Post by Johnny Rebel on Mar 9, 2014 22:45:45 GMT -4
“Johnny Rebel. I have a five fifteen appointment with Dr. Hucks.”
The lady rolled back the screen and handed Rebel a clipboard to fill out while he awaited his name to be called. The APW World Heavyweight Champion could barely make it over to the waiting area without his knees buckling from underneath him. ‘Father Time’ catches up with everyone but it had come with a vengeance to the twenty-year professional.
The man known as “Simply Put” glared around the room. Every available square inch on the walls was devoted to pictures of the famed Dr. Hucks and celebrities smiling. He’d nursed several wrestlers and professional athletes back to health from some of the most severe injuries you could imagine. With Rebel being inactive for months leading up to his last championship defense and last match ever, he’d need every bit of Dr. Hucks’ magic to get him in tip-top shape.
“We’re ready for you, Mr. Rebel,” the nurse waived him towards the back. “Can I get you a wheelchair?”
If that wasn’t a slap in the face. He was supposed to be on top of the world- the face of the APW. He had tussled with the best in the world and came out on top. Now? He was resigned to the help of a middle-aged nurse to get from one place to another. It was depressing.
“I’ll be fine,” Rebel mumbled, grimacing at every step.
Rebel shuffled his feet- one in front of the other. He was slow, but steady, and eventually made his way to the office.
“Have a seat, Dr. Hucks will be with you in a minute,” the nurse said.
“I’m sorry- this isn’t an examination room? I’ve got an appointment, hun,” Rebel commented, the term of endearment drawing a confused look from the nurse, a stark change from Rebel’s usual brash demeanor. “I’m a little confused.”
“Dr. Hucks requested to meet with you here,” she answered back. “I’m sure when he’s ready for a full examination, he’ll take you to an empty room.”
“Alright,” Rebel conceded.
He plopped down and began to drift away to his own little fantasy world, or for lack of a better term, his favorite place to be. He’d really gone full circle since entering the APW several years ago. He shot through the ranks with a miraculous winning streak that forced President Jeff to step up and take notice. The list of victories didn’t include chopped liver: Khaos, Young Mannie, Jacob Whitehead, Blade. He remembered each and every match like they just happened yesterday. His health was failing but his mind was as sharp as ever.
Suddenly, the door creaked open behind him, and Dr. Hucks came waltzing in, with a pile of folders tucked between his arm and chest.
“Johnny,” he whispered, fumbling through his paperwork to extend his right hand. “It’s been awhile.”
Rebel didn’t make it a habit of spending time at the doctor’s office. When you make a living by attempting to separate one man’s head from their body, you learn to deal with all the nagging injuries. Nobody, especially in the APW, was ever completely one hundred percent and injury free. You learned to fight through them and spend as little time cooped up on a gurney as possible. If you became unavailable for any period of time, there was always some waiting to step up in to your spot. He could remember a time where his arm was basically hanging from his shoulder by nothing but a severed ligament and he went out to compete in a Test for the Best tournament.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Dr. Hucks smiled. “If I recall, we had some tests ordered several weeks back.”
“The usual,” Rebel shrugged. “They got camera footage in places that I’m not sure anybody’s really interested in watching…and if that doctor tries to shove his fingers up my backside again, I’m going to hit him so hard he’ll think he’s in a relationship with Branden Harvey!”
The two shared a laugh. The tests were unpleasant but necessary for someone Rebel’s age.
“I’m going to cut straight to the chase here, Rebel,” Dr. Hucks’ tone took a serious turn. “We’ve been trying to get a handle on why your health has been failing for so long…”
Rebel interrupted with a snarky comment-
“It’s got everything to do with over twenty-five years of throwing my body around, doc,” Rebel huffed. “After all the things this body has been through, it’s a wonder that I’m able to drop a deuce without having a heart attack!”
Wrestling hadn’t been kind to Johnny Rebel and he’d had some wars in APW. Kurt Noble had nearly crippled him in a ‘Sadistic’ match many moons ago at One Night in Hell. Add to that the brutal, knock-down, drag-out brawls they’d had weekly throughout the building and it surely took years from Rebel’s life. Couple that with an Elimination Chamber match, numerous ‘Survive and Conquer’ entries, and battles with some of the most ruthless competitors in the history of our sport and it’s a wonder he could walk at all.
“That probably didn’t help,” the doctor laughed nervously. “But there’s something else. Look, this isn’t going to be easy to hear…”
Those were words were normally reserved for folks who were forced to listen to Rebel’s drivel. He often talked faster than most people could listen!
“You aren’t going to tell me anything I haven’t heard from nearly every doctor from here to the ends of the earth,” Rebel made light of Dr. Hucks’ impending comments. “If I don’t throw in the towel soon that I’m going to end up in a wheelchair permanently before I’m fifty…and if you haven’t looked on my chart lately- that’s coming up soon!”
“I’m afraid it’s something more debilitating, Johnny,” Dr. Hucks’ eyes told the story. “There were a few spots that we weren’t quite comfortable with letting go when we ran our tests. We sent them off to the labs to be studied and they came back cancerous…”
Now if that wasn’t a turn of events! The Webster’s Dictionary couldn’t contain all of the derogatory names hurled at Rebel over the years…but cancerous was one that fit him perfectly. It didn’t matter where he was, who was opponent was scheduled to be- he made sure that he was the center of attention and spreading his infection to anybody within an arm’s reach.
“Well, that sucks,” Rebel chuckled dismissively. “Let’s get in there and cut those sonofaguns out! I can’t have any cancerous cells floating around before my swan song at Rasslemania. There is nothing I love more than pissin’ in Gates’ cowboy hat but doing it while I have cancer? That’s a plaque waiting to be hung on my wall.”
“I’m afraid it’s not going to be that easy,” Hucks commented. “It’s stage-four and has spread. There isn’t any cure here…we’re talking weeks, if not days, before your body is going to start shutting down.”
That news hit Rebel like a ton of bricks. He’d finally achieved the last major milestone in his career- winning the APW World Heavyweight Championship and now he’d have everything pulled out from underneath him in a matter of seconds. Everything was meaningless. Everything he had worked for over the past two decades was completely and utterly meaningless.
“I’m afraid I can’t clear you for Rasslemania. I’ve taken the liberty of setting you up with a Hospice service. They’ll come in and do whatever they can to help make what time you have left comfortable.”
The entirety of Rebel’s career began flashing through his mind- from being in the main event at Rasslemania VIII to leading Team APW in CWC’s Supremacy as team captain. This was supposed to be the culmination of an impeccable run at the top of the sport…not a reading of his last rights.
“Do you have anybody you can call?”
The stoic Rebel, barely blinking, whispered:
“Nobody.”
He’d run off everybody that was close to him. The shortlist of folks who were willing to fight on Rebel’s side over the years wasn’t very long. His closest ally throughout the years was Level-One, who along with Rebel, dominated the APW over the later stages of it’s existence. The Sindicate essentially revived Rebel’s career but the two couldn’t coexist forever. They knew from the moment they formed their partnership that there was going to come a time where everything was going to come to a head and explode.
The only other person on the roster who could tolerate Rebel was Biggs, and quite frankly, it’s because the two were spitting images of one another. They both had diarrhea of the mouth and weren’t afraid to tell you exactly what you were thinking exactly when they were thinking it. It made them a dangerous duo- it’s a shame their coop couldn’t have stood the test of time. Ironically, if anybody would be standing in Gates’ corner come Rasslemania, it would be Biggs.
Rebel’s mind shifted once more to Sarah O’Brien and the tragedy that befell both of them before his big match for the Undisputed Championship against Kurt Noble, Gates, and Blade several years ago. Phoenix Wrestling had stormed APW with hopes of making their mark in Survive and Conquer and they set their sights on Rebel’s personal promoter and manager- Sarah O’Brien. For weeks, they tormented the couple, which eventually led to her disappearance, and untimely death.
Rebel was alone without a soul in the world to stick up for him. “Simply put-“ he was destined to be on his deathbed without a shoulder to lean on. He’d driven everyone away and had nobody to blame but himself.
“I’ll be alright,” Rebel mumbled. “I’ve spent the majority of my life looking out for numero uno and I wouldn’t have the last few weeks any different…”
“But I hate to tell you this. You may have put a gun to my head but the only person that’s willing to pull the trigger is me…and I ain’t missin’ Rasslemania X for anything.
---
“There isn’t a more fitting end to the APW than C.J. Gates vs. Johnny Rebel for the World Heavyweight Championship.”
“It’s your classic- good vs. evil battle that the whole world gets their jollies off of.”
“You’ve got your straight-shootin’ one of a kind villain in Johnny Rebel, who’d steal candy from a baby if it meant getting even the slightest advantage against the goodie-two-shoes, would give his shirt off his back, C.J. Gates!”
“We’ve had some wars, ole’ pal, and when Rasslemania became official several weeks back there wasn’t another name on my radar to help put this place six feet under. The names Gates and Rebel have become synonymous with one another in Action Packed Wrestling. We’ve beaten each other within a half-inch of our lives. We’ve stood on the same side of the ring as partners defending our home turf against invaders. We’ve put on five-star clinics that are unrivaled by anybody on the roster not named Sally Talfourd or Level-One. For one night only, Gates and Rebel set the world on fire once more.”
“And let me give it to your straight, partner, I’ve waited *years* for the opportunity to rest this championship belt over my shoulder. There wasn’t a thing handed to me along the way- I earned everything that I’ve been given. The last thing I’m going to do is go to my grave knowing that C.J. Gates is the one who pried it from my cold, dead, lifeless hands!”
“Because there’s a lot of things that you are: you’re dangerous. I’ve watched you dethrone champion after champion. This isn’t your first radio! When everybody dodged Level-One because he was deemed unbeatable, you stepped up to the plate and knocked him out of the park. When Biggs couldn’t be stopped…you stopped him. When Kurt Noble was riding a wave of success that was completely unmatched in professional wrestling- it was C.J. Gates that conquered him. You are unflappable in the midst of chaos.”
“But let me tell you what you aren’t!”
“You aren’t me! You’ve always been the one riding the waves- but you’ve never been the one underneath them. You name it and it’s happened to me along the way. I’ve been beat up. I’ve been knocked down. I’ve been double-crossed and drug through the mud. And guess what? I’m still standing across that ring from you when the bell rings with the greatest prize in the history of our sport hanging around my waist!”
“People like you have been driving trucks, running me down, flipping on your sirens, and backing up to leave tread marks over my face for years. But what you’ve failed to calculate in that little pebble that rattles around in your head is that you can’t kill me! You can drop Atomic Bombs on my head and do a square dance on my grave and I’ll still reach up, grab you by the throat, and snap your skinny little neck!”
“You’ve promised time and time again to bury me and I’ve gone as far as to hand you a shovel, and you’ve still come up short! You’ve thrown everything you had at me and you still couldn’t get the job done! You lorded your victories over me like Lombardi trophies in a NFL team’s cabinet. Unfortunately for you, you’re like the Washington Redskins! You hung a whole lot of banners for victories over Johnny Rebel but as time goes on- those dates get farther and farther away! You reminisce about the good ole’ days…but now the only thing you can remember is what used to be.”
“This might sound odd, but then again, considering our past, it may not, but I’ve actually grown to harbor a teensy-bit of respect for you. Weird, right? The one thing I’ve learned about you over the years is your predictability. Because no matter what happens at the end of the day, C.J. Gates is ultimately going to do what’s best for C.J. Gates. When the frustration starts to mount, when everything that you’ve pulled from your tool box doesn’t quite fit the task, and when that bitter pill of standing on the sidelines, watching Johnny Rebel wear the crown you can’t have, that pill is going to become too hard to swallow.”
“And when it does- I hope you choke on it!”
“Because the thing about ‘Simply Put’ Johnny Rebel has always been that what you see is what you get. You won’t ever have to worry about me trying to sneak a cheapshot when the referee isn’t looking. You won’t have to worry about the champ going the extra mile to defend his kingdom. You won’t have to wonder if Johnny Rebel isn’t going to do everything within the fiber of his being to elevate himself to the next level. I’m going to scratch, claw, and fight my way to remain the champion. Simply put means that you don’t ever have to wonder what’s coming next…I’ve laid all my cards out on the table the world to see.”
“And the difference between the two of us is that you can look down to see my hand and realize I’m sitting on a pair of threes, but you’ll look back in my eyes, and still choose to fold! Even knowing that there is potential for you to have a better hand…you aren’t willing to take the risk.”
“Rasslemania X, no matter what you do, no matter what anyone does, Johnny Rebel is going to walk out of that ring the winner, the survivor, and the last man standing in the APW.”
“For one final time…”
#SIMPLY
#F’N
#PUT!
The lady rolled back the screen and handed Rebel a clipboard to fill out while he awaited his name to be called. The APW World Heavyweight Champion could barely make it over to the waiting area without his knees buckling from underneath him. ‘Father Time’ catches up with everyone but it had come with a vengeance to the twenty-year professional.
The man known as “Simply Put” glared around the room. Every available square inch on the walls was devoted to pictures of the famed Dr. Hucks and celebrities smiling. He’d nursed several wrestlers and professional athletes back to health from some of the most severe injuries you could imagine. With Rebel being inactive for months leading up to his last championship defense and last match ever, he’d need every bit of Dr. Hucks’ magic to get him in tip-top shape.
“We’re ready for you, Mr. Rebel,” the nurse waived him towards the back. “Can I get you a wheelchair?”
If that wasn’t a slap in the face. He was supposed to be on top of the world- the face of the APW. He had tussled with the best in the world and came out on top. Now? He was resigned to the help of a middle-aged nurse to get from one place to another. It was depressing.
“I’ll be fine,” Rebel mumbled, grimacing at every step.
Rebel shuffled his feet- one in front of the other. He was slow, but steady, and eventually made his way to the office.
“Have a seat, Dr. Hucks will be with you in a minute,” the nurse said.
“I’m sorry- this isn’t an examination room? I’ve got an appointment, hun,” Rebel commented, the term of endearment drawing a confused look from the nurse, a stark change from Rebel’s usual brash demeanor. “I’m a little confused.”
“Dr. Hucks requested to meet with you here,” she answered back. “I’m sure when he’s ready for a full examination, he’ll take you to an empty room.”
“Alright,” Rebel conceded.
He plopped down and began to drift away to his own little fantasy world, or for lack of a better term, his favorite place to be. He’d really gone full circle since entering the APW several years ago. He shot through the ranks with a miraculous winning streak that forced President Jeff to step up and take notice. The list of victories didn’t include chopped liver: Khaos, Young Mannie, Jacob Whitehead, Blade. He remembered each and every match like they just happened yesterday. His health was failing but his mind was as sharp as ever.
Suddenly, the door creaked open behind him, and Dr. Hucks came waltzing in, with a pile of folders tucked between his arm and chest.
“Johnny,” he whispered, fumbling through his paperwork to extend his right hand. “It’s been awhile.”
Rebel didn’t make it a habit of spending time at the doctor’s office. When you make a living by attempting to separate one man’s head from their body, you learn to deal with all the nagging injuries. Nobody, especially in the APW, was ever completely one hundred percent and injury free. You learned to fight through them and spend as little time cooped up on a gurney as possible. If you became unavailable for any period of time, there was always some waiting to step up in to your spot. He could remember a time where his arm was basically hanging from his shoulder by nothing but a severed ligament and he went out to compete in a Test for the Best tournament.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Dr. Hucks smiled. “If I recall, we had some tests ordered several weeks back.”
“The usual,” Rebel shrugged. “They got camera footage in places that I’m not sure anybody’s really interested in watching…and if that doctor tries to shove his fingers up my backside again, I’m going to hit him so hard he’ll think he’s in a relationship with Branden Harvey!”
The two shared a laugh. The tests were unpleasant but necessary for someone Rebel’s age.
“I’m going to cut straight to the chase here, Rebel,” Dr. Hucks’ tone took a serious turn. “We’ve been trying to get a handle on why your health has been failing for so long…”
Rebel interrupted with a snarky comment-
“It’s got everything to do with over twenty-five years of throwing my body around, doc,” Rebel huffed. “After all the things this body has been through, it’s a wonder that I’m able to drop a deuce without having a heart attack!”
Wrestling hadn’t been kind to Johnny Rebel and he’d had some wars in APW. Kurt Noble had nearly crippled him in a ‘Sadistic’ match many moons ago at One Night in Hell. Add to that the brutal, knock-down, drag-out brawls they’d had weekly throughout the building and it surely took years from Rebel’s life. Couple that with an Elimination Chamber match, numerous ‘Survive and Conquer’ entries, and battles with some of the most ruthless competitors in the history of our sport and it’s a wonder he could walk at all.
“That probably didn’t help,” the doctor laughed nervously. “But there’s something else. Look, this isn’t going to be easy to hear…”
Those were words were normally reserved for folks who were forced to listen to Rebel’s drivel. He often talked faster than most people could listen!
“You aren’t going to tell me anything I haven’t heard from nearly every doctor from here to the ends of the earth,” Rebel made light of Dr. Hucks’ impending comments. “If I don’t throw in the towel soon that I’m going to end up in a wheelchair permanently before I’m fifty…and if you haven’t looked on my chart lately- that’s coming up soon!”
“I’m afraid it’s something more debilitating, Johnny,” Dr. Hucks’ eyes told the story. “There were a few spots that we weren’t quite comfortable with letting go when we ran our tests. We sent them off to the labs to be studied and they came back cancerous…”
Now if that wasn’t a turn of events! The Webster’s Dictionary couldn’t contain all of the derogatory names hurled at Rebel over the years…but cancerous was one that fit him perfectly. It didn’t matter where he was, who was opponent was scheduled to be- he made sure that he was the center of attention and spreading his infection to anybody within an arm’s reach.
“Well, that sucks,” Rebel chuckled dismissively. “Let’s get in there and cut those sonofaguns out! I can’t have any cancerous cells floating around before my swan song at Rasslemania. There is nothing I love more than pissin’ in Gates’ cowboy hat but doing it while I have cancer? That’s a plaque waiting to be hung on my wall.”
“I’m afraid it’s not going to be that easy,” Hucks commented. “It’s stage-four and has spread. There isn’t any cure here…we’re talking weeks, if not days, before your body is going to start shutting down.”
That news hit Rebel like a ton of bricks. He’d finally achieved the last major milestone in his career- winning the APW World Heavyweight Championship and now he’d have everything pulled out from underneath him in a matter of seconds. Everything was meaningless. Everything he had worked for over the past two decades was completely and utterly meaningless.
“I’m afraid I can’t clear you for Rasslemania. I’ve taken the liberty of setting you up with a Hospice service. They’ll come in and do whatever they can to help make what time you have left comfortable.”
The entirety of Rebel’s career began flashing through his mind- from being in the main event at Rasslemania VIII to leading Team APW in CWC’s Supremacy as team captain. This was supposed to be the culmination of an impeccable run at the top of the sport…not a reading of his last rights.
“Do you have anybody you can call?”
The stoic Rebel, barely blinking, whispered:
“Nobody.”
He’d run off everybody that was close to him. The shortlist of folks who were willing to fight on Rebel’s side over the years wasn’t very long. His closest ally throughout the years was Level-One, who along with Rebel, dominated the APW over the later stages of it’s existence. The Sindicate essentially revived Rebel’s career but the two couldn’t coexist forever. They knew from the moment they formed their partnership that there was going to come a time where everything was going to come to a head and explode.
The only other person on the roster who could tolerate Rebel was Biggs, and quite frankly, it’s because the two were spitting images of one another. They both had diarrhea of the mouth and weren’t afraid to tell you exactly what you were thinking exactly when they were thinking it. It made them a dangerous duo- it’s a shame their coop couldn’t have stood the test of time. Ironically, if anybody would be standing in Gates’ corner come Rasslemania, it would be Biggs.
Rebel’s mind shifted once more to Sarah O’Brien and the tragedy that befell both of them before his big match for the Undisputed Championship against Kurt Noble, Gates, and Blade several years ago. Phoenix Wrestling had stormed APW with hopes of making their mark in Survive and Conquer and they set their sights on Rebel’s personal promoter and manager- Sarah O’Brien. For weeks, they tormented the couple, which eventually led to her disappearance, and untimely death.
Rebel was alone without a soul in the world to stick up for him. “Simply put-“ he was destined to be on his deathbed without a shoulder to lean on. He’d driven everyone away and had nobody to blame but himself.
“I’ll be alright,” Rebel mumbled. “I’ve spent the majority of my life looking out for numero uno and I wouldn’t have the last few weeks any different…”
“But I hate to tell you this. You may have put a gun to my head but the only person that’s willing to pull the trigger is me…and I ain’t missin’ Rasslemania X for anything.
---
“There isn’t a more fitting end to the APW than C.J. Gates vs. Johnny Rebel for the World Heavyweight Championship.”
“It’s your classic- good vs. evil battle that the whole world gets their jollies off of.”
“You’ve got your straight-shootin’ one of a kind villain in Johnny Rebel, who’d steal candy from a baby if it meant getting even the slightest advantage against the goodie-two-shoes, would give his shirt off his back, C.J. Gates!”
“We’ve had some wars, ole’ pal, and when Rasslemania became official several weeks back there wasn’t another name on my radar to help put this place six feet under. The names Gates and Rebel have become synonymous with one another in Action Packed Wrestling. We’ve beaten each other within a half-inch of our lives. We’ve stood on the same side of the ring as partners defending our home turf against invaders. We’ve put on five-star clinics that are unrivaled by anybody on the roster not named Sally Talfourd or Level-One. For one night only, Gates and Rebel set the world on fire once more.”
“And let me give it to your straight, partner, I’ve waited *years* for the opportunity to rest this championship belt over my shoulder. There wasn’t a thing handed to me along the way- I earned everything that I’ve been given. The last thing I’m going to do is go to my grave knowing that C.J. Gates is the one who pried it from my cold, dead, lifeless hands!”
“Because there’s a lot of things that you are: you’re dangerous. I’ve watched you dethrone champion after champion. This isn’t your first radio! When everybody dodged Level-One because he was deemed unbeatable, you stepped up to the plate and knocked him out of the park. When Biggs couldn’t be stopped…you stopped him. When Kurt Noble was riding a wave of success that was completely unmatched in professional wrestling- it was C.J. Gates that conquered him. You are unflappable in the midst of chaos.”
“But let me tell you what you aren’t!”
“You aren’t me! You’ve always been the one riding the waves- but you’ve never been the one underneath them. You name it and it’s happened to me along the way. I’ve been beat up. I’ve been knocked down. I’ve been double-crossed and drug through the mud. And guess what? I’m still standing across that ring from you when the bell rings with the greatest prize in the history of our sport hanging around my waist!”
“People like you have been driving trucks, running me down, flipping on your sirens, and backing up to leave tread marks over my face for years. But what you’ve failed to calculate in that little pebble that rattles around in your head is that you can’t kill me! You can drop Atomic Bombs on my head and do a square dance on my grave and I’ll still reach up, grab you by the throat, and snap your skinny little neck!”
“You’ve promised time and time again to bury me and I’ve gone as far as to hand you a shovel, and you’ve still come up short! You’ve thrown everything you had at me and you still couldn’t get the job done! You lorded your victories over me like Lombardi trophies in a NFL team’s cabinet. Unfortunately for you, you’re like the Washington Redskins! You hung a whole lot of banners for victories over Johnny Rebel but as time goes on- those dates get farther and farther away! You reminisce about the good ole’ days…but now the only thing you can remember is what used to be.”
“This might sound odd, but then again, considering our past, it may not, but I’ve actually grown to harbor a teensy-bit of respect for you. Weird, right? The one thing I’ve learned about you over the years is your predictability. Because no matter what happens at the end of the day, C.J. Gates is ultimately going to do what’s best for C.J. Gates. When the frustration starts to mount, when everything that you’ve pulled from your tool box doesn’t quite fit the task, and when that bitter pill of standing on the sidelines, watching Johnny Rebel wear the crown you can’t have, that pill is going to become too hard to swallow.”
“And when it does- I hope you choke on it!”
“Because the thing about ‘Simply Put’ Johnny Rebel has always been that what you see is what you get. You won’t ever have to worry about me trying to sneak a cheapshot when the referee isn’t looking. You won’t have to worry about the champ going the extra mile to defend his kingdom. You won’t have to wonder if Johnny Rebel isn’t going to do everything within the fiber of his being to elevate himself to the next level. I’m going to scratch, claw, and fight my way to remain the champion. Simply put means that you don’t ever have to wonder what’s coming next…I’ve laid all my cards out on the table the world to see.”
“And the difference between the two of us is that you can look down to see my hand and realize I’m sitting on a pair of threes, but you’ll look back in my eyes, and still choose to fold! Even knowing that there is potential for you to have a better hand…you aren’t willing to take the risk.”
“Rasslemania X, no matter what you do, no matter what anyone does, Johnny Rebel is going to walk out of that ring the winner, the survivor, and the last man standing in the APW.”
“For one final time…”
#SIMPLY
#F’N
#PUT!
