No Brand Wrestling Presents: SLAM! Episode IV on Hulu.Com!
Live from The Epic II Arena in St. Louis, Missouri
| The New Format |
|---|
“Welcome to SLAM!” announced the jovial Trent McKnight who’s face appeared in a close up on the screen.
As the camera panned back a clear version of a studio set slowly came into the picture. Trent was seated in a higher end leather captain’s chair which sat across from a leather two seat oversized couch. Just over his left shoulder sat a large 36’ to 42’ inch high definition monitor with a scrolling ‘nbW’ logo bouncing around it.
“As some of you maybe able to tell this is the first edition of the NEW and might I add IMPROVED SLAM!,” smirked the very stylish McKnight. “And tonight we have a ton of ground to cover, first who is the World Champion? Those in-house saw RaVage win the championship from Amore with some assistance, however the Live-Feed ended prior to that. Who will be walking in as champion on SLAM IV? And just where in the world is J Leslie Voss? That has been the question all over the nbW’s Epic II, and frankly a question I think deserves to be resolved!”
“The current Religious Rasslin’ champion has been AWOL since having stripped Spike Saunders of a title he rightfully deserved to hold, then some are saying Voss went into hiding knowing full well he just can’t beat Spike one on one,” spouted McKnight seemingly trying to bait out Voss himself.
“Personally I’m not buying it but who knows where this could end up, I’ve spoken to Thaddeus Boyle’s office and they’re keeping any actions against Voss pretty tight to the vest. Moving on…” the monitor lit up with the names and stats of Remy Leroux and Austin Advent as well as profile shots.
“Over the past few weeks Austin Advent and Remy Leroux have been making names for themselves all over again and last week that came to a head last week on SLAM! when their fight as turned into an impromptu match! I was told that over the weekend of tapings Leroux and Advent each presented a case to Thaddeus Boyle… and we have the footage!”
Trent paused allowing himself time to take a breath, the screen flipped over to pictures of Gino Di Maggio and Don Toto Corleone with a transparent logo of their Old Fighting Federation. Along the bottom images of WAR, faded in then back out, Keegan, followed then he was flipped out for John C. Willis, who was flipped out…
“Now this is all rumor but I’ve been hearing whispers that this reunion of fighters, coupled with the nbW’s honoring of ‘The Zone’ could be A LOT more than coincidence. Some have been saying in loud voices that Boyle could be, and may have already, struck a deal with the devils themselves!” said McKnight a little more then noticeably nervous.
“With all this happening in nbW, the question might be asked can St. Louis handle all that as well as Torment and Harley Grimm’s impending clash. And don’t think for one second I’ve forgotten about the tag team division which in my personal opinion is the strongest it’s ever been! Maybe even the strongest in wrestling! D-T may finally have the Dream Warriors number, but come Slam Five they will have to scoot to the side for the official numberone contenders.”
Again Trent paused, the smile across his face grew two more sizes before he proudly announced, “Folks I hope you’re ready for a wild night of action because I know I am… mister video man roll some footage!”
The screen slowly faded into a close up of the nbW logo screen on the monitor.
Cue: SLAM! Theme
| Just Whom is the World Champion? |
|---|
Thaddeus Boyle appeared on-air with a microphone. The boss was quiet while standing in the centre of the squared circle, waiting for the crowd’s volume to die down. They didn’t seem to be happy with him.
“I understand your frustrations. Last week was supposed to be a special show in nbW history. It was the first time that our world championship had been defended. In one corner, we had Ali Amore…”
Cue boos. Unbelievably, one of the faithful’s favourite superstars was receiving negative heat, not from all quarters but some sections.
“Against RaVage. The number one contender. A fighting champion against a determined challenger. Keegan and WAR were out of harm’s way, sitting with me backstage, and we were enjoying what was turning out to be a tremendous title match.
“Then, disaster struck.”
Boyle shook his head: “Our feed went down. Everyone watching at home was unable to see the end of the match. In fact, the only people who saw what happened were those here in this arena.
“I trust most of you here were also present last week and those of you watching probably now know RaVage won that match to become the new champion. But, he did so, I’m told, with a little help from John C. Willis.”
The fans booed again, though whether it was Boyle, RaVage, Willis or even Ali was unsure.
“It was supposed to be one-on-one, which puts me in a predicament. I can’t say Ali Amore is our champion because he was pinned to the mat by his challenger. On the other hand, I can’t say RaVage is the champion because those who did see the match know he cheated.
“Therefore, I have no option but to uphold the world championship.”
No boos.
Silence.
Just silence.
“But I will give Ali and RaVage the opportunity to claim the title. They are the two top candidates and they are the ones involved in this situation. Therefore, one of them will become a two-time nbW world champion.
“It comes at a price. They will contest the championship on next week’s show.”
Then, there were boos!
Boyle chuckled: “I know, but you won’t be disappointed. As I said, it comes at a price and that means tonight. You see, in a few moments, I’m going to welcome both men to the ring and tell them what awaits them over the next two weeks.”
'Wanted Man' by Rev Theory kicked in as RaVage’s music played and the Human Steam Engine looked mightily pissed off. As he entered the ring, amidst boos, he headed straight over to the Greek businessman and wagged his finger in the boss’s face. It was inaudible but RaVage pointed at the promoter again as he left him to seek accolades from an unappreciative crowd, mounting the top rope receiving a negative response for his troubles. As he came back down to earth, he glared at Thaddeus but before he could pick up where he left off, the sweet chimes of ‘That’s Amore’ kicked in and with it, a 50-50 divide of cheers and jeers ensued as the Colombian, kitted out in a red waistcoat and sky blue pants, emerged with his championship belt tucked into his left arm. The prized possession he had proudly defended for a year was about to be taken away from him – temporarily or permanently.
The South American was in no mood for his customary somersault and stepped between the ropes and shook hands with Boyle, who smiled in response to the classy youngster’s gesture, a complete contrast to his opposite number.
Amore held his strap up for all to see, but the reaction was mixed.
Boyle invited them both to stand on either side of him. RaVage reluctantly did so, but eventually compromised and stood opposite the Colombian. The South Dakota Dynamo said something, most likely unpleasant, to Ali but he remained unmoved, now chewing gum and looking cool.
Thaddeus laid it out for them: “Tonight, you’ll both be put in separate matches. Look at them as warm-ups. They are not qualifiers. Win, lose or draw, you’ll be competing for the championship next week. Obviously, it’s up to you how you’ll arrive there by negotiating your respective matches.”
Prometheus pointed to the Epi-Center, where Hayleigh Borden was standing: “Hayleigh, can you hear me?
“I sure can.”
“You’re clear about what to do?”
“Yes. Hey guys. The rules are: You choose a number between one and twenty. Each ball has the name of an nbW superstar inside. You are not picking numbers for the other. Uh-uh. You are picking your OWN opponents. RaVage, you can choose first.”
RaVage pondered: “Well, as I always am – and should officially be as we speak – I’m going for number one.”
“Good choice. Number one is…” she retrieved the ball labeled number one. "What a treat. The former no brand Wrestling Blitzkrieg Champion meets the FWO Hardcore champion tonight. RaVage, meet your opponent: At five foot four, one hundred and twenty five pounds-"
CALLIE URBAN
'Poker Face' by Lady Gaga started playing as the fans cheered.
Wiping the hair away from her eyes, Callie Urban took a few steps to the left of the entrance doorway.
Ravage shrugged and mouted to Thaddeus that it was in the bag. Callie however heard this or read his lips, either way she called back to the guerilla position and one of the stagehands gave her a microphone.
"In the bag? I'm a hag? Either way what ever you said, lets make this interesting then." She grinned as the fans continued to cheer for her. It had been awhile. "We are both hardcore specialists, therefore I suggest a hardcore match. What do you say Randal?"
RaVage huffed at the name: "Fine bitch. We'll play it hardcore just like you like it. In Fifteen minutes I'll have you howling in pain or moaning for mercy."
It was Thaddeu's time to smile. "Excellent. Now Ali, your number?"
Now, it was Ali’s turn: “I’ll choose my trainer’s lucky number – seven.”
Hayleigh picked Ali’s ball out. There were a lot of wolf-whistles for the gorgeous interviewer, elegantly dressed with a white cardigan over a stunning purple dress and high heels to match.
Borden’s tone changed: “Unfortunately, for you, seven means seven feet. To be exact seven foot three, three hundred twenty pounds. Your opponent will be-”
SPIKE SAUNDERS
'Spike-It-UP' exploded over the PA system as the Colossus stepped through the doorgate and the fans continued to cheer. Saunders and Callie shared a knowingly glance while Ravage laughed at Amore's predictament. Thaddeus wished them both luck in their possible future endeveours before exiting the ring and walked up to the two surprise challengers. He smiled and shook Callie's hand, followed by Spike's. Then departed through the door.
The crowd loved it.
While Ali was a babyface, though tonight, it could have been questioned…
Spike was a fans’ favourite anywhere and everywhere connected to nbW.
He’d picked a man who’d dominated him and could easily do it again..
Someone who stood 7’3 weighed well over 300 pounds and had every single fan behind him…
And while RaVage appeared to have the luck of the draw between the two, his opponent was no slouch in the ring, nor was she the Matt Haddon of nbW. Sometimes to learn this fact, you have to experience it. Perhaps a big mistake accepting the Hardcore bout.
Neither man, RaVage or Ali, would arrive in one piece for their date with destiny, part II, next week.
| Landlocked |
|---|
nbW Dynasty Tag Champion Dark Ninja was eating a bag of Skittles in the dressing room with his mask rolled up to his nose, when he was approached by a familiar face -- or mask, as it were.
"You bastard," growled the former champion Showtime, fists clenched.
"Hey buddy," said the slimy Ninja, popping a yellow Skittle in his mouth. "What happened last week? You just disappear from the show? You don't call, you don't write?"
"You know what happened," Showtime replied.
"No, actually, I've forgotten," said Ninja, "See, unlike you, my entire life doesn't revolve around you. Some of us actually take their job seriously."
"You took last week off to score hashish in Nicaragua," Showtime said, "I take my job just a smidge more seriously than that."
"So what prevented you from being at the show last week?"
"Somebody," Showtime said, "Had me put on a list of suspected terrorists, so I was detained and unable to appear at the taping."
"Go figure! It's hard to disagree with that logic," Ninja said, "I mean, you are Canadian."
"So are you!"
"No, according to my birth certificate I'm Malagasy."
"You're not from Madagascar! You've never even been to the southeastern African coast!"
"Once, again, it's all about you!" Ninja said, "You're lucky you have me arond, or else there wouldn't be anyone around here to remind you you're really an asshole."
"You're the asshole!" Showtime said, "And everyone knows it!"
"Yeah? Prove it!"
"You're eating Spike Saunders' Skittles."
Dark Ninja promptly poured the remains of the bag on the floor. "Oh, look what you did. You bastard."
Enraged at both Ninja's mocking and a waste of a perfectly good bag of Skittles, Showtime shoved Ninja into the lockers, hard, and held him there, "This is going to end soon, Ninja. You wanted to get under my skin? Play at being my archenemy? Congrats, you're there. But as soon as I get a chance, I'm going to unload all this pent up rage and fury on you, and make you wish you'd never appeared in the nbW."
Ninja and Showtime stared at one another for a moment before Ninja finally declared, "You know, there's a certain segment of the audience that would love to see us kiss right now."
"Yeah," Showtime said, releasing his grip, "I know. It's weird."
"Besides," Ninja straightened up his collar, "You can try as hard as you want, but the line is far too long for you to get another shot at these belts. I've got three teams fighting over a title shot tonight in that very ring. It'll be years before you get another shot at the Dynasty tag team titles, and by then, I'll be retired, spending my evenings drinking daiquiris on the beaches of scenic Antananarivo, population 903,000, with Prime Minister Albert Camille Vital."
Showtime smacked Dark Ninja hard across the face. "You son of a bitch. Antananarivo is landlocked."
Showtime walked off in a huff. Ninja, holding his hand to his face, just watched him go until Psycho entered, eating Skittles from his hand.
"I'll show him who's landlocked. Psycho, you're going to face him tonight, remind him why they fear us." He looked at his partner's snack and asked, "Where did you get those?"
"Floor."
| They Call it Fishing... |
|---|
“Are you serious?!” questioned a very annoyed Thaddeus Boyle into the handset of his personal office phone. “So he’s still nowhere to be found? I see… we’ll see about that.”
The crossness of his tone could be felt in the echo throughout the room and into the adjacent hall. This wasn’t his usual demeanor, Thaddeus was usually a very even keel type of man. One who tried in every case to think with his head and not with his heart. Now he was confronted with a problem not even he could keep an even head about.
“Whadda’er we gonna see about?” chimed in from just off camera. It didn’t take long for the camera to catch up with the voice revealing ‘The Awesome One’ Austin Advent. “I mean would that be seeing about getting that bogus decision from last week thrown out?” Advent continued, “Could that be seeing about making ANOTHER match just me and Leroux…”
Thaddeus was in no mood, “Maybe it could be about looking into tighter security around the back. I mean you’re not even contracted to nbW as it sits right now.”
“Contract?!” Austin gasped, “ After what happened to me last week you’re gonna seriously gripe about a contract?!”
“Austin before I even entertain another match with you in an nbW ring I’m going to need something from you first.” Thaddeus motioned him in closer… “A CONTRACT!”
“How about we do this…” The Awesome One countered rather hastily. “You make me one more match with Leroux and...”
“Done.” Thaddeus answered without hearing the rest of his offer.
“Done?” Austin asked in reply.
“Done,” answered Boyle a second time. Only the second time instead of being the end of his sentence it was only the tip of the iceberg, “as soon as you sign a contract I’ll make the match.”
“DOH!” Advent barked, “look here Thad-man the people want to see Leroux versus Advent with a winner. Not some bullshit count-out or time limit expiration, they want to see my hand raised high while Leroux’s busy counting the lights on the EpiCenter, you dig?”
Thaddeus thought for a second before replying, “Do I dig, well personally no but I heftily pay two gardeners full time to dig for me. So for that reason alone I’m going to have to insist you sign a contract.”
“Listen here man, I get it you’re just looking out for nbW. I know the spiel man.” Austin smiled building up his response, “but are you actually looking out for nbW by not making this match? I mean all those Advent-addicts out there who are just jones’n to see The Awesome One hand Leroux his greasy…”
Boyle didn’t seem impressed in fact he buried his face in a stack of papers. After foddering about in them briefly he pulled out one and started reading aloud, “In accordance with the laws of the city of St. Louis, No Brand Wrestling assumes all liability as it regards to injury of all persons NOT covered under the companies liability insurance which must be maintained throughout all company obligations.”
Boyle took a deep breath, “Do I need to pull out the insurance companies policy about not insuring anyone NOT under nbW contract? Listen Austin I understand the people want to see you and Leroux one more time. I get that it’s a huge draw and believe me I want to make it happen but I’m afraid my hands are tied here.”
Through the arena the fans BOOs echoed to a fever pitch. A chant of “Let them fight”, rang out and brought a smile across the face The Awesome One.
“Mister Boyle I think they’ve rested my case.” Austin said in a serious manner.
“I’ll see what I can do…” Boyle replied not offering much assurance.
Feeling his back pressed to the wall Advent finally agreed, “You make this happen and I’ll sign that contract.”
A smile crossed Thaddeus’ face.
Fade.
  |
 |
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| The Creede Bros | Versus |
Lexia/Xiang Supersquad Zatch/Nemo |
|---|---|---|
| Gauntlet Tag Match | ||
The footage returned to the studio where Trent McKnight sat back like a million bucks, as if the host of the newest iteration of Tales from the Crypt, the studio as his crypt with the tales of the latest show.
“Welcome back. What a show so far am I right? Urban's return to the ring a bit later, and Saunders and Amore rematch from Janurary. Now I have a question for you the viewers. We all know who is in the run for the World Championship on Cinco de Slam however, what about the tag team championships? Dream Warriors have held those coveted titles for what seems like forever now, where in reality it has only been a few shows.
That aside, D-T is chomping at the bit for a return to the top, while two teams in Myth and Legend and For The Win are prepared to do battle and gain the contendership. This will be decided at SLAM V.
Unfortunately for them, Thaddeus Boyle has answered the Creede Brothers’ request and will add them to the title contendership… with one condition. They have to pass a gauntlet to prove they are worthy. Can they do it? They did well with the 4CW upstarts in the start of the gauntlet, even managed to hold their own against SuperSquad… but did they make it past them?”
He turned and kicked back as the screen faded away from the nbW logo and into the ring where the action was already beginning.
“Let’s find out, shall we?”
| Outcome: | Creede Bros By Pinfall |
|---|
| Wheels. In. Motion. II |
|---|
"Marian Heller."
Looking up from his folder, Biron Sexton leaned back in his leather chair and removed his horn-rimmed glasses, gently placing them on his table. The room that had been designated as his office was nice enough; of course, Sexton was used to better. Still, the lovely lady seated across the table, smiling nervously at him, enhanced the ambience of the room tenfold.
"Yes, Mr. Sexton. That's my name!" Marian quipped after several moments of silence. "I'm sorry for being a couple of minutes late. I, ah, had some personal issues to attend to. It won't happen again, I promise."
Sexton's face remained emotionless, while his eyes scanned Marian's face. She was a classic beauty, even if her wrestling attire was drab and unimaginative. Marian's jawline was extremely well-defined, and her bosom was something Sexton couldn't resist taking peeks at. All in all, Marian possessed a body that Biron couldn't help but admire. Her wrestling ability, which was of more concern to him, was also not too bad.
Yet, there was something about Marian that struck Biron Sexton as extremely odd. "What won't happen again?"
"Uh. You know?" Marian responded, a little bit confused but nonetheless still smiling. "Me being late. I was on the phone with my daughter, who's going through a rough time in school. And as usual, my ex-husband failed to do what he was supposed to do, which meant I had to call my mother in for help. And she certainly loves reminding me of the many mistakes I've made in my life, the big one being what I do for a living.
Still, that's no excuse. I should keep my personal life separate from my professional life. As you alluded to, Mr. Sexton, this sort of opportunity doesn't come along every often... and I am determined to make the most of it."
Biron nodded his head twice, agreeing with Marian. "Very good, you understand exactly what's at stake here. Although, I wouldn't recommendly completely keeping the two halves of your live apart, but yes, you've got the general idea. Which makes me wonder, Marian, how come you've yet to make it big in this industry?
I've looked at your folder and I saw you in action earlier today. You beat FIVE men in a Six-Person Elimination Match. I'll be honest, you're one of the last persons I expected to walk out of the ring the winner at the end of it all but that was only because every single one of those men had more experience than you. What they didn't have was your technical background and your adaptability.
But, strangely enough, you've spent your entire professional career -- which has spanned six years by now -- languishing at the bottom of the ladder, jumping from one tiny pond to the other. NBW's proving to be a big step up for you."
Biron Sexton stood up now, placing his hands on his hips and grinning at Marian Heller. It was the sort of look that Heller grew uncomfortable at, mainly due to the fact that Biron looked as if he was about to jump across the table and kick her in the face.
Clearing her throat, Marian tucked strands of her brunette hair behind her ears. "I suppose I've gained a bit of a reputation for refusing to do certain things that would have surely gotten me further ahead in the business. I was cursed with principles and morals; not exactly the traits that get you far in the industry. Then again, it's not as if I chose to become a professional wrestler. I've been a fan since young, yes.
Being a professional wrestler, while an awesome experience thus far, was never at the top of the list. I would have expected becoming a gravedigger was more likely. Here I am, though. The higher power works in mysterious ways."
Marian Heller shrugged her shoulders and again flashed an anxious smile at Biron Sexton. Who was inexplicably finding himself more and more drawn to Marian's beauty.
Sexton kept himself composed, however. He had the big picture in mind. "Marian, dear. You fascinate me.
And you've also survived the first round of cuts. I'm not going to waste time on some people who obviously don't have what it takes. You, Marian Heller, have all the basic attributes needed to go far. Everything else that you require, I shall help you get them. I need to know one last bit of information, though.
You should be warned that it's not something you will want to answer immediately."
Extending his hands, Biron Sexton reached out for a white folder that rested on the edge of his table. Marian Heller's curiousity was piqued, but there were now butterflies in the pit of her stomach. The tension in the office only heightened when Biron took out a single piece of folded paper out of the white folder and slid it across the desk, smirking as he did so.
With his chin, Sexton motioned for Heller to accept the piece of folded paper. Marian nodded and tentatively grabbed the paper, quickly opening it up to scan its contents.
Once she was done? Her jaw sagged a little, and her eyes widened in disbelief.
Biron Sexton sat back down on his chair. The first candidate had been chosen. "If you do accept, here's the catch.
... You only have three months to make it happen."
And on that cliffhanger-esque note, Biron Sexton clasped his hands together and laughed. It was on.
| And Ah call it Catchin' |
|---|
There he sat again, Thaddeus Boyle, behind his desk. Instead of being hunkered down under a mountain of paperwork as usual this time he was sitting watching his large screened closed circuit television. The nbW headman was noticeably pleased with the improved ring work from both the young men in the ring.
Without taking his eyes off the action Thaddeus reached out for his coffee cup and caught a handful of air. Boyle looked down to find the missing cup when out of the corner of his eye he noticed a tall, Cajun drink of umm coffee, drinking his coffee while enjoying the match.
“Well Ah say dis might beh dah bes’ cup ah joe Ah’ve had in ah coon’s age.” Leroux smiled taking a long sip of the boss’ cup.
Boyle scowled. He found himself doing that a lot when Leroux’s involved. “What can I do for you Mister Leroux?”
Remy smiled revealing those pearly whites. “Ah’m t’inkin’ it might not be wha’chu can do fo’ Ole Remy, but what Ole Remy can do… fo’ chu.”
The sly Cajun had away about him. Boyle knew it, he smelled the profit Leroux could draw if properly motivated. Right now though Thaddeus knew he needed to deal with the business at hand.
“And what exactly might it be that Old Remy could do for me?” inquired the nbW honcho.
“Lessen dem losses…” Leroux responded as if on cue, “See Ah ain’t blind an’ right now Ah see dat Ole J. Leslie Voss dun’ up an disappeared. Ah can see dat Ali Amore, Ravage an’ dat whole ‘World’ title scene is gettin’ less den appeallin’. Hell if t’ings keep on dis pace we all might be tradin’ blows ovah in A Cee Dubyah.”
“You’re awfully presumptuous not to mention the whole full of yourself thing.” Thaddeus chortled. He wasn’t very happy to this point of the conversation.
“Now Ah’m not sayin’ you dah reason fo’ all dis but let’s fase facts here, if it weren’t for dah Zone an’ Ole Remy if we was ah swamp we’d be dah Dismal…” Remy paused with his best attempt at a sincere look, “T’ankfully we have Ole Remy, an’ we have dah Zone, so we gots ah lil’ sumpthin’ tah werk wit’.”
“Does any of this have anything resembling a point?” Boyle inquired still irritated.
“Indeed it do, an’ Ah was jes’ gettin’ dere. Chu’ see Boyles, Ah can call chu’ Boyles cain’t Ah? Anyhow, Boyles, Ah see SLAM! five headlinin’ wit’ ‘Dat AWESOME One’ Austin Advent… an’ cross dat squared circle… ‘Dah Blakhart’ Remy La’ROO!”
From the arena the fans erupt, again putting the nbW’s shot caller resembling the party of “NO”. Thaddeus stroked his chin actually seeming to be thinking about it.
“You know Leroux you’re the second competitor tonight to ask me for this match,” more stalling, “I’ve been reviewing last week’s reports and it seems you and Advent scored very highly in terms of keeping the people’s attention.” Boyle’s head rocked back and forth, “Okay Leroux we’ll do it… but you’ll owe me.”
Remy smiled and casually headed over by the door. There he looked back at Thaddeus, “Mistah Boyles when meh an’ dat boi is dun’ puttin’ asses in seats ut’ll be chu’ dat owe meh.”
And with a wink he disappeared out the door.
Thaddeus sat there at his desk with his hands folded. A smile crossed his face before he said to no one in particular, “And pay you back I will Mister Leroux.”
Fade.
| Impending Announcement |
|---|
The camera panned in on a conference room with two tables, littered with microphones and a small gathering of journalists and camera crews.
“We have been told that there will be a special announcement made by our boss, Thaddeus Prometheus Boyle, shortly.”
Terry Renton chipped in: “What do you think it is? Do you know what I think it is?”
His colleague, Marc Gordon, unsurprisingly said: “No.”
“Do you want to know what I think it is?”
“Not really.”
“Okay. Great, I’ll tell you. I think we’re having a raffle.”
Rents continued following Gordon’s: “We’re hard-up for cash and our promoter’s only interested in making money so we’re having a raffle. First prize is an evening with an nbW employee of your choice – everyone will obviously choose me – and second prize is a shot at the world title.”
A few journalists were getting their pens and pads ready. The only recognizable face was nbW interviewer, CG Caines
Gordon added just before a short break: “Stay with us for what we’ve been told is a monumental announcement by Thaddeus Prometheus Boyle… coming up next.”
| Do you like Hype? |
|---|
Narrator: “In July 2001, an underground fighting organization opened its doors for the first time."
(An old man with grey hair and a black sweater was shown smiling.)
“There was blood…"
(The camera captured The Freak and Young Gun Cooper both bleeding from ear to ear during their epic.)
“There was carnage…"
(Uncensored coming off the top off the cell.)
“There was hatred…"
(Keegan and John C. Willis in a stand-off before their first-ever collision.)
“And there was murder."
(A big, black question mark then made way for an attractive brunette pressing her index finger against her top lip and saying ‘Ssh.’)
“It soon became a hot ticket for fans of violence and gambling alike."
(A close-up of fans getting animated during a fight.)
“Then, suddenly, it closed."
(A security guard padlocking a gate.)
“But not for long."
(Pages from a calendar falling onto the floor.)
“The group signed an exclusive deal with the Playboy Channel."
(The world-famous Playboy symbol appears in black and white before fading.)
"Despite the TV deal, it closed again in 2003, this time for good"
(Inside a prison, a cell door is pushed firmly shut by a guard.)
“Or so they thought."
(It shoots to the news coverage of Don Toto Corleone and Gino Di Maggio being released from court, alternating between close-ups of the two smug Italians after winning their cases, and finally fades out with a ‘TFZ’ logo.)
| Remember that Old Fighting Federation? |
|---|
Thaddeus Prometheus Boyle waved at the small band of interviewers and journalists as he entered the conference room and took a seat, one of five, and he decided to sit second to the left. Everyone stood up but he held his hand out, advising them not to worry, took his seat and nodded at the gathered party: “Thank you.”
He was handed a glass of water by someone and a bodyguard took the seat next to him on his right. He took a sip and then placed the glass on the table, adjusted his tie and removed a piece of paper from his suit jacket’s inside pocket.
As the silence died down, he addressed those on hand, moving forward to use the in-built microphone in front of him: “Gentlemen, thank you for coming. We have invited you for different reasons, different interests but we’re all here for one main objective and that’s to celebrate what I’ve invited you here for.
“I’ll give a short statement and invite some partners of mine. They’ll also read prepared statements and we’ll have an interval. We’ll take questions in the second part if that’s okay.”
Nobody objected.
“Right,” he said looking down at his two sheets of A4 paper.
“On behalf of No Brand Wrestling, I am delighted to announce that our company has been able to reach a deal with Mister Gino Di Maggio and his brother, Don Toto Corleone, to include The Fighting Zone on its program from this day forth.”
Thaddeus paused to allow people to digest the information. One or two were shocked. It seemed some already knew or had guessed.
“I believe this company has the potential to be one of the biggest and best in the world. In this business, it’s important to add variety and move forward but also while remaining true to traditions. I’ve noticed that wrestling fans often yearn for things to return to the way they were while others are constantly looking forward to see what we can possibly do next.
“The Fighting Zone ticks both boxes. It’s a proven name and is one of the best fighting federations in America within the last decade. It has also left its fingerprints all over our product in the form of The Zone, which has been used for matches in the past including the fantastic main event on our first Slam, to the stars you see inside our squared circle today: WAR, Keegan, Uncensored and John C. Willis were all great fighters and are valuable members of our promotion today.
“Fighting and wrestling have always been interlinked. The two disciplines cross over and we’re hoping to do the same here. The Fighting Zone will offer our fans excitement, diversity, action and drama, different to what they already see. We hope it will succeed in interesting our current fan base while also attracting new viewers to check out our product. If they do, everyone connected to this company is a winner. I can’t see any possible negatives here. It’s a great move for everyone.”
The camera zoomed in on a few journalists frantically scrawling shorthand and taking notes while CG Caines appeared to be annoyed, standing still with his arms crossed in a defensive manner.
“On that note, I would like to welcome my two new partners: Gino Di Maggio and Don Toto Corleone.”
Gino and Don walked out to a small applause from Mr. Boyle, who shook hands with them both and exchanged kisses on both cheeks. They then waved at their audience and took seats, clearly pleased with the announcement of this partnership. Gino brought his chair forward to speak: “Firstly, it’s great to be back on American soil.”
Don Toto nodded and whispered: “Right.”
“The Fighting Zone was the brainchild of my late father. It was a great company that toured this great country and sold out small arenas everywhere. For many men, as said earlier, it combined two key elements for essential viewing: Violence and gambling. Put the two of those together and you’ve got excitement. And all three of those equal money.
“It was on a small scale but we made a lot of money. We may have ceased to exist in two thousand and three but our legacy lives on. Many of our stars moved onto other fighting companies or into the public eye of wrestling. Companies such as The Asylum and No Brand Wrestling were major beneficiaries of our demise – both times.
“Looking around today, I don’t see many companies that have our quality. When we were around, we had stiff competition. Brad Pitt and Edward Norton made our sport cool and we have a lot to thank them for. But, the novelty wore off and with it, the companies did too. However, I and my brother still believe there’s a market for fighting in the mainstream and we’re grateful to Thaddeus for sharing our view.”
Don Toto took over the reins: “We do indeed. Thank you. We also want to say that we won’t be treading on anyone’s toes here. The agreement is that we will run The Fighting Zone on behalf of nbW and Thaddeus. He is a wrestling promoter and will concentrate on making it a huge company. For now, we are only showcasing one or two fights a week per show and that will be on Slam! We aren’t here to have our own show or to take over. We’re here to add a different dimension to this company and concentrate on reviving The Fighting Zone name and building the brand, both for ourselves and the greater good for No Brand Wrestling.”
Thaddeus smiled and then concluded: “Gentlemen, we’re going for a 10-minute break. As you can see there’s an extra chair here and we’ll be introducing a special guest too in the second part. When we return, we’ll all be happy to answer any questions you have.”
 |
|
 |
| Showtime | Versus |
Psycho |
|---|---|---|
| Singles Match | ||
"This match is scheduled for one fall!"
Draw the Line by Aerosmith hit and the crowd went nuts. Showtime stepped out, wearing his Team D-T jacket, surveying the audience. He walked purposely, without his usual swagger.
"If there's one place Showtime loves to be, it's in front of a crowd," Gordon declared.
"That's a sure sign of megalomania, Gordo," Rents declared, "The poor guy's worldview is so warped that he must be at the center of attention at all times!"
"I think you've got Showtime all wrong, Rents. He loves the attention, but he works hard to earn it. He lives for the fans, not himself."
"Then why's he all up in Dark Ninja's grill all the time, huh?"
"Well, that's a classic hero-villain scenario. Dark Ninja has made it his business to antagonize Showtime and Proteus as much as possible since he arrived in nbW, and to his credit, it seems to be working. Dark Ninja manages to get under Showtime's skin like no other competitor in his entire nbW career."
"That's why I admire Dark Ninja so much, and want my kids to grow up like him. He's a thinker. Not to mention he was smart enough to partner up with this man..."
The thudding overtures of Dokken's Dream Warriors began to pulsate as the lights dimmed and a strange green mist flooded the entrance way. Psycho arrived, and he stood ominously as the crowd booed him. He didn't seem to notice, gripping in his hands the gold championship belt he had won from Showtime and Proteus months ago. He stepped in the ring. The bell rang.
"Showtime is looking on the present and the future of nbW Tag Team Wrestling," Renton said, "And he is baffled. There is no quickness, no speed, that can escape this man's fury."
"The former champion might disagree," Gordon replied.
After a moment's staredown, Showtime unloaded a pair of elbow strikes to the massive champion, running of the ropes with a high forearm that staggered him. Showtime quickly followed it up with a dropkick that sent him to the ropes, but the giant rebounded with a big boot, sending Showtime to the mat.
"See that? Psycho gets more mileage out of one boot than Showtime does out of like four moves!"
Psycho picked Showtime up and whipped him against the ropes. Showtime rebounded with a crossbody. Psycho caught him, but Showtime reversed it into an armdrag takedown. Psycho charged, only to get taken to the mat with a drop toe hold. Showtime got Psycho in a grounded headlock, but Psycho stood and tossed Showtime with a back suplex. Psycho placed his foot over Showtime's chest and the referee went to count, but Showtime got to his feet.
"Showtime must be reconsidering his strategy," Renton said.
"I'm sure he's got some ideas how to beat the big man."
"No, I mean his life strategy."
Psycho swung a fist at Psycho, but Showtime did a somersault to dodge and came back with a reverse spin kick, sending Psycho to the corner. Showtime swung into action, mounting for a ten-punch into a sunset flip, sending Psycho to his back. Showtime ascended the ropes for a flying elbow, but Psycho sat up in time to evade it. Psycho picked Showtime up by his ankles and began to drag him around the ring like a caveman catching a sabretooth tiger.
"What a cold, animalistic brute."
"Hey!" Renton came to his defensed, "Inside that brute beats the heart of a poet. Maybe."
"That poet was eating skittles off the locker room floor earlier tonight."
"Even so. He doesn't have to be a good poet. He can be, like, Sylvia Plath."
"Ms. Plath's poetic prowess notwithstanding, ni the ring, Psycho continues to dominate Showtime with a powerful offense."
Psycho began to pick up the pace as he whipped Showtime across the ring with brutal speed. He charged in after Showtime with a shoulder thrust, but Showtime escaped through the ropes and quickly landed a stunnking knee to Psycho's face, followed by a leaping neckbreaker off the top rope. Psycho was grounded and Showtime covered, but only got a one count. Showtime began to furiously stomp the larger man into the mat, followed by a big legdrop. He covered again, getting one and a half before Psycho kicked out with authority, hurling Showtime across the ring.
Psycho now on his feet picked up Showtime and began to carry him around on his shoulders in a torture rack. Showtime, screaming in pain, refused to submit. Psycho continued this hold for like a minute and a half, but Showtime managed to get free and take Psycho down with a reverse DDT.
"Showtime gets Psycho down any way possible, but few methods so far have proven truly effective," Gordon noted.
Showtime began trying to wrench Psycho's back, but Psycho swatted Showtime away. He went over to the corner and ascended the ropes.
"The friggin' guy keeps to the corner like a rat!" Renton said.
Psycho ran in, but Showtime responded with a boot to the face. He then managed to dropkick the temporarily-disoriented Psycho over the top rope. Showtime then sprung off the far ropes and dove over the top for a plancha... only for Psycho to grab the steel steps for defense! Showtime hit those steps with a loud clang that did not sound healthy no matter where you heard it from. It was bad.
Renton observed, "Showtime falls prey to an age-old Achilles' heel... hard, heavy things."
Psycho, thus emboldened, managed to start manhandling Showtime like a ragdoll. He threw Showtime back in the ring. Showtime began trying to roll through to the other side of the ring to get his bearings, but Psycho dragged him back to the center of the ring and picked him up for an over-the-head press slam, dropping him face-down in the middle of the ring. He covered.
ONE...
TWO...
No, no fall yet. Psycho seemed unperturbed, however, not yet having exhausted his strength. Showtime, meanwhile, was looking somewhat worse for wear. He was going to have to rely on his increasingly-scattered wits to win this one.
"It's funny," Renton said, "Showtime and Proteus have definitely upped their game as a team, but it feels like seeing Showtime out of tag action really exposes how much he depends on Proteus."
"Well Terry," Gordon added, "As much as Proteus is an invaluable ingredient in D-T's success, could it really be possible that Showtime is merely along for the ride? It seems like for a team to reach a certain level, both members should be at a certain level. It would not, however, seem inaccurate to say that Showtime is a bit over his head with Psycho."
"That's why he's a champion."
"Yes, Terry, that's why he's a champion."
"And Showtime's not one."
"Anymore."
"Exactly."
"Uh... yeah."
Psycho whipped Showtime across the ropes and lowered his head too early for a back body drop. Showtime leap-frogged him, confusing Psycho, leading to a chop-block. Showtime was slow to capitalize, however, and Psycho managed to reverse a pinfall attempt into a standing powerslam. He covered.
ONE...
TWO...
No, still no fall. Showtime was still looking sluggish. Psycho was beginning to show signs of frustration, stomping his foot in the corner like a child. As he turned to mount another attack, Showtime was quicker on the draw and hit the...
STANDING OVATION!!
ONE...
TWO...
No, no Psycho kicked out, this time with a bit less force than before. Psycho knocked Showtime away and got to his feet. the two locked up, and Psycho shoved Showtime back into the corner with ease. Showtime however backed his way up the turnbuckles and flipped over Psycho's head, taking him down to the mat. Psycho got back up, only to be met with a spinning heel kick. He stood up again and Showtime threw another kick, but Psycho managed to block it and get Showtime up for the...
PSYCHO BOMB-- no! Showtime reversed it into a hurricanrana! He hooked the leg.
ONE...
TWO...
No, Psycho got away. The fans began to rally for Showtime as he stood in the corner waiting to strike. As soon as Psycho was back to his feet, Showtime ran in, ducking a clumsy clothesline attempt to rebound for a spinning DDT.
"Showtime comes alive, and so does the audience!"
With Psycho on the mat, Showtime climbed the ropes, signaling for...
The Final Curtain!
Showtime covered...
ONE...
TWO...
NO! Still, Psycho managed to kick out.
Psycho got Showtime up to his feet and stunned him with an overhand punch, and set him up for the Psycho-Bomb again, but Showtime slipped through for a roll-up!
ONE...
TWO...
THREE!
Ding ding!
"Here is your winner... Showtime!"
The referee held Showtime's arm high as Dark Ninja appeared at the entrance. The two exchanged a bitter staredown, which distracted Showtime from the still very pissed-off Psycho behind him, who lifted him up and chucked him over the top rope with a gorilla press.
Proteus rushed to ringside, blowing past Dark Ninja on his way to ringside. He slid into the ring and struck a fighting stance with Psycho. The crowd roared with anticipation as the rather small Proteus stood his ground, waiting to be provoked by the giant Psycho, but the massive one just nervously stepped back, never breaking eye contact with Proteus, but making it clear he wanted no part of a confrontation with him.
"Well, Showtime beats Psycho by the skin of his teeth, and DW goes on to fight another day... but what team will challenge for their belts next week?" Gordon summed up.
| Outcome: | Showtime by Pinfall |
|---|
| nBW HoF'er Remembers |
|---|
The three new business partners re-emerged: Boyle, Corleone and Di Maggio. They sat down again at their respective pews. Thaddeus tucked his chair in and leaned forward: “We will be ready to take some questions in a couple of moments but before we do, we’d like to introduce someone first. Gino, if you will.”
Di Maggio stood up: “Gents, The Fighting Zone wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for this man. Everyone connected to the company owes him a lot of debt, as does No Brand Wrestling. My father respected him, me and Don Toto respect him, and I’m sure Mister Boyle does too. A TFZ legend and nbW hall of famer… please welcome William Arthur Reagan… WAR!”
WAR walked out and shook hands with everyone, accepting customary kisses of gratitude on both cheeks from the Italians before taking his place among the panel to a polite round of applause. Everyone in the room, regardless of what they thought of him, respect WAR. Even retired, he still looked ready to bulge out of his red tank top at any moment and beat anyone and everyone senseless.
Thaddeus used his index finger to point at Mr. Caines: “If you’d like to start.”
CG stood up: “Sir, first question is for you. Why would you bring back The Fighting Zone?”
Boyle nervously glanced at the Italians but they were completely unmoved. Slightly embarrassed, the Greek hesitated, giving himself enough time to breathe: “Well, for the reasons I said earlier. It brings another dimension to the brand. If you look at the success of the two main events, referring to The Zone and the Abandoned Apartments match…”
“With due respect, they were dangerous. HIGHLY dangerous.”
Boyle smirked: “Yes, they were – but they were also highly successful and entertaining. You know as well as anyone that I was worried about the safety of our stars – and I still will be – but that will be the responsibility of Don Toto and Gino primarily. They’re responsible and respectable businessmen with a proven track record in this field. We’d be crazy to ignore them.”
Caines chipped in: “I think you’re crazy to listen to them.”
Boyle moved even further forward, seemingly on the attack: “You’re not the only one who thinks that but I’m confident with the business plan we’ve put together, we can win over any doubters.”
CG changed tact: “WAR, you’ve been back a short while, seemingly on a semi-retired basis. You still look great; you were dominant on Slam 2! I have two questions for you. One: Are you going to return to action permanently? Two: If so will it be in the ring or the cage?”
WAR got comfortable: “Thank you. The first nice things and true things you’ve said. First thing is first. I will never return to action on a regular basis. I am physically struggling now, by my standards at least, but you’re right: I have been dominant. I’m a superior athlete, a hall of famer and I pride myself on working out, even in retirement. That’s why I can still go and beat the likes of Keegan when I want to, men who motivate me, bring the best out in me, but the worst unfortunately for them.”
“Ring or cage?”
“Well, it doesn’t really matter to me as I excel in both but because of my special relationship with Gino and Don Toto, I have promised them the next time I return, it will be inside The Zone. It’s a home from home and nobody owns it like me. I’m an animal inside there and the best there’s ever been. At least in the modern era. Having said that, I’ve also been the best ever inside the wrestling ring too. I dominated nbW like no other. I’m a once-in-a-lifetime athlete. That’s why people still try to persuade me to give it one last shot.”
Thaddeus thanked CG for his contributions and pointed at a 20-something with a black company t-shirt: “Mister Boyle, my name is Mark Shaw and I’m a member of the official nbW fan club. I guess what I want to know personally is how this will affect the in-ring product and the time dedicated to the current superstars. The show is short enough as it is.”
Boyle smiled: “Great point but I can assure you, Mark, we’ll be giving The Fighting Zone a small share of air time to begin with and see where it goes from there. Gino and Don Toto are delighted with that. Little by little.”
Mark nervously raised his index finger to ask Boyle if he could ask one more question to which he received a gracious nod and a chuckle: “Should we expect to see a fight at the next pay-per-view?”
Gino repeatedly, arguably arrogantly, nodded his head: “Absolutely. No doubt about it.”
Corleone revealed more information: “Again, it’ll be a small percentage of the show but a meaningful one for us. But, yes, we’ve spoke to Mister Boyle already about showcasing the division on the highest possible platform and we’re grateful he’s accepted our proposal.”
The Greek pointed at another youngster: “Hi, I’m David Robinson from Fighting Fit magazine. Will you have a Fighting Zone championship? And will there be more than one?”
Gino put his serious face on this time, probably due to Don Toto: “We will have a Fighting Zone title. We’re undecided whether it’ll be a trophy, like the old one which was a proud symbol, or a normal championship belt, the custom in wrestling. Even back in our heyday, we only had two titles: One for the gangs and one for singles. My dad believed there was more glamour and prestige to having just one prize to aim for rather than a collection of smaller ones and as his son, I’ve inherited the same belief.”
Robinson completed his line of questioning: “You’ll only be sanctioning one title then?”
Di Maggio confirmed: “Yes. Tag team wrestling is dying unfortunately. We feel that fighting would go the same way. Splink was the only great team we had and they were an invaluable part of our federation but I don’t think the gang fights are exciting enough on a regular basis. If used on a semi-regular basis, they can be explosive like you saw with The Zone but every week is another thing.”
His half-brother continued: “Plus, you must remember we’re only starting off with a slot. If we’re going to promote the one title we have, we must assign fighters to singles matches.”
A bearded man with a blue and white shirt and glasses, probably in his mid-thirties and a voice that suggested his balls had never dropped, stood up and showed off his ‘body-building’ physique(Narrator: I’d call him a lummox.)
“Hi everyone. I’m Norman from Absolute Grap dot com. Thaddeus…”
Gino rudely interrupted: “Mister Boyle to you.”
“Sorry.”
There was an awkward silence prior to Prometheus telling the fan to press on with his question: “Is there any nbW talent available to be drafted to the Fighting Zone brand?”
Gino shook his head, silently thinking: “What an idiot.” He didn’t say that of course but his reaction betrayed that and Don Toto was furious with him. Meanwhile, Boyle responded: “We’re not trading, just to clear that up Norman. But I’m sure there will be some interaction and integration between wrestlers and fighters; building up to what we hope will be some dream matches for fans of both disciplines, whether it is in the ring or in the zone.”
Di Maggio was about to intervene but Don Toto beat him to the punch, pardon the pun: “We’ve got some great names on the roster here in nbW. One of them is sat next to me as we speak. WAR is in the hall of fame here. Then, there’s Uncensored too, who was also inducted and the first world champion in nbW if I’m not mistaken…”
Boyle nodded his head to confirm Corleone’s statement. Thereafter, Salvatore’s eldest son picked up where he’d left off: “Keegan and John C. Willis are huge personalities and names, both here and in our company’s history. We’ll be relying on all of them to promote our return and we’d love them all to participate. We’ve asked this guy here (pointing at WAR) and he’s turned us down but we’re hoping he’ll change his mind,” Don Toto rounded off by slapping WAR on the back.
“Watch my shoulder.”
Corleone held it and pressed his head against it, which drew a cheap collective laugh from the crowd: “Is it this one?”
WAR shot back: “No, it’s the other one.”
Don laughed wildly: “Fortunately for me.”
David Robinson raised his hand and had his request for another query accepted after all of the false laughter died down: “WAR, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, as long as it’s not about my shoulder,” he joked.
“No. Not really. Well, it depends on which way you look at it. Anyway, iff you could fight one person in The Fighting Zone, who would it be?”
William stroked his famous blonde goatee: “Who would you like to see me fight?”
Robinson giggled nervously: “Honestly?”
“Sure.”
“Err… uhm… I’d say… Keegan.”
All three businessmen, promoters almost from day one, smiled. They all knew what the answer would be and it put Reagan on the spot: “I thought you might say that.”
There was a pause until Toto prodded William: “And?”
“And what?”
Corleone smirked: “Would he be your number one pick?”
Everyone’s eyes were on WAR. He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly: “I guess if I were in shape, it would be him. But I’m not in shape.”
The trio of promoters beamed. Thaddeus cut the next hopeful off: “Hold your thought there. We’ll be back soon. What I want to do now is draw your attention to the TV monitor behind us. For tonight only, you can watch a bout, brought exclusively to you by The Fighting Zone and No Brand Wrestling, with the people who run the show."
Gino quipped: “It’s like a film premiere.”
Boyle admitted it was: “Yes, so here’s the world exclusive, the preview of The Fighting Zone. I’ll let Don Toto do the honours.”
Don Toto stood up and proceeded to read from a flashcard: "We will be kicking off the return and rebirth of The Fighting Zone courtesy of the last champion in defense against one of our new acquisitions. At Slam's Fifth Episode it will be William Arthur Reagan fighting against a new comer, you may remember him as the shotty wrestler that lost to The Definition of Perfection, Andrew Martin. It is a disappointment that his debut match was in such manner, however we have faith in his skills as a fighter.
Having fought some of the best in the business from Tod The Hangman Nielson, Jimmy Ripper, Mr. B, and even Big Tony; he has fought around the world. From underground to the most classy of joints. His reputation proceeds him as the Adriatic Gargoyle. You know him as J.A.C. We have great aniticipation and trust in this match up.
THE Champion William Arthur Reagan Vergus 'The Adriatic Gargoyle' Johannes Antonius de Castonovo."
| Know who else Remembers? |
|---|
The whole room applauded, whether it was due to free will or following the suits wasn’t known. Gino applauded loudest: “BRAVO! BRAVO! FANTASTICO! MA! NOI SIAMO THE FIGHTING ZONE!” (Great. Great. Fantastic. We are The Fighting Zone.)
Toto joined in: “Certo.” (Certainly.)
Everyone sat back down when a familiar face wandered in. The shock look on the face of Thaddeus Prometheus Boyle made everyone turn their attention to the back of the room where they were about to be joined by a special guest…
Special K.
Keegan was in the building.
He walked past all of the gathered guests and towards the far side of the table, where Thaddeus’s protection was primed and ready to deal with the intruder. Keegan approached the table with caution. He was furthest away from WAR but the tension between the two men was there and the Newcastle native never took his eyes off his rival. Meanwhile, Boyle’s bodyguard punched holes in the Briton, constantly starting through Ali Amore’s trainer.
The only men standing up were Keegan, Boyle and the bodyguard. The worried Greek told his head honcho things were okay. Special K smiled upon hearing this: “Listen to you. Things are okay. Of course they are. Look at what we have here. A love-in. A bunch of bum boys patting each other on the back and rolling around in the muck. I cam smell it from here and, quite frankly, it makes me sick. Or is that your breath?”
It was a dig at the bodyguard, who was about to swing for Special K but Thaddeus kindly asked him not to: “Do as he says Arnold. There’s a good boy now.”
Thaddeus was clearly unhappy and uncomfortable at the Geordie’s gate crashing: “Would you like to join us and take the seat in front of you?”
The Englishman stuck his tongue out, not in an insulting way but revelling in the spotlight: “You know, I think I will.”
David Robinson, the editor of Fighting Fit magazine, stood up with his hand raised in the air: “Mister Boyle, can I ask Keegan a question please?”
“Sure.”
“Hi Keegan. I’m from Fighting Fit magazine…”
“David, right?”
“Yeah. Yes.”
“Nice to meet you. What’s your question?”
“Er…Thanks. Earlier, I asked WAR who his dream opponent would be and he said it would probably be you. First, what’s your response to that? Secondly, is he your choice too?”
The experienced campaigner chuckled: “David, lovely angle and right, but not quite right. I believe you asked him if he HAD TO choose someone, who it would be. The blonde tart at the end isn’t interested in fighting anymore because he knows he can’t cut it. The spaghetti benders sat with him want him to put lasagne on their table but he’s not up for it. There’s a world of difference between me being his dream opponent and having to choose. Plus, he had a luxury earlier. He didn’t think I was listening, let alone that I’d be here. Ask him the question again and he’ll give you a different answer. He doesn’t want any part of me. To answer your other question, yes, he’s my dream opponent. I’d love to kick nine types of nitrogenous waste out of the wank stain.”
Robinson: “WAR?”
William was grumpy: “He’s always been a big-mouthed, overrated…”
“Overrated? I believe the pot has just called the kettle black. That’s racist.”
“…Brit with an inflated opinion of himself. If I was ready to go tomorrow, I’d…”
The Geordie Genius jumped up and glared at Reagan: “You’d do what? Why don’t you? You’ve been active recently and you’ve told everyone that you’ve been working out. Why don’t we do it tomorrow? In fact, why don’t we do it today? Get your fat arse up out of the chair and let’s have a scrap here in front of anyone and we’ll let them decide who the winner is. We don’t need a cage. I’ve got my best mates – Left and Right. They’ll do for me. Oh, wait a minute. You’re not tooled up. Sorry. I forgot.”
Thaddeus reasoned with both his bodyguard and member of the roster to be seated. Everyone’s heads were turned when a beautiful young lady stood up: “Hi, my name is Melony Vice.”
Keegan butted in: “Hello Melony.”
She smiled: “Hi Keegan. My question is for you: Do you feel WAR has the psychological advantage over you given what happened in the abandoned apartments?”
A silence fell over the small crowd. The Englishman laughed to break the silence: “Melony, Melony. Much more than a pretty face, eh? Fantastic question. You’ve got a lot of balls – or should I say balloons – to ask that but credit to you. I don’t think he has, no. Sure, it was a shock but I battered him inside The Zone so I think we’re level at one-one. If anything, it drives me on to destroy him when we eventually meet. Well, I say when but at this rate, I must say if. He’s running scared so you could argue I hold the psychological advantage.”
WAR interrupted: “You talk some crap. You’re the one obsessed with this fight because your career remains unfulfilled. You’re carrying some grudge around as I’ve destroyed not only you but your toyboy’s title reign hangs in the balance and you’re looking for someone to blame. Well, look no further than yourself. This is a man’s world and he’s a boy. Teachers aren’t supposed to protect their students – they’re supposed to prepare them for the real world. You’re still running around like you’re the boy’s mother.”
Keegan shot WAR with an ice-cold stare: “Unfulfilled? Let’s talk about that for a moment. The only reason you’re sitting there proclaiming yourself to be a legend inside The Zone is because by the time you arrived, everyone had gone, including yours truly. I’ll hold my hands up and say you’ve got the advantage over me in nbW. You’re a hall of famer but again, you did it while I wasn’t here.”
William barked back: “I won twenty-five to life with you and Ali in it.”
The Yardstick thought for a moment and retraced his steps: “Okay, okay. That’s right. True. But the majority of your work was during my absence. I left soon after and you became a bona fide superstar…”
“So what you’re saying is I should’ve waited for you to get your ass into gear?”
“No, definitely not. But what I’m saying is you’ve got a lot to prove to me.”
William was irritated: “I’ve got nothing to prove to no one. Look, I’m retired. My career was a success. I conquered wrestling and I conquered fighting. I beat the best and became the best…”
Things were heating up as Keegan wagged the finger and stood up: “You beat the best? You haven’t faced the best. This is how I see it son: Me, The Freak, Willis and Splink took off to The Asylum. Talk about the best; I’ve just mentioned the definition…”
Reagan mocked his antagonist: “You lost every week!”
Special K appeared to be humbled – a rarity: “Aye, I did. But I wasn’t at my best, I had some personal problems…”
“EXCUSES.”
The sadness subsided and was substituted by anger: “EXCUSES? I went there and like a vulture, you became a so-called superstar, pushed on the premise that you look like Popeye. You’ve got a 10-million dollar physique but you can’t hit for shit. Jesus, you couldn’t even hit that over there,” the Prince proclaimed, pointing at Melony Vice to demonstrate his point.
The Salt Lake superstar shook his head in disgust: “No class. You’re scum.”
“That’s the name of another fighter you can’t beat.”
WAR became animated for the first time: “You’re bitter and twisted because I sit here a rich man, a fulfilled man and someone who had an incredible career. I don’t have anything to prove and yet I defy doctors, fans and supposed competition every time I walk into an arena and kick ass. I’m in my forties and I’m still one of the best there is now.”
Special K disagreed: “Rich? While you were cleaning up in a small pond vacated by us five who defected to The Asylum, of which I was the biggest fish I might add, I signed a four hundred thousand dollar contract. After that, I had a hell of a time in ACW for six weeks and made some money there too, despite their financial problems. As far as I’m concerned, the only competition you had in The Fighting Zone was Uncensored and Chaos. Uncensored was a good fighter, but not a great one. He lost to me and John. He had a big mouth but wasn’t a top-notch fighter. B-list and very talented, but not in the top two or three.
“Chaos was a rising star while I was there. Our departures meant he was able to shoot straight to the top easily. He was thrust into a false position because you had a shallow pool of talent. It hurt Salvatore when we left and it hurt the company. You had a TV deal without your best fighters. You were destined to fail. And who was on top of the mountain? YOU. You’re to blame.”
Gino had heard enough: “That isn’t true. We got a TV deal at the wrong time and you’re right, we didn’t have a lot of great names on board but you know who we blame? You, Keegan. You, your brother and all of the other names you mentioned. You chased the green, you were greedy and left to go to The Asylum. You had no loyalty to my father…”
“Don’t talk to me about loyalty to your father. We had a good relationship but it was a two-way street. He wasn’t innocent and neither were we. But what makes me laugh most is that you and your half-brother sit there living off his name and you didn’t even have a proper relationship with Salvatore. We probably had a better one because we made money together and that’s the reason why you’re sat there with that prick. He has made you money.”
Don Toto came into it: “I’m disappointed that’s the way you feel Keegan. My father was a great man and we all owe him a lot. Everyone at this table.”
There was a few seconds of silence and reflection. Keegan looked directly at Corleone, who was starting straight ahead, spitting feathers: “Don?”
With that, he turned to face Keegan, who leaned forward, security monitoring every move: “You’re right. He was a great man. And we do owe him a lot. I think we all have our takes on history and why The Fighting Zone failed…”
Salvatore’s eldest son snapped: “That was the past.”
“Let me finish. The past is what has brought us here. We all have our own versions of why it failed and we’ll have to agree to disagree on that, I guess. Let’s be straight here: You all want me to fight WAR, don’t you?”
Don Toto glanced at WAR and then at Gino, who tilted his head to one side: “We do.”
“I know he’s your man. I know he’s your pick and I can’t change that. I’ve said some things that haven’t endeared me to you tonight, I know, but I’m not going to apologise for that. You know as well as I do, it sells tickets and makes fights.
“Lads… Melony too. You want me to fight WAR too. Why? I’ll give him his due. He’s a draw. He’s a big name. You want to see him fight. I’m a draw. I’m a big name. You want to see me fight. Put that together… You have two big names, two big draws, two big mouths and even bigger egos who hate each other with a passion. We’ve never been on a bigger scale, we’ve never fought each other at this level. What you have is the best fighter from The Fighting Zone from two thousand and one to two thousand and three. When it returned, WAR came into his own. I think it was in my absence but he doesn’t.
“For me, he has something to prove. I have something to prove. WAR is a bigger name in nbW than me but I don’t think he’s a better wrestler. As far as I’m concerned, I have a better history with The Fighting Zone but he still reckons he’s superior. Plus, you know what’s gone on in the last few weeks. I kicked the tar out of him and then he handed mine to me the following show.”
Keegan turned to WAR: “You need me.”
WAR brushed it off: “I don’t think so.”
“You do. And I need you. I hate you and personally, I want to end your career. I know you feel the same way. I won’t rest until you’ve said yes and neither will these because it’s the biggest fight on the table. It’s magic. Don’t you see that?”
Everyone fell silent. Special K had stirred every person up but only one mattered: “I’m retired and I’m not coming back
The Englishman sighed and then stood up, angrily: “You aren’t retired and you are coming back.”
“I’m not.”
“Oh, you are,” Special K moved towards WAR but the bodyguard stood in their way.
He pointed again at WAR: “This isn’t over. In fact, we’ve barely started. You’re coming back; you puff, even if I have to drag you in there by your goatee.”
Keegan pretended to swing at Boyle’s minder before he left and then laughed: “Don’t worry big fella. I’m going. Lads.... Melony, thanks for having me.”
Like a whirlwind, he’d come in, swept everything up in his wake and now he’d departed. Thaddeus Boyle declared the press conference over amidst photographs and a whole bunch of unanswered questions, dizzy from the experience and unsure whether it had been a success or a complete disaster.
Don Toto Corleone and Gino Di Maggio were also solemn. At least, they knew one of their drawing cards was up for it.
All they had to do now was convince their ‘own man.’
Looking at his blank expression and then at his mountainous frame, they debated whether it’d be harder to move him on this issue than it would be to actually physically dominate the legendary competitor.
| The Woman, The Giant, and The Cajun |
|---|
“Now folks while we’re still following along with the big grandeur announcement from Thaddeus Boyle and the Italians, we still have a show to cover. Including our two blockbuster Pick Your Poison matches.”
Trent McKnight swiveled his chair around towards the screen and lounged back. “I caught up with one of the competitors before their returning debut. Let’s hear what she had to say.”
Fade.
| Your Thoughts Presented |
|---|
The voice of Trent McKnight is heard as the EpiCenter lights up to the nbW logo.
"No Brand Wrestling put the question towards you, the fans, when we asked 'What nbW Legend would you like to see face World Champion, Ali Amore?'. 45 percent of you would like to see him face the former World Champion, the seller of Snow, High Flyer. 25% of you were keen on a return by macWICKED. And 5% of you were interested in Jason Kain.
nbW has heard your voice, and as of July 21st we have put out the call to Hall of Famer High Flyer for a return to the ring. We Thank you for your participation and would like to add a new question to the mix for you all. "
The screen lights up once more.
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Versus |
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|---|---|---|
| 15 Man Battle Royale | ||
Fade back to the studio where Trent McKnight casually sat back with the new nBW Magazine. Yep, soon to be shilled across the web. The Cover? William Arthur Reagan surrounded by some rather hottt models.
“Now folks before we get to that unforgetable and five star main events, there was still yet another match this night that caught a lot of attention. And why not, given the prize awarded to one of the fifteen men involved.”
He grinned as the screen came on.
“Enjoy the highlights from what has been dubbed one of the best matches of 2010, and soon to be featured on the very same’s DVD compilation.”
The footage cycled on the screen to immediately showcase the action.
| Last Remaining: | AMP, Keegan, Zed |
|---|
| And what of the Keystone? |
|---|
The cameras returned to the conference room hallway where Thaddeus Boyle was seen leaving. Trent McKnight was right there waiting for him.
"Great announcement boss. But you and I know that there are far more issues to address tonight. Am I right?"
Boyle nodded: "You are. We are starting up the TFZ again, and I have NO Champions to promote, other than the Dream Warriors at this moment. Truth is, I believe J. Leslie Voss bailed back home, not wanting to lose his precious Religious Wrasslin championship. That's fine. He wants to bail on nbW, then nbW will bail on him. Ya see as of Slam V, if he does not meet with me, his contract is terminated. He can keep that belt, if it's already in the bayou somewhere, we don't need it. As for the Keystone Champion, that will be decided at a later time."
McKnight seemed shocked but presevered to continue.
"What about Remy Leroux's acusation that the very fan attacking and interrupting Spike Saunders's matches as of late is none other than Voss himself? Perhaps under a fall-away white wig?"
"It is a thought." spoke Thaddeus. "One that I am investigating into. Either way, at Slam Five, after a discussion with Mr. Saunders I have decided to allow the fan to come forward. In the same light I will make this an official ruling."
He turned to head away but Trent reached out to grab his arm. "One more question sir, if you will. We have all been hearing the rumors about Slam's fifth episode being something special for the fans. Care to comment on what exactly?"
He turned and smiled. "From time to time, we need to go back to the roots of wrestling. Pins are great. DQs happen. And even people don't show up to the match. But at Slam V none of those will matter. Every match. Every outcome. Will be decided by a Submission Victory Only. Nobody is exempt from this, sans our TFZ exclusive Fight."
Boyle turned once more and headed down the coridor, with McKnight back on the stick: "You heard it from the man in charge folks. Slam V, Submissions Only. I can not wait!"
 |
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 |
| RaVage | Versus |
Callie Urban |
|---|---|---|
| Hardcore Match | ||
Time for a family reunion, so to speak. Callie Urban is home at nbW and her first match back is against the man going up against Ali Amore for the world title. A man that was with the company back when Callie broke her neck, a former hardcore champ, a twisted, sick man that has stated he wants nothing more than to beat Callie out of the arena and send her packing her bags bag to whatever podunk hole she crawled out of.
RaVage.
Unfortunately for RaVage, he’s going to have his hands full. Urban wasn’t sitting at home eating bon bons during her absence. No, she’d been competing all over the world, picked up a few other title reigns, nearly killed herself again in the process and was back and ready to kick ass and take names.
‘Poker Face’ by Lady Gaga once more booms out and here is Callie, bouncing out of the gate, fired up, sprinting down to the ring and sliding underneath the ropes in a smooth motion, entering the ring. She springs up immediately with her fist in the air and runs and leaps on top of the turnbuckles, pointing to the crowd as they cheer.
'Wanted Man' by Rev Theory plays out moments later as the hardcore sensei, RaVage hulks out, shoulders squared, cracking his neck, scowl on his face. In his ego-induced confidence, he has made the match not only a 15 minute time limit, he let Callie goad him into declaring it a hardcore match up as well. That can only spell one thing.
Carnage.
RaVage hops into the ring and rolls his shoulders, limbering up while Callie takes off her leather coat and taps both boots to the mat. The ref checks with both of them and raises his hand high in the air. As he drops it, the bell sounds.
DING
DING
DING
RaVage surges forward, making the first move. He’s obviously studied Callie’s strategy as he takes her off guard before she can react, knowing she normally always tries to draw first blood.
SLAP
He bitchslaps her across the face, sending her reeling back several steps, clutching her cheek and jaw. RaVage beats his chest with his left fist and yells, taunting both Callie and the crowd. He goes to hit a running clothesline from behind when Callie ducks out of the way. He immediately corrects and turns around to see Urban staring at him, eyes blazing.
Whoops. Bright move, buddy.
Callie moved to lunge at him and RaVage braced himself for impact. When nothing happened he looked up, right into a thumb to the eye. Hardcore rules, thems the breaks.
Urban dropped down and kicked his legs out from under him, latched onto his left arm and locked in an armbar. Torquing back, she placed her knee on his head and began grinding it down into the mat. RaVage managed to worm out of the hold and threw Urban off, pinwheeling his arm gingerly. When she charged him again, he was near enough to the turnbuckles that a drop toe hold later, she had a face full of them.
Grabbing her hair while she was stunned momentarily, he backed up with her several steps then took a running start, throwing her in front of him like a javelin, ramming her shoulder into the steel post. Urban yelled in pain and rolled out of the ring to the outside.
RaVage hopped out after her, picked her up and hurled her into the barricade. The crowed ooh’ed on impact and Urban crumpled to the floor. Not done by a long shot, RaVage picked her up by the legs and lifted her up so she was barely supporting herself with her arms. Swinging back and forth, he built up momentum and soon, Callie was swinging in the air.
He slammed her into the barricade, head first. Then he did again and again and again. After the fourth hit, when Callie dangled from the hold, unmoving, he backed up, still holding her legs, ignoring the jeers of the crowd.
Backing up far enough, he turned around and swung her one more time. Right into the steel steps. Dropping her limp form, he beat his chest again before dragging her up by the hair and rolling her into the ring.
Callie Urban’s big return looked like it was about to end in a supernova of disappointment.
Dropping down for the cover, RaVage hooked a leg and the ref started the count.
ONE
TWO
THR-
NO!
Urban threw a shoulder up. Looks like there’s some fight left in her after all.
RaVage sneered and rolled her up for a cover again.
ONE
TWO
KICKOUT
Growling, he dragged her up by her hair again and threw her into the turnbuckles. He paced like a lion stalking it’s prey as she sagged against them, barely holding herself up.
Grinning he lunged forward and slapped her in the face again. Her her whipped to the side, but she didn’t react. So he slapped her a second time. Still barely a reaction. Outside the ring the crowd jeered as RaVage continued to toy with her.
A third slap and she slumped forward, head lolling on her chest. RaVage grinned and reared back and spit on her, the ultimate insult. Still no reaction. The crowd became restless, murmuring to themselves. Was the ref going to let this go on? Was Callie’s best friend, the stalwart of nbW, Spike Saunders going to let this go on?
Apparently it would go on until RaVage either pinned her, or until the clock ran out. Ten minutes left.
RaVage smiled, reared back, and punched her square in the boob.
Callie dropped down to the mat, clutching her chest as RaVage laughed. He lifted his leg to kick out at her when it was stopped with one hand. His grin faltered as he looked down. Callie lashed out and kicked his other leg out from under him. Keeping hold of his right leg, she rolled out from the ring and dragged him to the post. Grabbing his other leg, she stepped behind the post and, before he could kick her away, fell backward, driving RaVage’s nuts into steel.
The crowd roared and Callie let go. RaVage curled in a little ball inside the ring, while Callie stomped about on the outside, waving for the bell keeper and an other official to get up. She then collapsed both of their chairs and trunched back to the ring, throwing the steel contraptions over the ropes, narrowly missing RaVage’s head.
Eyes still blazing, she rolled in under the ring and laid on of the chairs out as RaVage began to stir. A quick punch to the nads and he once again curled into himself. Dragging him along, she placed his head on top of one of the chairs and picked the other one up, holding it high over her head. The crowd cheered, anticipating what was about to happen.
CONCHAIRTO!
RaVage’s body twitched and spasmed after the steel crashed his cranium, and Callie ignored the ref, placing his battered head back onto the chair again.
CONCHAIRTO!
CONCHAIRTO!
Throwing the chair away, Callie kicked RaVage in the gut before shoving the referee out of her way and leaving the ring. Her face was livid, a bright red and she looked like she was almost foaming at the mouth.
Walking up the ramp, she made no move to return to the ring. Instead she stomped up to the entrance, raised her fist for the audience and walked backstage.
Urban was gone. RaVage was KO’d. The ref had no choice but to declare the match a draw.
The moral of the story of RaVage? Don’t ever hit a lady in the boob.
| Outcome: | Draw |
|---|
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|
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| Spike Saunders | Versus |
Ali Amore |
|---|---|---|
| Pick Your Poison Match | ||
“As you can see with the Battle Royale, the result was unclear. Even days after the event we still have yet to uncover any further news on who was the winner. Many say Zed was the last to touch, while those at ringside state they saw him touch the mat first. The two camera angles provided show Keegan and Zed hitting at the same moment, and Keegan and AMP hitting at the same moment.”
Trent sat back and crossed his arms.
“I am sure we will hear more on this result in the coming weeks. It’s been a hell of a show so far – but we’re not finished yet. Two weeks before the biggest match of his life, Ali Amore has to face the biggest man in No Brand Wrestling – Spike Saunders. If you remember, the two men had a match back in January with J. Leslie Voss as referee. Thaddeus Prometheus Boyle said that if Spike didn’t win the match, he’d never again receive a shot at the world title…
(Video footage shows Spike manhandling the then-champion effortlessly and later, JLV slow-counting.)
“Spike looked set to take Ali’s belt away from him but Voss denied him the opportunity by apparently declaring the time limit had expired.”
(The finish is shown as Trent describes it.)
“Tonight though, there was no championship on the line and no Voss as special guest referee. Just an honest battle between the two most popular singles stars on the roster. Sit back and enjoy. From everyone in nbW, thanks for watching. I’m Trent McKnight.”
The big screen lit up and already the momentum and the cheers from the fans were evidence enough while the announcers provided the setting.
Marc Gordon: “Spike must wonder what he has to do to put this young man away.”
Terry Renton: “It’s a pity they can’t pin each other. I don’t want either of them to win.”
Saunders lifted Amore up off the canvas and scored with a head butt, which made Amore stumble back into the corner. Spike lashed him with three hard rights and then set him up for an Irish Whip, which he negotiated without any resistance…
CRASH!
That was Ali’s chest hitting the top turnbuckle hard.
Spike fell on top of the 24-year-old for the cover…
1
2
He then lifted him up into the Chokebomb position and that also proved to be successful, also leading straight into another pinning predicament…
Another 2-count.
No Brand Wrestling’s answer to BFG was in complete control here, effortlessly overpowering Amore, who besides a couple of spots in the opening sequences, hadn’t been able to utilise his scintillating speed and aerial-based offence. Speaking of which, he was now up in the air, thought not of his own accord…
Things were fixed to get a whole lot worse before they got any better as Saunders took a handful of the Colombian’s long locks to drag him up and then drilled him with a DDT.
Spike was doing what he wanted with the breakout star.
To emphasise his strength and dominance, he hauled Ali back up again, who was already breathing hard and heavily, and with one grab of the tights effortlessly elevated the challenger into the air, an awesome exhibition of power and a signal that he could do whatever he wanted to this boy, who was nowhere near him in terms of physical or professional stature, and after ten seconds of showing off, not an act you’d associate with Torment, he put the promising prospect out of his misery with a technically-sound suplex.
Two count.
However, after a simple step back and bouncing off the ropes, Torment took the piss by demonstrating that he also has agility in his arsenal with a Legdrop that had very impressive hang time for such a large individual.
1
2…
Ali was really up against it here. Saunders was walking this one and well ahead on the metaphorical scorecards. Ali had looked quick and prosperous when dazzling the 7-footer with a flurry of fists in the early going but that seemed a long time ago, even if in reality it was a matter of minutes.
1
2
Gordon exclaimed: “Amore will not stay down!”
Rents quipped: “That’s because he’s too stupid to stay down.”
Marc said: “I disagree. He’s got a lot of heart, courage and class. Words that clearly don’t belong in your vocabulary.”
Renton always had something to say: “But he hasn’t got a brain or he’d know to stay down. You can’t live with a freak like Spike Saunders when he’s in this type of mood. He maims people and Amore’s got a world title match next week. Well, he won’t make it there at this rate. It’s his own fault anyway. Everyone in the world thinks seven is their lucky number. Look what it’s done for him. It’s going to cost him his title.”
The giant played up to the crowd and there was speculation, primarily from the commentator’s desk, that he was looking for his patented move – Spiked! – and the fans also sensed it. Time was nigh and their favourite superstar was cruising towards a victory, a much-needed one at that after losing to Lunatic a fortnight ago.
Spike was up again and looking to make Ali pay for his audacity but an Irish Whip into the corner wasn’t followed up in the manner it should have been as Saunders stuttered towards Ali Amore and you just couldn’t do that where the Colombian was concerned. Subsequently, he missed with big boot badly, and by the time he turned around, Saunders was susceptible to the one move that could take anyone, anywhere, anyhow, anytime down to the ground…
Guaranteed.
CHOP BLOCK!
What a tide-turner.
Some fans applauded, while others booed. Other sections stood still. They were watching a wrestling match between two of the brightest lights in the company, both at different stages and ages. Spike was a veteran, who had experience all over the world and Ali was seemingly heading that way. They were totally different in every way but they were united by talent, popularity and an unrelenting desire to win. Spike had shone in this encounter, owning it completely. Now, others felt it was the South American starlet’s turn to showcase what he could do.
Amore dropped a knee onto that of his opponent’s and dragged the cut-down redwood over to the ropes where he brought his body down onto Spike’s left leg, who was doing what he could to try and stop the renowned speed merchant from dissecting the limb. It was unusual for the risk-taker to adopt a strategic stance, a tried and trusted formula over time that helped wrestlers win at the expense of bigger men than themselves, but maybe he had listened to his experienced mentor, Keegan, after all and it had served him well in his previous matches against Torment, whom he defeated to win the world championship against on Memorial Day, and his first defence against the technically sound Mark Mercury. Would it also be a case of third time lucky here tonight too?
Any aspirations Amore had of building any momentum were again as Saunders cut him off by ramming his enormous boot into Ali’s temple, leaving the livewire performer in a heap and back at square one. Foolishly, or maybe due to the beating he had taken that led him to make such an elementary mistake, Amore neglected to tie the titan up.
Saunders was taking his toll on the ex-champion, who had a golden and glorious opportunity next week. Maybe Rents was right. With the match against RaVage, arguably the biggest of his career, certainly since Memorial Day a year ago, in mind Amore could just take a fall, one blemish on his record. It wouldn’t be a disgrace to lose to the tallest man on the roster, would it?
He wasn’t listening to me. Then again, he was getting his ass handed to him.
Meanwhile, Saunders appeared to be intoxicated as he surprisingly elected to leave his comfort zone and head to the outside and climb up onto the top turnbuckle. Everyone was stunned, but they all rose to their feet. This was one of the summer’s must-see events. Surely, if Spike hit whatever he had in mind it would be curtains for Amore, not only regarding tonight but possibly Slam 5! He couldn’t afford to withstand much more punishment, let alone absorb all of Spike’s bodyweight from a great height. Ali, well a conscious one, would be well aware of the consequences, given his tendency to fly to get by.
It took Spike twice as long to get to the second rope as it would for Ali to ascend to the top level, which isn’t an insult incidentally but a testament to the Colombian’s quickness and let’s face it, I need to big him up in some way and hand him the occasional compliment because he hasn’t done much since you started reading…
Spike stood aboard the top rope, like the Empire State Building owning New York’s skyline, and took off but he had a crash landing as, and I’m sure most of the fans knew, Ali rolled out of the way in time. It would have been curtains if he’d endured that.
Saunders seemed to be struggling for breath, oxygen visibly leaving his body upon impact, and he was trying to pump some more back into those massive lungs of his. The Superstar of Bogota had taken a beating up until this point. Was this his way back into the bout?
As Spike stood up, Ali was also stirring, but also apparently weighing up different possibilities if the close-up on his face revealed anything. Suddenly, the South American dove in and took a leg, holding it on for dear life, but Saunders wasn’t going to move. Finally, with Ali refusing to release the pressure, it was Spike who finally buckled as he crashed to the ground. From there, Amore set him up for a good, old-fashioned Figure 4…
Except Spike used his free foot to kick the Colombian straight over the top rope.Amore must’ve been ready for it as he grabbed the bottom rope, skinned the cat and did a 360 back in. Spike also read this and kicked out again, but Ali side-stepped it and dropped a hard elbow to the inside of his opponent’s leg, kicked him in the face and then put the Figure 4 on as intended.
To cut a long story short, Ali held the move for approximately half a minute yielding a couple of quick 2-counts to remind Spike to keep his shoulders up. Then, just as the big man was about to try a reversal, Ali fought it and they both rolled into the ropes.
Thereafter, Ali kept Spike near the ropes and dropped a couple of bombs, using his whole body weight to crash into the huge specimen’s softened-up pin. He then brought the behemoth back into the centre of the ring, who wasn’t giving this up without a fight, but Amore kept him at bay with three stomps to the point of the knee.
With Saunders cut down to size, it was time for Ali to adopt his second strategy…
Come on, this wouldn’t be an Ali Amore match without high-risk.
Ali was gaining confidence. Maybe he was too confident but he had to try. Keegan had warned him to slow down in order to prolong his career, a ridiculous sentiment at 23 surely, though one that should be considered. Next week, he would try and lift his second world championship. However, he had to get there first. He was adopting a ‘kill or be killed attitude…’
SMACK!
And it looked like it was going to be the latter.
After leaping off the top rope, much to the fans’ appreciation, Amore ate a size 20+ boot for his main course.
Instinctively, Spike opted to go for his umpteenth attempt at winning this match…
One…
Two…
Three.
Except, it wasn’t
Amore had kicked out – AGAIN.
The audience, who were supporting Spike whole-heartedly and had angrily greeted Amore at the outset of the evening, realised in that instance why they had – or rather still – loved this young man. Sure, he’d lost the title and he was up against their very own Spike Saunders, the single most popular athlete in the history of the company, but he was giving up some thirteen inches and well over a hundred pounds yet he was taking what the titan could take, not through choice it must be said, and kicking out every time he was being counted out, literally by the referee and figuratively by the fans.
Saunders hadn’t been on the receiving end for long but now he wanted to end it. He sensed the end was nigh as he shot Ali into the ropes, but Ali came back off the ropes with renewed vigour as he avoided contact with the colossus that surely would’ve been fatal and went back to the drawing board with another chop block. Amore rolled out of harm’s way to the apron, breathing heavily, feeling the effects of this pre-requisite, prior to his meeting with RaVage. Spike was back on his feet and stood up, once again foolishly running towards Amore, who ducked and pulled the ropes down, sending Spike to the concrete floor in a heap, a clever but cheap move that garnered some heat from the fans. He didn’t care at this point and was growing into his designated role of heel, even if it was only for one night.
Somehow, the South American starlet summoned the strength, call it instinct or the presence of mind, whatever you want, and Spike was rolling around on the floor in agony, clutching his left leg and knee too. The official began to count both men but after taking a beating, it was Ali who got to his feet first and he stood on the apron, patiently awaiting for the dominant challenger, who was clearly limping as he barely managed to stand up, not that it was the case for too long…
Ali came up with a risky dropkick of his own, setting off from the apron and accurately targeting Spike’s vulnerable limb. It was an excellent decision, especially at what could be the business phase of this encounter.
Ali then took Spike’s endangered limb to a neutral corner and paid a compliment to Canada’s finest…
FIGURE-FOUR ROUND THE STEEL POST!
Spike shook his head, as did Amore, but in totally different ways. Ali, perhaps pissed off by the fans, refused to break on five, only doing so when the official stepped outside to reprimand him for his defiance. Amore ignored him, looking rather coldly, and slithered back in. It seemed that this experience alone was toughening the kid up, worrying given his tender years and near year-long reign at the top.
He had a lease of life, much-needed and newly-discovered impetus, and decided to take his built-up annoyance and frustration on the sole reason of it by viciously whipping Saunders into the steel ring steps, knee-first, and surprisingly, the steps didn’t budge. It had summoned up all of his energy but the rewards had been reaped.
Understandably, Ali wasn’t deterred by the boos and he couldn’t afford to be. His championship aspirations were at stake so he kicked Saunders several times, all with a bulls eye on that left knee, each seemingly stiffer than the previous thump.
Being away from the battlefield didn’t seem to favour Ali, you’d think, but it was working in his favour at this point. Nevertheless, one more whip didn’t work as Saunders put the brakes on and gave the kid a stiff elbow to the throat. As the Colombian coughed, Spike got his breath back as well. When Amore ran towards him, he was ready and welcomed him into his arms, catching the twenty-something in his arms. To slow the starlet down, he spun him around and then rammed him into the steel corner spine-first, the same one that had taken its toll on the titan. Now, Amore knew how it felt.
‘AA’ was dead weight but that didn’t matter to Spike, arguably the strongest man on the roster. He supported the precocious prospect, though not in a way he appreciated or wanted, and dumped him back inside. Saunders draped an arm across…
1
2
Ali kicked out and got a round of applause for that. Spike appeared to be frustrated but not down-hearted.
Spike lifted Amore up and fired him into the buckle. However, Saunders made the silly mistake of playing his lighter, faster opponent at his own game, taking a miscalculated and ill-advised risk that didn’t pay off. His run only succeeded in squashing the turnbuckles, not the intended target, who had moved at least two seconds before. Cheekily, the South American used a schoolboy…
1
2
Nearly! He wasn’t put off. Spike was up but again was beaten to the punch, literally, and swung one of his own, clearly out of frustration and it missed by miles. Ali cut the colossal figure off with another boot to the weakened leg and then slapped on a sleeper for good measure. The aerial artist used to box smartly, now, finally, he was wrestling smartly too. He had taken a lot of abuse and now he was coming into his own, his great conditioning coming to the surface and the sleeper, despite only having 212 pounds behind it, was sufficient to put the giant to sleep.
He fought it, kicking and punching, but effectively he was clutching at thin air – figuratively and literally.
Ali, while not noted as being the most technically proficient performer, had this sunk in pretty neatly. It was startling to see someone so strong reduced to a limp state through a simple move, time immemorial, one as old as the sport itself.
Ali took the titanic figure to the mat with him and got his whole frame behind Saunders. Funnily enough, the fans also got behind him – but in a totally different way. It didn’t seem to have any effect as the official asked Spike something but the nbW symbol didn’t reply, or even flinch. The referee raised the arm and it went down – hard. A second one didn’t seem to be much of an improvement. Naturally, the third one woke the sleeping giant up and the fans popped as they saw their hero back up on his feet than Boris Becker donates sperm. He berated the Bogota-born star’s breadbasket with three elbows and that was more than enough to cause separation.
He ushered the ex-champion back up against the ropes and fired him into the opposing set, but Ali bounced off them and easily ducked underneath Spike’s clothesline attempt, making him pay with a shrewd dropkick downstairs, taking his weight from under him and regaining control of the contest.
The stage was set. Spike was on his back and the Superstar of Bogotá was going to fly. This was his moment, the opportunity he’d been waiting for. He stood up on the top perch, completely at home and confident. There weren’t many better fliers in the business than him. FROGSPLASH!
Except, he waited too long, maybe by a tad, as his landing was blighted by a raise of the legs, which probably served to hurt Saunders even more, but it had to be done and they also hurt Ali’s midriff, a bonus given the nature of Amore’s signature move.
The official started to count. He got up to seven when both men started to rise. That stopped when they were officially up at 8 and Spike denied Ali’s right hand with a block and one of his own. Ali was rocked but he still knew enough to hit Spike with a counter but after that he didn’t get a look in as Sanders spent him sprawling with another shot and then suddenly set him up for…
SPIKED!
Well, he would have hit that if it weren’t for the bell.
DING.
DING.
Saunders dumped Ali to one side for a moment, not hurting his opponent and had his hands on hips, looking perplexed and frustrated. He, along with an arena full of people, waited to hear the official word.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the official time limit of thirty minutes has expired. As a result, this contest must be ruled… A DRAW.”
The nbW faithful booed the decision and it was the second time that Ali Amore had been saved by the bell and managed a draw with Spike Saunders. The first time was very suspicious but there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with this ruling.
Nonetheless, Ali had had his ass handed to him again and Spike, as it always seemed to be recently, was screwed out of a significant victory.
A chant bellowed around the ringside area: “FIVE MORE MINUTES" CLAP CLAP CLAP "FIVE MORE MINUTES!”
Amore was up to his feet and silence fell upon the crowd as he clapped eyes of a disbelieving Saunders, who with his hands on head and mouth wide open, could’ve been blown over. To be fair to Ali, he was humble enough to realise he’d been saved again and visibly mouthed ‘Sorry’ to Spike and extended his hand. Saunders pointed to the fans and raised his hand, suggesting they should give them what they wanted.
Ali appeared to be confused but Saunders explained the situation to him and Amore gazed out at the crowd. He spat on the floor and then nodded his head. He was given a round of applause. He owed them and he owed Spike.
We were in overtime.
At that moment, Thaddeus emerged with a microphone: “I hate to do this but we went off air at the last edition of Slam. We really can’t afford to do that again. We really haven’t got five more minute to give you guys.”
Spike looked at Boyle, who quickly took off in the other direction, and smiled. He couldn’t quite believe it. Ali apologized, his hands outstretched and Spike told him it was ‘no problem.’ The pair hugged to a great pop. Any disdain they held for Ali seemed to be only for tonight, they were back onside and would probably be on his side in his quest to overcome RaVage.
Fortunately for him, he’d arrive there in one piece.
The Camera cut away to the backstage where RaVage stood next to the monitor watching. He was visibly upset that the Columbian was still close to 90%, having expected the giant to tear him to shreds befor their championship match. "Even ground it is then." he mumbled as he turned and walked away.
| Outcome: | Time-Limit Draw |
|---|
CREDITS
The New Format - Dan
Just Whom is the World Champion - Keegan
Landlocked - Scott
They call it Fishing... - Dan
The Creedes Gauntlet Match - Dusty
Wheels. In. Motion. II - K
And Ah Call it Catchin' - Dan
Impending Announcement - Keegan
Do you like Hype? - Keegan
Remember that old Fighting Federation? - Keegan
Showtime Versus Psycho - Scott
HoF'er Remembers - Keegan
Know who else Remembers? - Keegan
The Woman, The Giant, and the Cajun - Dusty/Kori/Dan
Your Thoughts Presented - Dusty
15 Man Battle Royale - Dusty
And what of the Keystone? - Dusty
RaVage Versus Callie Urban - Kori
Ali Amore Versus Spike Saunders - Keegan
The Keystone Championship was defended as a part of the NA Championship in an interpromotional match at F.A.T.E?
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