Fans who have been eagerly awaiting the start of another exciting episode of GLOBAL Wrestling Domination have their enthusiasm duly quashed when the very first sound heard across the arena is the introductory riff to Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid”. Tony Iommi has not even had time to complete a full run-through of the iconic sequence of notes before the excited buzz which had been permeating the arena turns into a torrent of deafening boos, loud enough to nearly drown out the music emanating from the entrance platform.

“No. No, no, NO. I refuse. I REFUSE to start this way. We are NOT starting out with HIM.”

“Let’s try to keep things professional, Allie…”

“I’m…trying, Lucas. I really am. But it was bad enough that last show ended like…that…and now this show is starting out the exact same way? Nope. Nope, nope, NOPE. Call me when it’s over.”

With that, and to the surprise of her colleagues, Allie Reece stands up from the announce desk, removes her headset, hops over the barricade behind her, and makes her way to the nearest exit, changing the mood of at least one section of fans from annoyance to delight.

“Well…it seems our colleague is…temporarily indisposed…and it’s just the Boys Club here for a moment, Mark…”

“Seems that way, Lu—WAIT, is that—?”

Mark Deltzer’s startled query does not happen at random; for, while two of the figures now making their way to ringside are easily identifiable as John J. Truth’s bodyguards, Lincoln and Washington, the man walking ahead of them has very little to do with the unkempt hobo-like presence GLOBAL fans have learned to hate, or even the shabby-chic iteration who took to the stage two weeks prior to receive the well-deserved Most Hated Wrestler Award. THIS man’s suit is crisply pressed, carefully tailored, and clearly brand new, his shoes are carefully shined, and his scraggly, wispy hair has been slicked back into some semblance of control. His beard, too, is neatly trimmed, with none of the customary patchiness or stubble, and his eyes are hidden behind the same sort of wraparound shades his private security team tends to favor. Dangling from one of his shoulders is the newly-minted INTERNATIONAL Championship, and from the other, a classy brunette some fifteen years younger than him, clad in a tailored black skirt-suit with matching pumps, and jewelry which manages to be, at once, understated and decidedly flashy. As a group, these four people are just about recognizable as Truth Control, and their appearance has caused a portion of the boos to subside into stunned silence.

“Is—is that a handkerchief in his suit pocket?”

“…looks like it, Mark…”

“Man, I wish Al was here to see this! Can you imagine the look on her face?”

“I’m not sure she would react the way you think she would, kid..”

The announcers’ startled banter is suddenly cut off as, her group, having taken to the center of the ring, the young woman puts the microphone to her lips.

“Ladies and gentlemen…please rise in salute…of YOUR INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION…GENERAL JOHN J. TRUTH!”

The woman’s words, which were already being drowned out by extensive boos, become nearly inaudible as Truth’s newly acquired military rank is revealed.

“…wait, how the hell is he suddenly a General…? Did he serve?”

“Well…I heard he went into space…but I don’t think that was with the U.S. Military…I don’t think he was ever an astronaut, either…”

“…in other words, he’s stealing valor.”

“Well, at least he doesn’t have a uniform on…I guess that’s something…”

Before Lucas can reply, the group in the ring take advantage of a momentary decrease in the volume of the jeers from around the arena, with Truth himself stepping forward to deliver his usual catchphrase.

“My name is John J. Truth, and I call bullshit.”

The boos IMMEDIATELY intensify in volume again, but, having begun his address, the self-appointed General is not about to give up the ghost, and doggedly powers through the noise.

“I call bullshit on all you sheeple refusing to acknowledge somebody’s talent just because you don’t like them!” Truth points an angry finger out at all four corners of the arena, who all respond as might be expected. “I see all you libtard woke little snowflakes on social media, typing up goddamn essays about how ‘TwUtH sHoUlD nOt HaVe BeEn AlLoWeD tO kEeP hIs TiTlE, hE’s sO oFfEnSiVe, I’m So TwIgGeWed!’” Truth’s usual mocking falsetto suddenly whiplashes back to defiance. “Well, better go ahead and start calling the WAAHmbulance, because like it or not, you’re stuck with me, and I ain’t going anywhere!”

Truth holds up his title against a tidal wave of jeers, before defiantly pressing on.

“Besides…who did you think was gonna win? The little RACIAL SLUR eight-grader? Miss Interview With the Vampire? The HOMOPHOBIC SLUR with the HOMOPHOBIC SLUR rainbow jacket? Or…wait…” Truth snorts in disbelief. “…the illegal?! You thought the illegal had it?”

Truth scoffs, temporarily putting down the mic to snark about it in private with his posse, as a rising chorus of “WE WANT X!” begins to echo across the arena, partially drowning out the hated superstar’s next few words

“Let me get this straight…you people would rather have a FOREIGN TERRORIST as your Champion than a fellow American you don’t like? And, wait…wait—” Once again, The Man Who Fell to Earth has to temporarily put his microphone down, the better to control his fit of mirthless, sarcastic chuckling. “—not only that, but you bastards want to trust a RACIAL SLUR FOR LATINOS with a piece of gold? And you think he’s not just going to just turn around and disappear it across the border, so his drug dealer relatives can buy another load to sell to our schoolchildren?”

If the boos were loud before, they reach nuclear levels now – as does the insistent chant of “WE WANT X!” Still, undaunted, the GLOBAL International Champion powers on.

“In fact…as the top Champion in this company…” 

Atomic heat cuts Truth off, as the chant for X is joined by one of “DAR-RING! DAR-RING!”, only overpowered by Lucas’ indignant splutter on commentary.

“Really…who does he think he is?! ‘Top Champion‘ indeed!”

Seemingly indifferent to all this – but for a slightly raised inflection in his tone – Truth continues on

“…AS the top Champion in this company, and the holder of this title, I feel it’s my duty to make sure that never BLEEPing happens. And, to be fair, calling this thing the International Championship is just encouraging more lefty woke open-borders bullshit. This is an AMERICAN Championship, from an AMERICAN company. We shouldn’t be pandering to terrorists and drug dealers. Hell, I don’t want to be known as the ‘InTuRnAsHuNuLl’ Champion.” Truth affects a dopey voice as he performs sarcastic air quotes. “I prefer ‘American Champion.’”

“Well, you don’t have to, then. Just give the belt to someone who does!”

Lucas’ angry outburst is, however, but a drop in the ocean of what transpires after Truth’s next few words.

“That’s why, starting now, I’m using my power as the holder of this title to officially change it from the ‘InTuRnAsHuNuLl’ Championship…” The air quotes make a return. “…to the ‘AMERICAN‘ Championship.”

Were the noise levels nuclear? Atomic? Well, now they’re radioactive. Every single throat in that arena appears to have dug up its most guttural sounds from deep within itself, for the express purpose of directing them at John J. Truth and his (now) three acolytes.

WHAT?! He can’t do that! Can he do that? He can’t do that! Right? RIGHT?”

“…again, Mark, I am so glad Allie isn’t here right now…”

Still seemingly undaunted by the extreme reaction from every corner of the arena (how a few pounds of gold can change a person…) “General” Truth pushes on.

“And seeing as it is now the ‘AMERICAN‘ Championship, I think it’s fair to only let Americans challenge for it. Real Americans. That means no RACIAL SLUR FOR POLES, or RACIAL SLUR FOR ITALIANS, or RACIAL SLUR FOR AFRICAN-AMERICANS, or RACIAL SLUR FOR JEWS, and especially no RACIAL SLUR FOR LATINOS—”

Truth’s last word is cut short by the first blast of a theme song which IMMEDIATELY changes the mood inside the arena from anger to glee – for the fans are finally getting what (or rather, WHO) they have been clamoring for this whole time!


As At the Drive-In lead singer Cedric Bixler-Zavala’s mad ramblings ring throughout the arena, we hear a rhythmic “Clap.  Clap.  Clap.” as Crusader X steps onto the stage with a slight but noticeable limp.  He’s holding a microphone in his hands as he claps.  Truth lowers the microphone from his mouth as he stares a hole in the interrupting luchador.

As his music cuts out, X begins.  “Congratulations, Mr. John J. Goebbels- I mean Truth!”  A solid “OHHHH” erupts out from the older members of the crowd who recognize the name.  Truth’s face twitches as X continues.  “The first ever GLOBAL INTERNATIONAL Champion!  What an honor!  As its first holder, you are the first person to define what that title means going forward.  From last episode on, whenever someone looks up the INTERNATIONAL title online, they’ll look at its lineage and see that the first man to hold it… was one of the most DISGUSTING, DESPICABLE, EVIL, IGNORANT, ARROGANT, SLIMY, SLIPPERY, INSANE, BIGOTED, GUTLESS, COWARDLY, HATEFUL, TALENTLESS, STOMACH-CHURNING…”

Crusader X’s voice cracks.  He pauses and holds up an index finger.  He makes his way over to the timekeeper’s table, grabs a bottle of water, and takes a swig.  The crowd cheers loudly as he continues.


“Strong words there from a man who has every right to feel jilted about the result two weeks ago…and the question now is….how will John J. Truth respond?”

That particular doubt gets cleared a moment later, as a snarky Inter—sorry, AMERICAN Champion once again brings the microphone to his lips.

“Somebody call the WAAAHmbulance—we got a ‘HuWt LiTtLe SnOwFlAkE’ here!” The cheers for X once again turn to boos as the Champion now turns to his challenger. “I won this thing fair and square, you goddamn terrorist. Stop crying, grow a set and deal with it.”

Crusader X laughs a bitter laugh. “Grow a set?!  That’s hilarious, especially considering where you hit me last week to win that title!  But you know what?  You’re right.  You won the match fair and square… a match with no rules, sure, but that means you technically didn’t break any.  In theory, I could have done the exact same thing you did to win that title.  However, there are two problems with that.  One: I have principles, while you have none.  Two… you don’t exactly have anything to hit down there…”

A muted “ooooh” from the crowd with some scattered laughs.  Truth shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“Especially after your ex-wife ran away with your balls when she left you and took the kid.” X finishes.

“OHHHHHHH” goes the crowd.  Truth’s face goes white.  He’s speechless.  He starts shaking his head.

“That’s why you went to her house, right?  To get your balls back?!” Anger pulses through X’s otherwise mocking tone as Truth stares wordlessly.

“Oh?!  Are you surprised?!” X stares straight into Truth’s eyes.  He starts pacing back and forth in place while maintaining eye contact.  “I know people, Truth.  I asked those people why you were arrested, and they told me all about your little trip to visit that poor woman up in Washington.  They told me all about how you terrorized her and your son.  You really are the perfect man to be representing GLOBAL Wrestling as one of its champions…”

As Truth’s face twists into a grimace, X pauses to let the moment sink in… and then…

“Mr. John.  Jacob.  Schmidt.”

The crowd gasps and then breaks into laughter.  Truth throws down the microphone and immediately begins screaming all manner of unspeakable things at X.  He starts taking off his jacket.  Somewhere in the GLOBE, a small group of fans breaks into a rendition of “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt”.  Soon, more fans join in, and more, and MORE, until the whole arena is singing the song.  X dances in place while smiling a wicked smile.  Truth grabs the microphone and yells for them to “SHUT UP”… which only makes them louder.

He throws the microphone down again, rolls out of the ring… and rushes the stage where X is standing.

“Oh, so you want to play like THAT, huh?!” As Truth rushes X, X throws his microphone full force at Truth’s head.  Bullseye.  It ricochets off of his skull.  Truth cries out as he stumbles forward and goes crashing to the floor.  The crowd laughs and cheers as X rushes him and immediately starts laying in knees and fists to the prone Schmi- sorry, Truth.  They’re broken up by Border Control, who hoist X off, hold him up, and send him hurtling to the ground with a sickening thud.  “Auugh!” shouts X as Border Control are joined by Truth, who rain fists down on him.

Soon, GLOBAL security are pouring out from the stage, with Alfie Button at the head of the pack.  Loud cheers and chants of “ALFIE” ring out through the GLOBE as Alfie and security separate them, holding back Truth Control as they scream slurs at the two men.  X holds up the X in response as the crowd cheers.

Commentary takes a little bit to respond to what just happened.

“Well, the least we can say is, this rivalry just escalated. Somebody better keep these two men apart, or things are not going to end well…”

“You said it, Lucas! Now, are Truth and his people gone? I gotta call Allie and tell her she can come back…”

It is with Deltzer doing exactly that that the feed cuts elsewhere.

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Backstage, a flustered John J. Truth is ushered along by his posse towards the arena exit, his eyes wide, his shirt flapping under his suit, and most of his previous composure lost. As he mechanically puts one foot in front of the other, one single question repeatedly bursts forth from his lips.

“How did he know? HOW DID HE FUCKING KNOW?”

All of a sudden, the INTERNATIONAL (or is it American?) Champion halts his march, his body posture both straightening and stiffening as the gears visibly begin to turn in his brain.

“…it was Superbitch. Superbitch must have told him.” This thought throws The Man Who Fell To Earth into a murderous, frothing rage. “I’M GOING TO END THAT WOMAN! I’M GOING TO SEATTLE RIGHT NOW, I’M GONNA FIND HER, AND I’M GONNA SHUT HER BIG MOUTH ONCE AND FOR ALL!”

“John. JOHN!” Truth’s female companion puts herself in harm’s way by stepping in front of him and putting a hand on his chest, as she speaks to him in a tone that is somewhere between maternal and cross. “We are NOT ‘ending’ ANYONE, figuratively OR otherwise. Are we clear?”

She waits until the still altered Truth nods his assent, then carries on, as if nothing had transpired. “Good. Now. What we are going to do, first and foremost, is issue a statement condoning Mr….erm…X’s attitudes, and disassociating from them. It’s not going to do much, but it’s standard practice. After that…well, I think we should start thinking about suing.”

This finally manages to bring Truth out of his enraged state, with his splutters of anger being replaced by one of surprise.

“Suing?! For WHAT?! That son of a bitch didn’t do a damn thing we can nail him for! He’s smart that way, I’ll give him that…”

“Well…” The brunette begins to count on long, slender, pink-nailed fingers. “How about deadnaming? Defamation of character? Unfounded and harmful accusations?”

Truth, however, is still stuck on the first option. “Chrissakes, Lexi! ‘Deadnaming’? What kind of woke Millennial snowflake bullshit is that? Speak American, dammit!”

The brunette remains perfectly composed as she answers. “Well, your name isn’t…what he said…is it, John? Not any more…right?”

“You bet your ass it ain’t! I had the damn thing changed the minute I got outta that hellhole Superbitch threw me into. It’s gone through, now, as well. That bastard doesn’t get off calling me that!”

Exactly!” The woman claps in delight. “That is precisely what I meant, John! Well done on getting there on your own, you clever devil, you!”

Truth, however, barely responds to the brunette’s light flirtation, his brain still processing the newly acquired information.

“Wait, you can sue people for getting your name wrong?”

“Well… I’m not sure, actually. I’d need to ask Daddy. But it’s definitely a micro-aggression. VERY triggering. And definitely offensive and unacceptable.”

“Micro-WHATnow?” Truth throws his hands up in despair. “You know what? I don’t wanna know. Just do what you gotta do, and nail that bastard for good.”

“I will, John. I promise. I’ll talk to Daddy first thing tomorrow morning. Don’t worry.” The woman named Lexi puts her hand on Truth’s chest once again, and exchanges the briefest look with her two associates before turning a dazzling smile to the International (or is it American?) Champion.

“Now…should we head on back to the hotel, so we can have your nice new suit pressed?” She inspects the Champion’s blazer, clearly scanning for signs of damage. “I don’t think it ripped anywhere…it’s just a little crumpled. Should be good as new once we run it through dry cleaning.” Then, still beaming, she offers her arm to GLOBAL’s most controversial superstar. Truth even manages a grin in return as he takes it, allowing her – and his two bodyguards – to continue guiding him toward the comfort of his car, his hotel room, and an environment where he can be relatively certain no one will chant his birth name at him.

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Location: Unknown

Inside a large, metal container, a single lightbulb dangles from the ceiling. The dim light illuminates an old, round oak table. On top of the table, lies the childhood teddy bear of Jerry David.

The large, heavy door of the metal container thuds from the outside, before it is dragged, metal scraping on metal, to an open position, allowing the moonlight to pour into the dusty, barren, makeshift room.

The light is soon blocked out by a recognizable silhouette. The silhouette of the one they call Doritos.





“My darling…” Doritos whispers, walking slowly around the table, his hand gently caressing the hard wood, “you are a worthy adversary.”

Doritos reaches into his suit jacket pocket, pulling a small title belt, crafted by tin foil and paper, placing it onto the waist of the bear. He strokes the bear’s head softly.

“You can do this, Jerome. We can do this.”

By the door, a woman leans, her arms folded.

“My love, the horses grow restless,” she says, her red hood fluttering in the gentle midnight breeze.

“It is time to ask for your shot, darling. Sleep tight. Our time will come.” Doritos whispers, kissing his fingers through the bag and planting the kiss on the lips of the bear.


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Somewhere in Greater LA

October 15, 2023

“Big smiles, now, darlings…say cheese!”

The muted whir of a camera shutter captures the image of an ecstatic boy in a wheelchair, flanked by two muscular men whose plastered-on smiles do not make it even halfway to their eyes. Still, the two are forced to keep their positions a moment longer, as the middle-aged blonde in a blinding canary-yellow suit standing by the photographer turns an inquisitive look towards him, a moment before addressing him in a cultured Received Pronounciation British accent.

“Shall we do one more, darling?”

“No.” The photographer shakes his head. “I think that will do us for now.”

A grin breaks across the blonde’s features, revealing perfectly InvisAligned teeth. “Wonderful! Thank you so much, darling!” Then, clapping her hands, she advances towards the two men, whose body postures have visibly relaxed at the photographer’s words. “Thank you two so much as well, darlings!”

“Only for you, Kerry…” Even in as low of a tone as he is using, the darker-haired half of the pair – whose accent is very close to the blonde’s own – still looks around cautiously, to make sure no one is within earshot; beside him, his blond partner can barely muster more than a constant gnashing of teeth, his green eyes glowering daggers at nothing in particular, his hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically at his side.

Oblivious to this – or, at the very least, making a very passable attempt at seeming that way – the blonde grins at the two men, as the trio begin to make their way past a row of Make-A-Wish Foundation banners and towards the exit to the venue.

“I think that went rather well, don’t you?”

“I would rather dip my balls in an acid bath than go through anything even remotely resembling that, ever again.” Even filtered through his cultured accent, the blond man’s tone is still every bit as harsh as his glare as he confronts his interloper. “MUST WE subject ourselves to this, Kerry?”

The woman gasps, a slight frown creasing a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “RUPIE! How…unnecessarily graphic, you absolute horror!” She lightly smacks the man on the arm. “As for the rest, this was all part of our plan…after all, you chaps do want people to actually connect with you, do you not?”

“It never bothered ME before…” The blond shrugs petulantly. “I still do not see why all this is necessary.”

“Now, darling!” Kerry tuts again like a middle-aged aunt mildly scolding her unruly nephew. “It is not our job to question Stella’s motives, now, is it?”

“Yes, but this was your idea…” The blond’s low grumble seemingly escapes Kerry’s earshot (or, at the very least, she chooses to ignore it) as she clicks her key fob to unlock the jaunty Porsche 911 convertible – its color scheme matching her outfit – parked nearby.

“Look…Kerry…” The darker-haired half of the pair is far more civil in his approach. “I think what Rupert is trying to ask is…could we not just request a few bouts? Fight a few people? Gain respect that way? I feel we might find it within ourselves to fight somewhat fairly.” He glances towards his partner. “…might we not, mate?”

The man called Rupert grumbles noncommittally, clearly sulking, as Kerry gently counters his partner’s argument.

“I’m afraid we are not quite at that stage just yet, Nigey, darling. In fact, this would normally be the time when you would make a web post, or a video, stating you were taking a break from social media to look after your emotional health, or some such…except you don’t really do social media, do you?”

“Heaven forbid!” Rupert’s tone as he speaks up is once again one of disgust. “Rabble-infested hellholes, the lot of them!”

“…precisely.” Kerry shoots both her charges a pointed look. “As such, we must earn the people’s sympathy in another way – and it must be done before you are ever seen near a ring again. So that, when you do finally reappear, you might get the triumphant, heroes’ welcome you deserve!”

The blonde smacks her fist on her open palm, her tone convincingly enthusiastic; her charges, however, still have their doubts.

“How can you be certain we will be granted one?”

A mischievously confident grin breaks across Kerry’s features once again, her eyes glinting as she cranes her neck to look each of her charges in the eye.

“You just leave that to Auntie Kerry.”

She then motions towards the rear seats of the convertible, her tone reverting to that of a school teacher or good-natured aunt. “Now, do get in, or we shall be late for the St Jude’s meet-and-greet…”

Still visibly uncertain about the whole ordeal, the two men are nonetheless left with no choice but to comply, ducking into the vehicle and disappearing behind the tinted glass windows just as Kerry turns the key in the ignition and speeds off toward their next appointment.

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Somewhere near The Globe.  Last Tuesday.

The tall, dark, and handsome Giovanni Ferrari, decked out in a gray suit and green tie looking immaculate as ever, has a moment’s peace to himself at a Starbucks, blowing the boiling coffee a little prior to taking that first satisfying sip, one that is very much needed following the fallout of Glory at the end of Season 1 and preparing GLOBAL for life in its return.  There are various people scattered around the branch, but he has his back to the counter, looking out of the window and surveying the busy Los Angeles traffic before him, the sidewalks sprawling with people and noise, and yet in spite of it all, he is in a quiet, contemplative mood.

Giovanni is firmly aware he’s lucky to have a job at all, though, but this is his moment to unwind…or so he thought.

“I didn’t expect to find YOU here.” A familiar voice is heard, prompting him to look up. His former PR Officer Alicia Fawkes offers him a small smile. It’s the first time he’s seen her outside of a corporate business suit, and surprisingly she blends in just as well in casual attire as she did in the office, hair let down, jeans replacing slacks, a t-shirt with the logo of some new band he doesn’t recognise.

“Mind if I join you?” she asks.

Giovanni can’t suppress a smile and pulls the chair out slightly, beckoning for Alicia to sit without a single utterance, He looks at her side on, and then shakes his head.

“Why did you do it?”

She takes the seat and the rueful smile changes to a grimly serious look.

“Someone had to. With respect sir, they were conspiring to rig the fight. If anyone WITHOUT Global’s backing tried that, we could have been legally sunk. As it is, they’re risking major public backlash because they’re too stubborn to realise what THEY want isn’t what the people want. So yes, I went over your head and undermined them. I’m sorry for the disrespect, but I couldn’t just stand there and let them drag the company WE’VE built through the mud.”

Giovanni sighs, and then nods his head, a closed fist resting on his chin while he ponders what to say next.

“You did the right thing.  Thank you.  I just wish you’d come to me first,” he states, getting animated, throwing his hands out, which Italians are famous for as a general rule of thumb.

“And don’t say sorry.  If anyone should apologize, it’s me.  You shouldn’t have taken the fall for me, and if I could, I’d have you back at GLOBAL in an instant,” he claims, adding emphasis with a click of the fingers.

“GLOBAL can survive without me. It needed you to stay. And I believe you, sir. Unfortunately, the “IF” is the elephant in this boardroom. They were about to fire you for what amounted to thwarting their attempt to rig a fight. If they could do that, they can overrule your decision to reinstall me. Right now, that board holds more power than you do. Far too MUCH power if you ask me.”

Giovanni’s aforementioned nod is now a firm shake of a head.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, you were vital to our day-to-day operation, and you’ll be difficult, almost IM-POSSIBLE, to replace.  Maybe you’re right about them having too much power, but I can’t rock the boat, given I’ve just returned, thanks to you,” Ferrari says before taking another morning mouthful of caffeine.

She nods.

“You’re right, of course. You can’t rock the boat.”

A look came into her eyes then. A dangerous one.

“But you CAN sink it.”

Ferrari’s eyebrows raise.  To say he’s somewhat surprised would be an understatement, but even with Alicia, a colleague he’s clearly fond of, his poker face prevails.

“What do you mean?”

“Well… Perhaps “Sink It” might be a little melodramatic,” she says. “But what I AM suggesting is a mutiny. A careful one. A timed one. But one thing we agree on. That board is going to be the death of GLOBAL if they aren’t removed. And right now, you’re the only one who has even a fraction of the power needed to oust them.”

She pauses for a moment, letting her words hang.

“If that makes you uncomfortable, remember how close they were to firing you. They’ll find another excuse. As long as they stay… your job is at their whim.”

Despite there being few people around, Giovanni doesn’t want to be reckless in any way and leans in slightly to whisper.

“What are you suggesting?  How would, COULD, that even work?  Removing five, six other members of the board with how much they hate me, and they fired you?  That couldn’t fly,” and he’s back to shaking his head, only this time frantically prior to taking a much-needed drink.

“Well, that depends… Are you interested? Do you WANT to know how to be rid of them? If you aren’t, you can leave now. Forget this conversation ever happened, keep your head down, and pray they never find an excuse to remove you from the business you poured your soul into. But. if you WOULD like to be rid of the cancer that is killing your company…”

She stands up, picking up her cup with her.

“I believe you already have my number.”

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LA Express, who debuted on our season premier as opponents for Prime Time Athletes, are standing in the squared circle in blue and white tights, ready to go again after The Rich Family offered them this opportunity in an interview that took place following their GLOBAL debut.

The Rich Family, no music as always, get a good response as they step through the curtain.  Todd brings up the rear, green tights just in case he needs to compete at all, but Donny and Declan, wearing all-red shorts with their names imprinted on the back, are hyped for this match, high-fiving fans left and right.

“Donny looks ready,” Reece believes.

“We’ll see.  He’s always been considered the weak link in The Rich Family, Allie, and you haven’t seen him wrestle Allie, yet here we are in Season Two.  Don’t you think there’s a reason for that?”

“No,” she replies, playing dumb.

“Freddie has also been out of action since Domination Six, we’re now at Sixteen, and it’s been Declan and Todd keeping everything together,” Deltzer points out.

Lucas jumps in.

“I hear you Mark, and defer to you here.  Couldn’t you argue Donny’s had time to grow, I know it’s mainly the ring where it counts and I know that well, but he may’ve been working on some things, refining his game, getting bigger and stronger for today?”

“Hey, he may have.  What I’ve heard, though?  No, he isn’t any better.  We’re going to find out, though,” Deltzer claims.

“Oh, we sure will, and in a heartbeat,” Quinn concurs.

“LA Express, rookies themselves, could be the perfect team to try Donny out,” Reece reasons.

“Or set up for one of the biggest upsets in GLOBAL history,” The Mark counters, just as the bell sounds, all four men gathered in the ring for this tag team clash.

“LA Express’s confidence will be so much higher, too, following a decent performance against the Season One Best Tag Team, Prime Time Athletes,” Deltzer adds for good measure.

Declan is poised to kick things off, being the de facto captain in Todd’s absence, at least from an in-ring perspective.  Donny, however, pleads with his older brother and insists he’s got it.  Declan resignedly steps out; Todd puts both hands in the air as if to say we’ve got to trust him at some point. Meanwhile, Gage and Trevor resolve it far more quietly and efficiently with the former representing LA Express in only their second outing, following a decent debut a fortnight ago.

As the bell sounds, Donny and Gage are cagey, and Donny sort of stutter-steps while trying to negotiate a tie up, and that pause causes him to walk onto a roundhouse kick.

“Lucas, this is your area, but that’s not what you want your feet to look like at the beginning of a match, is it?”


“You NEVER want to do that, period, particularly at the start.  He looks like he’s never wrestled,” Quinn dejectedly observes.


“To be honest, he has little in-ring experience, and there’s a reason for that.  He can’t be trusted,” The Mark offers.


“Donny’s in trouble already,” Quinn reckons.

“This would be like the wrestling equivalent of getting stopped in the first round.  Being honest, and Allie will hopefully attest to this, I knew him representing The Rich Family would be a mistake,” Deltzer tells us.

Reece nods.

“Indeed, Mark did say that, and this wouldn’t have happened if Big Brother had been here.  Freddie must be livid.  Then again, so is Todd right now, but he and Declan stood back and let this happen.”

The camera pans to the pair exchanging a concerned look, Declan from the apron.

Gage comes to collect Donny and has his way, jumping up before coming back down and monkey flipping Donny at ease.  Gage has his next move in mind, which is right in front of our three-pronged broadcast team with a superb springboard moonsault.


“Declan isn’t taking any chances and doesn’t hang around to hear what Duncan Sullivan’s got to say either.”

In fact, Declan looks at Todd, and shrugs his shoulders.  Todd has his hands on his hips, doubtless reflecting on a massive mistake and how to put that right.

“Hurricanrana by Gage, and could he have Donny here?  Wait, Donny reverses it into a pinning predicament, and gets one in the process.  Rich is back up first and catches Gage with a kick to the gut.  What’s he going for here?  A brainbuster attempt, it would seem, only for Gage to escape and a roll-up…”







A heartstopping nearfall and Declan has his heart in his mouth, smacking the top turnbuckle in frustration while Todd can only look on, shaking his head and seething.  If he loses his cool, and can’t hold this thing together, then Donny and Declan will surely implode and give LA Express a massive leg-up in GLOBAL.

Gage whips Donny to the LA part of town, hitting Rich with some hard kicks to the chest and another roundhouse kick that sends Donny’s directly to the bottom rope, breathing through his ass.  Declan, standing on the top rope in TRF corner, is livid…

Suddenly, the camera switches to Dalls where the whole Rich Family is gathered in the Dallas residence and all screaming at Donny to get up.  Freddie is conspicuous by his absence.

Gage with an Asai Moonsault…




“To go back to the boxing analogy, Mark, Donny’s just about hanging in there,” Reece believes.

An Irish whip is reversed momentarily, giving Donny a chance to…eat a headscissors takendown by Gage.

“Everything he tries, fails,” Deltzer laments.

“And everything Gage tries, lands, including that superb spinning heel kick,” Lucas adds.

Quinn continues.

“Donny’s out of his depth here, what a monumental mistake that has been.”

Gage goes up top, rather than tagging Trevor, perhaps wanting to put an exclamation mark on this one-way traffic for LA Express thus far.

A magnificent missile dropkick—-denied by Donny side-stepping.


“I didn’t think that was gonna happen,” Allie admits.



Gages tags Trevor.

“LA Express brings their fresh man in, and it’s The Rich Family who desperately needs Declan in there,” The Mark says.

Trevor comes over, only for Donny to stick it to him with a couple of shots to the breadbasket, and a high knee-lift that gets a cheer from The Globe and TRF residence.

“Can he do it, and tag Declan in?”

A few seconds later, the question is answered.



Gage comes back in to see if he can put this fire out, but Declan’s too fast and furious…


Declan tosses Gage out over the top rope, joining Trevor and LA Express attempts to regroup.  Declan takes a brief look, and then comes to the south side of the squared circle, running and setting off like a Boeing 747…

Suicide dive on both members of LA Express!!

“LA Express started things off like that against Prime Time Athletes, if you recall, and it’s clear Declan was watching that match.  That is a shot at PTA, this young man is the future of The Rich Family, whether Freddie returns or not, and that is why.  Todd holds them together with a solid all-round game, composure good game-planning and consistency, but Declan has got athleticism, intelligence and is growing in size, stature and strength.  He had a standout match against Alfie Button in Britain back in Easter, and has grown in confidence ever since,” The Mark raves.

Declan isn’t messing around, tossing Trevor and Gage back in…

DOUBLE Clothesline by DONNY!!

He punches the air, and in turn, fans in Los Angeles and family members and friends in Texas respond in kind.

“Put him away, kid,” Todd shouts.

“I CANNOT BELIEVE IT…HE’S GOING FOR RAGS TO RICH—-Trevor plays party pooper with as Texan a move as you can get in the form of a lariat, but turn around…Declan’s waiting with a diving lariat of his own, regaining the lead for The Rich Family,” The Mark excitedly announces.

Declan grabs Donny and slaps him on the chest, having whispered something.  Declan takes Trevor while Donny assumes Gage…


The Mark holds his horses as he watches Declan give Donny a nod, and the famed cradle piledriver their father, Frank, made notorious in Texas and The United States is about to get one of its warmest receptions ever…


Declan gestures for Donny to pin Gage, and there are people praying back in Dallas…

Donny hooks the leg, and pulls back with all he’s worth…





“Donny doesn’t know where he is, but he’s a winner and oh, that was close at times,” Lucas states.

“All’s well that ends well,” Allie offers as some kind of consolation, and she stands up with other members of the audience to applaud The Rich Family.

Declan grabs the unlikely victor’s hand, and Todd rushes in and lifts Donny up like Swayze in Dirty Dancing as Dallas and Los Angeles erupt in unison.

“Well, Declan is holding Donny’s hand right now, and he did so through the whole match, showing his maturity and progress. Todd is set to join them,” Reece concedes.

What scenes we have in Texas. Frank is on his feet and Freddie slowly rises, looking at his dad, nodding.

“The story will be The Rich Family, but should it be?  LA Express DOMINATED The Rich Family until Declan took over from Donny, and that changed the complexion of the contest,” Lucas wonders aloud.

“No doubt, The Rich Family were on the verge of a loss, staring it right in the face,” Deltzer confirms.

“Listen to you two,” Reece mocks them.

“Come on Allie, Donny was dreadful, I hate to say it, and we now know they can’t rely on him,” The Mark reasons.

“I thought you already knew that?”

“I did, but not everyone in GLOBAL does, Jimmy Classic and Trae Larkin above all,” Mark replies.

Donny has tears in his eyes as The Rich Family huddles and takes three turnbuckles.

They mount three…leaving one free. 

“There’s just one thing – one man missing – and we hope you get well, Freddie,” Allie, speaking on behalf of the GLOBAL Nation, mourning Freddie’s absence for exactly 10 Dominations.

Frank points at Freddie, and they embrace.  He cradles his eldest son’s cheek as everyone else in the front room loses their nut, hugging, bottles of beer being spilt.

“They’re right, you know.”

 Freddie pats his dad on the back.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Exit left, son.

LOGO b&w


GLOBAL Headquarters
Earlier in the week

Giovanni Ferrari sits behind his desk.

“Come in,” he says, responding to a knock at the door.

Stepping through the door, wearing a navy blue sports jacket, crisp white shirt, neat blue Levi jeans and brown dress shoes, is Jerry David.

“Jerry. Good to see you. What can I d–”

Cutting the boss short never seems wise, yet so many people seem to do it. This conversation is no exception.

“I’ll cut to the punchline, Giovanni,” David says, his face flat, his eyes seeming somewhat darker than usual, “I want to know what a man has to do to get a title shot around here.”

Giovanni sits up in his chair.

“Well, Jerry. You’re definitely one of our top guys. I can’t dispute your resilience and your guts – fending off E Z Rah was no mean feat, and then The Jester… But the problem we have is, well, how can we sell a good guy versus a good guy? Where is the story? The conflict?”

Jerry raises an eyebrow.

“If you want conflict, Ferrari, I’ll give it to ya,” he says, stepping forward.

Giovanni raises his hands, showing his palms to Jerry.

“You know, Jerry, all of a sudden I have a great idea…”

LOGO b&w


Somewhere in Greater Los Angeles

October 21, 2023

In a dark, dank, musty training facility somewhere in Greater LA, an untelevised wrestling match is going on: three men in masks – two of them wearing identical bodysuits – are squaring off against a team made up of a girthy man, a flat-topped Irishman, and an entirely unremarkable man in a leotard. Unlike the last time this group attempted this exercise, however, in this instance, an actual athletic competition is taking place, which currently sees one of the masked twins in bodysuits attempt to twist the leotarded man into a pretzel, as he struggles to fight out of it and desperately holds out his hand to one of the other two men in his corner; both, however, make a point of looking away, stopping just short of a cartoon whistle when it comes to conveying inattentiveness. This, in turn, leads the muscular, dark-haired woman overseeing the entire thing to speak up, her tone one of mixed sarcasm and exasperation.

“Nobody likes you, Public. Help isn’t on the way. Get your own ass out of there!”

While visibly trying his best, however, the unremarkable-looking man appears to be having some difficulty extricating himself from his predicament, which leads one of the masked men currently holding the tag rope to whoop in exhilaration.

SHYEEEEAAAH! Get ’em, Thing One!” The man suddenly pauses, as the body-suitted twin behind him angrily points at himself. “Shit, wait, are YOU Thing One? Man, you guys really need some matching sweaters or something! I mean, damn, bruh!”

“Shut the fuck up, Marx.” The call from the dark-haired woman is more of a command than a telling-off, and has the desired effect of restoring relative silence to the practice room, with only the grunts of the two men in the ring being audible for a moment. Unfortunately, the masked man’s comments from the corner have caused his legal team-mate to lose focus for just a split-second, allowing the man called Public to wriggle out of the hold, mule-kick his opponent away, and leap into his corner, where he taps the large man on the shoulder, effectively making a tag. His supposed team-mate, however, does not immediately react, simply glowering at the smaller man for a long moment, and forcing the woman to intervene.

“Fair’s fair, Dann. That counted as a tag. Get in there.”

The man called Dann, however, takes as long as possible to comply, glaring daggers at Public all the while, as the unremarkable wrestler points towards the ring and triumphantly at him to “get in there”! This, in turn, forces the stern-looking woman to interfere once again.

“Ladies! Ladies! You can have your little dick-measuring contest in your spare time. Right now, there is a match going on, and Dann, you’re going to get in there RIGHT THE FUCK NOW if you know what’s good for you!”

Predictably, this has the desired effect on both men, with Dann grumbling his way into the ring and Public finally taking his place behind the tag rope – a vantage point from which to observe as Dann and the third man on their team nullify the bodysuited duo’s “twin magic” act by knocking one of them off the apron to the floor, then take turns dismantling the one in the ring. While still stretching for a possible tag, Marx has suddenly fallen remarkably silent, which is as good of an indication as any of the way things are going for his team at the moment. As such, it comes as no surprise when, moments later, Dann puts away “Thing One”, while the Irishman intercepts Marx to prevent him from breaking the pin. The expected three-count, however, never comes, as the dark-haired instructor’s attention is fully diverted by her phone, heard vibrating a moment earlier. As she, at length, looks up from it, her eyes take a moment to scan all six men in and around the ring, as she sighs.

“Fall in…!”

The men – even those laid out by impact moves – scurry to comply, and a line is soon formed in front of the drill instructor, who begins to pace back and forth across it.

“I have just had a message from GLOBAL. They requested one of you for a match this weekend.” Her eyes scan the group in front of her again, as each of its members holds his breath in anticipation – only to deflate a moment later, as the instructor calls out a single name. “Public – front and center.”

This, predictably, causes protests from the vocal half of the cadets, which the woman is quick to quash.

“Shut the fuck up, both of you. I’m actually glad they picked Public.” Equally predictably, the man in question puffs out in pride – only for his own bubble to be burst by his superior’s next few words. “See, none of you maggots is anywhere near ready yet…so, if anyone here is going to look like a joke…might as well be the one everyone already knows is a joke.”

Public’s features and body posture visibly sag, as though he had physically been pricked with a pin, as his teammates make a valiant effort not to snicker. A barked command from the woman, however, immediately has them standing up straighter, eyes front, and as still as they can possibly manage. They maintain this position for another long moment before the woman calls to dismiss, breaking the ranks. As the men amble towards their respective bags, then towards the locker room beyond the exit door ahead of them, the instructor calls out to the visibly nervous-looking Public. Midway through packing away his things, the unremarkable wrestler tenses as his name is called, and whirls around to face his superior, his words catching in his throat as he salutes.

“Y-yes, M-Miss W-Wright, M-Ma’am?”

The woman named Wright gives him a long once-over, prolonging his agony, before finally speaking up.

“Try not to embarrass me too much out there, at least.”

“Y-Yes, Ma’am…I will, Ma’am…I m-mean, I WON’T, Ma’am!”

“You better not. Otherwise…”

A glance and a subtle nod down at her workout boots are all it takes to have Public quaking again – a state which almost seems to amuse Miss Wright, who is making no effort to contain her smirk as she turns and strides out of the room, leaving her quavering charge to collect himself and steady his nerves enough to face the drive home.

LOGO b&w


Minutes after The Star -2, which took place the afternoon before Domination 15 at around 4pm. Got that?

Another roll call, shall we?

Ray Young, the 19-time world champion, is decked out in a light green suit with a white shirt and a gray tie.  His skin resembles a coffee table with wrinkles, though he has a lovely set of railings and his smile shows off his dentist’s rather fine handiwork.

Hank Wright, a multi-time heavyweight champion himself, has a white cowboy hat on, a red shirt, and blue jeans.  Talk about representing state and country.  His blonde hair is showing some gray, but his piercing blue eyes show no sign of dimming.

Keegan, a British export who is overrated but done okay considering his limitations, is in an all-blue suit and matching tie.

Jackie James, his medium-length hair has gone gray, but he hasn’t trimmed it at all in retirement.  He’s regarded as one of the finest men NEVER to win a World title, and is sporting a green and blue checked shirt with beige pants.  There’s still a twinkle in his brown eyes when he talks wrestling, and today is one of those occasions.

Next to Jackie James, his former rival, Jimmy Mann, whose beautiful set of hair is all but gone, with a bald head and some hair on the sides.  He is laughing at something Ray Young said, showing a fine set of teeth, save for a couple of wisdom teeth missing, one on either side.

Michael Mercer, the clean-cut brunette (don’t often hear men called that, do you?)  He has an all-black suit and a Canadian flag tie, which has got him some stick so far.

Brandon Garrick, long hair down his back, along with Michael Mercer, is injured, and one of the best wrestlers in the world.  He has a white training t-shirt on and gray sweatpants, fresh off a workout, and joked he looked out of place when he walked in.  Injured yet training?  Yes, he’s on the comeback trail.

Giovanni Ferrari, looking a million bucks, nods, staring into space. “I have no idea,” he throws his hands up, causing everyone to laugh, Ray raucously.

“Why do you think we’re having this meeting?”

All of a sudden, a blast from the past – or perhaps – the future storms in like he owns the place, and he certainly has the cash.  The definition of more money than sense.  You’ll do well to remember he wished you all a happy fucking 2023 back on Domination 3, this muscular, shirtless, mustached madman with bulging veins, ripped jeans, and a bandana strolls in and is about to let rip.


Everyone is taken aback by the arrival of one Maximus Armstrong Calvin Kronk, the former CEO and spokesperson of the Kronk corporation, and one of the heirs to the billion-dollar business, assuming he doesn’t die of a heart attack or go to prison first.


Giovanni interrupts him with a raised palm.

“Can I please reply?”




“We can talk about you coming in as a partner – hopefully a silent one,” Giovanni adds, making everyone else smile or laugh.

Maximus grabs and almost chokes the life out of the CEO.


Kronk dusts him down.


“That’s two things,” Ferrari replies.


LOGO b&w


Earlier today.  Around noon.

Son of Malta is taken into one of the innumerable offices within GLOBAL Studios by a pretty, blonde secretary with remarkably round red lips, who smiles, as he’s faced with a reasonably attractive brunette with a stern look, freckles, blue eyes, and over-the-top bright pink lipstick that doesn’t suit her at all.

“Son of Malta, my name is Michelle Miller, and I’ve taken over from Alicia Fawkes in light of her departure.  I’ll be talking to some of the GLOBAL talent over the next few days, and your name was one of the first on my list.”

She taps her file on SOM and asks.

“Shall we get started?”

He nods, not really knowing how to reply.

“You’re a veteran of many years and a fantastic fighter.  However, the thing is you’ve lost to the top guys here:  Darring, Reyn, Dream, and there’s no shame in that, we’re happy to keep you around, but do you want to stay here, knowing you can’t beat the top guys?  Your best is behind you, you haven’t got the IT factor, your charisma is limited, and why risk injuries when you could just retire?  As a thank you, we could assign you easier matches, the likes of Joe Public, and you could work your way into International Championship contention WITH TIME.  Is it worth it?”

Malta puts his hands on the table, takes a deep breath, and then smiles.

“Michelle’s your name?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Stick your advice up your ass.  I’m not going anywhere.  Actually, I am.  Away from you.  As far as my contract goes, it runs for another three years, and I’ll prove to you, and everyone else, why I’m still a threat to every single guy and girl in that locker room next time I’m in the ring.”

Malta turns to leave.

“Damon Somner on Domination Sixteen.  Another has-been who no one cares about.”

He thinks about confronting her one time.  Instead, he slams the door as hard as possible without taking the hinges off it.

LOGO b&w


“One-on-one action to come next, and we’re told it’s Son of Malta, fresh off a win against former partner and rival Gordon Gaines…” Lucas Quinn is rudely interrupted by The Mark coughing “Big” under his breath.

Allie shakes her head.  Lucas takes a second and then resumes.

“Tonight, however, Son of Malta is slated to face Damon Somner, and wait a minute, here is Son, no music, and he gets a cheer from the crowd.  There’s the music now, Son caught our technical team by surprise there, the Maltese national anthem is now in full swing, but a determined and fired-up Son of Malta is already scaling the steps, seemingly ready to wage war on Somner.”

In the process of making the trip to the ring, Son ignores every high-five offer from fans, and pays no attention to the fanfare.  His eyes are locked on the entrance way, ready for Somner to emerge and fight him.

“Call on Me” by Eric Prydz signals the arrival of the Health Fanatic taking center stage, albeit flanked by Greg Matthews and Gordon Gaines.   Damon has fair hair brushed forward and is decked out in his typical clobber of a red gym t-shirt and royal blue shorts, and Matthews and Gaines are no different in that regard. 

Damon does a few star jumps, complete with a cheesy grin, and he jumps up onto the apron before stepping between the ropes.  The bell sounds, and we’re underway as the two hangers-on stand by the steps.

A tie-up is negotiated. Son of Malta, the bigger and stronger of the two, frog marches Somner back to the bottom right-hand corner of the battlefield, and he doesn’t even wait for Shane Staggs to call for a break.  Instead, Malta chooses to try and break Damon’s face with a fantastic forearm smash that rocks Somner to his core.


That sound is a knife-edge chop that could be heard from the back row, and that’s impressive, even in a 2,500-seater arena, let me tell you.  What’s even more emphatic is it takes Somner off his feet altogether, even causing one leg to rise off the mat before Damon finds himself flat on his back, clutching his chest as if he may implode any minute.

“Now that’s what you call a chop,” Quinn concedes.

“You ever take one like that, Lucas?”

Allie’s query is confirmed by a curt “oh yes” by the wise head of the table and voice of the GLOBAL Nation.

An Irish whip by the Maltese sends Somner diagonally across the squared circle, up into the air and down onto the floor, not far from our announcers themselves.

“Son of Malta is having his way with Damon Somner here, setting a frantic and ferocious tempo and in this kind of mood, and he does seem to be in a mood, Malta is difficult to cope with.  If he can keep this up, it shouldn’t last long,” Quinn predicts.

“However, Damon isn’t called “The Engine” for nothing,” The Mark retorts.

“Fitness and resilience are two different things.  He can’t afford to let Malta stay in this groove.  He’s getting eaten alive in there.  Damon needs something drastic, believe me,” the only ex-professional wrestler at the table tells his broadcast partner on good authority.

Malta comes out and rams Somner’s head into the announce desk right in front of The Mark, Reece and Deltzer, who all stand up.

“You could hear that back in Malta,” Reece shouts above the cheering ringside spectators.

“They can hear you back in Malta,” Deltzer quips.

“They’ll hear it when I smack you upside the head,” Allie threatens, even going as far as to mimic doing it, much to the amusement of those who have seen it behind the desk.

Meanwhile, another crunching sound emanates from The Globe via a SOM suplex on Somner, out on the ringside floor.  Malta, a no-nonsense competitor if there ever was one, rolls Somner back in.  Nevertheless, the antithesis in the form of Gordon “Big” Gaines childishly taps Son of Malta on the shoulder, only to retreat several steps.  If looks could kills, Gordon would be in the ground about now.

The momentary distraction allows Damon, fresh off a pasting, to recover and kick Malta to the ribs as the fighter-cum-wrestlers rolls back in, and then around following a thunderous shot to the ribs.  It isn’t often that the mixed martial artist from the Mediterranean shows weakness, but a wince betrays him on this occasion.  Damon has done some damage.

“He has to capitalize,” The Mark states.

“Talk about kicking a man while he’s down,” Reece adds.

“And, the double axes won’t help Malta’s cause and a back rake, which gets him a warning from Staggs, though it has no real effect on Malta, unlike the first shot.  If anything, he hasn’t built on his lead at all, what it has done is wake Malta up, and Damon can’t do anything at the moment,” Quinn believes.

A single arm DDT questions that theory, and SOM stays down…

… But not for long.


Hammerlo—ok out!

A reversal by Son, drawing applause, and that soon makes way for out-and-out cheers…





“OH MY GOD,” Deltzer exclaims.

“Gaines is running around like an idiot,” Allie observes.

“If Malta has this in like I think he does, it’s over,” Lucas offers.

Until Gaines reaches in and extends Somner’s hand, just when it appears Damon’s lights might be going out completely.  The crowd boos, Staggs looks down at the guilty and suspiciously close-to-the-action Gaines, who in fairness to him, gullibly looks at the official, convincing Staggs, not an easy guy to fool, this had nothing to do with him.  However, Somner’s sleepy state suggests he didn’t do this of his own volition.  Even in the ropes, he looks motionless, but you can’t call what you can’t see, lads and lasses.

Malta opts not to get mad – but to get even.  He scraps Somner up and shoves him into a neutral corner. 

One shoot-style leg kicks forces Damon’s body to twist in an alarmingly awkward way.  The second one makes it look like Damon’s doing a dreadful dance, and now he’s flying…

“WHAT AN AWESOME OVERHEAD BELLY-TO-BELLY SUPLEX BY SON OF MALTA,” Quinn yells, getting overexcited by the overhead, and now it’s over me saying the word over.  Did I overdo it?

Anyway, Gaines looks to get up on the apron, but a wild roundhouse right that doesn’t connect, given Gordon’s reluctance to be anywhere near Son, achieves its purpose of ejecting the third member of The Health Fanatics.

Greg Matthews, arms folded, won’t interfere.  Gaines has been negated.

To put an exclamation point on it, Son of Malta locks Somner in a cobra clutch and after three seconds, elevates Damon effortlessly into the air and converts it into a cobra clutch slam.

The fans know what’s coming.

So do the commentators.  Well, that’s what they’re paid for, isn’t it?

“It’s time,” Quinn calls.

Lo and behold…

“The Maltese Cross is on, and this is over,” Lucas informs us.  In fairness, Damon is fighting it best he can, but after seven to eight seconds, the initial struggle and impetus slowly wavers.  Son knows what he’s doing with what is arguably the second most famous submission in GLOBAL.

“The Engine is running on fumes,” Deltzer laments on the behalf of anyone sympathetic to The Fanatics’ cause, but it’s in vain.

Somner’s hand goes up and down once…


Going, going…


Like Mr. Merchandise securing victory over Darren Best on our Season 2 premiere, Son of Malta’s makes Damon pass out, and he’s now two-and-oh following the summer break, but he doesn’t appear to be done, calling for Downtown Jason Brown’s microphone, not even allowing our resident announcer to give The Globe the official word.

“That wasn’t even a workout, pun intended, Health Fanatics.  Hey, Matthews, I’ve beaten the other two pushovers.  How about you get in here and give me a real test?”

Gaines tries to talk Greg out of it, but Matthews doesn’t need a second invitation.  He stares up at Malta, gauging whether the challenge is real.  When he realizes it is, he walks up the stairs, cheers accompanying his entrance into an impromptu battle, and we’re not going to waste any more time, folks.

LOGO b&w


Malta is slightly cagier here, at least to start with, doubtless confident following his win, but showing respect to what is a different assignment.  Greg Matthews, unlike Damon Somner, can dominate Malta when it comes to size and power.  But Malta has more weapons in his armory.

Predictably, a tie-up is secured by Matthews, who bullies Malta like Son did to Somner in the opening seconds of the previous encounter. 

“Greg exacting revenge on Damon’s behalf there,” Deltzer reckons.


“As is that chop,” Reece weighs in.

“Not kidding, Allie,” Mark responds.

Meanwhile, our cameras focus on Somner, still buzzed and dazed, being helped to the back by Gordon Gaines.  At least he’s good for something  -pun 100% intended.

“This is going to be a fair fight after all,” Deltzer enthuses.

“Glad to see the back of Gaines,” Reece confesses.

Matthews builds on his brilliant start with a BIG-TIME Biel throw, but Son totally brushes it aside after eating the bump, getting back up and mounting Matthews in the corner defiantly, slinging a handful of hard shots to Greg’s curly mop.  There’s no doubt they get his attention, but The Powerhouse musters the strength and willpower to throw Malta off before falling to one knee.

“You cannot take that punishment from Son of Malta, no matter how big or strong you are,” Lucas’s love-in with Son continues, ladies and gentlemen.

Buoyed, Son of Malta comes back to the corner, but Greg regains his bearings in the nick of time and catches Son in a scoop slam position and then proceeds to walk with Son in his arms like a newborn, showcasing that awesome strength he’s renowned for.

“And Son of Malta cannot allow Greg to do this, Lucas,” Deltzer offers in return.

“No, he can’t and that is crazy strength,” Lucas admits.

One pendulum backbreaker…

Two pendulum backbreakers…

Three pendulum backbreakers…


“That’ll take its toll, no doubt,” Lucas stating the obvious, folks.

“Fallaway slam, and look at the height and distance he got on that,” Quinn following up with slightly better insight this time around.

1…and that is it.

“More of a gut check for Malta, but I wouldn’t bet against him passing it,” Deltzer says.

“Me neither, Mark.  Look at how calm Matthews is, patient despite a dominant period, and not distracted or disheartened by Malta’s defiance in kicking out at 1.”

Indeed, a front su—PERSTAR KICK BY SON OF MALTA!!!

“A tribute to Son’s mentor, the only and only SVJ with that Superkick,” Deltzer raves.



Quinn’s confusion stems from the fact that Matthews defiantly kicks out, throwing his right shoulder up immediately.  Malta ignores that, attempting a chokehold instead.  Greg, showing no signs of being hurt by the super kick, locks Malta’s arms on the mat, and powers out, rising to his feet while foiling Malta’s plans and looking at him dead in the eye while doing it.

“I cannot believe what I’ve just watched, but Greg is arguably one of the most powerful men, pound for pound, who has ever squatted, stepped and slammed in a squared circle, and this is a mental dogfight, as well as a physical one, but no change is being given here,” Deltzer shares.

In fact, Greg keeps hold of Malta’s hand and turns it into an arm wringer.

“That is a page right out of his partner’s play book,” The Mark observes.

Shoulder-like charges, Hall style, with the arm wringer intact, though not for much longer.  A whip to the corner in the top left-hand side of the ring is shrugged off as Malta catches Matthews with an elbow…Superstar K-CLOTHESLINE!  Malta goes down like a sack of shit.  Did you get that reference?  No?  Survey says…you suck.

1… That’s all.  Just before 2.

Matthews picks Malta up like a toilet roll knocked off the shelf and then plants Son with a running powerslam that rocks the ring. 



That does get 2.

“Malta’s in more of a fight here and to add insult to injury, Greg is going to stick it to Son with an overhead belly-to-belly suplex,” Quinn narrates.

Nonetheless, Malta has other ideas and thwarts Greg’s grand plan by going up onto the second rope…tornado DDT…NO, Matthews turns it into a release front suplex…

“Brains AND brawn,” The Mark emphasizes concerning Greg.

“Look at Malta though, already back up, OH!  Not for much longer as Matthews hits him with a LARIAT that almost sent him back to Europe decapitated, and Matthews is a mean, mean man,” Quinn condemns Greg.

“Turnabout, Lucas.  I don’t like Damon, but Malta treated him like a rag doll early, and Greg is doing the same to Son here,” Allie pipes up, and is on point with her observation.





A FIFTH rib breaker paves the way for an Irish whip, which in turn creates the opening for a corner splash, only for Malta to escape in the nick of time.  He changes defense into offense in an instant, establishing a waistlock and is seeking to take Greg to the cleaners with a German suplex…No, Matthews reverses it, but then Malta re-counters that with an OVERHEAD GERMAN!

“What strength by Son of Malta, mixing it and matching power with Matthews, which very few people on the planet can do,” The Mark gushes.






And Greg kicks out of that, too! 

“The benefit of not missing leg day, ladies and gentlemen,” The Mark quips.

A brief double down ensues.  Let’s skip to four when Malta’s up first, only to be down a second later as he darts into a terrific thrust spinebuster, and Matthews wastes no time scraping Son back off the mat, with the intent of delivering something even more impressive, momentarily.


Take it away, Lucas, lad.


Many of the capacity crowd gathered in The Globe are up on their feet, but Greg Matthews arches his back, looking to power out, showcasing strength, determination and defiance all rolled into one.

“You can see Matthews arching his back and fighting this for all of his almighty strength, but as a one-time great fighter said:  Technique beats power.  You’re seeing that here.  There’s no doubt Greg does more reps in the gym, and we’ve seen him dominated Malta at times, even as recently as ten to twenty seconds ago, but in this domain, Malta’s a master and Matthews is sinking,” Quinn waxes.

“Matthews looks like he might just break it, Quinn.”

Notwithstanding, and Greg isn’t, it’s a fleeting act of defiance before a return to normality, and that is setting in for Greg right now, as his lights are on the cusp of dimming in front a crowd baying for him to tap.

“However, with all the will in the world, Matthews, as strong as he is, like an ox, he can’t do anything to counteract that, and there’s no shame in it at all.  He’s struggling, slowing down and like The Engine gave out, The Powerhouse is going to be pulled down,” Quinn muses.

“He won’t quit, though.”

“He doesn’t have to, Mark.  His body will quit on him,” Lucas suggests.

Right on cue…

Staggs calls for a stoppage, giving Son his second win in quick succession at the Health Fanatics’ expense.  He refuses to have his arm raised by Shane Staggs, who is visibly annoyed at Malta’s attitude.  However, the tough man has something else on his mind, once again searching for – and getting – Downtown’s mike before our announcer can read out the result.

Pacing back and forth, Malta reveals all.

“Earlier tonight, GLOBAL management told me to take it easy, slow down, even think about retirement,” Son tells the audience.  Predictably, they reject that notion by booing.

SOM nods.

“Exactly what I thought.  Apparently, I’m too good to lose, but not much charisma, never going to be the face of this place, yada, yada, yada,” he mocks, pissed off.

“I can still go.  I’ve only lost to the best, and a few months ago, I was considered good enough to challenge Sean Darring for the GLOBAL Championship.  I competed with Alex Reyn in a main event and have given him more problems than most in his career.  Bring anyone out right now, and I’d fight them.  That’s the type of man I am,” Malta hisses.

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“There is truth to your words. Son of Malta.”

A voice cuts through the crowd’s noise like a knife. An icy, familiar voice.

“You are better, and worthy of far stronger opponents than these two.” Alex Reyn says, stepping over the barricade. “But you made one mistake. The one holding you back isn’t the pests hiding in their office. The only one holding you back… is you.”

He steps into the ring. Now eye level with Malta.

“You speak of your battle with Darring… How did that go? I have fought you. I have fought Darring. If you were even HALF the fighter I know you can be, Darring would not have had such an easy time against you. And when I think of our OWN fight in recent months and compare it to our war all those years ago… I find myself bitterly disappointed.”

He’s circling Malta now, in typical Reyn fashion.

“You’ve been slipping. Weakening. You’re not the warrior you once were, Son of Malta. And I know THAT is what you want back. Not the respect of the ignorant. You want your SELF-Respect.

A small smile spreads across his face.

“I’m inclined to offer it to you… For a price.” He has stopped his prowl, now face to face with his old enemy. “You seek a worthy opponent. Someone to prove yourself against, prove how strong you really are.”

He steps back and bows.

“Allow the East Wind… to be that opponent.”

A cheer emanates from The Globe, which catches Malta’s attention as he surveys the crowd.  Everyone already knows the answer, though, long before he presses the microphone to his lips and facial hair.

“I accept.”

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GLOBAL Wrestling Training Facility

Hollywood, California

October 20, 2023 9.30AM

Whatever hesitations or misgivings Gage and Trevor – the two members of the team known as LA Express – may have felt upon first entering the GLOBAL Wrestling gym as full-blown members of the company’s roster are quickly dispelled as two women their own age dismount their respective pieces of equipment and stride towards them.

“Hey! You’re the new guys, right?” Caught on the back foot, Gage and Trevor simply nod, causing the more talkative of the two women, a redhead, to smile and hold up her hands for a high-five. “All right! Welcome to the roster!”

Once the two men have slapped both her and her darker-haired partner’s hands, she suddenly becomes more serious. “Listen, sorry we didn’t say hi or introduce ourselves last time…we were having a bad night. You know how it is.” She holds out her right arm for a fist-bump, then nods towards her companion. “Aaaanywayyyy…I’m Teagan, and this is Izzy. You may know us as GLOBAL’s only officially sanctioned Twitch streamers, wrestling’s very own Team Rocket, the hottest prospects in fifty-one states and two continents, the foxes you’ve been waiting for, the little girls in the middle of the ride, and THE most record-breaking team in GLOBAL Wrestling history…Trouble Roxx!” Her grin widens as Izzy rolls her eyes at the usual spiel. “Pleased to meet ya! And you are…?”

Once Gage and Trevor have replied – complete with team name – Teagan Trouble speaks up once again.

“Awesome. So, listen…if you want a match or anything, let us know, m’kay?”

“Or, hey, just answer one of our open challenges!” Izzy’s first contribution to the conversation has her partner nodding in agreement for a moment, before she excuses herself, apparently having spotted somebody over the two men’s shoulders.

“Sorry, guys, I need to…Hey! Hayley! Come here a sec!”

The blonde woman just entering the gym stops mid-stride and looks up, her face breaking into a smile. “Hey, y’all! How y’all doin’?”

Fist-bumps having been exchanged, and the two new additions to the roster duly introduced, Trouble pulls the Robinson sister aside.

“Can I talk to you a minute?”

“Uh…sure. What’s up?”

Teagan cuts right to the chase. “Listen…you know your Coach?”

Hayley Robinson frowns. “Yeah…what ’bout her?”

“You think you could put us in touch with her?”

The frown on “the Raven’s” face deepens. “Y’all wanna talk to Coach?”

“Yeah! I mean, if we can…”

“…what for?”

“Well…” Teagan glances back towards her partner, currently laughing it up with the two newcomers, then lowers her voice, as though Izzy were still directly next to her. “…after last week…” She glances back towards Izzy yet again, then relaxes. “….Izzy and I got to talking, and we kind’a think this is the perfect chance for us to get some more training. And seeing as we know you, and you know a Coach, and they’re out there in La La Lariat Land…” Trouble lets a single-shoulder shrug complete the thought for her.

Robinson, however, still looks uncertain, prompting the redhead to offer some reassurance.

“Oh, don’t worry…we aren’t gonna embarrass you or anything!”

“The Raven”, however, shakes her head. “Ain’t y’all I’m worried ’bout. It’s Coach.”

It is Teagan’s turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Robinson actually pauses for a moment. “Coach ain’t suffer no nonsense. An’ boy, she got a temper on her…hooo-weee!” The blonde exhales theatrically. “Real talk? If ya ain’t know her too good, an’ she ain’t know you too good, she can be kind of a bitch.” She looks her interloper straight in the eye. “Y’all think y’all can put up with that?”

Trouble shrugs again. “Sure…I guess…I mean, I can…and if she comes at Izzy sideways, I’ll stand up for her. We both will.”

All of a sudden, “Raven” becomes fidgety. “Yeah…’bout that…”

Teagan frowns again. “What about it?”

“Just…I been thinkin’ ’bout shit…an’ I ain’t know that I’m goin’ back just yet.”

Surprisingly, Teagan does not so much as blink at this revelation. “Because you want to stay with your brothers?”

“Raven” nods, Teagan following suit a split-second later.

“Yeah. I get it.” The redhead jerks her head back towards her tag team partner. “I feel the same about my sister from another mister. No way I could ever leave her.”

Hayley nods again, as a momentary silence falls between the two women; as is her wont, it is Teagan who breaks it, perhaps a little too loudly.

“So…you’ll talk to your Coach, right?”

“Uh…” Her interloper’s raised tone brings Robinson out of her introspective state. “Oh…yeah..sure.”

“Thanks, H!” Teagan leans over and pats her co-worker on the shoulder amicably. “Hey, I’m’a let you go now…me and Izzy gotta hit the road and go find a place that does late breakfast or brunch or something. I’m so hungry I could eat a freaking elephant!”

With that, and after bidding her work friend goodbye, the redheaded half of Trouble Roxx turns back towards her partner, loudly reiterating her famished state; this, in turn, prompts Izzy into action, and it does not take more than a moment before the two women are heading towards the dressing-room area of the facility, leaving friends old and new to start their workout in peace.

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The latest video uploaded to the GLOBAL Wrestling YouTube channel appears to be directly taken from Instagram, as evidenced by the vertical format and dynamic captioning happening all over the screen as its main protagonist speaks. Said protagonist, seen sitting against what appears to be a crumbling brick wall somewhere in an urban environment, is none other than up-and-coming GW superstar Angel “The Kid” Ramirez, whose usual playful expression is, on this occasion, replaced with a somewhat more serious scowl of determination. It comes as no surprise, therefore, that when the Latina teenager speaks, her words convey that very same emotion – mixed in with a sprinkling of anger.

“Hey yo, this one goes out to all you ‘pendejos‘ out there who wanna go on social media and say ya girl don’t got no skill, she’s limited, all she ever do is jump around, she ain’t never gonna make it without Saul, or whatever the fuck else. I hope you all watched Domination 15. An’ I hope you all learned to shut the fuck up an’ don’t be a hater.”

Angel’s eyes scorch the lens of, presumably, her phone for a moment before she continues.

“Same goes for everybody in GLOBAL. I hope you was all payin’ attention two weeks ago. I hope you all got the message that just ’cause ya girl likes to goof off, an’ mess around, an’ do it for the memes an’ shit…don’t mean she can’t get real when she gotta. An’ I hope you seen how far I can go when I got somethin’ to fight for. ‘Specially you, Valorie, ‘pinche puta pendeja de mierda!‘”

Feeling her anger growing, Angel takes a moment to compose herself, if only just barely, before continuing.

“So, yeah…if you was countin’ on The Kid givin’ up an’ goin’ home just ’cause you hurt her homeboy…think again. ‘Cause ya know what? All you did was make me wanna stay even more, so I can kick your fuckin’ ass for doin’ that to him! You think I give a shit about titles? Man, I ain’t give a fuck ’bout no titles! But my homeboy? Him, I give a fuck about. An’ that’s why I’m stickin’ around an’ doin’ what we was ‘posed to do together, all on my own. So I can make him proud.”

The Latina leans in, her demeanor more ghetto than ever.

“So as my boy Saul says, now you know, like GI Joe!”

Angel throws up the deuces.

“See you in the ring, ‘pendejos‘!”

With that, the feed suddenly and abruptly cuts off, leaving viewers to stare at a black screen for a second before the video ends.

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ust before the next tag team match about to take place, we see The Informer creeping up towards the edge of the gorilla position where voices are overheard. 

“Hello, GLOBAL.” he begins, in a hushed tone so as not to alert his interview subjects. “I am The Informer, and we are about to try and catch a word with the returning Dirty Greats! As you all know, the self-professed GLOBAL Hall of Famer Aleczander The Great and “Big Aug” August Lazar spent the majority of the first season of GLOBAL tearing each other apart as two of the top singles stars, only to end up teaming up against a common enemy in the Best of British, who they defeated at Glory.”

The camera peers over to Aleczander The Great, dressed up in his ridiculous golden gear. He looks up to the massive 7’4” Big Aug dressed in his regular sleeveless black and red body suit, discussing something. In between them, Big Aug’s manager Del Waterstone is watching Aleczander with the most skeptical set of eyes ever laid upon someone. Back to The Informer, who peers back to his cameraman. 

“Over the break, I heard they did some training, and now they’ll be a full time tag team going forward! Let’s listen in on what they’re saying, then we’ll hit them with the Q’s!”

The Informer’s cameraman creeps up as The Dirty Greats have their conversation. 

“Mate! Come on!” Aleczander says. “I had that body suit MADE for us! Tag team 101! You HAVE to wear matching colors as a tag team or they won’t even KNOW we’re a team!”

“How they NOT know?” Big Aug says in his Romanian accent. “We two people, Alec. We two REALLY BIG people, but we two people. Tag team!”

“Nah, you nob!” Aleczander shouts. “We’re fighting against a pair of little flippy kids called TEAM UNITED! We gotta be more united than that in the future!”

“And besides,” Del interjects. “Big Aug ain’t wearing a bodysuit that says “Alec’s Sidekick” on the back. You think we wouldn’t notice that?”

Big Aug does indeed hold up what looks like a sleeveless gold bodysuit tailored for his massive frame. He flips around the back to show the words “Alec’s Sidekick” gilded out in sparkling sequined gold. 

“I give point for fashion,” Big Aug says, “but I’m not YOUR sidekick, Alecz. If we going to be tag team, we equals or nothing at all. That how team work.”

“Mate, I’ve been part of successful tag teams for FIFTEEN YEARS” Aleczander barks. “Team HOSS ring a bell?”

“Yeah… your old tag partner, Angel Trinidad, train me, remember?” Big Aug replies. “He says I should kick you through window before you do it to me. I don’t understand the reference but give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

Del Waterstone eyes the 6’4” Aleczander holding up his hands. 

“Cause this team can be THE team in GLOBAL! The Biggest Man In The GLOBE! The GLOBAL Hall of Famer! The biggest and brightest stars in GLOBAL Wrestling! Who’s got our number, mate? Bee Tee Dubs, the answer is NOBODY! Now, let’s go swat them Team United flies, eh?”

Aleczander is about to walk away when The Informer finally jumps out from the corner he’s been hiding in. 

“Dirty Greats! Can we get a word with you before your match with Team United? I-”

The Gilded Great cuts him off. “Can’t, wanker. Winning tag match!” 

He disappears behind the curtains to get ready for his entrance. The Informer peers up to the massive Big Aug then holds up his microphone. Big Aug shakes his head and follows Aleczander. Del Waterstone finally gives The Informer a quote. 

“Stop creeping up on people and just ask them questions like normal interviewers, dude. Do you even backstage interview area, bro?”

“No, The Bro is the other interviewer.”

But before The Informer can clarify the difference between two of the different reporters in GLOBAL, Del Waterstone is already gone as well to make entrances for their upcoming tag match… 


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“We’re back with some tag team action tonight on DOMINATION!” Lucas Quinn says. “And tonight, we have the return of The Dirty Greats! The Informer covered their history pretty well, but he’s absolutely right. They have potential to be the most unstoppable tag team in GLOBAL Wrestling if Aleczander’s ego doesn’t get in the way first!”

“Hey!” Mark Deltzer objects. “Big Aug is The Biggest Athlete in The GLOBE! Former NBA player! The Snack Daddy and all that! But Aleczander has over fifteen years experience in other teams before his highly successful singles run in here in GLOBAL! He ALMOST dethroned Sean Darring for the GLOBAL World Championship in season one! But after he and Big Aug made a great team against Best of British, I’m excited to see what these two are capable of!”

“When they were on the same page, they looked great against Best of British,” Allie Reese adds. “But tonight they gotta take on two high flyers that can run circles around them if they are out of sync.”

“There you have it. The match is up next! Ant Rushton and Ade Flowers of Team United take on the MASSIVE team of The Dirty Greats!”

The camera cuts to the British trio of high flyers heading to the ring. “Flyin” Ryan Ansell is in a t-shirt and jeans as the odd man out of tonight’s match, but he high-fives members of the GLOBAL Nation on their way to the ring while Rushton and Flowers do the same. They both slide into the ring and execute simultaneous front flips to their feet. They then run to opposite corners then backflip off the middle rope! 

“The following tag team match is scheduled for one fall!” Jason Brown announces. “Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by “Flyin” Ryan Ansell! At a combined weight of 363 pounds… ANT RUSHTON… ADE FLOWERS… <b>TEAM UNITED!</b>”

Both high flyers bump fists and then get ready for the massive undertaking coming their way. 

I go by the name of Dame Jones
I’m with my crew
And we gon’ show y’all what we be snacking on
Ya dig

“Hot Cheetos and Takis” by Da Rich Kidzz. 

TOWERING through the entrance, the dirty-blonde monster with hair tied back in a bun, wearing a red and black sleeveless bodysuit walks out and raises a finger in the air! He looks out to the cheering crowd with a box in hand. August Lazar’s best friend and manager, Del Waterstone, records the entrance on his phone while wearing the first bit of August’s GLOBAL merchandise, a red “Chow Time” apron with a pair of cartoon teeth around the logo while Big Aug has Big Aug’s Snack Box! 

“DOMINATION SEASON TWO! TONIGHT, WE CHOW DOWN AND THROW DOWN!” yells Big Aug to the hard camera in front of him. 

With Del Waterstone filming his antics as always, August Lazar passes out various snacks and throws them out into the audience for people to grab (pre-packaged, of course, we aren’t germ-loving savages here). 

“Let ‘em know, Augie, let ‘em know!” Del shouts behind him as he’s filming on his phone. “Time to beat some ass!”

The GLOBAL Nation give August Lazar a nice ovation as he raises a hand to either side of the stage and encourages the crowd to make some noise! Big Aug finally arrives at the ring, he reaches up and grabs the ropes. He pulls himself up onto the ring apron and then steps over the ropes to enter the ring. Once inside, Mr. Spice Guy gets ready as Jason Brown gives him his specialized intro! 

“Introducing first… from Clearwater, Florida, by way of Romania… accompanied by manager, Del Waterstone… he stands SEVEN-FOOT FOUR and weighs in at THREE-HUNDRED EIGHTY pounds… 

Big Aug holds a finger up for every nickname given…

“He is Everyone’s Zest Friend… Boss of the Sauce… Mr. Spice Guy… One Giant Tasty Snack… The Man with an Appetite For Life… The Man With The Iron Stomach… and The Largest Athlete in The GLOBE…”

Brown takes an exaggerated breath as Big Aug poses in the ring… 


The Boss of the Sauce throws up both hands and gets a big ovation before his partner arrive. 

“Hall of Fame” by The Script feat. will.i.am. 


Audible jeering, groans and collective eye-rolling happen all at the same time. The arena lights go gold and bathe the arena in the shimmering color as Aleczander enters the ring a second time, now milking his typical gaudy entrance. Golden trunks, knee pads, boots, headbands, chains, sunglasses, the whole shebang. On either arm, he has the familiar Gilded Girls with him, handing him golden flowers and his signature Hall of Fame plaque!

“…and his tag team partner, from Manchester, England and residing in Hollywood, California… weighing in at 264 pounds… he is the self-proclaimed GLOBAL Hall of Famer… ALECZANDER THE GREAT!”

An angry Big Aug watches as his partner now SLOWLY walks down to the ring and milks up the entrance. Del Waterstone rolls his eyes at ringside and then gestures for Aleczander to hurry up, but The Mancunian Muscle sees him. 

“Hush, tosser, you can rush greatness!” Aleczander tells him. 

After FINALLY arriving at ringside, The Gilded Girls depart with his flowers and Hall of Fame plaque before he enters. He raises both hands, then starts shedding his things. He throws the headband, chains, and sunglasses all at Del at ringside. 

“Hold these for me, but don’t wreck me headband!” He screams. “If I see a crease, it’s your arse, mate!”

Big Aug gets in the face of Aleczander and threatens to deck him. Aleczander The Great points back and starts having words. Meanwhile, Team United look ready to throw down as Aleczander and Augie argue. They can’t decide who is going to start first, but Team United look ready to strike! 


The bell rings and right away, both Rushton and Flowers charge at Aleczander The Great and then hit him with double running dropkicks! They knock him through the ropes as the crowd cheers! 

Big Aug looks surprised by this, then turns his attention to the much smaller wrestlers. Big Aug charges towards both of them, but some quick thinking allows them to both pull the top rope down, sending The Boss of the Sauce stumbling over the top rope where he spills out to the floor right after! 

“What the hell?!” Del shouts. 

Nobody can believe what is happening as Team United have taken advantage of the communication issues between the Dirty Greats and now have control! Rushton and Flowers wow the crowd with some more tandem offense when Flowers leaps to the top rope and then hits a HUGE springboard crossbody to the floor on top of Aleczander The Great! The GLOBAL Nation lets out a loud cheer for the likes of the massive springboard move!


“Get em! Stay on em!” Ansell shouts at his teammates. 

Ant Rushton goes out to the floor to help Ade Flowers pick him back up and then both get The Mancunian Muscle back into the ring. The match finally settles into a more traditional style with the legal man, Ant Rushton, facing off with a stumbling Aleczander The Great who is still trying to get his bearings. Big Aug slowly returns to his corner while the official is counting on Rushton. Rushton slips through the apron and starts climbing to the top rope. He leaps for another big-time diving crossbody…


The self-professed GLOBAL Hall of Famer has Rushton in his group and walks around the ring with him. 

“They call me Mr. Gatcho cause I just got yo ass, mate!” Aleczander crows. “I’ve… BLOODY HELL!”

All the posing and preening comes back to bite him in the backside because Ade Flowers leaps with a springboard dropkick to knock down Aleczander as he’s holding Ant Rushton! Rushton holds down in a pinning combination! 




He not only powers out, but The Gilded Great looks even angrier now. Rushton makes the tag to Flowers and the members of Team United both hit the ring. They hit double kicks to the gut of Aleczander and then whip him into the corner where Rushton hits a flying forearm. He ducks on all fours in front of the corner, allowing Flowers to leap off him like a launching pad into a cannonball in the corner! That offense pops the GLOBAL Nation even more! 

He’s their opponent, but even Big Aug can’t help but be impressed by the work of a rejuvenated Team United! Aleczander falls out of the corner and after Team United hits the big move, Flowers now goes for the cover!




Another big kick-out sends Flowers flying off of him and lands to the mat! Aleczander is trying to get to his corner, but the cohesion of Team United is too much. Flowers tries to hit the ropes for another springboard move… 


The crowd CRINGES in pain when Flowers gets caught in mid-air again and spiked to the mat with a big thrust spinebuster from Aleczander The Great that he calls The Airport Test! The Gilded Great then points to his corner and falls to his knees after the various attacks he’s taken from the opposing high flyers. The crowd cheers when Big Aug gets the tag! He steps over the ropes with ease and then he and Aleczander get to work. 

“Let’s go!” Big Aug shouts. 

He picks up Flowers from one side of the ring and then Aleczander hobbles to his feet. They both whip the flyer to his feet where Aleczander nails him with a big running shoulder block! That is followed up with Big Aug measuring him up before laying a HUGE elbow drop right into the chest of Ade Flowers! 

“You feast on this elbow!” screams The Boss of the Sauce. 

He leaves the massive elbow on top of Flowers for a pin!



But Ant Rushton makes the save for his partner with a dropkick to the side of the head! Big Aug recoils briefly as that gives an opening for his partner to get back to his corner. He tries to do so… 

He almost gets there… 

“Not today!” Big Aug shouts. 

The massive Big Aug doesn’t have to go far before he pulls Flowers by his leg and then pulls him up into an inverted headlock! The tag is made by Big Aug to Aleczander The Great. The Biggest Athlete in The GLOBE rocks Flowers with a massive forearm club to the chest!


And after that, Aleczander The Great stands over Flowers and then throws his elbow pad into the crowd! A member of The GLOBAL Nation throws it back! He huffs and then ignores it before he hits off the ropes… 


The driving elbow drop lands on the forehead of Flowers and then Aleczander goes for a cocky pin with a knee on the chest. 



Due to the lazy cover, Flowers is able to kick out! The Gilded Great is really upset with the fact this was allowed to happen and hears it from his partner. 

“Pin him for real! We could have had him!” Big Aug screams at ringside. 

Aleczander ignores him and then picks up the elbow pad that got thrown back into the ring, then turns to Flowers. He tries to hit a standard elbow drop on him… but Flowers moves! Aleczander shakes his right elbow in pain, then stands up again to try and elbow drop him… but second verse, same as the first! Flowers moves a second time, then has a clear line of sight to his partner… 

The tag is made to Ant Rushton! 

As Aleczander The Great limps to his feet, Rushton leaps up and then hits a springboard crescent kick that knocks The Gilded Great off his feet! Big Aug and Del Waterstone watch the sparkplug wrestler stand up and then wait on Aleczander. He runs off the ropes and then connects with a flying side cross chop that catches The Gilded Great in the chest and staggers him to the ropes! 

Rushton gets back to his feet and leaps at the staggered Aleczander in a hurricanrana… 


Aleczander then moves back to the corner and Big Aug tags in! Aleczander keeps holding onto Rushton in the powerbomb position as Big Aug steps over the ropes and runs, allowing The Dirty Greats to DESTROY Rushton with a big running clothesline/powerbomb combo! 


The crowd recognize the same move that was used to defeat Best of British and it works again! Aleczander moves out of the way and allows The Boss of the Sauce to go for the pin with the GLOBAL Nation counting along! 





The match ends as Big Aug stands up and Aleczander then hobbles over to join him in celebration! 

“Here are your winners of the match… THE DIRTY GREATS!

Aleczander then starts to flex for the fans! 


Then Big Aug stands in front of Alezander to do the same, flexing for The GLOBAL Nation!


The Global Hall of Famer doesn’t like that and then switches in front of Big Aug to pose down. 


Then one more time as Big Aug shoves him back to raise his hands up, completely blocking Aleczander behind him!


“The unlikely combination of The Dirty Greats moves to 2-0 in tag team competition, but Team United did well for themselves in the moments where the two partners didn’t look like they were going to get along!” Lucas Quinn shouts. 

“That’s right,” Mark Deltzer adds. “But that Dirtiest, Greatest Finisher Ever? Once they hit that, it’s OVER. When they’re on, you can tell they definitely have some cohesion as partners. And if Big Aug would just listen to Aleczander The Great, YOUR GLOBAL Hall of Famer, then they’d be champs already instead of The Rutherford Guys!”

“He’s not literally a GLOBAL Hall of Famer…” Allie adds. “But I do agree.”

The posedowns between partners continue on through as the show moves elsewhere.

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Global interviewer Steve Blaine stands by with the Global champion, “The Legend” Sean Darring. The two old friends share a few friendly jabs and pleasantries while awaiting their cue.

As the “go” sign lights up, Steve Blaine transitions to a more serious tone, addressing the champion.

“I’m here with Global’s reigning champion, Sean Darring! Sean, it’s always a pleasure to see you. We’ve just received breaking news that tonight, you’ll be teaming up with the charismatic top contender, Jerry David, to face off against the rapidly rising tag team, The Prime Time Athletes!”

The legend nods thoughtfully as he listens to his old friend. With a warm smile, he responds, “Isn’t it incredible how things can change in the blink of an eye? I showed up tonight thinking I had a well-deserved night off, only to discover that I’ll be teaming with Jerry David in the main event. Jerry’s undeniably one of the top superstars in Global, and I understand his frustration in not having had a shot at this.” The legend taps his waist, where the Global Heavyweight Championship rests. “He’s earned that opportunity, and I believe he deserves it. However, I must respectfully disagree with his claim that my title reign has been riddled with unworthy challengers. That’s a disservice to the entire Global roster and, frankly, doesn’t align with reality.”

Steve Blaine nods in agreement with the champion’s response. “I completely understand, and I believe Jerry’s comments stem more from frustration than any genuine lack of respect. But, do you think you and Jerry will be on the same page when you team up tonight?”

The legend offers a playful shrug. “You never can predict what’s going on in someone’s mind, can you? Jerry has proven to be a stand-up guy. We both share respect for the fans and the wrestling business. I have no qualms about giving him a match if the board deems him a worthy contender, and I’m confident he’ll maintain his professional demeanor as my partner tonight. These things usually find a way to work themselves out. Tonight, Jerry and I will provide the young and confident duo, the Prime Time Athletes, a little lesson in humility and the importance of earning their stripes.”

Steve Blaine inquires, “I’d love to see that. I don’t want to dwell on the negative, but can you elaborate any more on Jerry David’s recent comments regarding your title defenses? What’s your perspective on that?”

The legend takes a moment to collect his thoughts and then responds, “In the Global locker room, we have an incredibly talented roster. Throughout my title reign, I’ve faced formidable opponents such as Daniel Dream, Aleczander The Great, Christian Pierson, Son of Malta, Alfie Button, Alex Reign, and numerous others. To claim that they weren’t deserving of a title shot doesn’t align with reality and leaves me questioning the intent behind those words.”

Steve Blaine, sensing the importance of the topic, follows up, “I appreciate your insight on this matter. Considering the recent tensions, hopefully that doesn’t get in the way tonight.”

The legend lets out a good-natured chuckle and responds, “You always ask the tough questions, my friend. I believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt. Jerry’s frustrations might have clouded his judgment and led to those comments. I have faith that the Jerry David we’ve all come to respect will show up tonight. We’ll work through any differences we might have because, at the end of the day, our unity as a team will be the key to our success.”

Steve Blaine nods thoughtfully and continues, “Your perspective is clear, Sean, and it’s good to hear that you’re keeping faith in your partner. Good luck in your match tonight against the widely talented Prime Time Athletes.”

The legend turns to the camera. “Jerry and I will give these two a lesson they will remember for a long time!”

With that, the legend turns and exits, leaving Steve Blaine saying. “Well, there you have it, folks!”


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“Ryan, geezer, my man,” Alfie Button says upon meeting his former rival and longtime friend, Ryan Ansell.

“Alfie, how are you?” 

“Great to see you,” Ansell says as he hugs Button.

Alfie sizes Ryan up, fresh from walking backstage in a white t-shirt and ripped jeans upon accompanying Team United earlier.

“You look good, mate.  Listen.  Wanted to catch you for a while, but boats in the night and all that, innit?  I know I could ‘ave just text you, but I wanted te ask this in person, innit?  So, ‘ere goes,” Button says, rubbing his hands.

“Me and you – ‘ow do you fancy a match?  I feel really bad what ‘appened to you wiv Davey-Boy, the little dickbag, and I’ve seen ya ‘ere several times at a loose end.  If not, no worries, tell me it’s too much short notice and where to go, but I’d love to…”

“As would I,” Ansell answers, shaking Alfie by the hand.

“Really?  Aw, fantastic.  Tonight, yeah?”

Ansell doesn’t hesitate.

“Absolutely, Alfie.  Thank you, but you know what?  You may not be thankin’ me in the end,” Ryan predicts, gearing himself up.

The Cockney chuckles.

“That’s it, my man.  Right then, I’ll see you outside in anovver five minutes or so?  Go take a leak, wet your beak and let’s ‘ave it out, centre of the ring, no bottlin’ in it, Ryan, ya ‘ear me?  I’ve come to bat for ya, and now I’m gonna slap ya hard, don’t ‘old back or I’ll come back and do ya backstage, an’all.”

Ansell shuns that notion as he turns the other way.

“Good lad.  I ‘ope ya ‘ave been trainin’, and don’t make me look like a tart,” Button whispers to himself.

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Tall Pines Mobile Home Park

Pine Bluff, Arkansas

September 2023

“So, yeah…they wanna go over there an’ train with ya.”

The weathered blonde on Hayley Robinson’s cellphone screen frowns slightly. “They want to come over and train? Here? With me?”

“That’s what I done said, Coach.”

The woman rolls her eyes and lets out an exasperated huff. “Oh, great. Just what I needed. MORE fuckin’ Gen Z slackers to put up with. ‘Cause fuck knows YOU weren’t enough already…”

“Hey!” Robinson bristles, almost cutting herself on the can of beans she is opening. “They ain’t no slackers. They done had the Tag Team belts since Spring!”

“Really?” The blonde woman blinks. “They’re the Champions?”

“Yup. Sure are.”

“And they want ME to train them?”

“Yup. Sure do.”


Robinson shrugs. “Hell if I know. Ask them.”

“And you didn’t you try to talk them out of it?”

“The Raven” shrugs again. “Why for? You a great coach, Coach. Hell, you done trained ME, ain’t ya? Why you have ya panties in a bunch ’bout this?”

The woman on screen sighs, her demeanor and tone somewhat softening as she brushes her long hair out of her face. “Hell, kid…you just…threw me for a loop, is all. I mean, you didn’t even talk to me first, before telling them…”

“…I’m talkin’ to ya now.” The woman starts and frowns as her student cuts across her, but chooses not to confront her about it, instead simply proceeding with her reasoning.

“Besides, with you, it was easy. You’re basically Mini-Me. I KNOW how to deal with you. I know jack shit about these girls.”

Robinson shrugs yet again, engrossed in stirring the pot of beans on the stove in front of her. “Hell, ask me. I’ll tell ya.” She does not even wait for a response from her Coach. “They good people. Both of ’em. Fancy-like, but they ain’t let that get to their heads. They keep it real.”

The older blonde nods ever so slightly. “As real as you and me?”

“Raven” chuckles. “Naw. We a couple a’ broke ass bitches.” It is her interloper’s turn to snicker. “’Bout as real as they know how, though.”

The youngster’s coach nods again, then frowns once more. “That’s all well and good, but where the hell am I gonna put ’em? This isn’t the fucking TARDIS, kid. We got two rooms. That’s it. You know that.”

“Hell, put ’em up in my room.” “Raven”’s tone is matter-of-fact enough to startle her trainer.

“You ain’t coming back?”

The younger blonde shrugs again. “Maybe I is, or maybe I ain’t. Been thinkin’ ’bout some stuff.” She pulls her gaze away from the screen to glance at the three young men huddled over the engine of a beat-up pickup truck, their every word drifting up through the open window and into the cramped kitchen area of the trailer. “Either way, comes to that, I can sleep out in the gym for a while…”

“Hell no!” The youth’s coach makes a show of being angry, but there is laughter in her eyes. “I know what you’re like around equipment. I ain’t got the funds to spring for a whole new goddamn gym right now. You’re sleeping on the couch, missy.”

“Raven” grins, seeing through the act. “Fine by me. Long as the dog ain’t jump on me in the night…”

The older blonde smirks. “Kid, the dog STILL doesn’t fucking like you. Besides, she won’t sleep next to anybody but me. You’re safe there.”

“We got a deal, then.” Robinson’s grin widens, as her Coach rolls her eyes theatrically.

“Fiiiiine. Tell your friends they’re welcome anytime. You ain’t gonna let me go until I say yes, anyway…”

The younger blonde’s features break into an uncharacteristic, radiant smile, which makes her appear several years younger than even her teenage brother.

“Hell yeah! You the man, Coach!”

“…I hope you didn’t mean that as a compliment…”

Robinson laughs. “Naw. Mean, yeah…but I’m sorry. I ain’t even think…”

“When do you ever?” Again, the older woman’s tone is more amused than angry. “Anyway, I gotta go, kid. I got the Young Boys class here in a minute, and you know what THEY’re like if there’s no one there to watch them…”

Hayley grimaces, huffing theatrically. “Yeah. They gettin’ any better, at least?”

Her Coach smiles fondly. “Yeah. They’re gettin’ there. Some of ’em, anyway…”

It is Robinson’s turn to smile. “Good. Tell ’em I said hi.”

“I will. Right now, though, I really gotta go. Let me know how it went with your friends.”

“Right y’are, Coach. Take care, now.”

Robinson barely has time to send through that last message before her interloper disconnects the call. This, in turn, is the cue for Hayley to climb up onto the kitchen worktop, stick her head out the window, and address the boys directly below.

“Grub’s on, y’all. Come ‘n’ get it.” She then looks at the array of parts scattered all over the floor next to the truck. “Oh, an’ fuck y’all for workin’ on ol’ Rusty without me. You goddamn pricks!”

“Hey…” The youngest of the three men smiles. “SOMEbody gotta make dinner…An’ ain’t none of us but you can cook….”

“Shut the hell up, Aiden.” The blonde’s retort is matched by whacks upside the head from the other two male Robinson brothers, which cause young Aiden Destruktor to protest.

“OW! Alright, I’m sorry, y’all!” The youth rubs the back of his head as he tries to justify himself. “Guess I’m just hungry…” He then looks up at his sister. “What’s cookin’, anyway?”

A moment later, any traces of anger left in any of the Robinson siblings have well and truly evaporated, replaced by shared laughter at their youngest’s reaction to the evening’s menu.

“Aw, man…beans AGAIN?!”

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Darren Best is sat across from The Informer.  The interviewee is on the left side of the shot, looking rather more casual than usual, dressed down with an NYC hoodie, jeans and blue Sambas.

The Informer, wearing his dark green lucha libre mask as per, is no different.  The reporter’s notebook is nestled by his right arm, he glances down at it before being given a countdown and then sits forward, ready to get us underway.

“Darren Best, you lost to Mr. Merchandise in what seems to be ubiquitously acknowledged as the biggest upset on Domination Fifteen.  How did, or rather does, that feel?”

Best smirks and cocks his head to the side, somewhat puzzled by the question.

“Not great, neither then nor now, for that matter.  What I will say is that Mr. Merchandise was and is a great athlete, no excuses my side believe me, the better man won on the night, but this is hardly Gemini and Alex Reyn, is it?”

Our resident interviewer ignores that, pressing on.

“How do you plan on rebuilding?  In fact, it seems to have been the pattern since you got to GLOBAL.  You wrestle well against an excellent opponent, before falling short.  What has gone wrong?  Is it, as some have suggested, poor matchmaking on your part, or even management?”

Again, Best affords himself a wry smile.

“I have been adamant that I want to face the toughest competition out there.  I debuted in GLOBAL against Sean Darring, so that set the bar pretty high right there, right out of the gate. With due respect, I don’t need to face Joe Public, because it doesn’t prove anything.”

It’s The Informer’s turn to tilt his head.

“Well, with due respect, you don’t need to keep facing people and losing.  Has this not damaged your confidence?”

Best nods.

“I have to say, I have never found you this abrupt or aggressive enough, but hey, I asked for the interview, right?”

The Informer nods.

“Indeed, you did.  Well?”

Best interlocks his fingers and looks down for a moment.

“My confidence isn’t shot, no.  I learn much more this way, and Mr. Merchandise isn’t getting enough credit for a terrific performance, by the way.  I knew he was better than what people thought, coming in, but even still, I may’ve underestimated him, but you know what?  I won’t when we meet each other on the next show.  I’ve been hard at it in the gym, in the ring and over and over in my mind ever since.  There’s a reason why I was considered to be part of the Magnum Opus main event, did you know that?  Or even the ladder match for the International Championship, where a word wouldn’t have been said had I not won that.  Even in defeat, I look good, because I am and always have been a talented technical wrestler.  I’ve had more downs than ups in GLOBAL, yet here I am, my name still in the mix and people speak of a fortnight ago as an upset.  It wasn’t, for me, it was a fifty-five, and I got beat.  On Domination Seventeen, it’s another toss-up and one I can see going my way.”


LOGO b&w


“Fighting talk from Darren Best there, I thought he was going to end up in a match with The Informer,” Allie kids.

“Something tells me that we didn’t see the whole interview,”The Mark adds.

“No doubt, anyway, back to more action, and a bit of a surprise here, and there are some connections to Darren here.  Ryan Ansell, a well-known wrestler back in Britain, has only made ONE singles appearance and that was way back on Domination One, suffering a speedy defeat to Davey-Boy O’Brien.  For a while, he was the third member of Team United, and we understand they’re still friends, but he’s going to face Alfie Button, a mentor of his, tonight.” Lucas introduces.

“Could it be a long step down, pun intended, after Alfie’s loss in the ladder match for the International Title?”

“Well, Allie, there are lots of ways of looking at this. On the second episode of Season One, Alfie Button was in the main event against Dream, and he’d follow that up with a couple of shows later against one Sean Darring.  But, the way I see it, and I don’t know, Alfie has probably asked for this match to help Ryan more than looking at this as a demotion,” The Mark predicts.

Ryan is already in the ring.  A good-looking, well-ripped, slightly tanned high-flyer with some stubble, sporting white tights, shorts and boots.  Flyin’ Ryan Ansell is introduced by Downtown Brown.

“In the ring, weighing one hundred and eighty-nine pounds, one of Manchester’s own, FLYYYYYYYYYYYYYIN’ RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNN


That makes way for Robbie Williams’s hit of “Let Me Entertain You” and Alfie, technicolor coat and all, comes running out onto the stage, eliciting a healthy response from The Globe.

“Alfie Button has more defeats than wins on his record in GLOBAL, but does he look like a loser?  He’s an example of someone whose confidence never wanes, who the people can relate to even if they can’t understand him half the time, and someone who fans want to see.  He talks a good game, and win, lose or draw, he can wrestle one, too,” Deltzer sells us on Alfie.

He sprints down the aisle, ducks underneath the bottom rope, glances over at Ryan, and scales the top rope on the right-hand side before backflipping back into the middle, unbuttoning his Dreamcoat, revealing his black chest hair and multicolored tights to match.  His long, black locks flowing and a smile washes over him as he sees Ansell meet him in the middle.  They’ve met before, but never on this stage, and never in GLOBAL.

Ding, ding, ding.

“Button takes a step back while Ansell moves towards him, showing no fear, perhaps safe in the knowledge that he has nothing to lose here,” Lucas calls.

“I don’t know about that,

A jumping superkick by Button is a risky start and so it proves as Ansell catches the Cockney coming in by blocking the foot perfectly with a fist, legal defensively lads and lasses, and then turning using Alfie’s momentum against him to switch places.  A swift kick to the knee and a DDT sends Alfie head over heels not in love, but to the canvas.

“Ryan Ansell going for the upset here,” The Mark exclaims.



Th-at won’t be enough, but what a frantic start. 


Button rams Ryan into the top right-hand turnbuckles, spine-first and then ‘sits’ him down in the corner.


A triumvirate of thunderous European uppercuts from one Englishman to another rattle Ryan’s teeth.  Button takes three paces back and seems poised to punish Ansell with the superkick that should have, er, superkicked things off for him, only for Ansell to avoid that by falling flat on his face.  Instead, Alfie simply shrugs his shoulders, generating some laughs among our audience gathered in The Globe for Domination 16.

Alfie is heading upstairs, this time on the left-hand side of the ring, perched…oh, hang on, Ansell is up and not only that, he has just crotched one of his mentors on the summit.

“Amber Lee won’t be happy to see tha…”

“Ancient news, Mark, get over it,” Reece cuts her broadcast partner off abruptly.

Ansell steadies himself, clearly seeking a superplex and is about to test the water, only for Alfie to fire back with a pair of rib-ticklers before dropping Ryan back down to earth below with a front suplex.  Oh wait, Ansell lands on his feet, and then scales the turnbuckles like Spiderman, hopeful and optimistic of squatting Button with a SPANISH FLY.



Reece cannot believe it.  Quinn does a double-take and the Globe becomes unglued.  The Mark decides to be the reasonable one and calls it.

“Yes, you just watched both of these amazing athletes land on their feet.”

Alfie applauds Ansell, shakes his head admiringly, and then Ansell’s hand in turn before putting him in a side headlock, laughing that Ryan fell for that.

“It’s wrong to go from THAT to a side headlock,” Deltzer says, somewhat disappointed.

“Tell that to Son of Malta,” Quinn jokes.

“I’ll pass.”

Ryan shoves Button off and drops down.  Alfie walks all over Ansell like an A-List actor on the red carpet, or sticking with the theme, Jade with Will.  Oh, hey…

Meanwhile, Ansell gets somewhat hot and puts Alfie in a side headlock of his own, taking Button down with some force and velocity, but Button still has the presence of mind in spite of the bump to counter with a heads—tereo kip-up!!

“These two are ridiculous,” The Mark shakes his head.

“Where have they been keeping Ryan Ansell?”

“Why, do you…”

“No, Mark.  He’s a tremendous athlete, and that’s all,” Reece tuts.

It’s not just The Mark who’s in a playful mood.  The Londoner inside the battleground affords himself another chuckle and begrudging nod before embarking on a mid-match tie-up…


That causes enough separation, steering Ansell back into the left-hand set of ropes.  Button whips Ryan to the opposite side and comes off the north-west ropes with a fantastic corkscrew elbow he calls…


Alfie waits patiently.  For such an unpredictable performer at times, he blatantly wants to polish Ryan off with a…

SUPERKI—Russian Legsweep by Ryan Ansell.

And, Ansell is far from finished.  In fact, he goes to work with a German suplex only for Alfie to land on his feet and frustrate Ryan further with a drop toehold.

As Ansell gets up, he has no idea what lies in store for him…


The Mark got carried away there, and no wonder.  The wicked, twisting reverse leaping poisoned frankensteiner has Ansell punch-drunk, pardon me Purcell, and screwed if he knows where he is.

“Alfie HAS TO take advantage of this,” Reece contributes.

Is it a bird?

Is it a plane?


A standing moonsault press gives Ansell a much-needed shot in the arm, or does it?  No, sir,  asAlfie rolls through yet again and attempts to ram Ansell into the turnbuckle YET again, but Ryan fights through with a couple of knees to the face.

Ryan’s feeding off the crowd and rams Alfie’s head into the buckles twice…hangman’s neck-Button shows his resourcefulness again, locking the hands and backflipping over Ryan.

“You cannot take your eyes off, Alfie.” Lucas compliments Button.

“He’s a good-looking guy.  Anyway, Allie can’t take her eyes off Ryan,” Deltzer declares.

Allie, wisely, no-sells that.  Super-crotched!  Alfie misses Ansell altogether.  Ryan side-stepped him and Alfie hangs himself out to dry on the top rope, and FRA punishes the mistake by getting the original Hangman’s neckbreaker, anyway!

“This has been a great example of one-upmanship, everyone has that type of relationship with someone, somewhere, and most have it with Alfie, especially someone like Ryan Ansell.  NOW, he’s about to cause one of the greatest upsets in GLOBAL, standing on the top rope.  Here he goes…PHOEKNEES UP!!! AND, ALFIE WITH AN INSIDE CRADLE TO NICK IT,” The Mark, again, getting carried away.




Alfie doesn’t get mad, or even…even.

A brief glance over the shoulder, and when Ansell, standing up like a brave warrior after being floored multiple times, Button springs into the air, via the middle rope and CRACKS Ansell with what you’ll know as a flying chuck kick, but is better known by these Brits as, and it might be an aptly-named maneuver here…




Alfie drapes one arm on Ansell’s chest, and hooks the other leg as The Globe counts along.




Alfie then whispers into Ryan’s ear.

“I’m sorry, geezer, but don’t take it to ‘eart or too ‘ard, bruvver.  You was pucker, my man.”

Button then stands up, allowing DJB to declare him the winner.  Button scales the left-hand buckles and a fist pump, and a backflip precedes a bow.  Alfie touches his heart, grateful for the great reception to his victory.

“Like a late-night snack, it may not have taken long, but I enjoyed that.  Ryan Ansell, almost a year on since his GLOBAL debut, left it all in the ring, and didn’t disgrace himself at all,” Lucas ponders.

“Like LA Express, all over again, isn’t it?  We just have to make sure they get the right exposure and experience, and we’ll have a hell of a roster upon which to call,” Deltzer predicts.

“In the meantime, let’s celebrate the athlete Alfie Button is,” The Mark concludes.

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Jimmy Classic and Trae Larkin are backstage, discussing the revelations of their big main event later tonight. Jimmy Classic turns to the camera and says, “Finally, the Global board is putting their money where their mouths are. They talk about wanting to be big-time and truly Global, and they’ve had the ace up their sleeves this whole time.” Classic points to his partner Trae and himself, continuing, “The Prime Time Athletes.”

The Athletes nod as Classic goes on, “Sean Darring and Jerry David, you two are widely considered two of the top stars in Global. Tonight, it’s time to show the world that not only are we younger, faster, and smarter than you two, but we are also the biggest stars in all of Global. The broken-down Rich Family knows it, and so will both of you.”

The camera zooms in on Trae Larkin as he takes his turn to address the audience. He exudes confidence and determination.

Larkin smirks and says, “You know, Classic, you hit the nail on the head. The Prime Time Athletes have always been the best-kept secret in Global, and tonight, that secret becomes the world’s reality. Sean Darring and Jerry David, you’ve been in the spotlight for far too long. It’s time for a changing of the guard, and we’re here to deliver it.”

Jimmy Classic chimes in, “That’s right, Trae. Sean Darring, I’ve known you for years, and it’s nothing personal, but your time has come and gone. Jerry David, you may be the ‘Crowd-Pleaser,’ but tonight, the crowd will witness the Prime Time Athletes steal the show.”

Larkin continues, “We’re not here to just make a name for ourselves; we’re here to take over Global. Our mission begins tonight, and there’s no better way to start it than by defeating two of the top names in the business.”

Jimmy Classic wraps it up with a confident grin, “So, Darring, David, enjoy the spotlight while you can because the Prime Time Athletes are here to shine even brighter. You’re looking at the future of Global, and tonight, you’ll be looking at the mat as the ref counts 1-2-3, with your shoulders down.”

As Jimmy Classic and Trae Larkin conclude their promo, they can’t help but circle back to a simmering feud with the Rich Family. Jimmy Classic’s face contorts into a scowl as he continues.

“Oh, and before we forget, Rich Family, this isn’t just about Darring and David. We’ve got some unsettled business with you, too. Rich Boys, you thought you could take us down? Not happening. We exposed your family for the pathetic losers they are, and we’ll do it again and again. Just remember, when you mess with the Prime Time Athletes, you’re playing with fire.”

Trae Larkin nods vigorously, adding, “That’s right, Riches. You tried to orchestrate your own little parade at Glory, but it was clear who the real stars were. Your family’s reign of terror is over, and we’re ready to make that official tonight.”

Jimmy Classic puts the exclamation point on their declaration, “So, Darring, David, and the Rich Family prepare for your reckoning. The Prime Time Athletes are on the rise, and nothing will stand in our way. Tonight, Global becomes OUR stage, and you’re all just playing your roles in our show.”

With that, the Prime Time Athletes walk away, leaving the camera to capture their intense determination as they head towards their main event match, a collision that promises to shape the future of Global Wrestling.

LOGO b&w


“Welcome back to more DOMINATION!” Lucas Quinn says. “In just a few moments, we’ll be seeing the anticipated debut of one of the bigger signings we’ve seen in GLOBAL since opening our doors! The debut the former boxer and MMA star, Punch Drunk Purcell!”

Still are shown on the screen of Purcell making his debut at ringside attending GLORY. 

“That right hand of his… he’s put down so many people in the sport of the sweet science!” Mark Deltzer says. “He’s a big family man, but make no mistake, that don’t make him a nice guy. He wants the best for his family and after a successful stint in boxing and going undefeated 5-0 in MMA, I won’t tell him he can’t succeed in pro wrestling.”

Now more stills show the conclusion of the match at GLORY between monster The Great Wall and the masked Wrestletronic ending with a victory for the 7’2” Great Wall. After the match, clips of GLORY show The Great Wall’s partner in crime, Xiang, throwing a fan’s beer in the face of the big, bad rotund boxer. Then another slow motion still plays of Purcell NAILING Xiang with the dreaded right hand that garnered cheers from The GLOBAL Nation! 

“And as you can see here, after The Great Wall’s victory over Wrestletronic, Xiang antagonized the crowd over what he’s felt has been disrespect in GLOBAL. He threw a drink in the face of Punch Drunk Purcell after almost breaking out into a fight with The Great Wall during his match, then got KOed for his troubles!”

“Xiang found out,” Lucas concludes, “and during the break between seasons, Punch Drunk Purcell trained just about every day to get ready for his debut tonight. We go to the ring for our next match! Punch Drunk Purcell makes his debut against Joe Public!” 

“Downtown” Jason Brown is now in the ring getting ready to do the introductions for the next match. As this is happening, the unremarkable form of Joe Public heads on down The Red Carpet and heads towards the ring as The GLOBE gives him a lukewarm reception. 

“The following singles match is set for one fall!” Brown starts. “Introducing first, from Lynchburg, Virginia, weighing in at 195 pounds… JOE PUBLIC!

After calmly walking into the ring, one of the many stars who has been taken under the wing of the demanding Miranda Wright looks out to the crowd and gets a mixed response before the arrival of his massive opponent. 


A BIG explosion of white pyro erupts after the first word is spoken! 

“Start a Riot” by Duckwrth. 

The camera is behind the man coming out from behind the curtain to face The GLOBAL Nation in ring for the first time, catching the back of his yellow boxing robe with the following words:



Pay Window.

When Joe Public sees him, he grits his teeth and ducks his head, knowing a whooping could be coming his way against a much larger opponent. The man throws back the hood and shadowboxes in place as a few more pops of pyro explode from either side of the stage! 

“And his opponent, making his GLOBAL Wrestling debut… from Atlanta, Georgia, weighing in at THREE-HUNDRED FIFTY-ONE pounds… He is The Jaw-Break Kid! He is The Round Mound of Ground and Pound… PUNCH! DRUNK! PURCELL!

He gets some cheers from The GLOBAL Nation who do take kindly to the fact that he knocked Xiang out at GLORY. When he gets to the ring, the robe comes off! Purcell, wearing yellow boxing trunks with “PUNCH DRUNK!!!” on the waistband, yellow kneepads and black wrestling boots, climbs into the ring. He adjusts the MMA-styled yellow gloves on his hand and adjusts his yellow mouthpiece. The green-eyed boxer looks ready to go. Meanwhile, Joe Public is trying to formulate any sort of game plan quickly. 

Referee Gabriell Harris calls for the bell… 


Public makes the first move and runs right into Purcell with a big clothesline! It lands right on target. 


The 6’1” and 351-pound Purcell doesn’t budge. 

He instead flashes a mouthpiece-filled grin that doesn’t instill confidence in the average wrestler. Public hits the ropes a second time and hits another big clothesline on the big man. Public holds his arm in pain as Purcell makes a gesture to ask if Public is done. Public hits him with a big forearm! Then another! And then another! 

Purcell staggers back just a moment. 

Then smiles. 


Public goes down HARD after catching a big headbutt to the side of the face! Purcell looks out to a cheering crowd taps his bald head a few times. As Public is scrambling to get up in a daze, Purcell lays into Joe Public with a pair of big body shots in the corner. He grabs the arm of Public and whips him cross-corner. He hits the corner hard and then gets THROWN high in the air with a huge back body drop! 

The Jaw-Break kid kisses his hand and walks around the ring with a swagger to him that gets cheers from The GLOBAL Nation. 

“You want some free dental work, Joey?” Purcell shouts. 

He grabs Joe by the side of the head and uses a snapmare before kicking him in the back! He then turns around and kicks him from the front. Purcell charges off the ropes and finishes the combo off with a big leaping elbow drop to the chest! Public grabs his rib cage and then rolls as far away from PDP as possible! He heads outside of the ring to hit the floor. 

“Nah, we ain’t done!” Purcell screams. 

Now a limping Joe Public is outside the ring and doing whatever he can in order to avoid the big, bad man from Atlanta storming his way. Still holding his ribs, Public runs across the ring and heads halfway in before he slides into the ring to try and avoid Purcell. The Round Mound of Ground and Pound tries to get through the ropes to get at the budding wrestler, but Public uses a little bit of strategy and baits the big rookie to wrestling with a dropkick to the side of the head! 

Public gets back up and it seems the rookie mistake on behalf of Purcell has paid off! The Jaw-Break Kid gets rattled by the dropkick, allowing Public to charge off the ropes and then connect with a basement dropkick from the other side in order to stun Punchy a second time. Purcell is rocked by the second kick and when he gets on his knees, Public gets back up. He charges off the ropes and then he manages to score with third basement dropkick to get Punchy flat on his back! Excitedly, he jumps into a cover on Purcell!


He doesn’t even get a full one-count when Punch Drunk Purcell pushes him off! The GLOBAL Nation look a little in shock that Joe Public has gotten this far, but maybe his recent training sessions with Miranda Wright have paid dividends! When Punchy is on his knees, he grabs the side of the head and then flattens him out with a DDT! Again, Public looks excited. He pushes Purcell over… 


He BARELY gets a one-count on Purcell, but he does know that now that he’s grounded, he has a… excuse the pun… puncher’s chance right now! He grabs the side and then tries to hit the leaping shoulder jawbreaker… 


Before he can leap for Public Demand, he doesn’t count on the much larger Purcell holding him in place! He looks over and flashes another smile at Public, who responds with fear when he’s THROWN overhead with an ugly-looking release northern lights suplex! 

After Public goes sailing across the ring, The Jaw-Break Kid sits up and then grabs the back of Public’s head. He palms him and throws him into the ropes and pops him up into the air… 


…then PUNCHES him out of the sky! The GLOBAL Nation collectively groan when Public gets knocked the hell out after the pop-up punch! Punch Drunk Purcell crawls over and doesn’t even bother to hook a leg cause he doesn’t need to. Some of the GLOBAL Nation count along!





The bell rings and right away, the fridge-like Purcell makes it to his feet with the official raising his hand!

“Here is your winner of the match… PUNCH DRUNK PURCELL!

Purcell gets the cheers from the crowd, but the big, bld beast wants a microphone and he’s not done tonight. 

“Debut win here for Punch Drunk Purcell, but…” Lucas Quinn asks. “What is this about?”

He taps the microphone with an open palm and then he addresses the crowd. He holds the microphone with his left hand while balling up his right.

“The punch…”

He then points his hand to where Joe Public is being helped out of the ring. 

“The pin…”

Then he points to the backstage area. 

“The pay window… not exactly sure where the hell that is. Wrestling’s a new thing to me… but those are the three things I need for success in GLOBAL Wrestling! That’s all I need…

Purcell continues huffing. 

“I get the punch, I get the pin, I get to the pay window. I provide for me, I provide for my family. And to provide for them, I gotta knock out bigger opponents. I gotta knock out better opponents. I gotta knock out the biggest opponents. And one of those biggest opponents got in my goddamn face at GLORY…”

He finally turns to the stage.

“GREAT WALL!” Purcell bellows. 

The name gets jeers from the GLOBAL Nation. 

“Yeah, I’m talking about your big, dumb stupid ass. You wanted to start something at GLORY when your little buddy threw a beer in my face. I finished it when I gave him some free dental work. And if you can find a set of nuts between the two of you… I got a sale going on cause these hands are buy one, get one right now! Let’s fucking go!”

Purcell tosses the microphone to the side and waits as the crowd wants to see the two big men scrap… 

Thankfully, he doesn’t to wait long. 

“War Dance” by Shen Yi. 

The theme plays and the crowd JEERS as out from behind the curtain are BOTH members of The Xiang Dynasty. Xiang, wearing a red and yellow tracksuit… 

The Great Wall! 

Purcell smiles when he waits for The Guangzhou Goliath to approach the ring… 


But before The Great Wall can make it all the way down The Red Carpet to get inside the ring, security swarm the ringside area! 

“Nah, come on, let him through!” Purcell shouts. “Let him through! I’m trying to make a sale!”

The Great Wall wants to fight as well, but Xiang is barking at him in Chinese to stand down. The Great Wall stops in front of the ring, then looks at Purcell. 

“Not… tonight!” The Great Wall says. 

The Round Mound of Ground and Pound continues to yell at him to come back to the ring, but it’s obvious security and GLOBAL Management aren’t letting it happen! 

“Purcell hasn’t forgotten about GLORY!” Allie Reece says. “And I have to think it’s only going to be a matter of time before these two lock up!”

LOGO b&w


Valorie sighs to herself as she just sits in the locker room, her hat tilted down to shield her face from view. For once though, for those who have seen her enough, she isn’t wearing her late father’s dog tags. Did she forget them? Or… did Reyn truly get to her head and warp her 100%? Only Valorie knows the answer, but getting said answer out of her will be one hell of a task… Meanwhile, the jet-black mane and Technicolor dream coat of Alfie Button make the cheeky Cockney a hard man to miss.  He seems to be in a chirpy mood, whistling and nodding to various backstage personnel, minding his own business. The sound of whistling doesn’t go unnoticed by Valorie as she lifts her head just slightly at the sound. After a second or two of silence as he walks by, she speaks up.

“… Button right?” She mutters, using her index finger to push her head up and reveal those cold eyes again.

Alfie does a double-take, and stops in his tracks, turning back.

“Yeah, it’s Button.  Vitality, innit?”

Valorie, yes…” she corrects.

She stands up straight, looking up at him but also looking… into him. It’s as if she’s studying him before she blinks, finally breaking their eye contact.

“You are quite the wrestler aren’t you, Button?” She asks quietly

Button looks somewhat puzzled, ruffling his famous fringe and throwing his long locks back.

“Am I, Vitality?  Well, you’re not so bad yasel, luv.  Anyway, if there’s nuffin’ else,,.”  he pauses before he turns to walk away.

“I didn’t say you were GOOD, Button…” she says as he turns away, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “In fact, I can’t help but just wonder… HOW you wrestle… you lack the ferocity of a fighter…”

Button’s tongue is firmly placed in the roof of his mouth, and he taps his foot, reminiscent of a specific blue hedgehog character getting impatient at the player from a video game before doing a 180. 

“Is this all sour grapes, Val?  Is this what this is?  You know fine well ‘oo I am, and that ain’t boastful, but we were bof in the ring a fortnight ago, and I seem to fink,” he says pointing at his head. “…is this because you reckon I might ‘ave cost you the International Championship?  If it is, well, I’m sorry…you know what?  I ain’t.  Every man, woman and child for ‘imsel, you didn’t win, I didn’t win, it ‘appens, get over yasel and if you question my ferocity one more time, you’ll see why Chelsea and Ashley call me Tiger, only in a completely different way, if you know what I mean.”

Valorie doesn’t waiver or falter as he turns to address her. It almost looks as if his words are falling on deaf ears. Though she would smirk slightly when he made a… “threat”.

“I rightfully deserved that belt…” she says at first before she turns to face him directly and continues, “However… it seems you are upset… Perhaps because I am a better wrestler? Because I actually am stronger than I used to be?” She says as she removes her hat, pointing it at him with each point she makes.

Alfie contorts his mouth, smiling and nodding along like a Churchill dog.

“Yeah, I’m absolutely livid, mate.  Every night, before slipping into me pyjamas, I ‘ave a minute to contemplate life, fink to mesel and really reflect on where it all wrong…” Button holds his index finger to his chin, and looks to the sky before meeting Vitality’s gaze… “What would Valorie do?”

She stands there for a moment before she simply rolls her hair up, holding it with her left hand and placing her hat back on with her right.

“How about we settle the score then… you… and me… no disqualifications, no count-outs… you wanna show me that you really are a good wrestler… show me. And maybe I’ll change my opinion…” she says softly.

In response, Alfie lets his hair down.

“Not that I give a monkeys about your opinion, or anyone else’s for the record, but you’re on, Vitality.”

Valorie simply smirks again as she nods in affirmation before she turns to leave the locker room, the subtle “click-clack” of her boots fading the further she moves away from him.

LOGO b&w


Recorded Earlier
The Home Office of Jerry David

White bookshelves line the wall behind Jerry David, who is seated on a leather desk chair. He is wearing a navy blue polo neck t-shirt and addressing the audience directly.

“You people voted for the best feud of GLOBALl’s first season, and I’m the one that came out on top. So, thanks for that,” he says with a shrug, “E Z Rah wasn’t a great guy, and I think I proved he wasn’t even in my league. Not physically, and certainly not intellectually. The man was an idiot.

“But he did do one thing for me; he elevated my profile.

“So what’s next for the most popular man on the GLOBAL roster? Well that’s ‘E-Z’… Gold. I’ve earned my shot. I’ve buried E Z Rah, once and for all, and now the only thing standing between me and my ultimate goal is a pissy little champion who only takes on competitors that guarantee an easy win. Jobbers, squash matches, matches based around respect.

“Sean Darring. I do not respect you. But I promise you, once I’m finished, you’ll have no choice but to respect me.

“Your NEW GLOBAL Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion, Jerry David.

“Thanks for the trophy, but no thanks.”


LOGO b&w


A spotlight is shining down on the ring. In the spotlight we see Richard Rutherford and the new arrival, Nikolai Sinclair. Rutherford has a smile on his face as he lifts the microphone. 

“Ladies and gentlemen. A couple of weeks ago, myself and my client Nikolai Sinclair introduced ourselves to GLOBAL wrestling. Mr. Sinclair is one of the world’s best superstars and did I pull some strings to have him become Daniel’s partner in a tag team match? Yes I did. Did I make sure it was a title match? Yes I did. I played the cards right and got a fitting debut for one of the world’s best wrestlers.”

Rutherford’s expression changes to a more serious look. 

“But as a tag team champion he is not alone. I give to you someone just as good as Mr. Sinclair….DANIEL DREAM!”

The big screen shows an American flag pattern with the words ‘THE AMERICAN DREAM’ in red, white, and blue lettering. “American Idiot” by Green Day blares over the PA system in the arena. Daniel Dream walks down the entrance ramp.

“Now I would also like the thief Mr. Zebub to join us please.”

Benedict Beel Zebub, a man with an air of dark sophistication, confidently struts down the entrance ramp, his shoulder-length black hair cascading around his sharp features, as he dons a striking red suit jacket over a sleek black undershirt, his every step accentuated by the elegant sway of his black cane.

Rutherford turns towards both Daniel and Zebub as he signals for Nikolai. Nikolai walks over, places his championship between himself and Daniel Dream as he stares down his tag team partner. 

“Daniel, I will give you a choice right here, right now. Mr. Sinclair is currently on a week-to-week contract with GLOBAL and we can be out of here in five minutes. Or….”

Rutherford pulls out a paper and a pen from the pocket. 

“Or he can sign a multi-year contract and become an official member of the GLOBAL roster. It is all up to you. But to keep me, Mr. Sinclair and those championships……you know what needs to be done.” 

Rutherford hands the microphone to Nikolai. 

“Just like old times. I’m gone for a bit, I make a bit of chaos as I enter the building…but do I stay by your side or do I walk away? That question is only one person that can answer.” 

Nikolai hands the mic to Daniel but as Daniel goes to grab it, he shoves it in the face of Zebub. 

“Seems like everyone’s painting me as the villain here, but let’s not forget, I’m the only one who stuck to our deal. Daniel couldn’t capture the GLOBAL World Championship, and as for you,” Benedict Beel Zebub says, gesturing towards Mr. Rutherford, “you better keep a close watch on your clients while you’re on your little ‘vacation’ if you want to keep them.”

The expression on Nikoal’s face changes, and he takes a step closer to Zebub, staring right into his eyes. 

“Watch your tone. I have beaten your goofs once before, it takes me about two seconds to send you to the hospital.” 

Daniel steps in and holds Nikolai back. Nikolai takes a step back and looks at him confused. 

“Why is everyone so tense? This is a celebration!” Daniel Dream says, his amusement evident in his voice, as he looks around expectantly, “Where’s the champagne? The balloons? The confetti?”

Rutherford and Nikolai both look baffled. Rutherford slowly raises the microphone, 

“Mr. Dream, might I remind you, this little issue where you now got two managers? One was ready to beat the shit out of you and the other one….well he brought you your tag team partner and tag team gold. You have to make a decision before Mr. Sinclair decides to send someone to the hospital. You know his anger problems, Mr. Dream…please don’t drag this out…it will be dangerous.”

Daniel turns his back on Richard Rutherford, his attention fully focused on the ring assistant who hands him the champagne and the champagne glass. With a nonchalant demeanor, he pours himself a generous amount of bubbly liquid, before casually saying, “Rutherford?…”

Rutherford just stands there looking at him for a second. Before he can open his mouth, a concerned look appears on his face as Nikolai steps right up to Daniel and grabs the glass from him. He chugs it down before tossing the glass away. . He snatches the microphone from Rutherford. The anger in his voice is clear. 

“I am not in the mood for games. You want to drink? We can drink. But this is business time. I’m in the mood for a fight. If it’s you, him or someone else it’s up to you. Technically speaking until that contract in Richard’s hand is signed I’m a free agent. And I am about to do something we both will regret…either us or Zebub. NO MORE GAMES!”

Nikolai tosses the microphone to Daniel and stares him down. 

Daniel’s gaze fixes on Richard Rutherford, a determined look in his eyes, before he boldly declares, “I’m a Richard Rutherford guy.” He then raises the bottle of champagne high above his head and brings it down with a forceful swing, slamming it into the head of his now-former manager Benedict Beel Zebub, who rolls out of the ring.

Richard and Nikolai smirks as Rutherford’s attention goes back to the audience. Nikolai signs the paper Rutherford is holding out for him before grabbing his championship from the ring mat. Daniel hands the microphone to Richard with a smile. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Richard Rutherford. This is your GLOBAL Tag Team Champions The Rutherford Guys. We are here to dominate the tag team division and anyone standing in our way…..well….good luck.”

Rutherford tosses the mic and smiles as Nikolai Sinclair and Daniel Dream raise their championships in the air.

LOGO b&w


The following contest is set for one fall and is a tag team match!”

“Interesting main event we have here.” Quinn says. “One of the most talented teams in GLOBAL today, love ‘em or hate ‘em, against the team of Sean Darring and Jerry David!”

“All four men deserve to be in the main event, but I honestly didn’t expect to see them in THIS combination,” Allie says.

“David and Darring make one hell of an odd couple. Let’s see how they team together.” Mark “The Mark” Deltzer says.

Dirty Palm & Benix by Legacy plays over the PA system. Out steps the unpopular duo of Jimmy Classic and “The Suplex Ninja” Trae Suplex. Global Nation roars in boos as the arrogant and cocky tag team known as the Prime Time Athletes makes their entrance.

“It’s like you said, Quinn. They may not be popular, but this is one of the most talented teams in GLOBAL, and you better believe that a win here against The Legend himself could do amazing things for their careers.” The Mark says

“Introducing first! At a combined weight of 440 lbs! Jimmy Classic! Trae Larkin! Prime! Time! ATHLETES!!”

The familiar sound of the house band plays as Jerry David makes his way to the ring. Getting a mixed, but VERY strong reaction from the fans.

“Last Week at GLOBAL, Crusader X won the award for rookie of the year. But in my mind, if there is ANY other wrestler who deserves that title, it’s this man here.”

“I agree, Reese.” Quinn says. “From Comedian to Wrestler, I didn’t expect much from Mr. David, but he’s blown my expectations clean out of the water. A fantastic series against EZ Rah showed that he not only belongs in GLOBAL, but belongs at the top!”

“And their opponents! First, from New York City, weighing in at 209 lbs! Jerry! DAVID!!”

The opening notes of Europe’s “The Final Countdown” are almost drowned out by the fans’ raucous cheers!

“And here he comes! The Champion! The Legend! The Face of GLOBAL itself!” Quinn calls!

Fireworks light up on the stage! Showing The Legend with his patented robe, wry smile, and of course… The Global Title around his waist.

“238 days as champion! Five title defenses! And an undefeated streak of 320 days! But tonight, he walks into a hostile jungle with an unfamiliar ally, and you better believe there’s a target on his head!” Quinn calls!

“No doubt at all!” The Mark says “You better believe Larkin and Classic are eager, no, HUNGRY to be the first man in GLOBAL ever to pin The Legend!”

“And his tag team partner! From Miami Florida weighing in at 240 pounds! 

‘The Legend’! Sean! DAAAAAARRRINNNG!!!!”

The four men move to their corners, and after some negotiations, the match is underway!


“Alright, and it looks like Jerry Davids and Trae Larkin are going to start this match-up.” The Mark calls.

“Too very similar styles, though Trae might have a slight edge in agility  with Jerry more proficient on the mat,” Quinn adds

Trae gets a wasitlock and drops low to pull Jerry down into a schoolboy pin!


Both men are up, Sideheadlock takeover from Jerry, but Trae counters with a traditional headscissors lock.

“Tag made to Jimmy Classic!” Allie calls.

“That’s a nice snug headlock from Trae there. Most wrestlers don’t really put that much pressure on a headscissors, but Trae did a good job of keeping Jerry grounded long enough for Jimmy to come in!” Quinn says.

Slingshot Sunset Flip from Jimmy Classic!


Jerry rolls out and goes for a penalty kick but gets caught in a drop-toe hold then caught in a grounded side-headlock by Jimmy Classic.

“It looks like PTA are trying to isolate and wear down one of their opponents, a classic strategy and a good one,” Quinn says

Jerry has managed to push himself up to his feet while in the Side Headlock, He goes for a Backdrop Suplex on Classic who flips out to land on his feet behind Jerry, which allows Jerry to leap for the tag!

“Here we go!” Reese cheers.

…But as Jimmy lands, he “accidentally” stumbles and falls into the referee, allowing Trae to slide in behind Sean Darring and German Suplex him into the ring corner!

“Oh, those sly sons of… The champion’s momentum just got completely cut off!” Quinn calls.

“The back of his head hit that top turnbuckle, I’d say his entire BALANCE is thrown off!” The Mark adds.

Meanwhile, Trae has already rolled out the ring and crawled under the ring to get back to his corner as Jerry yells angrily at him! Jimmy sees a stunned Sean Darring in the corner and takes his shot!

Running, Jumping Superkick in the corner! (Think “Swerve” Strickland)

He backs up to his corner! Trae makes the tag! Another running kick from Jimmy! Whips the champ out of the corner and into a Belly to Belly Suplex from Trae Larkin!

“You may not like these two, but they are showing some EXCELLENT teamwork against the champion of GLOBAL, no less,” Quinn says


“And Sean Darring showing us all WHY he’s the champion of GLOBAL.” Reese adds “It’ll take more than that to bring him down!”

Trae and Jimmy have an evil look in their eyes, while Jimmy returns to his corner, Trae is looking for a vertical brainbuster on the champion!

He stalls a bit too long on holding Darring up though, allowing the champion to slip out behind and hit a hangman’s neckbreaker on the suplex machine!

He tries to use this opportunity to make a tag, but Jimmy Classic comes in with a springboard forearm to the back of his head!

The referee is FURIOUS with Jimmy, yelling at him to get back in the corner while Jimmy tries to protest that he merely tripped!

“Yeah, like the ref is gonna buy that.” Deltzer scoffs.

…And while the ref is arguing with Jimmy, Trae has removed the padding from the top turnbuckle.

“I don’t think they NEED the ref to believe them, Mark.” Allie says.

Trae goes to whip Darring into the exposed corner, but the veteran gets his foot up to block the collision! Trae tries to follow up…



Jimmy Classic DIVES onto the top turnbuckle! Acting as a literal human shield so that his partner lands on him instead of the metal loop!

Darring, however, is able to use this moment of reprieve to make the tag to Jerry David as Trae tags in Jimmy Classic!

The two dash at each other! Jimmy slides under a roundhouse from Jerry (“Oof! That roundhouse was telegraphed from SPACE!” Quinn calls) Both hit the ropes! Again Jimmy ducks a wild and obvious clothesline from Jerry and hits the ropes for a handspring backflip! Turning it into a series of flips before flipping two birds right in Jerry David’s face!

“And Jimmy showing off to the fans and styling on his opponent!” Deltzer calls!

Jimmy runs. Jerry gives chase! The two slide under the ring, Jerry chasing  Jimmy around the ring!

…Which distracts everyone so Trae can yank Sean off the apron! The champion gets his forearms up to block a face-first impact on the apron, but now Trae is trying to send him into the barricade with a Russian Legsweep! Fortunately, a well-placed elbow breaks The Legend free, and as Jimmy Classic rounds the corner with Jerry David in hot pursuit, Trae suddenly finds himself whipped headfirst into his own partner!!


It’s Jerry’s moment to capitalize! A dazed Jimmy Classic is rolled into the ring and Jerry slides in after him!

“This could be EXACTLY what Jerry David and Sean Darring need to turn this match around!” Quinn calls!

Jerry is yelling at Jimmy! Gesturing for him to stand! Throwing out the double horns for the fans!

“I’m not sure about Jerry’s strategy here Quinn! He’s giving Jimmy more time to recover and Jerry’s more of a mat wrestler than a sudden impact fighter!” The Mark says.

“Jerry was an entertainer before he was a fighter.” Allie notes “He might be falling back on some old habits!”

“Let’s hope he has something big plann-REALLY??” Deltzer calls

Jerry David grabs Jimmy Classic in a side headlock!

“All that buildup for a basic HEADLOCK?!” Deltzer sounds incredulous.

“Looks like Jerry wants to toy with his food,” Allie suggests.

“And don’t underestimate a good headlock” Quinn notes “ It can really wear down a fighter.”

“He was ALREADY worn down!” Deltzer protests.

In the ring, Jerry walks a headlocked Jimmy to their corner to tag in Sean Darring.

“Good teamwork at least.” Quinn praises.


“A NASTY impact there!” Quinn calls

“That’ll leave a lump!” Deltzer adds.

Jimmy Classic immediately follows up with a Tilt-a-Whirl DDT! Adding to Darring’s already throbbing headache! PTA is all over the champion as Jimmy drags Sean into the corner for a tag! He goes up top, while Trae hooks Darring for a Vertical Suplex, looking for their patented Moonsault+Suplex combo!

No! Darring  blocks it! He tries to suplex Trae into the exposed corner, but Jimmy catches his partner! Darring dashes to his corner for a tag but…

Jerry isn’t there. He’s leaning against the barricade, holding his hands against his head.

“Looks like that collision hurt Jerry even worse than Darring,” Deltzer says.

Springboard Bulldog from Larkin!

“And PTA take advantage of The Legend’s distraction!” Quinn calls.

Jimmy follows up! Tag to Trae! Triangle Split-Legged Moonsault on the champion! He tags Trae back in! The two move into position! Double Superki-!

No! Wisely choosing NOT to stand, Darring instead rolls out the ring to check on his partner!

“That’s Sean Darring’s experience coming into play,” Quinn says.

“And it looks like Jerry is telling Sean he’ll be okay.” Allie says.

“I hope so. Up until now, he’s been more of a liability than a teammate.” Deltzer grumbles.

“Tag Team Wrestling is a whole different skill set to one on one fighting. Some people can’t follow the rhythm.” Quinn notes.

Back to the action, Darring has returned to the ring and calls to lock up with Trae. Hoping to buy his partner more time to recover.

“It’s technician vs technician! Suplex Ninja against The Legend! Here we go!” Deltzer calls.

Lock-up! Trae goes behind! Waistlock! Darring breaks out! Drop-toehold from the veteran! Trae scrambles to the ropes before the champion can lock in an STF! But Darring pulls him back into a waistlock of his own, looking to German Suplex the Suplex Ninja!

Trae lands on his feet! Tit-for tat! German to The Lege-No! Darring with a victory roll!



“That was close!” Quinn calls!

“Jerry David coming in clutch!” Deltzer says. “He practically THREW himself onto Larkin!”

Jerry now has Trae in a side headlock! He seems lost in his world as the referee tries to get him out of the ring!

“I think Jerry’s forgotten he ISN’T the legal man right now! Allie says.

Meanwhile, Jimmy has slipped inside the ring, holding the GLOBAL Championship!

“Oh, Come on!” Allie yells!

“The ref is busy dealing with Jerry and Trae! He doesn’t see anything!”

Jimmy lines up his shot…

When  Sean suddenly lunges at the official and grabs his leg! The ref turns around at the feeling- To see Jimmy Classic holding the belt like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar!

“BRILLIANT move by the Veteran!” Quinn cheers

“Classic had better have a good excuse for THIS!” Allie laughs.

A very sheepish Jimmy Classic starts making a show of polish and shining the belt before handing that back to Sean Darring with a nervous smile. The belt was dusty. He was just looking after it for The Legend! Scout’s Honour!

The Legend in question thanks the young man with a kindly smile. A pat on the cheek…


“OWWWW!!!!!” All three commentators wince in sympathy at that! But Darring ain’t done! Lighting Jimmy’s chest on fire with knife-edge chop after knife-edge chop! Backing the kid up into his corner with a blistering barrage!

Tag made to Jerry, who grabs Jimmy and Irish Whips him!

…Right into the opposite corner, letting Trae make the tag.

Okay, you know that meme from the Naked Gun where everyone facepalms?

Yeah, that’s what Sean Darring, all three commentators, and the entire crowd do.

“God… Dammit… Jerry.” Quinn groans.

Trae is in the ring and he grabs Jerry David for a bodyslam! Jerry struggles to his feet, another bodyslam!

“Okay. New rule. Never team with Jerry David. Because he seems to suck at it!” Deltzer says.

“I tried being nice, but I have to agree. Every time he tries to help, he just makes things worse. Sean Darring might as well be fighting a handicap match right now.”

A third bodyslam from Larkin! He looks to pick up Jerry for a vertical suplex, but Jerry slips out back and dives to tag in Darring.

Daring takes the tag. Giving a long-suffering sigh and entering the ring.

“Yeah. I don’t blame Darring here. He’s practically fighting this match by himself.” Detlzer says.

“Hell, even PTA knows it! No wonder they’ve been going easy on Jerry!”

“I agree, they- huh?” Quinn looks taken aback.

“Yeah, wait. You haven’t noticed? With Darring, they’re breaking out the big guns. But with Jerry, it’s all basic holds and pins and wrestling 101.”

“I… huh.” Deltzer realizes she’s right. “Guess even they’re showing pity for something. Shame his tag skills don’t measure up to his singles skills.

Trae tags in Jimmy Classic. Classic hits the ropes, looking for another Tilt-a-Whirl DDT, but Darring stops it with a sidewalk slam counter!

“Darring saw that move coming!” Allie cheers.

The Legend grabs Jimmy’s arm. Looking for the Legend Lock, when suddenly Jerry runs at Trae Larkin!

“What is Jerry doing??!!” Quinn asks

As the referee pulls him back, Jerry is furiously yelling and pointing at Trae like he’s trying to warn the referee

“…Maybe he was trying to stop Trae from interfering? But if that’s so, his timing was off by a continent!” Deltzer says.

LOW BLOW FROM JIMMY CLASSIC!! The ref and Darring are too occupied with what Jerry and the ref are doing! Trae slips in the ring! German Suplex to the champion! He rolls him up! A Second! A third! He rolls out the ring! Jimmy Classic up top!


“Not like this!!!” Allie screams!


“YES!!” Allie fist pumps!

“We’re meant to be objective, Allie.” Quinn admonishes.

“I AM!” she retorts. “That would be an objectively AWFUL way for our champion to take his first pinfall!”

Jimmy makes the tag! Trae grabs Darring! Looking for the Ninja Nuke! (Asai DDT)


Darring shoves Trae Larkin face first into the exposed turnbuckle!!

“YES!! TURNABOUT IS FAIR PLAY!!” Allie cheers!



Darring NEEDS to make a tag now! No matter his partner, he has to put his faith in Jerry David! He reaches out!

Tag made!

Jimmy attacks! Caught with an armdrag! Another armdrag! A third!

“Yes! Come on Jerry!” Deltzer cheers.

“Jerry might not be the best tag team wrestler, but he’s still a great technician one on one!”

Wristlock by Jerry! Jimmy Classic pulls him into a headlock! Jerry shoots him off the ropes! Jimmy ducks a clothesline from Jerry! He grabs the ropes on the other side to avoid running into another clothesline from David! The two look eye to eye… Then Jimmy runs to tag in Trae! Jimmy moves to stop him, but he’s a second too late!”

“Okay, that one wasn’t on Jerry. Jimmy was just a little too fast.” Quinn admits.

Jerry and Trae lock up! Wrist lock by Trae Larkin! Jerry takes it back! He walks Trae to his corner! Tag made!

“Okay, here we go! It’s basic, but these two might be able to finally get some tandem offense going!



“THE HELL?!?!”


The fans have all gasped out! The referee looks stunned too! What does he do here? Disqualify Jerry? But that would disqualify the man he attacked! How do you punish a team for rule-breaking when that team is both perpetrator AND victim??

Trae knows exactly what to do though! He drags the limp and dazed Sean Darring to his corner as Jerry just watches.


“NOT LIKE THIS!!” It’s Quinn’s turn to scream that.



“KICK OUT!! KICKOUT!!” Allie pleads!


As the bell wins, Jimmy Classic throws himself at the ropes in joy! Screaming “I’M THE BEST ****ING WRESTLER IN GLOBAL!!!”

“I… I don’t believe it. Sean Darring’s first pinfall loss in GLOBAL, and it’s JIMMY CLASSIC!!” Deltzer says.

“Trae  Larkin you mean. With help of course.” Allie grumbles.

“Not what the record books will show, sadly.” Deltzer say. “But what the HELL is going on with Jerry?”

In the ring, Jimmy has gone from hugging his partner in joy, to shaking Jerry’s hand who rolls his eyes and hands over several green notes.

“Wait a minute… IT WAS A DAMN SETUP!!!” Quinn roars as the pieces fall into place.

“They were taking it easy on Jerr- HOW DID WE NOT SEE THIS??!!” Allie yells!

The replays show a closer, slowed down look at the “Accidental” collision between Jerry David and Sean Darring, we see now Jerry deliberately headbutting Darring in the face.

We see Jerry “Conveniently” being dazed for several minutes, leaving Sean to be assaulted by PTA by himself.

We see, with a new perspective, how every move Jerry made set Darring up to get assaulted by the Prime Time Athletes.

“..It was a glorified handicap match all along. The fix was in from the start! The Mark says.

“We might not like it. But I’m reminded of an old saying: It takes a good wrestler to wrestle competently. But it takes a GREAT wrestler to pretend to be the worst. Jerry just played us, Darring, and every fan here like a fiddle! And cost Darring his first loss on GLOBAL TV!!” Quinn says

“God! Dammit! Jerry!!” The Mark yells.

LOGO b&w