[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.
“One!”
I can feel him struggling against my weight. I doubt I’ll get him here...but I have to try.
“Two!”
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.
“One!”
John is struggling to catch his breath. I must have knocked the wind out of him. I wonder if this will be enough?
“Two!”
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.
“One!”
Tough to tell from this angle, but I might have him.
“Two!”
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.
“One!”
Gotta get my shoulder up.
“Two!”
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.
*****
3...
Wha...? What’s going on?
4...
Counting. Someone’s counting. Is that the ref?
5...
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.
6...
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?
7...
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.
8...
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.
9...
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.
)
