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La Sombra vs. Jeff McKearney; THREE HOURS OF POWER - ROUND 1
Topic Started: Apr 15 2007, 10:24 PM (207 Views)
Thomas Driver
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Head Trainer of PWA Academy
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La Sombra
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[The arena is left in darkness as the crowd lays silent for the much anticipated return of La Sombra. The Mexican flag emerges, flapping, on the PWAtron as the arena is engulfed in rhythmical Green, White, and Red strobe lights. The methodical, acoustic riffs of “Fruta Fresca” by the Carlos Vives, blasts over the loudspeakers!]

Announcer: Making his way to the arena at this time, “The Latin Prince”! A Former Hardcore Champion and former Tag Team Champion… He hails from just south of the border in Guerrero, Mexico by way of Mexico City, Mexicoooooooo…

Ese beso de tu boca
que me sabe a fruta fresca
que se escapo de tus labios
y se metio en mi cabeza
ese beso con que sueño
cuando las penas me acechan
que me lleva al mismo cielo
y a la tierra me regresa
que reza, reza, que reza
y aunque ya no tengas duda
que el recuerdo de sus besos
me lleve hasta la locura


[The riffs hasten as the strobe follows suit along side the beat.]

Announcer: He weighed in at a humbled two hundred and twelve pounds, and a timid Six feet and one inch tall! He made his professional debut at the youthful age of thirteen years old and made his American debut just four years ago. He proclaims to be the standard of Wrestling today…

si,si,si que este amor es tan profundo
que tu eres mi consentida
y que lo sepa todo el mundo

si,si,si que este amor es tan profundo
que tu eres mi consentida
y que lo sepa todo el mundo


[The beats return to it’s methodical tone as the strobes cut leaving the fans once again in total darkness. Spotlights illuminate the entrance way as Green, White, and Red smoke shoot up from the ramp...]

Announcer: He is the “The Mexican Maniac”, “The Man With Out Fear”, “Latino Fury Alive”…

que tu eres mi consentida
la niñita de mis ojos
la que me endulza la vida
la que calma mis enojos
la que se pone mas linda
cuando la llevo a una fiesta
esa que siempre en mi cama
con los angeles se acuesta



[The crowd explodes as the mask laden Superstar emerges from the entrance way; stepping out in front of the smoke . His head sways from side to side in cohesion with the music, cascading waves of water from his golden lockes from left to right. With glistening tights adorning the colors of the Mexican flag, metallic shin guards, black boots, and grey knee pads and wrist tape he slowly begins to raise his arms..]

si,si,si que este amor es tan profundo
que tu eres mi consentida
y que lo sepa todo el mundo

si,si,si que este amor es tan profundo
que tu eres mi consentida
y que lo sepa todo el mundo


Announcer: He is Laaaaaaaa Sooooooooooobrrraaaaaaaaa!

Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffftttt

[Suddenly his arms snap out to his sides, as if reaching for the entirety of the Arena, as golden confetti explodes from the beneath the white smoke, completing the Mexican flag! He stands there, with arms outstretched, soaking in their cheers for him as the golden confetti rains down on to his head and shoulders. He makes his way down the ramp way, each step, with purpose, each step with meaning, each step bringing his eyes into a narrow glare for a ring that he hasn’t stepped into in nearly four year.]

y que digan en la radio
que yo te quiero de veras
que lo digan en los diarios
y despues en la novela
quiero un letrero que diga
que como tu no hay ninguna
que lo digan en la China
que lo digan en la luna


[Flipping over the top ropes, La Sombra makes his way to the center of the ring. After making his way to the middle turnbuckle he throws out his arms closing, his eyes and raising his head, appreciatively soaking in the applause as more confetti explodes from above the ring.]

si,si,si que este amor es tan profundo
que tu eres mi consentida
y que lo sepa todo el mundo

si,si,si que este amor es tan profundo
que tu eres mi consentida
y que lo sepa todo el mundo


[The music fades as La Sombra hands a Rosario to the stage hand and tests out the elasticity of the ropes.]

Donny: …Well that was subtle…

Johnny: No expense spared in that introduction. I’m getting word that three people lost power in their homes to supply enough juice for that entrance! I guess tonight we find out if La Sombra’s skill in that ring can match an entrance that has the fans on their feet.


Donny: I thought we had already reached our quota for Mexicans here.

Johnny: Ignorant comments aside, La Sombra started outhere almost four years ago, a rookie, at just the age of nineteen years old. He captured the Hardcore Title, and Tag Team Titles. Does he still have that flare he once possessed in the ring that had people talking about him for years?


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Jeff McKearney
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Jeff McKearney enters.
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THREE HOURS OF POWER - ROUND 1 - BRACKET A
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Jeff Mckearney
PWA Rookie
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Both men stare across the ring at one another, "The Latin Prince" and "The Fighting Irish Man" both ready to take the next step towards the main event. The two men walk towards the center of the ring, standing nearly face-to-face. Due to Jeff's slight height advantage he stands with his chin by the top of Sombra's skull. The two men don't seem even remotely interested as the ref tells them the rules of the contest and asks them for a good, clean fight. Clearly, the two men have heard him as they each give an ever so slight nod of their chins, neither taking their eyes from the other. The official signals for the start of this contest with a wave of his hand and the resounding three rings starts it off.

DING! DING! DING!

La Sombra, despite giving up over 60 pounds to his opponent, charges right at the large rookie! Jeff doesn't even have the chance to think before both of Sombra's heels connect with the young man's face. Jeff is knocked to the canvas from the spinning heel kick, whilst "The Mexican Maniac" springs up off the canvas to the delight of the crowd who have burst into Sombra chants. Rather than be upset by the chants, the 19 year old irishman climbs to his feet clapping his hands. Despite his outward appearance, anyone who looks close enough can see the stiff jaw of the irishman. Jeff not liking to be the first knocked down in a fight. Sombra rushes forward again, this time leaping up into the air sideways. Sombra hits what feels like a solid wall and feels two arms wrap around him as the irishman shows some of his immense strength. The rookie tosses Sombra onto his shoulder like a sack of grain and runs towards the turnbuckle. Speed can often beat strength however, and La Sombra proves this to be fact, his lighter body slipping off his opponent's. The mexican warrior leaps up into the air and smacks the bottom of his boots into the back of Jeff's head sending the 19 year old careening into the turnbuckles. Sombra isn't going to show off this time, he immediately follows up by driving a forearm into his opponent's kidneys! He follows with another kidney shot, followed by another, and another. The undefeated rookie crumples in the corner, trying to avoid the violent shots to his kidney's but Sombra simply puts more force behind the blows, his forearm feeling like a dagger to Jeff Mckearney. The young rookie finally does the only thing he can think of and whips an elbow backwards! "The Man Without Fear" seems to fear the elbow coming towards him as he swiftly ducks the blow and sends a clenched fist directly into the jaw of "The Fighting Irishman". Mckearney's head is whipped to the side, spit flying as the impact of a blatant closed fist takes effect. The official finally steps in and warns La Sombra about not allowing Jeff out of the corner. Sombra kind of blows him off as he sends another vicous right hand into Mckearney's face! Finally, the ref forces his way in front of Jeff Mckearney and starts screaming at La Sombra to let up or he'll be Disqualified. "The Mexican Maniac" steps back out of the corner, both hands up in the air, knowing what an opportunity this is.

Johnny: "La Sombra better be carefull here or he's going to lose his shot at advancing in this tournament."

Donny: "Stupid referee! He always gets in the way!"

Jeff walks out of the corner after the referee seems satisified of his well-being. The irishman walks right up to La Sombra and SLAPS the veteran accross the face! The audience let out an OOOOOOOHHHH of expectance as they see Sombra's head whip back around, the luchadore's body tense and angry. Sombra makes his first mistake and chops the ample chest of Jeff Mckearney. The irishman responds by grabbing the veteran's wrist and yanking him back into an outstretched arm for a violent short arm clothesline. The cruiserweight is hit so hard he backflips and ends up on his stomach, lying on the canvas! The audience cheer a tiny bit, respecting the man's power if not his actions thus far. Showing his inexperience, the 19 year old doesn't cover Sombra and instead grabs the luchadore and brings him back to his feet. Placing one arm accross Sombra's neck and the other under the veteran's right knee, Jeff pops his hips forward and tosses Sombra back with an extra powerful version of a fisherman suplex The cruiserweight lands violently on his face and curled up knee, an immediate yelp of pain coming from him as the audience let's out a sympathetic OOOOOOWWW. Jeff climbs back to his feet and spins around, swiftly finding his opponent crumpled in a heap by the ropes. This time the young man walks over and drags Sombra out of the ropes. Dropping into a pin, Jeff has a small smile on his face. The ref drops down to count, but reaches only a one before the veteran luchadore kicks out of Jeff's pin. The smile vanishes from Jeff's face to be replaced by a look of almost awe. The rookie clearly amazed that Sombra kicked out after such a devestating landing. Jeff gets to both knees and prepares to follow up when a stiff kick meets his temple! The irishman drops to the canvas, clutching his skull in pain as the echo of the smack echoes around the arena. However, Sombra is still down, feeling the effects of a very bad landing.

Johnny: "I can't believe Sombra kicked out of that. I mean he could have been seriously injured on that throw. This young man needs to learn a little restraint."

Donny: "Restraint?! I think it's great that he's willing to risk seriously injuring his opponent just to win. We need more people like him.
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La Sombra
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PWA Rookie
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From across the ring the Fallen Luchador pulls himself from his crumpled heap on the mat. The arena, the fans, and lights, all momentarily blend into the faded buzz of the background. Beyond his mask, the “Latin Prince’s” frustration hangs from his face like rotting flesh dangling from its place on his figure. He’s the older and more experienced of the two, yet he has stepped into this match utterly unprepared. Years of pushing for respect from his competitors has left La Sombra’s senses soured to the thought that PWA might hold some “actual” talent within its ranks. It’s not like before, not like when the Federation didn’t know what to expect from him. He’s established as a favorite, established as a competitor to be reckoned with in this tournament. It’s about time he starts showing his competitors that same respect.

Only by standing up is La Sombra presented with the pain that shoots through his spine and neck. He refuses to hold it, refuses to acknowledge the twinge that runs through his body in a way that would let anyone, especially his opponent, know he is experiencing the slightest amount of discomfort. He will not prime himself for a quick finish to a competitor who seems almost calculated in his assault; No doubt wanting to finish the veteran superstar off with his flash power-slam that has proved the “write off” for so many opponents before him.

The kick to the temple was enough to have Jeff counting stars for a few more seconds and the Mexican Superstar needs to exploit every opening that he is afforded. He leans back, lazily letting the ring rope’s coiling mechanism provide him with the momentum he himself could have forced through his legs. He springs toward his opponent; counting steps, judging distance, and envisioning an angle of strike for his opponent who has just made his way to a knee. McKearney’s massive tree-trunk-like legs provide more than enough of a base for his lighter adversary to use as a footing, before launching into the air. La Sombra’s knee rockets upward, catching The Irish Fighter’s jaw in the peak of its eruption; narrowly bursting right through the young superstars face.

The crowd erupts as the Shining Wizard Knee Strike connects with enough momentum to angle the Luchador’s descent near the second rope of the opposing ring ropes. But, Jeff’s jaw is just slightly stiffer than Latin Prince has anticipated, causing his knee to spring back from the collision. If both his feet would have landed on the second rope La Sombra’s might have been able to haul backward with enough momentum to hit a picture perfect Moonsault. But, as it were, only one foot lands snuggly in it’s position; not nearly enough force for even a “sloppy” body-connecting maneuver that wouldn’t hurt him just as much as his opponent. Yet, despite the impending doom of a MoonSault, he flips back!

A wave of camera flashes wash through the Littlejohn Coliseum as the twenty-three year old veteran sails backward through the air. Even with a concentrated glance tossed just over his shoulder, plotting his intended plunge in midair, his eyes and body seem almost at peace as a strange jubilation courses through his out stretched fingertips; as if he had been born with wings protruding from each shoulder and “in the air” was one of the only places that he truly felt alive. With his sloppy leg finally flowing in tune with the rest of his body, the Mexican Maniac lands; chest-first on the mat, with his knee colliding square into the Irish Superstar’s face.

Donny: Holy Sweet Mother of Crap!

Johnny: Jeff will never be pretty again.

Donny: When was he pretty in the first place?

It’s not as appealing or fluid as the mask wearing superstar would have liked. But, the crowd howls in excitement at any rate. They’re so simple, so ignorant, and so easily amused. They don’t see an opponent who had to settle for a lesser move, they don’t understand all the intricacies that he had to piece together to avoid breaking his neck on the landing, and they don’t realize that they are looking at a man who narrowly avoided crippling himself from a sloppy, one-legged, back flip! All they see is, speed, technical prowess, god-like agility, and a Flipping Knee Strike that barely keeps his opponent afloat in the shallow waters of consciousness. All they see is poetry in motion; an elegant ballet of perfection on the dance floor of battle…

…and they want more!

With a forearm smothering the side of his opponent’s face into the mat, the Man Without Fear hooks the leg, collapsing both hands together as he motions to the referee for the count. He barely picks up the two-count as McKearney powers out of the pinning attempt and practically tosses the much smaller opponent off of him like a rag doll.

The kick out or, more correctly, the power used to kick out isn’t exactly a surprise to the Latin Prince. Yet, he is quick to catch his balance and crouch down into an offensive position; ready to deflect any attack his competitor might have planned. But, Jeff doesn’t advance and, instead, takes his time getting back to his feet; either still reeling from the blows to his face or methodically measuring his smaller, mask adorned, adversary. Respectfully, both superstars step back from each other for a momentary breather; their initial game plans need tweaking. They take just a second to collect their wits and a growing adoration from the fans before wiping their boots and, again, meeting in the center of the ring.

The two collide in the center of the arena for a second time. While the size and weight advantage are squarely in McKearney’s favor, his opponent’s light frame and low center of gravity prove “just” enough to stop the Irish Superstar from overpowering him… for a moment, anyway. The masked Mexican forces his head into Jeff’s chest in an attempt to gain some extra footing. But, a thunderously firm Knee-Strike from McKearney practically reduces the veteran Luchador’s midsection to sauce. He resists his opponent’s advance but soon the former Tag Team Champion finds that this time “he” is the one trapped in the corner.

A storm of Elbow Smashes rain down from the Fighting Irish Man; pouring onto the cornered Superstar like a monsoon of vigorous blasts, one after the other! The young veteran covers up, for the most part, but still catches the bulk of the assault. The blows finally subside leaving the Latin Prince’s arms draped over the top turnbuckle as he tries, desperately, to differentiate his left from right.

Backing away from his staggered opponent, the rookie admires his work with a haughty smirk of satisfaction. His eyes narrow, pitting La Sombra into his crosshairs, as he lets out a snarl, lowers his horns, and charges. The once dormant reflexes in the Luchador begin to kick into overdrive. The world seems to dawdle as his legs and body spring into action. The Man Without Fear passes an analytical glance toward his stampeding challenger; studying his steps, tracking his movement, and anticipating his foe’s next move.

In the seconds that pass the Mexican Maniac believes himself to be a Matador; his graceful movements represent expressions of magnificence and refinement. The fans are his Aficionados; he plays for them, lives for their cheers, and risks his life… for their amusement. The Littlejohn Coliseum is his Plaza De Toros; it is his playground, his stage, his theater and he is its playmate, its shining star, and its hero. His steps are that of deception, of trickery, and of ruse.

The Luchador’s movements border on that of precognition as he elegantly split legs over his opponent; his fingers narrowly caressing his opponent’s head as the six foot four Irishman is sent hurtling, headfirst, into the turnbuckle. He summersaults over his opponent, rolling down to the mat, and latching onto Jeff’s midsection for a Sunset Flip.

McKearney desperately reaches for the ropes. But, the combination of his collision with the turnbuckle and his adversary’s force pulling him back is too much. He topples to the mat trying to remember what’s going on, where he is, and what he’s doing there. The glare of arena lights force his eyes to taper and the slightest hint of the referee’s hand slamming to the mat, enters his senses.

The proud Irish Superstar rolls back and collects his footing; temporarily halting the official’s count. Amid a barrage of La Sombra’s flailing fists Jeff is able to pull him from the mat by his midsection. Perhaps it was a sudden rush of adrenalin speaking to him but the veteran is not nearly as heavy as the rookie remembers and he spins around, forcing a palm into his opponent’s chest. The Latin Prince is forced back-first into the mat with enough speed and force that most of fans are surprise that the result is not a splattered heap of Mexican pudding. As if his impact was strong enough to reverberate through the entirety of the arena, a tidal wave of roars erupt through the arena.

Johnny: We’re going to need a shovel to get La Sombra off the mat here.

Donny: Guns don’t kill people. McKearney’s Spine Buster kills people!

Johnny: It’s a costly mistake for the Veteran here. But, is it enough to cost him the match and his place in the tournament?
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Vegeta
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Clearly feeling the effects of that wicked move, La Sombra's hands hover over his spine hoping the pain fades away. Looking to continue this offensive, Jeff lifts his opponent up to a vertical base. But out of no where, McKearney's life flashes before his eyes, as La Sombra somehow manages to lock Jeff's head over his shoulder and quickly drops his entire body back down towards the canvas. In the matter of just a mere few moments, La Sombra hits his devastating finisher- the La Raza! But due to the beating he took earlier, he's unable to make the quick cover. Instead, La Sombra slowly crawls around to his opponent's chest and tosses his lifeless arm across it. The referee drops to all fours to make the count.

1...
2...
3!!!

DING DING DING!

Announcer: Winner of this match and moving on to round two of the Three Hours of Power tournament, LA SOMBRA!!!

Fruta Fresca by the Carlos Vives begins playing on the PA system, as the referee raises the hand of the winner!
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