Wrestling, with a Fetish Ch. 10

My attention back on the screen, I witnessed the Stag brothers trading shots with Chi-Town and Ian. Titan remained outside the ring, playing the role of moral support. Soon the referee regained control of the match and forced the illegal teammates back to their corners. Jeremy on one side, and Chi-Town on the other.

This pitted Max and Ian against each other. Both men were able to compliment the other as they had similar styles. Strong and aggressive. Technical and precise. Holds were met with counter holds. Strikes were met with blocks. The fans were eating it up.

Minutes later both men tired of one another and back into their corners. Jeremy and Chi-Town tagged themselves in, forcing Max and Ian to stand on the apron. The two fresh men immediately took to the air. Their speediness was met with numerous head on collisions from which they shrugged off and kept going. At one point, both men were walking on the same top rope and approached each other. From there they majestically brawled without losing their balance and finally flipped themselves back to the center of the ring. Both landing perfectly on their feet. I held my breath through the whole ordeal. Fearing at any moment they could fall out of the ring and onto the thin stunt mat below.

The balance in the match finally shifted when Chi-Town was forced into the opposing corner, allowing one brother to tag in the other. From here they both attacked our teammate, milking the referee's warning of counting to five before being disqualified. They stopped at four and one half. And the ref counted slow as shit. The fans booed loudly. It was perfect heel-heat.

Max and Jeremy continued this tactic for a while, wearing down Chi-Town quickly. At a crucial moment, Chi-Town was able to escape the brothers and dove to his corner. With outstretched hands, Chi-Town was able to tag in Ian Famous. From here, our fresh teammate attacked the brothers with extreme prejudice. The fans roared in favor our team making a comeback.

Max was stuffed into one corner. Jeremy placed in the corner opposite his brother. Ian started running back and forth between the two. Each time connecting with a vicious attack of some sort. Ramming his knee into Jeremy's chest. Slamming his shoulder into Max's gut. Smashing his forearm into Jeremy's skull. Rocketing into the air and dropkicking Max's knee.

Ian whittled down the brothers until they both slumped to the mat and rolled outside the ring. Stag Party clutched at their injured limbs and regrouped midway between the ramp and the edge of the ring. Chi-Town reminded people he was still in the match. Starting from one side of the ring, he made a mad dash to the other and leaped over the top rope. Corkscrewing in the air and crashing on top of the opposing team.

Everyone fell to the ground like bowling pins but Chi-Town was the first to his feet. Beating his chest and pumping up the crowd. The fans were into the moment, filling the arena with a united montra screaming THIS IS WRESTLING over and over for roughly thirty or more seconds.

The match continued and the control of the match swayed some more. I knew the end was coming soon. I saw the setup perfectly. At a specific point, Ian was ganged up on by the brothers. This was followed by Chi-Town Brown rushing to his teammates rescue. Instead, the referee was pulled into the action and accidently struck from behind. From here, Jeremy and Chi-Town fell outside the ring, and brawled in front of the fans. With the referee down, Max seized the opportunity to retrieve Ian Famous' baseball bat. Intending to use it to finish of our teammate.

Titan was still at ringside and refused to intervene until that moment. The towering behemoth climbed onto the edge of the ring and stepped over the top rope. Max's back was to him and didn't see this mammoth human being until it was too late. Titan snatched the bat out of his hands and dropped it outside the ring. From here, Titan kicked Max square in the gut. With Max doubled over, Titan wrapped his giant arms around the young man's waist and lifted him off the ground. He swung Max over his right shoulder then altered his grip so he was holding him just under his armpits and lifted further into the air. In that position, Max was literally crucified for just a few seconds. Finally, Titan leaned forward and tossed Max to the other side of the ring, landing harshly (but safely) on this upper back and shoulders. Intervention complete, Titan laid on the mat and rolled outside the ring.

The ref was regaining consciousness, as was Ian. Very slowly he crawled over to Max's body and draped an arm across his opponent's neck. The ref moved just as slow but got to where he needed to be. He raised his hand above his head and slapped it down on the canvas. 1. He raised it again and dropped. 2. He raised it hopefully for the last time and dropped. 3.

The match was over and my guys won the bout. I smiled from ear to ear, happy to see Stag Party put them over. The crowd was deafening but I could just barely hear the ring announcer make the declaration of Ian Famous and Chi-Town Brown as the new World Tag-Team Champions. If the fans loved that, they were really going to love the Freebird Rule coming back.

The final hours of the pay-per-view went by quick. In that time Carmen already had her match. Was cleared by the doctor and even changed out of her wrestling gear and back into some casual clothing. My friends and new tag champs also made the change and all of us were in my locker room, awaiting the main event. In that time, we watched the other matches of the show and discussed how great everyone was doing. Soon after a staff member entered and informed me it was time to be in the Gorilla Position. Apparently, the last match ahead of the main event wasn't going to be a long one. All of us got up and exited the room.

Heading back to Gorilla, I started reflecting on my career. Slumming with different wrestlers in their hotel rooms. My numerous dark matches. My first live, televised match and facing my first rival: William "Grizzly" Bear. Saving him from a deranged fan in that same match. My first semi-major injury. The recovery and well wishes. Returning to action. The numerous new rivalries I had. Getting to team up with my best friends. And getting ready for the biggest match of my life, even if I was supposed to lose. But through it all, there was Carmen Solo. My beautiful, naughty muse. I would never take her for granted.

The match before the main event was halfway finished when Tyson Mel and his crew arrived at Gorilla. Everyone was in high spirits. Tyson above all others. Each of us took turns thanking one another for everything leading to that moment. So much time and effort were put into it. Only thing we needed to be sure of was to not screw anything up. Just before the last match ended, Tyson tapped me on the shoulder and asked to speak with me away from the others.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"I was born ready." my tone an obvious cliche.

"We know our spots?"

"We'll get 'em. And we're going to drive the crowd crazy."

"Damn right." he spoke before pausing. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah."

"Would you mind praying with me before the match?"

You had to give it to him. The guy accomplished so much in his career. Was known all around the world. Has held numerous titles across numerous continents. And yet he never forgot his humble upbringing. It would have been impossible not to admire him.

"Tyson," I replied "I'd be honored."

I extended my hand, as did he. Our palms connected loudly, muscles flexing like we were trying to make our veins explode. Somewhat similar to the arm-wrestling moment between Dutch and Dillon in the first Predator movie. Eyes closed and heads down, I stayed silent while Tyson "The Alpha" Mel said the prayer. When he was finished, all uncertainty and hidden doubt was completely washed away.

The last two wrestlers limped passed us and wished us good luck. The production team did their job playing a video package, showing a montage of the whole story between myself and Tyson. As well as his friends and mine. When it was finished, Tyson playfully punched me in the arm.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I'm about to go make an ass of myself."

"Don't worry, Tyson. I'll join you shortly."

With that, Tyson turned his back on me, the big prize wrapped around his waist, and started toward the back entrance to the stage.

Traditionally speaking, any time a title is being defended, the reigning champion(s) goes out last. But Tyson's persona was egotistical. The ultimate self-centered jerk. The whole show was about him. All of existence focused on him. Anything and anyone were beneath him.

His theme music started up. A type of techno remix from a popular video game franchise. Either Final Fantasy, or Minecraft. Whichever it was, it always got the crowd on its feet. I watched from a nearby monitor as Tyson strolled to the ring. Waving at some people, and giving the middle finger to others. He worked the crowd perfectly. Once inside the ring, he called for someone to hand him a mic. It was promo time.

"I look around, I look around, and I see a lot of angry faces. I know you people don't like me. I honestly don't care. I'm better than any one of you on my worst day. Smarter, too. And all of you are so very easy to manipulate."

The crowd booed loudly, enough to make the arena vibrate.

"You don't have to like it, but you damn well better accept it. Seriously. I'm dressed in my ring gear, title around my waist, and you people actually think I'm wrestling tonight. Just how stupid are you? My friends and I left a permanent crack in my opponent's head! He's not here tonight! So what if his buddies showed up and took the tag belts from my friends! We can always get them back!"

The fans continued to play into his hands. I was grinning from ear to ear. Tyson continued, setting me up.

"That's right, that's right. We'll get them back. And soon too. But tonight, I'm just gonna' take it easy. Tonight, I'm going to waste the rest of your evening. Hell, I just might take a nap in the ring. Unless there's someone in the back who has the balls to try and take this championship from me!"

"I'M YOUR HUCKLEBERRY." I spoke into a microphone backstage, my voice echoed throughout the MGM Grand.

I heard the sound of the gears moving, causing the giant pull-handle to come down. This was followed by the noise of the slot reels spinning. I could imagine three of my logos syncing up along the pay line. The chime of a winning payout sounded and I started making my way out of Gorilla and out onto the stage.

To my surprise, my regular entrance music was changed. In its place was something that made every hair on my body stand up. Blaring through the sound system was a cover of the classic John Williams "Superman" theme. The low notes replaced by a legion of bass guitars. The middle and high notes replaced by an armada of Les Paul electric guitars. Drums for drums, cymbals for orchestra chimes. And above all else matching note for note. No off-tempo improvisation.

The music caught me off guard and almost made me cry out of excitement. Anthony and I discussed something like this months back. A wishful desire I had as a kid if I were ever a hero wrestler. The man with the deepest pockets in the industry pulled it off. God knows how much in legal fees he had to pay just to have this approved that night. I looked back at Anthony who simply smiled and gave me the thumbs up before shooing me onward.

The crowd was deafening. Somewhere between screaming my name or just screaming in excitement. I stood on the stage and couldn't help myself. Taking a heroic, statuesque pose. Nothing flamboyant. But certainly standoff-ish. The production team anticipated this as all lights in the arena went out except for the blinding white lights behind me. From the audience's point of view, I was a heroic looking silhouette.

After a few seconds I stopped posing and headed toward the ring. Walking with a purpose. The arena lights returned to normal as I made my way down the ramp. Treading up the steel steps, onto the apron, maneuvering through the ring ropes and finally standing face to face with Tyson "The Alpha" Mel. My new music faded as did the noise from the crowd. I grabbed the mic out of Tyson's hand, raised it to my lips, and started talking.

"Tyson Mel, you look like someone just pissed on your tombstone." the crowd cheered following the statement. "I told you I would see you Sunday. You also know how these World Title matches work. You have nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. You call yourself The Alpha. Well consider me the omega! And I am ending your reign, tonight! RING! THAT! DAMN! BELL!"

The two of us backed away from each other long enough for the referee to enter the ring. As he went to Tyson to retrieve the World Title, I ripped my shirt off my chest. Just as it was designed to do. The referee gave the signal, the bell rung, and the main event was under way.

Tyson and I rush towards each other and began grappling. We tested our strength, pushing and shoving one another without losing our footing. Tyson was the first to get an advantage. He grabbed my arm and twisted it around my back into a hammerlock. I countered, using my free arm to elbow him in the side of the head while he stood behind me. From here I brought him to the mat using a headlock takedown, without releasing the hold.

We stayed in that position for a couple of seconds then pressed forward. Still in the headlock, Tyson and I got back up and he wrapped his arms around my waist. In this position he backed us into the nearest ring ropes and shoved me off of him. I ran to the other side of the ring, rebounded off those ropes and charged back. Within range I knocked him down by ramming my shoulder into his chest. The fans were screaming in approval. This was traditional chain wrestling.

The Alpha returned to his feet and got in my face. Our foreheads pressed against each other as we snarled and cursed one another. In truth we were planning our next sequence. Only the best lip readers in the world could have caught on, especially with Tyson's relatively long hair blocking our faces.

My opponent stepped back and open hand smacked me across my face. Bitch slap style. It was full contact. We both knew I could take it. The crowd groaned in unison from Tyson's assault. I simply smiled and struck next. I made my fist "in southern California, flew across the country, and connected with his face in Maine" as the fighter slang goes. Half strength, but it looked devastating. Especially from Tyson jumping off the mat and landing on his back. He covered his face and rolled out of the ring.

Recovering from my punch, Tyson stormed along the barricade in frustration. He looked angry and argued with the fans at ringside. Demanding their sympathy. The crowd had zero fucks to give about his pain. I watched and waited until he was right where I told him to be. That's when I made my next move.

As fast as I could, I slingshot myself off the ropes from one side and dove through the middle and bottom ropes closest to Tyson. I collided with him rather violently, forcing him to fall backwards against the barricade while I dropped where we hit. A rather basic Suicide Dive, but very dangerous even if perfectly executed.

Tyson crawled away creating a little distance between us. Slowly we both got up at the same time. When ready, I charged and him and tackled him through a corner of the ring barricade. A rather safe spot to do such a thing as no fans sit at the corners. We both rolled onto the concrete floor and out into the crowd.

The fans were going nuts. All of them chanting our names. Those closest to us risked being removed from the arena by patting our back and shoulders while trying to get quick selfies with us in the picture. You have to love opportunistic people in attendance. And I started hoping there wasn't a nut case lurking about like the one fan who I saved Grizzly from many months ago.

In other companies, if one or more wrestlers are outside the ring, the referee will begin a very long count to ten. When the referee reaches that number, whomever is still outside the ring will be disqualified. However; during title defenses, if the reigning champion is disqualified, the title does not pass onto the opponent.

Unlike other promotions, our company has a unique rule when it comes to defending our prized titles. Losing by count out is not a possibility. There is no ten count. Anyone outside the ring is given endless time to return to the squared circle. Because of this, Tyson and I had all the time in the world for what came next.

I got up first and hunted for Tyson. By then he was retreating as far away as he could. Fans helped me hunt him down. Pointing in the direction his cowardly ass went. I quickly chased after.

Just before I could strike, Tyson rammed me in the stomach with the backrest of a metal folding chair. Stolen from a nearby fan. The wind knocked out of me, I crumbled onto my hands and knees. Tyson gripped the chair by its legs and slammed it into my back. The sound of metal hitting flesh made nearby fans queasy. The impact knocked onto my stomach. I tried getting up again, only to be hit in the back by Tyson's chair a second time. The fans cursed at him; it was only natural to do so.

The next noise I heard was the chair being dropped onto the floor. Following this, Tyson rolled me onto my sore back and knelt by my side. Then he started striking me in the head. Over and over. Just as practiced, they were half strength. But it still hurt. Yet I was trained well past the point of caring. Tyson tried to punch me again but I caught his fist. I tried to secure him into my submission finisher. But he weaseled out of it and backed away from me.

I slowly got up and played into my injuries. I staggered about and stepped backwards next to a nearby fan in a neon pink shirt. Tyson charged at me, intent of connecting with this signature flying knee attack. I ducked away at the last second. This caused Tyson to crash into the fan wearing the shirt. The crowd reacted in shock at what happened. Tyson and I had to bite our own tongues to keep from laughing.

Of course, the fan wasn't an innocent bystander. He was a plant. A less known professional wrestler in disguise and placed in that location for that one moment. A rare trick that's been done for years when "accidental" things happen to attendees at ringside.

By now we were approaching the slot machine entrance. Our fight made us get onto the stage and battle back and forth. We took turns slamming each other against the set. Or faking the fans out by making them believe either of us was going to be thrown off the stage and fall ten feet onto the concrete below.

We approached the nearby commentary table, preparing for the next spot. Tyson grabbed my skull and headbutted me. Causing me to drop to my knees. He followed up by straight punching me in the face. This made me lay out on the ground.

The Alpha yelled at the commentators to back away from the table, unplugging their monitors at the same time. Next, he picked me up off the floor and got me to stand. I tried to hit him but he easily blocked it. His boot collided with my stomach and I doubled over. Just like Titan did to Max Stag, Tyson wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me up. Instead of swinging me over his shoulder for extra damage, he simply brought me up to a preferred height and powerbombed me straight through the commentary table. It exploded into wooden shrapnel.

It hurt more than it should and I started to feel a wetness along my spine. At first, I thought the table caused me to bleed. Then I felt a plastic bottle next my hand and realized it was never removed before I crashed through it. I sighed in relief. It was water I was feeling, not blood.