[Hammer] Wednesday SLEDGE [2-5] 03.14.01
David Hamrick
******************************************
** RINGSIDE, ARTHUR ASHE CENTER, 5:15pm **
******************************************
[The fans are restless. There's no match so far, and now
there's nobody even in the ring! A few large monitors here
and there are set out so they can view the backstage scenes,
but even still, they want to see some assbeating!]
JIMMY K. MAYNARD: [shaking his head] No Merciless... no refs...
things definitely are shaken up here on the return of Hammer,
here on Sledge.
HANSON BECKARD: The fans want some action, too... but, how can
there be a match if there's nobody to make the three-count?
JKM: Right.
HB: Dave, Will, and Ted need to figure something out and figure
it out _fast_.
JKM: Indubitably. We need to get some of these matches
underway... mainly Vinnie Carlucci and Phreek, who were supposed
to be fighting it out right this very second.
HB: Guess we're going to have to wait 'til Ted can find the refs.
JKM: I guess so.
[There's a punk rock princess in the ring.]
SHERRY MICHELLE: [brushes back her long, curled hair] This first
match for the evening... the RETURN of Sledge... is scheduled
for ONE FALL...
JKM: Oh wait... maybe...
HB: Is there going to be a match?
[Sherry looks around for a moment. There's no referee in the
ring, nor has there been any previous sign of one. The fans are
on their toes, getting anxious!]
#Oh my God! That's the funky...#
[Immediately, those anxious fans turn into cheering fans, for
they know that the action they so desired is only a moment away!
Prodigy's "Funky Shit" technotrances the building to its knees,
and quite a few of the people watching know who's coming out.]
SM: Coming to the ring first... weighing in at approxiamately
one hundred seventy-five pounds... he stands six feet and three
inches in height and is... GREEN!
JIMMY K. MAYNARD: Without a doubt in my mind, that's _got_ to
be Phreek! I guess we _are_ having this match, refs or no
refs!
HANSON BECKARD: I love that guy!
[The curtains push aside and out steps the green, bald, black-
eyed Phreek. He's wearing a full black singlet with matching
black longtights and black boots. Green on black, black on
green. It's asthetically pleasing, sure, but come on!]
SM: This is.... PHHHHHRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEK!
JKM: That is one odd looking man!
HB: I don't even think he's a man.
JKM: A jondised man, perhaps?
HB: I'm thinking martian. Maybe he's from Uranus, Jim?
JKM: Oh, the wit. How it cuts me.
[Phreek has quite the aljibar of cheers; he's had it ever
since originally teaming up with Hammer. Hammer Fans love
this light-skinned green guy that looks like something off the
front covers of old 1960's back issues of "TALES OF SCIENCE
FICTION!" magazine]
JKM: Hmmm... I still think it's odd that Phreek is as over with
the Hammer Fans as he is...
HB: Why's that? The guy's amazing!
JKM: Well... he is rather odd looking... and just a couple days
ago, he blatantly stated that he thought Hammer was a joke.
That the matches he had been fighting since penning his
contract with us were all jokes.
HB: He's just sad, Jim. The world's getting him down. He's
a brotha from a different motha -- a green motha.
JKM: What in God's name are you talkin about?
HB: Word to your sista!
JKM: Oh brother.
[To the chorus of welcoming fan cheers, Phreek makes his way
down to the ring. Behind him he drags a green trash bin. It
isn't the traditional steely-aluminum trash can wrestling
viewers are accustomed to seeing. Instead, it's the casual,
modern, green, box-shaped bin complete with handle and
plastic wheels for easier mobility.]
JKM: Phreek is now coming to the ring, ready to partake in
the first match here on Sledge since Hammer Wrestling's
return. This green-skinned man is definitely one of Hammer's
more preternatural wrestlers. I wonder what he's doing with
that trash container...
HB: Very odd, indeed. But, I like him -- he's also great
with the suplexes!
JKM: A little sloppy, yet knowledgable, yes.
HB: Who cares about sloppy, though? This isn't BNWF, Jim...
these guys aren't just some group of actors on a stage
doing some kind of crap...
JKM: Oh?
HB: This is one-hundred percent seriousness... so he _wants_
to be sloppy! Drop the guy on his neck! Spin him around
and let him land wrong! Do what they have to!
JKM: Indeed... but this is competition. Like in football,
baseball, hockey, or basketball... nobody wants to hurt their
opponents.
[Before entering the ring, Phreek pauses at the steps. He
extends his arms outward and arches his head back some.]
JKM: Hm?
HB: What's he-
[... then spits a mist of green... something?... out into the
air! The droplets disipate then fade, though some of it lands
on his skin. The darker flecks stand out on his lighter green,
though contrast to black upon it.]
HB: Ew.
[Phreek steps in to the ring and stands in the referee-less
center, patiently waiting for his opponent to arrive. A little
uncomfortable by the little, green man's presence, ring
announceress, Sherry Michelle, moves over to the side some.
Phreek mutters something, but Michelle just shrugs it off. She
doesn't care if the guy's offended -- he's weird looking!]
SM: _Its_ opponent...
[Phreek glowers.]
SM: ... hailing from The Bronx, New York, New York...
#Start spreading the news#
[Fairly large heel/face/neutral pop! All kinds of popping
going on! Orville Redenbaucher would be jealous with all
this popping! And hey, there's only about six hundred fans
in attendance, so that's some good ol' popping!]
HB: Wuh oh, Jim... here he comes! CAR! LOU! CHEE!
SM: ... he weighs in at approxiamately two-hundred seventeen
pounds and he is accompanied to the ring by Mike "The Muzzle"
Simms...
[The soft and melodious tones of the late, and always great, Frank
Sinatra are making their way over the public address system.]
JKM: The man who's been stirring things up big time in the
company... I should say, both these men coming out have been
stirring things up. Vinnie Carlucci and Mike Simms are the
focal points of controversy in Hammer Wrestling.
SM: ... here is... VINNIE... "THE ENFORCER"... CARRRLLLLUUUCCII!
#I want to wake up in a city that doesn't sleep#
#And find I'm king of the hill, top of the heap#
[Just now emerging from backstage is Vinnie "The Enforcer"
Carlucci. Dressed in a soft charcoal gray suit and red tie,
Vinnie looks dapper, quite houte-coture, this evening. Mike
"The Muzzle" Simms currently can't be found with him.]
HB: I don't know why you keep saying that... hell, I think the
deal with Jake Bishop and Bob is a _lot_ more controversial than
some vague, shot-in-the-dark assumption about Carlucci.
JKM: It may be a guess... but I'm getting more and more evidence
supporting my case -- I feel that Vinnie Carlucci is a criminal
and I think that others are finally beginning to see this, too.
#If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere#
#It's up to you: New York, New York#
[Climbing up the ring steps, Vinnie is all business. As he
enters, however, he cracks a slight smile. Just as quickly as
it appeared it vanishes. Carlucci removes his jacket and hands
it to Sherry. She looks a trite bit annoyed by his sangfroid
behavoiur, but just accepts it and removes his jacket from the
ring. Rolling up his dress shirt sleeves, Vinnie absentmindedly
chews his small pine white toothpick, watching his green
opponent from his spot.]
JKM: Still no sign of a referee, Bex.
HB: Have they even found out where the referees went, Jim?
JKM: It doesn't look like it. I wonder if there'll even be
an official for _this_ match-up.
HB: It'd be sort of odd if there was no-
#Hail to the king, baby#
[Huge pop! Ted Bruce's nameless theme, a rock anthem of sorts,
cues up over the sound system once more.]
JKM: Well, that's the Hammerhead Booker Ted Bruce's theme!
Perhaps Ted is coming out to tell us what the deal with the
referees is!
[Ted Bruce rips apart the curtains and pushes his way into the
light. But it's obvious by his appearance that he's come out
to do a little more than talk! Ted's got on a short-sleeve
orange and black referee's shirt -- he must be the one that's
going to be reffing the match!]
JKM: Ted Bruce has a referee's shirt on! What's going on here?
Is _Ted Bruce_ going to be the referee for this match-up?
HB: I don't know, Jim! But this certainly is remarkable!
[Behind Bruce, trying to keep his pace with the swiftly moving
Hammerhead, is Carlucci's atache, Mike "The Muzzle" Simms.
Carlucci's compatriot is dressed in a small fitting navy blue
suit, his broad shoulders obviously loosening the thread of the
somewhat cheap looking Versace knock off.]
JKM: And Vinnie Carlucci's "manager" -- if one could say that
-- Mike "The Muzzle" Simms is with him! What in the world?
HB: I guess Simms found him!
JKM: I guess so!
[As Bruce struts down to the ring, all reffed up and whatnot,
Simms follows, saying something a bit inaudible. What little
can be heard sounds as if he's trying to cut a deal with Ted.
Each time Simms says something, nodding his head to Bruce for
a reply, Ted just replies by pausing, putting his hand in the
center of Simms' chest, and clearly stating, "No."]
JKM: Looks like Simms is trying to do some of that "convincing"
him and Carlucci were discussing earlier.
HB: And it doesn't look like it's getting him much of anywhere.
[Carlucci, still gnawing away on his toothpick, watches the
conversation from his corner, keeping his beady eyes focused
on Ted. However, each time Ted says no, Carlucci sneers and
cracks his knuckles -- what could Simms be pitching at Bruce?]
JKM: Something smells fishy.
HB: Joo doity rat!
JKM: Grow up, Bex... this is serious here. I mean, if Mike
Simms and Vinnie Carlucci are trying to convince Ted to do
something of a criminal nature and Ted's rejecting? That
could very well mean Ted's life is in danger...
HB: Jim, for the last frikkin' time, you don't know that...
[Bruce stomps his way up the ringsteps and steps under. Simms
tries to follow, but Bruce quickly motions for the cro magnon
looking Carlucci-atache to "stay the hell out of my damn
ring." Ringside fans root and cheer for the Hammerhead,
sending laughs Simms' way. Simms, obviously a bit embarrassed
by Ted's brashness, adjusts his jacket and tries his best to
play it off.]
JKM: I guess we have a referee afterall, coming to us in the
form of Hammer's head booker, the guy who actually signed this
match, Ted Bruce!
HB: But how can Ted do this? Won't he be a little biased
towards Phreek -- doesn't he clearly have a problem with
Vinnie and Mike? I mean, this isn't fair!
[Phreek's in his corner, and Vinnie's in his -- Phreek looks
very ready to get things going, but Vinnie just looks angry.
Angry that Ted is the ref? Angry that Ted wouldn't take his
offer? Who knows! But he's one angry Italian right now and
that's all that matters.]
JKM: And Carlucci definitely doesn't look happy.
HB: This is a bad situation, Jim. Quite possibly, his first
match in Hammer wrestling could be soiled by the presence of
a man who doesn't care for him a whole awful lot!
JKM: I have faith in Ted's decisions, Bex. It'll be a clean
match... Ted's not the kind of guy to twist things like that.
Right now, his company's resting on his shoulders to put on
something watchable...
[A smirk from Bruce towards Carlucci makes the Italian spit
out his toothpick and glare a bit. Finally, Ted turns to
Sherry, who's now at ringside, and makes the signal to ring
the bell...]
#DING!#
*******************************************************
** OPENING BOUT: ONE FALL, FIFTEEN MINUTE TIME-LIMIT **
** Vinnie "The Enforcer" Carlucci vs. Phreek, 5:17pm **
** with special guest referee, Ted Bruce **
*******************************************************
[Things start fast.]
JIMMY K. MAYNARD: [commentating] Carlucci makes an early
swing at Phreek! No good! Ducked! Phreek waistlocks,
and -- spinning belly-to-belly suplex!
HANSON BECKARD: [commentating] Phreek's getting an early grip on
things here!
[Ted paces around the two as Phreek starts to stand. Carlucci
follows; a mere belly-to-belly at the opening bell isn't going
to be enough to put the New Yorker down.]
JKM: Carlucci tries to kick Phreek -- no! Caught! Phreek
hooks the leg... grabs Carlucci's head... CAPTURE SUPLEX!
Phreek releases him good! Quite a bit of power from the
much lighter Phreek!
HB: He's green, too!
JKM: Clearly -- nonchalant pin by Phreek!
[Phreek just throws his black boot over Carlucci's chest. Bruce
doesn't even have enough time to get to the mat before Carlucci
shoves him away, sitting up in the process.]
JKM: Phreek's showing off some of those suplexes of his.
HB: For a guy who's only, what? One-seventy? Man, Jim, he's
got some power backing him up!
JKM: Indeed he does... but as you can see, there's some texture
to that green skin.
HB: Yep.
JKM: Carlucci's now crawling away... here comes Phreek from behind,
and -- back elbowed right in the jaw! Carlucci just sent his
elbow right into Phreek's teeth!
[The green machine throws a hand over his sore mouth, wincing at
the familiar pain of one's teeth being knocked loose. Carlucci
gets up, grabs Phreek by his other arm, and whips him into the far
ropes.]
JKM: Phreek's goin' for the ride... now on his way back...
HB: Damn.
JKM: ... Vinnie with a backdrop! Carlucci's now into this game
with some power moves of his own!
HB: From what I've seen at recent shows, Vinnie's less of a
grapple/power guy.
JKM: Definitely.
[Carlucci starts stomping the hell out of Phreek. Boom, boom,
boom, boom, boom! Mobster style!]
JKM: He's carried himself as more of a brawler... using his fists
and other unsavory methods to get the job done.
HB: Yeah, but it's not like the guy is move-dumb; he's got a
couple of tricks up his sleeve, still.
JKM: Yep.
[When Phreek gets a hold of the bottom rope, Ted Bruce forces
Carlucci to back-up. The well-dressed Italian doesn't look
pleased by Ted's decision, but he complies. At ringside,
Simms can be seen pacing around, watching not only his comrade
Vinnie do his job, but keeps a tight focus on the guest referee
as well.]
JKM: Carlucci's getting Phreek back up now... he tries for a
clothesline -- no! Phreek goes under, locks him up... he --
head and arm suplex! And Carlucci is back down again! What
power!
HB: Shoot, I'd get confused with all those suplexes!
JKM: Phreek goes right down with him to try to make a cover!
He's got Carlucci locked up pretty tight and it's... no! Ted
Bruce can only get to a two-count!
HB: Barely a two from the looks of it.
JKM: Yes, barely a two... Carlucci hangs on. Very resilient.
[Greenman's getting back up, but doesn't hesitate to drag Carlucci
up with him. He's wanting to keep this match in his pocket for as
long as he possibly can.]
JKM: Pow!
[... but it's not in his pocket no more!]
JKM: Carlucci's breaking free from Phreek's momentum with some
hard rights! Again! Again! Again! Phreek's taking each one
of them without any form of resistance!
HB: Wouldn't you? That's a New Yorker's fist... hell, I think
those guys pop out the womb with boxing gloves on, Jim.
JKM: Heh!
[Carlucci spins Phreek by his arm and slings him off the ropes.
But Phreek doesn't have a whole lot of room to slingshot --
a quick knee by the ropes from Carlucci winds him! Spinning
the green freak again, Carlucci sends him to the opposite end
of the ring. This time he follows up with a...]
JKM: Clothesline! Carlucci levels Phreek with a clothesline,
sending the green man up and over the top rope and outside to
the floor below!
[Vinnie can't help but turn to the referee and smirk. Bruce
doesn't look amused by this turn of the tables one bit.]
JKM: Well, Phreek's outside and... what's this?
[Mike Simms approaches Phreek and gingerly helps the oddity
get to his feet. All business again, Simms starts to discuss
some matters with the human cucumber...]
JKM: I, think -- I, uhm... what's Simms doing?
HB: Not sure.
[Simms reaches into the front of his coat pocket and withdraws
an envelope. Sticking out the top of it are dollar bills! And
not just ones, fives, tens, and twenties; these denominations
are quite a bit higher and it's awfully obviously that Mike Simms
is making Phreek, *ahem*, "an offer he can't refuse."]
JKM: Is "The Muzzle" trying to pay Phreek off?
HB: I'm not sure...
JKM: But, he can't do that! This is a wrestling match! These
men are criminals!
HB: Now, Jim... it could simply be nothing more than a friendly
gift!
JKM: I don't think _anybody_ would offer that much as a
"friendly gift"... especially not to the man Vinnie Carlucci
is supposed to be _wrestling_!
[Simms continues to do his convincing. Phreek, panting heavily,
listens for a moment. It sounds interesting... all that money...
Phreek could probably buy some cosmetic surgery! Perhaps get
him a nice purple hooker with all of it! Wowzers!]
JKM: Oh my!
[But, he don't want Simms' stinkin' money! And he proves this
with a punch to Simms' face! Simms backs off, clutching at his
nose. Phreek's enraged now!]
JKM: Here comes Carlucci from behind!
[Carlucci bowls Phreek over with a powerful clothesline! The
green machine stumbles into one of the orange barrier barrels
and rests for a moment. But Carlucci's not done with him yet!
Nuh uh!]
JKM: This match has moved to the outside, it seems. Ted's making
the twenty count, but I don't think either of these two seem
to hear him!
HB: The first taste of Hammer hardcore, Jim. It's a necessity!
JKM: Maybe it is... but they're going to get nowhere if they're
both counted out!
#DONG!#
[That was the sound of a bald, green cranium being smacked
against the steel ringpost. Carlucci laughs it up some as he
smacks Phreek around.]
JKM: He's just mocking Phreek now! What a villain!
HB: Nah... Carlucci knows what he's doing. He's just trying to
smack some sense into Phreek.
JKM: I thought you were behind Phreek...
HB: I can't be behind him if he's going to be getting his green
butt handed to him during the match, Jim.
JKM: Only because Carlucci is a cheater!
HB: Oh, hardly!
[Phreek's trying to escape, crawling away on all fours. Carlucci
won't let him go too quickly, though! He takes the nearest camera
cable and slips it over the green man's head, around his neck. He
then presses his left Italian shoe to Phreek's back, and PULLS!]
JKM: This is outrageous!
[Some of the ringside fans are quickly beginning to dislike
Carlucci. More importantly, Ted Bruce, the ref, is really not
liking Carlucci, nor what he's doing with that camera cable.]
TED BRUCE: [from the ring apron] HEY! Break it up! Put that
down! Put it down, _now_, dammit!
[Sighing, Carlucci shrugs and complies, giving Bruce a Fonzie-like,
"Eyyy, what'd I do?" look. And during this moment of distraction,
Carlucci becomes open for...]
HAMMER FANS: WHOOO!
[... a chest slap by Phreek!]
JKM: Big chest slap from Phreek! I think that move almost cut
Carlucci's tie in half!
[Clutching his shirted chest, Carlucci stumbles away from Phreek.
Phreek, flustered by the cheating choke, waistlocks Carlucci
from behind. But a mere chestslap is definitely not enough to
stun Carlucci for too long!]
JKM: Jawbreaker by Carlucci! Phreek's really getting it to his
jaw tonight!
HB: He's going to need to see the veternarian after this!
JKM: And just two days ago, there you were supporting him.
HB: Hey, if that troll wants to turn things around right now and
dominate Carlucci, I'll be behind him one-hundred percent!
JKM: Phreek's controlled most of the match-up! What are you
_talking_ about?
HB: Is he in control now? No, I didn't think so.
JKM: Ugh. So fickle.
[Still rubbing his chest, Carlucci grabs Phreek by the scruff of
his neck and rolls him back into the ring. Ted pretty much
stopped counting half a minute ago, so there's not a whole lot
of worry there. He still doesn't look too pleased with Carlucci,
though.]
JKM: Phreek's trying his best to get to his feet... and Carlucci
is gradually climbing back up onto the apron...
HB: It's all downhill from here! But that's not too bad for
Phreek... they say the grass is always _greener_ on the other
side of the hill!
JKM: Oh dear.
[Phreek turns! Carlucci punches!]
JKM: Phreek caught Carlucci's punch!
[He certainly did! In one hasty manuever, Phreek grabs Carlucci
up by the shoulders, hooks him at the crotch, lifts him up
horizontally and falls back...]
JKM: Fallaway slam!
[Certainly is!]
JKM: And Phreek bridges and hooks for the pin!
[Ted swoops down to the mat with astounding speed! From there
it's a one... it's a two... and it's a...]
JKM: It's no good! Carlucci's out at two and a half!
HB: Phew. Good! I'm glad that Phreek's not gonna win!
JKM: Wait, you said-
HB: I'm changing my mind here. The fans are behind Phreek, and
I'm always one for the underdog.
JKM: Your stupidity surprises me sometimes, Hanson...
HB: Pfft.
[Phreek and Carlucci are up!]
JKM: Phreek kicks! NO! Caught by Carlucci! ENZUIGUIRI! Phreek
just dropped Carlucci with an enzuiguri kick to the face of
Vinnie "The Enforcer" Carlucci!
[Vinnie stumbles away, rubbing his jaw -- it's some payback from
Phreek whose jaw had fallen victim to quite a few jaw-related
moves from Carlucci earlier in the bout.]
JKM: Phreek with a big boot to Carlucci's stomach! And... he's
locking him UP, he -- DOUBLE-ARM DDT! DOUBLE-ARM DDT!
[Sure was! Carlucci's head bounced off the mat under the impact
of the chicken-wing style DDT. Instead of going for the pin,
though, Phreek seems more interested in rolling outside of the
ring.]
HB: Where's he going?
JKM: He could be making the pin here -- he could have won it!
HB: What a green doofus!
[Phreek reaches under the ring's apron and begins tugging out a
long wooden table. Immediately, the fans start to bonkers!
Simms, surprisingly enough, is keeping his distance. Meanwhile,
in the ring, Carlucci's still down, lying flat on his face.
Although it looks like Phree's about to cheat his way into a
win, Bruce doesn't even seem to mind what Phreek's doing.]
HB: This isn't a hardcore match!
JKM: You said earlier that Hammer needs to show off some of its
hardcore potential!
HB: No way! Not like this! If he puts Carlucci through that
table, Bruce _better_ call for the bell! That's cheating!
JKM: Cheating to you is whatever you currently don't like, Bex.
Bruce is allowing it, so it's _not_ cheating. He's the ref!
HB: But!
[Phreek shoves the table into the ring. Next, he grabs a pair
of steel folding chairs and slides those in, too. When the
three weapons are in the ring, the greenman reenters.]
JKM: Two chairs and a table!
HB: Ted Bruce can _not_ allow this!
JKM: There's no official officials... Ted Bruce is the man in
charge here; it's his match. If Ted Bruce wants for Phreek to
use tables and chairs, then, by God, Phreek will use some tables
and chairs!
HB: It isn't fair... if that was Carlucci or Simms, they'd
already be returning to the lockers, losing off of a
disqualification -- and you know this, Jim! Biased!
[Phreek sets up the table in the nearest corner. He then takes
both chairs, unfolds them, and set them on top of the table.
Each one faces each other, almost as if a pair of invisible
people were sitting in the two, having a conversation.]
JKM: I can't believe Carlucci is still out... that double-arm
DDT must have knocked something loose...
HB: He _could_ be faking it.
JKM: Could be...
[Phreek gets Carlucci up by his feet and pulls him into the
corner. Lifting him up, he gives the Italian a nice little seat
on the top turnbuckle. From there, he stands on the middle-ropes,
raises his green fist, and...]
HAMMER FANS: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT!
NINE!
JKM: Skull-smashing punches by Phreek!
[Before he hits the number ten punch, Phreek spits more of that
green mist of his into the air! From where? Who knows! But
as the cloud of green goo slowly descends onto the pair, Phreek
realizes the error of his ways!]
JKM: Carlucci's alive!
[... and he's just shoved Phreek off the ropes and back to the
table! However, Phreek's body doesn't go crashing through it;
instead, he turns and lands _jaw_ first on the table, falling
to the side afterwards. Carlucci, whose face is now covered
in flecks of Phreek's green spit, hops down from the turnbuckle
and grabs Phreek by his bald head.]
JKM: What's he doing with that chair?
[Carlucci just pulled one of the chairs off the table!]
HB: Heh heh! Looks like he's setting it up! Looks to me like
he's going to utilize some of his hidden strength by dropping
Phreek onto it!
JKM: Hmm... and I guess Bruce has to let this go...
HB: He sure as hell does!
[The chair is set into a sitting position facing away from the
table about five feet away from it. Carlucci stands Phreek
just in front of it -- Phreek's dazed, wobbling somewhat in
the center of the ring.]
JKM: What's he -- SUPERKICK BY CARLUCCI! Big superkick!
Carlucci calls that move "The Rub Out!"
[The impact sends Phreek back, lands him into a sitting position
in the chair, and then tumbles him and the chair backwards! He
and the chair land with a thud and Carlucci just laughs.
Cockily, the Italian struts over and makes a very weak pin while
Phreek is still sitting in the chair, yet with his shoulders to
the mat.]
JKM: Just look at Ted... he doesn't want to have to make this
count!
HB: He'd best! He can't just up and decide that because he
doesn't _like_ Carlucci that he doesn't have to make the pin!
JKM: You're right, it wouldn't be fair, despite Carlucci's
egotistical nature.
[One... two... Phreek's able to get out. The fans let out a
fairly good pop for the green machine. Carlucci sneers a bit
and curses -- possibly mumbling something in Italian. Bruce
can't help but grin as he stands back up.]
JKM: What's he... ? Mike Simms has just gotten something out of
Phreek's trash can and he's now rolling it into the ring!
HB: I think they're -- are they? They are!
JKM: Lightbulbs!
HB: Lightbulbs!
JKM: A pair of long, flourescant lightbulbs have been put into
the ring by Carlucci's partner! Why in the world did Phreek
bring those to the ring?
HB: Maybe they're blacklights? I heard the guy glows with
those things!
[Carlucci picks on up and holds it like a baseball bat. Phreek's
now come to, and he's standing!]
JKM: CARLUCCI JUST SWUNG!
HB: Batter up!
JKM: NO! Phreek ducked it! He ducked -- PHREEK'S GOT ONE, TOO!
[Phreek holds his with just one hand... Carlucci swings again!]
#BOCK-POP!#
[That was the sound of two flourescant lightbulbs hitting each
other, and shattering. See... light bulbs don't break the
conventional way, but instead, they implode. So instead of
them "KER-ASSH!"ing they "BOCK-POP!"]
JKM: Both of their weapons have been crushed!
HB: There's little pieces of white glass all over the ring!
[Carlucci throws aside the remains of his lightbulb... by now,
Bruce is going nuts, a little peeved at _both_ men! Afterall,
this is the first match in Hammer and these two goons are
turning it into some kind of hardcore bout! Vinnie waistlocks
Phreek and...]
HAMMER FANS: OOOOOOH!
JKM: Good Christ!
HB: Ha!
[... belly-to-belly suplexes Phreek right onto the little white
shards of flourescant lightbulb glass! When Phreek hits, he
writhes and wiggles like a fish out of water, clutching as his
green back -- but now, with all the little pieces of glass, it
looks more like green with white polka-dots back!]
JKM: I can't believe he'd just brutally do something like that!
HB: This all goes back to what I said about doing what it takes,
Jim. We're Hammer -- not those _other_ guys. They might want
their movie star wrestlers doing these dazzling coreographed
stunts that are obviously fake...
[After slapping him around some, Carlucci gets Phreek -- he's
still in agonizing pain -- up to his feet and drags him over to
the table which is still very much there.]
HB: But we are, without a doubt, one-hundred and two percent
on the level!
#THWACK!#
[That, of course, was the sound of Phreek's head bouncing off
the table top.]
#THWACK!#
HAMMER FANS: YEAAAAAH!
[And _that_ was the sound of Phreek taking _Carlucci's_ head and
bouncing _it_ off the table! The fans go nuts as Phreek, whose
back is still painted with tiny shards of broken glass, brings
the ball back into his court. If anything, that belly-to-belly
suplex rejuvinated him, putting him back into this bout at
one-hundred percent effeciency.]
HAMMER FANS: WHOOO!
JKM: Chest slap by Phreek! He's back! He's back!
HB: Wuh oh!
JKM: Phreek sends Carlucci to the ropes! Phreek follows, he --
GOES FOR A TACKLE! NO! NO! Carlucci lifts him up and over
and... Phreek lands on the apron! He's got Carlucci by the
hair! He's got Carlucci by the-
HAMMER FANS: BOOOOOOO!
["The Muzzle" just grabbed Phreek's foot and pulled him off
the apron! Phreek fell straight down and landed right on...]
JKM: His jaw! His jaw!
HB: Again with the jaw! Ha!
[Bruce, who lost control of this match some time ago, didn't
even see Simms' little cheating move. The fans are going off,
giving the duo a titanic response of heat.]
JKM: I can't believe Bruce didn't see that! Simms cheated!
He cheated, dammit!
HB: Simms did what he had to do to get the job done!
[Simms, keeping his eyes locked on Bruce, that same poker
face plastered on his mug, rolls Phreek back into the ring.
When Bruce asks what the hell he's doing, Simms just shrugs
and Carlucci taps Bruce on the shoulder and replies...]
VINNIE CARLUCCI: Ey, he's jus' makin' sure Phreek don't go
runnin' out on me, Brucie!
[To which Bruce replies with a spit to the mat and a glare
that could twist the earth's axis. Vinnie just shrugs in reply.
Meanwhile, Phreek's slowly getting back to his feet, rubbing
his jaw as he stands. Carlucci squats some, charges forward,
and...]
JKM: Another superkick!
HB: Rub Out!
[The impact of Carlucci's foot didn't knock Phreek out, but
instead, sent him back into the ropes, rebounding straight back
for Carlucci...]
JKM: Vinnie's got him twisted around... he's... got the arm...
and... he's... INVERTED FRONT FACELOCK!
[Carlucci locks his hands under Phreek's back and kneels! He
shouts and tilts his head back, constricting his large, Italian
biceps around Phreek's stringy, green neck. Phreek struggles to
get free, but his feet are slipping on the pieces of broken
glass...]
JKM: THAT'S "SLEEPING WITH THE FISHIES!" He's got on his finisher
in the dead center of the ring! He-
[Phreek starts waving his hand! He's done for! Bruce's response
is VERY audible...]
TED BRUCE: [stomping] GOD DAMMIT!
[... and he has no choice but to turn to Sherry and signal for the
bell.]
#DING DING DING!#
*************************************
** END OF THE MATCH, 5:25pm (7:29) **
*************************************
[With his grips on Phreek released, Carlucci stands and smirks.
Bruce stands aside, putting his hands to his hips. It's very
apparent that he's not happy about this one bit.]
JIMMY K. MAYNARD: Well, that's done with... Carlucci walks away
the winner after an assist from his manager, Mike "The Muzzle"
Simms.
HANSON BECKARD: Assist my foot! Carlucci had the match in his
hands even without Simms! Simms was just rushing the eventual
ending!
[Sherry Michelle stands from her little spot beside the ring
bell to make the official match decision...]
SHERRY MICHELLE: Your winner by submission... VINNIE...
"THE ENFORCER"... CAR-
[Something then grabs ol' Sherry's attention!]
JKM: Oh no!
HB: Ack! The stink! The stink!
[Sherry watches as a strange, high-pitched (and drunken) whistle
begins to make its way to the ring. Simms and Carlucci are
making their own ways to the back when they pass by the whistler;
it's Hammer's hobo, Hook Watkins, strolling to the ring! He's
still got that box of chocolates and the ballons in tow and is
headed right for Sherry!]
JKM: It's Hook Watkins! Why's he coming down to the ring?
[Then Ted passes him along with Phreek, who seems to be limping
somewhat. Hook momentarily bumps into Phreek, but the tired green
man shoves the bum aside, already enraged by Carlucci and Simms.
Phreek just doesn't have time to deal with stagnant drunkards
carrying candy and balloons.]
JKM: He's making his way towards Sherry!
HB: Wuh oh... this sure doesn't look good...
[Hook stops, and takes a deep breath, and lets out a belch. He's
obviously drunk out of his mind, and as he begins to walk again,
he trips over his own feet...]
HB: We have a stink down! I repeat, a stink down!
JKM: Grow up, Bex... the man is clearly intoxicated. But what
is he doing with that candy? Why's he going towards Michelle?
Is this what Nathan Rancid paid for him to do?
[Sherry quickly moves over to assist the old homeless man.]
SM: [helping the smelly old guy to his feet] Hey, are you all
right? *sniff sniff* Oh GOD! You _stink_!
[She quickly pulls her "AVAIL" shirt's neck over her nose, but
tries to be kind about it, cautiously pulling Watkins back to his
feet. Ringside fans match her enthusiasm by placing their own
shirts over their noses as well; Hook Watkins is truly one
unsanitary dude.]
JKM: What's this guy's deal, though?
[Hook's finally up to his trembling feet; two of the balloons
are popped, his box of candy is smashed, and he looks even worse
than before.]
HB: That old fart probably broke a hip!
[Hook the Hobo opens his mouth and out comes the stench of alcohol.
Sherry's drawn back by this and steps even further away from the
old fool.]
HOOK WATKINS: Hah-hah-HERE. I was shhhhhhhhh-upose'ta give this
to you.
[He hands the popped balloons and the crumbled box of candy to
Sherry, and her face contorts.]
SM: [looking the stuff over] Uhhhh, okay. Who sent 'em?
them?
[Hook closes his eyes, and takes a breath. Trying to keep
conciousness.]
HW: Da-da... *BELCH!*
SM: [trying to dispell of the stench by waving her hand] Gah!
Jeez!
HW: ... Damian Riot.
[Hook Watkins then walks off, FAR from walking a straight line.
Sherry watches the drunk old hobo stumble off, but can't help
but wonder about this gift from Damian Riot she's just received.]
JKM: Watkins said it's from Damian Riot!
HB: Awww... Damian Riot has a crush!
JKM: It seems so.
SM: [screaming] OH GOD! YUCCCCCK!
[From inside the box, Sherry withdraws a piece of half-eaten
chocolate, glistening with Hook's drool and slobber. It almost
looks as if a dog had began to gnaw on it, then spit it out
right back into the box!]
SM: What the hell -- who the hell does he think he is?! God!
[Sherry desperately tries to wipe the disgusting chocolate from
her hands, rubbing her fingers on the ring apron. But that
smell, that feel -- it won't come off for some time!]
JKM: Disgusting! Sherry Michelle seems furious! Does she
have any idea that it was Hook Watkins eating the candy?
HB: I think she thinks that Riot sent it as some sort of gag
gift!
JKM: But that's not true, she --
[Angered, her face scrunching up into a wrinkle of frustration,
Sherry stomps up the aisle. She' definitely not happy about
Damian Riot's thoughtless gift.]
JKM: Well, as Sherry Michelle's disappearing back to the
dressing rooms...
HB: She's probably going to try to wash some of that stink off.
Might as well burn her clothes and jump in a vat of acid.
That's probably the only thing anyone could really do to get
of Hook Watkins' stink.
JKM: Right. Anyways, she's going back there, so let's turn
now to this previously recorded promo from one of Hammer's
latest additions: "Bad Boy" Bobby Kamakazee! He's set to face
"Cooler Than You" Mark Marshall in a few moments...
HB: Marshall!
JKM: Indeed.
HB: Man... I don't even know how they're going to fight it out
with this place smelling like Watkins.
JKM: Oh, will you drop it?
[The shot fades away to...]
*****************************************
** "SUCCESS THROUGH FAILURE", 5:27pm **
** (a previously recorded promo video) **
*****************************************
[...a scene opening up with a black screen, but coming into focus
with the shot of a limo. In slow motion the door opens and out
steps a man wearing a pair of khaki pants, a black muscle shirt
showing that this man is not one to mess with, and a pair of black
sunglasses. The surrounding environment is that of a slightly
dark arena parking lot. There are police barriers holding back
photographers and fans from getting to this man with the sandy
blonde hair hanging down past his shoulders. The man is carrying
a small Nike gym bag over his shoulder. He shuts the door behind
him and the flashbulbs around him would be enough to blind most
people. The man: "Bad Boy" Bobby Kamakazee. This wrestling
sensation begins his trek toward the locker room. Not a word is
spoken by the Bad Boy right now, however, his voice is heard...
almost as if it were his thoughts. His voice is somewhat solemn as
he walks...]
BOBBY KAMAKAZEE: [voiced over] I've missed over 10,000 moves in my
career.
[A brief pause happens as the shot scans around the parking lot at
the photographers taking pictures. A brief shot of Bobby going
for an elbow drop and his opponent rolling out of the way is
flashed on the screen. It then shows a close-up of Bobby's face
as he continues walking.]
BK: [voiced over] I've lost almost 200 matches.
[A quick flash of Bobby being pinned is shown. The look of
anguish and defeat on Bobby's face shows how upsetting this loss
was. Another pause as an event security man, white hair and
wrinkled skin, smiles at Bobby as he opens the door.]
BK: [voiced over] Thirty-three times I've been so close to
winning the World Title in a federation... and lost.
[A flash of Bobby watching as a man walks away carrying a World
Title belt shows the look of defeat in his eyes. The beads of
sweat falling down his face. The shot now has a back view of
Bobby... he's walking down a long, dark hallway by himself
now...]
BK: [voiced over] I've let down a friend in the ring when they
needed me more times than I'd like to remember...
[A shot of Bobby looking on as a man is hit in the head by a
chair is shown. In the shot, Bobby drops his head into his
hands and shakes his head in disbelief. Back in the arena,
Bobby's locker room door is shown. Bobby turns the knob and
begins to enter...]
BK: [voied over] I've failed over and over and over again
in my life...
[The camera zooms in once again on Bobby's face. Bobby looks
up at the camera now and allows a cocky, yet innocent grin
cross his face...]
BK: [voiced over] ... and that is why... I succeed.
[A shot of Bobby's hand being raised in victory is shown now.
From there, the scene fades away to commercials.]
*********************************
** COMMERCIAL BREAK #2, 5:28pm **
*********************************
[This car is definitely the best! This shirt sure does like
nice! This sports athlete drinks this drink! This pair of
shoes lets him run faster, jump higher! Product, product,
product! Buy, buy, buy! Spend your money! Spend it all!
Commercials are everything!]
***************************************************************
** MARK MARSHALL'S DRESSING ROOM, ARTHUR ASHE CENTER, 5:31pm **
***************************************************************
[The scene is backstage, where the cameras can see Mark
Marshall standing... in front of a mirror.]
HANSON BECKARD: [voiced over] It's Marshall! Woohoo!
JIMMKY K. MAYNARD: [voiced over] Oh dear...
MARK MARSHALL: Let me see... crush him slowly... nah. Must give
the fans some time of seeing me. Maybe I can break his leg and
then drag him around the arena? Done before.
[Mark fixes his hair, while making a pose to show his
musculature.]
MM: Well, whatever. A man who calls himself "Bad Boy", is in
fact some Lazy Girl from inside. So, I think I will pull some
Lazy Girl's hair and poke him in the eyes... maybe I can drop
him on mud? Nah, that will bring a Hammer Women Division
instantly. Hey, thinking better...
[Mark laughs loud, as if his joke was really funny.]
MM: Anyway, it's Lazy Girl tonight. I hope he likes a spanking.
And then, the Freak guy. Gee, where those guys got those names?
Metron, Bubble, Tim Oxygen, Lazy Girl... I mean, what is this,
Hammer Wrestling or Cirque du Soleil? I knew I should have
accepted that tryout match at BNWF -- nah. That has more strange
people than here.
JKM: [voiced over] That's for sure.
HB: [voiced over] Ha! I love that guy!
[The cam' decides to leave Mark in his own world. There comes
a knock to his door, and a orange-shirted security guy peeps
his head in...]
SECURITY GUY: [sticking his head in] Couple more minutes,
Marshall...
[Marshall nods. From there, the scene slips away to...]
Continued in Part Three.