Fresh! Results
30th August 2005
One Step Forward
FEATURING: PIERCE LAVELLE, DAVID "PEARL"
HARBER, TRUTH WATERS, GEORGE CASSIDY
AUTHOR: LARA CLARKE
We open just outside of the National Ice Centre, Nottingham. A black cab pulls to a screeching hault just outside of the double doors. Pierce Lavelle lunges out of the car. The cabbie soon follows in a quickened pace.
Cab Driver: Alright, what's the hurry. You had me do 80 on a road limit of 50 and now that we are here, you charge out of my car, almost scratching the black pain.
Pierce Lavelle turns around on this comment, apologizes and asks the cab driver nicely to open the boot. The cab driver does as he is told and opens the boot. Pierce Lavelle grabs his black duffle bag, pays the cab driver a little extra in the fee and runs through the screaming fans, yelling a loud "SORRY" each time he bumps into one. Inside the hall, Pierce Lavelle accidentally runs into Truth Waters. Both men collide and hit the floor.
Truth Waters: Pierce? Are you alright?
Waters lifts Lavelle up and both apologize for the little incident. Everyone else in the lobby has by now stopped their staring, and have reverted back to minding their own business. Lavelle shakes off some of the dirt and picks up his duffle bag.
Pierce Lavelle: I'm fine, Truth. Sorry to bump into you like this.
Truth Waters: Why are you rushing?
Pierce Lavelle: I have a meeting with the medical examiner, in about ten minutes. If I don't get approved, I can't wrestle, and Pearl will be there to see the outcome of the medics tests.
Lavelle has a flustered appearance.
Truth Waters: How are you feeling?
Pierce Lavelle: Pretty good, considering my pay-per view match outcome.
Truth Waters: Yes, you took quite a beating.
Pierce Lavelle: Oh, before I dash, just want to say thanks for helping me last week when Educator started to attack me. It was brave of you.
Truth Waters: Well, it was nothing, really. Just a quick upper hook.
Pierce Lavelle: Too many Rocky movies, Truth.
Lavelle turns around, thanks Truth Waters, apologizes once more and takes a calmer approach to a fast paced walk up the long, twisting corridor to the medical room. Inside, a tall man, dressed in a black sports t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms is setting up some equipment. Pierce Lavelle enters and looks pale at the site of all the electrical equipment.
Pearl: Ah, Mr. Lavelle, just in time.
Pierce Lavelle: I, em, forgot something.. I'll be right back.
Lavelle turns his back on Pearl and opens the door, only to have it fly open in front of his face, knocking him to the ground. George Cassidy comes trundling in, complaining and flailing his arms at Pearl. Pearl dismisses George Cassidy and tells him he'll miss his flight. Cassidy snarls at the owner of the AWC and shuts the door with a loud slam.
Medical Examiner: If we could begin.
Lavelle removes his t-shirt and the medic checks his ribs and the stitching around his upper eyelid.
10 minutes later..
Lavelle is seated outside, his duffle bag by his feet. He's twiddling with his thumbs and sighing. The fans around the arena are all chanting, in unison, "LA-VELLE". Pierce Lavelle acknowledges his fans chant with a nod of the head and continues to stare at the linoleum floor. After a few moments of sighing and chewing his nails, the door opens and Pearl emerges with a medical file. Pierce Lavelle stands up, and stares at his boss.
Pierce Lavelle: Well?
Pearl continues leafing through the pages.
Pierce Lavelle: The suspense is killing me.
Pearl: Looks like you are all set to wrestle tonight.
Lavelle hugs Pearl and suddenly jumps off again, coughs nervously and shakes the bosses hand.
Pierce Lavelle: Thanks, Pearl. You won't regret this. I swear.
Pearl: You are lucky I put you in this main event match. Last week you were in no condition to even be in the arena.
Pierce Lavelle: I know, and I'm sorry for that little defiant nature on my part. Won't happen again, boss.
Lavelle thanks Pearl once more and heads down the corridor to his locker room.
I Want My Apology
FEATURING: THE FARMER, CHRIS METAL
AUTHOR: YRAN
The arena door swings open as The Farmer enters carrying a sports bag. The Farmer is wearing blue jeans and a black AWC t-shirt that covers the shoulder bandage covering his burn.
He wasn't scheduled to be in the arena with his shoulder injury, but following his appearance at a UWF show, he felt like he should be there to make sure nothing kicked off. Although only becoming a wrestler a few months previously, Mickey Fitz had taken everything in his stride, but also by following the instructions of his Emerald Isle colleague Paddy O'Shea he was becoming more involved in federation issues.
But shit, he had left the Alliance Belt in the hire car. Spinning on his heels, The Farmer pushes the arena door open again.
“Mickey..hold on!”
Mickey is caught half-way through the door as Chris Metal approaches from down the corridor. Officially Metal is still The Farmer's coach, so he is able to get into the backstage area, but the pair hadn't spoken since The Farmer eliminated Chris Metal in the Giant Haystacks match at the Battle of Britain.
Chris Metal: I want my apology..
Metal's opening sentence causes The Farmer to snigger.
The Farmer: For?
Chris Metal: For eliminating me in that match.. You were totally out of line.. You lost magnetism when you did that..
More laughter is induced by the ever-more serious former PCWer.
The Farmer: Ye not getting no apology.
Chris grins as The Farmer answers him.
Chris Metal: I thought you would say that.. So I'm going to earn my apology.. I had a word with Pearl Harber and he said that if you were to turn up on your night off, I will get a match against you..
The childish grin is totally wiped from The Farmer's face.
The Farmer: What?
Chris Metal: Me and you.. One-on-one.. Falls Count Anywhere.. Be ready!
That sentence allows Chris to have the last laugh, as he spins on his heel and walks away. The Farmer continues back to the car to get his Alliance Title belt. The camera fades to black.
Introduction
FEATURING: DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!, MIGUEL "THE MIDGET" RODRIGUEZ, HANS HEINEMANN
AUTHORS: DAVE LARKIN, PIERRE HYDE AND DAVID HEDLEY
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
Shots from last week's Fresh! main event are shown, with Steven Xandrous and Andy Murray gaining titles by pinfall on The Educator. A pulsating white light continually lights up the screen, with shots of many AWC superstars in action being shown: Rainbow Flag, Pierce Lavelle, Amy Silveira.
And even though I know
That everything might go
Go downhill from here
I'm not afraid
A quick collection of highlights from recent events flash across the screen as the song moves into its chorus. The Educator emerging from the bus at the Battle of Britain; Emerald Isle II retaining the Alliance championship last week on Fresh!; The Illustrious Face-Eater hitting Shipley over the head with his former CORE title belt.
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
Miguel Rodriguez: Welcome to Fresh!, the only place where you'll tonight find my beeeeg boy getting beeeeger, along with some people wrestling aswell!
Hans Heinemann: We're live from Nottingham, England and the National Ice Centre will be bringing you the latest dosage of AWC action, with no less than six matches on the card tonight!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES! Amongst the action tonight will be The Educator defending his final title against Pierce Lavelle and Paddy O'Shea!
Hans Heinemann: The Educator lost two of his three titles last week on Fresh!, and tonight we'll see whether he can retain the final and most important one! Also, we'll see the latest developments in the UWF vs. AWC war following Emerald Isle II's appearance on Sunday Afternoon Supremacy last week, when they attacked Nick Persia and war leader James Varga -
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: ..aswell as three debuts and the final AWC match of Amy Silveira!
Hans Heinemann: And the return of Void.
Miguel Rodriguez: Who?! Indeed, Silveira will be leaving AWC after her four way match tonight, which my beeeeg boy is not very happy about!
Hans Heinemann: I am, however, happy about it, as she lacks anything close to the leve..
Miguel Rodriguez: (interrupting Heinemann) Anyway, before my pants explode, let's get straight to the action!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: GUINNESS!
Varga Calls Out Lavelle
FEATURING: JAMES VARGA
AUTHORS: JAMES VARGA
James Brunt: He stands at 6'1 and weighs in at 235 pounds. He is the UWF North American Champion. He is the Evil Genius of Professional Wrestling. Entering now, this is James Varga!
An eerie scene appears on the titantron as the lights fade out. A dead forest somewhere back east is shown. The trees are leafless and the entire scene is covered by the eerie shadows of clouds. A shadowy figure then appears. The figure then takes a few steps and then hears something. The figure looks around and something runs at it. The scene on the tron fades out as the eerie theme music to the movie 'Halloween II' begins playing and a pumpkin with a candle in the middle appears on the Universal Tron now. The crowd erupts in loud boos as James Varga comes out wearing the UWF North American Championship belt. Varga is dressed similiar to Johnny Depp in 'Sleepy Hollow', dressed very gothic in his dark colored suit as he strolls out from the back.
James strikes a pose with his UWF North American Championship belt despite the booing of the AWC crowd. He makes his way to the ring, dismissing the boos.
James climbs up the stairs and does a Flair strut down the side of the apron. Varga enters the ring and holds up his belt for all to see. The lights come back on and Varga suddenly has a microphone in hand.
Crowd: YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK!
James looks around.
James Varga: Is that the best you can come up with? YOU SUCK?! Please. Give me a break.
James shakes his head as the fans continue to raz him. James looks pissed and starts pointing his finger at them.
James Varga: Don't make me come out here to a shitty entrance theme wearing sunglasses, wearing faggy tights, and start doing things the Varg Way!
This actually draws applause for some reason.
James Varga: The reason I'm out here is Pierce Lavelle.
The crowd starts cheering wildly.
Crowd: PIERCE! PIERCE! PIERCE!
James Varga: Yeah. Call out your hero so I can kick his ass. YEAH~! Watch and learn as I school him in the art of proffessional wrestling.
"Stockholm Syndrome" by Muse starts playing over the loud speakers as Varga turns to the entrance and starts acting scared. The crowd cheers wildly as the music continues to play but no one comes out. Varga is on the mat laughing. He then gets up and smiles at the crowd.
James Varga: You fucking idiots! Like he shows up on time because he gets the big bucks. You see, this is how it works in our business. The main eventers get to show up an hour late and have M&M's with their favorite colors in bowls all over the backstage area. Yeah. Egomaniacs, just like Pierce Lavelle.
The crowd boos this royally.
James Varga: But let me tell you people something. The wrestling industry isn't what you think it is. That is why it is my personal mission to destroy it. Destroy it for all these fuckers in the back whose egos have gone to their heads.
James nods his head.
James Varga: Yeah, because James Varga was never a Main Eventer in the NWC because my head was big enough to fit on my body. Yeah. All of your heroes are egomaniacs and they're about to become my bitches. Pierce Lavelle, you IRA scumbag. Come on down and bring it on because I know you have no sack. You have no balls. You have no pubes. You will be nothing without your dignity, which I plan on taking on Fresh! next week. Now, COME ON! Get up off your arse and give me a fucking challenge for Christ's sake! I've won 29 Championships and I'm looking for 30. Bring it on, fucker. Your arse is mine! And bring all of your little Medieval Dark Age British buddies with you because I'm driving on down the highway to Hell and each and every one of you AWC motherfuckers is coming with me! James throws the mic down and abruptly leaves without saying another word. He storms to the back, but not before getting into it with some fans on the way out.
Hate vs Void
STIPULATION: THE FARMER, STEVEN XANDROUS,
CHRIS METAL
REFEREE: AARON DAVIES
AUTHOR: LARA CLARKE
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Looks like we're about to start things off.
Miguel Rodriguez: Hate's punishment match-up. I think it is more a slaughter match.
Hans Heinemann: How so?
Miguel Rodriguez: You saw what Hate did at the pay-per view to Pierce Lavelle, Paddy O'Shea and Red Rock and that isn't all of them. He brutalised the previous Transatlantic champion, Pierce Lavelle. Now, Pearl sticks him in a match against Void. I think Hate should be locked-up for a while.
Hans Heinemann: Yes, but Hate was in the bus when it collided. So, I think it is safe to say, he probably isn't one hundred percent.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I'd say, give Void a chance, you never know.
Miguel Rodriguez: Yeah, you're right. I shouldn't be jumping to conclusions.
Hans Heinemann: But..
Miguel Rodriguez: (whispers) Oh great, here he goes again.
Hans Heinemann: What's that Miguel?
Miguel Rodriguez: Nothing, I just had something stuck in my throat.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That would be the English hot-dogs. I once found a strand of hair in mine, almost choked on it.
Hans Heinemann: How fascinating! Anyway, I still think Hate is a fine superstar and shouldn't be treated like a lower card wrestler. I think Pearl is making a mistake.
Miguel Rodriguez: (Yawns) It is his punishment for his actions.
The commentators are interrupted by the cheering of the fans for James Brunt to finally step into the ring. The spotlight shines down on the ring announcer.
James Brunt: Tonight's match-up is a singles match.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES! And here we go.
"Reflection" by Tool hits the sound system around the National Ice Centre, Nottingham. The fans boo loudly at the first man to step through the black curtains. Void enters, dressed from head-to-toe in his ring attire. He taunts the fans a little and walks calmly down to the ring.
James Brunt: Making his way to the ring, VOID.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, Hate comes charging down the ramp, and drives his forearm into the back of Void's head. Void tumbles forward, unaware, and rolls down the last bit of the ramp. Hate suddenly follows up on that by sending clubbing blows to the back of Void's back and neck. Hate, Irish-whips Void into the barricade. The fans are booing Hate ferociously. He shrugs them off and grabs Void by the nose. Void jumps up, wincing in pain. Hate suddenly tries to ram Void into the steps, but Void lifts his leg up to stomp himself, reverses and sends Hate into the steps.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: This is one fast action match. Hate came out of nowhere.
Miguel Rodriguez: The match hasn't even started yet.
Hans Heinemann: I like Hate's entrance music; I wish he would go back and do it properly.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I like Irish folk music, myself.
Miguel Rodriguez: ..Hate is back up now and takes a look around for Void.
Hate is standing on the outside. Void comes charging through the small gap in the crowd, lunging off the barricade. Hate catches Void in a bear-hug, gathers his momentum and drives Void into the steel turnbuckle. Hate continues to hold on and drives a second time.
Hans Heinemann: Oh, the brutality.
Miguel Rodriguez: Nobody can stop it, the bell hasn't rung.
Void, using his elbows, drives them into the temples of Hate, eventually leading to Hate releasing his hold on Void. Void lands on his feet and rolls into the ring, with some difficulty. Referee Aaron Davies checks on Void, Void yells "I'm Fine", and pushes Aaron Davies off of him. Void stands up, shakes off the cobwebs and waits for Hate to arrive. Hate, however, has another plan and charges around the ring, taunting Void. Void, turns at each turn and slides out of the ring only to be met with a clothesline. Void hits the mat with a thud and rolls over to the barricade.
Miguel Rodriguez: Come on guys, get into the ring. Take the fight to the ring..
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I don't think they can hear you.
Hans Heinemann: This is a nice way to open a show, don't you think?
Miguel Rodriguez: (with hint of sarcasm) Sure, entertainment value!
Hate turns towards the commentators and sends a few comments towards them; this is greeted by a lot of boos from the surrounding fans. Hate turns his back on the crowd and follows after Void. Void, once more, has taken to another tactic to bring the Fifth Horseman down. Out of nowhere, Void smacks Hate on the head with a steel chair. Hate grins, shakes his head and comes at Void once more. Void smacks Hate again, this time having an affect on Hate - Hate wobbles a little, but seems to take it. Void stands on the steps, jumps into the air and connects the chair to Hate's head with a jumping dropkick. Hate falls over the other steel steps and hits the padded mat beneath him. Void stands up, proud of his accomplishment.
Miguel Rodriguez: Three chair shots to take Hate down. Jumping dropkick to Hate, takes the big man down.
Hans Heinemann: Void rolling into the ring, seems to be talking to Aaron Davies, just a tiny bit more politely than last time.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: This is the best match.. ever.
Miguel Rodriguez: If you could call it a match, the bell hasn't rung yet. It is more an all-out brawl, until both men are in that ring.
Hans Heinemann: I think Miguel would be right, all though Void is holding his own. Hate seems to be a dominant feature in the AWC at this moment in time. Look at Pierce Lavelle; he looked a mess last week.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I'll never forget Truth's face when he was driving the bus. I thought that match was very well done. Who won again?
Hans Heinemann: I think it was The Educator.
Miguel Rodriguez: You sure?
Hans Heinemann: Not really. And, it seems Void has now climbed the turnbuckle inside of the ring.
Void lunges off the turnbuckle and connects with Hate via a 450 splash. Both men lie on the outside and have the luxury of taking their time. Some fans around the arena seem to be less thrilled with the opener and begin a boring chant. Hate suddenly begins to stir, as does Void. Both men tie-up, Hate takes the upper-hand and drives Void back into the steel steps. Both men stay linked and Void tries, with all of his strength, to get Hate to his knees. Void breaks the hold and begins some sharp chops. The fans start a loud: "WOO-OOO-OOO", with each chop. Hate seems to be undeterred by this and places his hand on Void's face. In one swift motion Hate throws Void backward, albeit with a little difficulty as Void clings onto the ring apron.
Miguel Rodriguez: Err, hand to the face. Anybody know what that move is called.
Hans Heinemann: A cheap shot that was totally uncalled for. Hate is taunting Void.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You must play mind games, sometimes.
Void, still slung over the steps, gets a large size 10 boot to his abdomen. Hate removes the top step and holds it in the air. Void, now standing, turns around but in a quick paced action Hate smacks Void in the head with the top part of the steel steps. Void lands flat out, his body in the shape of a cross.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I see London, I see France, I see Void's, underpants.
Miguel Rodriguez: I see Hate, destroying our set.
Hans Heinemann: Void, knocked-out cold.
Hate now begins to look around and grabs Void by the head, hoisting Void up onto his shoulders and running at the turnbuckle, dropping Void into the air. Void connects with the barricade, and huddles over it, letting out a loud sigh of pain. Hate seems to be enjoying the first match of Fresh! and takes some other tools from under the ring. Void doesn't seem to be giving up and with the help of some fans, manages to get to his feet. He looks around, and putting his body on the line, he lunges off the remaining of the steps and hits Hate in the back with a diving leg-drop. Hate rolls away from Void 'stretching' his back, clearly in a little pain.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Void is taking a beating, but he won't go down without a fight.
Out of nowhere, Void manages to find some left over strength and charges at Hate, flinging his body around a little, and smacking Void right in the face with the tip of a sledge hammer. The crowd fall silent as the watch Void's body recoil at the strength of the hit. His head flies backwards and his legs go forwards. It seems the time has slowed down, as each eye watches his destruction. With a loud thud, the crowd boo Hate.
Miguel Rodriguez: He could be dead.
Hans Heinemann: Let us replay that, for the people at home.
After the replay clip, the coverage shoots back to ringside. Hate is now standing over the limp/unconscious body of Void. Hate lifts Void over his shoulders and slides him into the ring, under the bottom rope. Hate soon follows and referee Aaron Davies has no choice but to ring the bell - to start the match.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: And, now, folks, the match has just started.
Miguel Rodriguez: Void can't do anything, he's out-cold.
Hate drags Void by his legs and places him in the centre of the ring. Using all of his strength, he lifts the dead weight of Void's body and looks around the arena at all of the booing fans. Void's legs collapse and Hate struggles to keep Void's upper-body up. Hate suddenly launches, and not even breaking a sweat, he lifts Void in the Eleventh Commandment, connecting right in the middle of the ring. Hate places one foot on Void's chest.
Miguel Rodriguez: Ah, not like this. Hate has just made a fool of Void.
Hans Heinemann: I think it is more for Pearl.
Referee Aaron Davies, has no choice but to count.
ONE!
TWO!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Kick-out Void.
THREE!
Referee Aaron Davies, reluctantly raises Hate's hand. Boo's surround the arena. James Brunt stands up and listens to the cacophony of boos behind him.
James Brunt: Here is your winner.. Hate!
"North American Corpse Desecration" by Agrophobic Nosebleed rings out of the sound system in the National Ice Centre, Nottingham. Hate jumps down from the ropes and begins to head to the backstage.
Miguel Rodriguez: He's a dangerous man.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Absolute brutality and probably great viewing.
Hans Heinemann: Probably the shortest actual match I have ever seen. One pin and he wins.
Miguel Rodriguez: But, Hate had a plan. We all saw it. Surprise and conquer, then roll his opponent into the ring and pin. Quick and painful. Well, I hope Pearl is happy, as that is probably another wrestler on the injury list.
Red Rock's Anal Ointment
FEATURING: RED ROCK, DR. STEVEN BURNS, THE
BRITISH BOMBER
AUTHORS: JOSH YOUNG
The scene cuts backstage to the medical area. There is a leather medical bed up against the wall and a plastic set of draws containing various medical instruments like plasters, bandages and painkillers. AWC medical worker Dr. Steven Burns sits behind his desk with his feet up reading the latest issue of Razzle magazine.
Dr. Steven Burns: Oh yes I'd hit that you dirty little whore!
Dr. Steven Burns holds the magazine vertically to get a better view of the slutty Razzle centre fold. He undoes his fly and slowly starts to slip his hand down his trousers whilst licking his lips when from nowhere the door flies open.
Dr. Steven Burns: FUCK!
Dr. Steven Burns throws the issue of Razzle under his desk and swiftly withdraws his hand from his trousers, cancelling his dirty desires. Standing in the doorway is Red Rock, wearing a pinstripe jacket that is covered in dirt and a pair of dirty wellington boots. On his back he has a huge hiking backpack, whichh has a sleeping bag and a packed up tent attached to it. Red Rock drops his backpack on the ground.
Red Rock: HELLO!
Dr. Steven Burns: Hello Red. Err.. I wasn't expecting to see you?
Red Rock looks at the floor and spots the razzle magazine that has slid across the floor to his feet. Dr. Steven Burns hadn't realized the magazine had slid all the way under the desk to Red Rock's feet.
Red Rock: He, he! I bet you weren't. Razzle? I wouldn't of put you down as the Razzle type.
Dr. Steven Burns stands up and is turning red from embarrassment.
Dr. Steven Burns: I don't know where that came from? It must be.. Andy Murray's or something.
Red Rock: But you have a box of Kleenex and a bottle of hand lotion there, and the bottle of hand lotion is open.
Dr. Steven Burns: That hand lotion if for patients..
Red Rock: So why is your fly undone?
Dr. Steven Burns: ..
Red Rock looks Dr. Steven Burns up and down with a dirty look.
Red Rock: You disgust me!
Dr. Steven Burns hangs his head in shame.
Red Rock: ONLY JOKING! HAHA! We all have the need to crack one off once in a while!
Red Rock slaps Dr. Steven Burns across the back laughing to himself and Dr. Steven Burns sighs and shakes his head.
Dr. Steven Burns: So what can I help you with Red? And why are you dressed like that, whats the deal with the back pack?
Red Rock: Oh that? Well I just came back from the Reading Festival. I thought whilst we were coming to the UK I'd get a ticket. It was fantastic! I saw loads of cool bands like Bloc Party, Foo Fighters, The Killers, Art Brut, Death From Above 1979. Five days in a tent in a field with some old friends, fantastic and because of my injury I didn't have to wrestle so I could go!
Dr. Steven Burns: Jolly good Red, but I can only help you if you have an injury.
Red Rock: Yeah I do need a bit of help.. as you know I have this injury on my bottom!
Red Rock shameless pulls his trousers down showing Dr. Steven Burns his skin abrasion he received at Battle of Britain.
Red Rock: I was wondering if you had any ointment for it? I seem to have run out.
Dr. Steven Burns: Yeah sure. Let me just check!
Dr. Steven Burns walks off and rummages through his draws and pulls out some ointment.
Dr. Steven Burns: Ah ha, here we go!
Dr. Steven Burns hands Red Rock the ointment.
Red Rock: You couldn't quickly rub a bit of it on for me could you? It's rather difficult to reach round the back you know.
Dr. Steven Burns sighs.
Dr. Steven Burns: Ok, get up on the bed.
Meanwhile the scene quickly switches to outside where British Bomber arrives at the door. He is about to enter when he over hears Red Rock's voice and peers through a gap in the door.
Red Rock: Yeah my arse is so sore, I did receive a hard pounding from Hate the other week and then he tossed me and Paddy off -
British Bomber turns away and gags, missing the vital last words of the sentence, those being “the bus”.
British Bomber: That.. is.. RANK!
Dr. Steven Burns: Sounds like Hate likes it rough then.
Red Rock: Oh definetly, he certainly had his way with me and Paddy!
British Bomber: Receiving a pounding from Hate? Sore arse? Getting tossed off? Having his way with Red Rock and Paddy?
British Bomber, who already questions Red Rock's sexuality, slowly turns slightly pale and his eyes widen. His face slowly crumples up with a look of disgust as he slowly backs away.
British Bomber: Is there ANYONE who isn't a bummer in this place? I'm not safe!
The Third Man
FEATURING: PADDY O'SHEA, THE FARMER, O'SHEA
FAMILY MEMBERS
AUTHOR: MICHAEL DOHERTY
The scene cuts back backstage. The camera is following the harrowing figure that is Mickey Fitz, otherwise known as The Farmer. He's pacing up the cream coloured corridor with a six-pack in each hand. Even from the back, he looks angry as his hulking shoulders thrust back and forth viciously. The sounds of Mickey's muttering is very clear to hear.
The Farmer: Bloody gypsies.. whothe hell do they think they are orderin' me about.. feckin' bastards.
The Farmer continues to mutter until he arrives at the brown mahogany door that is titled simply ‘Eire Óg'. Once there the sounds of voices and laughter becomes clearly evident. Mickey, opens the door with his elbow, then pushes himself through awkwardly. The once muffled noise becomes distinctively clear suddenly as the cameraman walks through.
Voice: Wayhey! Farm boy got us the stuff!
The Farmer: It's FarMER! (muttering) Feckin' inbred.
The Farmer walks over and into the middle of about ten men who are sitting or standing in a makeshift circle. Every one of them has a hand of cards and it becomes clear they're playing poker from the various chips lying on the floor. Mickey drops the two six packs roughly into the lap of a white haired man then forces himself back out of the circle and towards the corner of the room. As the camera swings around we can see Paddy sitting there sweating. Mickey sits beside him and claps a hand onto his shoulder.
The Farmer: Nervous are ye?
Paddy O'Shea: Gotta fag?
The Farmer smiles warmly to Paddy but shakes his head and Paddy looks back to the floor, holding each side of his head.
The Farmer: Ye'll be fine wee man an' tonight, ye'll be holdin' the Transatlantic title above yer head in front of tha' crowd.
Just as Mickey finishes, Paddy slaps a hand over to his mouth as his cheeks bulge. He has suddenly gone a dangerous white and seems poised to throw up but he forces it back down and begins to breath in through his nose and out his mouth.
Paddy O'Shea: Can we no' talk about tha' please?
The Farmer: Sure Paddy, we'll talk about something else sure…like why these people are still here?
Paddy looks up at the Farmers face very confused.
Paddy O'Shea: For insurance, t' make sure Hate doesn't get involved tonight obviously. Last thing aye need is t' be screwed over again.
The Farmer: Speakin' of screwed, aye want t' talk t' ye about Mike Wade.
Paddy O'Shea: Oh? What's that then?
The Farmer looks hard into Paddy's face to see if he knows what he's going to say before he has to go to the trouble. When he sees it's not there, he sighs.
The Farmer: Look Paddy.. aye know he helped us last week.. but we can't trust him.. he's never been loyal in his life.
Paddy looks at Mickey in genuine disbelief.
Paddy O'Shea: How can ye say tha'! Mike saved us from an anatomy session last week an' the best ye can say is don' trust him. The man is jist like us, an Irishman in an anti-Irish federation an' he needs us an' we need him. Last week proved tha' so give the lad a chance would ye.
The Farmer: But-
Paddy suddenly stands up.
Paddy O'Shea: Aye don' want t' talk about it Mickey, please.. aye'm off t' the doctor t' get a few pain killers. Aye need t' be alone.
The Farmer: Bu-
Paddy O'Shea: No Mickey, aye'm no' discussin' it!
Paddy walks over to the door before Mickey can say anything. Once out of the door, Mickey slams a fist into the wall with such force that everyone looks around. None of them say a word how ever because the look on Mickey's face forbids it. He walks out of the room grumbling while the O'Shea family members look at each other for answers.
John Kross vs Juri Hyobanshi
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: SHYLO ELLIOTT
James Brunt: The following is a singles match.
"Only the Strong" by Flaw plays as John Kross makes his way to the ring. He slaps the hands of a few fans as he makes his way to the ring, but the fans of the National Ice Centre don't really show much support for him. He paces back and forth as he waits for his opponent.
James Brunt: Introducing first, from St. Louis, MO, weighing in at 326 pounds.. JOHN KROSS!
Hans Heinemann: Our next match tonight features two debuting superstars in AWC, and as so, we don't know too much about them, but hopefully a new star will be born tonight!
"Carry" by Gazette plays as Juri Hyobanshi appears on the top of the ramp, apparently waiting for her super-cool entrance lighting and stuff to take effect, but nothing happens! An AWC staff member waves her on to the ring. She doesn't get much of a reaction, either, but she couldn't care less.
James Brunt: And her opponent, from the Shibuya of Tokyo, Japan, weighing in at 121 pounds...JURI HYOBANSHI!
Miguel Rodriguez: My beeeeg boy would like to see Juri Hyobanshi become a rising star!
Hans Heinemann: Are you stupid? She's only sixteen!
Miguel Rodriguez: Allegedly..
Once both wrestlers are in the ring, Lars Larsson signals for the timekeeper to ring the bell. Juri Hyobanshi doesn't take much time to make the offensive, as she gives Kross hard kicks to the stomach and knees. Kross drops to one knee in pain from this assault.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES! Erm.. John Kross is going to be in a lot of trouble there if he doesn't get himself together.
Miguel Rodriguez: She's fast and furious! Like when I introduce Hans Heinemann's mother to my beeeeg boy!
Hans Heinemann: Obviously you're lying. You wouldn't know what to do if a woman was lying naked on a bed beckoning you..
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Shush! This is a family show!
Kross picks himself up, but when he reaches in to try to pick up Hyobanshi, she kicks him, but Kross dodges. Kross wises up though, and when he dodges Hyobanshi's clothesline again, he immediately lunges in with a stiff clothesline! Hyobanshi, being only 121 pounds, crumbles to the floor.
Hans Heinemann: Kross taking control of this match now...
John Kross picks up Hyobanshi and gives her a backbreaker. Once she drops to the ground, face up, John Kross bounces off the ring ropes and gives her a legdrop.
Miguel Rodriguez: Kross is taking advantage of his size, and my beeeeg boy is taking advantage of seeing Hyobanshi get punished!
Kross picks up Hyobanshi and irish whips her into the ring ropes. Hyobanshi lies stunned in the ring ropes, and Kross continues the assault by giving her a barrage of punches while in the corner. She slumps in the corner and Kross puts his foot across her throat. He continues to choke her until Larsson is almost finished counting to five, then releases.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Kross using questionable tactics there.
Hans Heinemann:. Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.
Kross drags Hyobanshi to the center of the ring and puts her in a camel clutch. Hyobanshi grimaces as the effects of the move are amplified when done by a 326 pound strongman onto a 121 pound woman, but ironically, she takes it like a man. Hyobanshi tries to drag herself to the ropes, however. When Larsson asks her when she wants to give up, she remains stoically silent.
Hans Heinemann: This match should be stopped! He's gonna break her back!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I don't know there, it doesn't look like she's going to give up any time soon.
John Kross gets frustrated and releases the hold. Hyobanshi clutches her back, but doesn't give any other indication of pain. John Kross tries to pick her up to press slam her, but Hyobanshi pokes him in the eyes. Hyobanshi uses her catlike agility to climb to the top rope and clothesline Kross down to the mat.
Miguel Rodriguez: Juri Hyobanshi has turned the tide in the match and my beeeeg boy is tingling!
She doesn't even try to pick up John Kross as she realizes his body is dead weight. Deferring to her agility again, she climbs to the top rope, and delivers a beautiful moonsault, but both are down. Hyobanshi gets up first, but Kross gets up soon after, and sets up into a defensive position.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What a match we're seeing tonight, between the two newbies!
John Kross picks her up again, and raises her up, as if he's going to press slam Hyobanshi, but she slips behind Kross, and when Kross turns around, she hits Kross with the BLIND WOMAN CURSE! Kross is lying face up with a glazed look in his eyes, and Juri quickly goes for the first cover of the match.
ONE!
TWO!
Kross kicks out and tosses Juri to the other side of Europe at the same time, and over the ring ropes. Juri climbs back into the ring again, however, before the referee can issue a count.
Hans Heinemann: Juri Hyobanshi with her thrust kick that she calls the Blind Woman Curse, but it only gets a two count, counted by one of AWC's best referees, Lars Larsson!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Worse, Kross kicked out with authority, although it didn't do too much damage to Hyobanshi!
Miguel Rodriguez: I bet it pissed her off, though. You don't want to piss off Juri Hyobanshi though, you might have to mess with her. Well, her.. and my beeeeg boy!
Juri Hyobanshi tries to hit John Kross with a roundhouse kick, but Kross grabs her leg. Kross picks her up and tries to press slam her for the third time in the match, but Hyobanshi, from up top, somehow, manages to find Kross's mouth with her hand, and lock in the Eien Shifuku! Lars Larsson sees that John Kross is in a bad way, and immediately calls for the bell!
Hans Heinemann: Hyobanshi with the E...Ei...Eien Shif...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Eternal Rapture for her first win!
Hans Heinemann: Damn Japanese names.
Lars Larsson looks at the downed John Kross, and checks to see if John Kross is bleeding inside, and he is. Hyobanshi coldly looks down at her nails, which have bits of Kross on it, and then at the downed John Kross as the crowd boos her.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Damn, man, get that girl a pair of nailclippers!
Miguel Rodriguez: My beeeg boy is stimulated at the sight of Hyobanshi.. and not so much at Kross! Next!
Reunifying The Academy
FEATURING: THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER, DAVID
"PEARL" HARBER
AUTHORS: JOE SCHMIDT
The current state of the promotion and the war with James Varga and the UWF had made AWC's head-honcho, David Harber, put forward a plan of action.
Sitting at his desk, Pearl had signed the documents to ensure that the fans of both promotions would be at the winning end of this war.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You've got to wonder what Dave's smiling about.
Miguel Rodriguez: Last night and me beeeeg boy.
Pearl Harber looks over the documents he is signing, making sure that he isn't getting more than he bargained for. It is in a situation like this where an entrance by AWC's favourite loud mouth is actually necessary.
Face-Eater: THERE IS CANCER EATING AWAY AT THIS FEDERATION!
Pearl hadn't noticed the Face-Eater enter his office, but now that he had arrived, there was no avoiding a confrontation. David “Pearl” Harber had previously found that the most productive way to get rid of the Face-Eater was to feed is demands.
Pearl: Really? Enlighten me.
Face-Eater: THE SPEDUCATOR IS TAKING ROLEPLAY STEROIDS! THIS I AM SURE OF!
Oh great, another person to bitch about the Educator.
Hans Heinemann: Come on. I'm sure that Mr. Harber didn't even expect the Educator to be capable of what he did at the PPV, it is not his fault!
Face-Eater: At the Battle of Britain, I was defeated by the same person who beat out six different individuals. AND THEN HE LOST TWO OF HIS CHAMPIONSHIPS THE NEXT DAY. I mark this with FOUL PLAY, FOUL PLAY I SAY!
Pearl: Really, Face-Eater, this is rather ridiculous. Educator already lost two of his titles, and he's about to-
Face-Eater: BUT NOTHING! There was a travesty out in that ring a few weeks ago, and you will soon see what I mean! That talentless hack doesn't deserve anything!
Pearl: And you do?
This made the Face-Eater bite his lip.
Face-Eater: IT IS NOT I WHO IS CHEATING!
Pearl: No, you just defile the memories of the deceased in order to get under the skin of subjects who never really mattered.
Harber's words did not bring a smile to Facey's.. well, face.
Face-Eater: My CHANCE at the Frontier title was stolen! That belt should be around my waist, instead it is on that of Andy Murray's! RIDICULOUS! That fool hasn't even faced Tim Shipley, the FORMER rightful champion.
Pearl: No, instead he defeated two other champions, which isn't very deserving, right?
The Face-Eater begins to get flustered. Without room to talk anymore he decides to bitch about something else. More specifically, the match that Dave had been signing on his desk. Once Dave noticed Facey's eyes go wide, he immediately knew he had made a mistake in letting the masked superstar see exactly what he's doing.
Face-Eater: You're going to-
Pearl: Now Face-Eater, this is private informatio-
Face-Eater: -to make some UWF tag-team face.. THE ACADEMY?!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: WOW! Pearl Harber is re-unifying the Academy!
Miguel Rodriguez: But will Tim Shipley and Pierce Lavelle be able to work together again?
Face-Eater: You listen here, HARB, and listen good! I spent a lot of my time dividing those two to be their lonesome little selves, and now I'm finally able to concentrate on Shipley, you keep throwing in these distractions, you keep messing with their minds and keep playing Cupid or whatever the hell you are doing!
Pearl: What the hell are you talking about?
Face-Eater: You know damn ri-
Pearl: You know what? Shut up, I don't care anymore. Now's the time where I TALK, YOU LISTEN.
Facey's face begins to get a little sour.
Pearl: I'm sick of you messing with my money. Those two combined are one of the biggest draws in terms of tag-teams, as well as one of the most talented. Now I've got a problem with this UWF thing, a problem no-one is eager to solve, so I'm taking matters in to my own hands. The Academy will be appearing on UWF television, and there isn't anything you can do to change my mind.
Uh oh, things weren't exactly going as planned.
Pearl: So are we clear on that?
Face-Eater: Crystal. Pearl: Good, now get the hell out of my office before it gets quarantined again.
Nyoo Frunteer Chapeeon
FEATURING: ANDY MURRAY, GROBSCHNIT
AUTHOR: ANDY MURRAY
The world's number one pro-wrestling alien, Grobschnit, stands backstage against a Fresh! backdrop, looking as green and as badass as ever. The Notorious G-R-O-B is clad in a pair of baggy blue jeans and an oversized white t-shirt, with a bandana tied in a rather stupid manner around his head; crunk as hell. However, more noticeably, is Andy Murray's newly-won AWC Frontier Championship belt, slung over the shoulder of the scowling 'Schnit.
Grobschnit: Yo, wot upp, fagitz? Diss iz ur nyoo AiDoobleyooChe Frunteer champeeone, Grob-fuking-Schnit speekin'.
Grob pauses for a second, and glances down at "his" championship, admiring his own reflection.
Grobschnit: Eye juzt wontedd 2 cum owt n fank alll u fagitz owt theyre whu inspyered meh 2 kaptchoor diss prezteggius tietell bellt! Iff iht wuznt fur u Schnit-a-hollicks owt thur eye wuldn't hav bene aible 2 defeet teh Edugaytor an Steffen Zandermouse a-
Suddenly, Grobschnit is interrupted as a familiar voice calls out.
Andy Murray: Grobby! What in the name of Lucifer are you doing!?!
Noticing his title on Grob's shoulder, Andy Murray walks into the scene scowling. Wearing a black Deep Purple vest and some biege cargo trousers, Andy pulls the aviator sunshades from his face, and immediately swipes his title from Grobschnit.
Andy Murray: Did I give you permission to take my belt, hmmm?
Grobschnit hangs his head in shame.
Grobschnit: Nop u din't.
Andy Murray: Don't take it then, you silly little intergalactic fool! I need this sucker, so that I can address the masses of sheep-lovin', Scotland-sympthasing homies gathered here on this wonderful evening! Feel?
The 'Schnit gingerly looks up at Murray, and slowly nods his head. Andy fastens the belt around his waist, holding his arms out welcomingly.
Andy Murray: Hug?
Accepting this offer, Grobschnit walks into Andy's embrace. After hugging for a couple of seconds, Andy signals his intentions to leave.
Andy Murray: Okay old boy, I've gotta dash.. the people are waiting! Keep safe!
With that Andy leaves the scene, rushing off elsewhere.
Grobschnit: Fagit. And we fade.
T.T.S. vs Rainbow Flag
STIPULATION: TAG
REFEREE: MICHAEL RYAN
AUTHOR: JUSTIN DIGESU
Hans Heinemann: And now, we prepare for the new tag team of the Trendy Twenty Somethings to take on the talented.. yet embarassingly queer team of Rainbow Flag.
Miguel Rodriguez: I used to like that Twentysomething show.
Hans Heinemann: Huh?
Miguel Rodriguez: Well at least in my native land they call it-
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!
Hans sighs; he can't win. Well, obviously he can't, not being in a wrestling match. Score.
"That's the Way Love Goes" by Janet Jackson begins to play and the crowd boos as the arena becomes suddenly bathed in rainbow lights. Sam and Pat prance out onto the stage hand-in-hand, look each other in the eye and engage in a long French kiss gaining more booing from the crowd as rainbow pyros go off and a huge rainbow flag unfurls from the rafters, completely blocking the view of the set.
James Brunt: Introducing first, from Leetown, Missouri.. Sam and Pat, RAINBOW FLAG!
The Flag skips to the ring.
Miguel Rodriguez: Those men hurt me beeeeg boy.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: They don't look like men at all. There's shades of pink on their clothes I didn't know existed.
"Get A Move On" by Mr. Scruff hits the PA system, and John and Harry, aka the Trendy Twenty Somethings make their way out to the ring. The crowd doesn't seem too pleased by their seemingly egotistical demeanor as they approach the ring, but the fans are a bit more forgiving than they are for the already well despised Rainbow Flag. For now, anyway.
James Brunt: And their opponents, from London, England, at a combined weight of 550 pounds.. the team of John and Harry, the TRENDY TWENTY SOMETHINGS!
Hans Heinemann: Poised, confident, eager for their debut, seemingly willing to inflict punishment. I love it.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: They do look confident, but that Rainbow Flag team is quite talented as well.
Miguel Rodriguez: At ass pillaging?
All four men are now in the ring and things look ready to be under way. Pat and Harry leave the ring, allowing John to begin for T.T.S., while Sam starts out for Rainbow Flag. They lock up, and John overpowers Sam into a neutral corner almost immediately. Referee Michael Ryan gets in the middle of the two men and tries to pry them apart. Both men lift their hands up defensively, but they are both thinking the same thing simultaneously. They both throw right hands, and they both connect.
Hans Heinemann: Both men with the same mindset in the early going.
Miguel Rodriguez: I don't think they have same mindset as you say they do.
Hans Heinemann: What makes you say that?
Miguel Rodriguez: Only one appears to like..
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: GUINNESS!
Sam uses the moment of John backing off to escape from the corner. He bounces off the ropes and charges with a shoulder block, but the larger John barely budges. Sam attempts another shoulder block. Once again, his try is for naught. Finally, he goes for what is presumably a third shoulder block, but we'll never find out; Harry lowers the ropes just as Sam hits them, sending him tumbling over the top and outside of the ring. The crowd boos heavily at the cheap trick.
Hans Heinemann: And Sam goes flying to the outside.
Harry watches Sam closely from the apron, but does not drop down to continue the beating; John leaves the ring and does that for him. A couple of swift stomps to the back and a four count later, Sam is rolled back under the bottom rope and into the ring, where John quickly follows. He gives Sam a swift kick to the stomach, causing Sam to roll onto his back, to which John drops an elbow, following up with a pin.
Michael Ryan drops down to make the count.
ONE!
TWO!
Not long after the two count, Sam's tag team partner Pat lunges into the ring and gives John a harsh double axe handle to the back of the neck, breaking up the count. The crowd's boos begin to rise.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: No one seems to like any one of these guys right now.
Miguel Rodriguez: I like my beeeeg boy.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I'm sure POTATOES! likes it, too.
The referee lays down the law to Pat, who takes to the apron, but not before he grabs his lover and tag team partner by the arm and drags him over to their team's corner. At that point, Sam makes an easy tag to Pat. Pat dives in the ring and before John can even consider tagging out to Harry, Pat levels him with a hard knife-edge chop. And another. And another. And another. John slumps against the ropes behind him, chest now a bright red from the lashing he was just given. Pat whips him off the ropes. John comes back and ducks a clothesline attempt. Upon hitting the ropes once more, Harry makes a blind tag into to the ring. Pat leapfrogs over John as he passes once more, and in midair he sees Harry enter the ring. He tries getting his hands up to deflect the oncoming blow, but it's no use; the moment Pat's feet touch the canvas, he's blasted from two clothesline from front and behind - his own team's finisher.
Hans Heinemann: Now THAT is an awesome finishing move.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: If only it wasn't stolen.
John slides out of the ring, whilst Harry goes for the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
THR-
Pat slides a shoulder up off the canvas. Harry stands up and turns to Michael Ryan as if to question the call, but quickly decides to forget about it. He instead lifts Pat up to his feet.. only to get dragged down by a sitdown jawbreaker from Pat. Harry pops upright quickly but is certainly affected by the sudden move, staggering back slightly like DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~! after a good GUINNESS!. Pat sees his opening, and not that kind of opening, standing up and running at Harry before hitting a spinning heel kick that sends Harry out of the ring between the middle and top ropes. John drops from the apron to check on his tag partner, all the while signaling for a time out to the referee. Sighing, Michael Ryan begins to count. However, Harry doesn't let the count get too deep, taking enough of a hint, and a breather, to re-enter the ring. Pat tags back out to Sam, who meets Harry across the ring as Harry is pummeled to the ground with a few overhead forearm smashes to the back, before he is dragged to the center of the ring and placed in an armbar.
Hans Heinemann: Tapping out to a queer.. wouldn't that be embarassing?
Miguel Rodriguez: What if he tried to wrestle his hands into your pants?
Hans Heinemann: I would promptly cry for help, and then I'd bathe in peroxide.
Ryan checks on Harry, but Harry is obviously still well conditioned enough to power his way from the submission hold; the fact that he is bigger than Sam also plays to his advantage as he escapes the hold and rolls to his feet. Sam does the same and stares across the ring at his opponent, one waiting for the other to make a move. Harry charges, and Sam does the only thing he can think of - a drop toe hold. It works. Sam goes back to the armbar.
Hans Heinemann: Well, at least they have some sort of strategy that doesn't involve touching anyone's -
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES! Harry might not be able to use his strength if he cannot use both of his arms!
And that is exactly what seems to be happening. After overtime effects from the submission hold, Harry seems to be having a slightly tougher time getting the hold broken. He bucks around a few times, trying to jostle his arm free, and after a few taxing tries, he does. A couple of elbows to Sam's face later and both men are once again back on their feet. Sam goes in to try and drag Harry down by the hurt arm, but Harry parries with his left hand, keeping Sam away long enough for Harry to cut around the ring to get an extra second or two of rest. They both once again wait for each other to do something, which Sam does - just not what Harry had in mind. A single obscene gesture of Sam pointing out certain areas of Harry's body causes the larger man to charge in a fit of rage - going for a big boot - but Sam catches the foot and twists it in a dragon screw. The crowd voices their disapproval with a collective chorus of boos.
Miguel Rodriguez: That didn't go well for Harry there.
Hans Heinemann: The oldest queer trick in the book, and he fell for it. I thought these guys were smart.
Sam turns to Pat who waves happily at his boyfriend. Sam blows a kiss in return, but the second he turns, he gets a face full of John's right foot, which is superkicked right into Sam's jaw. Sam hits the mat like a ton of bricks. The crowd is unrelenting in their boos.
Hans Heinemann: I stand corrected.
Miguel Rodriguez: My beeeeg boy is not standing.
By the time the referee orders John from the ring, the damage has been done. Harry hops to his feet, right leg a little wobbly from having it twisted in the manner that it was. Angrily, he decides to bring his teammate back into the match officially. Pat enters the ring in hopes of evening the score with John, but Harry cuts Pat off and clotheslines him over the top rope, leaving Sam vulnerable as he is lifted to his feet by John.. Topman Tackle! Harry slides out of the ring and John makes the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Pat begins to recover and slides into the ring, but it is too late. Harry and John have already begun backpedalling up the ramp, arms raised in victory.
James Brunt: Here are your winners, John and Harry, the TRENDY TWENTY SOMETHINGS!
Thanks, Chaps
FEATURING: ANDY MURRAY, SNOWBALL
AUTHORS: ANDY MURRAY
He who makes a beast out of himself, gets rid of the pain of being a man.
Avenged Sevenfold's "Bat Country" hits across the arena and the fans get on their feet and cheer as "The Scottish King of Cool", Andy Murray, appears from the backstage area. Grinning from ear to ear, Andy still has the Frontier championship belt strapped around his waist, and is leading his prized Bolivian fire-breathing badger, Snowball, to the ring on a leash.
James Brunt: Ladies and Gentlemen, please make welcome the brand new AWC Frontier Champion, accompanied by Snowball.. "the Scottish King of Cool", Andy Murray!
After slapping hands with a couple of fans, Andy eventually leads Snowball up the steps and into the ring. There, Andy removes the Frontier championship from his belt and raises it high in the air, much to the adoration of the crowd. Andy eventually places the belt across his right shoulder, before calling for a mic, which is soon thrown in his direction by James Brunt. "Bat Country" begins to fade as Murray raises the microphone to his lips.
Andy Murray: Good evening, Nottingham!
The fans, of course, give a cheap pop.
Andy Murray: It's good to see that England isn't entirely devoid of any love for the Scotsman
The fans give another cheer, as a small “SKC” chant begins to break out. Andy smiles, before leaning down and scooping Snowball up into his arms.
Andy Murray: Anyway, I came out here tonight to speak to all you loyal Murrayites for one reason, and one reason alone..
Murray glances down at the Frontier title.
Andy Murray: As you all know, last week on Fresh!, I, Andy Murray, the Scottish King of Cool, did battle with two HEINOUS evil-doers in The Educator and Steven Xandrous.. and DESPITE being screwed over by that sneaky cat Xandrous, managed to capture the AWC Frontier Championship, woohoo!
The crowd cheers along with the jubilant Murray.
Andy Murray: ..and I know it's cliché, and what not, but I really wouldn't have been able to accomplish such a feat, and capture my first championship belt in three years, without you, the AWC fan!
Again the crowd cheers.
SKC! SKC! SKC!
Andy Murray: When I was sitting on a freaking psychotherapist's table a couple of years ago, being told I would never step into the squared circle again, I never thought I'd be able to reach such a height again. I thought the world would NEVER again witness coolness on such an epic scale, by god! But thank Christ for AWC! Sitting around for eighteen months is NOT FUN; there's only so much joy you can get from taking the badgers out for a stroll and insulting your sibling.
Andy pauses for a moment, noticing Snowball beginning to doze off.
Andy Murray: So here I am, against Doctor's orders, laying all kinds of wicked beatdowns on suckers like The Educator, Gabriel and Rainbow Flag! So far, holding the Frontier championship hasn't exactly meant a lot, has it? Shipley had it for little over a week, and the Educator only managed 4 freaking days! I'm going to do all within my power to ensure that this belt stays stuck around a Scottish waist for a long, long time to come. Using my overwhelming superpowers of coolness, I'll give it all against whoever Mr. Harber chooses to throw in my directions, whether it's Mike “when I speak, paint begins to dry” Wade, or that loony The Illustrious Face-Eater. Stay tuned, suckers.. because the unstoppable juggernaut of Scottishness has only just shuddered into motion.. right Snowball?!
Andy flicks Snowball's nose to awaken the dozing badger and lowers the microphone to her mouth, as if the badger was going to speak. Instead of speaking, however, Snowball reacts with anger, and douses the microphone with flames! Andy jumps, and drops the burning microphone to the ground before chuckling, and lowering his pet to the apron. As “Bat Country” begins to play, Murray again poses for the fans, as a couple of crew members slide into the ring to extinguish the slight blaze.
You're A Dead Man!
FEATURING: THE FARMER, STEVEN XANDROUS, CHRIS
METAL
AUTHORS: KERRY RITTER AND YRAN
Flicking backstage the camera opens in a corridor as The Farmer marches down the corridor dressed in the same manner as before. The Farmer is looking furious. He stops and bangs on a locker room door as the camera catches up with the Irish star.
After a couple of seconds the door clicks open and Steven Xandrous appears at the door.
Upon realising his visitor is The Farmer, the Livewire Champion tries to shut the door again but The Farmer is already barging his way into the room.
Xandrous backs away at a frantic pace, tossing chairs and tables into the path of the rampaging Irishman.
As Xandrous is backed up against the wall of the locker room, The Farmer stops five feet short of Xandrous and.. rips off his t-shirt.
The Farmer then grabs at the dressing that is covering his burns and pulls it off. He turns around to show it to Xandrous. The camera zooms in at the burn and the “X” of the branding iron is very evident.
The Farmer: You're a dead man!
The Farmer is looking over his shoulder as he shows off Xandrous' work to the artist himself.
Seizing the moment, however, Xandrous grabs the Livewire Title and hammers The Farmer on the shoulder with the face of the belt.
The pain that runs through the body of The Farmer is indescribable as he falls to the floor. Rather than sticking around, Steven Xandrous hurries from the room and down the corridor.
Seconds later, as The Farmer begins to stir and stand up, Chris Metal sticks his head around the corner.
Chris Metal: Yeah, he's in here! Let's start the match..
Chris Metal vs The Farmer
FEATURING: THE FARMER, CHRIS METAL, AARON
DAVIES, NICK PERSIA
AUTHORS: YRAN AND TRISTAN VAN DER WAL
As The Farmer tries to stand up, Chris Metal rushes into the room and pushes The Farmer over. Referee Aaron Davies follows closely behind as Chris Metal begins to kick the mid-section of The Farmer.
The Irishman hunches to the floor of the destroyed locker room,evidently protecting his scarred shoulder. Metal lays a couple of right boots into The Farmer before dragging him to his feet.
Metal grabs the back of the Farmer's healthy ginger head and whips him into the surrounds of the door. His head connects first and the Eire Og member crashes to the ground, taking a glass table with him, bits of glass flying everywhere, more importantly into his “X” burn.
Metal doesn't allow The Farmer a chance to breathe as he pulls him up again, tossing him into the corridor.
Aaron Davies is powerless as the Falls Count Anywhere rules allowed Metal to attack the clearly injured Farmer.
Dragging The Farmer to his feet in the corridor, Chris Metal holds The Farmer is a standing position, chopping at his exposed chest.
CHOP!
CHOP!
The Farmer is knocked back a couple of steps as his former coach has the clear upper hand.
As Metal goes for the third chop, The Farmer manages to block it and floor Chris with a stiff clothesline. Metal is knocked to the floor but The Farmer's brief advantage is totally lost as he is smashed in the face with a chair by..
NICK PERSIA!
The Dutch Destroyer of UWF fame stands over the downed bodies of the mentor and the protégé.
Nick Persia: STAY. THE. FUCK. OUT. OF. MY. FEDERATION!
Metal stirs, and quickly rises to his feet as Persia makes himself scarce.
Metal notices the totally unconscious Farmer and covers him with a pin.
1..
2..
3!
Chris Metal has his apology. The Farmer remains out cold as AWC medics swoop in at the three count. They roll the Irish wrestler over, bits of glass clearly sticking out of his shoulder.
The camera fades to black with the image of The Farmer's glass filled “X”.
Holding His Own
FEATURING: TIM SHIPLEY, THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
Face-Eater: Boo.
Tim Shipley leaps a foot into the air, hopping in a desperate attempt to keep his balance as he clings to the bottom of the boot he's just been trying to put on.
Tim Shipley: (furiously) What do you want?
Shipley thrusts a hand against the locker and finally sets both feet down, breathing heavily. In the midst of his mental preparation for his match, he clearly hadn't been expecting this intervention by The Illustrious Face-Eater.
Face-Eater: I'm here with a personal message from Harb!
Tim Shipley: (rolling his eyes) Oh, sure.
Shipley turns away from the Face-Eater, though not without hesitation. Only last week, the masked wrestler attacked him with a heavy title belt with no provocation whatsoever. But tonight, a weary Shipley has no time for the man to whom “consistency” is a foreign word.
The Illustrious Face-Eater sniffs. The sound reverberates around, its waves bouncing off the whitewashed walls of the soulless locker room.
Tim Shipley: (muttering) Haven't you got a match to get ready for..
Face-Eater: The Illustrious Face-Eater is always ready!
Facey leaps into a pose, his hands on his hips. Shipley doesn't even look, which appears to annoy the somewhat hyperactive Face-Eater, who sighs loudly. However, he's still got his trump card in hand.
It's time to play.
Face-Eater: The Academy back together then, huh?
Shipley's head whips round.
Jackpot..
Tim Shipley: What are you talking about?
His cheeks full of colour, Shipley reacts with belligerence.
Face-Eater: You know, your match..
Tim Shipley grits his teeth and, in an unusual display of aggression from the quiet 20-year-old, grabs The Illustrious Face-Eater by the cape. That doesn't sound right, does it? But it's the place where the two sides of the material are fastened together that he grabs.
Facey puts on a face of mock shock.
Face-Eater: You mean you haven't been told...?
Tim Shipley: I'm sick and tired of people pretending to be surprised that I don't know things yet, or haven't been told things yet, or haven't worked things out yet. If you've got anything worthwhile to say -
Shipley slams Face-Eater back into the lockers.
Tim Shipley: - then say it.
The Illustrious Face-Eater allows him to finish, then calmly and precisely wrenches the two hands off his front, concentrates his grip on Shipley's left wrist and twists it behind him in a technically perfect hammerlock, eliciting a yelp of pain. Facey then hisses directly into his right ear.
Face-Eater: You're taking on the UWF's finest, didn't you know that, Shippers? Why don't you stop by Harb's office and find out the details?
Face-Eater smiles, enjoying the mental trauma he is putting Shipley through. He has, however, failed to consider a fightback from the youngster, who suddenly twists to throw a hard right elbow. The accurate blow connects with Face-Eater's temple (though through his mask) and the man in the cape releases his hold and falls to his knees, stunned.
Tim Shipley: I think I'll just do that. Thanks for your help.
Shipley grabs his kitbag off the bench and heads out into the corridor, slamming the door behind him.
Grady vs Adalia Delorian
STIPULATION: SINGLES
REFEREE: JOSEPH REID
AUTHOR: MIKE WADE
As we return to the arena, Grady is already inside of the ring, awaiting his opponent for the night Adalia Delorian.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Here we go with the fourth match of the night, Adalia Delorian vs. Grady.
Hans Heinemann: Whatever, let's get on with it.
"Unfolds" by Strength in Numbers hits and the crowd rise for the arrival of recent crowd favourite Adalia Delorian. Delorian comes out and poses a little to the crowd before running down the aisle and sliding into the ring. He's met, though, by a boot to the face from Grady. The bell is rung.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Grady catches him straight away.
Hans Heinemann: It's exactly what I would do. If the guy is stupid enough to put his head down getting into the ring, kick him!
Miguel Rodriguez: Me and my beeeeg boy thinks this will only serve to piss off Delorian, I'm afraid.
Grady picks Delorian up off the mat and delivers three stiff shots to the face. He goes for the Irish whip but it's reversed by Delorian who catches Grady with a flying forearm on the way back. He then leaps straight onto him and begins pounding away at his forehead.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Delorian means business tonight
Hans Heinemann: Delorian has yet to impress me since he's got here, but right now he looks like he wants this win.
Delorian picks up Grady off the ground and deilvers a forearm stiffly to the jaw, promoting a "OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH" from the crowd as Grady's jaw snaps back. Delorian then executes a snap Northern Lights suplex into a pin on Grady.
One!
Two!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES! and a kick out at two.
Miguel Rodriguez: I think Grady's jaw is, how you say, broken!
The two men are back to their feet and exchanging blows as they stand. Grady appears to be bleeding from the mouth, probably from the stiff shots he has received. Delorian finally blocks a Grady right hand and takes him down with a headlock. Grady slaps on a headscissors as Delorian quickly kicks out of it. Both men are quickly back to their feet. Delorian delivers an arm drag on Grady. They both get back up again, but this time Delorian is the one who gets arm dragged. They both get back up fast again. Delorian goes for a kick but Grady catches the foot.. INZIGURI! The fans errupt at the sound of boot meeting skull.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Oh Jaysus.
Hans Heinemann: I think Delorian heard what I said earlier because he's stepped it up tonight. He's very aggressive here.
Both men are back up again and the crowd seem to be behind Adalia here as a "Let's go Delorian" chant starts up. The two lock up and jockey for position. Grady suddenly drops to his knees and delivers a low blow to Delorian to the dramatic hatred of the crowd who errupt in boos.
Miguel Rodriguez: Ouch! Right in the beeeeg boy.
Grady drops an elbow across the throat of Delorian and leaves it there for good messure whilst suffocating him. The referee administers his 5 count and Grady breaks at 4.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Grady trying to slow the pace of the match down.
Grady hits the ropes but Delorian leap frogs him. As he comes back Delorian does a reverse leapfrog, catching Grady just in time to land in a reverse DDT position. He then drops him with his reverse face buster move Enfilade. And the crowd go wild for this display of athleticism.
Hans Heinemann: Oh my God!
Miguel Rodriguez: Holy sheet what a move!
Delorian then give the signal and picks up Grady. He hoists him up onto his shoulder and then.. Delorian Driver!. He goes for the pin.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Hans Heinemann: An emphatic win here for Adalia Delorian as his winning streak continues. Very impressive here tonight. DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I tend to be in agreement with you there Hans. This chap's gonna go from here in AWC.
The Quest For Charisma
FEATURING: JASON LOCKE, MIKE WADE
AUTHORS: SHYLO ELLIOTT AND MIKE WADE
The scene is set in the depths of the National Ice Centre, in Mike Wade's dressing room. He has changed into his wrestling outfit, and is ready for the upcoming Four Way Fury match. However, his dressing room door opens, and in walks a man, amazingly dressed in his ring gear even though he doesn't have a match, known as Jason Locke. Locke is smiling, coming off his defeat of Grady last week.
Mike Wade: Who the feck are you?
Jason Locke: My name is Jason Locke, sir. I, um.. wanted to know how to become a charismatic wrestler.
Mike Wade: Well you've certainly come to the right man. I am quite the charismatic.
Jason Locke: Well, what? What do I need to do? Andy Murray says that I need haggis.
Before Jason Locke can continue, Mike Wade interrupts him.
Mike Wade: Haggis? What the feck is Haggis? Look at me.. I'm a success. You know why? Because of one thing.. my leprechaun.
Jason Locke: Your leprechaun?
Mike Wade: Yes, my leprechaun.. and having a nice arse doesnt hurt either!
Jason Locke: Huh?
Mike Wade: Now, hey, look kid, I got a big match later.
Jason Locke: Um.. thanks.
Locke is about to leave, but Wade's voice instincts him to turn around.
Mike Wade: And hey, kid. Don't forget. If you want to get laid, join the parade.
Jason Locke leaves Mike Wade's dressing room and thinks to himself out loud.
Jason Locke: Is that all Atlantic Wrestling Club offers? A bunch of people who live up to stereotypes? If that's what I have to do to become popular..
Locke mutters something to himself as he walks away.
Face-Eater's Early Entrance
FEATURING: THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER, JAMES
BRUNT
AUTHOR: JOE SCHMIDT
"Welcome Home" by Coheed & Cambria begins to play over the loudspeakers.
Miguel Rodriguez: Ay Chino!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I second that!
Miguel Rodriguez: What the hell did I just say?
Hans Heinemann: Well, where is the Illustrio- Oh, there he is.
Before Hans can finish speaking, The Eater Of Faces That Shall Be Known As Illustrious had poked his masked head through the curtain, his cape tied closely behind. The boos that ensue due to his appearance amplify throughout the packed arena, but something about the Face-Eater seems different today.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Gotta say, something is different about that fellow today.
Miguel Rodriguez: Working out more?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: No..
Miguel Rodriguez: New haircut?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That's not it either.
Miguel Rodriguez: He has stains of me beeeeeg boy on his shirt!
Hans Heinemann: NO YOU IDIOT, he's wearing glasses!
Sure enough, The Illustrious Face-Eater now stands in the ring, brandishing a pair of bi-focals or whatever the hell you assholes like to call them. They're reading glasses, short-cut lenses that sit on the end of the bridge of his nose.. if they could, that is. He already has a microphone in hand, due to him and James Brunt not getting along.
As soon as Welcome Home hit, James jumped out of the ring and stood to the side. They really don't like each other.
But the Face-Eater's music cuts out, and the fan's jeers let up for a small moment to let him speak.
Face-Eater: Listen, I know I did something wrong.
Face-Eater's tone is more somber than people are used to hearing him. He's usually shouting very loudly or talking deeper than his voice actually is.
Face-Eater: I went against Harb's wishes and I told Shitley about his stupid tag-team match, getting him all mushy about a future team-up with Pierce Lavelle.
The fans were mostly awe-struck by this announcement, but most hadn't quite let the words stick clear.
Face-Eater: Oh? You guys didn't know? The Academy are reuniting to face some UWF tools. And it'll be on their television sho-GOD DAMMIT! I DID IT AGAIN! Do you see? Do you see why I need to apologize? I have a problem! ..I also spat off at the mouth in accusing the Speducator for taking ARE-PEE steroids; that wasn't right. I apologize, Sped, I got beat by the better man!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ahhh, words of sympathy for the Transatlantic champ.
Face-Eater: I digress! You see, I do have a problem. I merely want to be recognized! I want to be mentioned in the same light as Tony Blair. I want to be a topic of controversial conversation. I want my name to evoke emotions that make your blood curl.
Hans Heinemann: What the hell is he jabbering about?
Face-Eater: I want to be the cause of panic attacks because people take my opinion too seriously. I want to be a reason that you'd punch your best friend in the face for! I want to be the face a cow-farmer wakes up to every morning, to fill each of his days with the grace of God forever! I want my teachings to be researched over in Hustler magazine in a journalist's last attempt at finding credibility in a dead-end job.
Miguel Rodriguez: I can't relate to any of this.
Face-Eater: I want to be the re-assurance you need after you “accidentally” murder the stripper/hooker/donkey-exhibitionist on the night of your brother's bachelor party.
Miguel Rodriguez: I stand corrected!
Face-Eater: And most importantly, I want to be the reason why Tim Shipley spends the majority of his adult life slamming his head against the padded walls in a mental institution because he can't seem to get my fucking image out of his mind! I want to be the reason why Tim Shipley tries to sleep at night so he can stop thinking about me, only to realize that I am more harmful in his nightmares. I want Tim Shipley to-
James Brunt: SHUT THE FUCK UP!
CHEEEEEEEEEEEERS come from every direction in the muffled auditorium. Every fan in attendance supports the AWC's ring announcer in his quest to derail this pointless promo from the Face-Eater.
Face-Eater: Why would you say such a thing, Jamie? I'm trying to apologize to the lovely people out there!
James Brunt: Well the lovely people are sick of hearing you, and quite frankly, so am I!
Face-Eater: You want me to shut up or leave the ring? Is that what you want?
Ring Announcer vs. Wrestler, this could only turn out like an episode of Blue's Clues. James nodded to The Face-Eater's ultimatum.
Face-Eater: Alright, hot-shot, I'll give you once chance-QUICK! What's-the-capital-of-the-Niagara-Falls?
James Brunt: What the fuck? That's the most ludicr-
Face-Eater: Wrong! It's Nick Carter. But I'll give you one more shot. What's the material used in making compact discs?
James Brunt: Uh, silicon?
Face-Eater: (mimicking buzzer sound) SORRY, Canadian Style, but the correct answer is Goosebumps: Night Of the Living Dummy Part 3 by R.L. Stine. That was close, though, so I'll give you one more shot! For all the marbles.. Joan Rivers is known for saying this is the most effective form of birth control; what is it?
James Brunt: Shame in creating Melissa Rivers?
Face-Eater: Judges? (turn towards the fans) We're sorry, but the only answer we can accept is Sand Paper! I guess this means you win the ULTIMATE GRAND PRIZE! Do you know what that is James?
James Brunt: No.
Face-Eater: Do you know what that is James?
James Brunt: (louder) No.
Face-Eater: Do you know what that is Jam-
James Brunt: FOR THE LAST TI-
Face-Eater: DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT IS. JAMES?!?!.. It means that I, the Illustrious Face-Eater, shall be standing in this ring for the remaining tenure of my pre-match. When the bell rings and you announce my name, Jimmy, I'll have been standing in this ring and have never left!
Everyone groans at this prospect, probably even the Face-Eater. Anything to prove a point, though. Face-Eater: Thanks for playing quiz-time, you obviously don't have the wit to challenge my fantastical brain! So instead, I shall wait for someone who might be able to challenge my physical abilities. Although I doubt that'll happen any time soon -
Amy Silveira vs Tim Shipley vs The Illustrious Face-Eater vs Mike Wade
STIPULATION: FOUR WAY FURY
REFEREE: MICHAEL RYAN
AUTHOR: PIERRE HYDE
All the arena lighting goes out. The big screen flashes into life, with a piece of rapid video taking a first-person trip through a conceptual maze of light in space. The text “Astral Conversations With Toulouse Lautrec” buzzes repeatedly across the screen, as the song of the same name by Northern Irish rock group Ash starts up with a re-recorded robotic voice-over announcing: "Please welcome: Tim Shipley. Error. Does not compute. Does not compute..." The basic two-chord opening begins, with Tim Wheeler's melodic "Uh. Uh uh" leading the song into the slightly heavier section as the guitar joins in.
James Brunt: The following is a Four Way Fury match, in which there will be no count-outs! First, in the ring, from... who cares... it's the Face-Eater.
Hans Heinemann: I'm never quite going to understand this mutual dislike between The Illustrious Face-Eater and our ring announcer.
White spotlights dance around the arena, and now two blue spotlights, emitting light from the ringposts, slowly rotate down from the arena roof to focus on the stage, where Tim Shipley is now standing, a gritty glare on his face as he stares at his nemesis: The Illustrious Face-Eater, who is parading around the ring trying to divert attention from Shipley's entrance.
James Brunt: And his opponent, from Milton Keynes, England, weighing in at 201 pounds... “Summer's Son” TIM SHIPLEY!
The white lights dance more and more frantically before simultaneously all coming to a stop to also focus on the stage and Tim Shipley, just as another piece of robot-squawk ends to be replaced by the more simple "Uh. Uh uh" and the video feed changes to a shot of a conceptual spaceship racing through a tunnel. Shipley marches down to the ring.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Shippers is going to have to wait at ringside, I think. Face-Eater's not gonna give him even a second's rest if he steps in that ring before the other two get down here. Oh, this is gonna be juicy! POTATOES!
Miguel Rodriguez: Speaking of juice, I am erect.
Hans Heinemann: ...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Look, Hans. You can't say dot dot dot.
Hans Heinemann: >_<
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What the hell is that?!
Hans Heinemann: stfu n00b.
Miguel Rodriguez: Hans has been possessed! Help, someone, anyone!
Shipley's boldness tonight has dissipated a little by the time he reaches ringside to see the imposing figure of The Illustrious Face-Eater staring down at him. Holding the familiar Shipley expression - mouth slightly open, two front teeth visible, looking a little retarded - he makes the decision to stay outside the ring for now.
“Girls” by The Prodigy blares out as the glamorous Portuguese beauty Amy Silveira walks matter-of-factly to the ring, adjusting her hair and blushing a little at the wolf-whistles from front-row admirers.
Hans Heinemann: It's a shame that this is the last time we'll see Amy Silveira in action in AWC.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: She's decided to move to new arable.
Hans Heinemann: Pastures new...
Miguel Rodriguez: NOOO! My Amélia, what are you doing? You must STAY, stay with Miguel and his beeg boy!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I don't think that beeg boy of yours will ever be seeing any action with Ms. Silveira.
Silveira approaches the ring, looking coolly at Tim Shipley who nods uncertainly. Silveira gives him a weak smile.
Hans Heinemann: That's the only time Shipley'll get a smile from a beautiful woman.
James Brunt: And their opponent, from Lisbon, Portugal, weighing in at 116 pounds... AMY SILVEIRA!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Her fifth and final match!
Hans Heinemann: I certainly hope AWC isn't footing the bill for that neck surgery, then.
Silveira follows Shipley's lead by not entering the ring just yet, leaving The Domain Of The Face-Eater empty aside from the man himself. House Of Pain's “Jump Around” now begins to play, and Mike Wade and his manager Mickey Moore strut down the entrance-way to a hugely mixed reception.
Hans Heinemann: It's Wade minus his Parade.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I don't know what to think of this guy. He's Irish, sure, but he was a complete eejut up till last week...
Miguel Rodriguez: But then he HELP Paddy O'Shea against Hate!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Exactly, Miggy! The soup thickens...
Hans Heinemann: There must be a lot of potatoes in it, then.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Damn right. Can't have a soup without potatoes.
Miguel Rodriguez: What about COOKIES!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Nah. Too many cookies spoil the broth.
Oblivious to this, er, ‘witty banter', Wade saunters over to Silveira and Shipley and offers them both his hand. Silveira turns away in disdain but Shipley shakes it, though a touch uncertainly, and then shakes the hand of Wade's friend Mickey Moore, who strides confidently over towards the other side of the ring. Never mind that he can't see over the security barrier.
James Brunt: Finally, being accompanied to the ring by Mickey Moore, weighing in at 209 and three-quarter pounds... MIKE WADE!
Hans Heinemann: His Swerviness is in the ring with Face-Eater and ready to go.
Indeed, Wade looks ready to get started with Face-Eater, but referee Michael Ryan steps between them to first invite Shipley and Silveira into the ring. Shipley climbs onto the apron, then with a second thought offers his hand to Silveira to help her up. She gratefully takes it, and Shipley, feeling hugely awkward, helps her through the ropes too, before himself entering. Some whistles come from the crowd in this National Ice Centre.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: The perfect gentleman, is he not?
Miguel Rodriguez: Do not touch my Amélia, you stupid Englishman!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What do you want him to touch, then? Your beeg boy?
Miguel Rodriguez: No freaking way! It too beeg for him...
The bell rings as Wade goes over to engage The Illustrious Face-Eater. Facey quickly fends him off, slamming Wade's head into the turnbuckle for good measure, and skips away towards Shipley, at whom he throws a huuuuuuuge, fake right arm. Trying to figure him out, Shipley can't see the trick, and raises his left arm to block. Immediately, Face-Eater jumps back and executes a bicycle kick into that now exposed left side. Shipley bends a little, holding the left side of his torso with his right hand, and TIFE throws a straight punch right through his face, causing a wad of spittle to fly.
Hans Heinemann: The Illustrious Face-Eater has headed straight for Shipley from the off, and that was a powerful punch. Does he have a boxing background by any chance?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: No way. He was trained by Eddy Estrada.
Miguel Rodriguez: I like this name.
Hans Heinemann: Who's Eddy Estrada?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Deft.
Hans Heinemann: Who's Deft?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Eddy Estrada.
Silveira, glaring at the man in the mask, gives him a side-kick to the mid-section. There's no chance to capitalise before Wade comes at her with a running neckbreaker, though.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Neckbreaker by Wade! He knows her weakness.
Miguel Rodriguez: My poor Amélia! They're hurting you!
Face-Eater shrugs off the attack from Silveira and resumes his efforts to dominate Shipley, now grabbing him by the hair and rocking him back into the turnbuckle. A high leg is raised, and a choke-out with the boot follows a cheap kick to the face.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Shippers is getting choked here!
Michael Ryan heads quickly over and counts to four before the Face-Eater admits defeat to the official.
Hans Heinemann: Michael Ryan was quick to impose his authority.
Wade brings Silveira to her feet but she struggles and gets out of his grip, rearing back and delivering a high crescent kick that connects hard with the chin.
Miguel Rodriguez: Like an uppercut with the foot!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: The crescent kick has stunned Wade.
Wade staggers backwards and falls to the floor as The Illustrious Face-Eater sets Shipley up on the top turnbuckle.
Hans Heinemann: There is a buzz in the National Ice Centre. We could be looking at something high-risk here.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Shippers had better hope he can get out of it. He's not imposing himself on this match at all.
Miguel Rodriguez: Facey does not give him the chance!
Face-Eater climbs to the second rope himself and ties up with the helpless Shipley. However, before this can go any further, Silveira advances and eliminates Facey from the equation with a hard dropkick to the spine! Face-Eater falls directly backwards, landing full on his back and rolling under the ropes to the apron.
Miguel Rodriguez: Amélia dropkick! She take out the Facey.
Silveira now looks at Shipley testily and climbs up to the top rope. He struggles, but a forearm to the head silences the male and Silveira places her hands on his shoulders.
Hans Heinemann: Oh, here we go...
The noise from the crowd is immense as Silveira launches into the hurricanrana.
It's even bigger a moment later as she falls to the mat - and Shipley doesn't.
Hans Heinemann: She missed it...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Shipley threw her down!
Tim Shipley now drops down a turnbuckle to the second, and flips through the air to land the Chi-Squared drop on the unfortunate Silveira!
Miguel Rodriguez: She's a laaaaady! Stop this!
Hans Heinemann: Chi-Squared Drop and an early cover...
ONE!
TWO!
Wade breaks the fall with a sharp boot to Shipley's lower back.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Just the two.
Hans Heinemann: Well, the big risk from Amy Silveira didn't pay off...
The Illustrious Face-Eater now rolls into the ring just as Mike Wade drags Shipley to his feet. Pushing Wade away with a hard shove, Face-Eater regains control of his rival and slings Shipley into the ropes before following him in. As Shipley rebounds, TIFE sticks out a leg and Summer's Son goes sprawling over it.
Hans Heinemann: The Face-Eater seems intent on concentrating all his efforts on Shipley, essentially ignoring the two other competitors in this match.
Miguel Rodriguez: Not clever! This could be him downfall.
Wade, annoyed at the snub from Face-Eater, runs at him and knocks him down with a hard clothesline.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Miggy is always right.
Miguel Rodriguez: A mess is always left.
Amy Silveira now struggles to her feet, but Wade goes over to intercept and rams her into the turnbuckle. He prepares to make a further assault, but before any more offence from His Swerviness, Tim Shipley comes up from behind and hits a neat Russian leg sweep.
Hans Heinemann: Russian leg sweep by Shipley, saving Silveira from harm. What a gentleman.
Miguel Rodriguez: Ah, NO, he landed a somersault leg drop on her not one minute ago!
Shipley takes Wade's leg and turns into a single leg crab. Wade, desperate not to have the hold applied, struggles valiantly to move a couple of feet towards the ropes before its application, but once the hold is fully locked on he is halted in his tracks.
Hans Heinemann: No more wriggling out by Mike Wade. Shipley's crab is watertight.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: How dodgy does that sound?
Michael Ryan licks his lips and crouches down by the pair, checking that there is no foul play by Shipley and ready to interpret any signs of submission by the Irishman.
Miguel Rodriguez: Wade looks... comfortable in there!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You're kinda right. No way is Wadey tapping to this. It's too early, he's full of energy -
Hans Heinemann: Which is precisely Shipley's thinking in applying this hold to try and get rid of that energy.
Face-Eater walks over and looks about ready to drop an elbow on Shipley, breaking the hold. Amy Silveira, however, can see the value of Shipley having Wade tied up in this attempted submission move - after all, it's sapping both their energy. Or maybe the Face-Eater's just pissing her off. Either way, she launches herself at him with a cross body block and the two tumble to the mat, with Silveira rolling right off and getting to her feet quickly.
Miguel Rodriguez: That's my Amélia!
Hans Heinemann: Oh, would you shut up. Neat cross body block from Silveira.
Shipley, oblivious to what else is going on in the match, just makes sure to keep the hold locked on tight, not allowing Wade an inch of room to work his way out with. Mickey Moore jumps up and down on the outside, trying to see what's happening, and urging Wade on.
Hans Heinemann: He's good on the canvas, Tim Shipley. Good technical worker.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Well, he didn't come - er, third - in the Best Technician category of the Q1As for nothing!
Hans Heinemann: David, those awards mean nothing.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Uh they so do.
Miguel Rodriguez: Then why don't we see wrestlers boasting about all the awards they have won?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Potatoes.
With The Illustrious Face-Eater now on his feet, Silveira swings an elbow into his masked face and drops to the mat with a drop toe hold. Bewildered by this quick bout of aggression, TIFE can do nothing to resist, rolling over onto his back, and Silveira springs quickly to the top rope before dropping down and flipping back with a split-legged moonsault!
Miguel Rodriguez: Whoa baby!
Hans Heinemann: Nice agility with that split-legged moonsault.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: She's pinning... but is Ryan actually gonna notice?
Michael Ryan, the good referee he is, does notice, and abandons his careful attention to Shipley and Wade for just a moment to nip over and count the fall. In this time, Mickey Moore nips up the ring steps like lightning.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Uh-oh...
ONE!
TW-
It's a quick kick-out for TIFE, but that isn't what's causing the roars from the crowd. Michael Ryan turns back to the submission to see - well, no submission. In fact, Shipley's flat-out, a hand to his bloody nose, and Wade has rolled away to recuperate. Mickey Moore? He ran away, slipped under the ropes and fell (unintentionally) to the floor. His bloodstained brass knuckles bounced away from him at this point.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I call foul play! Never could trust that Wade.
Hans Heinemann: Too swervy for you?
Miguel Rodriguez: Who cares? It only Shipley.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You're just jealous because ‘your Amélia' is actually being nice to him.
Seeing all three of her opponents starting to get to their feet, Silveira sees an opportunity and perches herself once more on the top turnbuckle. Shipley and Face-Eater lock horns, and the crowd begin to cheer as they see Silveira stand tall, ready to fly. Unfortunately, so does Facey, who drops the grapple and catches Amy as she flies towards them, intending to take out the two of them, and after a pause executes a devastating powerslam!
Hans Heinemann: Powerslam! Face-Eater shook the ring.
Miguel Rodriguez: Am -
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Élia! We get it.
Hooking both legs, Facey motions for Ryan to count, which he does.
ONE!
Briefly. An ugly boot to the head from Shipley halts Face-Eater's bid to win this match. Face-Eater rises to his feet but Wade takes Shipley out with his TEE-bone suplex out of nowhere!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: There's the TEE-bone!
Miguel Rodriguez: What's TEE?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: TEE KAY!
Pierre Hyde: I never understood.
Hans Heinemann: Whatever. Shipley's down and out of it. Two powerful moves in quick succession have meant a lot of excitement for the capacity crowd here in Nottingham -
Miguel Rodriguez: Which is England's gangland, of course. Lots and lots of guns!
Pierre Hyde: Don't forget the really nice university.
Hans Heinemann: Who the fuck are you? Get back to your keyboard.
Pierre Hyde: You ought to watch your mouth.
Hans Heinemann: I'm a fat gay. See, that's the power of Hyde.
Back to the match, and before Wade can pin Face-Eater has engaged him, grabbing an arm and headbutting him. Retaining his grip on Wade's arm, Face-Eater pulls Wade in and lifts him into the Eaterplex '05!
Hans Heinemann: EATERPLEX!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Oh-five.
Miguel Rodriguez: And now Mike Wade is the one down and out!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: The Illustrious Face-Eater has a choice of who to pin.
And, of course, he chooses Shipley. A good five seconds after he took a TEE-bone suplex, Tim Shipley finds his shoulders forced against the mat.
ONE!
TWO!
He kicks out.
Miguel Rodriguez: Close call! The Illustrious near win there!
Hans Heinemann: He made the wrong choice. Wade wouldn't have escaped the pin after that Eaterplex.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: OH-FIVE!
Miguel Rodriguez: Ooh, this match build up nice... in my panties...
Silveira, dazed but on her feet, advances on Face-Eater, with a hard forearm to the head. Face-Eater takes the blow - “Is that all ya got?” - and pulls Silveira in close, before hitting a hard, slow vertical suplex. Her body crashes hard against the canvas.
Hans Heinemann: Face-Eater gives maximum punishment with the suplex.
Shipley pulls Wade to his feet and throws him back down with a hiptoss. Face-Eater charges over and slams Shipley down in turn with a body slam.
Miguel Rodriguez: Illustrious tell us he the one in charge. I would prefer Amélia in charge of my beeg boy, though...
Face-Eater now moves onto the ring apron and along to the turnbuckle, which he slowly climbs.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Oh, something BIG is going to happen here!
Miguel Rodriguez: How do you know? You can hardly SEE my - ohh, in the MATCH... right.
Shipley and Silveira are still down as Mike Wade struggles to his feet in the centre of the ring. Dazed, he involuntarily staggers backwards towards Shipley and, more importantly, TIFE.
Hans Heinemann: Let me call this missile dropkick in advance.
On cue, Wade slowly turns - but Face-Eater doesn't leap. No sir. His eyes are firmly fixed on the form of Shipley, which is still down. Shrugging, Wade turns to Shipley and gives him a couple of stomps to the ribs.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Can you say ‘missed opportunity'?
Miguel Rodriguez: Yes!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Good for you, Miggy.
Silveira sits up, shaking herself, and crawls to her feet. Like Wade before her, she gets to her feet as if in a stupor.
Hans Heinemann: Let me call this missile dropkick in advance.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I have a feeling of déja vu...
The crowd's noise at a peak now, everyone is expecting TIFE, who has been on the ropes for a while, to launch into the dropkick on Amy Silveira. But that doesn't happen either, because Shipley is now stirring, and Wade turns to engage Silveira.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Can you say ‘missed opportunity'?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I have a feeling of déja vu...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I have a feeling of déja vu...
Wade and Silveira tie up but Silveira breaks it immediately and backs up before snap-kicking Wade in the stomach. He doubles up, and just as Shipley reaches his feet - predictably, in a daze - and Facey readies himself to leap, Silveira flings herself to the left, jarring the top rope and with it Face-Eater's foothold. Unbalanced, he tumbles messily to the mat, crashing down on his knee.
Hans Heinemann: Ooh, Silveira took out the top rope and Face-Eater landed hard on that right knee. That could be an injury right there.
Miguel Rodriguez: His tactics not up to scratch!
Hans Heinemann: Indeed. Face-Eater was so set on hitting the big move on Tim Shipley that he failed to consider the match around him, and he may pay for that.
Shipley hits a precise reverse DDT on Wade and hooks the leg.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Reverse DDT now! Pins...!
ONE!
TWO!
Wade kicks out; Silveira throwing herself on top of the two wasn't needed but she does it anyway.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Nearly there!
Miguel Rodriguez: Nearly there! UNNNNGHHHHHHHHHH!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: What?
DOOB~! looks under the desk and his eyes widen.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Ohh...
It's now Amy Silveira's turn to look for the win as she covers Face-Eater.
Hans Heinemann: No chance.
ONE!
TWO!
Broken by Shipley.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: How did you know, Hans?
Hans Heinemann: Uh, duh. She's leaving.
Shipley drags Face-Eater to his feet and smiles as he finally gets what he wants: the chance to land a punch right in the face of the man who has been dogging him for weeks. (No, Miggy, not that kind of dogging.) He does so.
Hans Heinemann: Sucker punch.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That'll put his... mask out of joint.
Amy Silveira leaps into a knee drop on Wade.
Miguel Rodriguez: Amélia drop the knee! Ha! Stupid Irishman!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Don't make me KILL YOU IN THE FACE!
Face-Eater scrambles back to his feet only to have another right hand thrown at him by Shipley. He stumbles and goes careering through between the second and third ropes. He lands on the apron, but momentum carries him through to ringside.
Hans Heinemann: No count-outs in this match.
Miguel Rodriguez: Why?
Hans Heinemann: I guess it's too hard to keep track in a four way.
Summer's Son steps through the ropes and drops gracefully to the floor, and the ringside fans shower him with praise. Shipley grins and lands a fist drop.
In the ring, Silveira backs off from Mike Wade, allowing His Swerviness to get back on his clumsy feet. She runs at him and, avoiding the clothesline attempt, ducks round behind in a waistlock. Always quick to react, though, Wade reverses his body right into the Sidewinder!
Hans Heinemann: Sidewinder on Silveira!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Wade has it wrapped up!
ONE!
Shipley slides into the ring.
TWO!
Shipley dashes over.
THREE!
Miguel Rodriguez: Wait - no!
Shipley breaks the fall.
Hans Heinemann: Was that three...?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Or two?
All eyes are on Michael Ryan as he finds his feet, breathless.
“Two!” he yells at the top of his voice, and generally, this is cheered. The fans in Nottingham are enjoying the match, and haven't really taken to Mike Wade - but they're not too enamoured with Silveira any longer either, having heard of her pending departure.
Miguel Rodriguez: Two, he says!
Hans Heinemann: No way. He hit the mat WELL before the break.
Miguel Rodriguez: Don't be silly! Amélia kicked out!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Like, what, EVARRRR.
Shipley drags Wade away and the two begin to trade blows just as Face-Eater appears on the apron. Wade catches Shipley with a knee to the gut and forces him over the ropes, but Shipley grabs Wade's arm on the way through and pulls him with him! Shipley is on his knees on the apron while Mike Wade ends up on the floor.
Hans Heinemann: Shipley and Wade go for a tumble.
Meanwhile, Silveira gets back to an unsteady vertical base just in time for The Illustrious Face-Eater to grab the top rope and launch himself at her from behind. Landing with his legs around her shoulders, he twists back and hits the Osama-Rana!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Reverse hurricanrana by Face-Eater!
Miguel Rodriguez: A special version of the Osama-Rana from the ring apron!
Hans Heinemann: Straight into a pinning predicament!
Shipley sees this and makes to go back into the ring, but something's stopping him: Mike Wade has grabbed hold of his leg. Tim Shipley motions furiously into the ring but Wade, unaware of what's happening, tugs Shipley back furiously and Summer's Son slips, catching his chin on the side of the ring as he falls to the floor.
ONE!
Hans Heinemann: Oh, he may have it!
Wade, with wide eyes, realises what is happening and rushes the ring.
TWO!
He tears across to the other side...
THREE!
He's too late!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Facey wins!
Miguel Rodriguez: NOOOOOOOOO!
Wade kicks the bottom rope in frustration as James Brunt enters the ring and raises the arm of the man in the cape.
James Brunt: The winner... THE ILLUSTRIOUS FACE-EATER!
Hans Heinemann: The Illustrious Face-Eater takes a valuable win over three highly-regarded upper-midcarders. That could put him next in line for a Frontier title shot...
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: One he already had and BLEW!
Hans Heinemann: You could argue Shipley's blown it more tonight. This was his chance to get back into contendership for the title he dropped, and he has blown it.
Shipley doesn't look all that aware of this as he pulls hard on the ring apron to get to his feet. An ugly cut is evident under his chin. He looks across the ring, glaring first at Mike Wade, who inadvertently stopped him from breaking the pinfall, and then at the match winner.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You know, I don't think Shipley minds the fact that he didn't win as much as the fact that The Illustrious Face-Eater did.
Miguel Rodriguez: Personal battles mean lots more than a win/loss record.
Silveira gets polite applause as she gets to her feet and takes a bow for the last time in AWC.
Hans Heinemann: This is the curtain call for Amy Silveira, after a short AWC tenure.
Miguel Rodriguez: We can only hope she's in action somewhere else quick! Or we may all DIE!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Yeah... that's it, Miggy.
Farmer Requests A Match
FEATURING: THE FARMER, DAVID "PEARL"
HARBER, DR. STEVEN BURNS
AUTHORS: YRAN
Cutting to the doctor;s room, The Farmer lies face down on the treatment table. He is awake and resting on his forearms as Dr. Steven Burns prods at his burns, trying to remove some glass.
The Farmer grimaces in pain for a few seconds but is otherwise ok when David Harber walks in. The Head of Entertainment looks at the scar on Mickey's shoulder, and is clearly uneasy about seeing it. He then sits down in a chair, clearly in Mickey's view.
David “Pearl” Harber: How is he doc?
Dr. Steven Burns: The burns will take longer to heal but no glass looks to have been absorbed into the body.
David “Pearl” Harber: Timeline?
Dr. Steven Burns: Two, maybe three weeks..
As Burns finishes, The Farmer laughs.
David “Pearl” Harber: What's funny Mickey?
The Farmer: I'm fightin' noxt week…
David “Pearl” Harber: Really?
The Farmer nods.
David “Pearl” Harber: Who against?
The Farmer: Chris Metal.. Steven Xandrous.. Triple threat match..
David “Pearl” Harber: And what if I say no?
The Farmer: I'll sue ye for lettin' ye man from uoo-W-F into the arena..
David “Pearl” Harber: You did attack Nick Persia on Sunday..
The Farmer: Moore rea'n to be keep'n 'im away..
David “Pearl” Harber: What about in two weeks?
The Farmer shook his head.
The Farmer: Noxt week..
And then the penny dropped. Next week AWC are in Belfast, Ireland. The closest they have been to The Farmer's home.
Pearl has no reply. They were too many reasons for The Farmer to have his requested match and having only lost an Irishman a few weeks ago, he didn't need another of them being unhappy.
David “Pearl” Harber: Fine.. You get your match.. Now, what about Nick Persia? No plans to fight him?
The Farmer nods.
The Farmer: Eventually.. Regol Ru'ble..
Harber nods, stands up and leaves the room. He had checked on the injury. His obligation was over. The Farmer knew what the doctor told him to do. Either The Farmer was going to have it out with Xandrous and Metal next week, best to do under the watchful eye of an AWC official.
The Doctor didn't look pleased as he followed Pearl from the room.
Dr. Steven Burns: I must insist a two or three week resting period..
David “Pearl” Harber: Fine. You tell him..
The doctor nods.
Dr. Steven Burns: One week should be sufficient..
The camera fades to black.
Preparations and Reparations
FEATURING: PIERCE LAVELLE, TIM SHIPLEY
AUTHORS: PIERRE HYDE
Tim Shipley: Pierce, did you know about this?
Former AWC Frontier champion “Summer’s Son” Tim Shipley’s attempts at an airy, conversational tone are completely lost on his former partner Pierce Lavelle, who in just a few moments will do battle with The Educator and Paddy O’Shea in a bid to regain his Transatlantic title belt.
Pierce Lavelle: Not a clue, Tim! Pearl didn’t tell either of us.
Lavelle jumps to his feet, having finished straightening his black kneepad, and begins to walk to the door, casting a hesitant glance at Shipley.
Pierce Lavelle: (anxiously) We can’t do it, can we?
There is a silence.
Tim Shipley: I don’t know.
Pierce Lavelle: I really need to talk to you -
Tim Shipley: But you’ve got your match to get to.
Shipley finishes the young Pennsylvanian’s sentence for him; Lavelle nods regretfully.
Pierce Lavelle: Perhaps we can make it work -
Tim Shipley: Perhaps.
They look at each other.
Pierce Lavelle: If I'm not too beat up -
Tim Shipley: - want to get a bite to eat later?
The former members of The Academy both grin.
Pierce Lavelle: Deal.
Tim Shipley: Good luck, Pierce.
Shipley looks seriously at Lavelle and takes a pace towards him. Instinctively, they shake hands.
Pierce Lavelle: (warmly) I’ll need it.
Shipley attempts a smile, and claps Lavelle on the shoulder.
Tim Shipley: You’ll win. I know it.
Lavelle grins his thanks and leaves the room. The scene closes on a shot of Shipley’s smiling face.
Sledge Makes An Appearance
FEATURING: SLEDGE, THE BRITISH BOMBER
AUTHORS: NEIL PETERS AND SLEDGE BRENDEL
The scene opens backstage, with what seems to be the dressing room area, somewhere in the National Ice Centre. The camera appears to fade to black, but just then, a loud burp can be heard. A burp of loud satisfaction.
Hans Heinemann: What the hell was that?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: A loud burp, and a very good one, if I might add.
Hans Heinemann: Shut up!
Then a shadow can be seen on the walls. Then a wrinkled can of beer is thrown against the wall, and just then, another burp follows..
Hans Heinemann: A can of beer? What's going on?
The camera then moves towards the owner of the shadow. A man in a black shirt with holes in it and ripped jeans can be seen sitting. The guy has a sticker on his shirt, which the man is looking at the whole time, seemingly disgusted because of the sticker. The sticker reads UWF!
Hans Heinemann: Wait a minute, I know that guy!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: That's Sledge from the UWF!
Miguel Rodriguez: Security, get that idiot out of here, he's in the wrong building!
Sledge gets up from the chair he's sitting on and starts walking through the halls of the AWC building, looking around him, not knowing where he's at...
Sledge: This building sucks monkey balls.. Where is good beer when you need it? I've seen enough, and I'm not impressed..
Hans Heinemann: If you're not pleased, then get the hell out of the building!
Sledge starts walking again, not knowing where the hell he's at. He starts looking for signs for the exit, only to bump against some other guy while Sledge wasn't paying attention. The camera then shows that the other man is the British Bomber of the AWC.
Hans Heinemann: Bomber, throw that guy out!
British Bomber: Hey, who the hell are you?
Sledge: Puh, like you would care. I'm just looking for an exit, trying to get the hell out of this dump..
Bomber notices the sticker on Sledge his chest, which reads UWF. Bomber first looks confused, but then knows what's going on..
British Bomber: Wait a minute, you are a UWF wrestler, aren't you? What the hell were you doing back here, spying on us or something?
Sledge: Why you wanna know? You're gonna kick my ass or something?
British Bomber: Well, as a AWC guy, I'm forced to kick your ass out of the building!
Hans Heinemann: Get him, Bomber!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I want a good ol' fashioned backstage brawl, kick his ass Bomber!
Sledge: So your little threat must impress me?
Sledge takes a better look at British Bomber, who eagerly wants to throw Sledge out of the building..
Sledge: Dude, your not even worth it. You really think you can kick my ass now?
Bomber: Me and the rest of the AWC roster who want to have a piece of you if you don't get out of our building!
Sledge chuckles a bit, almost bursting out in a big laugh, but knows to control himself..
Sledge: Fine, I'll get out of this stupid building. This dump hasn't even got some good beer, for crying out loud! I'll find my way out by myself. But don't worry, I'll be back sooner or later, you haven't seen the last of me. And when I get back, I'm looking forward to meeting you once again.. Sledge then looks at a sign and eventually heads for the exit, but not before bumping his shoulder against the shoulder of the British Bomber. British Bomber doesn't look to happy as the scene fades to black..
The Educator (c) vs Pierce Lavelle vs Paddy O'Shea
STIPULATION: THREE WAY ELIMINATION
REFEREE: LARS LARSSON
AUTHOR: DAVE LARKIN
Hans Heinemann: After surprisingly losing two of his three championships last week, The Educator must defend his Transatlantic championship tonight against both former champion Pierce Lavelle and Irish miscreant, Paddy O'Shea. What a night for The Educator!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I'm wondering if he has any chance at all of coming out of this in one piece. I mean, he can't lose his Transatlantic championship too, can he?! Well?
Miguel Rodriguez: Um… simple answer is yes. The Educator relies on his confidence to get himself through these tough situations. His confidence was dented last week; keeping the title will be hard. Like my beeeg boy!
Hans Heinemann: Damn it! I knew you'd make that comparison. Oh, you sicken me, Miguel.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Even more than me? Wow, I guess that's a compliment. GROINAL REGION~!
Miguel Rodriguez: Sometimes I think we talk a bit too much, don't you think?
Hans Heinemann: Pre-match build up is a prerequisite to a match itself. If we don't talk for at least (checks his watch) fifteen more seconds, Pearl could fire us.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You were never afraid of Pearl before, Hans. You're supposed to be the bad guy here, remember?
Miguel Rodriguez: Nah, I'm the bad boy, as well as being the beeeg boy!
Hans Heinemann: Okay, fifteen seconds are up. It's match time!
The drum roll begins, as the lights around the arena synchronise with the beat. “Give In” by The Bravery begins to play, as Lavelle stands on the top ramp. He runs to either side of the top stage, and yells something to his fans. Half way down to the ring, he raises his hands as pyros explode into the air. Lavelle enters the ring - fully dressed in his in-ring attire; and awaits his opponents.
James Brunt: In the ring, one of the challenges, from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 245 pounds… PIERCE LAVELLE!
Hans Heinemann: Where's your championship, Pierce? Hmm?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You know, he can't hear you, Hans.
Hans Heinemann: Yeah, but I get pleasure from pointing out the faults of others.
Miguel Rodriguez: I get pleasure out of other things… like…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: BEEEEG BOY~!
Lavelle looks fired up and ready to go, and already the Nottingham fans are getting behind the former Transatlantic champion, who came so close to retaining his championship at the Battle of Britain. Lavelle warms up to a raucous chant from the fans:
“LET'S GO LA-VELLE! LET'S GO LA-VELLE!”
The call of the uilean pipes booms from the speakers and fills the arena in a short solo of beautiful intent. As the crowd look on in awe, the video screen slowly fades from black into the flag of Ireland - the green, white and gold of the tri-colour, rippling in the wind.
The spotlights suddenly pan down to the entrance, just as the uilean pipes are replaced by "Raggle Taggle Gypsy" by Christy Moore. The roar of an engine is heard, just before a mobile home emerges, being driven by Paddy O'Shea, who has a somewhat unnerving smile affixed to his weather-torn face. O'Shea drives the mobile home down the gantry and parks it by the ring before hopping out to a cheer of admiration.
O'Shea raises his arms in triumph and plays to the crowd until his music cuts out.
James Brunt: And in the ring, from Galway, Ireland, weighing in at 180 pounds… PADDY O'SHEA!
O'Shea is given a massive pop from the fans, who adore his Irish charm and wit. O'Shea tosses his hair back and enters the ring alongside Lavelle. Lavelle and O'Shea say nothing to each other, instead opting for a simple friendly nod. Competition is on both their minds now. The Transatlantic championship is on their minds.
Hans Heinemann: I've never liked O'Shea. The man just exudes idiocy. The only reason he does so well is his luck of the Irish.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Anything behind this theory? Facts, figures, anything?
Miguel Rodriguez: Hans always comes up with ideas like this. Yesterday, during our massage session -
Hans Heinemann: That was supposed to be between you and me!
Miguel Rodriguez: Well, the secret's out!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: I enjoy secrets.
The immaculate Educator walks through the black veil from the back to a chorus of boos and holds his arms up to the audience, enjoying what he believes to be praise from the audience as he smiles and beams with pride whilst getting pelted with AWC merchandise from the fans. He is wearing a wrestling singlet with the Union Jack emblazoned on it. He takes one look down and kisses part of it to show his patriotism.
The Educator strolls down to the ring, looking cocky as usual. The Transatlantic championship rests over his shoulder. He surveys his opposition in the ring with a furtive glance, then enters the ring to a huge chorus of boos from the fans. Lars Larsson removes the Transatlantic championship from The Educator's waist and hands it to James Brunt, who leaves the ring immediately.
Hans Heinemann: I think we're ready to begin here. It's a three way for the Transatlantic championship. Can The Educator do it? Can he retain his title?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: As an Irishman, I'm supporting O'Shea!
Miguel Rodriguez: I'll just support Lavelle, since the two of you are supporting other people. He's the only one left, I guess.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: You wanna switch?
Miguel Rodriguez: Hell yes!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Nah, I've changed my mind.
Hans Heinemann: Forget it, you two! Just focus on the match!
The bell rings rather suddenly, and the crowd cheer in anticipation for the three men to begin this match. Lavelle and O'Shea exchange a quick glance, then focus their attention on the champion himself. The Educator backs off and looks to be on the verge of high tailing it out of the arena, but the combination of Lavelle and O'Shea stops him dead in his tracks. Lavelle and O'Shea beat down on The Educator with stomps.
Hans Heinemann: Disqualification! Somebody call for the bell!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Nothing illegal about this, Hans. In fact, it's perfectly fine. The fans seem to like it, hence ratings go UP!
Miguel Rodriguez: Ratings go up whenever Fresh! is on TV. I mean, they should. Whatever channel this is shown on, it's depending upon our success week in and week out to stay alive. I read it somewhere this week.
Lavelle takes control, whipping The Educator off the ropes. O'Shea almost takes The Educator's head off with a spinning heel kick on the rebound. Lavelle winces, mocking The Educator's predicament. The fans continue to cheer the pair on as they dismantle The Educator. O'Shea pulls the champion to his feet and delivers Dirty Tricks. The crowd let out a collective “Ooooh!” as The Educator holds his testicles in agony.
Hans Heinemann: Why? Why must he receive this foul treatment?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It's fun to watch, you have to admit.
Miguel Rodriguez: Educator is looking weaker than usual. Looks like Lavelle wants a piece, too.
Lavelle lifts the champion back up to his feet against his will and delivers a menacing Whiplash. The Educator's head smacks the turnbuckle awkwardly. O'Shea waves a hand to Lavelle, indicating he can make the cover.
Hans Heinemann: Tandem attacks seem to work… are they pinning him?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Seems like it. Here's the count!
ONE!
TWO!
Miguel Rodriguez: And the predictable kick-out!
THREE!
Shock. That is the only word to describe the reaction in the arena as The Educator is pinned by former champion Pierce Lavelle for the three count. The crowd, unsure at first what to do, now erupt into cheers. Horns go off and fans start to behave like wild animals as Lavelle dumps The Educator's limp body over the top rope.
Hans Heinemann: D - did I just witness that? Does this mean…
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Yeah. The Educator's lost his championship! He really must rolled over a black cat or something to get this kind of treatment. Three championships lost in the space of a week?
Miguel Rodriguez: Now we're guaranteed a new champion tonight, ladies and gents! This is so exciting, I might have to show my beeeg boy!
O'Shea and Lavelle face off now in the middle of the ring, both men knowing that one of them will walk out of Nottingham tonight as Transatlantic champion. Lavelle and O'Shea shake hands in a show of sportsmanship. However, it is all business then, as Lavelle and O'Shea let loose on each other with right hands. O'Shea with a knee to Lavelle's sternum takes him down to his knees. O'Shea whips Lavelle off the ropes and catches him with a dropkick on the rebound. Lavelle is quickly back to his feet, though, and prevents any further attack from O'Shea.
Hans Heinemann: Nice stand-off so far between these two men. I can't help but wonder, though. Did they have this attack on The Educator planned all along?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: If they did, it was a good plan. There's nothing in the rules of wrestling that says you can't double team.
Miguel Rodriguez: The Educator's never going to want to show his face again here in AWC after that incident.
O'Shea and Lavelle cautiously circle each other. The two go into a tie-up in the middle of the ring. Lavelle uses his technical wrestling skills to turn it into a hammerlock, then trips O'Shea up onto his belly. Lavelle torques the arm of O'Shea, but the Irishman edges his way towards the ropes and forces the break. Lavelle lets go, but indicates to O'Shea that it was very close.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Lavelle's building his confidence slowly, it seems. Once he gets going, there's no stopping him!
Miguel Rodriguez: You don't say. Suddenly a fan of Lavelle, Dave?
Hans Heinemann: You know how that idiot works, Miguel. Hot and cold all the time.
O'Shea takes control out of the blue, surprising Lavelle with a double leg takedown. O'Shea lays into Lavelle with vicious blows to the head. Lavelle tries to shield his face, but O'Shea is ruthless. O'Shea lifts Lavelle up to his feet, whips him off the ropes, and delivers a massive back body drop to the former Transatlantic champion. Lavelle lands flat on his back and instantly holds the small of his back in pain.
Hans Heinemann: Lavelle's been up and down like that plenty of times in his time as a wrestler. How can it hurt him that much?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Let me do it to you sometime, Hans. I'm sure you'd whinge and cry like a baby.
Miguel Rodriguez: I did it to my beeeeg boy once…
Hans Heinemann: I'm not even going to ask how that turned out.
O'Shea pulls the reluctant Lavelle to his feet again and whips him against the ropes. This time, O'Shea rams his shoulder into Lavelle's sternum. O'Shea then delivers the Caravan Slam to Lavelle in the middle of the ring. In firm control, O'Shea covers.
ONE!
TWO!
Hans Heinemann: Pierce Lavelle kicks out before the three count. Not a surprise, really. Lavelle wants this title just as much as O'Shea does.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It's going to be a mountain to climb for Lavelle if O'Shea continues this domination.
Miguel Rodriguez: All O'Shea needs to do is keep pulling out these weird moves over and over again. That's the key to victory.
Lavelle, seemingly winded from the shot to the sternum, lies on the canvas. However, O'Shea gives him little respite, as he pulls him back up to his feet. Lavelle has a burst of adrenaline, though, and fights back with a knee to the gut. Lavelle then delivers a perfect snap suplex to the Irishman to buy himself some much needed recuperation time.
Hans Heinemann: Neither one of these men is letting up here at all. With Lavelle back in this thing, anything could happen.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Like Miggy's beeeeg boy breaking off his body, running into the ring, causing a riot, then leaving?
Miguel Rodriguez: It doesn't break off. We're together forever; it's our pact.
Lavelle runs off the ropes and delivers a nice leg drop across the throat of his opponent. O'Shea coughs and splutters after the leg drop, but pulls himself back up to his feet, wanting to regain the momentum he had before. Lavelle stops this from happening, though, by whipping O'Shea into the corner and following up with a clothesline. O'Shea slumps into a seated position and Lavelle begins to contemplate his next move.
Hans Heinemann: Lavelle's got his two hands on the steering wheel now. The question is, what's next for him? How will he finish off O'Shea?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: It's simple, is it not? Hit the Whiplash!
Miguel Rodriguez: I think he may have read your mind.
Lavelle drags O'Shea to his feet and sets him up for the move that all superstars in AWC fear, Whiplash. O'Shea resists the move, however, and reverses it into a back drop. Lavelle falls to the mat, shocked that O'Shea countered. Lavelle darts over to O'Shea, but the Irishman cleverly dodges Lavelle's charge, sending him through the ropes and out of the ring. O'Shea follows Lavelle to the outside, and the two begin a brawl outside the ring.
Hans Heinemann: Things are getting out of hand here. In all honesty, I expected the match to be over by now.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: With two determined competitors like these guys, it's not gonna be over for a while!
Miguel Rodriguez: I brought my portable TV… you guys wanna…?
Hans Heinemann: No. No TV. Wrestling.
O'Shea throws caution to the wind and rams Lavelle's back into the steel ring steps at ringside to a huge shout from the crowd. Both men being fan favourites, the crowd are unsure who to support. Lavelle feels the pain shoot through his back as O'Shea pulls him back up to his feet and rolls him back into the ring. O'Shea then hops onto the apron and prepares to execute a move from the top rope.
Hans Heinemann: What exactly does O'Shea have in mind here?
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: Must you always ask that? Just watch and find out!
Miguel Rodriguez: He's gonna finish Lavelle off here!
O'Shea jumps acrobatically onto the top rope, then propels himself onto Lavelle with a big splash. Lavelle clutches his stomach after the move, but O'Shea wastes no time and covers his adversary.
ONE!
TWO!
Lavelle valiantly kicks out before three to the shock of the fans, who seriously thought he was down for the count that time. O'Shea bangs the mat in frustration and appears to be at a loss for how to finish off Lavelle.
Hans Heinemann: It's all on the line here and it's time like these you have to finish off your opponent and win the match. O'Shea hasn't been able to take advantage of these windows of pressure yet.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: And that has been his downfall. POTATOES!
Miguel Rodriguez: He'd want to look behind him.
Lavelle is up and sneaking up behind O'Shea. As soon as O'Shea turns, Lavelle kicks him in the gut and sets him up for the Whiplash. This time, Lavelle delivers the move perfectly, and O'Shea looks to be out cold beside the turnbuckle.
Hans Heinemann: Whiplash! And this match could be over.
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: GUINNESS!
Lavelle makes the cover, but he can't use his whole body weight, as Lavelle has difficulty bending his back. Larsson drops down for the count.
ONE!
TWO!
Miguel Rodriguez: My beeeeg boy says two-time champion!
THREE!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: He's done it!
Hans Heinemann: Having only lost it a short time ago, Pierce Lavelle wins back the Transatlantic title tonight!
Miguel Rodriguez: And a much weaker and heavily deflated Educator goes home with nothing!
Lavelle stands up, taking the title from James Brunt and holding it up in celebration, as Paddy O'Shea slowly makes his way to the back without a fuss.
James Brunt: Your new two-time Transatlantic champion, PIERCE LAVELLE!
DOOOOOBLIN DAVE~!: POTATOES!