AWC All Summer Long
"...in the company of friends." - GBJ
All Summer Long 13 August 2010
Times Union Center (capacity 14,236) -- Albany, NY
Introduction
AUTHOR: Hyde
“All Summer Long” by the Beach Boys; its plinky-plonky ode to the lighter side of summertime is juicily juxtaposed against some of the returning Atlantic Wrestling Club’s more memorable moments in the pay-per-view’s opening video.
Sitting in my car outside your house
Remember when you spilled Coke all over your blouse
Pearl showing Darcy Markson what he’s done with the Legends’ Lounge; Van Isaac Pryce landing Oliver Ranken with the VIP Treatment; Diego Foster’s dangerous Diamond Flash to brutally defeat T.A. Giles for the Zero to Hero III title.
T-shirts, cut-offs, and a pair of thongs
We’ve been having fun all summer long
Jack Murphy waving to the fans from the window of his skybox; Peyote Jones being hosed down in mid-ring; Parrot of Perroquet leaving Steve Harrison something to remember him by.
All summer long you’ve been with me
I can’t see enough of you
Garbage Bag Johnny somersaulting out of Harrison’s belly-to-back suplex and countering into the Tragically Hipbuster; The Furious Fists of God munching grapes in their matching UPW polo shirts; T.A. Giles having his arm raised with his new AWC Frontier Championship.
All summer long we’ve both been free
Won’t be long till summertime is through
Summertime is through, not for us now
Sasha Volkyeva sitting down to dine with Murphy; VIP punching out Steve Harrison in front of Sarah Kennedy Lavelle; GBJ and Foster face to face in mid-ring for the first time.
Miniature golf, and Hondas in the hills
When we rode the horse we got some thrills
Every now and then we hear our song
We’ve been having fun all summer long
A stressed-out Darcy Markson working furiously at his desk; William Gwynn dodging the Nothing Personal and suplexing Giles overhead to defeat the Frontier Champion; Harrison pulling the tights to secure his first win over Van Isaac Pryce.
Won’t be long till summertime is through
Summertime is through, not for us now
Every now and then we hear our song
We’ve been having fun all summer long
Liam Martin discovering the boarded-up Legends’ Lounge; Jonathan Carcer delivering the Byzantine Serpent on Christian Montiero; Foster copycatting the Tragically Hipbuster to hand Bone his first loss in the Club.
We’ve been having fun all summer long
We’ve been having fun all summer long
We’ve been having fun all summer long
We’ve been having fun all summer long
Waters: Welcome to ALL SUMMER LONG!
Face-Eater: AWC has been heating up since Zero to Hero and temperatures are red hot and rising tonight!!
Waters: Five HUGE matches tonight – headlined by that literally unpredictable main event for the Transatlantic Championship. Garbage Bag Johnny is an AWC Legend and has a formidable record, but challenger Diego Foster was the Zero to Hero winner and has not put a foot wrong in an AWC ring!
Face-Eater: I’ve gotta side with the ol’ Beardyman, but Foster will push him hard. Harber’s banned him from using his Diamond Flash, but if things get desperate, the Prodigy showed at Fresh! that he can pull out the Tragically Hipbuster just as smooth as GBJ himself!
Waters: In our sub-main event slot, we’re gonna see the hotly anticipated returns to the ring of two former Transatlantic Champions. Jack “The Bull” Murphy, who heads up the AWC branch of the UPW union, is fighting Darcy “Crisis” Markson, our Live Events Coordinator, in a one-off match in the Legends’ Lounge!
Face-Eater: Yeah, it’s been tense between those two ever since Harb had Crisis take control of All Summer Long. There’s been a problem with workers not showing, and Darce thought the union might have something to do with that. Who knows what the real reason is. But last Fresh! it was too much for the man who once called himself Aimz’s Bitch, and he shut off the Lounge which the Bull’s been using for his UPW meetings – LEAVING ME HUNGRY AND DESTITUTE.
Waters: The future of the Lounge will be on the line, and I hear that Murphy and Crisis may well be facing lumberjack rules with all AWC Legends permitted entry to the Lounge as usual!
Face-Eater: If things heat up you might have to get Fredrock to cover for me. LEST YOU FORGET I AM A LEGEND.
Waters: Garbage Bag Johnny has also been confirmed as the guest referee for that match! Before it we’ve got two title defences, one of them of a title belt that isn’t even AWC’s!
Face-Eater: And who the fuck’s even heard of Just Wrestling?
Waters: ...Weren’t you their star name, until they realised you couldn’t actually beat any of the collection of streetwalkers and has-beens Shipley pulled in for the roster?
Face-Eater: CHANCE WOULD BE A FINE THING.
Waters: That doesn’t even make sense!
Face-Eater: Neither does Dash Springfield on AWC pay-per-view.
Waters: The self-proclaimed King of Fashion is technically the Just Wrestling Champion, but to reclaim his belt, Darcy Markson has set him the challenge of defeating impressive newcomer Jonathan Carcer. That’s tonight’s opener. Following that, we have two rematches from recent weeks. William Gwynn defeated T.A. Giles in a non-title match, so now he gets a shot at the Frontier belt held by Giles, and then Steve Harrison and VIP have a grudge rematch after clashing repeatedly!
Face-Eater: You know things have gotten bad when a feud between those two amateurs has the most heat of anything this roster’s put together.
Waters: I’m Truth Waters, and alongside me is the Illustrious Face-Eater! Tonight we round off this long hot summer the only way AWC knows how – ridiculously! Sit back, enjoy the show, and bitch about match results via Twitter! Yes, that’s how to be a wrestling fan the PTC way!
Dash Springfield (c) vs Jonathan Carcer
CHAMPIONSHIP: Just Wrestling
STIPULATION: Singles
REFEREE: Richie Travis
AUTHOR: Kongo
Dash Springfield climbs into the ring, spinning around with his arms extended to his sides, his glittering purple robe flaring. Carcer watches Dash coolly from his corner as the New Mexican heads to a turnbuckle, scaling up it and slicking up his spiked hair. Dash removes his robe and hands it off to a ring attendant.
James Brunt stands in the center of the ring, accompanied by referee Richie Travis who holds the Just Wrestling Championship in his hands.
Brunt: The following contest is set for ONE FALL and is for the JUST. WRESTLING. CHAMPIONSHIP! Our referee is Richie Travis.
POP! goes the Albany crowd. Carcer rubs his wrists, staring bullets across the ring at Dash. Dash leans forward, holding onto the ropes to stretch out his arms.
Brunt: To my right, the challenger. Weighing in at one hundred and ninety-eight pounds and fighting out of Hamburg, Germany. He is JONATHAAAAAAAAAN CAAAAAARCEEEEERRRR!
Carcer takes a short step out of the corner, lifting his hand to acknowledge Brunt's call and accept the praise he receives from the crowd.
Brunt: And to my left, he is the reigning Just Wrestling Champion. He weighs in tonight at one hundred and ninety pounds. Fighting out of Moriarty, New Mexico, he is "The Hot Topic"! "FASHION"! DAAAAAAAAAAASSSSHHHH SPRINGFIIEEEEEEELLLLLD!
Dash jumps up to the second rope and thrusts both fists into the air. Dash yells at the crowd, trying to get them fired up, but he is currently a non-entity here and the response, positive and negative, is minimal.
Dash dismounts and both he and Carcer head to the center of the ring, where Travis shows them the belt. He hands the belt off to a ring attendant and heads back to the center of the ring to give the wrestlers the final instructions. Dash is already jawjacking, shoving Carcer lightly in the chest, but Carcer keeps his cool. Finally, both seem to understand, and they separate while Travis calls for the bell.
DING!
Dash immediately shoots for a waistlock but Carcer manages to get out of the way. They circle for a bit, Carcer keeping his hands up. The next time Dash shoots in, Carcer pops him with a jab! Carcer tries to follow up, but a dropkick to the knee takes him off his feet! They continue their circling, Dash constantly looking for a lock-up of some kind, but Carcer swats his hands away every time. Dash shoots for another rear waistlock and gets it, but Carcer blocks the lift, grabbing Dash's wrists to pry his arms away.
Waters: Carcer throws a back elbow, missed, BIG dropkick from Springfield sends Carcer into the corner!
Face-Eater: Before this match, I didn't like either of these guys, but now that Springfield is winning, I'm rooting for him.
Waters: Carcer sent into the opposite corner, here comes Dash, Carcer dodged the dropkick! Carcer's going crazy with punches to the back of Dash's head, but Dash gets the ropes!
Face-Eater: Okay, now I like Carcer!
The ref separates Dash and Carcer as long as Dash has the ropes. Dash exploits this, allowing himself to get to his feet. Carcer is obviously ready to fight, constantly trying to get at Dash. Dash keeps a hand on the referee's back to use him as a buffer. Dash shoves the ref into Carcer, who pushes him aside and eats a dropkick to the mouth!
Face-Eater: Textbook maneuver from Springfield!
Waters What textbook are you reading?
Face-Eater: I--
Waters: Nevermind that, Springfield's got Carcer in a side headlock here, using his weight to keep the German from getting up.
Face-Eater: How... how dare you interrupt me!
It takes a good deal of effort, but Carcer starts to stand up, pushing Dash up as well. Dash responds with a headlock takeover, his weight now pressing down on Carcer's chest as he wrenches in on the neck. Carcer kicks his feet, keeping himself active, doing his best to prevent Dash's submission from wearing him down too much. He manages to twist and roll Dash onto his shoulders.
ONE!
TWO!
KICKOUT!
Dash rolls up and snaps off a dropkick to Carcer's face! Carcer rolls away, but Dash stalks him, grabbing him by the neck and jaw to get him to his feet, then flooring him with a single arm DDT!
Waters: Here's an armbar from Springfield! I gotta say, from everything I've heard of Dash Springfield, this is very uncharacteristic of him to be so on task!
Face-Eater: As a former champ, lemme tell you that something just motivates when your belt's on the line, Truth. But you wouldn't know anything about that.
Waters: Carcer with his foot on the ropes and Springfield releases the hold, but here come the elbow drops right on that arm!
Dash hits the ropes and comes off them at full speed, leaping into the air for an elbow drop... that doesn't find its mark! Carcer just barely escaped, and now he's on his knee trying to shake some life back into his arm. Dash is obviously feeling the effects of his missed elbow, but the adrenaline puts him back on his feet quickly. Carcer comes out of the gates strong with a series of rights and lefts that staggers Dash back into the ropes. Seeing an opening, Carcer throws a sole butt, but Dash evades and counters with a dropkick to the injured right arm! Carcer drops to a knee, clutching his arm. Dash hits the ropes and smashes Carcer with a lariat takedown!
ONE!
TWO!
TH--KICKOUT!
Face-Eater: Carcer is just getting damaged tonight!
Waters: Half-hatch suplex from Springfield, torquing that arm he's been targeting! Cover!
ONE!
TWO!
TH--KICKOUT!
Waters: Carcer not willing to give in just yet!
Face-Eater: Just give it up! This is the first match, quit stalling! We've got the good stuff to get to!
Dash brings Carcer up to a seated position so he can bang that damaged right arm with his fist, weakening it further. He pulls Carcer to his feet, but once there, Carcer begins to throw shoulder thrusts to the stomach that take Dash off balance. Carcer with a hard kick to the side, but Dash weathers it and holds on! He hooks Carcer's head, then releases the leg and grabs the arm, half-hatch suplex! Dash quickly jumps over, twisting Carcer's arm and locking in the armbar, keeping his knee pinned in Carcer's side for good measure.
Waters: Springfield's trying to rip Carcer's arm out of the socket!
Face-Eater: It's called trying to win! 'Course, being a lifetime loser, you wouldn't know anything about that!
Waters: Carcer's got the ropes and--hey, watch yourself!
Dash releases the hold and heads out onto the apron. He touches up his spikes a bit and wipes his feet on the apron before scaling the ropes. Carcer takes his time in getting up and Dash is clearly getting impatient, gesturing for Carcer to just get to his feet. Finally Carcer is standing and Dash launches off with a huge dropkick!
Face-Eater: CRASH! AND! BUUUURRRRNNN! Ha ha ha ha ha!
Waters: Terrible mistake on Springfield's part, and this could be just the opportunity that Carcer needs! Running knee to the side of the head buys Carcer just a little more time!
Carcer takes this time to recover, circling around Dash to get the best position for his next move. Dash begins to push himself off the canvas, shaking his head to clear it of cobwebs. Carcer shoots in as soon as he sees Dash is in a good position, cinching on a tight front facelock and clubbing Dash's spine with overhand forearms. Despite this damage, Dash continues to try and rise, so Carcer begins to unload with knee strikes. These finally seem to take the starch out of Dash, sending him back to a knee.
Waters: BRUTAL sidekick to Dash's face! Everyone in the arena could hear that!
Face-Eater: Let's go, Carcer! I was on your side from the start!
Waters: Here's the cover!
ONE!
TWO!
TH--SHOULDER UP!
Waters: Smart move from Carcer, trying to end this thing early, but it wasn't enough.
Jon Carcer argues with the ref for a second, but he realizes it's futile very quickly and resolves to get back to work. He serves Dash a few stiff elbow shots before pulling him to his feet. Carcer hooks Dash's head and leg, swinging him over his shoulder.
Waters: SOJARUUN! NO!
Dash drops behind Carcer, spins him around by the shoulder and boots him in the gut. Dash hooks Carcer up suplex-style and, with a surge of effort, lifts him and drapes him stomach-first over the top rope.
Face-Eater: CATWALK! Dropkick straight to the BRAIN, folks!
Waters: Springfield hooks the leg!
ONE!
TWO!
THR--ROPES!
Waters: Carcer is still in this!
Face-Eater: Dash ain't going out like that! He's up on the top rope like Spiderman!
Waters: Whuh!? Spiderman!?
Face-Eater: He was a wrestler, too!
Waters: MISSILE DROPKICK CONNECTS!
Face-Eater: Goodnight, Carcer!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
NO!
"FUCK!"
Dash springs to his feet immediately, getting in the referee's face and illustrating by fingers and slapping his palm how quickly a three count is really supposed to go. The ref stands his ground, however, showing two fingers consistently. All this "confusion" has allowed Carcer to pull himself up in the corner, breathing heavily to get himself back in this contest. Dash sees Carcer out of the corner of his eye and rushes in, slamming his knee into Carcer's midsection. He hooks Carcer's head under his arm and points across the ring.
"DASHING DESIGN!"
Dash charges, pulling Carcer along with him. He jumps to bulldog Carcer's head into the middle turnbuckle, but Carcer pushes him off just before impact! Carcer lands on his knees. Dash lands through the ropes, and as he slips out onto the apron and rises, Carcer surges up to meet him.
Waters: URAKEN!
Face-Eater: But he used his bad arm, the idiot!
Waters: Bad arm, good arm, it doesn't matter, it definitely did some damage and now Springfield's on the outside to recuperate!
Carcer rests against the ropes on one knee for a few counts, breathing heavily to replenish his lungs. It takes Springfield less time to recover, but he takes a bit more time to recalibrate his strategy. He jumps up onto the apron at seven, but once he starts to climb into the ring Carcer is upon him, clubbing him viciously. Carcer hip throws Dash to the mat, then follows up by slapping on a kneebar. Carcer wrenches away at the hold, making Dash yell in pain.
Face-Eater: Finally Carcer's smartened up! Springfield's been running around here, throwing dropkicks like nobody's business, jumping off the top rope, you gotta take those legs out to beat him!
Waters: Springfield's got the ropes now, so Carcer's gotta break the hold.
Face-Eater: Hey, that was insight! At least admit that it was some damn good insight!
Waters: No.
Dash uses the ropes to get to his feet, testing out his left leg. His hesitance worries the referee and makes Carcer hesitate just a second, giving Dash the opportunity to open up with a chop! Carcer quickly snaps a kick to the knee that sends Dash back to the mat! Carcer pulls Dash away from the ropes and locks in another kneebar. Dash shakes his head frantically when the referee asks him if he quits.
Face-Eater: He's almost got the ropes...
Waters: Carcer releases the hold and pulls Dash back to the center of the ring! Turns him over with a half crab!
Face-Eater: Dash has GOT to get to the ropes here, Carcer's the kind of crazy German bastard that'll break his leg without a second thought!
Waters: This is exactly the strategy that Carcer's gotta employ, though. He needs to take that leg out of the picture if he's gonna keep the upper hand in this match.
Face-Eater: I already said that!
Waters: No, you didn't.
It takes Dash quite a bit of effort, but he starts pulling himself across the mat with his elbows and eventually reaches the ropes, which he holds onto for dear life. Carcer stands up, grabbing Dash's ankle and assaulting him with a series of kneebreaker stomps! Dash howls in pain, but he never releases the ropes. The ref does his best to get Carcer to let go of Dash, eventually resorting to the five count, which gets Carcer to let go at four and a half.
Waters: Carcer is in firm control of this match now!
Face-Eater: Don't count Springfield out of this one, he's using every trick in the book to give himself more time!
Waters: There's the elbow! Rolling kick! TREPHINATION!
Face-Eater: Okay, maybe now you can count him out.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
NO! KICKOUT!
Face-Eater: He just barely kicked out there!
Waters: Now Carcer's the one waiting for Springfield to get up, like a snake in the grass, like a wolf, like an eagle behind the ridge--
Face-Eater: SHUT. UP.
Waters: ERESHKIGAL! That did not look good for Springfield!
Face-Eater: That's the point, you idiot!
Waters: Somehow Dash is pulling himself back to his feet, but he looks like he's running on autopilot! BYZANTINE--NO! Dash got his arms up!
Face-Eater: Pretty sophisticated autopilot!
Carcer rolls to his feet as Dash staggers away. Seemingly undaunted by his finisher being blocked, Carcer follows Dash into the corner and lays in heavy stomps to Dash's left knee. Dash sags in the corner, barely holding onto the ropes. Carcer picks up Dash's leg and snaps him over with a dragon screw, then neatly transitions into a kneebar that has Dash clawing his face in agony once again. After the initial wave of pain has passed, Dash begins to pull himself to the ropes, wrapping his arm over the lower rope to break the hold. Carcer holds on the kneebar until the three is called, Dash screaming bloody murder the whole time.
Face-Eater: You gotta use the rules to the fullest, Truth. Springfield's been doing it the whole match and now Carcer's getting into it, too!
Waters: Dash Springfield is definitely taking his time here. He knows that Carcer's got the upper hand, he's gotta let his leg recover a little, and he's gotta get his mind back in this.
Carcer gestures for Dash to bring it on and Dash obliges, stepping away from the ropes and opening up with a hard chop to the chest! Carcer staggers backwards, but Dash follows. Another! Spinning chop! Carcer fires back with a left hand that rocks Dash! A right! Carcer shakes his hand out, then swings around for the Uraken -- Dash ducks under and charges the ropes!
Face-Eater: SPRINGBOARD CORKSCREW CROSSBODY! Out of NOWHERE!
ONE!
TWO!
THREEEEE!
NO!
Waters: Carcer kicks out!
Face-Eater: That running put some stress on Dash's leg and he's definitely feeling it now, but if he lets that stop him he'll be a schmuck for life!
Waters: Dash throws a big right hand, Carcer ducks, DROPS HIM WITH THE VALKYRIE!
Face-Eater: He could co-star with Steve Carell!
ONE!
TWO!
THREEEEEE!
NO!
Waters: These two are throwing everything they have at one another, but they can't get the other to quit!
Both men are out on the mat, drinking air like they've been in a vacuum. Carcer manages to get his bearings first, slowly climbing to his feet and shaking his head clear. Dash sits up as well, clutching his left knee, which only brings it to mind as a target for Carcer's stomps. Carcer pulls Dash to his feet and hooks him up for a second Valkyrie, but Dash frantically throws elbows to free himself! Dash gets a little distance, but Carcer covers it with a superkick that nearly takes Dash's head off! Dash drops to his knees and then flops flat onto his face.
Face-Eater: I wonder if Dash'll be able to chew food after that one!
Waters: Whether or not he can, he might not be doing it with the Just Wrestling Championship as Carcer grapevines the leg!
Face-Eater: Horrible segue.
Dash buries his head in his arms as he endures the debilitating leglock from Jonathan Carcer. He doesn't give up, though, pulling himself inch by mile-long inch towards the ropes until he can get his fingertips on them. Once again, Carcer holds onto the leglock as long as he possibly can, at which point Dash secures himself on the bottom rope to buy himself some time. Carcer only waits for Dash to pull himself up to the middle rope before pouncing.
Waters: Jab to the throat!
Face-Eater: Yes!
Waters: BYZANTINE SERPENT! CARCER'S GOT IT LOCKED IN!
Face-Eater: Springfield's rolling him forward!
ONE!
TWO!
TH--KICKOUT!
Waters: Some quick thinking on Springfield's part saved him there! If he had wasted any more time this thing could have been over!
Face-Eater: Carcer's not wasting any time, either! Shots to the midsection!
Waters: SOOOOOJAAAAAAAARUUUUUUUUNNN!
Face-Eater: Inside voice!
Waters: He's got the leg!
ONE!
TWO!
THREEEEEEEEE!
NO!
Waters: A split second away from having a new champ!
Face-Eater: Carcer's looking for the half crab--
Waters: Springfield spins through and kicks Carcer away!
Face-Eater: Lucky bastard! I swear, the next leglock Carcer gets is it for Springfield!
Adrenaline is clearly pumping through Dash's veins now because that's the only reason he could even pull himself up to rest in the corner after the assault he's endured. Carcer yells as he rushes across the ring, lifting his boot and kicking Dash's face in! Carcer throws the Uraken again, but Dash barely manages to throw his own arm in the way! Pain shoots through Carcer's arm, forcing him to take a knee, in perfect position for Dash to throw a desperation kick to Carcer's jaw! Dash's arms hang over the top rope, his head down. Finally, he takes a deep breath... and heads out onto the apron.
Face-Eater: Are you kidding me!? What kind of drugs did this guy do before he stepped in here, and why don't I know about them?
Waters: Springfield's running a HUGE risk here! His knee's already hurting and any mistake he makes could be the end for him!
Face-Eater: He's on the top! The man's a lunatic!
Waters: HE CONNECTS WITH THE MISSILE DROPKICK! HE'S GOT HIM!
Face-Eater: Get up, you idiot! Get up!
Waters: He can't capitalize! Carcer's been launched across the ring!
Dash climbs up on his knees, running on fumes now, looking despondently at Carcer across the ring from him. He clambers up to his feet with the ropes as his ladder and starts limping along them, stopping every couple of steps to work out his leg. Carcer rolls onto his stomach and pushes himself up to his knees, slowly getting to his feet as well. It only takes Carcer a glance over his shoulder for him to decide what to do. He charges at Dash and swings his leg up to kick at Dash's injured leg, but Dash swings himself out of the way! A chop! Left hand from Carcer! Chop from Dash! Left hand! Chop! Headbutt! Again! Once more! Dash drops to a knee! Carcer hooks Dash up from the back, lifts and catches the knee for a kneebreaker! Dash punches Carcer in the head until Carcer drops him!
"DASHING!"
*breath*
"DESIGN!"
Waters: HE GOT IT! BULLDOG TO THE SECOND BUCKLE!
Face-Eater: Carcer's gotta get out of there!
The Dashing Design allowed Dash to slip out onto the apron. He stood up, looking out over the fans in attendance. His leg was too hurt for him to jump over the top rope, so instead he posted on the second turnbuckle, swung over the top, and drilled his feet into the back of Carcer's head!
Waters: FASHION VICTIM! FASHION VICTIM!
Face-Eater: Carcer's dreaming of Gucci right now!
Waters: Springfield hooks the leg!
ONE!
TWO!
THREEEEEEEEEEEE!
DING! DING!
Waters: It's over! He's done it! He's retained the belt!
Immediately after the three is counted, Dash flops onto his back, eyes closed and chest rising and falling with his labored breathing.
Brunt: Here is your winner and STILL Just Wrestling Champion... DAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSHH SPRINGFIEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLD!
"I Believe in a Thing Called Love" by the Darkness blares over the speakers while Dash Springfield takes the time to breathe. Richie Travis brings the belt over and lays it on Dash's chest. Instinctively, Dash wraps his arms around the belt.
Face-Eater: I gotta say, the only thing that one was missing was me.
Waters: A grueling contest between these two, but the visiting Springfield is walking out both champion and belt-holder!
Face-Eater: Springfield had better hope Carcer doesn't come after that belt, though. Carcer was only one move away from tapping Springfield out, and if Carcer's anything like me -- and he isn't, but follow me here, I'm making a point -- if Carcer's anything like me, he's not gonna make the same mistake twice.
T.A. Giles (c) vs William Gwynn
CHAMPIONSHIP: Frontier
STIPULATION: Singles
REFEREE: Selena Sumner
AUTHOR: Jaakko
Match not received. Winner: T.A. Giles.
Steve Harrison vs Van Isaac Pryce
CHAMPIONSHIP: None
STIPULATION: Grudge Match
REFEREE: Don Porter
AUTHOR: Jon & JC
Match not received. Winner: Steve Harrison.
Darcy Crisis vs Jack Murphy
CHAMPIONSHIP: None
STIPULATION: Legends' Lounge Match
REFEREE: Garbage Bag Johnny
AUTHOR: Hyde
In the Legends’ Lounge the action is quick, unrefined, and soon brutal. Any early hesitancy at fighting in so opulent a setting is soon forgotten as the Bull lays Darcy Crisis across the mahogany table and drives right fists down into his face, Crisis scrambling to his feet and suplexing the Bull out across the table, punctuated with a grunt of pain as spine meets solid Scandinavian craftsmanship. Grumblings of discontent come from the side of the room where Murphy’s UPW enforcers, the Fists, are waiting; meanwhile in the other corner Ellis Nash sips cocktails, oblivious.
With the upper hand now, Darcy Crisis leaps up and drops a fist on the tablebound Murphy before tearing off his t-shirt, all inhibitions gone as he gets back into the rhythm of the fight after so long out. He shoves Murphy to the floor and delivers a kick to his ribs that draws the ire of the watching Martin brothers; Garbage Bag Johnny, wiry in his oversized referee’s uniform, wags a goofy finger at Crisis and winks.
Crisis backs away from Murphy and scans the buffet table, pushed out to the side of the room to make space for the combatants. Electing to make the most of his one-night-only access to the Legends’ Lounge, Crisis empties several skewers of king prawns into his mouth, chewing joyfully. Liam Martin dashes over, his face in a panic as the persistence of his proto-paunch comes under threat, but Crisis brandishes a skewer at him and the former Alliance Champion retreats. The distraction serves to allow Murphy a way back into the match, though, driving a right fist into Darcy’s face and then grabbing his head. The last thing Crisis sees is a huge pool of red before his wide-eyed face is slammed into the oversized bowl of hot chilli dipping sauce. An ungodly scream comes from Aimz’s ex-husband and he lashes out, his elbow catching the bridge of Murphy’s nose.
Crisis calls for water, his face both comically and worryingly screwed up with sauce dripping from every orifice. Garbage Bag Johnny obliges, tonight’s guest referee dousing Crisis with a jug of ice cold water. Crisis shudders as the water drips down into his pants, clawing at his blinded eyes. Murphy comes back at him with anger at his nose having literally been put out of joint, grabbing Crisis’ head and delivering a bulldog onto the polished wooden parquet.
Darcy rises up, still blinking wildly and trying to scrape remnants of sauce out of his eyes. He stumbles into Tim Martin near the wall, who takes the opportunity to give him a slap. Crisis staggers back into Murphy’s grip, who finds himself placed in a full nelson. Tim Martin turns to one side and finds Crisis’ abdomen with some well-placed kicks, and before referee GBJ can head over to deal with the interference, Murphy lifts Crisis overhead with a stunning full nelson suplex! The bridged pin:
ONE!
TWO!
Late kickout by Darcy Crisis. Undeterred, Murphy pulls Crisis back to his feet, though hesitates when he sees the sticky red sauce staining his white cotton t-shirt. The Bull backs away and, mirroring his opponent’s earlier move, strips the shirt off over his head, tossing it to one side. He then goes at Darcy with a big clothesline, but Crisis ducks it and drives an elbow into the back of Murphy’s skull. Murphy doubles up, and Crisis leaps up with a scissors kick, driving his heel into Murphy’s neck to plant his face in the floor.
Before Crisis can capitalise, the Martins surround him, unhappy with the vicious targeting of the Bull’s head. Darcy shoves Liam away, which is all the provocation the Fists need and soon enough they are taking turns with right hands, a dazed Crisis turning an unfortunate one-eighty each time to set up the next Furious Fist. GBJ gets between the Fists but finds himself lifted up by the throat, two strong arms bearing him up in a double chokeslam! This triggers pandemonium in the Lounge, with Murphy rushing through the middle and nailing Darcy Crisis with the Fall From Grace! There’s no one to count the fall, and Murphy and the Fists look around helplessly, their eyes setting on Ellis Nash, who still sits irreverently in the far corner.
Sighing, Ellis gets to her feet and lazily pulls off her top, meandering over to the crime scene in just her bra and shorts with the Fists’ eyes as big as saucepans. Nash tugs the black-and-white striped shirt off the fallen body of GBJ and stretches to pull it over her svelte body, watched in stunned silence by the Fists, and by Murphy, whose facial expression is turning to a smile as he bends to cover Crisis, waiting for Ellis to oblige. Instead she steps between the Fists and neatly lands them with a jumping double Decree, having played them to predictable perfection.
Murphy shoves Ellis, who just raises her joined fingers at him in a ‘W’ sign for ‘whatever’, or perhaps ‘wanker’. The stand-off goes no further, as Darcy Crisis pops up behind Murphy and takes him in a headlock, before driving successive knees into his spine. The Irishman drops to his knees, but Crisis releases his hold too early as the Bull reaches up and snapmares him to the floor. Ellis yawns and retreats behind a glossy magazine as GBJ rouses himself and briefly wonders why he is topless.
The Bull pulls Markson up by the head and leads him down the steps into the skybox, through whose soundproof windows they are silently cheered by the audience below. Murphy sets Crisis against the glass and gets to work with knife-edge chops, the crowd’s “WOOO!” shouts filling in the absence of sound. Crisis blocks the fourth one and raises Murphy’s locked arm over his head, booting him in the spine. Murphy crashes hard against the glass. Darcy pulls open the window, letting in the noise of the Times Union Center.
And the Bull Charges, and they both tumble through the window and drop forty feet, bodies and chairs scattering out of their way. Crisis looks down in horror, no stranger to big falls, having won the Transatlantic Championship after one at Triangles 2006, but infamously breaking his spine back in the Pier Six Wrestling days in a spot that nearly ended his career. Murphy jack-knifes through the air alongside him, his wrinkled face and aged body etched with resignation; he’s an older man, his bones are brittle, his body frail. He might never come back from this.
And they hit – hard – and GBJ and Ellis Nash appear in the skybox sharing a blunt, and grabbing a handful of the shirt that Ellis is still wearing, Johnny invokes his authority to declare the match a no contest. And the medics scramble, and the vicinity is roped off, and Jack Murphy and Darcy Crisis depart, AWC's purest champions to the end, on gurneys – perhaps never to return.
Rationalisation
AUTHOR: Hyde
The arena has descended into a hush after the two former Transatlantic Champions’ plunge from the skybox to the floor, and that doesn’t change when a little-recognised, besuited man enters the ring.
At least, not initially.
Word gets around. And as the man stands there and leers, it dawns on more and more people that he’s not the arena manager, or from the health and safety committee, or anything else you might expect of someone looking so bureaucratically downtrodden.
No, he’s one Dr. Kasidy Drake III, once global pharmaceutical kingpin, who closed AWC at Triangles 2006 and in one fell swoop undermined everything that Harber, Lavelle, Murphy and the others had helped to build. Some made careers elsewhere, others faded away; none hit the heights that they had enjoyed BD. Before Drake.
And it took until this year for the company to fall back into benevolent hands, Drakewerx’s financial ruin forcing Drake’s unwilling hand, selling up to Harber for a fraction of what he paid for the company. The stage was set for a Drake-free AWC, or so we thought.
Once his identity becomes clear to all those in attendance, the man who used to transform himself into Smiley by use of the banned Prometheus Serum – a substance that cloaked AWC in controversy from start to finish, particularly surrounding the Transatlantic Championship – wastes little time. He takes great pride in telling us of his devilish cunning, locking himself into a lifetime consultancy contract with the Club before he sold up to Harber, something that was overlooked during the transition. Moreover, the remit of his ‘consultancy’ work is far broader than normal, and Drake now begins to outline a twenty-seven step plan to “rationalise, streamline, and mandate efficiency improvements to AWC”.
It doesn’t take us long to see through that. We soon realise that Drake’s grudge against AWC runs deep; far from sated by running the Club into the ground in 2006, he wants to do it all over again.
That’s until “Garbage Bag Johnny Will Win Zero 2 Hero”. The fans rise as one, but GBJ looks dazed and confused as he parks his Segway at ringside, shaken by the events that ended the Legends’ Lounge match. First he gives his best wishes to Jack and Darcy in true GBJ style, revealing that he offered the use of his jetpack to get the two men to hospital quickly but was inexplicably turned down. Then Johnny turns to address Drake, stating his admiration for his twenty-seven step plan and, indeed, for all twenty-seven step plans more generally. As a murmur of discontent rises around the arena, and the Face-Eater speculates on “just how corporate” GBJ has gone in his role as GCW Commissioner, the two-time Transatlantic Champion asks Dr. Drake if he has “graphicalised his blue-sky vision”.
Drake begins snorting with unbridled glee, believing he has unwittingly hooked a new follower, and whips out a pristine copy of his new management hardback, “The Twenty-Seven Steps to Successifying your Business Enterprise”, which he offers to personally sign for GBJ. Johnny’s eyes flash with excitement and he asks if he can hold the book while Drake finds his pen. Boos are now cascading down the banks of seats as GBJ treats the first edition with reverence. He hands it back to Drake, who signs the inside cover with a flourish.
Or does he. Grinning goofily, Johnny turns the book on its side and shakes it from the spine. A folded piece of paper falls out, which Johnny picks up, tossing the book carelessly back at Drake, who dives to save it from hitting the canvas. Johnny straightens out the sheet and shows Drake his signature at the bottom. The mogul’s expression turns from astonishment to horror as he realises that he’s been tricked.
“I, Kasidy Drake,” Garbage Bag reads, “hereby acknowledge my redundancy and accede to the Chairman’s request that I take garden leave for the entirety of my notice period. I hereby state my agreement that I shall permanently revoke all business interests in the Atlantic Wrestling Club and waive any rights to accumulated stock options. I will take an annual salary of one US dollar in perpetuity.”
The fans get it, now. They know GBJ was with them all along. But Drake still thinks there’s a loophole. “On what authority?” he asks. “AWC doesn’t have a ‘Chairman’...”
“Yes,” GBJ grins apologetically, “it does. It’s me.”
“Harber can’t just make you Chairman,” Drake hisses contemptuously. “It has to go through the board...”
“There is no board,” GBJ interrupts. “You’re living in the past, Drake. Markets move quickly. AWC was sold today.”
A thunderous silence falls. David Harber has sold up, so soon after buying the Club? Garbage Bag Johnny twists his face in regret. “I don’t like to speak for Harb, so I will.” He explains that Harber has come to realise the naive idealism of his vision to restore AWC to the pinnacle of the wrestling world, and so on, and so forth. He apologises that all forthcoming Fresh! events will be cancelled. “We had fun All Summer Long,” he rallies, “but it’s time to do it somewhere better, in the company of friends, where we’re not fighting amongst ourselves, or expensing thousand-dollar sandwiches. See, AWC was sold to Steven Caldera Enterprises today. As of tomorrow morning, nine a.m., AWC will be incorporated into GCW.”
The reaction is initially mixed, but becomes more positive as GBJ outlines his vision to unify the two rosters using his joint powers as GCW Commissioner and AWC Chairman. The belts will all be retired, he says, though he will keep the Transatlantic belt around as a reminder of what came before. Some of the production staff would be retained, but most on-air staff would be offered jobs in alternate GCW territories or unfortunately let go, as there would be little point in duplication. Indeed, avoiding duplication seems to be the theme, and the benefits of an AWC embedded within GCW are sure to become clear.
No more orange, then. Except in this one last match.
Garbage Bag Johnny (c) vs Diego Foster
CHAMPIONSHIP: Transatlantic
STIPULATION: Singles
REFEREE: Lars Larsson
AUTHOR: Hyde
With the hugely popular Garbage Bag Johnny having just thwarted Kasidy Drake’s nefarious plans, but subsequently revealed his acquisition of AWC on GCW’s behalf and impending incorporation of the former into the latter, it is almost an afterthought when the Champion clears out of the ring and dashes up and then back down the ramp to the sound of “Garbage Bag Johnny Will Win Zero 2 Hero”. James Brunt thus announces the main event amid a subdued atmosphere, but that is soon forgotten as the fans amp themselves up for the last match they will see under an official AWC banner. Challenger Diego Foster, undefeated in AWC competition and carving out a solid reputation for himself, joins GBJ in the ring and bumps fists with the Champion before backing away to his corner.
DING!
The challenger launches straight in and takes control with a series of rolling armdrags, disorienting GBJ who maybe seems distracted from the corporate wrangling of a minute earlier. Foster is determined to make this cost the Champion, and blasts him with a series of forearm shots before whipping him off the ropes and knocking him down with a solid clothesline. When GBJ is up, Foster swings another fist, but this time the Dirtiest Dude in AWC ducks, leaving Foster to catch only thin air. Johnny gets behind the Prodigy and busses him into the ropes, using their spring to assist a snap Russian leg sweep. He backs away to the corner and grins out at the fans, who urge him on.
Foster is quickly up, and any attempt by GBJ to lead proceedings is swatted away by Diego. The 22-year-old grabs Johnny by the wrist and pulls it over his head, but Johnny spins at the same time, leaving the two ending up in the same position as if holding hands. GBJ smiles uncertainly, but Foster yanks down on the wrist and at the same time pulls up a knee, crashing it into Johnny’s forehead. Stunned, GBJ finds Foster on top of him in an early lateral press.
ONE!
TWO!
Johnny kicks out, but the fall got further than it should have. Looking to shake off the cobwebs, Garbage Bag rolls himself out to the apron, while Foster impatiently backflips off the turnbuckle into his fighting stance. Seeing no urgency in Johnny’s movements, Foster runs at the ropes and launches himself headlong, jutting out one elbow which flies direct into GBJ’s face and grabbing onto the bottom rope with the other, so that he’s able to hang on and pull himself back onto the apron next to the Champion. Johnny swipes at Diego with his forearm, but Foster catches the arm and vaults over the ropes into the ring, taking the forearm with him and dropping prone to pin the arm over the top rope in a rudimentary hold. GBJ winces at the pain in his arm and leaps high over the ropes to alleviate it, and in mid-air twists to convert into a leg drop across Foster’s chest. The Prodigy cries out and lets GBJ go, and both men take a little while to right themselves.
A chant of “A-W-C! A-W-C!” grows in volume to surpass that of “G-B-J! G-B-J!”, indicating the fans’ desire for a continued allegiance with the Club despite it being imminently folded into GCW. But a lot of what made AWC AWC has been curiously absent from this 2010 revival, and similarly Garbage Bag himself, with his neatly trimmed beard and his untattered clothes, has grown up from that of old – or at least seems to have. That assessment comes into question as the next sequence ends with Foster bent up facing away from Johnny, who teases the Depants Combo but, sparing Foster’s blushes on pay-per-view, settles for his fearsome Rectal Fulcrum instead. After Foster’s yells make clear the discomfort of having GBJ’s knee up one’s anus, the Prodigy falls quiet, subsiding to the sleeper hold element, and soon the referee is testing Foster’s arms for a response. He gets one, and as ever it automatically provides a magic potion to rejuvenate the struggling challenger, who is able to fire away elbows into the torso and then turn into a stiff rising uppercut that elicits a Garbage Bag Grunt.
Foster swings a right arm, catching GBJ off guard and knocking him back as Foster turns and comes at Johnny hard across the chin with a roaring elbow! GBJ goes down in a heap and Foster drops straight down with an elbow, before hooking the leg for the fall:
ONE!
TWO!
Garbage Bag kicks out. Foster gets to his feet bringing GBJ with him and looks to chop across the Dirtiest Dude’s chest, but Johnny frowns on such foolishness so drops down and slams Foster with the Vagina Punch! Foster finds himself in all kinds of trouble as he is up on Johnny’s shoulders with the Tragically Hipbuster in gear, but somehow he wriggles his way out and as he hits the mat nails Johnny’s head with a rainbow kick. GBJ falls but rolls straight to his feet and comes straight at Foster to land a heavy brainbuster DDT!
ONE!
TWO!
Though taken by surprise by the high impact move, the Prodigy can throw up a leg. He’s still in trouble on the mat though, and Garbage Bag Johnny looks up wistfully at the turnbuckle. This might be his last chance to Dumpster Dive. He hops up and readies to fly... he lands it! The DUMPSTER DIVE and the fall...
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
What more appropriate way for AWC to go out? The gold draped over the shoulder of the Dirtiest Dude in AWC, the Club fades to black for the last time with a jagged beard and uneven teeth representing all its pleasures... its paths to glory, its roadbumps along the way... its rise and fall, and rise and fall again. AWC is done. Its spirit will live on, and GCW will inherit one of the most renowned cult promotions ever to capture the world’s imagination... but the Atlantic Wrestling Club is no more.
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