Post by Mad Mumf on Oct 27, 2013 9:55:13 GMT -4
Here we stand, yet again on the doorway of opportunity. That opportunity comes in the form of the Xtreme Title and would be a great step in the direction of earning a place in the history books of the APW. However, the threshhold that must be crossed in order to make it through that doorway and be on the way to the next great path is no small one to cross. It comes in the form of a challenge against not one but two opponents, both of whom are ready for a fight.
As if the fight itself was not enough, the terms of that fight come into play. This match is at One Night in Hell and it comes with a stipulation which may or may not favor our well travelled monster. This match relies on the creativity of the fans, who have been tasked with providing the means of combat and the means of acquiring an advantage. The only limit is their imagination. And some people out there have a pretty screwed up imagination.
How will this be a situation that can help Mad Mumf? What will he need to do in order to survive this and potentially win the prize that he is seeking? The answer is simple...adaptation. He will need to adapt to the weapons not only he will be provided with but whatever his opponents can come up with as well.
This isn't a typical hardcore match, but hardcore matches in the past have sometimes not worked out well for Mumf. He's ended up in all sorts of situations where he's suffered some serious damage, but he has also succeeded in them. There were times he proved himself even with a loss by bringing everything INCLUDING the kitchen sink against his opponent.
It is matches like these that show the lengths to which a man will go to aspire for greatness. This weekend will be no exception.
The scene opens to a hotel gym somewhere in Tokyo as we see Mad Mumf bench pressing with his brother spotting. His eyes seemed focused and from the sheen of sweat on his body and the dark patches on his tshirt, he's been at it a long time, pressing an impressive amount of weight with consistent reps.
Ryan - Come on! Ten more! Push these out! You want a chance in that ring this Sunday, you need to be at your peak! You need to be ready to go.
Mumf keeps his eyes focused on the task at hand pushing the bar up slowly and with steady determination each time, not faltering in the slightest, rattling off five of the ten presses.
Ryan - Five more! These two guys haven't seen what you can do. They don't know how hard you can fight. Your matches with them so far haven't even scratched the damn surface! You want that belt? Well it's yours for the taking. All you have to do is beat them both to within an inch of their lives with the nearest weapon you can find! That's your type of mayhem isn't it? That's the place you thrive in. That's your god given element!
Mumf completes the last five reps and drops the bar back onto its pegs and sits up, his eyes still focused as he grabs a towel and dabs the sweat from his forehead.
Ryan - Are we done here?
Mumf nods and throws the towel in the nearby hamper before gathering up his things and a bottle of water, stating in a steady and calm voice.
Mumf - We are. Let's go. I've got a few more things to do and a promo to cut in a little while. It's time to send a message to my opponents.
Mumf leads the way from the gym and to an elevator. Ryan goes to push the button for the approrpiate floor but Mumf stops him and shakes his head. He then reaches out and pushes the button for the lowest parking level beneath the hotel. When the elevator arrives, Mumf steps out followed by Ryan. The former RWF champion's eyes still have that glazed focus as he looks around at the group of threatening men standing around as if waiting. Several of them are leaning against cars that are obviously not theirs and all of them are carrying baseball bats, kendo sticks or some other implement of destruction.
Without a word, Mumf reaches into his duffle bag and tosses a stack of Yen to the assembled group before speaking.
Mumf - That's the amount we discussed on the phone. Are these the best you could gather?
He gestures to the men around the parking lot as he addresses one of the more finely dressed ne'erdowells.
Group Representative - They are. I just want to make sure we're clear here, man. You really are paying us to kick your ass?
Mumf laughs briefly and shakes his head, his cold eyes glaring into the eyes of the man who was speaking.
Mumf - No. I am paying you to TRY to kick my ass. There's no guarantee you'll succeed, or even that any of you will be conscious when I'm done.
Now it's the assembled thugs' turns to laugh as Mumf drops his duffle bag onto a nearby car and cracks his knuckles. Ryan stops him before he can start to walk towards the gathered group.
Ryan - Are you sure about this, man?
Mumf smirks and meets his brother's eyes with a nod.
Mumf - I am. This is the best way to train for this match. You can't exactly go to a wrestling gym in hopes of getting someone willing to train with weapons.
Ryan - Fair enough.
The younger Mumford takes a step back and Mumf makes his way forward, gesturing to the group to come at him. The first one goes to take a swing with his kendo stick the second Mumf's in range.
Mumf sidesteps the swing and levels him with a single, well placed punch, breaking the man's nose. He bends down and picks up the kendo stick, steping aside again, just in time to avoid a punch from a man wearing brass knuckles. Mumf looks him in the eyes as he spins around....just before the kendo stick comes crashing down on his head and shatters.
Not wasting any time, Mumf goes after a man who's brandishing a baseball bat and blocks a swing by getting in close enough where his block is able to stop the man's momentum at the arms rather than making contact with the hard piece of lumber. Mumf grabs the butt end of the bat and lifts it so that it connects solidly with it's owners chin before wrenching it out of his grip and landing a solid punch in his gut, sending him sprawling to the floor.
The monster rounds on another man who has just wound up for a kick aimed at his head. With much quicker speed, however, the wrestler with the baseball bat swings his weapon, making solid contact with the man's groin, sending him groaning to the floor, clutching his wounded pride.
When Mumf turns around next he realizes that the only one left is the spokesman for the group of thugs, his eyes wide with shock.
Spokesman - Ahhhh.....w-well. I'll tell you what... Keep my share of the money. I'd rather not fight. I like my teeth where they are. As for the rest? Well, I'll take their shares and keep them safe until they regain consciousness or can move. You did well, Mr. Mumford. That was impressive.
Mumf leers at the man.
Mumf - That wasn't intended to impress you or anybody for that matter. It was intented to be preparation.
The man looks confused.
Spokesman - Preparation for what?
Mumf turns and begins walking back to the elevator, answering the question over his shoulder as he walks.
Mumf - Hell...
The scene slowly fades to black as the elevator doors close. We slowly fade back in to a locker room where we find Mad Mumf sitting on the edge of his chair, applying tape to his fists and making sure his wrists have a secure amount of support.
When satisfied, he moves to the other hand with a fresh roll of athletic tape as he begins speaking.
Mumf - Several hours from now, a mere few hallways and one long entrance ramp away from this locker room, an arena will be filled with some of this world's most ravenous, wild, insane, and creative wrestling fans. They'll be there from the front row all the way back to the cheap seats and each and every one of them will have brought with them some weapon of their own design or creativity all for the chance of that weapon being used by one of three men in their hunger to claim or keep what they all feel they rightfully deserve.
I've seen what the fans in Japan are capable of when it comes to hardcore matches. I've seen the ideas that can stir in their minds. There have been C4 matches, flaming table matches, all sorts of death matches. The limits are non-existent. If the mind can come up with it, eventually it will happen in a ring in Japan. So, something as simple as a task of bringing the most brutally violent blunt weapons to throw in the ring for a match during a Pay Per View? That's easy for them. I'm sure there will be some weird crap I've never used before. Will that be an issue? Not really. I've fought in matches like these before and used whatever's at hand to beat, maim, and hurt my opponent. I love that sort of stuff, in fact. It's a challenge for me, and a means to excel.
It hardly needs to be said, but I'm sure all parties are also aware that this is not going to be a wrestling match. It's not going to be a technical exposition. It's not going to be clinic on throws and holds. It's not even going to be a fight. That term doesn't do what's going to happen the proper amount of justice. What is IS going to be is a war. It's going to be bloody, violent, and there's a good chance one of the three of us will not walk out alive. And just as with all wars, to the victor go the spoils.
AC Smith seems to believe that I don't deserve this chance when he beat me not very long ago in an attempt on his Xtreme Title in a match that he came damn close to losing. I don't know if he has a short term memory or if he doesn't recall just how close to the limit I brought him last time, but he will have his memory jogged when he steps into that ring. I have beating the well trodden path to his door now for well over a month, with a hunger for the opportunity that is being presented to me. I want what he has, and by god, before I'm done, I'm going to take it.
I seem to feel like I recall hearing him complain about the match he's in, not just the type, but who the opponents are. Right now, I think Smith's bigger concern should be figuring out a way to clutch that title as tightly as he can and just how in the hell he's going to manage to hang onto it with two people in the ring who are both ready to beat it away from his grasp. If he has an issue stepping into this kind of match, he needs to face facts. He's just not cut out to be the owner of a championship that's called the Xtreme Title.
To be the champion at that kind of level, you need to expect bloodshed. You need to expect fights the likes of which the world has never seen. You need to expect broken bones and the need to break the bones of others. People talk about the highest level of prestige in this business going to World Heavyweight Titles and the Unified Titles, and the World Championship Titles of all sorts of companies, but at the end of the day, when it's all said and done, a title like this one is the real blue collar title. It's with this title that you truly get to see the lengths to which a man will go to win it or to retain it.
So there's the question, AC Smith...what lengths would you go to in order to remain champion and owner of a title whose match types you appear ready to complain about?
There is another man in this match though. A man who seems to have some unwarranted sense of entitlement because he once hel this piece of gold that we're all fighting for. A man whose path I've already crossed. A man who I will revel in being able to fight and mangle with whatever weapon is at hand. This of course is Leon Roberts.
Now, Leon seems to like to portray himself as some form of demonic badass. As I've said before, I've been there and done that. And yes, I do have the t-shirt. The thing is, the schitck wears off after a while. It grows stale. And while Roberts has been sitting there trying his damnedest to regain what he thinks should be his anyway, the act has, shall we say, gone more stale than a month old loaf of bread. He's sauntered out there, week after week looking only to this match, trying so hard to get into peoples' heads, to get that fight to kick start itself early, and last week it nearly did. I came out there after that match last week to send a message. It was finally time to fight, and the both of these assholes are about to see a fight that is worse than they've ever experienced. Playtime is over. The headgames are done. Now it comes down to three men in a ring, thousands of fans with weapons, and who can get the best advantage with whatever weapon they can grab.
I don't normally find myself able to say that there is somebody in this business I dislike, but believe me I am strongly leaning that way with Leon Roberts. The "Virus" needs to take a step back and realize that maybe he's not quite the badass he'd like the world to think he is. He is as human as the rest of us and he can and will be beaten.
Both of these men are in sore need of reality checks and I am the one to deliver them. Smith needs to see the fact that his title reign is at an end and that the odds are against him. It's time for a new Xtreme Champion. One who will embrace the violence that comes with the territory. One who will love every bloody, gory second of every single fight that follows that belt's existence. It's time for the era of Mad Mumf to truly begin.
Just a few hours now, gentlemen. I hope you really have given this match plenty of thought. I hope you are ready. I know I am. And I am coming tonight in anticpation of a war. I sincerely hope you don't disappoint. I'm looking forward to hurting you both and taking what I desire and there is not a damn thing either of you can do to stop me. In the end, you will both be lying on that mat, battered, bruised, bloodied and helpless as my arm is raised in victory and I claim my newfound prize. THAT is the outcome tonight. THAT is the start of a new era. And THAT is what I am looking forward to.
See you both in a few hours.
Mumf grins and finishes taping his other hand and leans back, testing the impact a few times, punching a fist into the opposite hand as the scene fades to black.
As if the fight itself was not enough, the terms of that fight come into play. This match is at One Night in Hell and it comes with a stipulation which may or may not favor our well travelled monster. This match relies on the creativity of the fans, who have been tasked with providing the means of combat and the means of acquiring an advantage. The only limit is their imagination. And some people out there have a pretty screwed up imagination.
How will this be a situation that can help Mad Mumf? What will he need to do in order to survive this and potentially win the prize that he is seeking? The answer is simple...adaptation. He will need to adapt to the weapons not only he will be provided with but whatever his opponents can come up with as well.
This isn't a typical hardcore match, but hardcore matches in the past have sometimes not worked out well for Mumf. He's ended up in all sorts of situations where he's suffered some serious damage, but he has also succeeded in them. There were times he proved himself even with a loss by bringing everything INCLUDING the kitchen sink against his opponent.
It is matches like these that show the lengths to which a man will go to aspire for greatness. This weekend will be no exception.
The scene opens to a hotel gym somewhere in Tokyo as we see Mad Mumf bench pressing with his brother spotting. His eyes seemed focused and from the sheen of sweat on his body and the dark patches on his tshirt, he's been at it a long time, pressing an impressive amount of weight with consistent reps.
Ryan - Come on! Ten more! Push these out! You want a chance in that ring this Sunday, you need to be at your peak! You need to be ready to go.
Mumf keeps his eyes focused on the task at hand pushing the bar up slowly and with steady determination each time, not faltering in the slightest, rattling off five of the ten presses.
Ryan - Five more! These two guys haven't seen what you can do. They don't know how hard you can fight. Your matches with them so far haven't even scratched the damn surface! You want that belt? Well it's yours for the taking. All you have to do is beat them both to within an inch of their lives with the nearest weapon you can find! That's your type of mayhem isn't it? That's the place you thrive in. That's your god given element!
Mumf completes the last five reps and drops the bar back onto its pegs and sits up, his eyes still focused as he grabs a towel and dabs the sweat from his forehead.
Ryan - Are we done here?
Mumf nods and throws the towel in the nearby hamper before gathering up his things and a bottle of water, stating in a steady and calm voice.
Mumf - We are. Let's go. I've got a few more things to do and a promo to cut in a little while. It's time to send a message to my opponents.
Mumf leads the way from the gym and to an elevator. Ryan goes to push the button for the approrpiate floor but Mumf stops him and shakes his head. He then reaches out and pushes the button for the lowest parking level beneath the hotel. When the elevator arrives, Mumf steps out followed by Ryan. The former RWF champion's eyes still have that glazed focus as he looks around at the group of threatening men standing around as if waiting. Several of them are leaning against cars that are obviously not theirs and all of them are carrying baseball bats, kendo sticks or some other implement of destruction.
Without a word, Mumf reaches into his duffle bag and tosses a stack of Yen to the assembled group before speaking.
Mumf - That's the amount we discussed on the phone. Are these the best you could gather?
He gestures to the men around the parking lot as he addresses one of the more finely dressed ne'erdowells.
Group Representative - They are. I just want to make sure we're clear here, man. You really are paying us to kick your ass?
Mumf laughs briefly and shakes his head, his cold eyes glaring into the eyes of the man who was speaking.
Mumf - No. I am paying you to TRY to kick my ass. There's no guarantee you'll succeed, or even that any of you will be conscious when I'm done.
Now it's the assembled thugs' turns to laugh as Mumf drops his duffle bag onto a nearby car and cracks his knuckles. Ryan stops him before he can start to walk towards the gathered group.
Ryan - Are you sure about this, man?
Mumf smirks and meets his brother's eyes with a nod.
Mumf - I am. This is the best way to train for this match. You can't exactly go to a wrestling gym in hopes of getting someone willing to train with weapons.
Ryan - Fair enough.
The younger Mumford takes a step back and Mumf makes his way forward, gesturing to the group to come at him. The first one goes to take a swing with his kendo stick the second Mumf's in range.
Mumf sidesteps the swing and levels him with a single, well placed punch, breaking the man's nose. He bends down and picks up the kendo stick, steping aside again, just in time to avoid a punch from a man wearing brass knuckles. Mumf looks him in the eyes as he spins around....just before the kendo stick comes crashing down on his head and shatters.
Not wasting any time, Mumf goes after a man who's brandishing a baseball bat and blocks a swing by getting in close enough where his block is able to stop the man's momentum at the arms rather than making contact with the hard piece of lumber. Mumf grabs the butt end of the bat and lifts it so that it connects solidly with it's owners chin before wrenching it out of his grip and landing a solid punch in his gut, sending him sprawling to the floor.
The monster rounds on another man who has just wound up for a kick aimed at his head. With much quicker speed, however, the wrestler with the baseball bat swings his weapon, making solid contact with the man's groin, sending him groaning to the floor, clutching his wounded pride.
When Mumf turns around next he realizes that the only one left is the spokesman for the group of thugs, his eyes wide with shock.
Spokesman - Ahhhh.....w-well. I'll tell you what... Keep my share of the money. I'd rather not fight. I like my teeth where they are. As for the rest? Well, I'll take their shares and keep them safe until they regain consciousness or can move. You did well, Mr. Mumford. That was impressive.
Mumf leers at the man.
Mumf - That wasn't intended to impress you or anybody for that matter. It was intented to be preparation.
The man looks confused.
Spokesman - Preparation for what?
Mumf turns and begins walking back to the elevator, answering the question over his shoulder as he walks.
Mumf - Hell...
The scene slowly fades to black as the elevator doors close. We slowly fade back in to a locker room where we find Mad Mumf sitting on the edge of his chair, applying tape to his fists and making sure his wrists have a secure amount of support.
When satisfied, he moves to the other hand with a fresh roll of athletic tape as he begins speaking.
Mumf - Several hours from now, a mere few hallways and one long entrance ramp away from this locker room, an arena will be filled with some of this world's most ravenous, wild, insane, and creative wrestling fans. They'll be there from the front row all the way back to the cheap seats and each and every one of them will have brought with them some weapon of their own design or creativity all for the chance of that weapon being used by one of three men in their hunger to claim or keep what they all feel they rightfully deserve.
I've seen what the fans in Japan are capable of when it comes to hardcore matches. I've seen the ideas that can stir in their minds. There have been C4 matches, flaming table matches, all sorts of death matches. The limits are non-existent. If the mind can come up with it, eventually it will happen in a ring in Japan. So, something as simple as a task of bringing the most brutally violent blunt weapons to throw in the ring for a match during a Pay Per View? That's easy for them. I'm sure there will be some weird crap I've never used before. Will that be an issue? Not really. I've fought in matches like these before and used whatever's at hand to beat, maim, and hurt my opponent. I love that sort of stuff, in fact. It's a challenge for me, and a means to excel.
It hardly needs to be said, but I'm sure all parties are also aware that this is not going to be a wrestling match. It's not going to be a technical exposition. It's not going to be clinic on throws and holds. It's not even going to be a fight. That term doesn't do what's going to happen the proper amount of justice. What is IS going to be is a war. It's going to be bloody, violent, and there's a good chance one of the three of us will not walk out alive. And just as with all wars, to the victor go the spoils.
AC Smith seems to believe that I don't deserve this chance when he beat me not very long ago in an attempt on his Xtreme Title in a match that he came damn close to losing. I don't know if he has a short term memory or if he doesn't recall just how close to the limit I brought him last time, but he will have his memory jogged when he steps into that ring. I have beating the well trodden path to his door now for well over a month, with a hunger for the opportunity that is being presented to me. I want what he has, and by god, before I'm done, I'm going to take it.
I seem to feel like I recall hearing him complain about the match he's in, not just the type, but who the opponents are. Right now, I think Smith's bigger concern should be figuring out a way to clutch that title as tightly as he can and just how in the hell he's going to manage to hang onto it with two people in the ring who are both ready to beat it away from his grasp. If he has an issue stepping into this kind of match, he needs to face facts. He's just not cut out to be the owner of a championship that's called the Xtreme Title.
To be the champion at that kind of level, you need to expect bloodshed. You need to expect fights the likes of which the world has never seen. You need to expect broken bones and the need to break the bones of others. People talk about the highest level of prestige in this business going to World Heavyweight Titles and the Unified Titles, and the World Championship Titles of all sorts of companies, but at the end of the day, when it's all said and done, a title like this one is the real blue collar title. It's with this title that you truly get to see the lengths to which a man will go to win it or to retain it.
So there's the question, AC Smith...what lengths would you go to in order to remain champion and owner of a title whose match types you appear ready to complain about?
There is another man in this match though. A man who seems to have some unwarranted sense of entitlement because he once hel this piece of gold that we're all fighting for. A man whose path I've already crossed. A man who I will revel in being able to fight and mangle with whatever weapon is at hand. This of course is Leon Roberts.
Now, Leon seems to like to portray himself as some form of demonic badass. As I've said before, I've been there and done that. And yes, I do have the t-shirt. The thing is, the schitck wears off after a while. It grows stale. And while Roberts has been sitting there trying his damnedest to regain what he thinks should be his anyway, the act has, shall we say, gone more stale than a month old loaf of bread. He's sauntered out there, week after week looking only to this match, trying so hard to get into peoples' heads, to get that fight to kick start itself early, and last week it nearly did. I came out there after that match last week to send a message. It was finally time to fight, and the both of these assholes are about to see a fight that is worse than they've ever experienced. Playtime is over. The headgames are done. Now it comes down to three men in a ring, thousands of fans with weapons, and who can get the best advantage with whatever weapon they can grab.
I don't normally find myself able to say that there is somebody in this business I dislike, but believe me I am strongly leaning that way with Leon Roberts. The "Virus" needs to take a step back and realize that maybe he's not quite the badass he'd like the world to think he is. He is as human as the rest of us and he can and will be beaten.
Both of these men are in sore need of reality checks and I am the one to deliver them. Smith needs to see the fact that his title reign is at an end and that the odds are against him. It's time for a new Xtreme Champion. One who will embrace the violence that comes with the territory. One who will love every bloody, gory second of every single fight that follows that belt's existence. It's time for the era of Mad Mumf to truly begin.
Just a few hours now, gentlemen. I hope you really have given this match plenty of thought. I hope you are ready. I know I am. And I am coming tonight in anticpation of a war. I sincerely hope you don't disappoint. I'm looking forward to hurting you both and taking what I desire and there is not a damn thing either of you can do to stop me. In the end, you will both be lying on that mat, battered, bruised, bloodied and helpless as my arm is raised in victory and I claim my newfound prize. THAT is the outcome tonight. THAT is the start of a new era. And THAT is what I am looking forward to.
See you both in a few hours.
Mumf grins and finishes taping his other hand and leans back, testing the impact a few times, punching a fist into the opposite hand as the scene fades to black.
