Fresh! Results23rd August 2005
Defiance
FEATURING: PIERCE LAVELLE, SARAH KENNEDY, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER AND A HOST OF ALSO-RANS
AUTHOR: LARA CLARKE
Earlier tonight...
The scene opens inside Fernley Medical Center, Birmingham. A couple of nurses are tending to a few patients. A doctor, wearing the usual medical suit, comes strolling out of the staff lounge and marches up a hall, toward the Intensive care unit.
A couple of kids are seated on beds, watching Spongebob. Grown-ups are seated on beds reading books and newspapers. The doctor continues walking past and smiling at those recovering. We now enter a hallway into a private area. A door reading "ROOM 301" is seen. The doctor opens the door and we get a quick glimpse at an empty room. The doctor rushes out of the room toward the nearest doctor, it happens to be a surgeon wearing a green outfit and mask.
Doctor: Did you see anyone leave that room?
The surgeon looks around the corner and shakes his head.
Doctor: Are you sure? That patient was in a critical condition. He's under a heavy dose of medicine. Badly bruised, went through a bus window and fell off the top of a bus. That is something that doesn't happen all the time. Now, are you sure you haven't seen a man walking around, battered, bruised, limping and extremely cut?
Surgeon: (cough) I haven't seen anything. Just got out of surgery.
The doctor walks off and mutters "stupid American". Once the doctor has disappeared around the corner and back into Intensive care, the camera switches around to the surgeon. The surgeon removes the mask and we are greeted by the bruised and cut face of Pierce Lavelle. By the way he is walking it is obvious that he is in pain. He limps the opposite way to the doctor, leaning on the walls for support. His lip has a large gash on it, along with some stitches on his eyebrow and forehead. He continues limping and straightens his posture when a couple of nurses pass by him. They stop and looked horrified by his appearance.
Nurse: Are you okay?
(Pierce Lavelle)Surgeon: I'll be fine; I was in an accident with a bus. Which way is the taxi depot? I'm new.
Nurse: Must have been a bad crash.
Pierce Lavelle, disguised as a surgeon just nods his head and points down the hall.
Nurse: Oh, I forgot, em, the taxi depot. It is down the hall and to your left. You should be there if you take the staff room exit.
Pierce Lavelle just nods his head and waits for the two nurses to disappear, he then begins his limp again, whilest gripping his ribs and keeping his head down. A few moments later we arrive outside the Fernley Medical Center. A long line of black cabs are parked outside. Pierce Lavelle, still in the surgeon attire struggles down the steps but makes it, letting out a sigh of pain.
Pierce Lavelle: Can you take me to NEC Arena?
Cabbie: Eh, lad, you don't look too good. You sure ya want to go to a wrestling event?
Pierce Lavelle: Listen I'll pay the fee, just get me there, please?
Cabbie: Alright, no need to get angry.
Pierce Lavelle climbs into the black cab, with a lot of difficulty. The doctor comes running out just as the cab drives off. The doctor picks up his mobile and dials a number.
15 minutes later...
The black cab pulls to a screeching Holt just outside the NEC arena, Birmingham. Pierce Lavelle still dressed in the surgeon green, gets out and pays the cabbie. He limps his way passed some screaming fans, who are shocked to see Pierce Lavelle so soon. Some of their faces turn a green and whitish colour at the sight of the ex-Transatlantic Champion. Pierce Lavelle almost keels over as he makes it up to the main lobby. He sits down and pays for a bottle of water and takes out a small tub, labelled "PAIN KILLERS". He knocks a few back and takes a drink. Sarah Kennedy spots Pierce Lavelle and rushes over.
Sarah Kennedy: Pierce? (Shocked) Oh my god, look at you.
Pierce Lavelle: Nice to see you too... Em, could you help me up?
Sarah Kennedy helps Pierce Lavelle out of the plastic chair. Pierce Lavelle continues to whimper in pain as he holds his ribs.
Sarah Kennedy: Why are you here?
Pearl: I'll answer that.
Pearl comes up from behind the two, dressed in a black tuxedo and a red silk shirt. He stares at Sarah Kennedy who nods her head and leaves. Pierce Lavelle turns around to greet his boss.
Pearl: I just got off the phone with your doctor. You’re not supposed to be here, Pierce.
Pierce Lavelle: I have unfinished business. That match you put me in, it was suicidal.
Pearl: I'm aware of that Pierce, but you can't do anything about that, not in your condition.
Pierce Lavelle: I feel... fine.
Pearl: You have two broken ribs, a concussion, lacerations all over you, and you feel... fine. Don't lie to me Pierce Lavelle. That's why you are wearing these green clothes, isn’t it? You snuck out of the hospital …
Pierce Lavelle just dips his head, he wobbles a bit and Pearl grabs his arm to support him. Pearl sits Pierce Lavelle down, as the two begin to discuss things, the plasma screen comes on. Varga is seen on the television, a recap from a couple of weeks ago. Pierce Lavelle looks away from Pearl and focuses on the television.
James Varga: But that's OK. I get to turn on the television last week and watch Pierce Lavelle come on here and rally a bunch of dumb Irish PRIME wanna-bes to try and take me down. Well Pierce, you don't have the biggest penis here.
James shakes his head.
James Varga: No. That honour goes to Ellis Nash. Why? Because from what I hear, she's a man baby and you two are going to put together the next Sean Waltman/Joanie Laurer sex tape...
Varga cackles to himself.
James Varga: Pierce, you don't want to fuck with me. Oh no. You don't want to fuck with James Varga. 28 championship wins in under three years should show you that you don't want to fuck with me. But it's all a big joke Pierce. HA HA. The AWC, where we wanna-be PRIME but instead we got our ass handed to us by James Varga.
James brushes his hair back as he has a laugh over his last comment.
v James Varga: So Pierce, now that you understand the reasoning behind my little "excursion" here to the AWC, maybe you'll understand that I was merely trying to HELP a fledgling promotion such as the AWC get some media exposure and earn some new fans. Oh, but of course nobody will want to hear it because I'm the heel in this storyline.
Varga shakes his head.
James Varga: No. Breaking kayfabe is a no-no. What's Dave Harber going to do? Fire me over the phone like Eric Bischoff did to Steve Austin? I'M NOT EVEN EMPLOYED HERE! WHY SHOULD ALL OF YOU GIVE A DAMN ABOUT ME? WHY SHOULD ALL OF YOU GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE MAN WHO IS OUT TO SAVE... (suddenly turns calm) professional wrestling.
An uneasy calm comes over James, like when a storm is about to hit.
James Varga: Pierce, don't make me hurt you. Don't make me do it. All that I ask is that you put on your little tights, put on your little panties, and let's get in the ring and settle this like men. No more invasion nWo bullshit. No more locker room rallies to help your cause. No more talking. Let's just get in the ring and see who the better man is. You put your AWC Transatlantic championship on the line and I'll come on (points to the camera) YOUR show and I'll kick your ass, or, as you people in the nether regions spell it, ARSE. It's that simple. Imagine the headlines then. “An outside wrestler, James Varga, has won the AWC championship!”
Varga turns to the camera and smiles.
James Varga: Well, blimey. That would give the AWC the attention it REALLY needs. Now Pierce, I am but a mere wrestler. What damage can I do to a promotion? So you take the ball. Or, in your case, the balls and accept my challenge. I'm merely trying to help you and your feeble friends out. (smirks) No one here can touch me. NO ONE. Not the lesbians, not the farmers, not the Horny Mathematicians. So let's settle in the ring and let me show you and everyone watching at home just who the better man is... ME.
The recap ends and Pierce Lavelle has become livid. Pearl looks around and shakes his head.
Pearl: Pierce, I was kind of hoping that you didn’t need to see that yet.
Pierce Lavelle: Why? Oh, I get it, you didn’t want me to see it, because I lost the title and I’m in this condition. I understand.
Pearl: I know you are upset, but I think we can leave the Varga issue for a while.
Pierce Lavelle looks like he is concentrating on something and soon turns to Pearl, he stand up, slowly and puts a hand on Pearl’s shoulder for some support.
Pierce Lavelle: I have an idea for Varga, but first, we need to discuss it.
Pearl holds most Pierce Lavelle’s weight as the two disappear down the hallway toward the locker rooms and administration lounge. Pearl stops and looks at the Medical room.
Pearl: But first, I want to make sure you can stay for this chat …
Pierce Lavelle: Agreed.
Pierce Lavelle knocks on the door and two medics emerge and help him into the room. Pearl follows and the door shuts behind them.
Strike At The Core
FEATURING: TIM SHIPLEY, THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Tim Shipley’s not the Frontier champion anymore.
He doesn’t have a match tonight either, but here he is all the same, the ever faithful servant, the routine of things perhaps getting to him on this occasion judging by the dull expression on his face.
We’ve seen him like this many times before – jeans, that dark blue shirt with the orange pinstripes that a certain Miss S. Farrell gave him for his birthday, hair neat yet messy and not really very good, breezing through the back door of the Birmingham NEC just as it swings shut – a little too fast for Shipley’s liking as the horizontal bar on the fire door (with its helpful green sticker) hits him hard on the – posterior – as it moves back into place.
Shipley jumps and looks down at the offending door, grimacing.
Voice: Just not your week, is it?
Shipley turns round to locate the person who has just spoken to him, and a figure rushes into view, a caped and masked figure, and clobbers the Englishman over the head with a title belt. Shipley goes down like a shot to the dirty linoleum floor, his hand instinctively rushing to his forehead where it looks like a gash may have been created. His main worry is keeping the blood off this shirt... hence the lack of a fight back.
The Illustrious Face-Eater lays the title belt on Shipley’s chest, and we begin to wonder – what IS this belt? Face-Eater isn’t a champion. Face-Eater’s never been a champion, not to our knowledge. But that question is answered for us as Facey hisses a parting comment at the man he seems to loathe.
Face-Eater: The Core Wrestling Tag Team title belts... bring back any memories, Tim?
Shipley frowns.
Tim Shipley: I –
Face-Eater: I’ll leave you to... mull it over.
Face-Eater drops the belt on Tim’s chest, where it lands with a thud, and undoes a second from his waist, allowing it to fall to the floor next to Shipley.
Face-Eater: Whose was whose?
With an evil laugh, Face-Eater storms off down the corridor, leaving Shipley to sit up, bewildered.
Tim Shipley: (yelling) Who ARE you?
The Illustrious Face-Eater gives Shipley a parting wave and walks quickly away, as Shipley picks up the two belts and stands with a sigh.
Introduction
FEATURING: DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!, MIGUEL "THE MIDGET" RODRIGUEZ, HANS HEINEMANN
AUTHORS: DAVE LARKIN AND PIERRE HYDE
The screen goes to black then fizzles to life suddenly, the letters “AWC” flashing across in a brilliant white light. A moment of silence dominates, then, backed by “Way Away” by Yellowcard, images of AWC’s superstars appear, one after the other. The guitar plays softly first, then goes straight into a strong, powerful riff.
I think I'm breaking out
I'm gonna leave you now
There’s nothing for me here
It’s all the same
The new Transatlantic champion The Educator is shown emerging from the wreckage at The Battle Of Britain. A pulsating white light continually lights up the screen, as shots of many AWC superstars in action are shown: Mike Wade, The Furious Fists Of God, The Farmer.
And even though I know
That everything might go
Go downhill from here
I’m not afraid
A quick collection of highlights from The Battle Of Britain flash across the screen as the song moves into its chorus. Hate launching Red Rock off the tour bus; Adalia Delorian hanging from the flagpole; Jonny Sake hitting a powerbomb on Kris Krimzon.
Way away, away from here I’ll be
Away, away, away, so you can see
How it feels to be alone and not believe
Feels to be alone and not believe
Anything
Hans Heinemann: We’ve experienced what many other federations in this world can only dream of and come out of it relatively unscathed. The Battle Of Britain blew us all away and tonight is the fallout from that outstanding event! We’ve live in Birmingham, England. This is Fresh!.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It sure is. Tonight we’re keeping up the momentum with a main event that will impress. The Educator puts two of his newly won titles on the line - namely the Frontier and Livewire - against Andy Murray and Steven Xandrous!
Miguel Rodriguez: Plus, my beeeeg boy provides the rest of the entertainment. Now, as it’s growing in size as we speak, and the lights are blinding me, let’s get right down to the action.
Hans Heinemann: I think we may need to address this stupid beeeg whatever at the end of the show. It’s causing problems here at the announcer’s booth.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Nah, it’s cool. I give it a rub the odd time.
Hans Heinemann: Sick! ACK!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I meant I rub the announcer’s booth.
Miguel Rodriguez: Or did you?
Hans Heinemann: Enough! Action stations!
The Night Of The Educator II
FEATURING: THE EDUCATOR, TRUTH WATERS, GEORGE CASSIDY, PIERCE LAVELLE
AUTHORS: LEON CRUISEY AND LARA CLARKE (WITH EDITING BY PIERRE HYDE)
The noise in the Birmingham NEC Arena has died down as the fans wait to see what happens next. Then all of a sudden, the house lights go out and the crowd begin to roar in anticipation. A few short moments pass before "School of Hard Knocks" by POD blasts out of the PA system and the crowd bursts into a frenzy of boo's and cheers. Red, white and blue confetti begins to fall from the arena ceiling and fireworks blast off in all different directions adding to the noise of the Birmingham audience.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Oh no, here we go...
Hans Heinemann: Let the celebrations commence!
Tonight, along with The Battle Of Britain, is quite clearly The Educator's night and he is going to make sure that everyone knows it. After a few more seconds The Educator steps out from the back, arms raised and with a smile spread across his face. He's wearing his trademark black suit and black glasses but it seems as though he has added a few new accessories to his attire. Three new accessories to be exact.
The Livewire, Frontier and Transatlantic title belts. The Livewire and Frontier belts are draped over each one of his shoulders whilst the Transatlantic title is wrapped around The Educator's immaculate waist. He hoists the belts higher on his shoulders and rubs the Transatlantic title before continuing his walk towards the ring.
Miguel Rodriguez: Beeg boy not quite feeling this.
The boos increase in volume at the smug look The Educator appears to be giving to every section of the audience. All of a sudden, balloons begin to fall with the confetti as The Educator enters the ring and grabs a microphone. By now the ring is absolutely covered with balloons and confetti but the crowd are in no mood to celebrate as more and more boo's fill the arena as The Educator puts the microphone to his lips.
The Educator: This, right here, these belts that you people see before you, are the evidence that I needed. See, for weeks now I've been trying to teach and educate you people but it seems that some people, some, idiotic people, are just beyond help.
The crowd begin to boo once again but The Educator just smiles and continues.
The Educator: So, I had to take a more active approach, because if words don't get through to you people, then maybe achievements will... not that you people would know. I'm surprised you had the brainpower to even get here tonight, so actually I guess that's an achievement in itself.
The Birmingham NEC crowd begin to chant "You Suck! You Suck! You Suck!"
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Oh, I’m so glad he’s our new triple champion...
The Educator: Ah you see, that's where you people have been going wrong. Night after night I've come out here and I've tried to make you people see that you should listen to me, the most intelligent man in sports entertainment. Because if you had then you would not be as stupid as to believe that I, The Educator, AWC's first ever triple champion, suck.
Regardless, the crowd continue to chant.
The Educator: There have been some believers, but most of you are too retarded, and too uneducated to realise that I am the best thing to EVER happen to the AWC. So that's why tonight, is MY night, the night where all of you...
The Educator points out to every corner of the audience.
The Educator:...begin to listen to the lessons of The Educator. Tonight’s first lesson? Well I wouldn't ordinarily do this but under the circumstances... tonight’s first lesson is... HOW TO PARTY!
More confetti begins to fall from the arena ceiling as “Congratulations” by Cliff Richard begins to play over the PA system. The crowd can only look on in horror as The Educator takes off his three belts and begins to dance along with the music.
Hans Heinemann: Oh... my God...
He then grabs James Brunt, the AWC ring announcer and starts to dance with him, swaying him from side to side as he looks on in disgust. The Educator soon stops and grabs the microphone again, quickly adjusting his glasses as he does.
The Educator: This party is to celebrate my brilliant achievement, something that I did, all on my own, without ANYBODY'S help! Take a good luck people, because these belts don't just represent the champion of the AWC, they say, no, they SCREAM out the message that I am better than every one of you! This is exactly the kind of evidence I was talking about. The balloons, the confetti, and these championship belts...
The Educator says and he points to each individual belt.
The Educator: There's nobody here tonight, and that includes in the locker rooms, that can handle the might of The Educator. I have proved to you people once and for all that I am the smartest man in sports entertainment, and tonight begins the era of The Educator.
The Educator slowly lifts the Transatlantic title belt above his head as a chorus of boos once again fill the arena.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: God help us all.
The Educator: Now, class one, lesson one. A good party is nothing without a few guests, so can we please welcome, the first guest of the Educator era...
The Educator pauses for a brief moment before breaking into a smile and shouting...
The Educator: Mr... KRIS KRIMZON! Come on down buddy!
The crowd begin to boo even louder.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Oh come on!
Hans Heinemann: The fact that The Educator broke Kris Krimzon's leg at The Battle Of Britain means that it's unlikely that he will be in the arena tonight.
The Educator waits for the boos to subside a little before breaking into a fit of laughter.
The Educator: Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot that that ignoramus can barely walk let alone attend a party!
The Educator actually falls back laughing as the crowd get more and more incensed.
The Educator: That's more evidence for you neanderthals. On my first night in this poor excuse for a wrestling organisation, that idiot booked us as a duo. He ACTUALLY thought that I would want to acknowledge his piss poor existence. Unbelievable. Well I taught him a lesson, a lesson that I think he's going to remember for the rest of his life. Every time he looks down at his shattered leg he'll always remember to NEVER, EVER mess with The Educator. I thought throwing him off a roof would have taught him that, but at The Battle Of Britain, I decided he needed a little extra tutelage. Which believe me, he needed. If you were to add the amount of brain-cells he had with every one of you, you'd get oh... about half a brain-cell!
A few members of the audience begin to throw things towards the ring; drinks, food and merchandise as The Educator wipes a few laughter tears from his eyes.
The Educator: Ah well, onto the next guest. A man who never believed, a man who I expect to congratulate me as soon as he casts his eyes on these championship belts. The man, the myth, the absolute waste of space... Mr...TRUTH WATERS!
The crowd let out a cheer for the AWC West Atlantic commentator.
Hans Heinemann: Will he even be here? Surely The Educator’s aware that Truth Waters doesn’t do East Atlantic shows.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Nah, Truth’ll be here; he decided to stick around after BoB.
However, by the time the pop has died down, Truth Waters still hasn't appeared. Then slowly but surely, he begins to make his way out of the back. He gives a few waves to the crowd and stares coolly at Educator on his walk towards the ring. The Educator goes to the outside and grabs a microphone and hands it to Truth Waters with a shove.
The Educator: I've been waiting to talk to you for a long time Mr. Waters. You, along with Mr. Harber, are the two unbelievers.
The Educator begins to get closer and closer to Truth Waters’ face.
The Educator: Why don't you like me Mr. Waters?
Truth Waters hesitates before giving his answer.
Truth Waters: I don't not like you Educator...
All of a sudden The Educator grabs Truth.
The Educator: Don't BULLSHIT me Mr. Waters. Yes, that's right, I said bullshit.
Truth Waters doesn't cower but The Educator presses on anyway.
The Educator: Be honest Mr. Waters, you never believed that you would be here in front of me, with me being the triple champion, did you?
Waters shrugs.
Truth Waters: I'll be honest, no I didn't.
The Educator: So you admit that you were an unbeliever. You, along with all these half-wits in this stink-ridden place, thought that I couldn't do it. Well I tell you what I’m going to do Mr Waters, I'm going to give you three seconds, just three seconds to announce me as the greatest champion of all time, and if you don't, then I’m going to slap the ignorance out of you.
Waters raises his eyebrows and laughs as The Educator finishes his sentence with menace in his eyes and grabs Truth even tighter.
The Educator: This is a chance to learn from your mistakes, to learn a valuable lesson in life Mr. Waters, don't miss out on this opportunity, because it would leave me very disappointed. You wouldn't want to disappoint me would you?
Waters doesn’t answer, clearly thinking this whole thing ridiculous.
Miguel Rodriguez: Truth is INCENSING The Educator; I can see a fight here.
The Educator: Thought not. Okay, One!......Two!......
Before The Educator can say three however, “Way Away” by Yellowcard blasts out over the PA system as many of the fans turn to the entrance and boo on seeing George Cassidy, AWC's other West Atlantic commentator, begin to make his way to the ring. His entrance distracts Educator as he lets go of Truth Waters.
Hans Heinemann: Ah, it’s George Cassidy, Truth’s commentary partner.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: They did a good job in that tour bus.
The Educator: Ah, just in time Mr. Cassidy, it seems you got your invitation.
George Cassidy makes his way to the ring, microphone in hand, to a chorus of boos, for Cassidy is not the heel whom fans love to hate – he is a man genuinely disliked by all, all except The Educator it seems.
Cassidy enters the ring and looks over to Truth Waters before moving closer to The Educator and shaking the champion’s hand.
George Cassidy: It's a pleasure Mr. Masters, and congratulations on all your recent success, I always knew you could do it.
The Educator: This man here, is a credit to the human race. Top of his profession and intelligent to go with it as well. This man, Mr. George Cassidy, always believed in me, the only one smart enough to do so. How you can sit next to THIS moron...
The Educator points towards Truth Waters.
The Educator:...night after night I will never know, Mr. Cassidy.
George Cassidy: I know, I’m surprised he hasn't been fired long before now.
Cassidy shoots a blank sideways glance at Truth.
The Educator: Indeed. Now, where was I? Yes, I do believe that I was about to give Mr. Waters here the chance of a lifetime. To actually earn a shred of intelligence by announcing me as the greatest champion ever!
George Cassidy suddenly jumps in front of The Educator to stop him walking towards Truth.
George Cassidy: (hurriedly) Well that's the thing you see, if you... do what you said you were going to do to Truth then that means extra work for me. No doubt he'll be out of action and that means I’d have to call every match by myself, and you know what with my personal life and all, that's something I could do without...
The Educator: Ah yes, how is the wife?
There is a silence.
George Cassidy: Still a bitch.
The Educator: I see. Very well then. For Mr. Cassidy's sake and Mr. Cassidy's sake alone Mr. Waters, you do not get taught a valuable lesson today. But be warned. I am the AWC's Transatlantic champion, and that means that I can do whatever the hell I want. So if you even try and suggest that I am not a worthy champion, then I will make sure that this class is resumed VERY quickly. I do not tolerate unbelievers, and I will not have any during The Educator era. Which brings me onto the next guest.
Sensing they know who it is the crowd begin to roar in anticipation. This time, The Educator doesn't shout out the name of the next guest, but almost growls it.
The Educator: Mr... Harber.
The whole of the Birmingham NEC lift to their feet in that hope that the AWC Entertainment Manager's music will hit and that David "Pearl" Harber will make his way to the ring. But nothing happens. The Educator stands in the middle of the ring with George Cassidy and Truth Waters looking up at the entrance-way, Cassidy a little red as he stoically refuses to even glance at Waters having defended him. After a few moments the roars from the crowd die down and they turn into disappointed boos.
The Educator: Hey I’m just as surprised as you people, Mr. Harber was definitely given an invite. He was going to be my guest of honour. Because I want to see his face when he sees these belts wrapped around my waist.
A Pearl chant begins in the audience before The Educator speaks again.
The Educator: Mr. Harber. You thought you were so smart booking The Educator in three different matches didn't you? I told you before Mr Harber that you should know that a man as smart as I, and a man with this amount of technical ability and power, could wrestle in a lot more than a measly three matches. Three wrestling matches in one night would kill an ordinary man, but I am no ordinary man. I am smart, strong, and extremely handsome.
Many of the fans in the audience begin to laugh at this.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Well, two out of three isn't bad is it?
Miguel Rodriguez: You think he handsome?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: No...
The Educator: And now I’ve proved it to you. But you just don't listen do you? Because tonight you have booked me in a three way match against Andy Murray and Steven Xandrous for my Livewire and Frontier titles. A cunning plan only a few days after what will forever be known as The Educator's pay-per-view, The Battle Of Britain. But I reiterate, I am no ordinary man Mr. Harber, ten opponents in five days is nothing to me, a point which will once again be proven tonight when I retain both the Livewire and Frontier titles.
Hans Heinemann: Surely he can't be serious.
The Educator: You will realise, if I have to drag and beat it out of you Mr. Harber, that the AWC cannot survive without me. I AM the AWC!
Nearly every fan's head turns towards the entrance way in the hope that Pearl will make an appearance.
The Educator: Go home and look at the ratings for the pay-per-view Mr. Harber, go and take a look at how many people I'm pulling in right now. It's criminal how much money I'm earning you Mr. Harber. All these morons tuning in just to see what greatness looks like, because let’s face it, they're never going to know any other way!
By now many sections of the audience have grown tired of booing The Educator and resort back to their earlier "You Suck!" chant.
The Educator: Which, ironically, brings me onto my fifth and final guest, ladies and gentleman, would you please welcome the FORMER AWC Transatlantic champion, Mr... PIERCE LAVELLE!
The Birmingham NEC arena explodes into deafening cheers for one of the most popular men in the AWC as “Stockholm Syndrome” by Muse begins to sound out around the arena. But once again nothing happens. When it becomes apparent that Pierce Lavelle isn't going to make his way to the ring, the cheers die down again, the people sit back down, and the music stops. The Educator begins to laugh again.
The Educator: You gullible fools. Do you REALLY think that Mr. Lavelle is man enough to be able to walk into this arena tonight? He's probably in some hospital somewhere, nursing his wounds and his pride.
Miguel Rodriguez: Sounds like somebody has not been watching the show!
The Educator: Mr. Harber, I have done you a great favour by beating that overrated, grade-A loser. What kind of money was Mr. Lavelle bringing in? Who really cares about Pierce Lavelle?
To show that they do, the crowd begin to roar at the mention of the former champion.
The Educator: Please. Like I said, Mr. Harber. Take a look at the ratings and you'll see that Pierce Lavelle wasn't a worthy champion, and he never will be. That's why I invited Mr. Lavelle, so he could come down here, and take a good look at what a REAL champion looks like. But alas, it doesn't look like he'll be getting out of that hospital bed I helped put him in anytime soon.
The Educator laughs once again as it looks like he's about to make his way out of the ring, when all of a sudden... "Stockholm Syndrome" by Muse blasts out of the speakers for a second time. The fans erupt into a cacophony of hopeful cheers for the ex-Transatlantic champion. George Cassidy and The Educator look on, not pleased by the interruption, but Truth Waters seems to be applauding the impending arrival of Pierce Lavelle. After a few moments, Pierce Lavelle appears from around the corner, limping. He's changed out of the green surgeon attire and into a pair of tracksuit bottoms. His ribs are bandaged and he's covered in gashes, cuts and stitches. The Educator laughs at the weak display in front of him. Pierce Lavelle struggles to make it down to the ring. He stops and stares at The Educator, he gazes at all three titles and shakes his head. Truth Waters helps the weak Pierce Lavelle into the ring and gets him a microphone.
Pierce Lavelle: You seem surprised, Educator.
The Educator: It's THE Educator to you.
Pierce Lavelle: I don't think so, you haven't earned that right yet.
The fans all cheer the ex-champion as he stands in the ring in his feeble state.
Hans Heinemann: Look, he’s grown a sense of humour.
The Educator: You look a little under the weather!
Pierce Lavelle: As would you, if you had actually remained in most of the main event and taken a beating from Hate.
The Educator: Would you look at this George, he thinks I didn't earn this belt.
The fans boo The Educator once again.
Pierce Lavelle: You are right, I don't. See, what have you done? Other than appear at the end of the match out of nowhere and claim you won it. Now see, that doesn't make much sense.
The Educator: Ah, the conspiracy theories of a weakened EX-champion...
Pierce Lavelle: You have to earn respect Educator. You invite a couple of people to this bash, you call a victory party, but it isn't. It's a bragging contest. You want Krimzon here, to rub it in his face that you broke his leg and probably tore some ligaments. You invite Pearl out, to brag and wave your success in front of him and point out his plan failed, but why did you bring me out here?
The Educator: I thought that I made it perfectly clear. To see what a REAL champion looks like. A real winner... You are looking at greatness.
Pierce Lavelle laughs at this statement, as do the crowd. George Cassidy throws some insults at Pierce Lavelle. Lavelle stares at him and George Cassidy quietens down a little.
Pierce Lavelle: Great! Sure. You see Educator, from my first day here I have been in the main event. I beat two unbeaten wrestlers in the space of two shows. I held that title for seven weeks. I beat Ellis Nash, Alex Strider, Hate, Paddy O'Shea... all of these are things a champion and main eventer accomplishes, but you get one break and a main event shot and suddenly you become great. That is a joke.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Pierce has a point.
The Educator: (yawns) You bore me... so what if you beat two unbeaten wrestlers and won the title all in two shows. What does that matter? I won all three in one night. I am GREAT... you just can't face you lost this belt.
Pierce Lavelle: You don't know me too well, I wouldn't jump to conclusions yet.
George Cassidy: Back off Pierce Lavelle. Can't you see you are ruining the party?
Pierce Lavelle: What party?
The Educator: The one you interrupted.
The crowd boo as the two seem to be ganging up on Lavelle.
Pierce Lavelle: Interrupted? I thought I was invited.
The Educator seems to hold no rebuttal for that statement and lowers his glasses.
Miguel Rodriguez: Haha!
George Cassidy edges closer to The Educator, warning Pierce Lavelle that if he doesn't back off soon, it will end up being two on one.
Pierce Lavelle: Just remember one thing Educator, being the last champion, I have a right to a rematch and one day, I will take it. Let’s see if you could beat me one and one and no Houdini acts.
The Educator: A threat. You aren't in any condition to speak to me like that.
Pierce Lavelle: A broken rib and a couple of gashes aren't going to stop me from defending myself.
The Educator smiles and looks around.
The Educator: Well then we shall have to see, won't we?
With that The Educator turns around and slaps Pierce Lavelle in the face.
Hans Heinemann: No! He’s hurt.
Lavelle begins to fight back but eventually his injuries take their toll and The Educator begins to have the upper hand. Truth Waters tries to break the two wrestlers up but, with a quick raised fist from The Educator, he thinks better of it.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Come on Truth! GET IN THERE MY SON!
Waters backs away slightly before suddenly delivering an uppercut to The Educator sending him crashing to the floor.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: YEAH! POTATOES!
The crowd jump to their feet and roar in approval as George Cassidy bends down to check on the stunned Educator. Truth, as quickly as he possibly can, grabs Pierce Lavelle and begins to help him out of the ring and to the back. The crowd are still cheering when “Stockholm Syndrome” plays out again as a shocked looking Educator and George Cassidy look back at the exiting ex-champion and Truth Waters.
Bad Sheep
FEATURING: ADALIA DELORIAN, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER AND A SHEEP
AUTHOR: JUSTIN DIGESU
In the depths of the backstage area, Adalia Delorian is seen looking for his backstage area. Finding it, he opens the door and closes it behind him. All looks well.
Unknown Voice: Baaaaah!
Delorian looks around upon hearing the strange noise, but nothing seems out of the ordinary.
Adalia Delorian: I must be hearing things. Head's still ringing.. yeah, that's it.
He continues about his business, eventually sitting down in a couch provided in the room. The Absolute Zero begins to rest his eyes while seated on the comfortable sofa, but something causes those eyes to shoot open just seconds later.
Unknown Voice: Baaaaah!
Adalia sits upright, ears perked.
Adalia Delorian: No... now I'm sure I heard something.
The strange 'baaaaah!' sound continues, as Delorian eases himself slowly out of his seat. He closes in on the door leading back out into the hallway, to which the noise gets even louder. Adalia hesitantly grabs the doorknob, and carefully turns it. The door creaks open.
Unknown Voice: Baaaaah!
Before he knows it, Delorian falls over from the large sheep that bursts into the locker room.
Wales Sheep: Baaaaah! Baaah baaah!
Adalia stares up at the sheep in disbelief. Where has it come from? Why is it bothering him? Where are drugs when Delorian needs them?
Adalia Delorian: I must be losing my mind.
Carefully, so much as to not irritate the sheep, Delorian scampers to his feet and backs away from it, hands raised in defense.
Adalia Delorian: Nice sheep... gooood sheep... don't hurt me, you little bugger...
Once a safe distance away from the sheep, he blinks, watching it like a hawk.
Wales Sheep: Baaaaah!
To Adalia's relief, the sheep leaves the room on its own will. He sighs and shakes his head.
Adalia Delorian: That... was creepy.
Delorian turns away and walks over to the washroom area of the locker room. He stands in front of the sink and turns the cold water on, reaching his hands in to soak them real well, before rubbing his cheeks and his forehead. He takes a look at the mirror just above the sink, and tilts his head just a slight bit.
Adalia Delorian: Maybe there's some aspirin in here or something...
He grabs the mirror and to his luck it slides open. However, nothing is behind it.
Adalia Delorian: Damn..
Delorian closes the mirror. The moment he does, he captures David “Pearl” Harber in the reflection. Adalia jumps slightly at the discovery. Pearl begins to laugh a little bit, shaking his head as he speaks.
Pearl: So you didn't try to put your dirty parts near the sheep... further proof that you're not Welsh, I see.
Delorian doesn't get the joke; he's still reeling from the second consecutive surprise visit.
Adalia Delorian: Huh?
Smiling, Pearl reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few folded up pieces of paper.
Pearl: Born in New Jersey, currently residing in Kyoto... that would be you. You're not from Wales, and from what I understand, you've never even visited Wales.
Sighing, Delorian nods his head.
Adalia Delorian: I know, bud. I'm as American as can be.
Caught in his fib, Delorian chuckles sheepishly. Hah. Sheepishly.
Adalia Delorian: Sorry.
Pearl shrugs, pointing his papers at the up and comer.
Pearl: Don't worry about it… was quite a nifty trick, but I don't condone those types of things. Being as you're new here, I'll let it pass, but I don't want you pretending to be a... sheep shagger anymore, you hear me?
Laughing some more, Adalia nods his approval.
Adalia Delorian: Sounds like a plan.
Nodding, Harber turns to leave the locker room, but Adalia stops him.
Adalia Delorian: Hey, boss.
Pearl looks back at Delorian, an inquisitive look on his face.
Pearl: Yes?
Adalia Delorian: I wasn't trying to cheat my way into the match... that Murray dude just seemed desperate, and he asked if I wanted to help the card, so... I did.
Pearl smiles, admiring the kid's honesty.
Pearl: Well, at least I know you did it with best intentions. That's why I'm going to forget this whole controversy... just keep these sheep out of here, they don't belong in the locker room area.
Delorian laughs.
Adalia Delorian: Will do. Thanks.
With that, David Harber turns and makes his way out of the room, accidentally bumping into the sheep on the way out.
Wales Sheep: Baaaaah!
Weapon Of Mass Confusion
FEATURING: ANDY MURRAY AND CO., JASON LOCKE
AUTHOR: ANDY MURRAY
We head to the parking lot, where we find the Scottish King of Cool, Andy Murray, pulling a large shoulder bag from the boot of the Murraymobile – Andy’s multi-coloured Volkswagen hippy van. After slamming the boot door shut, Andy throws his bag at his butler Alvaro, almost knocking him off of his feet.
Andy Murray: Come on old chap, look lively!
Alvaro scowls, as he places the bag over his shoulder, adjusting the strap accordingly. Andy, meanwhile, grabs Snowball’s leash from the original alien gangsta of AWC, Grobschnit.
Andy Murray: Big night tonight guys, let’s roll!
Grobschnit: Wurd.
Andy, Grobber, Alvaro and Snowball begin to make their way away from the hippy van towards the arena entrance, but before they get anywhere, Andy is halted by a guy carrying a slightly smaller bag. The guy has short black hair, and is clearly somebody that Andy has never seem before.
Jason Locke: Pardon me, Mr. Murray, my name’s Jason Locke...
Andy Murray: Oh… what is it, amigo? Quickly, I don’t have a lot of time.
Jason Locke: Well, I just signed a contract with the Atlantic Wrestling Club, I was hoping that you’d maybe be able to give me a couple of pointers?
Murrr raises an eyebrow.
Andy Murray: Oh, okay, well, you’ve come to the right place, brotha! If you’re looking to make it big in AWC, the first thing you have to do is make sure you’re as cool as a cucumber, dig? I’m talking ice cold here, cooler than Samuel L. Jackson… so cool you make Frosty the Snowman look like a fiery demon out of the Lord of the Rings!
Jason Locke: Uh, okay…
Andy Murray: Also, get yourself one of these suckers, they’re awesome!
Leaning down, Andy pats Snowball gently on the head. In response, she spits a burst of fire at Locke, who has to leap backwards to avoid it. Needless to say, he isn’t impressed.
Jason Locke: What the heck was that? Did that badger just… spit fire at me?
Andy Murray: You better believe it, motherhubbard!
Jason Locke: Motherhubbard? What are you talking about!?
Andy rolls his eyes.
Andy Murray: Oh dear, I can see that it will take a lot of work before you’re transformed into a being of overwhelming coolness.
Jason Locke: I was hoping you’d be a little bit more useful, actually. Seeing as you’ve been around for quite a while, and I’m just starting out…
Suddenly, Grobschnit intervenes!
Grobschnit: Yo fagit! Donot u tayk da pizz owt uv AnDee orr izz kik ur azz!
Grobschnit attempts to lunge at Locke, although Andy manages to get between the pair.
Jason Locke: …eh?
Andy Murray: Calm down Grobby! Deep breaths, deep breaths…
Taking Andy’s advice, Grobschnit takes a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down.
Andy Murray: Sorry Jason dude, the notorious S-C-H-N-I-T gets a little carried away from time to time. But, there’s a key to striking gold right here in the Club of Atlantic Wrestlers…
There is a long pause between the two.
Jason Locke: What’s that?
Andy Murray: Do you really want to know?
Jason Locke: Yes…
Andy Murray: REALLY?!
Jason Locke: Look for Christ’s sake…
Andy Murray: Alright, the key to hitting the big time in AWC, is…
Again, there is a long pause.
Andy Murray: Haggis.
Jason recoils, highly confused by the Scottish King of Cool’s ramblings. Sensing this, Andy shakes his head in disgust.
Jason Locke: Wha…!?!
Andy Murray: Ugh! I can see you’re not taking any of this in… fine, have it your way! Come on posse, let’s roll!
With that, Murray leaves Locke in a state of complete and utter confusion as he leads his crew away.
Not A Real Welshman!
FEATURING: MIKE WADE AND THE WADE PARADE, SARAH KENNEDY
AUTHOR: MIKE WADE
We are taken backstage to where the cars arrive and drop people off. A fancy white limo pulls up and out steps Mike Wade and various members of his "Wade Parade". Mickey Moore, his leprechaun manager and Bob the Bullshitter are the namely two. AWC reporter Sarah Kennedy approaches Mike and his Parade just as they step out.
Sarah Kennedy: Mike, Mike, what are you...
Mike Wade: What the feck is this? Have you no manners?
Sarah Kennedy: Manners? What do you mean?
Mike Wade: Myself and the Wade Parade just get out of our limo and you're cutting us off at the pass? Were you raised by a pack of wolves or something?
Sarah Kennedy: Well actually my mother and father –
Mike Wade: Ok you tell Mickey and Bob your story and I'll just... well I'll just... yeah I don't care.
Bob: You know my mother and father were actually killed by a pack of wolves so its funny.
Sarah Kennedy: Really?
Bob: Yeah.
Mike Wade: First of all Bob there's nothing funny about your parents being savaged by a pack of wolves. And secondly that's a nasty lie. I know your parents your Dad is a teacher and your Mam is a whore.
Sarah Kennedy: I just wanted to ask you some questions for TV.
Mike Wade: TV? All my loyal Wade Paraders across the globe?
.We can actually hear the boos from inside the arena at this comment.
Mike Wade: Hmmm strange. Well if it's for TV then shoot.
Mickey: Shoot? I thought it was work?
Mike Wade: Shut up Mickey.
Sarah Kennedy: Well I just wanted to know what your thoughts on your loss at The Battle Of Britain in the Best Of British match were?
Bob: OOOHHHHHH!!
Mickey: Major burn.
Mike Wade: Did you think of that question by yourself or did you hear someone else say it and try and pass it off as your own? Cause I heard that goes on here!
Sarah Kennedy: No, I thought of it all by myself...
Mike Wade: Well you should be very proud. Well Miss let me tell you something. Do you think I went into that match wanting to win and be called the best of BRITISH?
Bob: Erm yeah!
Mickey: Yeah Mike didn't you say "Man when I become the best of British it's gonna be so sweet I can be all like..."
Mike Wade: Shut up you idiots! The answer is no. No I did not want to be considered the best of British. Why? CAUSE IRELAND ISN'T IN BRITAIN! Why does nobody realise this? Jesus Christ we fought for 1000 years to free ourselves from those bastards and the AWC won't recognise our Republic. Jesus Christ.
Sarah Kennedy: But wasn't Adalia Delorian impressive winning on his debut?
Mike Wade: AH! Don't mention his name to me. Not only did I lose but I lost to a fake Welshman!
Mickey: Yeah and everyone knows that if there's anything worse then being beaten by a Welshman it's getting beaten by a FAKE Welshman....
Wade then walks away, thus ending the interview, talking to himself saying "Not even a real Welshman AHH!!".
Ellis Nash vs The British Bomber
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: MICHAEL RYAN
AUTHOR: JAAKKO OKSA
The arena is filled with red, white and blue lights. "Enter Sandman" by Metallica begins to play and fill out the arena as the crowd starts to cheer. The main beat kicks in; out from behind the curtain comes The British Bomber, body jigging to the music. He raises his arms at the entrance to the fans' delight. He starts to make his way towards the ring and climbs in, again raising his arms as the music begins to go off. Oddly, no commentary can be heard as the fans give their hometown boy a thunderous ovation.
James Brunt: The following is a singles match. Introducing first, from Birmingham, England, weighing in at 230 pounds... THE BRITISH BOMBER!
The fans pop again at the mention of Birmingham, and the Bomber salutes the cheering fas before resting in the corner. The lonely intonation of a single violin hits the speakers, spotlights flickering white and violet in color against the stage. Suddenly, the melody is joined by the drums and guitar behind it and the chords become clear. As the music picks up in intensity, a large explosion engulfs the stage with white and violet sparks. In the background, "Angellore" by Tristania plays in a fury.
When summer's gone flee my angel
Winterwinds they might lead you far away
Beyond the pale horizon, a greaven silence
Over dreams to my heart yet not remain
Smoke bellows from the area where the explosion lit up the dark arena. As the smoke dissipates, Ellis Nash appears at the top of the stage, jogging in place. She drinks in the crowd's disapproval of her appearance with a simple smirk, the corners of her lips curling almost tauntingly.
James Brunt: Weighing in 117 pounds, from Cortland, New York... ELLIS NASH!
Ellis, through the sparks which fly at her sides, begins her descent to the ring. Upon reaching the ring, Ellis rolls under the bottom rope and stands almost placidly, looking at The British Bomber while the fans boo her for the simple fact that she isn’t English.
Michael Ryan signals for the bell, and The British Bomber walks out of his corner, advancing towards the New York native Nash slowly. As the two lock up, the Birmingham fans cheer approvingly, but start to boo as Ellis Nash twists the Bomer into a hammerlock. Nash quickly gets Bomber into a side headlock, but the larger man easily overpowers Ellis Nash and hiptosses her down on the ground. Bomber wastes no time, wrenching on a headlock of his own and grounding Nash on the canvas.
Hans Heinemann: Hello? Hell (static)… … (static) llo, is this on?…
The commentary crackles and dies again as The British Bomber slowly picks Ellis Nash up from the mat, maneuvering her quickly into a position for a backdrop suplex. Nash, however, drops down onto her feet, and nails Bomber with a nasty forearm shot across the neck. Nash quickly bounces off the ropes and then nails a running dropkick to the back of Bomber’s head, throwing the British fan favorite on the ground.
Miquel Rodriguez: MY G (static) what a kee(static)
Hans Heinemann: Why won’t this (static) (static BUZZing) k?… … …
Nash is on British Bomber immediately, wrenching the man’s arms into a double armbar submission that leaves Bomber no way to drag himself to the ropes. However, the Bomber soon finds out that he can use his legs to maneuver himself onto his knees, and from there twist free from Nash’s hold. Nash still has a hold of Bomber’s wrist, but this doesn’t help much as Bomber rolls onto his feet and pulls Ellis Nash into a nasty clothesline, throwing her to the mat. The British Bomber rolls Nash over into a pin as the British fans show their appreciation.
1!
2!
Nash gets her shoulder up, and the Bomber rises from the mat, shaking his head.
Miquel Rodriguez: (static) OUT! …. … …
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: … … BRITISH POTATO (static)
Hans Heinemann: Someo(static) us some trans(static) or els….
Ellis Nash struggles onto her feet, and The British Bomber rushes forward with another clothesline. However, Nash has this scouted out and ducks, giving Bomber some extra speed with a back elbow as he goes by. When the Bomber comes back, Nash gives him a face full of her elbow, knocking Bomber off of his feet. Ellis Nash quickl kneedrops the right arm of The British Bomber, further weakening the power of his clotheslines. Nash follows this up by wrapping the arm around her knee and trying to hyperextend the elbow.
Bomber, however, uses his strength once again to trip Ellis Nash up and stand up from the mat. Bomber tries to flex some life back into his right arm, but soon has to protect himself from furious elbows from Ellis Nash. Nash backs her larger opponent to the ropes, but a strong right hand from the Bomber sends Nash reeling back to the middle of the ring. As the Bomber goes for a shoulderblock, however, Ellis Nash leapfrogs him and immediately turns around, catching Bomber’s right arm with an armbreaker to deal further damage.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: BAH GA(static) S ARM IS BRO (static BUZZing) F!!! GUINNESS!
Ellis Nash stomps on The British Bomber’s right arm a few times before she bounces off the ropes and goes for a kneedrop, but misses as Bomber rolls away. Bomber gets on his feet, slower than before because of his damaged arm, and eyes Ellis Nash up carefully. Nash taunts Bomber and asks for him to rush her again, and The British Bomber seemingly obliges, running towards Nash… And stopping right in front of her. Nash, not realizing this, bends over for a backdrop attempt, but immediately regrets as the Bomber grabs her with his good arm and lifts into an improvised single-hand powerslam, smacking her down hard.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: (static)OD WHAT A SLAM! That echoed all the way to Liverpool!
Miguel Rodriquez: ’ey, we’re back! We got oodio again!
Hans Heinemann: Yes, it seems like we were suffering from technical difficulties there, and I apologize for any harm done.
Miquel Rodriguez: Yes, essa! The people were kept in the dark aboot me beeg boy!
Hans Heinemann: … That’s not what I meant you horrible midget.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Let me recap the match, just to make sure… TheylockupandEllisNashwiththeupperhandas
shegetstheheadlockonTheBritishBomber…
Hans Heinemann: Stop! You’ll hyperventilate again! Besides, that is MY commentary! You’re just reading the transcript you wrote down while we weren’t on!
While DAVE~! keeps on babbling through what seems like an endless stream of speech without a pause, The British Bomber lifts Ellis Nash up and gives her a forearm across the forehead. Bomber backs Nash into the corner and then lifts her up easily to the top turnbuckle, signaling for a superplex. The Birmingham fans cheer as the Bomber climbs to the second rope… Only to get a face full of Ellis Nash elbow. A second elbow sends Bomber reeling, and a third one drops him off the turnbuckle.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: …andnowNashstompsonBombersarmwhichwithouta
doubtwillaffectBomber’sabilitytopulloffhispowermoves…
Hans Heinemann: Can someone take us off the air again? Please?
Miquel Rodriguez: Just look at Nash! She dropped off that beeg boy with her arm! I wonder if she coold doo it to me too?
Hans Heinemann:… I so hate you all.
As The British Bomber scrambles onto his feet, Ellis Nash is already standing on the top turnbuckle. As the Bomber turns around, Ellis Nash takes flight with a crossbody… But The British Bomber catches her in mid-air! Without further ado, Bomber runs and spears Nash spine-first into the turnbuckles, before turning around while still holding her.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: (seriously out of breath at this point) … and… Nash… with… a… crossbody… from the… HOLY GUINNESS!
Hans Heinemann: A brutal, brutish maneuver from The British Bomber, and these British fans are going ga-ga over this vulgar display.
Miquel Rodriguez: A fine deesplay of thruusting action deserves a ”thumb up” from me beeg boy!
The British Bomber runs across the ring and does the same thing on the other side, spearing Ellis Nash into the opposite turnbuckle as well and making her scream in pain. The Bomber then turns around, takes three steps forwards and drops Ellis Nash on her injured back with a sitout powerslam-type move to a nice pop from the Birmingham crowd.
Hans Heinemann: A modified powerslam from The British Bomber sends Ellis Nash down.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ah, that felt good.
Hans Heinemann: …
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Hey, no-one said I’m not allowed to drink GUINNESS while on the job!
The Bomber covers Nash, hooking her leg as the fans start counting along to Michael Ryan.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Michael Ryan awards the clean three count to The British Bomber, who gets up to celebrate in front of the cheering Birmingham crowd.
Hans Heinemann: This is the first time he’s performed in his hometown in his entire career and he gets the win!
The Irrevocable Death Of The Youth Of Britain
FEATURING: THE EDUCATOR, A KID
AUTHOR: LEON CRUISEY
The camera is backstage and concentrated on a door with the word "Champion" written on it. After a few seconds the 6'4" figure of The Educator emerges from behind the door with his three belts draped over his body. He begins to walk down the corridor before being stopped by a little boy with an AWC t-shirt on.
Fan: Excuse me. Excuse me, Educator?
The Educator looks down at the young boy with complete disgust.
The Educator: Did your parents not teach you ANY manners? You will refer to me and MISTER Educator, or Sir.
The little boy holds up a small notepad and pen.
Fan: Could you sign this for me please?
The Educator picks up the pen and yanks the notepad out of the child’s hand. Then he stops and seems to reconsider as he hands the notepad and pen back to the child.
The Educator: I'm sorry young man, but I am not Mr. Lavelle. I don't hand out autographs like candy like he did. If you want my signature then you must EARN it.
Fan:...Well how do I do that?
The Educator: You must answer a question that I would expect any person of your age to be able to answer. General Manuel Noriega was the ruler of which Central American country until an invasion by the United States in 1989?
Fan:...I have no idea.
The Educator: Then guess.
Fan:...Spain?
The Educator: The answer is Panama. Spain isn't even IN Central America! Unbelievable. How could you NOT know that? Honestly.
Fan: I wasn't even born in 1989!
The Educator: You weren't?
Fan: Of course I wasn't! I'm only a kid!
The Educator: Oh I’m sorry, I thought you were a midget.
Fan: Well I’m not!
The Educator: Well you ARE frightfully ugly.
With that, the young fan drops his note-pad and pen and runs off crying.
The Educator: Kids today... have no intelligence.
Webmaster: Nor do handlers who plagiarise.
The Devil Works In Mysterious Ways
FEATURING: HATE, AZAGTOTH, MINIONS
AUTHOR: JAAKKO OKSA
The scene opens up outside the NEC Arena in Birmingham, England. The arena itself with it’s bright lights looms on the background of the small little park shrouded in darkness. In the darkness, several dark forms can be made out, most prominient of them a bald figure with his head painted red…
The camera zooms closer to reveal Hate standing amidst a group of his minions clad in black jumpsuits and masks. Azagtoth hangs around on the back, looking menacing as usual while sitting on a dead tree stump. Hate has his hands up, and the minions are looking up to him, listening carefully.
Hate: You all know your leader was robbed in London. Robbed like a mere common man without any power over his destiny! I cannot accept it. I cannot lie down with the fact fresh in my mind. But we have a problem… It seems now that whenever I appear at an arena, I will be arrested. Tricky, tricky…
The minions grumble in a low voice, barely audible, while Azagtoth shrieks his discontent on the background while biting the backs of his hands.
Hate: However… Since I do not have a match tonight, and they have verified that I indeed am too worn down from the Streets Of London match to go after anyone, they are letting me into the arena tonight. Of course, with their security dogs tracking my every step and reporting into the levels of fat, greedy corporate management.
The minions curse again, and someone cries ”Burn them!” Azagtoth is seen shaking in the background, probably with anger but maybe with cold.
Hate: So I have a task for you. Since they know me and Azagtoth by sight, we cannot do anything. But you, YOU can do every thing I wish I could myself! Sneak in, slip through their guards like water. Once inside… Hunt. And kill.
The minions all agree and brandish all sorts of weapons, from tire irons to switchblades to baseball bats. Hate nods approvingly and smiles wickedly, looking up and down his cohorts.
Hate: You know who I want. I want Paddy O’Shea. I want that BASTARD’S BLOOD! I want his still-beating heart! And YOU will deliver it to me! Understood?
Without waiting for an answer, Hate raises his fist into the night air, and all the minions join in on this sign.
Hate: Cleanse the Impure! Raise the Warcry!
The minions shout along with Hate and then slip into the darkness, leaving Hate alone with Azagtoth. Hate looks at his loyal servant and the white-faced boy skitters off into the darkness. Hate then walks across the NEC Arena parking lot and up to the front gate, where two startled security guards block his sway.
Security: I’m sorry, but Mr. Harber gave us orders not to let you in without…
Hate: Without at least two guards with me at all times. Yes, I know of the procedure. Are you the lucky ones?
The security guards look at each other, wondering if they’re enough to hold back Hate if he decides to go on a rampage. They both saw Hate’s inhuman strength in the Streets Of London match, but Hate merely laughs and begins to walk inside.
Hate: Self-doubting scum. I won’t be a bother tonight. I swear upon my honor.
The guards look at Hate, wondering just how much honor he could have, but then follow him quickly as he disappears into the building.
Grady vs Jason Locke
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR: KIT GARRETT
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Aye - coming up now, ladles and gents, we've got a pair of n00bs vying for the love of our fans. They'll be fine, so long as they don't touch me Guinness. W00ts!
Miguel Rodriguez: Or my Tequila. Arriba!
Hans Heinemann: Must you two always stoop to these pathetic stereotypes?
Dave/Miguel: Yes.
Hans Heinemann: (sigh)...whatever...I don't even care anymore.
James Brunt: Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, from Oil City, Louisiana, weighing in at 245 pounds, The All-American Nazi, GRADY!
The opening chords of “Superbeast” by Rob Zombie echo through the the arena as strobes flash the entrance and smoke fills the entrance way. At length, Grady emerges and makes his way down to the ring, stepping between the top and second ropes and flipping off the crowd
James Brunt: And his opponent, from New York City, New York, weighing in at 230 pounds, JASON LOCKE!
Less Than Jake's “Short Fuse Burning” pounds over the PA as Jason Locke makes his way down to the ring. The crowd gives both men a lukewarm-to-hostile reaction as they circle and lock up.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: The crowd are really on these guys' cases in the early going. GUINNESS!
Hans Heinemann: They've yet to prove their mettle here in the AWC ring - can you blame the crowd for being a little sceptical?
Grady uses his superior strength to back Locke into the corner. Referee calls for a clean break but doesn't get it as the All-American Nazi levels his opponent with a stiff right hand.
Miguel Rodriguez: I felt that one…
Before the referee can push him off, Grady plants a boot right into Locke's temple.
”OOH!”
Hans Heinemann: Yeeeowch!
Miguel Rodriguez: AND that one!
The referee pushes the Oil City native away and issues a verbal warning before going to check on his opponent. A cameraman rushes round the corner of the ring to show that the dirty boot Grady planted has opened up a nicely sized gash in Locke's forehead.
Hans Heinemann: We have juice!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Looks like about a 3 litre bottle, eh Miguel?
Miguel Rodriguez: Hahaha…
Slowly, Locke pulls himself to his feet. Grady charges in for a clothesline but Locke counters, catching his arm and taking him down with a fujiwara armbar!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Just like the potato famine, he didn't see it comin'!
Locke wrenches back on the hold as Grady writhes in pain and tries to reach the ropes. He pulls Grady back towards the centre of the ring and tries to switch position to lock in the Locke-On!
Hans Heinemann: Locke could end it right here!
Grady tries to grab his barred arm and relieve the pressure and this gives Locke the opening he's been looking for! Lightning fast he changes positions and locks in the Locke-On Anklelock! Grady is paralysed and isolated in the middle of the ring but still holds on…
Miguel Rodriguez: My ex wife used to make that face, too, holmes.
Grady's hand hovers over the mat…the referee asks if he wants to quit…he shakes his head…Locke pulls back even harder on the move, the blood flowing from his gaping wound…
Hans Heinemann: Still holding on!
Grady's expression becomes pained as he finally relents and taps! The crowd cheers!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Well, what d'ya know? I think they like him!
Hans Heinemann: This may spell more than bad news for Grady's AWC future...
James Brunt: The winner... JASON LOCKE!
No Relent For The Champ
FEATURING: IAN ENGLISH (HONORARY PRIME REPRESENTATIVE), ASSORTED PUBLIC
AUTHOR: IAN ENGLISH
The scene flicks to a non-descript pub. Amongst the smoky atmosphere a group of guys are looking up at an old beaten up TV that’s seen one too many bar fights and only transmits in black and white. More bizarrely, the TV shows a picture of the TV which shows a picture of the TV into infinity. The only difference is, from the second TV onwards, the AWC logo is visible in the top corner.
Pete the Patron: Hey Amos, the TV’s fucked again.
The barkeeper looks up at the infinity circuit.
Amos: Shit, I knew that bastard Dean couldn’t fix nothing.
Pete the Patron: Just hit it, that’ll work.
Barry the Barfly: Yeah a good beating usually puts things right.
Amos: Sod that, I’m not paying for a new TV.
Pete the Patron: Maybe it’s the CCTV, its like crossed over channels or summat.
Amos: We don’t have CCTV you moron.
Barry the Barfly: It was only wrestling anyway - wrestling’s crap.
Pete the Patron: It was better than crappy cricket.
Amos: Hey you’re a wrestler ain’t you?
The barkeeper looks at a guy near the end of the bar, he’s peering intently into the neck of the green Stella bottle.
Ian English: I am?
The two local wasters swivel to look at the guy with the luminous red hair and matching goatee.
Barry the Barfly: You don’t look like a wrestler to me.
Ian English: Actually. I think... I think I play cricket.
English tips his head back and takes a long swig, emptying the bottle. There was a feeling he should be somewhere else at the moment... an arena maybe? Trent Bridge?
Pete the Patron: No you’re definitely a wrestler - I saw you in that Giant Haystacks match the other week.
Shite, Ian couldn’t remember much about last week. Naturally he just prayed that his standards hadn’t slipped and that he hadn’t shagged any fat birds.
Ian English: You sure that wasn’t *you* in “the match.”
Pete the Patron: No, I - well, my job is - ugh Amos, what is it that I do again?
Amos: You prop up the bar.
Barry the Barfly: We do? I thought we played cricket.
Ian English: Naah I reckon I play cricket.
Amos: Will you pissed bastards all shut the fuck up. You two are dole-dossers, and you’re a wrestler.
Ian English: How do you know that?
The barkeeper points at English’s cock - Ian decides he’s gonna hit the guy. Well, when he can bring himself to stand that is.
Amos: Because that bling is too big and golden for a normal white guy to wear in the street!
Ian English: Wot the fack?
Ian looks at his waist: there was some "relentless" belt thing there. Fuck. He’d gotten steaming drunk and won another bloody belt, again.
Ian English: Aww bollocks.
He really had to stop doing this kind of crap while in retirement.
Amos: Looks like you could do with another beer.
Ian English: Make it two.
Another Way Out
FEATURING: PADDY O'SHEA, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER, MINIONS, RED ROCK
AUTHOR: MICHAEL DOHERTY
The scene opens in a backstage corridor. The place is relatively quiet at the minute with only a few non-wrestling staff running about and making sure everything is ironed out for tonight’s show. The camera moves down past the white walls off the corridor and then stops outside a door that is labelled “David Harber”. Muffled voices can be heard from inside. Suddenly, the mahogany door opens to reveal Paddy O’Shea standing there. He is wearing a white vest titled ‘The Padster’ and then his usual khaki trousers and leather hat. He is looking a little annoyed Pearl who can be seen at his desk with a ‘it’s the best I can do’ expression.
Paddy O'Shea: Look Mr. Harber, the fact o’ the matter is, aye tried it yer way and aye still couldn’t fight Hate fairly without somebody punchin’ me in the back o’ the head.
Pearl: Like I said Paddy, I know your upset about losing –
Paddy O'Shea: Tha’ be the point, aye’m no’ upset! Winnin’ tha’ thing would have jus’ been a bonus. The fact o’ the matter is tha’ aye wanted a chance t’ fight Hate one on one and a bus with three other men doesn’t count! So… aye think now ye should do wha’ aye wanted from the start.
Pearl: Paddy it is a bit extreme...
Pearl takes a look at Paddy’s face that has suddenly turned a violent shade of red. He frowns at O’Shea then sighs.
Pearl: Fine, fine. I’ll look into the possibility of it and let you know next week, okay?
Paddy O'Shea: Alright… right now though, aye’m goin’ t’ give Hate one chance before it comes to tha’ though.
Pearl: Don’t expect anything drastic though, Paddy...
Paddy smiles at Pearl just as he closes the door. It’s an expression that says he doesn’t think so either. O’Shea closes the door with a click and once outside the door, puts his hands in his face. The Battle Of Britain took a lot out of him and a fat lip is testament to that. However, he has more pressing problems at the minute. Paddy straightens up and turns left and begins to walk up the hall. Suddenly, a technician runs around the corner and bumps into Paddy.
Paddy O'Shea: Watch yerself there wee man.
The man is indeed ’wee’. He is at least a half a foot smaller than the 5’9 Paddy. He is wearing a black T-Shirt with the letters AWC scribbled across it. A pair of headphones are also on show over his slightly curly ginger hair. The man bends over and puts his hands on his knees. He is out of breath and is taking huge gulps of air.
Man: Paddy… you can’t go down there. Those things of Hate’s are down there and they know you’re here now. You’ve got of get out of here.
Paddy O'Shea: Feck tha’! Aye’ll fight the bastards!
Man: Paddy, there’s about fifteen of them, all with baseball bats.
Paddy smiles sheepishly at the man now seemingly pleading with him.
Paddy O'Shea: Now tha’ ye mention it, aye’ve been havin’ a wee problem with me shoulder, aye better hurry along t’ the doctors before me match.
O’Shea hurries off, just as he sees a parade of shadows begin to creep up a wall right in front of him. The man himself hurries along a different path from the men. There is the sound of angry shouting and Paddy quickens his pace, turning a corner. O’Shea is now rushing down a branchless corridor that leads into the foyer just before ringside, his new intended destination. However, just as he comes near to the set of double doors, Paddy hears the voices of the minions shouting from the other side. O’Shea looks back around and hears the voices of the other group now drawing nearer. Paddy O'Shea: Goddamn trapped. Fer feck’s sake.
Paddy stretches as he prepares to strike the first thing that comes through the doors. However, this scenario is avoided when a door to Paddy’s immediate left opens and Red Rock steps out, a beaming smile on his face.
Red Rock: Hey Pad –
Without letting Red Rock finish, Paddy grabs him and pushes him into the room and follows him, closing the door behind him. Paddy holds a hand to Red Rock’s mouth just as a swarm of minions can be heard passing by. When the sound of them fades, Paddy removes his hand.
Red Rock: Jesus Paddy, your hand smells like shit.
Paddy O'Shea: Haha Red Rose, very funny.
Red Rock again smiles lazily at Paddy then takes a seat.
Red Rock: So what was that all about? Hate’s minions?
Paddy O'Shea: Yup, them again. But aye wasn’ runnin’ away… we’re playin’ hide and seek.
Red Rock: Excellent can I play?
Paddy shrugs at Red Rock and quickly tries to change the subject.
Paddy O'Shea: No hard feelings about the Battle then Red?
Red Rock: Of course not… we should have known it would come to that… but we’ll get our chances again.
Paddy shakes Red Rock’s hand and then starts scanning the room.
Paddy O'Shea: So, is there another way out of here?
Red Rock: Yeah, there’s an air vent over there. I got stuck in it last week because Boolie was trying to stick a feather up my ass.
O’Shea quickly pulls his hand back and rubs it off his vest. He also has a confused look on his face. He begins to backtrack towards the door.
Paddy O'Shea: Um, aye think aye’ll take me chance out there.
Red Rock: Sure think Paddy, I’ll see you.
Paddy O'Shea: Bye now. Oh yeah, if ye need a hand with tha’ UWF guy again, jus’ let me know, okay?
Red Rock displays a grateful smile then nods. O’Shea quickly exits out the door as the scene fades.
Confidential
FEATURING: TIM SHIPLEY, DAVID "PEARL" HARBER
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Tim Shipley: Mr. Harber?
Pearl: Come on in.
Flakes of the peeling paint on the door drift slowly to the floor as Tim Shipley, his hair matted with dried blood after the assault by The Illustrious Face-Eater earlier tonight, enters the office that David Harber is inhabiting tonight. The long, thin room is packed to the ceiling with boxes, and Shipley looks uncertainly up at the teetering tower of cardboard just begging to collapse onto him. Pearl catches his eye.
Pearl: Yeah, not the best office I’ve ever been assigned.
Shipley forces a smile.
Tim Shipley: Just worried those boxes are another trick Face-Eater’s trying to play on me...
His expression becomes grim as he approaches Pearl’s desk.
Pearl: Sit down...
Shipley pulls out a metal-framed chair and sits heavily on the red fabric of the seat, wiping his hands over his face and wincing as his left hand brushes the hairline gash.
Pearl: That looks nasty.
Shipley nods.
Tim Shipley: Face-Eater... and I just don’t understand it!
Raising his voice, the former Frontier champion stands up, making his previous reverse action redundant.
Tim Shipley: Who is he, Mr. Harber?
Unused to having this soft-spoken youngster glare down at him, Harber looks uncomfortably at the surface of his desk and says nothing. Eyeing the cabinet just behind Pearl’s desk, and in particular the section labelled “Personnel”, Shipley is struck with an idea.
Tim Shipley: I want to see his file.
Harber shakes his head quickly.
Pearl: Out of the question, I'm afraid, Tim. Personnel files are confidential.
Raising his eyes to the heavens, Shipley sits back down.
Tim Shipley: (muttering) I need to see the file.
Again, the Entertainment Manager stays silent. Shipley looks up at him.
Tim Shipley: Can’t you just tell me his name?
Pearl looks at him testily.
Pearl: Don’t you KNOW by now?
The scene cuts on Tim Shipley’s baffled face.
What Better Night Than Tonight?
FEATURING: MIKE WADE AND THE WADE PARADE
AUTHOR: MIKE WADE
The scene starts inside what seems to be the dressing room of Mike Wade. Mike is sitting down. Bob the Bullshitter is standing up in front of him facing the door.
Bob: Oh my God I got him right in the face. Oh my God I mean if that stuff goes in your eyes it can make you go blind.
Mike then sees the camera
Mike Wade: No everybody Bob hasn't just ejaculated in someones face. We're playing darts.
The camera then pans up and shows that Bob has been throwing darts at a picture of Adalia Delorian. Mike then steps up for his turn.
Mickey: Mike laddie why are you throwing darts at Delorian anyway?
Mike Wade: It's simple Mickey. I need someone to take my current frustrations out on. I mean who elses picture should be up there? The Educator? What did he ever do to any of us? Except win 3 titles of course. And although I am green with envy of him, that's no reason to throw darts at him. Jealousy is a sin you know.
Mickey: I know laddie you're clearly jealous of this guy for winning your match on Sunday though.
Mike is just about to take his shot but when Mickey says this his dart goes haywire and nails Bob in the knee causing him to jump around the place with pain.
Mike Wade: We better get him to the hospital... But Mickey you're onto something there. There's no point sitting around here and moping. I gotta do something here to get noticed. And what better night then tonight?
Back From The Dead
FEATURING: TIM SHIPLEY, ???
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
He’s never going to find the answers if he doesn’t open up his eyes to what’s around him.
Sadly, for all Tim Shipley’s intelligence, he’s rather slow on the up-take with all The Illustrious Face-Eater’s tricks. Every real wrestling fan figured out the masked and caped crusader’s identity long ago, and from Shipley’s past, he should really know better than most.
But something inside him is refusing to let him see what’s blindingly obvious. It took him weeks to realise the Face-Eater was after him, after all!
The blindingly obvious once more eludes Shipley now as, returning to the small locker room that he’s got all to himself tonight (to be fair, it wasn’t even intended for use tonight, but the NEC hadn’t anticipated the number of wrestlers not booked for matches that would still come to the show), he opens the door to see a man standing before him.
A man who shouldn’t be standing before him.
Hello, Tony Aliso.
Tim Shipley: AAARGHHH!
Shipley lets out an uncharacteristically loud yell and throws himself outside the door, yet can’t bring himself to run away, transfixed by the smiling image of his dead friend and tag team partner.
It’s rather fortunate that he hasn’t just left, or he wouldn’t have been there to see the cardboard cut-out of Aliso topple over and fall flat to the floor.
Breathing heavily, Shipley shuts the door, and as a shot of an empty corridor isn’t all too interesting, we leave the scene.
Emerald Isle II (C) vs The Furious Fists Of God
STIPULATION: DUO TAG
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: DAVE LARKIN
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: At the Battle of Britain, many wars were waged. Many men collapsed, many beeeg boys were seen and exploded, and four teams battled it out for the chance to wrestle the Alliance champions. The team who has that chance tonight is none other than Tim and Liam Martin…
Miguel Rodriguez: The Furious Fists of God!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What’s with the interruption? I had a good flow going there…
Hans Heinemann: Quit your whining, Dave. We’ve got a match to call.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Birmingham just doesn’t have the same “it” factor as London did. The people are smellier here, and the sewage system is about as bad as it is back home.
Miguel Rodriguez: Really? Sewage must suck in Ireland.
Hans Heinemann: Gentlemen, there is a more pressing matter at hand here. The Alliance championship is on the line. Let’s begin, shall we? Geez, I’m starting to speak like an Englishman.
“You’ll Never Beat The Irish” by The Wolfe Tones plays around the arena to a largely positive reaction from the English faithful. Paddy O’Shea and The Farmer burst out from behind the curtain with their Alliance championships held high above their heads. O’Shea has several noticeable bruises on his head and arms from his main event match at the Battle of Britain. The Farmer, too, is not unscathed from his Haystack Invitational.
Hans Heinemann: These men are in no condition to compete tonight after their efforts at the Battle of Britain, but who gives a rat’s? This only gives The Furious Fists of God an even better chance of accomplishing their dream and winning the Alliance championship!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I have a dream, you know.
Miguel Rodriguez: What’s that?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: One day, I want to learn the Irish language.
Hans Heinemann: You don’t even know your own language?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Well, it’s actually recognised as the first language of Ireland, but only boggers down the country speak it. It’s not worth learning, but I may learn it for the laugh.
The Farmer and O’Shea salute the fans, who are receptive to the Irish duo. Their music fades out to silence now, and the arena buzzes with anticipation for the number one contenders, the unorthodox duo of The Furious Fists of God.
Hans Heinemann: These two are starting to grow on me, I have to admit.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Emerald Isle II are pretty cool, yeah.
Hans Heinemann: I meant The Furious Fists of God!
Miguel Rodriguez: W - wait, they’re coming!
Tim and Liam Martin, known together as The Furious Fists of God (FFOG), appear from behind the curtains holding a cross in their hands. They carefully place the cross at the top of the ramp way and begin their descent to the ring, both men looking calm and composed about their upcoming match. Their aura is disturbed, however, as O’Shea and The Farmer meet them halfway, knocking both Martin’s down with right hands. The FFOG’s music fades out suddenly as O’Shea and The Farmer manhandle the brothers to the ring. The Farmer and Liam Martin begin in the ring and the bell is rung.
Hans Heinemann: I guess we’re off, then! The Alliance championship is on the line - it’s those Fists o’ God against Emerald Isle II.
Miguel Rodriguez: Something tells me FFOG won’t be too happy about their entrance being interrupted.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Look at The Farmer’s dominance already! He’s making Liam Martin look like a small child the way he’s chucking him around the place.
The Farmer delivers some vicious chops to the chest of Liam Martin, causing the latter to yelp out in pain, not dissimilar to how an animal would. The Farmer hauls Liam Martin over to the opposite side of the ring and makes the tag to his partner, Paddy O’Shea. O’Shea enters the fray with a swift forearm to the temple of Martin. Liam Martin attempts to crawl across the ring and make the tag to his brother, but to no avail. O’Shea stops Martin in his tracks with an elbow drop to the lower back.
Hans Heinemann: Ruthless punishment being shown here by those vagabonds, a.k.a. Emerald Isle II. Don’t the Irish have souls?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Legally, I can’t answer that.
Miguel Rodriguez: Why not? Of course you can answer it.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Nope. I need my lawyer present. POTATOES!
Hans Heinemann: Better stop asking him questions or he’ll flip.
O’Shea beats down on Liam Martin with fist drops and whips him off the ropes, catching him squarely in the face with a back elbow. The crafty Irishman kneels down and makes the cover on his adversary.
ONE!
Quick as a flash, Tim Martin is there to break up the count on his brother. Referee Lars Larsson reacts badly, chastising Tim Martin for entering the ring. O’Shea just shrugs his shoulders in indifference and continues his beat down. O’Shea whips Liam Martin off the ropes again, but Martin hangs on. O’Shea charges Martin down, but Martin thinks fast and backdrops O’Shea over the top rope and to the outside. The Farmer looks concerned for his partner’s safety.
Hans Heinemann: Great move by Liam Martin! This gives FFOG time and space to rethink their strategy here. O’Shea’s wallowing on the outside of the ring… look at that pathetic creature!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Paddy O’Shea is not pathetic. He’s a guy who stood up for his father against Hate; he fought his heart out at the Battle of Britain; now he’s here and fighting once again to defend his Alliance championship. What a man.
Miguel Rodriguez: What a beeeeg boy!
Liam Martin finally has time to make the tag to Tim Martin and does so without hesitance. Tim Martin instantly charges at The Farmer, knocking the big man off the apron. The crowd boo the actions of the FFOG as they parade around the ring. The Farmer crawls into the ring behind them, though, and the crowd explode as The Farmer clotheslines both men down. Just as The Farmer looks as if he’ll take advantage, the FFOG counter, spraying the contents of some can into The Farmer’s eyes. Blinded, The Farmer stumbles around and takes a double DDT from the number one contenders.
Hans Heinemann: With God as their witness, the FFOG have punched the lights out of The Farmer. That oaf can’t see a thing now; it’s only a matter of time before -
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Paddy O’Shea gets back into the ring!
Miguel Rodriguez: What? Who? Where?
O’Shea bounces from the top rope into the ring, taking both members of the FFOG down to the mat with a stunning hurricanrana. The crowd go absolutely bananas as O’Shea fires them up even more. O’Shea then spots The Farmer walking around the ring, unable to see where he’s going. O’Shea pats The Farmer on the shoulder, but The Farmer, obviously thinking it to be one of the FFOG, smacks O’Shea dead in the face with a right hand.
Hans Heinemann: A little bit of idiocy shown by The Farmer there. Nothing out of the ordinary.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: This better not be a robbery! The FFOG have hardly done anything in this match. If they won just because The Farmer hit O’Shea by accident, I would… cry.
Miguel Rodriguez: Everyone needs to cry every now and then. My beeeeg boy cries… if you know what I mean.
FFOG look to take advantage of this little mishap for Emerald Isle II. Liam Martin, nominating himself to be the legal man, picks a dazed O’Shea up and holds his face, talking trash. O’Shea retaliates with fury, unleashing a series of punches and kicks to Liam Martin. Tim Martin darts into the ring, but The Farmer makes use of himself this time, inadvertently knocking the hell out of Liam Martin with a clothesline. O’Shea brings Liam Martin over to the turnbuckle.
Hans Heinemann: That buzz of anticipation from the crowd can only mean one thing! O’Shea’s planning to hit one of his kooky Irish moves. Oh boy…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Come on, they’re good to watch as a team. The Farmer’s hitting Tim Martin randomly - that could be anyone - and O’Shea’s about to end it, it seems.
Miguel Rodriguez: Oh yeah, that’s great. Really…
O’Shea delivers a perfect Top Of The Morn to Liam Martin, making him land face first on The Farmer’s knee of all places. Clearly unconscious after the blow, O’Shea makes a cover.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Hans Heinemann: And that’s it? Already? Surely these fans deserve more…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Look at you being all sympathetic to the fans!
Miguel Rodriguez: What’s gotten into you, Hans? Feeling under the weather?
Hans Heinemann: Nope. I - I just… erm… you’ve got an ugly face, okay?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That’s more like it!
Miguel Rodriguez: He’s back! PARTY TIME!
O’Shea wipes The Farmer’s eyes as “Raggle Taggle Gypsy” begins to play all around the arena to a brilliant pop from the crowd. O’Shea and The Farmer scale the turnbuckles on opposite sides of the ring, saluting the crowd for their support. The FFOG make their way out of the ring with their tails between their legs. The Alliance championship still lies in Camp Emerald Isle II.
Hans Heinemann: Main event still coming up. Don’t go anywhere. I mean it, we need viewers.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What are you talking about, Hans? RATINGS!
Miguel Rodriguez: Ratings and my beeeeg boy go hand in hand!
Meet The Family
FEATURING: PADDY O'SHEA, THE FARMER, MINIONS, GYPSIES, MIKE WADE, HATE, AZAGTOTH
AUTHOR: MICHAEL DOHERTY
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Paddy O’Shea and The Farmer are still in the ring.
Hans Heinemann: Idiots.
Instead of leaving the ring, Paddy O’Shea signals for a microphone. James Brunt hands him one through the ropes and Paddy thanks him with a smile. Then O’Shea turns to face the crowd with The Farmer leaning against the ropes.
Paddy O'Shea: Hello folks, top o’ the mornin’ t’ ye!
The crowd respond to Paddy’s welcome with a cheer. O’Shea raises a hand however to calm them down.
Paddy O'Shea: Aye’m sorry people, but aye have t’ get this done quickly before the next match… tonight, aye’m givin you, Hate, the chance t’ end all of this. Ye kidnapped me father and ye’ve brutalised me week after week fer no reason at all. Well tonight aye’m givin’ ye the chance t’ jus’ call it quits before things go too far.
The crowd give a mixed reaction to this statement and a few give an angry shout of what they perceive as backing down. Paddy however doesn’t change his mind and only wipes a little sweat from his brow.
All of a sudden, Hate’s theme music begins to blare from the speakers and after a few seconds, he appears on stage with a microphone in his hand and his right hand man Azagtoth by his side. He is dressed in his usual gas mask and dark attire. The Farmer shouts a few obscenities at him, which he laughs off.
Hate: Look, the pig can swear!
Azagtoth and Hate both laugh at this joke which is reciprocated by the crowd who instead jeer at him.
Hate: Be silent! Now you listen to me pig, you say we should end this like you’re doing me a favour –
Paddy O'Shea: Aye am.
Paddy interrupts and his face has turned a shade of red from his spontaneous rage. O’Shea begins to pace the ring as he tries to shake the anger off.
Hate: Really? Well, Paddy, if you look at what happened at the Battle of Britain, you would have seen that it was me who did you the favour! It was me who could have slaughtered you on the bus but I didn’t do so. I should have but I was blinded by my desire for the Transatlantic title and let me tell you something else pig, that should have been mine if that scum Educator had have actually had a set of balls. But no matter. I could have crushed your skull but I can wait. In fact the wait is exciting. You running away like a little rabbit away from the fox, I am the hunter and you are the prey. It’s enjoyable but everything has to come to an end Paddy. You can keep runnin –
Paddy O'Shea: Aye’m no’ goin’ t’ run away from ye anymore.
The Farmer has a hand on Paddy’s shoulder trying calm him down but O’Shea gently shakes it off. His chest is rising rapidly and his teeth are bared. The crowd are now firmly behind Paddy and they begin to chant his name.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He’s crazy!
Paddy O'Shea: Aye’ll run no more. So hunter, if ye want yer prey, come and take it!
Hate laughs at this and once again Azagtoth joins in. Azagtoth is ready to run to the ring but Hate holds him back.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Why isn’t that coward going down to the ring? Paddy’s challenged him.
Miguel Rodriguez: That’s because he’s afraid of him hombre! I know it!
Hans Heinemann: Ha! The reason Hate hasn’t gone down yet is because he doesn’t want to waste his efforts on such a clichéd showdown. I mean, one on one is so passé.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: (whispering) I thought he was German not French.
Hate: Paddy, I could come down and decimate you but where’s the fun in that? I want to see you SQUIRM!
Suddenly Hate is joined on stage by ten of his minions, all dressed in black and masked. They stand alongside Hate then Hate gives the order and they begin to run towards the ring, leaving Hate and Azagtoth at the top of the ramp. However, Paddy raises the mic to his lips once again just as the minions come off the ramp.
Paddy O'Shea: Hey Hate! Meet the family!
Suddenly, ten men come out of nowhere, half from under the ring and half from the crowd. They are dressed in casual clothes but many of them bear likenesses to O’Shea. They climb into one side of the ring just as the minions are entering too. All hell kicks off as the two factions meet head on. The gypsies begin to hit the minions with sharp jabs and then right hooks. The minions begin to retreat to the crowd so the gypsies follow after them. This leaves Paddy O’Shea and the farmer in the ring with two gypsies who have stayed put. Paddy is now laughing at Hate who seems more than annoyed.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Woohooo! Look at this! Paddy’s relatives have just cleaned the floor with the minions!
Paddy O'Shea: See Hate, aye didn’t want it de come t’ this but when ye kidnap a man, a man who has many nephews, sons and brothers, ye kno’ ye’ve made a big mistake!
Hate: Mistake? Paddy, I think that title is reserved for you because look –
Hate beckons to backstage once again and another ten minions come out. Now Hate is laughing as brief terror flashes across Paddy’s face.
Hate: See Paddy? You Irish are idiots and this will never be over!
Suddenly Hate drops the mic and he and Azagtoth lead the group of minions to the ring.
Miguel Rodriguez: My beeg boy has a bad feeling about this!
The group of twelve slides into the ring to meet the group of four and a mini battle commences. Fists begin to fly as men go down one after one. It soon becomes apparent that only Paddy and the Farmer are fighting as two gypsies are seen lying outside the ring alongside five minions. The two figures of O’Shea and Hate can be seen brawling as the Farmer pounds Azagtoth and the Emerald Isle II duo seem to have the upper hand until the minion threat begins to much and both are forced into corners.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Oh shit! Hate and his cronies have Paddy cornered, this could be the end!
Hans Heinemann: Wouldn’t be the worst thing that happened to AWC, losing a gypsy you know.
Miguel Rodriguez: Hey, shut your mouth! Come on Paddy!
Suddenly the crowd come alive as a figure is seen running down the ramp with a steel chair in hand. However, the cheers turn into confused mumblings as the figure is identified as Mike Wade, a man who has been negative towards Eire Og since joining the federation. Despite this, Wade slides into the ring and just as the hoard turns around to see what the disturbance is, Wade starts swinging. Minions begin to drop and slide out of the ring as Wade keeps up his spree. He connects with Azagtoth who crumples into a pile. Before long, it becomes apparent that the only men that are now standing is hate and the three Irishmen. Hate shouts in anger at the new situation and quickly exits the ring as the three men move in.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Mike Wade… to the rescue?
Miguel Rodriguez: I’m confused man!
Hans Heinemann: Paddy can’t possible trust a man who prides himself on his swerviness…?
Hans question is answered as Paddy walks over to Wade and raises his arm to the crowd. The crowd give a half-hearted cheer but there is definitely suspicion among them.
Hans Heinemann: Yes, all Irish are idiots!
*Smack*
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Shut your mouth fo’!
The three Irishmen now begin to taunt Hate as he walks backwards up the ramp with a few minions following. Once again he shouts his obscenities and points at Paddy O’Shea.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: So folks, if you have just tuned in, Mike Wade of all people has come to Paddy O’Shea’s aid and destroyed Hate and his minions.
Miguel Rodriguez: Half of me tells me that Hate is going to have his hands full but –
Hans Heinemann: The other half is saying something isn’t right, right?
Miguel Rodriguez: You got it hombre!
Varga's Address
FEATURING: JAMES VARGA (UWF)
AUTHOR: JAMES VARGA
Backstage, James Varga is in the AWC interview area. A big AWC logo banner is behind him and he's wearing a black "Alice in Chains" T-shirt and black pants. It's just him and a microphone again.
James Varga: Well, it looks like that chickenshit coward Pierce Lavelle doesn't have sack enough to come on here and be a man.
Varga looks intently at the camera.
James Varga: Pierce, BE A MAN. Get up off your arse and come on out here in England or wherever the hell we are and talk to your people, the Scotch. Go tell the Scotch about how you want to kick my ass and do it for all the leprechauns and Scotch and people with accents whom you do so represent. Oh wait, you’re not Scotch… Scottish… are you?
James smiles deviously.
James Varga: I think you are nothing more than a sham of your former self. You were the best here in the AWC but now, you are nothing more than the crap I wipe off my boots before coming into the arena. But in the AWC's case, there's still shit in the storm drains like it's the Dark Ages here in jolly old England and I can smell it from here. (nods head) Yeah. I guess we all know what the Rock was cooking now from the smell of things around this shithole.
Varga acts like he's disgusted.
James Varga: But Pierce, you are NOTHING. You've lost your pride and, soon, you will lose your soul when I take it from you. I am going to SMASH the very fiber of your being. Oh yeah, Pierce. I'M GONNA KICK YOUR ARSE ALL OVER BRITAIN BABY~!
James starts trying to act all tough.
James Varga: Yeah...
James punks the camera.
James Varga: Yeah! Made you flinch! Fucking coward. Anyway, since you have no sack and no balls to go in the sack, you are NOTHING but a wo-man and you will be getting your ass kicked by me.
Varga points at the camera.
James Varga: DON'T MAKE ME HURT YOU BECAUSE I CAN! DON'T MAKE ME COME ON AWC TELEVISION AND INVADE THE WHOLE FUCKING SHOW WITH MY CHARACTERS LIKE I DID BEFORE! DON'T MAKE ME TAKE AWAY YOUR PAPA~!
James smiles and nods his head.
James Varga: Yeah. Dave Harber... lord and master. Don't make me take away your sons. Pierce...Crimson...don't make me take their precious papa away.
Varga is obviously spoofing a really bad storyline now.
James Varga: Because, you see, the AWC is rife with strife. (smirks) That rhymed. Anyway, I'm going to pwn your pussy ass. Now come out here, be a man, and say "Yes. I have no balls and James Varga's going to kill whatever manhood I have left and put it in my purse so I can carry out of the building along with the rest of my bloodied carcass." So Pierce, do the right thing. Be a man. And don't be square. Otherwise, I'll have the Giant Sperm impregnate your pussy ass.
Varga throws his mic down and walks off the set abruptly.
The Educator (C, C) vs Andy Murray vs Steven Xandrous
STIPULATION: THREE WAY; TWO FALLS
REFEREE: MICHAEL RYAN
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Now in tonight’s main event, we’re going to see three men compete in a two-falls encounter for two of The Educator’s championship belts.
Hans Heinemann: Andy Murray won Frontier title contendership and Steven Xandrous won Livewire title contendership through the Fresh!man system before The Battle Of Britain. This system has, incidentally, now been disbanded by David Harber – which is probably a good thing.
Miguel Rodriguez: No way, José! It was good fun!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: The jokers were great.
Hans Heinemann: Yeah, but booking-wise, it seemed to do more harm than good.
Fortune, fame, mirror vain, but the MEMORY REMAINS!
The quote echoes throughout the arena as “The Memory Remains” by Metallica plays, keying the entrance of a mysterious grappler. The lights turn out to pitch black at the end of the quote, and when the lights turn back on, Steven Xandrous stands at the top of the entranceway; arms outstretched forming a cross with his body, his eyes staring forward into nowhere. His outstretched arms then sling inward towards himself as fire explodes from the sides of the entrance stage. Xandrous walks down to the ring, cracking his knuckles. He slides in the ring and outstretches his arms once more. His head, leaned forward, is pulled backwards and lies on the top of his back. Staring at the sky, more fire erupts. As the flames fade away, Xandrous awaits his opponents.
James Brunt: The following is a Three Way, Two Falls match, and is for the Livewire and Frontier championships! The first fall will be for the Livewire championship; the second fall will be for the Frontier championship. Introducing first, weighing in at 190 pounds... STEVEN XANDROUS!
Hans Heinemann: Having lost his Relentless title at The Battle Of Britain despite putting up an excellent fight, Xandrous will be looking to get his hands on more gold in this main event.
Miguel Rodriguez: Damn right Hans! And –
Miggy’s words are drowned out by the next lyrics to boom from the sound system.
He who makes a beast out of himself, gets rid of the pain of being a man…
The lights in the arena dim as the intro to Avenged Sevenfold’s “Bat Country” begins to play out across the arena. With a burst of pyro at the top of the ramp, the song kicks in and the lights flash on, as Andy Murray steps out from the back, lapping up the crowd’s cheers. He pauses at the top of the ramp, takes a good look around the arena, and lifts an arm in the air in jubilance, before making his way down the ramp.
Caught here in a fiery blaze, won't lose my will to stay
These eyes won't see the same, after I flip today
James Brunt: And his opponent, from Aberdeen, Scotland, weighing in at 270 pounds... the “Scottish King of Cool”, ANDY MURRAY!
On his way down to the ring, Andy Murray slaps hands with a couple of the fans, before finally reaching the bottom of the ramp, and leaping up onto the outside of the ring. Facing the entrance, he raises an arm up in the air once again, as white pyros ignite from the ring posts behind him.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: GO MURRR!
Hans Heinemann: Andy Murray’s winning streak came to an end on Friday as he was beaten by newcomer Adalia Delorian in the Best Of British match...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: BUT HE’S NOT EVEN WELSH!
I tried to drive all through the night, the heart stroke ridden weather
The barren empty sights…
No oasis here to see, the sand is singing deathless words to me
As the fireworks die down a little, Murrr enters the ring between the middle and top ropes and paces across the ring, throwing both arms into the air for the fans at the other side.
Can’t you help me as I’m startin’ to burn?
Too many doses and I’m startin’ to get an attraction
My confidence is leavin’ me on my own
Too late to save me and you know I don’t want the attention
Finally, the music begins to die down, as Murray looks pointedly at Xandrous, who nods.
Miguel Rodriguez: Are we looking at teamwork...?
The words die in his throat as Murray throws a long, slow punch, which is easily blocked by Xandrous. The house lights come up quickly and Michael Ryan calls for the bell.
Hans Heinemann: They’re starting without the triple champion.
Instantly, Murray drops to the mat and Xandrous applies a lateral press. Confused, Ryan covers.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Hans Heinemann: What...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Xandrous pins Murray!
Hans Heinemann: Cheats!
Miguel Rodriguez: He takes the Livewire title, and –
Xandrous quickly rolls away onto his back as Murray hooks his leg.
Hans Heinemann: As I thought. Disgusting...
ONE!
TWO!
THR-
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: NO!
Miguel Rodriguez: Xandrous kickout!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: HE SCREWED ANDY!
Murray gets up furiously and pulls Xandrous to his feet before punching him square in the jaw. Xandrous stumbles but doesn’t go down, rushing Murray into the ropes before using the momentum to roll backwards and out of harm’s way.
Hans Heinemann: I can only guess the two had some sort of arrangement to screw The Educator out of both titles, but once Xandrous had his Livewire title secured, he went back on the deal.
Confirmation now comes of the first fall.
James Brunt: The winner of the first fall... and new Livewire champion... STEVEN XANDROUS!
In the ring’s centre, Xandrous holds his arms up to the crowd. A bad move as Murray spears him down and bashes away at him with right hands. Finally, the lights dim and focus on the big screen. One circle of light stays focused on the big screen, where Murray dominates, as POD's "School Of Hard Knocks" begins to play over the PA system.
Hans Heinemann: Finally, The Educator is coming out.
The Educator walks through the black veil looking somewhat flustered, to a chorus of boos. He wastes no time with his usual entrance, instead striding straight to the ring with fury written all over his face.
Miguel Rodriguez: He no happy!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Well, now that we’ve had that interesting beginning, I guess this match turns into a basic Three Way Fury for the Frontier title!
Hans Heinemann: The Educator, a triple champion in AWC up until a few moments ago, will make short work of these two.
Educator rolls into the ring.
James Brunt: Finally, from Surrey, England, weighing in at 220 pounds... he is the Transatlantic, Frontier and Livew – wait, no he isn’t – he is the Transatlantic and Frontier champions... THE EDUCATOR!
Masters shoots a venomous glare at Brunt, who holds up his hands.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It’s not Brunty’s fault his cue cards are out of date. I BLAME STEVEN XANDROUS!
Educator wrenches Murray away from Xandrous and regards the former Relentless champion’s already-battered face. Mercilessly, he manoeuvres around to Xandrous’ head and drops a precise knee across his nose.
Hans Heinemann: There is no sympathy from The Educator – only cold fury.
Miguel Rodriguez: He broke his nose!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Quite possibly.
Educator withdraws his knee and now uses the toe of his boot to kick Xandrous in well-defined facial locations – both cheekbones, then the nose twice more for good measure.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Pearl ain’t gonna be happy. Educator is looking to cause as much genuine, lasting damage as he can.
Miguel Rodriguez: I think Xandrous might not be happy about that either!
Knowing he has to do something, Xandrous grabs Educator’s left boot just as Murray storms the double champion with a clothesline. The combined effect jack-knifes The Educator to the mat, and Murray immediately kneels to apply his Celtic Crossface.
Hans Heinemann: Murray is aware that wasting a single second is just not an option against The Educator, and he’s desperately trying to lock on that Celtic Crossface.
Educator struggles hard, however, and Murray just can’t get his crossed arms around his head.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He’s like a slippery fish! Do you know what I eat fish with, Miggy?
Miguel Rodriguez: A knife and fork?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: No! POTATOES!
Hans Heinemann:...So do I.
Seeing Murray’s lack of progress, Xandrous taps him on the shoulder and shakes his head: not now, Andy, not now. But Xandrous appears to have forgotten that he double-crossed Murray just a moment ago, and the blood dripping from Xandrous’ nose is like a red flag to the bull that is the Scottish King of Cool. BAM! BAM! BAM! go the punches to the face, followed up with a knee brought high into Xandrous’ abdomen. Murray signals happily to the crowd...
Miguel Rodriguez: WAKE UP!
Hans Heinemann: Monstrous DDT. Yet more impact on Xandrous’ face, which could resemble a...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: LASAGNE by the night’s end.
Having executed the sharp DDT, Murray rolls to his feet quickly to block a right hand from The Educator and turn him against the turnbuckle. Two kicks to the mid-section subdue the man who pretty well owned The Battle Of Britain, and now Murray launches into his ribs with shoulder charges.
Hans Heinemann: Andy Murray is using his heavy frame effectively, not giving The Educator a moment to respond and continually knocking any fight out of him.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: If Murray can control The Educator this easily, then surely a Transatlantic title shot is in order?
Miguel Rodriguez: You know, it was bizarre at BoB. Educator was getting cheers! You don’t think he’s becoming a... fan favourite, do you?
DOOOOOBLIN~! shakes his head solemnly.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: A tiger can’t change his spots, Mig.
Murray now whips The Educator towards the opposite corner; Educator leaps Xandrous’ still-fallen body and spins 180 degrees to land facing Murray, Xandrous between them.
Hans Heinemann: Brilliant. Masters is just so in control of every inch of his body.
Educator and Murray face each other, poised, electric tension capturing the NEC – and this abruptly dies when Xandrous clips The Educator’s heels together with his hands, causing him to stagger back and then fall.
Miguel Rodriguez: Beeeeyootiful! Beeg boy like!
Hans Heinemann: Xandrous just scrapping for some kind of handhold in this match. He’ll do anything to assert himself.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ah, necessity is the mother of declension, Hans.
Murray sniffs as he steps over Xandrous’ body with distaste, heading towards The Educator, with whom he locks up.
Hans Heinemann: Tie-up, and Murray’s greater strength is against Educator’s better technical know-how.
The Educator goes low, taking Murray’s knee and eliminating most of the SKC’s balance. In one quick movement, he bends to bring the other leg off the mat too, then slamming Murray down in a low spinebuster variant. A second is all it takes for him to lock in a sharpshooter.
Hans Heinemann: Sharpshooter!
Miguel Rodriguez: Murray is trapped!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: No! Come on Andy! Fight the power! Fight the pain! You can get out of this... no pain, no... shame!
Miguel Rodriguez: Gain.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Yes! He’s gaining! He’s... what?
Xandrous leans against the ropes, touching his nose gingerly with his right hand. He spits nastily on the canvas as he watches The Educator put everything into this submission hold. Andy Murray is screaming as the pressure on his legs and spine becomes too much to bear.
Hans Heinemann: I cannot see Andy Murray holding out for much longer.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: COME ON! GUINNESS! POTATOES! Er... what do they eat and drink in Scotland? HAGGIS! HAGGIS HAGGIS HAGGIS!
Murray slowly turns his head – left and up. Just an inch further – and now he’s looking Steven Xandrous in the face. Murray’s stricken face stares into Xandrous’ broken face with intensity – an intensity that is totally lost on one member of our commentary team.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: DO IT FOR SNOWBALL! DO IT FOR GROBSCHNIT! THINK OF ALVARO!
Miguel Rodriguez: I like Alvaro; he Portuguese.
Hans Heinemann: Will you two concentrate? Just watch what’s going on here... Murray Is staring at Xandrous, pleading... Xandrous, who betrayed Murray earlier on in this match... and paid for it at the hands of both Murray and The Educator... this is his chance for a truce...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Yes! Do it, Steven Xandrous, do it!
Murray grits his teeth, but still he desperately maintains eye contact. And – the former Relentless champion moves off the ropes. Murray collapses with relief, his head falling once more to the mat as he concentrates all efforts on just surviving for a moment longer. Xandrous paces slowly over.
Hans Heinemann: I don’t believe it. How can he sell out like this? He doesn’t need Murray’s friendship. He doesn’t need his forgiveness; he doesn’t need a truce. Steven Xandrous can blaze his own trail in AWC – he has been doing so already! He’s been Relentless champion, which is more than Andy Murray has ever done.
Miguel Rodriguez: I dunno Hans... Relentless is a tough division. He might want an ally.
Now... finally... Xandrous arrives. He stands right behind The Educator – close enough that the double champion can feel his breath on the back of his neck. But there is no room for The Educator to wonder what the hell is going on, because he’s moments from victory, inches from retaining one of the two title belts he had to put on the line here tonight.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: WOULD YOU HURRY UP AND HELP HIM?
The crowd gets loud, aware that Steven Xandrous isn’t quite acting as they guessed he would a few seconds back. Murray stretches his head up once more, bemused by the lack of assistance, but he can’t see Xandrous, who is standing over his body with one leg either side – all he can see is that Xandrous isn’t where he used to be.
Hans Heinemann: It’s now or never, Xandrous. Make a choice.
Michael Ryan looks up at Xandrous, a break from paying such close attention to the sharpshooter. And whatever conflicting emotions had been running through the head of Steven Xandrous are lost. He brings up an elbow and smashes it horizontally against The Educator’s temple. The Educator falls to the side, dazed, and Murray fights desperately to untangle their legs.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Steven Xandrous finally breaks the sharpshooter, and Murray was so close to tapping out! Thank God Xandrous came to his senses.
Hans Heinemann: You are welcome.
Miguel Rodriguez: What – what – was that a JOKE, Hans?
Hans Heinemann: Of sorts.
Miguel Rodriguez: My beeg boy did not appreciate it. He has shrivelled.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Oh, it’s a ‘he’ now is it?
Gasping for breath, Murray lies flat on his front, with no energy to even consider anything else. Xandrous kicks The Educator viciously in the head to send him from his hands-and-knees position back to the canvas.
Hans Heinemann: Having been struggling to assert himself thus far, Xandrous suddenly finds himself in control – and he doesn’t quite know what to –
Hans stops as a crowd roar diverts his attention to the entrance-way, where the unmistakeable form of Mickey Fitz-McCarthy has just appeared.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It’s The Farmer!
Miguel Rodriguez: One third – one half? – one part of Eire Og is on its way to the ring.
Farmer strides down the ramp, grinning out at his fans and letting out his trademark grunting noises again and again.
Hans Heinemann: What could his agenda be? I didn’t think the Frontier title scene was really his thing.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He wants revenge, after Xandrous branded him with that hot iron in the Giant Haystacks Invitational, of course!
Miguel Rodriguez: And it was clearly The Farmer who pushed that haystack onto Xandrous right at the end, to perhaps cost him the match. Ooh, the possibilities! My penis tingles.
Hans Heinemann:...
The Farmer quickly makes his intentions clear; he reaches ringside with a steel chair in his hand. Xandrous’ eyes pop but before he can react properly, The Educator takes him from behind in a waistlock and hits a powerful pumphandle slam!
Hans Heinemann: Pumphandle slam by The Educator. There’s a move you don’t see much of anymore.
Educator then strides over to the ropes and looks down at The Farmer with a sneer. McCarthy starts to yell at him, but The Educator just turns away and Michael Ryan takes over negotiations with The Farmer to leave ringside. Xandrous surprises The Educator by already being up, and sprints at him with his head down, but the ever-aware Educator steps aside and falls into a drop toe hold. His legs caught, Xandrous topples forward, catching Ryan with an inadvertent headbutt between the shoulder blades!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Xandrous just butted the referee!
Hans Heinemann: I’m half-inclined to believe The Educator intended that. He’s just so conscious of everything that’s going on...
As if to illustrate Heinemann’s point, Educator turns just as Murray reaches a vertical position and scoops him up before slamming him in the centre of the ring.
Miguel Rodriguez: The good old body slam!
Xandrous helps himself up using the ropes and sees Michael Ryan struggling alongside him. Caught in two minds, Xandrous considers helping up the referee – there’s got to be something in it for him – but before he can make a choice, a chair slams into the side of his head and he goes down like a shot. The grinning face of The Farmer taunts him.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: The Farmer just clocked Xandrous over the head with that chair!
Hans Heinemann: Now Michael Ryan’s up... and he’s still trying to get The Farmer to leave... so I don’t think he saw it.
Educator quickly rolls Murray out of the ring and drags Xandrous to his feet before pulling him over to the turnbuckle. Knowing what is to happen, the crowd becomes restless.
Miguel Rodriguez: Oh no! Here comes the win for The Educator!
The Educator climbs to the top rope and leaps off, delivering the Detention DDT!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: DETENTION!
Hans Heinemann: A second major impact on Xandrous’ head in the last few seconds and surely he can’t take that punishment! Hooks the leg!
Ryan was just about to begin counting Andy Murray, who is getting to his feet, out, but now sees The Educator’s cover and drops instantly to the mat.
ONE!
TWO!
Murray slides in, but he’s too late.
THR-
Xandrous kicks out!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: WHAT?!
Hans Heinemann: Steven Xandrous kicks out of Detention!
Miguel Rodriguez: Ed is losing his touch!
Murray pulls Educator off and starts a sequence of hard right hands, The Educator scrabbling just to balance against this powerful aggression. Unseen by Michael Ryan, The Farmer reaches in and grabs Xandrous by his legs, pulling him to the outside.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Mickey won’t give up. He wants a right old brawl with Xandrous!
Murray now reaches to grab The Educator’s arm and slings him hard into the ropes. With so little time to react, Educator rebounds back off and straight into Murray’s grasp for a sidewalk slam.
Hans Heinemann: Murray with a sidewalk slam – and look at Xandrous and Farmer go at it.
An all-out brawl has broken out at ringside, with Ryan seemingly having dismissed it as a lost cause. Murray shrugs and brings Educator to his feet, then captures his head and shoulders...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Oh, here we go! Time to hang!
Miguel Rodriguez: Hangtime.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ya, like, WHATever.
Murray lifts The Educator’s body slowly but surely into a vertical position above him, stalling the impending doom for the current Frontier champion.
Hans Heinemann: The Educator’s fifty pounds lighter and just couldn’t stop it happening...
Andy Murray drops him with a side brainbuster!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: THE HIGHLAND HANGOVER! THE HIGHLAND HANGOVER!
Hans Heinemann: Looks like we’ve got a new champion...
Miguel Rodriguez: Ten inches, man.
Outside the ring, Farmer boots Xandrous in the gut and hits him with the Searing DDT!
Miguel Rodriguez: The Farmer drops Xandrous with his finisher at ringside and he is out of this.
Andy Murray, spurred on by the fans’ cheers, hooks The Educator’s leg.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Miguel Rodriguez: No way!
Hans Heinemann: After going through hell to win three title belts at The Battle Of Britain, The Educator’s gone and dropped two of them in one match here on Fresh!.
Murray rolls away and leaps to his feet, absolutely beaming as James Brunt comes into the ring and raises his arm.
James Brunt: The winner of the second fall... and new Frontier champion... ANDY MURRAY!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Look at him! Just oozing with cool...dom!
Hans Heinemann: There will be hell to pay after this...
The Educator gets to his weary feet and slumps into a turnbuckle, totally exhausted after taking the Highland Hangover.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Whoa! This is soooo unexpected.
Miguel Rodriguez: What'll the fallout be next week on Fresh!? It's been one hell of a night! Two championships have changed hands, people have been spooked by old friends' cardboard cut-outs, there's been confrontations - everything! Tune in next week at the usual time for Ricki Lake.
Hans Heinemann: Erm. Ricki Lake?
Miguel Rodriguez: I obviously meant AWC Fresh!. And my beeeeg boy!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: BEEEEG BOY! Aww, now look what you've made me do.
Hans Heinemann: And we're out. Back next week live from Nottingham, England! Good night!