Post by Press1269 on Feb 14, 2020 21:01:44 GMT
PHILO: Well, it's time to find out who's going to advance to face Stevie Harris on St. Patrick's Day! This match promises to be a good one, but I'm just not sure how Cross Recoba is going to get around Press' massive size.
CHARISSA: Your guess is as good as mine, but I'm positive that if theres anyone who can figure it out, it's Cross Recoba. That man doesn't have phat stacks for a no reason, Philo. He's a smart one, and a tough guy to boot.
PHILO: Maybe so, but its kind of hard to bet against Press considering his performance level since arriving here in PAW. From day one he's been beating ass, and taking names, and I just don't know if there's anyone on our roster who can take him. I know the big man had some serious words for Cross Recoba earlier this week, and I'm afraid we're going to see that destructive side of his before this contest is done.
CHARISSA: Maybe so, but Cross Recoba is a master manipulator and a genius at getting people riled up in order to make a mistake. I have no doubt that he has Press' documented temper on his mind going into this, and he'll use it against him if at all possible.
PHILO: Well, speculation time is over, Charissa. Rhonda's in the ring, and this match is ready to go down!
he lights dim in the arena as Joe Walsh's 'Turn to Stone' sounds across the arena. The fans jeer and boo in disgust as they know what to expect when they hear the distinctive distorted power-chords that start the song. The lights focus on the entrance to the ramp as Cross Recoba comes through the curtain. He brushes his shag haircut off his eyes and looks at the crowd. He instinctively clutches the crucifix necklace that hangs from his neck, and tightens his grip on the briefcase in his left hand. He walks to the ring with purpose, only looking away from the ring to answer hecklers in the crowd.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Introducing first, standing at 5'10" tall, and weighting in at 230 lbs. He hails from Las Vegas, Nevada...He is 'The Fox'.....CROSS RECOBAAA!!!
Recoba reaches the ringside area and leaps onto the apron, smiling out at the disapproving audience before stepping through the ropes and dropping the briefcase over in a corner while waiting for his opponent. He doesn't have to wait long as the lights go dim and "Strangle Hold" begins to blare across the arena. Red strobe-lights begin to flicker all around the ring and ramp way, and finally settle on the entry way where the silhouette of the massive Press can be seen standing in the curtain. These words can be seen clearly up on the big screen above the entrance.
WITH THIS PASS
I CAN GO ANYWHERE I DAMN WELL PLEASE!
At the chorus of the song he bursts through the curtain, and thrusts his black chair, with the words "Press Pass" painted across the seat, high up into the air, with a grimace spread across his face.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Introducing his opponent, standing at 6'11" tall, and weighting in at 365 lbs. He Hails from New Orleans, Louisiana, and represents one half of The BombTrax....THIS. IS. PRESSSS!!!
He scans the crowd as he stalks down towards the ring, and upon reaching the squared circle he throws his chair under the bottom rope, hops up on the apron, and enters the ring by swinging his leg up and over the top rope. Before he can get the other leg into the ring, however, Cross Recoba rushes over, trapping the big man onto the ropes with right hands directly to his skull. He then takes a step back, and kicks right up into the top rope, bringing it jarringly into Press' crotch. Press doubles over the rope, holding his midsection, as Recoba steps over and scoops up the big man's 'Press Pass'. As A-Ref tries to berate Cross, he nudges the referee out of the way, and then clobbers Press across the back of the head and shoulders, sending him lurching forward and down off the ring apron to the concrete below.
PHILO: This match hasn't even officially started, and Cross Recoba is already all over Press!
CHARISSA: I guess that's what your dumb ass gets when you bring a weapon to your opponent.
Press struggles to get back to his feet, as Cross steps out onto the ring apron, chair still in hand, to await his rising opponent. When the big man finally gains his footing, Cross leaps off of the ring apron, bringing the chair crashing down across Press' head. The big man crumples face first to the floor, and Recoba steps over him, raising the chair, and bringing it down again and again and again. After six chairshots, he abandons the twisted and bent weapon, and looks out at the crowd with a smirk. They boo him unmercifully.
PHILO: This crowd letting Cross Recoba know exactly what they think of him, and I tend to agree. I mean, this is some bullshit! The match hasn't even started, and I'd have to say Cross now has a distinct advantage.
CHARISSA: Wrong, Philo! 'The Fox' is just living up to his nickname. He's used guile and cunning to even up the size advantage Press brings to the table by cutting a few inches off that big oaf. NOW, this match is finally even.
PHILO: Whatever, Charissa. We might not even get a match at this rate, if Press isn't able to continue, and that cheats everyone, myself included, out of finding out what might have happened if it was on the up and up.
As the commentators continue their ethical debate, Cross doesn't give anyone the chance to look over Press, before helping the big man up to his feet, and shoves him in the ring. He quickly follows, popping up, and twirling his finger for A-Ref to ring the bell. After a brief moment of checking on Press, A-Ref shoots Cross a dark look, but points to the timekeepers position, and the bell sounds out signaling the start of the match.
PHILO: Well, this thing is officially underway now, but the damage has been done. Press is barely able to stand, having to use the turnbuckles to get to his feet, and Cross is just waiting on him to get upright. OH! Vicious right hand by Recoba, and another. The man's lighting into him like a piston in an engine!
As Cross continues his assault on Press, the big man reaches up with one of his massive paws, and shoves Recoba off, sending the man down to the mat. Cross, however, rolls through the landing to come back up to his feet, and rushes right back in on Press with more hard rights. Once again Press reaches out, this time grabbing Recoba by the face, and just mushes him backwards with one great shove. Cross, one more time, hits the mat and rolls through, pops back up to his feet, and charges back on the attack. This time, however, instead of meeting no resistance, Cross runs face first into the point of Press' elbow. Cross snaps back, stumbling towards the center of the ring, as Press reaches up and wipes blood from his lower lip. He spits over the ropes to the outside of the ring, and with a grim visage, stalks towards Cross.
CHARISSA: Uh-oh! This doesn't look good!
As Cross turns back to face his opponent, Press drives in a right of his own, this one, unlike the smaller mans, sends Recoba thundering to the canvas. He pops up quickly, but is caught once again with another massive right hand that sends him back down. He pops up for a third time, and instead of a right hand, Press grabs him by the forearm, pushes him back into the ropes, and then sends him for the ride to the opposite side. Cross rebounds off the ropes, and ducks a clothesline attempt from Press. On his way back through he ducks a back elbow. On his third pass, Press ducks his head for a back body, but instead, Cross is able to slow himself down enough to send a soccer like kick right into the big man's face that snaps him back upright. Recoba then rushes back to the ropes for momentum, and upon rebounding nails the big man with a dropkick. Press stumbles back a bit, but doesn't go down. Recoba pops up, and immediately goes for another, connecting both feet dead center of Press' chest. Again, the big man stumbles back, but doesn't go down.
At this point, Press has been forced back almost to the ropes, and Cross rushes the opposite side once again for momentum, but as he comes barreling in, Press ducks his head at the last possible second and catches Recoba with a back body drop that sends him sailing over the top rope. Fortunately, Cross has fast enough reflexes to grab hold of the top rope, and he lands safely on the ring apron instead of crashing to the floor.
PHILO: Press doesn't realize that Cross landed on the ring apron behind him, cause he's still rattled by that prematch beat down Recoba gave him.
CHARISSA: Sure, blame Cross cause that giant fucker doesn't pay attention.
Press rubs the back of his neck in the center of the ring, when he turns to survey the damage his back body drop had caused. To his surprise, there was Recoba on the ring apron, pretty as you please. With a snarl the big man took off in a sprint, looking to drive his shoulder into his smaller opponent, however, Recoba, still holding the top rope, drops down taking the rope with him, causing Press to hit the ropes at thigh level, and tumble right up and over back out to the concrete. The big man crashes down hard, and he clutches at his back as Cross pops up, and enters the ring. A-Ref admonishes Cross for his tactics, and Cross simply backs up, and points for the referee to start a 10 count. Reluctantly, that's exactly what A-Ref is forced to do.
He reaches the count of three when Press reaches up and grabs the ring apron for aide getting back to his feet. Upon seeing the big mans recovery, Cross yells across the ring for A-ref to get out of his way, and sizes up his opponent. As soon as Press is fully on his feet, Cross rushes from inside the ring, diving over the top rope feet first for a suicide drop kick.
PHILO: A MILLION LIRA BY CRO...NO!! WAIT!! PRESS CAUGHT HIM!! OH MY GOD! NO!!
CHARISSA: This can't end well.
Just as Cross clears the ropes, Press reaches up and snatches him out of the air, pulling him in to a seated position onto his chest. Cross' face says it all, as in shock and surprise he's hoisted up and out, Press' massive hand catching him on the way down to spike him off the concrete floor.
PHILO: PRESS RELEASE POWERBOMB ON THE CONCRETE!! JESUS CHRIST!! Cross Recoba is finished!
CHARISSA: Fuck finished, that mother fucker is dead! How do you get back up from that?
PHILO: Press is just staring down at the man like even he didn't expect it. That was pure instinct on the part of the big man.
CHARISSA: Well, I take back what I said. This was never going to be an even battle. Not with mongoloids like that running around here.
The crowd is electric as Press finally steers his eyes off of Cross and out to the crowd, soaking in the adulation before slipping back into the ring so that A-Ref could administer a count.
1....
2...
PHILO: I have never in my life seen anything on the magnitude of that kind of devastation.
3...
4...
PHILO: I mean, underhanded tactics or not, Cross pretty much controlled the pace of this match, delivering all the offense, and in one move, Press just changed the game.
5...
6...
CHARISSA: Yeah, and Cross hasn't moved other than a few tremors, but those could be seizures. We don't know what kind of damage has been done internally.
7...
8...
PHILO: Oh my god, Cross is moving...he just reached up and grabbed the ring apron.
9...
Te....Cross somehow manages to pull himself under the bottom rope and into the ring, where he rolls onto his back, and lays there motionless. A-Ref stops the count, and shrugs at Press, who stares on in disbelief. The big man's face turns into a scowl, and he stalks over, grabbing Cross by the arms and leg, and drags him out to the center of the ring, where he drops down for a lax cover.
1..
2..
3NO!
PHILO: Somehow, Cross Recoba not only beat the 10 count, but he just barely managed to roll his shoulder off the mat.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but if looks could kill, I'm pretty sure Press just murdered him. He's going for another cover, and this time he's hooking the leg!
1...
2...
3NO!
PHILO: Cross Recoba able to get the shoulder up again, and this time Press looks livid. He's back on his feet arguing with A-Ref, who looks just as surprised as anyone. Man, how tough is Cross Recoba?
CHARISSA: A lot tougher than anyone gave him credit for before coming into this match, but win or lose, I guarantee people will be talking about that for a long time to come.
PHILO: No doubt. Well Press is done arguing, and he's back over to Cross, jerking him up off the canvas by a fistful of hair. A-Ref is admonishing him, but it doesn't look like he's listening, as he drags Recoba over to the corner, and bounces his head off the top turnbuckle.
Recoba looks to be on wobbly legs as Press shoves him into the corner. The big man steps back, and then sends his hip forward into Recoba's midsection, driving the air right out of him. He drops back, and does it again, making Cross' eyes bulge from his sockets. Taking Recoba by the wrist, Press pulls him out of the corner, and into a short arm clothesline that sends him down to the mat, but he's quickly pulled back up, hoisted up on Press shoulder, and then tossed out at the corner to come down hard face first across the top turnbuckle.
PHILO: Snake Eyes, and Press is in complete control at this point, but he's got to be asking himself, what the hell is he going to have to do to put Cross Recoba away?
CHARISSA: Well, if a Press Release Powerbomb on the concrete won't do it, then I don't know what will.
Press, a trickle of blood still running down his chin, grabs cross by the hair once again and pulls him to his feet and to the center of the ring. He stands the man up to his full height so that he can look his dazed opponent in the eyes, before reaching around his waist and hoisting him up, and then dropping down into a perfectly executed sidewalk slam. He looks out at the crowd from his seated position, the fans cheering for him to end the match now. He drapes his arm over Cross, and A-Ref drops to the canvas for the count.
1..
2..
3NO!
PHILO: Cross still somehow rolls the shoulder up, and this contest is still underway.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but the look on Press' face says it all.
Press looks down at his opponent, who lay flat on his back, eyes glassed over, his mouth turned up into a visage of anguish. The big man shakes his head, and rolls up to a knee, pushing off to come back up to his feet. He just stares at Cross, hands on his hips, and when he looks out again at the crowd they cheer for him to do his worst. He smirks, nodding, and reaches down to pull cross back to his feet. Cross, however, hooks the big man around the head, throws his boot into his exposed knee, and then pulls him down into a small package.
1..
2..NO!
PHILO: Cross Recoba almost stole this one from Press, but I think more than anything, he just signed his own death warrant!
CHARISSA: Yeah, cause Press is already back up to his feet, and he looks ready to maim somebody!
Press delivered a stiff boot to Recoba's midsection before jerking the man up to his feet, taking him by the wrist, and sending him towards the far corner. He immediately made after him, looking to splash him in the turnbuckles. Recoba, however, manages to grab the top rope on his way in, springboarding up and over to the ring apron, leaving the corner exposed for Press who barrels into it at full steam. The big man stumbles back, and Cross takes that split second to springboard back in, planting both of his feet squarely into Press' face. This knocks Press even further back, causing him to reach up and check for more blood, as Recoba hops up onto the second rope. When Press finally drops his hand, Cross leaps from the ropes, catching the big man across the throat and chest with a forearm smash that actually takes him clear off his feet.
PHILO: I can't believe it! There's still fight in Recoba, no matter the boo's echoing in from this crowd. Despite how they feel about him, they have to respect his will to win.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but is he going to be able to keep the big man down?
Almost as if in answer to the color commentator, Recoba gets to his feet and makes his way to one of the corners, climbing all the way to the top. He measures his opponent in the center of the ring, and comes flying off with an epic elbow drop. Even the crowd forgets for a minute that they hate him, as they 'oooooo' at the hang time of the maneuver.
PHILO: Another big move for Recoba, and he goes for a cover!
1..
2..
3NO!
PHILO: Press kicks out, and damn near knocked Recoba out of the ring. I don't think he even knows his true power.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but Cross Recoba has felt it, and it looks like he's ready to put the big man out for good.
Cross steps back over to Press, reaching down and pulling both of the big man's legs up into the air. He hooks his arms around them at the insertion of the knee, and begins the turn to lock on his patented submission hold. The fans boo, and even Press realizes what's about to happen, and starts to struggle. Cross waits for him to shift in one direction, and then quickly moves the legs in the same path, miraculously turning Press over onto his stomach. Once there, with a gust of strength, he lifts up, muscles rippling, and locks in Garibaldi's Guillotine.
PHILO: I can't believe it! He's got it locked in! I'm not sure anyone thought he could do it.
CHARISSA: Shit, I don't know if he thought he could do it, but by God, it's locked in!
Press screamed out in pain as Cross continued to put torque on his neck and shoulders. Recoba barked orders at A-Ref to check the man, even though the diligent referee was already in position. Press shook his head 'no' repeatedly, despite being in agony. Press, with everything he had, forced his arm underneath his chest, pushing up, and forcing both he and Cross to move closer to the ropes. Recoba yelled back at A-Ref in panic, and dropped to one knee, damn near bending his opponents massive frame in half.
CHARISSA: Um, that doesn't seem natural. Not unless you're a Yoga instructor or something.
PHILO: And we both know that Press is not into Yoga. Man, it's got to come soon...he can't take much more of this.
The pain etched into Press' face was immense as he squeezed his eyes tight and screamed 'No' at A-ref. With one final burst of strength, possibly his last, he lifted himself up again onto his elbow, and forced the entire procession forward. This time, it was enough, and he reached out a desperate hand for the bottom rope. A-Ref slid around to the front, where Cross Recoba refused to let up on the devastating hold.
PHILO: Oh, come on! I don't know how he did it, but Press made it to the ropes, and now Cross Recoba won't release the hold.
CHARISSA: That's cause he's smart. He know's he's put a beating on that ogre, just like he know's he's got at least a five count before he breaks it. He might as well use it while he can.
A-Ref admonishes Recoba for not breaking the hold, and finally starts counting him down. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...and the hold is broken. A-Ref gets in Recoba's face, threatening to disqualify him, and the Italian throws his hands up, shaking his head 'No'.
PHILO: This guy is a real piece of work, and he's damn lucky that A-Ref knows how important this match is for the future of PAW.
CHARISSA: Whatever, Cross is just doing what he has to do. I respect that. Hey, wait a minute! Who is this guy?
A member of the crowd jumps the barricade, and rushes the ring, and just as he's about to slide under the bottom rope, 4Loco catches him by the ankle, and drags him back to the floor. Press, still grabbing at his back, has no idea, as Cross and A-Ref look on in disbelief from the ring. 4Loco wrestles with the guy for a minute, until finally wrenching his arm behind his back, and getting control of his wild flailing.
PHILO: HEY! I recognize that guy! That's the father of the kid who Cross Recoba took advantage of on WICKED#1! Heh, looks like he came here tonight with revenge on his mind.
CHARISSA: Yeah, and he'll leave here tonight with bail on his mind. What an idiot! Doesn't he know that this is a Semi-Final match in the PAW Championship tournament. We don't have time for civilians trying to get vigilante justice.
PHILO: You might feel differently if it was your kid, Charissa.
Other security personnel came out from the back to help 4Loco with his charge, and even A-Ref exited the ring to lend his assistance. Cross watched all of this with a sick grin on his face. Shaking his head, he looked back over to see that Press was crawling over to a corner for assistance with getting back to his feet. He cast a quick glance back to the action taking place outside the ring, and upon seeing that the coast was clear, made a B-line for the spot where he had discarded his briefcase.
PHILO: I can guarantee that Cross Recoba is up to no good right now.
CHARISSA: Nah, man, he's just checking his lawyers business card. This is the perfect opportunity to sue that punk for interfering with this match.
Recoba scooped the fancy luggage up into his arms, and stepped back to the center of the ring, begging for Press to turn around. Once the big man climbed the rungs of the turnbuckles back to his feet, he stumbled back towards the center of the ring, turning to look for his opponent only to be met with a blasting shot from the briefcase. Recoba hit him so hard that the briefcase was tore from his grasp, and went skidding out of the ring to land right in front of the announce team. When Philo and Charissa looked over their table, they could see that the latches holding the case shut were broken, and peeking out of the damaged luggage were a couple of red bricks.
PHILO: Are you kidding me?!? That briefcase he just took Press' head off with is loaded!
CHARISSA: What? Like a potato?
PHILO: No, Charissa. Like a gun! What a load of bullshit!
CHARISSA: Actually I think it was bricks.
As Philo stared in contempt at Charissa, Cross Recoba dropped down onto a motionless, bloody Press for a cover.
PHILO: Hey nimrod, there's no referee! He's outside dealing with another one of the problems you created. Huh, I wonder if that son of a bitch planned all this?
CHARISSA: Oh, come on, Philo, Cross has the finest education money can buy, but that doesn't mean he's on par with a Bond villain.
PHILO: Yeah, well this just seems too contrived to be coincidence.
CHARISSA: Hey, look, security is finally carrying that guy past the ramp, and A-Ref just noticed there is a pin going on in the ring. I wonder if Cross Recoba will share some Champagne with me tonight at his victory celebration?
PHILO: I can't believe this bastard is going to steal this.
A-Ref slides into the ring, and crawls over into position.
1..
2..
3..NO!
PHILO: I can't believe it! Press shoulder shot up off the mat at the very last millisecond, and Cross Recoba is beside himself. He's arguing with A-Ref, and he just shoved the official!
CHARISSA: Oh, don't get yourself disqualified now! You're so close.
A-Ref shoves Cross Recoba off of him and warns him of just that, and the Italian reluctantly holds his hands up in ascent, turning his attention back to Press. He angrily reaches down, yanking the big man's legs back up into the air, hooking him around the knee's once more.
CHARISSA: That'a boy. If at first you don't succeed, try, try, again.
PHILO: Well, I think it's academic here. I don't know how Press managed to kick out after getting hit with a briefcase full of bricks, but I don't think he's in any shape to defend himself from being put back into Garibaldi's Guillotine, so that's that.
Press, much to the surprise of everyone, but especially Cross Recoba, pulls his knee's in towards his body, plants his feet on Recoba's chest, and pushes forwards with extreme prejudice. The Italian is sent sprawling backwards and onto his back, and just lays there for a minute, battered and exhausted from the contest. Press, in much the same condition, reaches up to touch his forehead where blood pours from the shot with the bricks. A-Ref steps over to the center of the ring and starts a count, but at the same time, both men roll over onto their stomachs, and begin crawling towards opposite ends of the ring. They both reach for the ropes, pulling themselves to their feet at about the same time, and then turn to face each other from across the ring. Both men charge at one another, and Press throws his boot up into the air to go for a Sudden Stop, but Cross drops into a roll, and comes up behind him unscathed. As soon as he's able, Press turns to face Cross, who sends a boot into his midsection, doubling the big man over. Recoba takes off to rebound off the ropes, but when he reaches Press again, the big man extends his arms with his long reach, putting his hands on Cross' chest and popping him up into the air. He lands in a seated position on Press' chest, and the big man rushes towards the ropes throwing cross up and out, catching him as he goes for extra momentum with the palm of his hand.
PHILO: OH MY GOD!! HE JUST PRESS RELEASE POWERBOMBED CROSS RECOBA CLEAR OUT OF THE RING!! Did you see the way he hit?
CHARISSA: Yeah, his ass hit the concrete, while his shoulders and head hit the ramp. I....I think Cross Recoba might be unconscious.
PHILO: Well, A-Ref is outside the ring checking on him, and Cross is unresponsive. He's calling for EMT's and Medical Attention!
CHARISSA: Well, what the hell does this mean for this match?
PHILO: I'm pretty sure it's over. I just.....hell, I have no words.
EMT's rush down to the end of the ramp, gurney in two, where Cross Recoba lay in an unmoving heap. They do a quick, but thorough check of the man, and then one of them reaches into his bag to produce a neck brace. They slip the stabilizer around the Italian's neck, and roll him to the side, making sure to keep his spine aligned, in order to get the gurney underneath him. Meanwhile, the fans are still on their feet as A-Ref slips back into the ring, and calls for the ring announcer. He whispers something into Rhonda's ear, and she nods, bringing the mic up to her lips.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Ladies and gentleman, if I can have your attention please. The lead official in this match has just informed me that Cross Recoba can no longer continue in this match up. Therefore, the winner of this match, and advancing to the Main Event for the PAW Championship at the WICKED Super Show on March 17th, PRESS!!!
Press smirks down at Cross Recoba from the ring, and then looks out at the screaming fans who start a 'Press' chant. He uses his hands and runs them openly across his stomach, indicating the championship that everyone in PAW has been scrambling to gain.
PHILO: Press wins essentially by knock out. My God, do you know what this means? Stevie Harris and Press are going to go one on one for the PAW Championship at our next show!
CHARISSA: I know, and you know what else that means? I'm officially throwing my vote into the ballet box, and coming out that, Hashtag: I'm With Stevie!
PHILO: Well, he'll have his hands full with Press, that's for sure. Wow, I still can't believe everything we've seen tonight, and we've still got more to come. Fuck, I hope there's something going on backstage. I seriously need a puff after this last match.
CHARISSA: Well, Philo, it must be your good fortune. Here's a word from one of our sponsors!
CHARISSA: Your guess is as good as mine, but I'm positive that if theres anyone who can figure it out, it's Cross Recoba. That man doesn't have phat stacks for a no reason, Philo. He's a smart one, and a tough guy to boot.
PHILO: Maybe so, but its kind of hard to bet against Press considering his performance level since arriving here in PAW. From day one he's been beating ass, and taking names, and I just don't know if there's anyone on our roster who can take him. I know the big man had some serious words for Cross Recoba earlier this week, and I'm afraid we're going to see that destructive side of his before this contest is done.
CHARISSA: Maybe so, but Cross Recoba is a master manipulator and a genius at getting people riled up in order to make a mistake. I have no doubt that he has Press' documented temper on his mind going into this, and he'll use it against him if at all possible.
PHILO: Well, speculation time is over, Charissa. Rhonda's in the ring, and this match is ready to go down!
he lights dim in the arena as Joe Walsh's 'Turn to Stone' sounds across the arena. The fans jeer and boo in disgust as they know what to expect when they hear the distinctive distorted power-chords that start the song. The lights focus on the entrance to the ramp as Cross Recoba comes through the curtain. He brushes his shag haircut off his eyes and looks at the crowd. He instinctively clutches the crucifix necklace that hangs from his neck, and tightens his grip on the briefcase in his left hand. He walks to the ring with purpose, only looking away from the ring to answer hecklers in the crowd.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Introducing first, standing at 5'10" tall, and weighting in at 230 lbs. He hails from Las Vegas, Nevada...He is 'The Fox'.....CROSS RECOBAAA!!!
Recoba reaches the ringside area and leaps onto the apron, smiling out at the disapproving audience before stepping through the ropes and dropping the briefcase over in a corner while waiting for his opponent. He doesn't have to wait long as the lights go dim and "Strangle Hold" begins to blare across the arena. Red strobe-lights begin to flicker all around the ring and ramp way, and finally settle on the entry way where the silhouette of the massive Press can be seen standing in the curtain. These words can be seen clearly up on the big screen above the entrance.
WITH THIS PASS
I CAN GO ANYWHERE I DAMN WELL PLEASE!
At the chorus of the song he bursts through the curtain, and thrusts his black chair, with the words "Press Pass" painted across the seat, high up into the air, with a grimace spread across his face.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Introducing his opponent, standing at 6'11" tall, and weighting in at 365 lbs. He Hails from New Orleans, Louisiana, and represents one half of The BombTrax....THIS. IS. PRESSSS!!!
He scans the crowd as he stalks down towards the ring, and upon reaching the squared circle he throws his chair under the bottom rope, hops up on the apron, and enters the ring by swinging his leg up and over the top rope. Before he can get the other leg into the ring, however, Cross Recoba rushes over, trapping the big man onto the ropes with right hands directly to his skull. He then takes a step back, and kicks right up into the top rope, bringing it jarringly into Press' crotch. Press doubles over the rope, holding his midsection, as Recoba steps over and scoops up the big man's 'Press Pass'. As A-Ref tries to berate Cross, he nudges the referee out of the way, and then clobbers Press across the back of the head and shoulders, sending him lurching forward and down off the ring apron to the concrete below.
PHILO: This match hasn't even officially started, and Cross Recoba is already all over Press!
CHARISSA: I guess that's what your dumb ass gets when you bring a weapon to your opponent.
Press struggles to get back to his feet, as Cross steps out onto the ring apron, chair still in hand, to await his rising opponent. When the big man finally gains his footing, Cross leaps off of the ring apron, bringing the chair crashing down across Press' head. The big man crumples face first to the floor, and Recoba steps over him, raising the chair, and bringing it down again and again and again. After six chairshots, he abandons the twisted and bent weapon, and looks out at the crowd with a smirk. They boo him unmercifully.
PHILO: This crowd letting Cross Recoba know exactly what they think of him, and I tend to agree. I mean, this is some bullshit! The match hasn't even started, and I'd have to say Cross now has a distinct advantage.
CHARISSA: Wrong, Philo! 'The Fox' is just living up to his nickname. He's used guile and cunning to even up the size advantage Press brings to the table by cutting a few inches off that big oaf. NOW, this match is finally even.
PHILO: Whatever, Charissa. We might not even get a match at this rate, if Press isn't able to continue, and that cheats everyone, myself included, out of finding out what might have happened if it was on the up and up.
As the commentators continue their ethical debate, Cross doesn't give anyone the chance to look over Press, before helping the big man up to his feet, and shoves him in the ring. He quickly follows, popping up, and twirling his finger for A-Ref to ring the bell. After a brief moment of checking on Press, A-Ref shoots Cross a dark look, but points to the timekeepers position, and the bell sounds out signaling the start of the match.
PHILO: Well, this thing is officially underway now, but the damage has been done. Press is barely able to stand, having to use the turnbuckles to get to his feet, and Cross is just waiting on him to get upright. OH! Vicious right hand by Recoba, and another. The man's lighting into him like a piston in an engine!
As Cross continues his assault on Press, the big man reaches up with one of his massive paws, and shoves Recoba off, sending the man down to the mat. Cross, however, rolls through the landing to come back up to his feet, and rushes right back in on Press with more hard rights. Once again Press reaches out, this time grabbing Recoba by the face, and just mushes him backwards with one great shove. Cross, one more time, hits the mat and rolls through, pops back up to his feet, and charges back on the attack. This time, however, instead of meeting no resistance, Cross runs face first into the point of Press' elbow. Cross snaps back, stumbling towards the center of the ring, as Press reaches up and wipes blood from his lower lip. He spits over the ropes to the outside of the ring, and with a grim visage, stalks towards Cross.
CHARISSA: Uh-oh! This doesn't look good!
As Cross turns back to face his opponent, Press drives in a right of his own, this one, unlike the smaller mans, sends Recoba thundering to the canvas. He pops up quickly, but is caught once again with another massive right hand that sends him back down. He pops up for a third time, and instead of a right hand, Press grabs him by the forearm, pushes him back into the ropes, and then sends him for the ride to the opposite side. Cross rebounds off the ropes, and ducks a clothesline attempt from Press. On his way back through he ducks a back elbow. On his third pass, Press ducks his head for a back body, but instead, Cross is able to slow himself down enough to send a soccer like kick right into the big man's face that snaps him back upright. Recoba then rushes back to the ropes for momentum, and upon rebounding nails the big man with a dropkick. Press stumbles back a bit, but doesn't go down. Recoba pops up, and immediately goes for another, connecting both feet dead center of Press' chest. Again, the big man stumbles back, but doesn't go down.
At this point, Press has been forced back almost to the ropes, and Cross rushes the opposite side once again for momentum, but as he comes barreling in, Press ducks his head at the last possible second and catches Recoba with a back body drop that sends him sailing over the top rope. Fortunately, Cross has fast enough reflexes to grab hold of the top rope, and he lands safely on the ring apron instead of crashing to the floor.
PHILO: Press doesn't realize that Cross landed on the ring apron behind him, cause he's still rattled by that prematch beat down Recoba gave him.
CHARISSA: Sure, blame Cross cause that giant fucker doesn't pay attention.
Press rubs the back of his neck in the center of the ring, when he turns to survey the damage his back body drop had caused. To his surprise, there was Recoba on the ring apron, pretty as you please. With a snarl the big man took off in a sprint, looking to drive his shoulder into his smaller opponent, however, Recoba, still holding the top rope, drops down taking the rope with him, causing Press to hit the ropes at thigh level, and tumble right up and over back out to the concrete. The big man crashes down hard, and he clutches at his back as Cross pops up, and enters the ring. A-Ref admonishes Cross for his tactics, and Cross simply backs up, and points for the referee to start a 10 count. Reluctantly, that's exactly what A-Ref is forced to do.
He reaches the count of three when Press reaches up and grabs the ring apron for aide getting back to his feet. Upon seeing the big mans recovery, Cross yells across the ring for A-ref to get out of his way, and sizes up his opponent. As soon as Press is fully on his feet, Cross rushes from inside the ring, diving over the top rope feet first for a suicide drop kick.
PHILO: A MILLION LIRA BY CRO...NO!! WAIT!! PRESS CAUGHT HIM!! OH MY GOD! NO!!
CHARISSA: This can't end well.
Just as Cross clears the ropes, Press reaches up and snatches him out of the air, pulling him in to a seated position onto his chest. Cross' face says it all, as in shock and surprise he's hoisted up and out, Press' massive hand catching him on the way down to spike him off the concrete floor.
PHILO: PRESS RELEASE POWERBOMB ON THE CONCRETE!! JESUS CHRIST!! Cross Recoba is finished!
CHARISSA: Fuck finished, that mother fucker is dead! How do you get back up from that?
PHILO: Press is just staring down at the man like even he didn't expect it. That was pure instinct on the part of the big man.
CHARISSA: Well, I take back what I said. This was never going to be an even battle. Not with mongoloids like that running around here.
The crowd is electric as Press finally steers his eyes off of Cross and out to the crowd, soaking in the adulation before slipping back into the ring so that A-Ref could administer a count.
1....
2...
PHILO: I have never in my life seen anything on the magnitude of that kind of devastation.
3...
4...
PHILO: I mean, underhanded tactics or not, Cross pretty much controlled the pace of this match, delivering all the offense, and in one move, Press just changed the game.
5...
6...
CHARISSA: Yeah, and Cross hasn't moved other than a few tremors, but those could be seizures. We don't know what kind of damage has been done internally.
7...
8...
PHILO: Oh my god, Cross is moving...he just reached up and grabbed the ring apron.
9...
Te....Cross somehow manages to pull himself under the bottom rope and into the ring, where he rolls onto his back, and lays there motionless. A-Ref stops the count, and shrugs at Press, who stares on in disbelief. The big man's face turns into a scowl, and he stalks over, grabbing Cross by the arms and leg, and drags him out to the center of the ring, where he drops down for a lax cover.
1..
2..
3NO!
PHILO: Somehow, Cross Recoba not only beat the 10 count, but he just barely managed to roll his shoulder off the mat.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but if looks could kill, I'm pretty sure Press just murdered him. He's going for another cover, and this time he's hooking the leg!
1...
2...
3NO!
PHILO: Cross Recoba able to get the shoulder up again, and this time Press looks livid. He's back on his feet arguing with A-Ref, who looks just as surprised as anyone. Man, how tough is Cross Recoba?
CHARISSA: A lot tougher than anyone gave him credit for before coming into this match, but win or lose, I guarantee people will be talking about that for a long time to come.
PHILO: No doubt. Well Press is done arguing, and he's back over to Cross, jerking him up off the canvas by a fistful of hair. A-Ref is admonishing him, but it doesn't look like he's listening, as he drags Recoba over to the corner, and bounces his head off the top turnbuckle.
Recoba looks to be on wobbly legs as Press shoves him into the corner. The big man steps back, and then sends his hip forward into Recoba's midsection, driving the air right out of him. He drops back, and does it again, making Cross' eyes bulge from his sockets. Taking Recoba by the wrist, Press pulls him out of the corner, and into a short arm clothesline that sends him down to the mat, but he's quickly pulled back up, hoisted up on Press shoulder, and then tossed out at the corner to come down hard face first across the top turnbuckle.
PHILO: Snake Eyes, and Press is in complete control at this point, but he's got to be asking himself, what the hell is he going to have to do to put Cross Recoba away?
CHARISSA: Well, if a Press Release Powerbomb on the concrete won't do it, then I don't know what will.
Press, a trickle of blood still running down his chin, grabs cross by the hair once again and pulls him to his feet and to the center of the ring. He stands the man up to his full height so that he can look his dazed opponent in the eyes, before reaching around his waist and hoisting him up, and then dropping down into a perfectly executed sidewalk slam. He looks out at the crowd from his seated position, the fans cheering for him to end the match now. He drapes his arm over Cross, and A-Ref drops to the canvas for the count.
1..
2..
3NO!
PHILO: Cross still somehow rolls the shoulder up, and this contest is still underway.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but the look on Press' face says it all.
Press looks down at his opponent, who lay flat on his back, eyes glassed over, his mouth turned up into a visage of anguish. The big man shakes his head, and rolls up to a knee, pushing off to come back up to his feet. He just stares at Cross, hands on his hips, and when he looks out again at the crowd they cheer for him to do his worst. He smirks, nodding, and reaches down to pull cross back to his feet. Cross, however, hooks the big man around the head, throws his boot into his exposed knee, and then pulls him down into a small package.
1..
2..NO!
PHILO: Cross Recoba almost stole this one from Press, but I think more than anything, he just signed his own death warrant!
CHARISSA: Yeah, cause Press is already back up to his feet, and he looks ready to maim somebody!
Press delivered a stiff boot to Recoba's midsection before jerking the man up to his feet, taking him by the wrist, and sending him towards the far corner. He immediately made after him, looking to splash him in the turnbuckles. Recoba, however, manages to grab the top rope on his way in, springboarding up and over to the ring apron, leaving the corner exposed for Press who barrels into it at full steam. The big man stumbles back, and Cross takes that split second to springboard back in, planting both of his feet squarely into Press' face. This knocks Press even further back, causing him to reach up and check for more blood, as Recoba hops up onto the second rope. When Press finally drops his hand, Cross leaps from the ropes, catching the big man across the throat and chest with a forearm smash that actually takes him clear off his feet.
PHILO: I can't believe it! There's still fight in Recoba, no matter the boo's echoing in from this crowd. Despite how they feel about him, they have to respect his will to win.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but is he going to be able to keep the big man down?
Almost as if in answer to the color commentator, Recoba gets to his feet and makes his way to one of the corners, climbing all the way to the top. He measures his opponent in the center of the ring, and comes flying off with an epic elbow drop. Even the crowd forgets for a minute that they hate him, as they 'oooooo' at the hang time of the maneuver.
PHILO: Another big move for Recoba, and he goes for a cover!
1..
2..
3NO!
PHILO: Press kicks out, and damn near knocked Recoba out of the ring. I don't think he even knows his true power.
CHARISSA: Yeah, but Cross Recoba has felt it, and it looks like he's ready to put the big man out for good.
Cross steps back over to Press, reaching down and pulling both of the big man's legs up into the air. He hooks his arms around them at the insertion of the knee, and begins the turn to lock on his patented submission hold. The fans boo, and even Press realizes what's about to happen, and starts to struggle. Cross waits for him to shift in one direction, and then quickly moves the legs in the same path, miraculously turning Press over onto his stomach. Once there, with a gust of strength, he lifts up, muscles rippling, and locks in Garibaldi's Guillotine.
PHILO: I can't believe it! He's got it locked in! I'm not sure anyone thought he could do it.
CHARISSA: Shit, I don't know if he thought he could do it, but by God, it's locked in!
Press screamed out in pain as Cross continued to put torque on his neck and shoulders. Recoba barked orders at A-Ref to check the man, even though the diligent referee was already in position. Press shook his head 'no' repeatedly, despite being in agony. Press, with everything he had, forced his arm underneath his chest, pushing up, and forcing both he and Cross to move closer to the ropes. Recoba yelled back at A-Ref in panic, and dropped to one knee, damn near bending his opponents massive frame in half.
CHARISSA: Um, that doesn't seem natural. Not unless you're a Yoga instructor or something.
PHILO: And we both know that Press is not into Yoga. Man, it's got to come soon...he can't take much more of this.
The pain etched into Press' face was immense as he squeezed his eyes tight and screamed 'No' at A-ref. With one final burst of strength, possibly his last, he lifted himself up again onto his elbow, and forced the entire procession forward. This time, it was enough, and he reached out a desperate hand for the bottom rope. A-Ref slid around to the front, where Cross Recoba refused to let up on the devastating hold.
PHILO: Oh, come on! I don't know how he did it, but Press made it to the ropes, and now Cross Recoba won't release the hold.
CHARISSA: That's cause he's smart. He know's he's put a beating on that ogre, just like he know's he's got at least a five count before he breaks it. He might as well use it while he can.
A-Ref admonishes Recoba for not breaking the hold, and finally starts counting him down. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...and the hold is broken. A-Ref gets in Recoba's face, threatening to disqualify him, and the Italian throws his hands up, shaking his head 'No'.
PHILO: This guy is a real piece of work, and he's damn lucky that A-Ref knows how important this match is for the future of PAW.
CHARISSA: Whatever, Cross is just doing what he has to do. I respect that. Hey, wait a minute! Who is this guy?
A member of the crowd jumps the barricade, and rushes the ring, and just as he's about to slide under the bottom rope, 4Loco catches him by the ankle, and drags him back to the floor. Press, still grabbing at his back, has no idea, as Cross and A-Ref look on in disbelief from the ring. 4Loco wrestles with the guy for a minute, until finally wrenching his arm behind his back, and getting control of his wild flailing.
PHILO: HEY! I recognize that guy! That's the father of the kid who Cross Recoba took advantage of on WICKED#1! Heh, looks like he came here tonight with revenge on his mind.
CHARISSA: Yeah, and he'll leave here tonight with bail on his mind. What an idiot! Doesn't he know that this is a Semi-Final match in the PAW Championship tournament. We don't have time for civilians trying to get vigilante justice.
PHILO: You might feel differently if it was your kid, Charissa.
Other security personnel came out from the back to help 4Loco with his charge, and even A-Ref exited the ring to lend his assistance. Cross watched all of this with a sick grin on his face. Shaking his head, he looked back over to see that Press was crawling over to a corner for assistance with getting back to his feet. He cast a quick glance back to the action taking place outside the ring, and upon seeing that the coast was clear, made a B-line for the spot where he had discarded his briefcase.
PHILO: I can guarantee that Cross Recoba is up to no good right now.
CHARISSA: Nah, man, he's just checking his lawyers business card. This is the perfect opportunity to sue that punk for interfering with this match.
Recoba scooped the fancy luggage up into his arms, and stepped back to the center of the ring, begging for Press to turn around. Once the big man climbed the rungs of the turnbuckles back to his feet, he stumbled back towards the center of the ring, turning to look for his opponent only to be met with a blasting shot from the briefcase. Recoba hit him so hard that the briefcase was tore from his grasp, and went skidding out of the ring to land right in front of the announce team. When Philo and Charissa looked over their table, they could see that the latches holding the case shut were broken, and peeking out of the damaged luggage were a couple of red bricks.
PHILO: Are you kidding me?!? That briefcase he just took Press' head off with is loaded!
CHARISSA: What? Like a potato?
PHILO: No, Charissa. Like a gun! What a load of bullshit!
CHARISSA: Actually I think it was bricks.
As Philo stared in contempt at Charissa, Cross Recoba dropped down onto a motionless, bloody Press for a cover.
PHILO: Hey nimrod, there's no referee! He's outside dealing with another one of the problems you created. Huh, I wonder if that son of a bitch planned all this?
CHARISSA: Oh, come on, Philo, Cross has the finest education money can buy, but that doesn't mean he's on par with a Bond villain.
PHILO: Yeah, well this just seems too contrived to be coincidence.
CHARISSA: Hey, look, security is finally carrying that guy past the ramp, and A-Ref just noticed there is a pin going on in the ring. I wonder if Cross Recoba will share some Champagne with me tonight at his victory celebration?
PHILO: I can't believe this bastard is going to steal this.
A-Ref slides into the ring, and crawls over into position.
1..
2..
3..NO!
PHILO: I can't believe it! Press shoulder shot up off the mat at the very last millisecond, and Cross Recoba is beside himself. He's arguing with A-Ref, and he just shoved the official!
CHARISSA: Oh, don't get yourself disqualified now! You're so close.
A-Ref shoves Cross Recoba off of him and warns him of just that, and the Italian reluctantly holds his hands up in ascent, turning his attention back to Press. He angrily reaches down, yanking the big man's legs back up into the air, hooking him around the knee's once more.
CHARISSA: That'a boy. If at first you don't succeed, try, try, again.
PHILO: Well, I think it's academic here. I don't know how Press managed to kick out after getting hit with a briefcase full of bricks, but I don't think he's in any shape to defend himself from being put back into Garibaldi's Guillotine, so that's that.
Press, much to the surprise of everyone, but especially Cross Recoba, pulls his knee's in towards his body, plants his feet on Recoba's chest, and pushes forwards with extreme prejudice. The Italian is sent sprawling backwards and onto his back, and just lays there for a minute, battered and exhausted from the contest. Press, in much the same condition, reaches up to touch his forehead where blood pours from the shot with the bricks. A-Ref steps over to the center of the ring and starts a count, but at the same time, both men roll over onto their stomachs, and begin crawling towards opposite ends of the ring. They both reach for the ropes, pulling themselves to their feet at about the same time, and then turn to face each other from across the ring. Both men charge at one another, and Press throws his boot up into the air to go for a Sudden Stop, but Cross drops into a roll, and comes up behind him unscathed. As soon as he's able, Press turns to face Cross, who sends a boot into his midsection, doubling the big man over. Recoba takes off to rebound off the ropes, but when he reaches Press again, the big man extends his arms with his long reach, putting his hands on Cross' chest and popping him up into the air. He lands in a seated position on Press' chest, and the big man rushes towards the ropes throwing cross up and out, catching him as he goes for extra momentum with the palm of his hand.
PHILO: OH MY GOD!! HE JUST PRESS RELEASE POWERBOMBED CROSS RECOBA CLEAR OUT OF THE RING!! Did you see the way he hit?
CHARISSA: Yeah, his ass hit the concrete, while his shoulders and head hit the ramp. I....I think Cross Recoba might be unconscious.
PHILO: Well, A-Ref is outside the ring checking on him, and Cross is unresponsive. He's calling for EMT's and Medical Attention!
CHARISSA: Well, what the hell does this mean for this match?
PHILO: I'm pretty sure it's over. I just.....hell, I have no words.
EMT's rush down to the end of the ramp, gurney in two, where Cross Recoba lay in an unmoving heap. They do a quick, but thorough check of the man, and then one of them reaches into his bag to produce a neck brace. They slip the stabilizer around the Italian's neck, and roll him to the side, making sure to keep his spine aligned, in order to get the gurney underneath him. Meanwhile, the fans are still on their feet as A-Ref slips back into the ring, and calls for the ring announcer. He whispers something into Rhonda's ear, and she nods, bringing the mic up to her lips.
RHONDA ARMSTRONG: Ladies and gentleman, if I can have your attention please. The lead official in this match has just informed me that Cross Recoba can no longer continue in this match up. Therefore, the winner of this match, and advancing to the Main Event for the PAW Championship at the WICKED Super Show on March 17th, PRESS!!!
Press smirks down at Cross Recoba from the ring, and then looks out at the screaming fans who start a 'Press' chant. He uses his hands and runs them openly across his stomach, indicating the championship that everyone in PAW has been scrambling to gain.
PHILO: Press wins essentially by knock out. My God, do you know what this means? Stevie Harris and Press are going to go one on one for the PAW Championship at our next show!
CHARISSA: I know, and you know what else that means? I'm officially throwing my vote into the ballet box, and coming out that, Hashtag: I'm With Stevie!
PHILO: Well, he'll have his hands full with Press, that's for sure. Wow, I still can't believe everything we've seen tonight, and we've still got more to come. Fuck, I hope there's something going on backstage. I seriously need a puff after this last match.
CHARISSA: Well, Philo, it must be your good fortune. Here's a word from one of our sponsors!