Final Battle 2023 Card

[crann]

Those opening piano notes of Jefferson Starship's "Jane" hit the PA and the fans, well, they hit their feet. "Freshly Squeezed" keeps 'em waiting, knowing full well the power of anticipation. He also keeps his opponent waiting, but that's just because he thinks he's a dick. It's not until the guitar riff cuts in, fully like 15 seconds into the song, that Orange trots out from the back to a huge pop from the capacity crowd. The noise brings a smile to his face as he lifts the backpack containing his Prime Time Medal – the very same he's about to turn in for this Intercontinental Championship opportunity – to sling it over his shoulder. And then he heads down the ramp at a leisurely pace.



Orange hits the foot of the ramp and spies a full-grown man in O.C. cosplay. He reaches out with a lazy fist and bumps it with the guy, then walks up to ringside and slides his backpack in under the rope before rolling into the squared circle himself, propping his elbow on the canvas and resting his head in one hand while a technician brings him a microphone from timekeeping. When he has that, he turns it on, not moving from his sprawled position by the ropes, though perhaps making aggressive eye contact with the Intercontinental Champion. We'll never know. It's the aviators again.

Orange Cassidy: Maximum Jerkoff Fishman. The Champion of the Intercontinents. I've been waiting a long time for this moment. A long, long, long time. Entire seasons of good TV like The Last of Us and, uhh, also mid TV like Succession have came and went in the days that I've been waiting for this moment. Do you know what I mean by "this moment"?

Orange pauses there, allowing a moment for his words to be weighed. The fans are buzzing.

What I mean is the moment I get to ask you the question every single person I've spoken to about you has been dying to ask: Who hurt you, man? Was it your dad? Did he, like, never approve of your grades, or use his belt on you? Or maybe your mom? Yeah, you definitely act like the kind of guy who has serious mommy issues, with your casual disrespect of women and your flippant attitude. I'm hypothesizing here, really, but what's plain as day is the fact that somewhere along the line, probably when you were a little boy, someone hurt your ego with a nasty comment or three, and you've been compensating ever since. There's really no other explanation for how someone can become such an overinflated, egotistical prick like you. Straight up, man. I'm just going to say it. And while I get that your ego has gotten you to this point, has elevated you to the level you could hold that most important 10 pounds of gold in the UWF, and has made you good enough to fend off the likes of Eddie Kingston and, uhh, whoever else really – what it hasn't done, is prepare you for me.

There is a bit of a pop at that. Orange actually shifts now, to a seated position, criss-cross apple sauce as he leans back against the ropes. His gaze is unwavering. Those aviators stay fixed in MJF's general direction.

Let me get one thing straight right now, before I go any deeper in on this, Champ: While you call what I do pandering, I call it just being me. Embracing these fans comes natural to me because in my darkest moments, they've always been here for me. When Tang stopped calling because Edge got one over on me? They were right here, man. When I left the UWF years ago, they kept demanding I come back. And I'm not blind to the fact that it's because of their love that I was given another shot at this thing by Carter. I'm also not blind to the fact that they've been the wings that helped me soar through my Prime Time Medal run and straight to this championship opportunity. While you make your living talking down to the people in those stands who pay for your house, your car, and every single bite of food you put in that smack-talking mouth of yours, I show them the gratitude they deserve because, well, they paid for it. Times are hard, man. You can't even buy a dozen eggs in this economy without taking out a payday loan, so the fact there's still people sitting in those seats paying to watch me kick the ass of the latest loudmouth put in my path – that damn near brings a tear to my eye.

Another pop from the stands. Is he pandering? Yeah. Is he ashamed of it? No. Are there tears in his eyes? We can't tell. Aviators.

And you know what? Maybe that does make me a moron. Maybe it does make me weak. But it doesn't matter. Because even at my weakest, I'm still on a higher level than you've ever been, Mr. Fishman. You came in here hot, you fought your way through the ranks and you earned that belt you carry around, but you don't show any respect for it or the people who helped you along the way. And you don't show that respect because just like so many people who win titles in this company, you've gone and drank your own Kool-Aid. But not me, man. Nuh-uh. I don't drink that garbage. Do you know how much sugar is in your standard glass of Kool-Aid? For me, it's all about the life-changing power of Vitamin C that comes from one place, and one place only – a glass of Florida's liquid gold. Freshly squeezed.

Orange runs a hand through his hair. He pulls his backpack to rest in front of his lap, then unzips the zipper and pulls out the Prime Time Medal.

About one month ago I started this little journey to this moment. I told another arrogant loudmouth I was going to beat him on my first night back in this company to take this medal, and then I was going to hold it forever and use it to get my opportunity at you and your belt. I didn't succeed on the first attempt because he ran away from me, but my words came true. Every. Single. One of them. In fact, every single thing I've said in this company has come true eventually. The only thing that has ever stopped me is bad luck and someone else's problems but you, Fishman? Your only problem is the man sitting right here in front of you, holding the medal that's as good as a bullseye on your head. I've been waiting for this shot for so, so long and I've been watching you. I've been learning who you are and what you can do. I've been paying attention to the cronies you employ as the means to your end, too. And while you may claim to respect me, I can't in good faith say I feel the same way about you. You're a douchebag, Max. It's in your nature. And it's time for someone to take you down a peg.

There's nothing but steely determination in the challenger's voice. His jaw is set. He's not going to back down. Let's get this bread.

[gunn]

The usual murmurs from the crowd can be heard as suddenly a familiar sounding theme plays over the loudspeaker. Out walks Samoa Joe, Kurt Angle and Kevin Nash. All three men are dressed in pristine suits as they're cascaded with boos by the audience. The trio pay no attention to them. Nash and Joe jawjack with each other while Kurt walks ahead, keeping focus on the ring. He gets to the ringside and shouts for three mics which he is given before the technician scrambles off. The three men get into the ring and listen to the crowd raining boos on them. Joe and Nash seem fine with it but Angle isn't, grabbing his mic.

Kurt Angle: WHY DON'T YOU DISRESPECTFUL ASSHOLES QUIET THE HELL UP AND SHOW RESPECT TO THE THREE MEN LOOKING TO GET THIS COMPANY BACK ON TRACK.

The booing would get even louder and a heated Kurt would take his suit jacket. Joe and Nash would hold him back.

Samoa Joe: Now you see folks, that's the type of passion that this company needs. Guys like Kurt Angle lead this company through its golden era and its no wonder the company has gotten itself into the state it has.

The booing would get louder.

Samoa Joe: That's the exact disrespect that I'm talking about. I've faced nothing but disrespect since I came back to the UWF. Disrespect from the crowd. Disrespect from Tomasso Ciampa and worst of all Disrespect from my opponent at Final Battle, Spike Dudley.

After showing Spike nothing for respect for the past month, even after his fluke win at Backlash, this is how he repays me huh. Attacks on my character. Interfering in my matches and bullying from his cronies. So much for being a hero of the people. The underdog, he's nothing but a little bitch who hides behind those more powerful than him.

The crowd would boo the three louder.

Kevin Nash: You know Joe, it doesn't shock me that these people look up to a guy like Spike. You see this business was built on three things: Power, Money and Respect. You have plenty of Power Joe. You're one of the best paid guys in this business but these people, they show you no respect.

They don't show you respect because they don't understand that guys like us are the necessary evil that this business needs. If everyone was like Spike Dudley, all coming out here with the Hollywood Rednecks every week, this business would be in flames. You people need guys like us to set the narrative straight. To keep things on track and trust me when I say we're not going anywhere for a long time.

The three men would nod at each other.

Samoa Joe: Now I want to talk directly to Spike Dudley. Spike, this was the last and only advantage you had on me: the numbers game. I'm bigger than you. Stronger than you. Smarter than you and now I have the best backup in the game.

You might have beat me at Backlash but at Final Battle I'm going to beat you worse than how we beat Bubba last week. It'll be you lying on the ground, BEGGING FOR MERCY. Just like your brother did and now its 3 against 2, Spike at Final Battle when I'm done, the last Dudley standing will be D-Von.

Nash would smirk.

Kevin Nash: Well don't forget about his personal ring rat Joe, I'm sure Stacey will jump to help her little Spikey.

The trio would start laughing as they're interrupted.

[Xander]

MJF has taken everything that was said and just rolls his eyes a bit. The fans are cheering his opponent for finally saying things they have wanted to hear be said about the champion. Once MJF realizes that his challenger has finally shut his mouth, some real truth can be spoken.

Maxwell Jacob Friedman: Jesus man you entrances take longer than Undertaker at a Wrestlemania and with like none of the pageantry. You are absolutely right, I’m a douchebag. Do you think you are telling me something I don’t already know? Do you think pointing out that I’m a douchebag is going to shake me to my core and give me a wake up call? No, you are calling me a douchebag because you want all these fans to cheer you, you want their acceptance, you want their love because in your mind it will make up for the fact that you have no business being in the same ring as me. You run off at the mouth saying what you know they want you to say, whether you think it matters or not and yes that is pandering. Bringing up the price of eggs when that has nothing to do with what we are doing here in this ring, pandering. Making the nice little Kool Aid jokes, pandering For the love of God you Orange Cuck, have some respect for yourself. You say this is just you being you, but that’s a lie because I’ve seen you for who you really are. I’ve seen you lie to these people and then gaslight them about it. And even through those dollar store aviators I can see it in your eyes that you don’t believe the crap you are spewing. And if you want to talk about pegs and stuff, I think you need to head over to O’Reilly and Bayley’s locker room if you are into that kind of stuff.

MJF looks over at Hager who’s chest is moving as he tries to keep the laughter in. But then MJF goes back to locking eyes with Cassidy.

Maxwell Jacob Friedman: I don’t give the proper respect to those who “helped me along the way.” Is that the stupidity you just spat out at me? You want to actually say that cliche bullshit drivel to me? No, one helped me along the way. No one has put their hand out and given me a break, despite the narrative everyone wants to pretend is true…I BUSTED MY ASS AND EARNED EVERYTHING I HAVE MYSELF. No one helped me, because people are too busy being jealous of me and trying to get in my way. The second I walked into locker rooms, the greatness oozing out of every pore, every other guy did what he could to keep me from achieving what I knew was inevitable. No one gave me real advice, no one gave me feedback, they did what everyone who is mediocre trying to hold onto their spot did…they tried to undercut me and run me out of their locker room. Now, you’ve never experienced that because most people don’t see you as a true threat. But don’t come out here talking about what I should be doing, when you don’t have a damn clue what it’s like being a once in a generation star.

MJF is getting a bit worked up as he begins to pace a bit.

Maxwell Jacob Friedman: ‘Who hurt you?’ That’s the humor you want to come out here with when you are about to have one of the biggest matches of your life? Or was it a legitimate question because I can answer it for you if you want…no one. No one hurt me because no one has been able to touch me since I became a wrestler, period. You want to compare me to everyone who wins a title, there’s never been a champ like me in this company. There’s never been a wrestler like me in this company. But so many people want to act like I’m this cookie cutter archetype of a wrestler they’ve seen before. The “pretty boy coward” that’s the thing running around with all these marks writing while they finger themselves to guys like you or independent darling. But here’s the fact, I’m not a coward, I’m not the guy who is going to say what I say and then hide. No, I'm going to walk into the middle of this ring, I’m going to tell you what a goddamn embarrassment you are and then I’m going to kick your ass. And the problem is that know one seems to understand that this isn’t new information. I've been here since the end of last year doing it and people seem to forget as soon as the week is over.

MJF licks his lips as the pacing continues, he takes a moment to look out into the crowd of marks before turning his attention back to Cassidy.

Maxwell Jacob Friedman: You got to ask me a question and now I want to ask you a question Mr. Cuck if we are being formal. Why are you lying? Why are you pretending like you have been waiting for this a long time. You’ve been scouting me, all this build up…but before all of that you told these people you were happy with just that Medal in your backpack. That you might be “the forever Prime Time Medal Holder” you said those words to these people! So it can’t be both, you can’t have been foaming at the mouth to cash in that medal for my title AND thinking you would hold that title forever. So while these people may let you manipulate them because nothing you can do is wrong to them. Which is it…did you lie before or are you lying now? Because of all the things you can say about me, I’ve been honest since day one. I’ve told these people who I am, what I’m about and I followed through. Whether they want to give me credit for that or not doesn’t matter to me. But your ass has been talking out both sides of your mouth. Because you know, pandering.

MJF stops the pacing and stands in the middle of the ring, Cassidy hasn’t moved much or reacted much to what has been said.

Maxwell Jacob Friedman: You know, I showed a bit of appreciation for facing someone who earned their shot at me. So, I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate facing you. But for one moment if you think MJF isn’t going to be MJF than you are dumber than I’ve ever given you credit for. The fact that you earned this shot doesn’t mean that magically you are on my level. It means that you brawled in the sludge enough to take a look at what that next level looks like, but your place isn’t here. It’s down in the muck with the men you stepped on to get this opportunity. So what’s going to happen is, the bell is going to ring, I’m going to do what I do…win, and then you go back to the bottom of the ladder where you belong. All will go back to the way they should, you can have the love of these inbred morons and I can maybe be someone worth standing across from in the ring. I mean those are few and far between in this company, but this cannot be the best option for my competition. Or maybe it can be and then you will get to see what a forever champion looks like.

MJF gives a smile over to the challenger and a little shrug.

[Fauche]

The Diabetic Dragon's jaw is clenched tight. He's sitting and he's stewing on everything Edge just said. He's chewing on the fair points and hard truths. His friend has a solid point of view steeped in decades of experience, a good reason for still being here and as strong a fighter's chance as any other man on the roster. Kyle knows he has the same, and that all that's left now that they've said what they have to say is to ring the bell and figure it out the violent way.

So, whatever Edge said he may disagree with - the same sorts of things he might rip and tear at if it had come from the mouth of just about anyone else - Kyle takes it on the chin and steps forward, left hand gripping the mic, right hand extended towards his opponent.

KO'R: Fair enough, dude. May the best man -

Bayley: Can I just -

Kyle's step-sister steps in between the Canadians, interrupting the impending shake to a decidedly mixed reaction from the crowd. O'Reilly looks at her like "what the heck?" while Bayley shoots back a "sorry, just give me a sec" kinda wince.

Bayley: Sorry, guys. If I... uh... could I just say something first?

His eyes narrow a bit, but that initial reluctance doesn't last long. Kyle sighs and steps back so that The "Good Guy" can chime in. She nods graciously at her step-brother before turning to face off against Edge.

Bayley: Hey Edge. Look... I don't wanna step out of line or say anything out of turn here. This whole mutual respect, brotherly-love, nWo 4 lyfe, let-the-chips-fall-where-they-may thing you two have going on is great. I love it. Do you guys love it?

Turning her mic towards the fans, Bayley pics up a seismic positive response from the UWF Universe before she puts her attention back on Copeland.

Bayley: Like yeah, sure, everybody likes a good blood feud now and then, but me personally? I'm just glad to run through a pay-per-view cycle without having some creepshow hitting on me the whole time. Ahhhhh. What a breath of fresh air!

Big, deep sigh. Bayley's smiles flickers out, though, when she comes back swinging with the caveat.

Bayley: There's just... well... I just wanted to put this out there - again, with all due respect - but Edge... man... I don't think you have a gosh damn clue who you're messing with.

The tenor in her tone - almost threatening in how cold it is - gets a "OOOOOH" from a lot of the fans. Bayley isn't so quick as her step-bro to tell the people that it's all alright.

Bayley: Kyle may live and breath "what have you done for me lately", but that's equal parts personal philosophy and ADHD.

Nearby, Kyle shrugs, like "yeah, that's fair." Bayley flicks her free hand, pointing to Edge and then herself.



Bayley: You and me? We're more alike, I think. We know our history. We're students of the game. I understand how good you are. Not just have been, but are. Dominance and consistency - you're right on the money with that. So many of these so-called legends come back and flop. They make fools of themselves. Not you, though, Edge. Not you.

Thing is, while we might be on the same page about what esteem to hold you in - you're missing the mark by a longshot with your frankly condescending evaluation of Kyle here. That's fine. Everyone makes that mistake. They've been making it for years. But lets look at the facts, huh? Let's dig into that history and see what kinda story it really tells...

The "Good Guy" paces as she speaks. There's something about the way its all rolling out that seems rehearsed, or at least that she's been meaning to put this all out there for a while now.

Bayley: ... Cause a lot of people - a whole lot of people just see my step-brother as a punchline. Or a gimmick. Or a charity-case. Or at best, The Canadian Psycho with a lot of quirks who wins some and loses some and, well, that's about that. You know what I call them? I call them uneducated. I think folks haven't been paying close enough attention.

She points backwards - a symbolic indicator to bygone years.

Bayley: 2018. Larry Sweeney's floundering in the midcard until he gets Kyle O'Reilly in his corner. After that, he's an overnight main-event sensation. Triple Champ. Thirty-four weeks on top. Winningest UWF Championship run in history thanks to my step-bro. And do you think there's a person on the planet earth who would pick Larry over Kyle in a straight-up wrestling match? Mmmmmm, naaaah. Nobody's that big a sucker. But Kyle, good pal that he is, hung back, hardly ever competed, and did all the heavy lifting for none of the attention or praise.

Fast forward to the Strong Dragons. Rewatch those matches. Who's the one taking the L's? And uh, Who's scoring all the pins?The answer's black and white. Kyle carried Mark Henry and THAT'S saying something. And you know what happened the night they won the tag team titles? I'll tell ya! Kyle here comes out for another match - Aztec flippin' Warfare - pins the scariest man Revolution's ever seen in Vinny Marseglia, follows that up by pinning the reigning, defending UWF Champ Ultramantis Black who - by the way - was riding the longest winning streak of all time - and made it to the bitter end of that brawl in his first UWF singles match ever. Ever.

The second repetition sits heavy in the air for a few seconds, giving it time to sink in before Bayley goes on.

Bayley: Alllllll that raw dawg potential untapped for years because he was busy working tag matches or running interference or, yeah, lately, defending my honour.

And now? Sheesh, now there's nothing holding him back! No distractions. No detriments. Its just you, Edge... and the one thing you need to stand a chance against him is the one thing you won't let yourself resort to. Palomine, I'm not saying you've gone soft, but you sure as spit aren't as sharp as those knives you used to care less about stabbing in backs.

The dig garners some boos from the fans but Bayley mows right through 'em, even when Kyle steps forward to maybe suggest she dial it back.

Bayley: At most these days you're Rated PG-13, and even that might be a stretch. I'm not trying to be a jerk or throw around a cliche'd diss I'm sure you've heard a thousand times, just sayin' that by comparison, Kyle O'Reilly is unrated, uncut, unfiltered, and uncompromising. You've never faced a better version of him. Pardon my French but... well... fucking nobody has. The closest thing we've seen to what he's offering now - that glimpse of the edge of the shadow of potential - was this company's best kept secret... but there's no secrets between friends, right?

That's why I'm happy its you that's out here. Like Kyle said, who better to be on the other side of what's coming?

Bayley steps aside, yielding the ring the actual competitors again.

[rawisrey]

The titantron lights up with Bray Wyatt pacing in the back, speaking aloud as he does only turning to the camera to 'face' Vinny every once in a while.



Bray Wyatt: Isn't it funny man, the way we live our lives the way we interact with one another. Every person is the hero of their own story, they are the main character of their own tale and because of that it can cloud judgement. It can make the world look like it's out to get them and only them, it can make it feel like everything is your own fault, but at the same time it can make it feel like you are the most important person in the universe. It can convince someone that they are more important than anyone else, and it is all because of the Same world view. Some people see the glass half full, some see it half empty. Vinny Vinny Vinny, what is your world view? You'd rather live in the world of the dark and spooky, haunt the dreams of your would be adversaries, and cause pain that will forever tattoo yourself upon their minds. It's sinister, but you also speak of your grand return, of being a King that should be bowed down to. Hell you look at me and you know I'm different, but you still claim to stomp me into dust. You are a world view that has gone unchecked for so long, that it's clouded your own judgement.

Bray puts his finger up to the side of his head and starts to smile to himself before he continues on.

You think yourself above the world, but tell me what is a King high atop the mountain top upon his throne, to a God? Your return is what we're talking about, but it is My Return that means something. The circle is returning to a very familiar place, one in which I reign. No not as Champion, although most of the time yes that does include that, but as something above understanding. As something everyone else tries to figure out but can only stammer to and stumble behind, I am without description and without equal and I've been turning upon this circle for longer than anyone else. So kidnap my family, point your axe at me, and make all the threats and promises your mind can come up with. Because at the end of the day...I...Am Bray Wyatt. And all of me, Every single bit of what I am, can't be hurt, can't be reasoned with, cannot...Be...Stopped. Your world view, atop your kingdom of horror, sounds like a delicious world to me. And at Final Battle, you won't be stomped into dust, you wont' be forever ended...You will be shown Truth, a glimpse of the unfathomable reality that surrounds the world, and the absolute Worst thing I can think of to do to you after that. Is to allow you to Live with that knowledge...RUN.

[albo2]

The trio would start laughing as they're interrupted with some very known words ringing out over the PA System sending the crowd into a frenzy with the fireworks coming down from the ceiling.

LET ME SEE YOU PUT EM UP,

REACH THE SKY, TOUCH THE STARS UP ABOVE

CAUSE IT'S ONE TIME FOR THE UNDERDOG

Spike Dudley and Stacy Keibler make their way from behind the curtain. Stacy looking specially gorgeous tonight as Spike looks rough as anything next to her.

The couple look out into the crowd as they shower them with cheers. Spike grabs Stacy's hand, as they both begin the walk down the ramp. The fans are begging for high fives and both oblige, touching the free hands with all the fans at ringside as they come to end of the ramp. Spike follows Stacy around, helping her climb the stairs. She reaches the top as Spike slides into the ring, walking over to the turnbuckle, climbing it and beating his chest whilst he looks into the crowd, meanwhile at the same time, Stacy is making her trademark entrance into the ring.

Spike steps down from the turnbuckle and comes back to the center of the ring, standing in the middle of the ring looking straight at the trio standing across from him. Stacy has entered the ring, with 2 mics in hand as she makes her way over to her man. She hands the spare mic to him and he accepts it. She now joins in staring at the 3 but she has a snarl on her face that could make most men weep. He doesn't take long before he begins to speak.

LITTLE DUDLEY DOG

SPIKE DUDLEY

You wanna know something? I didn't quite find that last little remark by you very funny Kevin and for a guy that called himself Big Sexy, it's clear to me you shouldn't be commentating on the way anyone looks especially my Angel Without Wings, Stacy Keibler. Let's be honest between guys here, you would sell these two down the river without a paddle even for a little look from Stacy.

Stacy looks at Big Daddy with a look of disgust, shaking her head at him as Spike continues to speak.

This isn't about that though is it and hey, I bet you guys are pretty surprised it's only Stacy and I out here right now in front of you. You were probably expecting my other brother...you know the one that can still walk seeing as my other one has been put on the shelf by you guys. I bet you thought that was pretty funny as well didn't you? I bet you sat in the limo laughing and reminiscing about the time you put Bubba on the shelf? Again, not my kind of humour but I can tell you for a fact, my brother D-Von did not find it funny one little bit and I had to do everything in my power to stop him coming out here tonight because he promised that he was going to rip you apart. He made the point that you would need more then Dr Nash's knowledge to be even able to identify you after he would be finished with you so I made sure he stayed back there because I'm a patient man. He wanted to go right now but I'm happy waiting until Final Battle. I'm happy for your confidence to grow thinking that you have me exactly where you want me because it's like a beautiful scent to my nostrils. It's like Spinach was to Popeye, it's my golden cloak and I can smell it on each and everyone one of you.

Spike points to the 3 men, who are all standing there smirking as Spikey doesn't seem to want to back down even with the numbers disadvantage. He turns his attention solely to Joe now though as he continues.  

Now Joe, I believe I want to speak directly to you. Was losing to me really that bad? Did losing to me really effect you that badly? Why did you take it so personal Joe? Is it because your ego just couldn't handle at loss to Uncle Spike Dudley. Listen to my words here.....the last Pay Per View could have been our Final Battle. Since I've been back in UWF, I've been involved in some feuds but once the match happened, I moved onto the next. Nothing since I have been back has been personal. Hollywood went into my house and destroyed it, he kicked my dog, Baby Groot into next year but he will heal but once the match was done, I looked Hollywood in the eyes and I told him he was the better man and I moved on. Why couldn't you do this with us? 

Spike lowers the mic, allowing the fans to get behind him as he smiles along with the "Dudley" chants. Uncle Spike appreciates his Nieces and Nephews but he realizes he has to continue on. 

If you stood here right now and admitted that losing to Spike Dudley ate you up, it tore you apart....it keep playing on your mind on repeat, I would have some respect for you because that would be the same as admitting I was the better man but the betting man in me goes with you will blame the numbers game even though my brothers were sitting at home and my Stacy was happy in retirement. If I was a betting man, I would say that you will stand there and point to the fact that you dominated me which I'll give it to you, you absolutely did but it still wasn't enough. You want to bring in Kurt Angle and Kevin Nash and possibly even a 3 person that is too much of a coward to show his face when he cost me my match against Edge, that's fine by me. You can do whatever you want but don't you dare blame it on me. I accept no responsibility for those two being here but I will take responsibility when they realise just how much of a mistake they have made. Now I could go on and on about the 3 of you and I intend to but I won't show you the same disrespect you have claimed I showed towards you Joe. I'll give you centre stage again and if you Nash or you Kurt want to say something else even though it has nothing to do with you at Final Battle, be my guest. I'll listen and I will respond because that's just the kind of guy I am. 

Spike lowers the mic, smiling at the 3 men in front of him as Stacy still hasn't cleared her snarling face.

[crann]

Orange Cassidy: So... here's the thing, right?

"Freshly Squeezed" slowly rises up to his own two feet, and for a long moment all he does is fix MJF with a long, (presumably) cold gaze. He holds this withering look at his opponent for a long moment before explaining what the thing is.



A soft sigh follows, and then he continues.

Whether you want to admit it or not, you're owing at least a partial thanks to a couple of people for your present situation. William Regal. Jake Hager. Those are just two of the names I could start listing off but, heck, why not also Ethan Carter III? Without the three of those men alone, your ego wouldn't have a place in this ring, bud. Whether they got you in the door, booked you in the right opportunities or saved you from your own failures – faults you'll never admit because, let's be honest, you're too blind to see them – they played a role in making you the somewhat successful man you are today, Fishman. The Champion of the Intercontinents. And that's to say nothing of the many men you climbed over to get there, who played ball with your selfish ass. But I don't play ball, man. A lot of people make the same mistake you do of accusing me of not taking this whole wrestling thing serious. They think that because I like to have a good time and like to send the people home happy that I'm not a real threat. You're walking into the same trap. Those men have all, one by one, quickly found out how wrong they are and the exact same is going to happen to you.

There's a firey determination in Orange's tone as he holds his ground, unflinching in his stare-down of the champ.

Now, I get it if in that thick skull of yours, so filled with self-congratulatory nonsense, you can't quite process what I meant by being the Forever Medallist and I also get it if, with all of that ego of yours, you lack any ambition. In fact it seems perfectly clear to me that you'd be content to rest on your laurels and hold that belt for as long as someone would let you, because that golden prize makes up for the gaping void of approval you never got as a child, and provides you with the validation you've never been able to get as an adult. You've never known what it is to be adored, to have people cheering for you or even giving a crap you exist, nor have you ever felt the weight of that expectation on your shoulders. You've never been tested in that way. And that's why you could never be a Forever Champ. But me? I have that appetite. I also have the ability to back it up. The reason I said I would be the Forever Medallist was because that's how much this token meant to me. I wanted to keep it forever, and I would have if the company doesn't force you to give it up to take the shot at your belt. So maybe you should open your eyes for a second, and push some of those self-congratulatory thoughts aside for a moment to really process what's happening here. If I'm willing to give up this medal – He holds up the Prime Time over his head to a pop from the crowd. If I'm willing to part ways with this prize for a chance at the one on your waist, and I love it as much as I do, what do you think that means for you?

He pauses again for dramatic effect, and to let Maxwell think on it for a moment.

I'll fill in the blank for you, because you're too busy celebrating in advance to see what's about to happen. It means you're about to discover the same thing every other opponent I have fought since coming back has discovered, at the same time they all discovered it, which was when they were on their backs staring up at the house lights and wondering what the heck just happened to them: I'm not the man you think I am. I'm not the punchline to some joke, I'm not a man to be overlooked, I'm not weak because I give a crap about the fans and share my successes with them – no, Fishman. To borrow one from yourself, and put things in terms you'll understand: I'm better than you. You don't know it yet, but you will – and when you do, it's going to hit you so hard it's going to ruin your life. Because men like you, loud men, men who drop the kind of money you drop on spray-on tans and expensive scarves and fancy jewelry – they're just not ready to find out they're not good enough. You're going to lose to me at Final Battle, and just like L.A. Knight it's going go crush your soul so hard that you'll disappear. Now, that cockroach has since crawled back out of his hole but do you think he's a shred of the man he once was? Do you think you'll be?

A grin creases Orange's lips.

See, a lot of people probably look at this match and think I'm the one with everything to lose. I've cashed in my medal, so that's going to be gone. But on a deeper level, they think if I fail at this shot that it's the end for me. But it's not. I've been in that position before. When I was released by this company the last time, so many people thought that was it for my career. The fact I'm standing here today is proof that they were wrong. The fact I get to look you in the eye and say the things I'm saying right now is evidence that every ounce of misplaced doubts by the haters was exactly that. And the fact I'm about to punch the taste out of your mouth the way your daddy probably used to do and take the only thing that has ever given you the validation you so desperately seek – well, that would have a normal man trembling in fear in the corner. But you? I'll give you credit where it's due: you're not normal. You're a narcissistic blowhard. You don't think it's possible you'll lose, which is why it's going to hurt you more than the regular man when you do. You have everything to lose at Final Battle, Fishman. And if your own words about to me are ones you genuinely believe, then I have everything to gain. And I can't wait to see the look on your face when I do exactly that, and when I pull that belt snug around the waist of a man who will treat it and the people here tonight with the respect they deserve. A true champion. A fighting champion. And one who's better than you, whether you know it or not.

[gunn]

Nash would lift up his mic.

Kevin Nash: Trust me Spikey, if I wanted Stacey, I could have her. One night with Big Sexy and Spikey would be on the back-burner but I'm worried I'd catch something.

Joe would look at Nash and then Angle and then back to Spike and Stacy. The trio chuckled slightly at Nash's statement.

Samoa Joe: Well all of that was very nice Spike and that's what you are Spike, a nice guy. You're right you could have came out here, spat some venom and said something about our character but you're a nice guy and that's why all these people like you so much. You're a nice guy but that's why you keep people like those hick brothers of yours about or your little bimbo here around.

They're not nice people, hell Stacey has taken more jabs about my appearance than anyone here but I digress, it's part of the business and I need to respect that, just how you need to respect that fact that not all your problems are going to go away because you beat them once.

Joe would stick a hand in his pocket.

Samoa Joe: You see I don't know why Dave gave up on you so quickly, maybe that Hollywood pride of his was wounded by being beaten by one of the munchkins or maybe he decided you weren't worth it but I'm not like that Spike. I'm not a "live and let live" guy. You see, when you beat me at Backlash, you gave people hope.

Hope that I was just another mere mortal. You gave them hope that they could do what you did and defeat the giant. Create their own David story. Well I'm here to rip down that hope and rebuild it into a true message. A message that no matter how much you hope and how much you pray, that in the end, the house always wins.

Joe would back off slightly.

Samoa Joe: Its a good thing D-Von didn't come out here, because I wouldn't want to destroy another member of your family and I don't want you getting the wrong message Spike, thinking that this was anything more than business. I don't want you thinking that this is personal. If it was personal then Bubba wouldn't even be here still, he'd be six feet under in a cement coffin, just so he couldn't come back because if anyone could come back from the dead it's a Dudley Boy.

I respect you enough to promise this to you Spike. Win or Lose at Final Battle once the smoke settles our business is done. You want me to stop calling your victory at Backlash a fluke, then beat me. You don't want me to dominate you the whole match then put up a fight. I was told Spike Dudley was the greatest underdog in the history of this industry but what I saw at Backlash wasn't that. I saw a scared little boy and I'm giving you a chance to prove me wrong.

Joe would lower his mic and look at Spike.

[Xander]

MJF has had enough of this and takes a step forward, but a hand appears on his shoulder. MJF looks to the side and sees an angry looking Hager who reaches his hand out asking for the microphone. MJF gives a shrug and hands the microphone over to Hager who steps forward towering almost a foot taller than Cassidy

Jake Hager: See little man, you spoke my name and now I’m going to talk. This is the main problem I have with my position here. I stand silently and listen to moron after moron run their mouth about what they know nothing about. Not a single one of you idiots in that lockerroom understand what it means to be Maxwell Jacob Friedman twenty-four seven. Hell, I’m with him most of the time and I don’t totally understand. But if you are going to say my name, bitch you better get the facts right.

Hager looks over at MJF who has a look of approval on his face.

Jake Hager: MJF doesn’t owe me a damn thing. He’s given me the opportunity to be a small piece in a huge event in an industry I love. I get to back up the man who is going to change wrestling as we know it, and has been every week he walked into this ring. William Regal, was nothing but a leach trying to hang onto someone to keep himself relevant. The truth is Regal was way more of a hindrance to MJF than he was every helpful, because when Max needed him…he was always a step behind or nowhere to be found, period. And if you want to talk about Ethan Carter the Third giving this man a chance? He didn’t give MJF a chance, he begged MJF to sign a contract with this company. He groveled and pleaded because what little boy Ethan realizes that none of you others do is that the UWF was dying and would be dead if this man hadn’t signed on the dotted line. If anyone should be showing appreciation for anyone here it’s all of you that should be thanking MJF for lowering himself to coming to this company and rebuilding it in his image of greatness. You especially, because if the doors closed here, no other company is going to waste any television time on your ass. Instead of running your mouth about all the flaws you see on this man, you should be on your knees thanking him. But I guess that would be understanding how the world actually works and not how you and your fat ass inbred friends in this arena wish the world would work.

Hager is obviously getting angrier the more he talks and MJF has heard enough he taps his friend on the arm. Hager hands him the microphone back and then walks to the corner.

Maxwell Jacob Friedman: I guess you really struck a never there Mr. Cuck. I mean, it makes sense you are running your mouth with absolutely no idea what you are really talking about. I can’t be the only person that pisses off, but honestly I couldn’t have said it better myself so thanks Jake. We can go round and round about if I need anyone to thank, but the fact of the matter is that no one took a chance on me, no one “gave me a break.” From the second I walked into a ring it was obvious that any company was only going to be elevated with me on their roster and any promoter worth a damn would do whatever they could to strap their shitty company onto my back. But you don’t want to acknowledge that, no you want to keep writing this narrative of me being an ungrateful prick, because that’s the narrative that makes these morons cheer.

Just like that the fans do actually cheer and MJF doesn’t look surprised in fact he rolls his eyes at how easily manipulated these people are.

Maxwell Jacob Friedman: You seem to think that I’m already counting my ducks or celebrating the victory before it happens. And maybe I am a little bit because I’ve seen all of this before. You are a dime a dozen of these guys who think they are the one who will topple greatness. And despite whatever you’ve got rolling around in your empty little head, I never said this was going to be a nothing match, I never said I would just roll over you, in fact I gave you respect by saying you have a ton of potential. That’s the problem here, when I give respect everyone wants to pretend like they didn’t hear it. This is going to be a brutal match, I expect you to give me everything you have. But I also know it won’t be enough. Your best is not good enough here and there worst part of all of this…you know it. I know that you know it.

MJF takes a step closer to Cassidy.

Maxwell Jacob Friedman: Do you want to know how I know that you know you’ve already lost? Because you are already setting up a nice little landing spot for yourself. Talking about how if you lose this match you haven’t lost everything, that you’ve been down before. A man who thinks they are about to become champion doesn’t even have that thought in their mind. Now you amp yourself up after having those thoughts, but those are the thoughts rattling around there that are the killer. You can call me a name after name about my ego and arrogance, but what it really is…fath in myself. I know I’m walking in at Final Battle as champion and I’m walking out as champion. There’s no “if I lose I’ll be fine.” THERE IS NO IF I LOSE! That is the mindset of a loser, of these people, of a man who is no different than the poor, uneducated mark that sits their fat ass in the seats out there. Wasted potential, that’s all you’ll ever be as long as you try to be like these people. That’s on you, that’s not on me so when you are helped to the back at Final Battle. When you are in the locker room, beaten and bloodied. When you finally get the strength to look in the mirror and see what damage was done. Take a very long look and understand that you did that to yourself. You allowed these people to lower you to their level and this ass whooping is what you got from it.

MJF takes a deep breath, he’s had enough of this. You can see the annoyance in his face.

Maxwell Jacob Friedman: We can talk all we want. I’ll say the truth, you’ll say whatever gets the fat seals in the chairs to clap. And we can go round and round. But the talking is really over, at Final Battle I’ll come down to this ring with all the pageantry a man of my status deserves. Then you will walk out to this ring like a moron looking to catch the bus. And then the bell will ring, we will battle it out, but the world of UWF is going to have to learn the same lesson. Apparently I need to teach it every week, I’m the best wrestler this company has, period. This is my domain no matter how much you all want to pretend it isn’t. And when that bell rings, the dust settles and I am once again victorious. These morons might be in shock, but you won’t be. No, because despite everything you aren’t an idiot. You know the truth is going to have to be shown again…I’m better than you and you know it.

With that MJF drops his microphone, he’s said everything he cares to say ahead of this Intercontinental Championship match at Final Battle.

[George]

The bewildering sounds of "Raining Blood" blast through the PA, with the wailing distortion echoing through our ears. The spooky sounds continue to flow, until we peak up and then we hit the strong, driving riff coming through the speakers, as the recently returned Warhorse pumps through the curtain, standing off with menacing head bangs with a strong grip with microphone in hand. The Warhorse sympathisers in the crowd bang their heads with ultra enthusiasm through the whole of the first two verses, as well as the MAJORITY Slayer fans.





The Warhorse finishes up headbanging up at the top of the ramp, and then starts walking down the ramp with bold brash confidence. He slides up onto the apron, climbing right through the ropes, and standing in the middle of the ring as we hit the chorus:


RAINING BLOOD,
FROM A LACERATED SKY,
BLEEDING IT'S HORROR,
CREATING MY STRUCTURE,
NOW I SHALL REIGN IN BLOOD.


The Warhorse headbangs as we get a bewildering Kerry King guitar solo, a true assault to the senses. As the song fades, the Warhorse walks around and starts circling as his loyal fanbase cheers him on, to prepare for his talk on The Shark. He swings up the microphone to his mouth in this empty abode of a ring.


WARHORSE: WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH THIS “THE SHARK” DUDE? “THE” DEFINITIVE SHARK. A BONAFIDE UWF LEGEND, PEOPLE TELL ME. HALL OF FAME, PEOPLE TELL ME. THE WARHORSE IS JUST UNSURE OF THIS GUY’S DEAL. IT STUCK OUT TO THE WARHORSE, PEAKING BACK UP AND TAKING A GLANCE AT THE CARD. AMONGST NAMES THAT ONE JUST STOOD OUT TO ME. I DON’T KNOW THE GUY.


THE WARHORSE MUST STRESS THAT THIS ISN’T PERSONAL, THE WARHORSE HARDLY KNOWS THE GUY, DON’T THINK THE WARHORSE HAS SEEN THIS DUDE IN CATERING. NOT BY THE VENDING MACHINES EITHER. THE WARHORSE HAS NO IDEA WHETHER THAT’S JUST A COINCIDENCE OR THE WARHORSE IS BEING BIG LEAGUED.


THE WARHORSE WON’T TAKE KINDLY TO THE LATTER. THE WARHORSE WOULD BE INCLINED TO DRAG THAT FISH BACKWARDS UNDERWATER AND MAKE THAT SUCKER DROWN. BUT PEOPLE TELL THE WARHORSE THIS GUY IS A LEGEND OR WHATEVER.


IF HE’S AS LEGENDARY AS EVERYONE TELLS THE WARHORSE, THEN HE MUST BE A DECENT PROFESSIONAL WRESTLER. THAT BRINGS A SHIMMER OF EXCITEMENT. THE WARHORSE LOVES A GOOD PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING MATCH HERE AND THERE. HOWEVER, I’M NOT INCLINED TO BELIEVE THAT SHIT.


The Warhorse paces around.


PEOPLE OFTEN SAY YOUR FIRST IMPRESSION IS THE ONLY ONE THAT MATTERS, AND MY FIRST EXPOSURE TO THIS GUY’S WRESTLING ABILITY WAS THROUGH SEEING HIS ASS GETTING WHOOPED BY ‘HANDS-IN-POCKETS WOULD RATHER BE SOMEWHERE ELSE’ ORANGE CASSIDY. WHAT A SHAME. WHAT TYPE OF MAN DOES THAT MAKE THIS DUDE IN THE EYES OF THE WARHORSE. A STINKIN’ JABRONI TO THE WARHORSE.


I MUST EMPHASISE, THE WARHORSE COULD LITERALLY NOT CARE LESS ABOUT THIS DUDE. HIS NAME WAS A NAME ON A CARD, AND IF HE WANTS TO THROW HIS TOYS OUT THE PRAM ABOUT HAVING A MATCH WITH THE WARHORSE, THEN GO AHEAD BUD, BECAUSE THE WARHORSE SCRAPES THE WINNING MONEY IN AND GOES ONTO THE NEXT CITY.


AND SO WHAT, WARHORSE WILL JUST RULE YOUR ASS. SINCE THAT’S WHAT THE WARHORSE DOES.


The Warhorse lowers his microphone and awaits a response from this illusive ‘The Shark.’