From: foleye@xanth.CS.ORST.EDU (Stilt Man)
Newsgroups: rec.sport.pro-wrestling
Subject: FWF:  Titan vs. 'Grove
Summary: Rick Bondgrove challenges Titan Morgan for the U.S. Championship.
Date: 20 Nov 92 01:06:41 GMT
Article-I.D.: flop.1ehdn1INNf58
Distribution: world
Organization: CS Dept, Oregon State University
NNTP-Posting-Host: xanth.cs.orst.edu

Now, the list of championship defenses scrolls on once again, and sifts down
to the United States Heavyweight Championship in the Fictional Wrestling
Federation!

The reigning champion, the "Invincible" Titan Morgan, accepts the challenge
of newcomer Rick Bondgrove.

Comments from both:

Bondgrove:

"For months, all I've been hearing from the FWF's so-called great American
hero is, 'TitanManiacs this,' and 'TitanManiacs that,' and that I can't beat
Titan Morgan unless I can beat all the Maniacs!  Get real, chump!  Why is it
that you hide behind these inane presumptions?  Is it fear?  An unwillingness
to deal with the reality that you are, like me, flesh and blood and finite,
that you can be beaten each and every time you step out to the ring?  THINK
AGAIN!  Because TONIGHT, THAT ALL CHANGES!  And when Rick Bondgrove walks into
the Clash of the Masters, to take on the PWA U.S. Champion AT YOUR EXPENSE,
you will at last open your eyes and take a good, painful, hard look at REALITY!"

Morgan:

"You wanna talk about reality, dude?  Well, I'll tell you about reality.
Sometime within the next few weeks, the Clash of the Masters goes down, and
the PWA World, U.S., and Tag Team Champions go head to head with their FWF
counterparts.  I am one of those counterparts, yesterday, today, and tomorrow!
You're wrestling against Titan Morgan, and the reality is, I am the United
States Heavyweight Champion, AND YOU'RE NOT!!  And that's the way it's going
to stay!  When the Clash happens, it will be Titan Morgan carrying the banner
of the FWF U.S. Championship against whoever the PWA wants to put against me,
and all the stops go out.  AND WHEN IT'S ALL SAID AND DONE, THE REALITY IS THAT
TITAN MORGAN CANNOT BE DEFEATED!!!!"


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The first notes of Stravinsky's "Firebird Suite" reflect from the loudspeakers
in Cleveland's Memorial Coliseum, and a robed man with sparkling diamonds
adorning his fingers walks down the aisle in a gemmed blazer, the words "This
Is Reality" scribed in silver threads on the back.  He hangs his hands from his
collar, a look of supreme arrogance in his gray eyes.  His blonde hair, beard,
and mustache are perfectly groomed, and his attire can't possibly be worth
beneath six digits.  Alfred Grinchley sees his entire decade's salary reflected
in the suit, and almost forgets to begin his announcements.

"THE FOLLOWING CONTEST IS SCHEDULED FOR ONE FALL.  IT IS FOR THE UNITED STATES
HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!  COMING DOWN THE AISLE, IS THE CHALLENGER.  HE HAILS
FROM BEVERLY HILLS, CALIFORNIA.  HE WEIGHS TWO HUNDRED AND FOURTY-FIVE POUNDS:
HERE IS RICK BONDGROVE!!!"

The man strides down the aisle, two security guards paving his way down to
ringside, keeping the hands off his attire.  He certainly doesn't want these
peasants soiling this suit.  Why, if he were to let every snot-nosed little
kid in the arena touch his clothes, before long he'd have to actually buy
two new ones the next time instead of just one!  He climbs the ring steps and
up to the apron, waiting calmly for the official to part the ropes for his
entry.

He steps into the ring, his personal manservant reaching ringside behind the
security guards, preparing to take his jacket, pants, and shirt back to the
dressing room.  He removes them, carefully folds them, and gives them to the
man at ringside.  The security guards surround the manservant all the way back
to the dressing room.

Bondgrove turns to the center of the ring, unlimbering his muscles for the
match to come.  There is not the slightest trace of doubt on his face at what
he will have to accomplish tonight:  to pin Titan Morgan, a man who has never
been pinned before.  The only decisive defeat on his record required him to
be completely paralyzed for a short time, at the hands of Doctor Death.  Can
Bondgrove add a second mark to this column?

The question is presented further, as Europe's "Final Countdown" hits the
PA system, and a second individual starts down the aisle after the guards have
reentered the dressing room.  The slow crescendo of music builds the fans'
excitement, as the man in fluorescent pink shirt and tights walks down the
aisle, one index finger high in the air, the U.S. belt around his waist.

"AND HIS OPPONENT, FROM LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.  HE WEIGHS THREE HUNDRED,
TWENTY ONE POUNDS, AND HE IS THE UNITED STATES HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION:  THE
INVINCIBLE TIIIIIITAN MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORGAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!!!!"

Morgan suddenly lowers his finger and sprints to the ring, tearing his shirt
from his chest and wrapping it around Bondgrove's neck, tripping him up with
his suddenly-removed bandana!  The bell sounds to officially open the match,
and Morgan quickly takes his hands off the shirt and bandana, now that he is
restricted by match rules once more.  Bondgrove furiously throws the shirt
and head-rag away, running at Morgan furiously.  A shoulder sends him hurtling
to the mat.

Bondgrove seems to wake up right about then, looking at his much larger opponent
with a bit more seriousness.  He strokes his beard a moment, then rises to his
feet, with a laugh out loud directed at Morgan.  The Titan runs at him angrily,
only to be hurled over in an arm drag to the canvas.  Morgan gets up, does a
feint run again, and easily drops the unprepared Bondgrove into a toehold.
He shifts his weight, moving up to the head, seizing the smaller man in a
headlock.  Bondgrove slips out behind, setting his left leg inside Morgan's
right from in front, curling his own foot behind Morgan's ankle, grabbing
Morgan in a side headlock and his hand, and executes a Russian leg sweep to
the mat before the Titan can do anything about it.

Bondgrove is to work faster than Morgan can get time to think.  A carefully
dropped first to the forehead follows up the leg sweep, and Bondgrove rises
to his feet and drops a second.  He stands, turns to the ringside fans, shouting
"NOW THAT'S REALITY!!"

The fans laugh at him, looking at someone behind him.  "Yep, that's reality,
all right."  Bondgrove turns, sees Morgan on his feet, looking him straight
in the eyes.  He isn't able to get out of the way of the clothesline that
sends him back over the top rope to the floor.

Bondgrove stands on the outside of the ring, exchanging some furious words with
the fans at ringside.  He sees Morgan coming out after him, and quickly gets in
a rake to the eyes before the Titan has fully landed.  Morgan rubs at his face,
while Bondgrove leaps up and deals a drop kick to his back, sending the U.S.
Champion hurtling into the ring steps.  Bondgrove grabs a steel chair, bringing
it up to bombard Morgan further!

The official, at this point, decides that the match needs to come back into
the ring.  He bounds outside, standing between Bondgrove and Morgan, demanding
that Bondgrove put the match back in.  Bondgrove hits the security railing with
the chair in anger, but lets it go, and moves over to shove Morgan back into
the ring.  After a head-smack into the ring post, of course.

Bondgrove sends him back in, climbing to the top rope hastily.  Morgan slowly
gets back to his feet, dazed from all the metal his head's been hitting lately.
Bondgrove launches off the top . . .



. . . and connects with an elbow atop Morgan's cranium, sending the huge man
teetering backwards to the mat.  Bondgrove hooks the leg for the cover.

One!  Two . . .



Of course not.  Not so easily.  Morgan heaves out of the cover, sitting up
dazedly.  Bondgrove doesn't much care.  He's got the match under control early,
something few before him have been able to do.  Not bad, for his FWF debut.

He snaps Morgan over the shoulder, dropping a third fist just above the eyes.
He quickly snares Morgan in a reverse chinlock, aiming to wear his much larger
foe down.  His basic build indicates Bondgrove could probably last quite a
while; he's fairly chiselled, though a deep chest indicates a good deal of
stamina.  Morgan's herculean physique might not be able to last.

Morgan slowly makes his way back to his feet, backing to the ropes and shoving
Bondgrove loose.  The two men collide with conflicting shoulders, and Morgan
staggers back a bit, but stays on his feet.  Bondgrove watches thoughtfully,
and goes to the ropes again, dealing a second shoulder.  This time Morgan
goes nowhere, staring at Bondgrove.  The challenger backs to the ropes a third
time, this time levelling Morgan with a clothesline when Morgan thinks to go
for a third shoulder meeting.

Bondgrove stomps viciously on Morgan's head, keeping him on the mat, lifting
up a meaty arm and setting a firm armbar.  Morgan clutches at his right
shoulder, trying to get some pressure off, but to little avail.  He gets back
to his feet, albeit still in the armbar.  Not for long, as he sets his feet
and hurls Bondgrove over his shoulder to the canvas!  Bondgrove rises and rushes
back to get another hold, but is tossed overhead in a Japanese arm drag!  He
tries a second time, but this time is hefted up crunched down over one knee!
He arches his back, looks up at his larger bearded foe in the shocking pink
tights, and gets to his knees, the long word "NOOOOOOO" escaping his lips.

Morgan's beady blue eyes flare in fury, and he moves in for the kill.  Bondgrove
grabs the front of his tights, pulling him facefirst into the top turnbuckle!
The smaller man slowly gets back to his feet, seeing his foe sagged in the
corner, and turns him around.  A knife edge chop echoes throughout the arena.
But it only seems to wake Morgan up, and the larger man stares at him, eye to
eye.  Bondgrove looks out in confusion at no one in particular, and deals a
second chop.  Morgan doesn't even move.  Bondgrove resorts to closed fists,
dealing a right, left, right, but his shots are bouncing off Morgan's chest
like it was a tree trunk!  Bondgrove abruptly realizes he's doing no good, and
screeches for mercy, backing out of the corner with his hands up, and Morgan
follows every step.

Bondgrove goes all the way back to the opposite corner, and dishes out a kick
at Morgan's midsection.  But Morgan's seen far too many heels try this one,
and he is completely ready for it.  Bondgrove finds himself hopping with his
hands on the top rope, his right foot imprisoned in Morgan's hands.  Morgan
pulls the man out of the corner, upending him by his failed grip on the ropes.
Morgan drops a beefy leg inside Bondgrove's thigh, and the smaller man screams
in pain, getting back to his feet and limping his way to the ropes.  Morgan
quickly catches his left arm in a hammerlock, twisting it behind his back!

Bondgrove turns, trying to get away from the hold, trying to bat Morgan's grip
away, only to have his other arm barred!  Morgan hears the sudden cheers of the
marks and hardcores alike, for they know exactly what Morgan intends to do next.
Morgan sets his feet, and lifts Bondgrove horizontal overhead by the two barred
arms, stepping aside and using the right to power him down from seven feet in
the air onto his back!  The fans cheer for the patented double armbar back
suplex, which they have not seen for some time.  Bondgrove isn't interested
in getting back up just yet, and Morgan covers him quickly!

One!  Two . . .



Bondgrove jerks his left shoulder off the canvas just before the ref's hand
hits the mat the third time.  He staggers to one knee, punching Morgan in the
midsection.  Morgan doubles over.  Bondgrove hits him again in the chest,
and Morgan is rocked away.  The smaller man gets to his feet, slowly moving
over for further punishment.

His eyes widen in shock as Morgan turns; he was only playing possum to lure
Bondgrove back to his feet for the next set up!  Morgan grabs Bondgrove's
left arm, looping it overhead in the same movement as snaking his own right
arm around Bondgrove's waist.  He hefts the smaller man into the air on his
right shoulder, before slamming his tailbone down on his knee.  Immediately
upon impact, he lifts the man back up, steps out from beneath, and lets the
smaller man fall back flat to the canvas.

Morgan stands, slowly backing to the ropes, and steps out, extending the leg
over Bondgrove's head, leaping up off his left foot, and letting 321 pounds
of leg drop land square on the man's face!  He aims for the cover.  One!
Two . . .



No!  Bondgrove's foot finds its way to the ropes.  Morgan rises, thinking he's
won, but the official points to the foot still on the ropes, and Morgan shrugs.
No prob.  He pulls Bondgrove back to his feet, hefting him up in vertically
in perfect suplex position.  He holds him up, and the fans crescendo in cheers
as the time Bondgrove's blood has to rush to his head, redding him out, gets
towards 45 seconds before Morgan takes the foundation out and crashes him back
to the mat.  Morgan flips over atop him in the same movement as the drop.

One!  Two . . .



Once again, Bondgrove manages to get one shoulder off the mat.  The larger man
rises to his feet, shouting with the referee over slow counts.  The official
protests that he's been counting normally, and Bondgrove has been keeping his
shoulders off the mat.  Bondgrove, for his part, rolls out of the ring while
Morgan is arguing with the official.  By the time Morgan is finished with the
ref, the smaller man has rolled underneath the ring!  Morgan looks about
furiously, for is opponent seems to have pulled a complete disappearing act.

However, he notices several fans pointing underneath the ring apron on one
side, and he quickly realizes where Bondgrove has gotten to.  He gets out of
the ring, raising the ring apron to look for his opponent.  Bondgrove, by this
time, emerges from the opposite side, bringing a steel bar of about two feet's
length, apparently a section of pipe for setting up the ring.  He goes back
under the ring with it, as Morgan raises one apron after the next to find him.

When Morgan raises his third apron, there is a flash of blue steel, and Morgan
is sprawled against the security railing, clutching at the red dripping from
his temple.  He squirms in pain, as Bondgrove hurls the bloodied bar back
beneath the ring, coming out to take advantage of his situation.

He curls Morgan into a front facelock, snapping him down into a DDT!  Morgan
flops to his back outside the ring, a red circular splotch where he landed on
the blue ringside mats.  Bondgrove glances into the ring, and realizes with a
shock that the referee has reached nine in his count!  He rises from the mat,
but Morgan grabs his ankle as he tries to get back into the ring!  He can't
get back in!  The bell sounds, and the Grinch makes his announcement!

"LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, THE REFEREE HAS COUNTED BOTH MEN OUT OF THE RING.  THIS
BOUT IS A DOUBLE COUNT-OUT!!"

Bondgrove shouts at the official furiously, but quickly turns back to Morgan,
stomping away at him in rage.  Morgan remains on the mats at ringside, enduring
the punishment, until finally Bondgrove grabs the U.S. title, starting back to
the dressing room with it!

Morgan staggers to his feet, and sees Bondgrove with the belt.  Instantly,
awareness returns.  He runs after the smaller man, who hears the cheers for
someone behind him, turns, sees Morgan, and runs to the dressing room with all
the speed he can muster.  The Titan is close on his heels as he gets there,
and the spotlight for the evening is extinguished in their wake.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------


And so, Titan Morgan retains the United States Championship going into the
Clash of the Masters.  For now, this is the Stilt Man, signing off . . .

 __________________________________________________________________________
|Stilt Man --Never ask a mortician to go out and bring you back a cold one.|
|  foleye@xanth.cs.orst.edu	                            		   |
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