut-first on his knee.​

But something’s not right.​

He’s not going for a cover.​

Fighting the urge to vomit up my guts, I look up and see the massive man looking down at the canvas, holding his back in pain.​

Looks like the time I spent working over his back has paid off.​

Quickly, I duck my head back down, hoping John was in too much pain himself to notice. People would call this “playing possum”, but I hesitate to use the word “play” when you’re body’s in this much pain.​

After a few precious seconds, John does, indeed, come on over to follow up. He doesn’t even bother with the cover...another sign that John has matured as a wrestler. Years ago he’d go for the cover and give me two to ten more seconds to rest between rolling me over, covering, the referee’s travel time, and the long two count that follows. With all the time that’s elapsed, he knows he’s not pinning me like this. I just hope he doesn’t suspect that I’ve recovered.​

He’s trying to stick my head into a standing headscissors. Must be going for The Steam Drill. Not a great move to go for with a bad back.​

Now is as good a time as any to take back the advantage.​

Grabbing John behind the knees, I apply pressure to the back of the joints, which causes his knees to buckle slightly. Using that as my opening, I pull my arms upward, sweeping John Henry off of his feet and onto his back.​

The landing stunned him, but that’s nothing compared to what I’ll follow-up with.​

I twist his legs into the Texas Cloverleaf position before turning him over. Unlike the last two times I tried to put this on John, there’s little resistance from him as I lock my hands in front of his left knee and hook his left foot under my arm. The turnover is academic...within seconds, John Henry has all the weight of his body on his chest and neck as I bend him backwards into a bow-like shape and lower my left knee to right over his head.​

The Light Leg-Lock is applied, and John Henry is screaming in pain.​

I look out at the crowd, and they’re all on their feet. Any wrestling fan can sense the breaking point, that moment when the match can be won or lost for a competitor. Most of the arena, howling in anticipation, thinks they’re seeing that point now.​

I can feel John trying to power out of his. His leg muscles are straining against the weight of my body, trying to get me off of his back.​

It only makes me sink the hold in deeper.​

I can hear the ref asking him if he wants to quit. He’s not saying yes or no, and the bell hasn’t rung, so I guess he’s shaking his head no.​

It’s been about thirty seconds. He’s still fighting me, but I can feel his strength sapping from his legs. They must be going numb on him.​

Speaking of which, my hands...they’re starting to numb up. I re-synch the hold in, trying to get blood circulating back through them. This causes The Steel Drivin’ Man to yelp out in pain again. I listen closely to hear if he taps out or verbally quits, but I hear neither.​

The crowd starts to clap. Or is that a chant? It sounds like both. I can hear some of 'em chanting “Tap, tap, tap!” There’s others just clapping their hands and cheering.​

That’s when I feel my vertical base shift.​

John Henry is trying to pull me to the ropes.​

I lean back down in the hold, trying to regain my ideal position. But as soon as I do, I get shifted again, as Henry inches that much closer to the ropes.​

I’ve gotta pull him back, get him in the middle of the ring and sit down on it. If I do, he might have to tap. I shift my position, taking my left leg out from under his head and attempt to walk back into the center of the ring.​

I stop cold after a half step. I can’t move him.​

In fact, he pulls me backwards, causing me to lose my balance, release the hold, and tumble forwards.​

I quickly roll onto my back and sit up to assess exactly what happened. Looking at John, I see he’s got the ropes; he’s draped his chest and arms over the bottom rope. But under him, by where the ropes are, are several small holes whose sizes looked to be a good match for John’s fingers.​

I take one look at those holes in the canvas, and I go into panic mode.​

This has to end now, and there’s only two words echoing in my mind.​

Knockout Blow.​

The sleeper suplex goes against everything I’ve built to in this match, but the only way I’m beating him now is if I knock him unconscious.​

Feeling the adrenaline and fear pump through my veins, I pick up Henry and lock him into a sleeper hold in the middle of the ring.​

But before I can take him over, he falls down to his rear end, snapping my head back with a jawbreaker.​

It takes me a second, but I finally clear the stars from my eyes.​

It’s right then I realize that I have no idea where John Henry went.​

I turn around, looking for my opponent.​

A bullet caves in my chest.​

The lights go out.​



Wha...? What’s going on?​


Counting. Someone’s counting. Is that the ref?​


It is. Can I move? Arms? Tingly, but here. Legs? Can wiggle my toes, so yeah, they’re good. I can move.​

Time to get up.​


As I roll to my stomach and plant my hands on the canvas, the only sound I hear besides the ref’s cadence is John wailing in pain. Did I do that? What the heck happened?​


Slowly, I bring myself up to my hands and knees. A quick glance reveals I’m in the middle of the ring...no ropes to help. Gonna have to do this on my own.​


I push myself up. It’s a slow process, and every muscle in my body is screaming in absolute pain, but I manage to force myself up to one knee.​


With one last push, I climb to my feet. I’m still unsteady, but by some miracle I manage to
keep my balance.​

”10! Ring the Bell!”

The bell rings. The fans reaction is curious...very reserved, polite cheers. I’m still way too out of it to understand what the heck just happened.​

The referee comes by and raises my hand to another polite cheer from the fans. Yellowcard’s playing. I must have won. But how?​

I turn to the ref and shoot him a questioning look. He points to the screen and then quickly joins a group of medics kneeling in the ring, attending to someone.​

Using the ropes for support, I turn and look at the big screen that’s hung over the entranceway. They’re showing the replay of the last minutes of the match.​

There’s the jawbreaker. That I remember. That spun me around, disoriented me.​

Looks like Henry got to his feet and crouched in a corner, waiting for me to turn around.
As I start to turn around, John charged, and...​

Oh my God.​

John hit me dead on with his Sledgehammer. That’s why I went out, no question. But they freeze the replay as he swings his double-ax handle right through my chest.​

One of the muscles in his back rolled up like a window shade.

It takes all my remaining strength to not throw up all over the ring. The injury is really gruesome in normal speed, but the slow motion replay is almost too much for even someone like me.​

Slowly, gingerly, I walk over to the group of medics surrounding The Steel Drivin’ Man. They’re not even paying attention to me as I walk over, but once the referee sees me, he begs with me to “leave him alone.”​

Competent referee, but he obviously doesn’t know me very well.​

I kneel down besides John on his right side. The medics are having a hell of a time stabilizing him long enough to strap him to a gurney. John is thrashing around in extreme pain.​

John is crying.​

At that moment, I do the only thing I can think of.​

I put my hand gently on his left shoulder.​

He stops thrashing and looks up at me.​

He’s scared. I can see it his eyes.​

I’ve seen that look before. Back when he started out in the World Wrestling Alliance. When I first signed him as the CEO of Carson City Wrestling, he had that same look in his eyes.​

Back then, I patted him on the shoulder and told him that things were going to be okay. That he’d have a chance to become one of the great ones in this business.​

I wish I could give him the same kind of encouragement here.​

There will be a time for celebration in the very near future. TEAM officials will soon come to the ring and present me with some symbol of my accomplishment.​

But right now, one of my colleagues needs my help.​

Right now, all I care about is John.​


League Member
Sep 4, 2004
[FONT=&quot]Lights, are those lights? Yeah they’re lights. They’re blurry... not good. Sweat... too much. How long has it been? Over 15 minutes? They need to put a clock display on that screen; they’ve got room for everything else don’t they? Make the timekeeper’s job a little f*cking important b*tches!<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Knees on the mat... elbows too. Yup, that ref’s counting, but the thumping on the crowd is making it really hard for me to hear where’s he at. Clear my senses for just one second, but I’ve got way too much going on? How long has it been? That crowd can’t get any louder. They want more, they’re hungry. They want both of us to get back up and get back at it.<o>

[FONT=&quot][/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Get back up? Both of us? Where is he?<o>

[FONT=&quot][/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Daymon, you sonofab*tch! Where are you? You saw me coming with that clothesline off the ropes, didn’t you? You took that Irish whip and used your last brain cell didn’t you? You got me exactly where I wanted you. Only now we both got us

[FONT=&quot][/FONT] [FONT=&quot]You’re down too aren’t you? The lights are blurry aren’t they? Wait, he can’t hear you. Are you even talking? Can you hear yourself out of your own mouth? That ref’s bringing his arms down. He yells... scream louder!<o></o>[/FONT]

[FONT=&quot][/FONT] [FONT=&quot]The second turnbuckle is easier to grab and then move on to the top turnbuckle. I’m crouching but I see him. He’s right there, just a little far-off in the corner. He’s getting up, on his right knee. I’m not going to bang my leg down on the mat repeatedly, that’s not how this one’s coming. But I know, and everyone else knows its coming. So I call for it. I scream for it. Get up and turn around; getting counted out is not going to help you anyway, so might as well take it like you should.<o>

[FONT=&quot][/FONT] [FONT=&quot]“EIGHT!” <o>

[FONT=&quot][/FONT] [FONT=&quot]He cant hear you. <o>

[FONT=&quot][/FONT] [FONT=&quot]“NINE!”<o>

[FONT=&quot][/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Good work. You’re on your feet. Now turn around. That’s it, turn and face me Rock. This is going to be your “brain rocker”! <o>

[FONT=&quot][/FONT] [FONT=&quot]SHOOT! <o>

[FONT=&quot][/FONT] [FONT=&quot]WHAT THE--!? HOW THE HELL ARE YOU THAT DAMN FAST!?! That Nero Kick would have taken your head off! That’s twice you got me! How the hell!? But that’s the least of my worries. He’s got one leg, really easy to pull and grab the other. Not good.

[FONT=&quot][/FONT] [FONT=&quot]SPINEBUSTER!<o>

[FONT=&quot][/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Damn those lights! The crowd is begging for it. I know that brain rocker is supposed to hurt, that’s why he calls it that. Then again, I’ve heard that before, on countless other moves. How many times have I gotten out of one of those? Not now you idiot! Don’t count those now, its time to make sure you don’t take this one.

[FONT=&quot][/FONT] [FONT=&quot]A few short seconds and I’m standing. Daymon brought me back up grabbing my head and I see that mat again. Here it comes, but wait... Irish whip. Sure, sugarcoat it as much as you want. This is how you want it don’t you? Make this moment last as long as you can. Your one and only chance to shut up this “clown for a champion”, isn’t that what you said Rock? There’s that kick to the gut and here comes the elevation. Brain Rocker gonna happen tonight![/FONT]

[FONT=&quot]Or not. <o>

[FONT=&quot]Maybe his fingers came to the point where they’re starting to get numb or somehow I manage to wriggle out of his grip. You had your chance Rock. Now turn around and face me! The Buzzcutter is a front face neckbreaker with deadly impact and accuracy! I’ve hit it a gazillion times before and other than the kick its been my best friend. Hey Rock, say hello to my other best friend. I’m sure you haven’t met. I’ve got him by the neck. You’re fast, but I’m fast too! This should be as fast as a snap, it always is. Daymon shoves me into the ropes. DAMN YOURE FAST! No Buzzcutter tonight, or just not yet. Bounce off the ropes, that kick to the gut is coming... wait, a fireman carry? What is he,... oh yeah, his other best friend. <o></o>[/FONT][FONT=&quot]<o></o>


[FONT=&quot][/FONT] [FONT=&quot]That hurt! What is it again? Fireman’s Carry to Scoop Cradle suplex. Okay you’re fast, you’re quick, and that move packed a real punch. You got me again. That’s three mistakes. Where the hell are you? Why are you on your knees? This isn’t time for you to breathe, just get it over with while you have the chance. Finally, a cover.

[FONT=&quot]Looks like you’re not that fast![/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]You had five seconds to cover me. You could be breathing sweet victory right now! Is that a look of disbelief on your face? Yeah I’ve done that to others before. This time, it wasn’t so much my fault as it was yours. Strike 2 for you Daymon, there’s nothing that referee is going to do to change that and arguing with him isn’t going to help. But by all means, take your time. I’ve got all night.<o>
[FONT=&quot]I pick up the last bit of speed and quickness I can get. He is fast, and clever. He knows there’s a limit to how long someone plays possum! I’m up fast, I’m in position. He sees it coming, he turns fast to, but his arms are getting tired. [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]NERO KICK!<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Strike Three! You’re out! Cover...<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]WHAT THE --?! How did he? Did I hit it right? Was I too fast to get up? Maybe I didn’t aim it right. Maybe my leg was sloppy. It’s been too long. They really need to put up a clock somewhere. <o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]I pick him up, that’s all I can do, but maybe I should have just waited. Waited for him to get counted out or to get up himself, because this time my leg would hit straight. Picked him up and there they are, the right hands to the gut. Should have seen it coming. I’m getting really tired. So are you Daymon, but you still have a little bit left. Even you’re wondering how long have we been in this, what other stuff we hit each other with, how much our heads must be hurting after we rammed them into the steps one by one. That vaulating body press out to the ring and onto you wasn’t very pretty wasn’t it? We really mopped the floor with each other didn’t we? What’s next?<o>

[FONT=&quot][/FONT] [FONT=&quot]He cant hear you.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Bounce off the ropes, I duck. You’ve still got three seconds before you bounce right back to me. Or is that what you wanted me to think? I turn around, you’re still there. You stopped mid-way. Daymon you sonofab*tch! Kick to the gut, you’re going for it again. Are your hands still numb? They are. My feet touch the mat again.

[FONT=&quot][/FONT] [FONT=&quot]Now?<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]A front-face neckbreaker! Done it a gazillion times before. No mistakes this time. Cover him...<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]You were fast...<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]You were good...

[FONT=&quot]But I’m better!<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]There goes the bell. Sweat still pouring. Where’s my title belt? There you are! Did you miss me???<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]I’m sitting right in the corner clutching onto the World Heavyweight Championship, when I realize that stuff I said about the champ and his championship, I was f*cking right! Hell yeah! Just like I said, no crystal ball sh*t, I just knew! The Great & Almighty World Heavyweight Champion, The Great & Almighty Nero! F*cking right!<o></o>[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Look at me Rocko Daymon, I’m right here. A little to the left, that’s it, here I am. You can’t hear me right?<o></o>[/FONT]


League Member
Jul 1, 2005
Long Island, NY
The match had been going on for what feels like hours now. They just wouldn’t quit and I could barely pick up my opponents from the ground let alone stand myself up without falling back into the ropes. Champions they were, champions they still are. One mistake cost them everything, that’s what I was thinking when they were underneath me as I pinned them to the mat for the three count. After the first guy had fallen, I was relieved one star was gone; that was until I realized how many more were still in the ring.

To run in and be the first to go is never good, but it shows just how much more the other guys trained for a match like this. I knew I trained, I trained long and hard. A match like this took much more of a toll on my body just in the workout towards it than any World title match I could have been in at that very moment. So those that entered had fallen, and federation after federation watched there champions and former champions drop there shoulder to the mat, or shut there eyes as the hand went down in submission.

Now I could continue to think about those that had fallen, but that just isn’t on my mind so much at this very moment. You see, when you’ve gotten yourself down to the final three opponents in the ring, and you are one of ‘em, it’s tough to think about anything else but, “my god, I’ve made it this far, just shut up and win!” So I sweat, and I breathe in deep. By lungs are about to explode after all the action in the ring. Of course I can feel my heart beat racing as I place my hand against my chest. It’s not because I wanted to, but those chops to the chest are killing me!

One chop takes me into the corner, by chest already red from several shots earlier. I’m surprised I haven’t been cut open from the chops, though the skin is starting to numb as I try to rub my hand across to feel nothing. The color really brings out the scar across my chest, it looks pretty cool. “No stop, I know you’re tired but you need to focus!” Every time I look up I see a blur, probably the sweat in my eyes, could be a minor concussion, I think I passed out for a second, but I’m standing. To my right I see the fans, I know where I am. I’ve passed out enough in that ring to wake up and know I must get right back into the match. It makes things easier when you’ve passed out and your opponent is kicking you down.

All right, I’m awake! I’m in the corner, I’m taking a step off, I’ve turned to see the fans and as I turn I see the figure coming at me, ****! The bottom of a boot nailing me in the face and I’m down! I didn’t even have a chance to see who it was as they take me down and go for the pin. I hear the hand hit the mat. There it goes again. Wait, that’s two! Gotta do something quick, think fast! Oh good… a rope break, the fans love when that happens at the last second, I can hear them cheering. I don’t hear anyone else, this has got to be the last guy. “It’s just you and me”.

There he goes, pulling me up by my hair. It’s a good thing I’m that big of a freak when it comes to hair pulling, otherwise this could really hurt a person. Tugging very tightly, I’ve always seemed to enjoy hair pulling. Girls like it to… ****! Keep your head in this match man it’s almost over! “I know you’re tired, but you’ve got to remember where you are!” My head shoots back, that flying fist nailed me hard, here comes the blood. If only it were easier for me to wear a mouthpiece in that ring. The taste isn’t so bad though. It’s pumpin’ me up! Through the blood taste, my arms and legs aching, chest numb, eyes blurry, a cold sweat dripping to the canvas, I can’t help but to strike back and nails my opponent across the face! The referee standing right beside us, watching the whole thing, my punch was legal though, nothing he can do.

That punch threw me forward too much, I’m trying to recover but my final opponent is just too quick with the second punch! I’ve got him… or her? There I go, falling back, swinging my hand and delivering my second punch! I finally have a chance to rub my eyes a bit and get a clear view of the color pink in the ring. I knew it, I know exactly who it is. What a way to end this thing, by standing face to face with the man who took my championship… Great and All Mighty he may be, but I bet he never expected to end up in this match with me inside the squared circle one on one again. “So how does it feel? Your Nero Kick didn’t work, I’m still here, now it’s my turn!”

Kick to the gut, my boot colliding with his mid section, what a beautiful sound. I think I sprained my ankle earlier though, it’s killing me. That’s just one of many weaknesses I just shouldn’t show. He has no idea, he doesn’t have to know. He will realize after it’s all over just how much I’ve been waiting for this moment to come. I grab his right arm, swing is behind me, raise his body off the mat and onto my shoulders. So much weight on that ankle now, but I’ve got to keep him up. Losing my balance, I’ve got to take him down, the crowd is on my side, they want to see it, they need to see it, they will see it! The commentators standing from the announcer table, yelling as I plant him down with the Disease! Nero isn’t moving, the crowd is on there feet, I’ve got myself on top of him for a pin.

The referee sliding down to his stomach right beside us, his hand goes down once, twice, my eyes are suddenly blocked by the right bicep of Nero’s arm as his shoulder comes off the mat! It was a shoulder up, breaking the count! The crowd is in awe, so what else is there to do? I’ve had enough, he has had enough, this match has got to end soon, we can’t take much more. Now standing, I pull Nero to his feet, trying to pick his weight up off the mat, again… bad ankle. Planting him against the ropes, I have a chance to whip him towards the other side! Here I go, pulling him forward, but ****! Something is wrong! I’m sent to the ropes at the other end, now realizing it has been reversed. I head back and Nero had he upperbody faced down waiting for me. I see him ready, I stop right in front of him and send by leg up high, kicking him in the face!!

Nero holds his nose, I see a tear fall and I know that hurt like hell. It’s all one big rush here, I’ve got him down, his head between by thighs. I grab one arm back, I pull the other back, I pull and raise him up! His body directly in front of my face, upside down and he entire life in my hands! I must let this count, don’t let him go yet, the fans want this to be perfect and so do I. The time feels right, I take him down and his face is planted to the mat with the Smash Attack! Please let it be over! The ref goes does again as I pull onto Nero’s leg. I need a doctor… When this thing is over I just don’t know what I am going to do! The hand goes down… I hear the bell! That’s the bell! I love that sound! It’s over and I couldn’t even hear the ref’s hands go down for the three count!

The crowd heard it though, they are going insane out there! The arena is so loud and I am so tired! The ref is underneath my left arm helping me up. I allow him to standing me back to me feet, but I don’t need him when I get up. Just needed the small push to my feet so I can celebrate with these people! It’s been done, the match is over! It has finally come to an end with so much time and effort put into it. For some reason the only thing I can think of at that very moment in all honesty is how hard my nipples are, cause I can’t feel my chest still.

“Dude, you just won!” This was the Tournament of Champions! This is a big deal! They may be hard, but they are proud, and I am very proud of them! The Tournament has ended, it’s over, here I stand inside that ring and I can’t wait to be checked my a doctor when I get backstage, but right now in this moment I love hearing the crowd, and I just wanna jump and scream with them. Damn I’m tired…


Just Like Law-Jesus
May 15, 2005
The wrong side of the bong slide.
One Last Grab at Interfederational Glory, Part III: Thunder Over Chicago

The steel rung of the ladder feels delightfully cool to my cheek. Even with the sweat running in thick rivulets down my face, it feels like a f*ckin’ million-and-two degrees here in the ring, inside a steel cage, surrounded by hordes of fans screaming themselves hoarse over who the next Tournament of Champions winner will be.

Will it be me, your friendly neighborhood Nova, slumped like a dead rat against this ladder that I should be climbing frantically in order to escape this steel mesh prison cell?


BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. The stomping of the crowd against the floorboards seems to rattle the entire foundation of the United Center – though it could just be my trembling – but even above the roar of the fans I hear thunderclaps shattering the night sky outside. The forecast called for rain, but damn, it sounds like the gods are having it out up there.

He’s on his knees. He’s almost to his feet. I try to ignore the lactic acid building in my muscles, screaming, demanding oxygen, and reach up, tired fingers gripping around a higher rung on the ladder. Gritting my teeth, I pull myself up a step, then another, then another.

He’s on his feet.

This is bad. For me.


Collective gasps and screams ring out in the arena as the crackle of lightning is heard, followed a loud explosion…

…followed by the arena lights blinking out into total darkness.

This is REALLY bad for me.

Okay. Okay. No reason to panic. Surely in utter and complete pitch-black, we’ll each take a moment to catch our breath and wait for the breakers to be flipped before continuing, right?


The general cacophony of fans screaming and milling around in the confusion overpowers the rest of my senses. A wave of something akin to vertigo washes over me because of my temporary blindness and lack of grounded footing, perched as I am on the upper portion of this ladder. My stomach turns as I feel the fingernails of panic clawing at the back of my brain.

Then the strangest thing happens. In the chaos of ringside, a tiny pink light blinks on, illuminating a small segment of the fans. Then another, in the upper tier seating on the opposite side of the arena. Then another. Then another. Soon a wide array of pink lights cast eerie, calming glows over most of the crowd, and in turn, the ring too is bathed in their light…


…and in this new, unexpected luminescence, the figure of Yori Yakamo Jr. is illuminated, perched on one of the corner turnbuckles, arms out with each of his hands curled into what appears to be “The Thriller”…but it’s still pretty dark and I can’t quite make it out. Yori pulls his arms in and bends his knees.

Apparently we aren’t waiting for the technical difficulties to be resolved.

Sucks to be me.

He springs off, managing to glide over my head, and for a moment I’m deliriously happy in thinking that he managed to overshoot and fall harmlessly to the mat behind me. Then I feel my head snap back and I’m falling, down, down, and then the air rushes out of my lungs as I slam back-first against the mat.

A Blockbuster. Dude hit me with a freaking BLOCKBUSTER. Who does that anymore? That’s not what’s hot in the streets right now…

Still, I’m momentarily immobilized, colors flashing in front of my eyes from the impact and my body shuddering as I try to breathe. I hear Yori climb off the mat beside me, and then a hand clamps down on my throat, yanking my head up. I stare up into the glowing eyes of the Excellence of Sexecution, his face appearing even more surreal to me in the cast pink glow of the random lights surrounding us in the darkness.

“You notice them,” he says to me, “those aren’t flashlights, friend. Those are the newest addition to the YORILOVE.COM ‘Firefly’ Summer Collection…the Illumi-Sensation Shaft-Lite Yorilove Dildo! And as you can see…they’re selling like hotcakes!”

He slams a knee into my crotch and I fight the urge to vomit. That makes twenty-two times this match. My nuts feel like cereal left in a bowl of milk too long…soggy and useless. His death grip on my neck hasn’t slackened. Suddenly I hear a murmur spreading throughout the crowd, gaining potency with each passing second.

“Yo-ri…Yo-ri…Yo-ri! Yo-ri! YO-RI…YO-RI…YO-RI!! YO-RI!! YO-RI!!

The chant reaches fever-pitch. No matter what the toughest son of a b*tch in the business tells you, it just sucks having your opponent’s name shouted at you by the fans. The pink glowing dildos bob up and down around the arena as the fans pump their fists for the sexual guru. Yori lifts me up, one hand under my shoulder and the other gripping my hair, and then drops to his knees, belting me in the shnoots again (twenty-three). I double over again, my balls approaching a hypothermic kind of numbness, and Yori scoops me up, inverting me before slamming me to the mat. He steps over me and moves towards the ladder.

I hear more thunder. It’s gotta really be coming down outside. I wonder if I left the windows…no! Keep your head in the game!

Come on now. I can get up. I GOTS to. Slowly, so as not to surprise JR, I roll over onto my stomach and crane my neck up to see him working his way up the steps. He ain’t exactly flying up there. We’ve taken each other to the limit already, almost everything in my playbook exhausted and if Yori had a playbook, I think he would agree. But here we are, and it isn’t over until one of our pairs of feet hit the mats on the outside of this cage, and the only way to do that is to make it up this ladder and through the hole at the top. I slowly bring my legs in so I’m resting on my knees…wait for it…wait for it…

…and as Yori takes another step, I spring up, lunging forward with my arms outstretched, and I cling to the bastard’s waist. He immediately mule-kicks backward, catching me in the berries (twenty-FOUR), but I can’t let go and give this flippity-floppity flyweight sonuvab*tch the chance to spring off the ladder with some inverted tsunami-rana 920 or whatever. I stay on, tightening my hold around his waist, and then with a deep breath, I lift with every muscle in my back.

I feel Yori’s feet leave the ladder, his arms flailing in surprise, and after taking two slow steps back, I arch my spine and push up onto my toes, spiking Yakamo head-first onto the canvas with a German suplex. He slumps over to the side and I hang on, dragging him back up and then hoisting him overhead with a grunt, hitting a second one. The fight in him is gone now, his body slackening, but it’s best to be sure, so I roll over onto my feet and lift him again, flinging him over my head with a third – and what my back tells me is the final – German.

Yori hits the mat and flops onto his stomach, unmoving. This is my cue. I climb to my feet and head over to the ladder. Godd*mn, I’m tired of climbing this thing, but maybe this is it. I begin my ascent, the ring still shrouded in darkness save for the pink lit-up dildos moving up and down in the crowd, accompanying the “YO-RI” chant that still hasn’t faded entirely.




I’m really getting there. I’m higher (on the ladder) than I’ve been yet in this match, and I can feel cooler air coming down through the hole in the cage. I keep moving, my body aching for even a second or two’s rest, but I need to end this thing with the precious time allowed to me by the suplexes. My hand grabs onto the metal pipe running the length of the three-by-three hole cut out of the roof of the cage. YES! So close I can taste the bubbly and superficial b*tches at the afterparty from here!

That’s when the lights come up, to an Earth-shattering pop from the crowd. They’ve flipped the breakers.

And under the full shine of the ring lights, I see Yori standing below me, his hands clutching both legs of the ladder, a grin spread wide across his face. With a yank, the ladder falls down on its side in the ring and I feel gravity reintroduce himself to me in a big way.

“Hi. My name’s Gravity. I enjoy Mandy Moore films…and f*cking you in the ass.”

Legs dangling, I hold onto the edge of the cage roof’s opening for dear life. I can’t really look down, but I hear Yori fold the ladder and heft it up, before…


I scream, hoarse and shrill, as bolts of pain stab out from my side to the rest of my body. He’s ramming me with the damn thing. What am I, a castle door?


“AAAGH!” He’s broken one of my ribs now, I’m pretty sure. Oh, God…I think I might fall.


Half-blind from the pain, I hang like a towel out to dry from the top of the cage. I can’t move. Any effort would result in me plummeting to the mat, and that would probably be the end. I’ve made it too far now. So I hang.

The ladder brushes my heel as Yori sets it back in the ring and begins to climb. I hear the tink, tink, tink of his boots against the rungs as he ascends. I hear his breathing as he gets closer, and I know that I can’t just stay here all night. Let’s see, if the ladder brushed my foot, it’s gotta be right behind me, so maaaaybe I could…oh, f*ck it…

With painful effort I swing my legs back and then forward, back and then forward…and then I swing them back as hard as I can and release from the cage, twisting in mid-air and landing against the ladder on the side opposite Yakamo. I feel myself slip for a moment, but I catch hold and stay on.

Well, that gamble paid off. The crowd cheers appreciatively, and I feel my tanks being scraped for adrenaline as a chill works its way up my spine. Now Yori and I are across from one another, with the opening to the cage above us. I spare him a look in the eyes, and I see my sentiments reflected.

Let’s take it up top. It’s time.

We climb to the second rung from the top and I move first, putting my left hand against his shoulder and peppering him with rights to the face. Grabbing hold of his hair I take another step up, and then another, still dazing him with a few punches as I drag him along. When we’re high enough, I land a couple of forearm shots, and then let go of him, springing off the ladder and rolling onto the roof of the cage.

I’m up. Thank Christ. Finally. I climb to my feet and step back from the opening, gesturing at him to follow.


It’s not eloquent. It’s not biting, or even that incendiary, but I’m tired, and all I need is something to rile me up, something to keep me on my feet for just a few more minutes.
Yori rolls onto the roof of the cage himself, and the fans go apesh*t. This is what they’ve waited for. This is the conclusion, it has to be. Yori must sense the urgency too, because he wastes no time in charging me. My eye follows his right leg, which looks like it’s coming up, but I detect the feint at the last minute, and as Yori swings for the fences with a clothesline, I duck under, coming up behind him and hooking him around the neck with my arm. I grab ahold of his tights and lift with everything I’ve got.

I lift for Round One, and making it past the flakes and paper champions who couldn’t take the proverbial heat.

I lift for Round Two, for clashing with foreign legends and having my name marked over theirs at the end of the night.

I lift for my last grab at interfederational glory…

…and I drop him down onto the roof of the cage head-first with the Bourbon for Breakfast, to a massive pop from the standing United Center crowd…

…and a massive pop from the cage as the links crumple and the six-by-six square of mesh sinks in two whole feet, leaving us both lying in a steel hammock that threatens to give completely any minute. Seriously? The f*cking cage is breaking?

I take a moment to breathe. This is the make or break moment, and if I mess it up, I’m taking a fall, maybe with Yori along for the ride, but it won’t matter because I won’t be getting up. I’m freakin’ SPENT. I need to end this; and ironically, in order to end this…

…I need Yori.

“Yori…Yori, man, listen to me,” I croak, desperation evident in my voice, “listen carefully. This roof is about to GO, man. Seriously. If either of us makes a wrong move, we’re both gonna eat mat.”


Hmmm. Maybe the Bourbon for Breakfast wasn’t such a hot idea. Dude’s pretty out of it.

“YORI, WAKE THE HELL UP,” I say, trying to nudge him with my shoulder without moving too much.

“Mmmmm…creole mustard…aphrodesiac…”

“Yori, Randalls is here and he’s giving out more drugs,” I hiss into his ear.

“SeXXXellent!” he cries, eyes bursting open instantly.

“I lied,” I reply quickly, to which Yori offers a sigh and slump of his shoulders, “but really man, you have to listen to me. We both need to roll off this part of the cage at the same time, or we’re headed canvas-side, dig? Let’s get off this f*cker and end this match…on three.”

The Cerebral Cocksassin sees the legitimacy of my argument and nods.


I hope this works.


It HAS to work.


I roll to the left, Yori to the right, and we both make it up onto another section of the cage roof.

Snap! Pop! PWANG~!

The indented portion of the cage snaps away from the rest of the roof and floats down to the ring, leaving a second gaping hole in our new arena of combat. We stand, facing each other over the chasm, and the fans roar for the spot that we never intended. Looking Yori in the face, I wonder where do we go from here…

…and then the idea hits both of us at the same time. Yori’s eyes wander over to the edge of the cage and mine follow them.

It’s so simple.

If we really want the match to end…if we really want to get off of this thing…well, there’s the edge right there.

My feet are the first to move, but Yori isn’t more than a step behind me. The fans mill in confusion, expecting some final gladiatorial combat and instead receiving their two Tournament of Champions finalists sprinting towards the edge of the cage.

I can’t think about it. I can’t hesitate. Everything depends on who gets there first. I reach the edge of the cage, and then I’m free…

…falling, plummeting as fast as I ever have. My eyes record images like snapshots…open mouths of the fans, awestruck…camera flashes…and the Spanish announce team, dropping headsets and fleeing for their lives.

¡CORRA! ¡El bastardo loco cae en nosotros!

Oh, F*CK. The Spanish announce TABLE!

I hit the table-top side-first, and it collapses in on itself instantaneously, folding to the floor as pieces scatter across the protective ringside mats.

I can’t move. That. F*cking. Hurt.

But I think it was enough. I think I fell first, I think I landed first, I think…


…I’m gonna scream. As soon as I get some air in my lungs.

In my delirium, my head lolls over and I see Yori on the floor, slumped against the barricade, out cold...and it dawns on me. To win the match, you had to be the first one to touch the floor outside.

I hit the announce table. Yori hit the mats.

With that, he finally wins. I have the ULTRATITLE, but Yori has the Tournament of Champions, and the big TEAM win that’s eluded me throughout my entire discourse with the company…the Dupree Cup…the Challenge Championship…the Championship of Champions…and the Tournament of Champions.

I said it was my last grab at interfederational glory, at TEAM glory, and I’ll walk away without my win.

But, as I lie in the ruins of a cheaply made (Thank God) announcing station, listening to men dressed in suits curse me in a foreign language and feeling every nick and scrape I’ve received this fine stormy evening in Chicago…

…I think I can be okay with that.

I am okay with that.


Active member
Jun 18, 2004
Re: One Last Grab at Interfederational Glory, Part III: Thunder Over Chicago

Nero's RP does not count, since he did not show for Round 2. That means Rocko Daymon is still available for use in someone's RP.


League Member
Jan 1, 2000
Kevin Nash Stole My Heart
Harley Douglas vs. Larry Tact


Alright, Harley, think. What can you do to knock this guy to the ground and have him not get up again?

Discus clothesline? Used it. Jumping knee? Used it. Backdrop driver? Brainbuster? The old, reliable Piston DDT? All used.

Damn it, Harley, think. He’s getting up…

Oh. I know.

Larry Tact, as Dr. D David Schultz once said to John Stossel… “That’s open-hand slap!”

Surprised he fell down from that, my pimp hand is stronger than I thought. Although to be fair, I think at this point in the match, both of us would fall over from a Fingerpoke of Doom. This match would already be over if Larry would just quit being an asshole and let me lift him up into the Crucifix Powerbomb position and drop him down with the High Ace.

Oh crap, Larry got up quicker than I thought… damn. That knee hurt, right to the stomach, I wonder if he has a name for that? Bowel Killer would be appropriate. Three consecutive Bowel Killers? A bit excessive, but hell, it works, I need to remember to use that knee to the abdomen.

Oh ****.

Not his Ura-nage. Have to get out of this somehow… I wonder what Professor Tremendous would do in a situation like this? Professor Tremendous, what a great name. I should get a nickname to match that. It definitely can’t be something lame like Sovereign of the Swerve, has to be something catchy like The Blueberry Bomber. Damn, I need to smoke/inject/drink whatever Kin Hiroshi’s doing.

What? Oh right, Ura-nage. Referee’s standing right in front of me so… Larry Jr. meet my knee. That’ll do it, I don’t care if you’re Larry Tact, a knee to the groin will do the trick all the time.

Tchyeah. You won’t be Humbling me, Larry Tact at least not in the next ten seconds. Humbling? What a terrible name for a finisher, and I certainly don’t want to be humbled by any man. I remember watching an Iron Sheik shoot, he said he was going to humble Brian Blair by “suplexing him, putting him in his camel clutch, breaking his back and then ****ing his ass”. I hope that’s not what Larry Tact planned on doing with his “Humbling”.

I wasn’t prepared for a match this long… how long has it been? If I ask the timekeeper, will he tell me how much times has passed? I’ve never heard of a wrestler asking the timekeeper how much time has passed, I don’t want to look stupid by being the first one. But wait, don’t they do that in Iron Man matches? Or wait, nevermind, they have the time up on the big screen in those kinds of matches.

Better put Tact in a headlock for now, give me time to think and rest. Boy am I tired. For some reason the fans don’t take a liking to my headlock. Maybe it’s because it’s the tenth I’ve done so far in this match, oh well, who cares? I’m in control of the match.

Aaaaannd… now I’m not. Apparently Larry Tact wants to give me a concussion or has ill will towards me because he just dropped me on my head with a Belly to Back Suplex. Oh god damn.

What a headache. Is this a concussion I’m having or what? I’ve never had my brain hurt so much. Felt like my brain hit the inner walls of my skull when Tact dropped me. I’ve never had a concussion before… and if this isn’t one, I don’t want to even think what it feels like to have one, let alone multiple ones… poor Bret Hart.

Take your damn hands off me, Tact!

And why the hell is he grinning to himself?

“Are you talking to yourself?”

What?!? Damn, first person narrative spilled into dialogue. I’ll never hear the end of it from the boys in the back. They’ll be all like “What kind of nutjob talks to himself?” and I’ll be like “I do *****es, the winner of the Tournament of Champions!” and they’ll shut their mouths, they’ll shut their mouths good.

Which is exactly why I have to kick out.

Have to kick out.

Have to kick out.

I live to fight another minute.

Tony Schiavone always talked about a Second Wind in professional wrestling. Well, where’s my Second Wind, Tony? I’m getting my ass kicked by Larry Tact, he’s giving me some hate-filled lefts and rights and I need my damn Second Wind.

Bah, what did Tony know? He’d probably call the Belly to Belly Larry just planted with me “a variation of the Sidewalk Slam”.

Maybe I should just lay down and not kick out this time.

Don’t kick out.

Don’t kick out.

Damn, I kicked out! So much for that plan.

What’s the deal with all these Inverted STFs and STFs? It seems like everyone is using them and… oh… I know now.

It ****ing hurts.

Note to self, use an Inverted STF… call it the Harley Lock, yeah… that’s original. Damn the crowd’s rowdy for this hold. They cheer this but they boo my headlock? Bunch of hypocrites. I put the headlock on someone like nobody’s business.


Damn it, if Larry pulls on my head any more he pulls it right off my neck.

To tap or not to tap.
To tap or not to tap.

Let’s see, let’s see. The ropes are a few feet away from me on all sides of the ring… ****. I’m stuck in the middle of the ring, with my head still pounding from Larry dropping me on my head earlier, my legs tied up like a pretzel and Larry’s going to rip my head off any second now, I’m sure of it. He’s an evil man filled with hate. Hate I say!


Get off me, god damn it!

My legs are numb.

Right about now, I wish Larry had kicked my ass even more, that way I would get to leave the arena on a stretcher, and that’d be gravy right about now. With my legs sore and my head still feeling like it’s getting crushed by… a very heavy thing, the last thing I want to do is have to walk back to the dressing room.

But before I leave… I have to do something.

“Hey Larry… you’re not going to tell anyone that I talk to myself, right?”

Damn… I don’t think he heard me. Or maybe he did, and just ignored me… I bet he ignored me.

What an asshole.


League Member
Jan 1, 2000
Amsterdam, NY
This is taking too damn long.

I had this thing won 15 freaking minutes ago. The entire arena saw it, Jess Chapel and the Iron Duke probably showed the entire world a half-dozen times on super-duper-mega-slo-mo replay, hell, even Kin Hiroshi knew it was over.

Everybody except the ******* referee.

So what if it was just a roll-up? Nobody said you had to win this tournament on style points. His shoulders were on that mat for three ****ing seconds, and that's all that matters. I should be having a press conference, verbally fellating my ego in front of the entire wrestling world right now, not stuck in this ring, drenched in the blood and sweat of myself and my opponent, hoping that this damn referee learns how to slap a mat three times in a row.

Put him away, Bryan!

Shut up, inner monologue! Crap, I'm talking to a voice in my head now. That hasn't happened since...

Stop reminiscing, you moron! You're in a ******* tournament final!

Stupid asshole voice. You never shut up, do you?

I'm you, idiot.

Good point. Y'know, it's a good thing Kin and I are both on the--


Nine? Who the hell just said nine?

The referee!!! You're in the middle of the freaking match, genius.

Touche. Maybe I should get up...


He's on me before I can pull myself to my feet. Apparently, while I was having deep, spiritual conversation with myself, this guy takes it upon himself to actually recuperate and try to finish the wrestling match.


His punches and kicks hurt, but that's no change. He's been blistering me with them for more than a half an hour now, and I think I'm reaching the point where the welts that are compounding on top of my other welts are beginning to shield me from the real force of the blows. Still, it doesn't exactly help.

Why couldn't the referee have made the right damn call?

Off the ropes I go again, like so many times before. But this time, I see it.

He wants the leg lariat. Here it comes...DUCK!

With my the last bit of strength in my legs, I manage to roll underneath the high kick. First time I'll ever admit this, but I'm glad that my inner voice has some pretty phenomenal Spidey Sense. He's turning around now, right into the...


Somehow, his jaw connected with my right knee. Or, was it the other way around? Sadly, no time to contemplate the answer. Apparently, there's some more work to be done, and my tired body isn't ready to give in yet.

He's staggering. I'm staggering. Right now, Kin and I are more like a couple of boozehounds at 2 a.m. down on Michigan Avenue than two world-class wrestlers duking it out for the TEAM Tournament of Champions crown inside a packed arena.

If I can just find my sea legs and get my brain to stop jiggling from side-to-side inside my skull, I think I can do this.


Before I can fully realize what's happened, I'm down, flat on my back. He's crawling towards me, and on the big screen, I can see what happened. Bastard caught me right in the jaw with a superkick. Cliched, but apparently quite effective. I feel around me, searching for any teeth that might've been knocked out.

Sadly, there's no time for that. Kin's draping and arm over me, and I don't think my body's listening to my brain right now. Maybe the jackass referee will screw up again.


Move, damn you, move! Kick out! DO SOMETHING!


A twitch? Did I just twitch? Don't think, just react...


Not this time, zebra-boy! At the last instant, my shoulder finally wakes up and with all my willpower, I've managed to raise it a fraction of an inch off the mat. That was close.

Of course, the barely conscious thing hasn't exactly changed yet. Gonna have to work on that.

Crap, here he comes again. At least he's pulling me up this time.

WAY up. I'm on his shoulders, looking up at the sky. This probably isn't good.

Wait. I've seen this.

Burning Hammer.

Well, now I know what it is. Oh no, that's not good news. My brain's in bad enough condition already. He gets me here, not only does he win this match, he puts me out a good six months.

Hey, what's that blue thing next to me?

The rope, moron.

Finally, you say something productive. He's ready to drop me. I've got to time this exactly right.

He falls...

I grab...

Did it work?

Well, you're standing on the apron, moron. I'd say it worked.

Hey! Stop insulting me. Oh, and good.

Not good. Here he comes again. Maybe those NFW guys were right, he actually might be a zombie. Well, with the beating my brain's taken tonight, at least he won't try and eat it.

More shots to the head. This just blows. I'm teetering now, about to fall. One more shot, and I'll be sent headfirst into that nasty-looking steel barricade.

Hiroshi's got the same thought. He's coming off the ropes, ready to knock my damn brains out. He'll just pick my apart from that point. No hope left, just hope that he ****s up.

Here he comes...

Thankfully, instinct is finally taking over. As he nears, I've already tensed myself for the next move. He ducks for the spear, and running on pure adrenaline, I drop down and slide underneath the ropes, back into the ring.

Kin's turning back towards me, and I've finally evened the playing field. He swings, I duck. One more, and I managed to roll out of the way, saving my skin again. It's cat and mouse, now. He attacks, I try my best to run away. So far, it's working.

It won't work for long. If I can't get on the offensive, I'm just going to run myself ragged until he won't have to hit me, he'll just have to cover me after I pass out.

Pass out? Why does that strike a chord?

Last July, dumbass.

That's right, the match that got me here. I was here, this exact same situation, left for dead until Chris McMillan made one mistake. He tried to cut of my air and choke the life out of me, and I was able to spring into action.

Now, I've just got to let Hiroshi make the same mistake.

Give up the choke.

Yeah, I'm going, I'm going, alright! He's still chasing me, I've got to set this up right. I'm near the ropes now, the exact spot where I can make this work. C'mon, Kin, you won't know what hit you.

Time to change the game. He charges, I flail my arm wildly, a huge gap for him to duck under a feeble clothesline.

Did he take the bait?

Can you breathe?

Not really.

Then he took the bait. Maybe, you should, you know, get going with the second part of your brilliant plan?

He took the huge opening I left, and he cinched in the rear naked choke. Everyone in the arena can tell that I'm a goner. I turn my head and see we're in perfect range for the turnbuckle. Time for phase two.

I stumble backwards with all my might, and somehow, I managed to make it work. Kin hits the turnbuckles with a massive thud, and I'm free. Now, I've just got to spring into action. He doubles over, and I've got my opening.

Fireman's carry, and away we go.

Red Tide Rising. Why the hell did I ever come up with this move? Makes me sick to my stomach every time I try it.

Well, it looks effective. He's out this time. Even the referee couldn't screw this one up.



No. The little ****er kicked out. I hit him with everything I've got, and he kicked out.

****, he really is a zombie. Well, I guess I'm screwed.

He's still wobbly, though, and I've got one last gasp left. If I can hit him at this exact moment, I might have a chance to put this resilient bastard away.

I duck down, and hoist him onto my shoulders again. Like we've all got deja vu, I put him through the wringer once more, with the violent impact that the Red Tide Rising delivers. Twisting and turning in midair, then a brutal SPIKE against the blood-covered canvas.

I've got barely enough energy to move, and I expend every ounce of it to crawl on top of the NFW World Champion. Maybe, just maybe, I've got him this time. The ref's hand goes towards the mat.



He kicked out. I can't believe this. You really can't kill this man. Maybe I should just give up.

Wait. Why is the bell ringing? The crowd's cheering, the referee is calling for the trophy, and Kin Hiroshi is passed out on his back in the center of the ring.

Did I just win? I couldn't have. He kicked out. I swore I felt his shoulder pop up off the mat. I can't deserve this. I don't deserve this. This match should still be going on, if not for the damn referee screwing it up again. This shouldn't be happening. Not for me, at least. I didn't put the man away. Kin Hiroshi's still got fight left in him, and I don't. I hit him with the last drop of what I had, and I know that he kicked out.

It was over, alright, but not in the manner that the entire world thinks it is.

The referee pulls me to my feet, and I turn to the big screen, looking for the incontrovertible evidence that'll show that I will forever be a tainted winner, a paper champion.

I'm looking for the reason they'll put the asterisk next to my name in the history books as they show the replay from a half-dozen angles at every speed imaginable.

And I don't see it. What I swear I saw happen, didn't really happen.

He kicked, alright, but somehow, my dead weight was enough to hold his shoulders down for that final millisecond before hand met canvas for the third time. Somehow, I did what even I didn't think I really had it in me to do.

All these people, and now, it was down to just me.

It was real. Even I didn't believe it, but it was real.

As my arm is raised, and my name announced, it finally sinks in. I've won the Tournament of Champions, and there's no controversy, no bull**** to wipe this one away from the pages of history.

It's too much for me now. The emotions of the whole situation are taking me over. The enormity of the damn thing is just too much. I do the thing I swore I wouldn't do.

I break down and cry.


Yeah, but this baby is leaving Chicago with the Tournament of Champions title in his back pocket.

Heck, maybe Dean Martin said it best.

"Ain't that a kick in the head?"


Jan 24, 2007
The Rookie vs. The Legend

The Rookie vs. The Legend

I could feel the blood in my mouth. Casually, I walk over to the ropes and spit the blood out onto the mat below before focusing back on my competition. In front of me stands a legend, a man that in this stage of the tournament I don’t even feel like I belong in the same ring with. Yet, I don’t have a choice at this point. Even if I was considered the underdog in this, I had to just suck it up and do what I do best. Fight. I walk over to my foe and slam my fist into his jaw. He backs into the corner from the shot and I take another shot at him. The adrenaline rushing through my blood has me thinking at a mile a minute. I quickly grab at his wrist and sling him across the ring. I watch as his back collides into the steel turnbuckles and grimace at the thought of it being me in his shoes. Then, I move myself into the opposite corner before I rush at him and go for a huge splash. Huge ****ing mistake.

My chest collides into the top turnbuckle and it feels like someone just put a bullet through my chest. Oddly enough, it had been a little over a month since someone had put a bullet through my abdomen so it felt appropriate. I fall to the ground grabbing at my chest, and hoping that the pain would end soon enough. My eyes dash around as I hear the fans equally split. I turn my head slightly to see my opponent starting to pull himself up. I looked over at the timekeeper and could clearly see how much time we had spent in the ring.

41 minutes.

I breathe as I think about how long I’ve been in the ring with this wily veteran. I know that at this point, I should consider myself rather lucky that I’m still alive, much less in the same ring with him. He begins to walk over to my and kneels down to pick up my lifeless corpse. As he does so though, he whispers something in my air.

“Maybe next time, rookie.”

The anger starts to boil inside of me as he picks me up. I try to find the strength to fight him off, hoping to God that I can pull out this win. He whips me into the ropes and puts me right back down with a dropkick to my chest. I’m pretty sure at this point my heart is broken as I fall to the canvas. Yet, I refuse to give up. I keep moving, giving him a reason to fear me. Then I think to myself, who the hell am I fooling? How can I put the fear into him? However, I could care less as I start to pull myself up, surprising even him. He rushes at me but I nail him with a clothesline; a clothesline that collides with his throat. The center of my forearm connects with the tattoo that is right in the center of his throat; one that everyone knows what it says without even thinking about it.


Tchu goes down hard and I can hear the crowd even react to that shot. The match had gone back and forth, with each of us getting some of the momentum. The crowd had been split right down the middle on us when we stepped into that ring. I had earned my fair share of fans, but it shocked even me when I heard Tchu not getting some of the cheers as well. He was a god damn legend and yet there were those who chose me over him. It meant something to me as I walk over to him and pull him back up to the mat. I have no idea how much longer I can last though. I push him into a nearby corner and slam my shoulder into his ribs. His sweat drips onto my body as I hear every ounce of his breath leave his lungs. He stands there exhausted and I know I’m far beyond that point as well.

The fans in the arena are chanting I finally realize. They’re yelling out my name. I look around before I grab Tchu’s wrist and pull him out slightly from the corner before lifting him up onto my shoulders. I carry him around for a few seconds before falling backwards and nailing him with a Samoan Drop. I lay there next to him, wishing that I could drape my arm across his chest. However, that would be easier said than done at this point. The fans are cheering me on and are praying that I can drape the arm across his chest. I turn my head and see the referee who looks at us both, wondering if any of us are alive at this point. Using much more energy than it should be I’m able to drape my arm across his chest. The referee slides into position and begins to count. Yet, I can barely hear him, the thumping in my head nearly drowning him out.

Seconds pass by. I don’t hear a bell ring. I look up at the referee who says that it’s only a two count. I sigh. It would appear that Tchu was able to get his opposite shoulder up. If I had more energy, I could’ve put more of my weight across his shoulders, but I just didn’t have it in me. I roll off of him and start arguing with myself on something as simple as getting up off the mat. Part of me just wants to give it up at this point. I have nothing left in the tank, and quite frankly I don’t have anything to lose at this point. If I lose to him, I lose nothing. But, that would be the easy way out. I was never the kind of person to go down the easy route. As I slowly pull myself up, I glance back at Tchu who is finally showing signs of life. I then look out into the crowd and in the front row is Katie. She looks on with a mixed look on her face. She’s partially happy to see me still in this match, but at the same time she can see that it is killing me to go on. Before the match, she told me that it was her first time ever watching a wrestling match. Part of me was proud for me to be her first.

As I turn back towards my opponent, I see that he’s further up then I realize. I walk over to him, but catch an elbow to my stomach for the efforts. He then unleashes a punch to my jaw that drops me to one knee. The collision is so strong that I see nothing. Just black. I can feel him grab at me and then I feel my head slam into the ground. With the placement of his arm, I can tell he hit a bulldog on me. I try to open my eyes, but it’s much easier to just keep my eyes closed. He turns me over and I can feel him lock my leg. I think this is it as I hear the pounding on the mat right next to my ear. Then, I hear it again. In the back of my mind, I can tell that the fans are standing there, hands over their mouths. Then, I think about Frank, the man who taught me how to wrestle. I had to prove it to him that I could be the best. It was a promise I had made so long ago, but that still remained fresh in my head.

The fans explode into a frenzy. Then, I hear the referee yell out. At first, I can’t understand him, but then it makes sense to me. He said two. The match was going to continue on. As I finally open my eyes, I catch the surprised look on Tchu’s face. He thought it was over. Apparently, my arms decided otherwise. He grabs at the back of my head and I can hear him muttering to himself.

“Damnit. Come on man, I can’t do this all day.”

That’s when it finally made sense to me. I was the rookie when I was compared to him. I knew that but never before did I realize that fully. I knew I was far from a rookie. I had been competing in this sport for seventeen years and had wrestled thousands of matches in that time. Yet, in terms of accomplishments, Tchu was the master. He was the king of PRIME. He had dominated federation after federation. On the other hand, I was Dusk, the guy with a bright future. I had finally decided to make my climb to the top, but this was a different world then I had imagined it to be. The fight never ended.


He pulls me up off the ground and catches me in the mouth with a forearm. Once again, I can feel the blood in my mouth. I try to find the energy to spit it out, but just admit to myself that it’s useless. He slams his forearm into my face once again before he whips me into the ropes. I can feel the tight ropes against my back and as I look up at him, I see that I have to make a quick decision. His arm is out for a clothesline. I act out of instinct. I duck it. I bounce off the next set of ropes and nail him with a flying crossbody. The fans simply explode. They had been treated to one hell of a match and they could see that it wasn’t quite over yet. I smile. Why? Because I can feel the adrenaline. The fans in the arena were stomping their feet, cheering me on, and I knew I could do it.

Next to me, I can feel Tchu slowly pull himself up off the mat. I know that he’s thinking that the move took more out of me then it took out of him. Yet, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Out of nowhere, I kip up and can feel the adrenaline rushing through my veins as the fans explode into a frenzy. Tchu looks on, in shock, as I nail him with a fist to the jaw. He stumbles backwards and I intend to give pursuit as I nail him with another shot to the jaw. The fans are going crazy as I whip him into the ropes and nail him with a flying back elbow. I can feel it inside of me as I walk over to him and rip him off the canvas. I wrap my head around his head and turn him around before nailing him with the reverse DDT! The fans are very clear in their chants now. Before, only half of the arena had been behind me. Now, everyone is behind me.

I get back off the mat and walk to the closest corner and turn my red eyes on my opponent. This could be it, I think to myself. My foot is itching, ready to strike. Slowly, he pulls himself up and I know I’ve got him in my sights. He turns towards me, unaware of where I am. Before this match, we had never stepped into the ring. We didn’t know what the other was capable of. Now, we knew. Now, he would know. I strike forward and shoot my leg up. I can’t even look at him as I connect. I throw all of my weight into it, knowing this might be my final chance to connect with this move or any other move. I can hear the sickening thud of his jaw closing shut and colliding with his other teeth. I’ve done it. I nailed the move. The superkick.

Lights Out.

I look over and see him knocked out on the canvas. The roar in the crowd is deafening as I drop to my knees and go to the cover. I can feel the championship in my hands as the referee starts to pound on the mat. He pounds on it again. Then, I fear the final one. His fist hits the mat for the third time and I know it’s over. I’ve defeated a legend. I look over at the referee who is already up on his feet, signaling for the ringing of the bell. As I look over though, I see something that sickens me. Tchu’s right foot is on the bottom rope. I look up at the ropes and think about telling the referee. Part of me tells me not to tell him, but this isn’t how I want to win. I get up and walk over to him, he looks at me and tries to raise my hand, but I shake my head. I point over to Tchu and he realizes that he missed it. He looks at me and then walks over to the timekeeper. I know in the back of my head that I could’ve been over with this match. I could’ve won it and been crowned a champion.

Yet, there is something about champions. It’s called honor. It’s something that they respect and it was something that I had to respect in this moment, this moment that I stood in the ring with a legend and a champion himself. I hear the bell signaling again and know the match is back underway. Tchu is pulling himself up and looks at me with a confused look on his face. He can’t believe that I called the match back on after the referee missed his foot on the bottom rope. I just shake my head as he pulls himself back up. I want to win this match and I want to do it the right way. I strike. He ducks. I turn around and he plants his boot into my midsection. With one fluid motion, I can feel him putting me up on his shoulders. I try to react in time, but know it’s too late. Within mere seconds my body is contorted as I land onto the ground in a world of hurt.

Inhuman Treatment.

I lay there, cursing myself for restarting this match. Then, before I can even move, I can feel his weight on my shoulders. He hooks my legs. I try to fight it, but I can’t. I hear the fist pounding on the mat once. I continue to try and fight, but still I can’t. I don’t have it in me. I then hear the fist pound on the mat for a second time. Once again, I try and do everything in my power to kick out. It is then that I realize that tonight is not my night. Finally, I hear the final pound on the mat. It’s all over. The bell rings and the fans once again cheer on Tchu. They cheer the legend.

I lay there looking up at the lights and know that I’ve failed. I fight back the tears as I think about Frank. Once again, I’ve let him down. As they announce Tchu as the winner, I start to get up knowing that it’s time for me to leave the ring. As I walk to the ropes, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around and see Tchu standing there. I wonder to myself if he wants to keep fighting me even though I won. Yet, he sticks out his hand and I look at it for a second. The thought of losing hurts, but this guy is a legend. How do you beat a legend? You don’t. I stick out my hand and we shake hands. He then lifts my hand in the air as I point at him. He had won a match and yet wanted me to share in his victory. I look at him and we embrace. We knew we had fought one hell of a battle. I look at the timekeeper and see that it says 52 minutes. I nearly die at the look at that. So close, yet so far. Tchu then looks at me and whispers in my ear once again.

“Next time, maybe next time.”

I nod my head before I exit the ring. As I walk up the ramp, I can only think of one thing.

Maybe next time.



Official Unofficial FW Party Pimp
Jan 1, 2000
Drury Lane.
There I lay,
On my back.
I tell myself,
"Get back on track."

One foot first,
Then the other,
I pray to God
Windham didn't cover.

But he's up,
And charging quick.
His boot rises,
I cover my d**k.

My face was
The mark he chose.
My body falls,
Head blow my toes.

The ropes give,
I spring right up,
I lunge with
The hand used for a cup.

Windham reels,
His eyes widen.
Hiroshi's back from the depths
Just like Poseidon!

Right then left,
I go to work,
But Windham's fast
His head gives a jerk.

He dodge my punch!
That dirty slut!
My back's to him,
He kicked my butt.

The momentum carries
Me towards a corner
Troy's on my heels,
But I slingshot over.

He wants to win
I know he'll try,
But I'm Hiroshi-san!
I cannot die!

So now we're back,
Face to face,
I chop his chest
To put him into place.

He's backed on up
Against the rope,
Maybe a metaphor
But he's still got hope.

I whip him hard
Across the ring
But as I lariat,
The bell goes ding.

Windham's down
Writhing on the floor.
Even though time is up,
They'll add five more!

I know I have
To work him fast
For thirty minutes
HE'S been kicking MY ass!

So I pull him up
His neck looks bruised,
So I chop at that,
Now TROY will lose!

Call me Achilles
Can Troy's been burned.
This time the veteran
Is getting learned.

A forearm smash
Across his nose,
And blood spurts out
Every time it blows.

"Kin Can't Die"
I read the sign.
I show it to Windham.
This match is mine.

I hook him in
It's time he flew
A butterfly suplex?
Windham is threw!

But he kicks out.
I only got two?!?
Troy's got some fight
And the crowd boos.

"But I'm the good guy!"
I yell out.
The crowd doesn't care,
I start to pout.

I should have, at least
Paid attention
Cause Windham is up
Heading in my direction!

I'm up from my
Knees in a flash.
A thumb to the eyes?
Ouch, that's a deep gash.

He sprays me with
Blood from the cut,
But it won't stop me now
As I knee his fat gut.

He doubles over
I wrap up his head
A spike DDT!
Windham has to be dead!

He's not like me
I'm immortal forever
But he kicks out again!
Never say never...

One more time
Another two count?
Maybe to this legend,
I just don't amount.

I pick him up,
Then run the rope
But my charge is stopped
I sure played the dope.

A short arm clothesline,
And we're both down
At this point, we'll perish
Before winning the Tee-Oh-Cee crown!

Windham's up first
Like I was before
I can tell in his eyes,
He'll make me his whore.

A sloppy powerbomb
Dumps me on my neck
Another like that
And I'll be wrecked.

I think of the past,
Where I've been long ago
As Windham lines me up
And time moves real slow.

But like the Matrix
I duck and he misses
I don't think he knows
My feet can send kisses.

I spin and I pivot
My leg finds it's mark
Like a lion to prey
Or blood to a shark.

I start to Hulk up
My muscles are screaming
Windham is on one knee
My legs are steaming.

A running knee
To his jaw
His face is starts
To look raw.

"Thirty seconds."
In my ears the words echo,
Windham better have insurance
From that stupid ass Gecko.

'Cause times almost out,
And the match needs to end.
Plus he needs to heal,
It'll take time to mend.

So I lift Windham up.
He's on my shoulders.
My legs almost give out
He feels like a boulder.

I thank God as I lean
The fans look like this: :eek:
I may upset Windham.
The crowd will be pissed!

He's the heavy favorite
He should really win.
So I flip off the crowd,
And smile during the pin.

A Burning Hammer
Wins the tourney,
And streamers shoot down,
As EMT's bring the gurney.

I collect my belts,
And shake Windham's hand.
After all I'm not only the winner,
But I'm the f**kin' Muffin Man.


League Member
Jun 7, 2007
Re: [ToC] Round 3 Thread-Ashley Scott

35 Minutes. 35 long grueling minutes and this match is still going on. Jesus Christ. This match should be over by now. At least the fans are getting their monies worth. Ashley Scott and Rocko Daymon in the finals. Who would have thought it. Most females get ripped on in this industry but here we are, Scott’s personal playground.
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Come on you son on a *****, do something! Jesus, there he goes again heading to the outside. God this is getting annoying. Take your asswhuppen like a man! Guess I got to follow him. Which way, I know…
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Ashley rolls across the ring and crouches down low so Rocko can’t see her.
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Come on, come on….got ya!
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Rocko with his back turned trying to find Ashley. Ashley delivers a dropkick sending him over the guardrail!
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That was good. Man this audience is hot for me. Lets see what can I grab. That looks good.
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Ashley goes to grab a telephone cord and drapes it around Rocko’s neck and sinks low hanging him over the guardrail as the referee gives the count….1…….2…….3……4….
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Screw the ref. It’s the Ashley show, oh hell, he’s not coming out here to break this up. What a lazy bastard.
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Ashley rolls back in and gets admonished by the ref.
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“Whatever jackoff. Your just pissed I won’t give you the time of day!”
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Ashley struts around the ring never taking her cold blue eyes off of Rocko. Perhaps he isn’t as good as I thought he was. Time for a high spot! Ashley climbs to the top turnbuckle and fires a snot rocket at Rocko. Arms perched up she leaps for a diving headbutt….
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****!!! Bastard rolled. This is going hurt a lot! Yup it did!
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Ashley’s head smashes against the guardrail splitting her wide open.
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Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! What the hell was I thinking! Where am I. Who am I. Who are you? Hey, hey, HEY!
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Punches to the face of Ashley as the crowd goes wild.
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Hey, why is he hitting me? What the hell! What did I do?
Irish whip by Rocko sends Ashley to the ring as her back crashes against the apron.
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Damn that hurt. This guy is pissing me off and why am I bleeding. You son of a *****! You did this!
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Ashley with a hard chop staggers Rocko.
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Who are these people! Why are they cheering!
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Rocko charges again as Ashley drops down with a backdrop.
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Ok buddy, you wanna play? Lets play!
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Ashley stomps on Rocko’s turnbuckle as he screams in pain!
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Blatant low blow by Ashley! Oh, one more for good measure.
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Asshole! Now why is the ref giving me crap. Hey…wait a minute….am I wrestling? Jesus! Come on Ashley clear your head!
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Ashley looks around feeling her face, seeing the blood, the fans, the referee.
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Ugh! I am! Ok, I’m bleeding, probably got knocked stupid and if I don’t finish this guy quick whoever he is, I’m in trouble. Ok. No partner over their so its singles. Got ya. Come on Ash, lets go!
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Ashley rolls in the ring and rolls back out and fires a series of kicks and chops before tossing him back to the ring.
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o></o>
Jesus dude, lose a few pounds. Ever hear of Jenny Craig?
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o></o>
Ashley goes around the ring and enters motioning for him to get up. Alittle more, alittle more, bingo.
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o></o>
Ashley bounces off the ropes and spears Rocko at the side of the knee collapsing him like an accordion. Rocko screams out as a sickening thud and crack is heard.
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o></o>
Oops. I think I did that too hard. Oh well. **** him! Yeah, I did, the knee isn’t suppose to be bent like that. Kinda looks like Sid Vicious right now. I guess I could end it quick or make him suffer alittle more. Hell I’m bleeding! You suffer!
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o></o>
Ashley with a vicious stomp on the hyperextended knee as Rocko wails out again. The referee goes to check on him but Ashley pushes him aside.
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o></o>
“The only way this match stops is if he taps!! You understand Ref!”
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o></o>
“Then finish him off quick before I call it!”
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o></o>
Ashley parades around the ring poising in a crucifix position before applying the Indian Death Lock on Rocko!
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o></o>
Rocko screams and starts tapping out as Ashley yanks at the knee further twisting it. The referee calls for the bell but Ashley doesn’t release until the referee starts moving her leg off of his.
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o></o>
“You won alright! Let him go before I reverse the decision.”
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o></o>
Ashley simply smiles as she fully releases the hold and grabs the title from the ref and holds it high over her head!
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o></o>
Your winner and 2007 TEAM Champion! Ashley Scott!!!
<!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--> <!--[endif]--><o></o>
[FONT=&quot]Damn right I am! Now where is Rocko! I’m not done with you yet![/FONT]


Jan 10, 2004
New York
Last gasp.

I wasn't sure how this would all turn out. When the time finally arrived, and I stepped into the ring for my first match of the night, against a completely new opponent, I couldn't say for sure that I'd even make it through that match.

But I did. And then another.

And things kept building up.

Momentum. Confidence. Understanding. The time and effort I had put into training and studying my weaknesses, and embracing what I had reawakened on this latest run through the circuit... it was all coming together. After all's been said and done this night, I may walk out with the sweetest victory of the night.

Of course, that isn't a complete surprise, with all I have put into my preparation. But I needed to get this far to really come to grips with the fact it's happening. And now, I must see it through to the end.


But I can't look ahead like that. Especially when every chop and every blow, right now, feels like a hammer trying to crack open my body. Keeping on my feet is even a chore, just from being chopped!

Damn, I have to keep from falling. The ropes will have to do.... yeah, leaning against them at least keeps me from feeling the full throbbing in my calves. This is bad, especially because my opponent is someone I find even more surprising to be here than myself. Ashley Scott. She's shown more than I believed she had, and not because she's a woman. She's been smarter than I anticipated. Conserved her strength, made quick decisions and strikes... taken risks at the right times.

She charges and I know to duck... I also know she's been pretty intuitive.

Gotta turn fast then... sh**!


Not fast enough... damn it, I said I didn't want to end up on the mat. She isn't covering, though... crap, springboard splash, gotta... hnngh....



Barely made it. Got knicked on the side.... and my chest is bleeding from all the damage of the night. Gotta steady my breathing. Gotta keep it together. Just a little longer. Play to my strengths... wait for the spot.

She's gotta be gassed, too. I've forced her to make the moves in this match, and blow off more energy. It's allowed me to stay in this for the thirty minutes it's already been, and level out our staminas too, I bet. She's hurting, yeah... gotta move in....

Stomp. Stomp. Crap, she's got my leg, how? Roll down!

Roll her up!



Damn. Couldn't hold her. My hands are glazed over in perspiration, and now blood from my chest. Can't keep a decent hold on her in that type of pinning position.

Gotta keep it simple. Score on my signature, get her down and out. Just need three seconds.

Okay. She's up against the ropes, charge in! Now, knee... no, she was bluffing!

Crap, can't go over the ropes!


Saved. Held..... on...... damn, my grip! Okay, drop to the apron. Good. Nngh! Gah, she hit my ribs... that hurts like a b***ch. She's making a mistake, backing away. Now I can slide into the ring while she's in the corner.... holycrap!


Damn, a springboard flipping splash that fast. She's fast. Just dodged it in time. She hadn't softened me up enough, thankfully. And she's trying to hit me with more high impact moves more often, now. She's worn out, probably. Trying to finish it quick. I've got to end this. Not much better chance than now.

Haul my *** up... wait for her.... she's rising.... charge... NOW!

Excellent! Hit her right in the abdomen, where she just belly-flopped the canvas. She's doubly hurting, now.... just gotta get her up.... wait, no.... not yet. This is the last chance I might get to finish her. Gotta make it count.

Climb..... the.... turnbuckle....

Damn, my legs feel like they're chained to weights... I guess that's the trick of this tournament.... endurance... what a b***ch of a concept.

But what a challenge!

Okay, good thing she's still down. It's a rare thing for me to go off the top, but I've still got a few aces from up top, like...





I hit her.


My body feels like it just hit concrete. I don't know if I can will myself to get back up.


But... I hit her. Drove the elbow right into her abdomen.

Don't need to get up. Just..... gotta....


Hook the leg. Put as much pressure on the stomach and shoulders. Make kicking out as hard a thing as she'll ever be attempting. Pressure her.

Hold on.

Hold on.

Hold on.



Is it..?



Jan 1, 2000
Everywhere hurt. Tomorrow, Caitlyn and I would likely be counting every one of the bruises as though we were keeping a record of it. My mouth was laced with the warm, salty residue of my own blood. It’s a taste I’ve grown familiar with over the years… and every time it hits my tongue, it feels like fire.

In spite of the agony, I’m smiling. In spite of the fact that JP Severs was trying like hell to rip my arm from the socket, I’ve got a ****-eating grin on my face. I really couldn’t tell you why. Maybe it’s because I’m a tad masochistic. Maybe I’m impressed. Or maybe after spending a good 90% of my life in airports, hotel rooms, and doing promotional work, this is the only time when Rocko Daymon feels ALIVE.

The audience was deafening around me. I could hear many of them cheering my opponent’s name. Such an odd name, Jhonen… like the guy who wrote the comics with the guy who had the knives and killed people. Hardly my concern at the time.

The referee was so close I coul smell the pastrami from his lunch on his breath. His eyes were so fixated on my hands… I wonder how f*cked up I looked for the ref to sit there and wait for me to tap, as though BEGGING to spare himself watching this any longer. But I figure, don’t take the money if you don’t want the job.

The rope was a couple feet away, and I reached out for dear life. I could feel myself being stretched into an agonizing angle, and Severs only clinched the hold in tighter to show me he wasn’t screwing around. My hand, covered in sweat and my own blood, clung to the mat as I dragged myself inch by excruciating inch. I could hear the audience picking up in volume as I was doing the absolute impossible.

But in fact, this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary to me. Sure, the pain was unimaginable, and I would be paying for it for weeks to come… but I do this thing on a weekly basis. This is habit for me. Maybe that’s why I was smiling.

Only a few inches away from the bottom rope, and Severs hit his panic point. I felt his body tense, and that was the opportunity I needed to squirm myself out of his hands an extra couple inches, and my right hand grabbed onto that bottom rope as though I were hanging from the rail of a helicopter flying a hundred feet above the ground.

Severs began barking something back at the ref that I couldn’t make out. It wasn’t important anyhow, as a few seconds later he let go and left me there giggling uncontrollably on the ropes. I could tell he was getting frustrated. I could sense his blood running thin, and I knew that this was the time for me to act.

…but for the life of me, I just couldn’t f*cking move.

JP Severs didn’t need a second more to take advantage of my lifelessness. I could feel myself being scooped from the mat and lifted into the air. The cheering grew into a wave, and suddenly I was falling…

…but I don’t connect. I kept falling, and suddenly everything was merely a haze. The crowd had become a muted din in the background as smoke filled my vision. This was something different. Probably hit my head, I figured. I began to wonder if it was bad.

Is it really worth it…?

Even though the voice seemed to be coming from within, it was something I recognized instantly. As soon as I penned it down, the image of my father formed from the haze.

Now I know it’s bad.

To put your life on the line like this, boy?

For just fifteen minutes of fame?

Isn’t that what you called it? Something that people will inevitably forget?

If it doesn’t last forever, then what’s the point of doing it, boy?

Is it really worth it?

I hadn’t seen him since I attended his wake some four years ago, seeing him lying limp and cold in a box. I always hated wakes… seeing lifeless remains made up and set out on display. I remember telling my wife Caitlyn that I wanted to be cremated and spread over Mt. Rainier. That’s neither here nor there. Somewhere in the back of my head, I keep reminding myself that I was in a wrestling match not more than fifteen seconds ago.

So what the f*ck is going on?

What is a champion these days? Isn’t that what you asked?

Is it anything in the grand scheme of life?

So what does that make a champion of champions?

Do you think going for the win is going to change anybody’s mind?

Do you think you have something to prove?

Will anybody notice?

I ask you again, my boy…

Is it really worth it?

Something about his tone really pissed me off, even though I was completely aware that he was nothing more than a figment of my internal subconscious. Certainly, this wasn’t my old man… but a facet of myself, reflecting these doubts and questions back at me.

I realized right then that I had plenty of problems on my plate… JP Severs being the biggest… and I wasn’t about to let myself stand in my own way.

“Let me tell you why it really matters.” It wasn’t really spoken, but I felt it projected forward.

“Every man here came as a champion. JP Severs included.”

“Every man here came to be the Champion of Champions. JP Severs included.”

“But from the onset, I came here under no such title. I came here as Rocko Daymon. I came here to be a true professional wrestler.”

“And by winning this match, I don’t intend to simply be the Champion of Champions. I intend to be the MAN that wakes up every day and looks at this sport as his life, his passion. I intend to be the very thing that keeps the Business alive and kicking for years to come.”

“I intend to show these fans what a TRUE professional wrestler is!”

“He supersedes champions, and champions of champions. He isn’t defined as the best for holding onto a strap at a certain time and place. He’s the best because every time he goes into that ring, he gets the job done, and sends those paying fans home with a feeling of satisfaction! He inspires them to LIVE and THRIVE!”

“And I sure as hell didn’t work this hard to just lay belly-up and die…”

What happened next is something I can only liken to tripping on shrooms, which I’m not too proud to have done a time or two in my life, back when H was my lover and wrestling was the last thing on my mind. The image of my father seemed to glow with heavenly light. Somewhere far off, I could hear the crowd. And something else.

Something instant and booming. Something that seemed to shake me, wherever I was.

The count! Dammnit…

My eyes focused, and the light became nearly blinding as it transitioned to the image of the arena lights high above. The crowd was getting louder now, and I could hear them chanting a different name…

It was my own.

A second boom hit, and I knew it was now or never. Gravity overcame me again, and my every nerve seemed to spasm and convulse. But this was hardly the time to tense up and go into a seizure. With everything I had, I reached out, with mind and with body…

And somehow, that ******* shoulder of mine, which, years ago, I watched a power drill enter in a wrestling stunt gone wrong, lifted itself off the mat.

The smile crossed me face again as JP Severs threw himself off of me, grabbing frantically at his hair in utter disbelief. He couldn’t put me down, no matter what he dished out at me. I was still alive and kicking, and he couldn’t believe it.

…although I gotta say, he gave me a scare for a moment.

Severs had his tantrum and went to work again, as they always did. My body felt limp as he steadied me back onto my feet, pressed me against the ropes, and whipped me across the ring—

One thing I will remember till the day I die is the utter look of horror in his eye the moment my hand, struck with some inner lightning, tensed and took ahold of his own. With every muscle shrugging off pain and coming back to life with a self-sustained force I will never be able to describe, I pulled against him and brought him straight into a front face-lock.

I put myself close to his ear and whispered just loud enough for him to hear me over the crowd chanting my name behind me.

“Listen to me well, amigo…”

He was powerless as I hooked both arms.

“You got into this tournament by being a champion. You made it to the finals by being a damn good professional wrestler.”

“But this is where the road ends for you, my friend.”

With all force, I drove myself back. His head the mat with a sickening thud, and he rolled free of my grip, flailing into a heap on the mat. Chest heaving, I rolled onto my knees and grabbed a handful of his greasy hair.

“I came into this tournament not as the champion I was known as… but as Rocko Daymon. And I’ll be damned if you don’t walk away from this ordeal without remembering that name for the rest of your Walken-fearing life…”

Slowly, I brought him up and left him reeling on his own two feet. He looked absolutely ridiculous, standing there with his mouth hanging open and eyes fluttering. Wasn’t this the same guy that said he’d overcome my fists with his intelligence?

My right knuckle buried itself into the center of his face. That’s a life-changing conversation, if there ever was one.

“Tonight, you fought well. You fought like the champion everybody recognized you to be. But it’s your own self-recognition as a champion that will prove to be your downfall tonight.”

A left hook follows it up, knocking a trail of saliva from his mouth. I could have easily broken his jaw with the blow, but at this point I could care less. When he’s up against the ropes, there’s no letting up.

“Tonight, you fought like a champion… but you fell to the one who came into this ring the better man.”

I spun myself around for momentum and hit him with a Discus Punch that nearly broke every bone in my hand. Something crunched upon impact, and I’m sure it was his nose. Whatever I did hit, it was enough to put him down. He tumbled backward and fell into a heap in the corner. He couldn’t have fallen in a more perfect place.

“I can’t strip you of your title, or your pride, or your legacy… but on this night, I will put your shoulders to the mat. I will deny you the privilege of calling yourself “Champion of Champions”. A champion you may be… but a true champion you are far from.”

I went to the far corner to gain some distance. The people know what was coming. They’ve been seeing me do it for a while now… and they knew this thing is in my hands now.

“Perhaps all my effort tonight will go in vain. Perhaps after I pin you and walk out of this thing as the winner, my celebration will be brief, and people will move on… and eventually, everybody will forget the TEAM Tournament of Champions 2007…”

I came running forward like a bat out of hell. I’m not even half-way across the ring when suddenly I lunged into the air and spun around. I connected like a ton of bricks. It knocked the wind out of me and wrapped my spine into an angle that I’m sure can’t be healthy. What it did to him, I can’t even begin to imagine.

“But I’m not worried about the future. Right now, my only concern is putting you to the mat below me, where you belong.”

He was a sack of sh*t standing on two legs. It was time to finish things. Suddenly, nothing hurt. My entire body was a throbbing machine of sweat and muscle. It felt damn good to be alive and breathing. It took him by the arm and whipped him hard out of the corner, bringing him back with a boot to the gut.

I set his head between my legs and hooked the arms.

“Right now… I take what I’ve worked for over the past five years of my career. I will receive the recognition I deserve. And it won’t be for being the Champion of Champions…”

The smile had faded from my face as I lifted him up…

“Simply put, amigo… it will be because I came into this ring as a PROFESSIONAL WRESTLER!”

The force of his body crashing into the mat almost seemed to shake the entire arena. The fans had to have felt it, because in an instant they were all out of their chairs screaming as though the seats had been electrified.

I was sitting on my ass with the poor bastard’s broken face looking back up at me… and suddenly the life leaves me once again. Everything I had to put this piece of sh*t down for the count was put to good use… and now, NOW… now it’s time to rest.


No, there’s still one last thing to do.

I can barely move, but it has to be done. Otherwise, everything I’ve worked for has been for not.

I could easily just climb out of this ring and walk back up that ramp and never turn back, having proven my point. But a true professional wrestler is in it for the long haul. There’s no way I’m passing up this chance to prove myself as being the best the Business has to offer…

I wonder if Ulysis Solian is watching now. I wonder if he thinks he got off easy.

There’s movement in my right arm. Is it me doing that? Or maybe that’s just that little part left in me that’s still somewhat human… giving me the reward I’ve waited for after all these years. Hell of a time to make its presence known…


Somehow, it’s over his chest. Somehow, that ref hasn’t lost his mind by now, because he’s on his knees and slapping the mat.


Is this it?

Is this the FINISH line for ol’ Rocko Daymon?

Will there be any big World Titles to follow?

Am I ever gonna be a real champion?


Well, we’ll just wait and see, I guess…

A smile spreads on my face again as the audience comes to its feet again and nearly deafen me. My head feels like it’s about to explode, but somebody’s got my arm in the air and somebody else is handing me the gaudiest looking little title. Is that what I came here for?


“Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner and the 2007 TEAM CHAMPION OF CHAMPIONS…”


He cuts himself off as a slender piece of leather and metal soars through the air from the ring into the crowd. It disappears under a sea of fans, but by then, I’m already turned around 180 degrees and walking back up that ramp.

All in a day’s work for a professional wrestler.

But today, just a little extra for myself.

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