Welcome To Classic Wrestling: Episode 16
“Back In Black” by ACDC Plays loudly over the PA System, but this week the studio is fairly dark. This week there are no fans jumping up and down in the bleachers, no clapping, signs, or otherwise. Instead it’s fairly quiet as a single spotlight highlights the center of the ring. Instead we see The Host with the Most, Otto Price stepping through the ropes with a microphone in hand. A brief glance over at the commentary booth shows us that even the steady duo of Patrick Moss and Joel “Thunderbird” Howley are not on the studio floor this evening. Back to the ring and back to Otto Price who now addresses the fans at home as the camera comes to a stop on him.
Otto Price: Welcome Ladies and Gentlemen to the sixteenth airing of Classic Wrestling here on RBTV. We want to thank our awesome station affiliate for all the support we’ve recieved the past year! Tonight we’re bringing you something a little different, something out of the ordinary.
He pauses where usually fans would react or clap, this time there’s silence.
Otto Price: Tonight we don’t have any matches lined up for you, we don’t have an exciting main event that’s going to rock your socks off, instead we’ve got a look at the minds and thoughts of each of your favorite Classic Superstars! We’ve got interviews, We’ve got backstage recordings, and much much more. We decided to let the Classic Wrestling fans in for free tonight… so we can all get ready for CAPITAL CLASH TOGETHER!
The lights hit in all corners of the studio, and in pour the fans from the doors to find their seats. They race down to the front row, clamoring for the closest seats. The Capital Clash Logo fills our screen as they do.
Body Bag
Backstage.
Eddie Dante circles around his Foreign Legion, in formation as they discuss business.
Eddie Dante: Gentlemen, that Harry Chest has shown himself a nuisance around the Classic Wrestling locker room. I think it is time for us to confront him and take care of him once and for all. Capital Clash is upon us, so perhaps that will be as good a time as any.
Mushigihra: Osu…
Eddie Dante: Then it’s settled. I’ll send the memo to Gruff. The Foreign Legion vs. Harry Chest and any bag of bones he can find to face us. You’ll make great progress in redeeming yourselves if you can send him out of Classic Wrestling on a stretcher.
A chuckle.
Eddie Dante: Or a body bag.
Cut.
Disrespectin the Flag
Snap backstage!
King Kong Frank is pacing.
Like a maniac.
Let’s not beat around the bush here, Frank is a maniac. Nevertheless, it seems like no matter how many times the Mastadon of the Great Smoky Mountains does grievous bodily harm to an opponent, it never takes long before some other schmuck makes the heinous mistake of underestimating or provoking him.
And that’s just fine with Frank.
After a time “Big” Joe Geoue steps into the scene with a CLASSIC-flagged microphone in hand. Frank scowls down at the diminutive interviewer but halts his back and forth fidgeting. It’s not all that often that King Kong Frank requests interview time on television, but sometimes a man has got to say what’s on his mind!
BJG: “Big” JG here and I’ve got maybe the wildest of all of the wild men here in CLASSIC Wrestling, King Kong Frank! Now, Frank, you’ve been mixing it up with the Premier American Champion Shujin Yama, and last week not only did he try to burn the American Flag on national television but he and Sensei Abe Lincoln symbolically buried you under the Japanese flag!
Frank snarls. His reply is low. Measured.
KKF: Yeah. Big’un put in some real work last week on ol’ Frank.
That snarl curls into a disconcerting grin.
KKF: An’ that’s JUST DAGGUM FINE WITH OL’ FRANK! UNNARSTANNIT?!
Big Joe, having never had the pleasure of interviewing the Barefoot Brawler, was doing a first-class job at standing there and not flinching as the giant of a man screamed at him with spittle flying and errant globs of chaw and particulates flying every which way but loose.
BJG: Sounds like to me you’re spoiling for another fight with the Champ?
KKF: YOU CAN BET YER BACKSIDE ON THAT! An’ lemme make one thing perfectly clear right here, an’ right now. An’ lemme talk real good an’ slow so you an’ yer jerkwagon littly hippy sidekick can unnarstan’ ever’ dadblasted word of it.
The camera tightens on Frank, Big Joe knows when to lay back and does his best impression of a mic stand. Frank’s eyes are wide, but there’s something in there… something serious. He reaches off-screen and grabs an American Flag, stares at it reverently for a moment before turning his attention back outward.
KKF: These. Colors. Don’t. Run.
There is a bristling rage behind Frank’s words. Like maybe he’s been holding back up until now. If that’s the case, things are about to get real weird here at CLASSIC Wrestling.
KKF: I done told ya, my ol’ Granpappy died fightin’ under this here flag, and so did his ol’ Granpappy. Now my daddy might’a been a draft-dodgin, woman-beatin’ piece’a garbage, but my Ma’ didn’t raise the kind’a feller that’d let ANYBODY…
Big Joe finds whatever courage it must take to interrupt the biggest, craziest man to ever lace-up, or not lace-up, a pair of boots.
BJD: Okay, hold on, Frank. What exactly are you trying to say here? This sounds like it is a lot more personal to you than a simple wrestling match could ever hope to contain.
Frank vibrates. He is an entire mood, and not a good one.
KKF: SHOO-JIN YAMA! You don’t get to disrespect this here flag an’ keep callin’ yerself any kind of AMERICAN Champion, PREE-MEER OR NOT! So if’n ya ain’t YELLA, come Capital Clash you’ll put that Red, White, an’ Blue’ piece’a gold ON THE LINE! YOU AN’ ME BIG BOY, FLAG MATCH! YOO-ESS-AYE VERSUS JAPEXICO OR WHEREVER YER SUPPOSED TO BE FROM!
BJG: WOW! You heard it here first folks, King Kong Frank wants to take a piece out of Shujin Yama, and he wants to represent the Good ‘ol US of A while he does it! We’ll send it back out to-
Frank crushes Joe’s hand inside of his own before yanking the microphone, Joe’s hand and all, up closer to his bearded face. He snarls into it one more time.
KKF: COME ON BIG’UN! OR IS YA CHICKEN? BAAA-GAAAAAAAAAAAAWK!!!!
With that, the Appalachian Nightmare has said his peace. He gives Joe back his nearly mangled hand and stomps away.
BJG: Back to you guys!
Cut
Redecorating
GONG!!
Opening in front of a Classic Wrestling banner, “Big” Joe Geoue stands front and center.
Geoue: Ladies and gentlemen, at this time allow me to welcome the Premier American Champion, Shujin Yama, and his associate, Sensei Abe Lincoln.
GONG!!
The sound echoes across the speaker system once again as the mammoth Oni of Oblivion enters the frame with the championship belt across his shoulder, and his seedy manager following. Yama grimaces as he looks upon the surroundings and inaudibly growls something to Lincoln. Immediately the foul advisor starts barking orders and from off screen a troop of menservants rush into the stage and start ripping down the Classic Wrestling banner
Geoue: Just what do you think you’re doing?!
Lincoln: Redecorating.
“Big” Joe moves to intervene, but not much moves past the brick wall that is Shujin Yama. With his massive arms crossed in front of him, Yama glares at the interviewer and the worker bees finish up their work.
In place of the Classic Wrestling banner, a gigantic Japanese flag has been raised. Lincoln beams while looking at it. Yama remains typically stoic.
Geoue: What makes you think you can come in here and disrespect this fine federation like that?
Lincoln: Disrespect?! DISRESPECT?! Let me tell you of disrespect. Disrespect is everything Shujin Yama has experienced in Classic Wrestling to date. Disrespect is fast count out that referee made last week against Holo-San. Disrespect is Frank-San constantly sticking his disgusting, slop-covered nose in Shujin Yama’s business. Shujin Yama is longest reigning champion in Classic Wrestling history! Shujin Yama does not need to respect Classic Wrestling, Classic Wrestling needs to respect Shujin Yama!
Geoue: Well if you’re wanting respect, I don’t think you’re going to get it from King Kong Frank. After the disrespect–
Lincoln glares at “Big” Joe, who knew exactly what he was doing and continues speaking.
Geoue: –you and your client showed him on the last episode of Classic Wrestling, I had a chance to catch up with him earlier tonight where he laid out a challenge to meet your client, Shujin Yana at Capital Clash for the Premier American Championship. And to top it off, he wants it to be a Flag Match!
Lincoln: BAH!
He spits on “Big” Joe’s shoes, and for years to come people will debate whether that made Shujin Yama crack a smile.
Lincoln: Shujin Yama is fighting champion!
Geoue: Well then why haven’t Scott Hunter and Holo Make received title shots after beating him?
Lincoln: Because they do not deserve championship after cheating Shujin Yama out of victory!!! But Frank-San? Frank-San does not deserve championship because he, as you Americans would say, sucks. Frank-San wants title shot? Shujin Yama says ‘no’.
Geoue: WHAT?!? You’re rejecting King King Frank’s request?!
A meaty paw clamps down on Sensei Lincoln’s shoulder. He turns back and the hellish eyes of the current champ send a very clear message to his advocate.
Lincoln: No…
He bows his head.
Lincoln: Shujin Yama is giving Champion. Shujin Yama is… heh… true American hero. Frank-San can have his shot at Shujin Yama. Frank-San can have his flag match too. For Shujin Yama already metaphorically tore American flag from his heart, and raised up flag of his new homeland.
With reverence, Lincoln looks back at the Japanese flag that his servants had raised behind him.
Lincoln: At Capital Clash, Shujin Yama gets to do it literally too.
Geoue: There you have it, folks! The match is official! The Premier American Championship will be on the line as the champion Shujin Yama defends against King Kong Frank! Sunday! Two weeks from today! At Capital Clash!
Coward
‘All Business’ Alex Bruder’s face takes up the screen, so close that you could count the hairs in his neat mutton chops. He speaks slowly and low, absent any apparent emotion.
Bruder: ‘Feral’ Freddy Kilgore. You come to the ring accompanied by ‘Wild Kat’ Diamond, while I bring nothing more than the boots on my feet. But I’m the coward.
A second passes.
Another.
A third.
Bruder: You depend on the roar of approval of your Wild Hearts to get you through your match, while I rely on my skill alone. But I’m the coward.
Bruder’s eyes don’t blink.
Bruder: You constrain yourself to coloring within the lines in the ring, lest the referee yell at you for bending a rule, while I risk painting the whole canvas to win.”
Bruder’s gaze remains fixed, but his voice betrays his anger.
Bruder: But I’m the coward?
Bruder draws a deep breath, settling down.
Bruder: No. Between those ropes, I may respect my opponent, but I don’t fear them. But maybe you do Kilgore. Maybe you’ve spent so much time being the biggest and the strongest, that you don’t remember what it’s like when that strength isn’t enough. Maybe, just maybe, you’re thinking about how I turned the whole world dark for you when I trapped you in my Cobra Clutch, or worse, relying on the tape of the match, because your memory is a bit fuzzy on the matter.
Bruder offers a thin smile, but his eyes remain fixed on the camera.
Bruder: No worries, Kilgore. At Capital Clash, you’ll get another chance to have your whole world disappear; to have the roar of the crowd be deafened; to have the arena become a tiny point of light; to come to your senses while the official raises my hand in victory. When it happens, just know that you did your very best, and then go ahead and live knowing that it wasn’t enough. You’re man enough to handle it, I’m sure.
The smile disappears.
Bruder: After all, you’re no coward.
Alex’s face dissolves, and is replaced with the logo for Capital Clash, only on Pay-Per-View!
Coming For You!
The scene opens to a big green screen backdrop, which almost immediately turns into the rolling surf of sunny Hawaii. We can see little dots of people walking by on the beach, faces pixelated. There is a pineapple tree nearby. Also a hula girl. Also some poi.
Scott Hunter, in case you didn’t know, is front and center, arms crossed. He looks perturbed. Flummoxed even. Perhaps even unruly. Either way, it’s not good!
“First of all, a quick note, whoever lost the iPhone 13 outside the movie theater about an hour ago, please stop calling my new phone. I don’t want to talk to you!
Now then…you morons really don’t ever give up, do you? I can’t even enjoy a relaxing vacation in the Hawaiian islands without having to come out here and say something to you nerds.”
The screen video glitches for a second then returns to the lovely beach.
“You hear the sound of those lovely waves behind me? Yes, you do. Well, I’ll tell you one thing, it’s a lot more pleasant to listen to than listening to the meandering garbage falling out of every single Classic Wrestling wrestler’s mouth lately. A LOT… more pleasant.
And I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, Scott, you love wrestling! That’s why you’re doing it! You love it more than Joanie loves Chachi, a TV show I discovered last week. You agape love it, and that’s the third-best kind of love! Right behind tender and jungle.
Holo Make knows what I’m talkin’ about.
Wink.
But back to my original point. As is evident by the tropical island atmosphere behind me, in real life and not at all on a video screen, I am here in Maui doing some research before I face off with Holo Make, which I am told could happen as soon as today! But no later than next January. Now I want to show some respect for your culture by using some Hawaiian words, and the first thing I want to say is… ‘Aina I Ka Pono’, which are four Hawaiian words that mean ‘run headfirst into a bare-chested man. Also, leave your feet to get more momentum.’ It’s amazing how only four little words can say so much. It’s a rich language.
Now I have no idea, yet, what to make of my future opponent. I know he has long black hair and hasn’t taken a bath in so long that plants are literally growing from his ankles and wrists, and I know he has a watercolor dragon tattoo over the top of some mistletoe and a phallic symbol underneath. I know he has taped up his feet due to the smell, and tights so tight I can tell his religion.
Now I’m only day one on this journey of discovery to prepare for our eventual match, but I can tell you this much now. Aliki Poko Ni Taco Grande. That means I will pulverize your body and cause great liver damage with a knee thrust to your back, in Hawaiian. Furthermore, it stands as a warning and a parable, that just because you SAY you were born on an island, doesn’t mean it’s true. Like this video behind you, you are a FRAUD, SIR! I saw The Blue Lagoon last week on HBO Max and you look NOTHING like Brooke Shields! Fraud! Saboteur! Unkempt sausage peddler!
What I do know is that when I finally get you in the ring, which will be soon… or maybe later, I will wrap you up in knots so tight, you’ll need fifteen boy scouts to get you free! Sheep-shank, b***h! I will apply my patented and trademarked figure-four leglock around your weird beefy South Pacific legs and make you beg for Kokua. That means ‘help!’. It also is the name of the coffee house around the corner from my condo. But that’s not the point! The point is only this. I will beat you, right in the face, about the head and shoulders, and if I have time, your knees and that little part on your elbow called the weenus. Look it up!
But when I’m done with all of that, I will break one or more of your legs! You hear me??! ONE!!!…. OR MORE!!!”
Hunter hesitates as if expecting something to happen. He looks off-camera, then back at the camera, then off-camera again, then back at the camera, and gets frustrated.
“Hang on.”
He rushes off-screen and comes back with a small remote. He presses a button and the Hawaiian scene disappears, left with nothing but a wall of green.
“Sleep tight, Malaka Hoa falapa lookie mookie wilson, because I’m coming for you. YOU HEAR ME?!”
Hunter points at the camera, very seriously.
“COMING… FOR YOU!!”
Scott stands up straight, and smiles.
“Auf wiedersehen.”
Cut to Black.