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Tom Tyco vs. Julio Guerrera; Non-Title Match - 2 Out of 3 Falls
Topic Started: Jun 25 2007, 12:44 PM (137 Views)
Vegeta
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---
Julio Guerrera
---

The fans, most of which were expecting to hear AFI's Miseria Cantare are surprised, instead, to hear the words "I hope they never forget me.." coming out of the speakers. Those words are quickly followed by the rest of Julio Guerrera's new theme song, Bone Thugs-N-Harmony's "Never Forget Me".

Going thru the struggles everyday on this pavement
an every hood I see em doin the same
there's alot of haters that don't want me to make it
all I want is for you to remember my name
So that you never forget me
So that you never forget me ohhhhuhhhohhh
So that you never forget me
So that you never forget me ohhhhuhhhohhh

My reputection is solid yall n my street credits unpolished yall
known as a lil boss hawk in the hood boy in my hood imma superstar
niggaz in the pen tryna hold a nigga down but I put in my work in check it check it
nah these niggaz respect it knowin im the wrong one they wanna mess wit
from the gutter wit my brothers doin these ghetto streets they don't love us
lettin these undercovers these motha fuckers doin everything they tryna bust us
but these suckaz know they cant touch us they envy deep in they hearts
if they eva try to rush us nigga they know we gone rip em apart
niggaz go hard from the start nigga this nina ross is my body guard
fuck wit mine an ill charge lil krayzy ass nigga at large
pullin cards on these lame niggas ill neva let go of my heat
yea stand up man on his feet lil layzies bone and them 3...memba me

Going thru the struggles everyday on this pavement
an every hood I see em doin the same
there's alot of haters that don't want me to make it
all I want is for you to remember my name
So that you never forget me
So that you never forget me ohhhhuhhhohhh
So that you never forget me
So that you never forget me ohhhhuhhhohhh

we be, poppin collas, throwin dollas indeed
in the hood getting money, Boi I got what you need
Hah we hott, you cold, that ice, on froze that six,
whole chrome, them bricks, they glow
drop yo crisp cases, and watch drop them big faces
leaning like a thug, hittin the club throwin big faces
This is for them dope boys choppin in the trunk goods
welcome to ma hood, hood, home of the dope boys

Going thru the struggles everyday on this pavement
an every hood I see em doin the same
there's alot of haters that don't want me to make it
all I want is for you to remember my name
So that you never forget me
So that you never forget me ohhhhuhhhohhh
So that you never forget me
So that you never forget me ohhhhuhhhohhh

Remix!
Pull a gun out on me, I'ma say lets ga
You'z a snitch I seen you testify
No you aint, you aint a G, You don't rep the style
Low nigga you a P.U.S.S.Y. you pussy
ey yo was poppin, poppin, crackin, crackin
he yappin, yap em, if it happen, happen,
caught you rattin, so cock it back and know this hammer talk
he ain't letting this hammer off,
they was on that side of the street, heat,
I ran across, like who had floss,
man em niggas was scared to talk
five puddles of death in the flesh
I am new york, got a brand new hammer
ask me how much that hammer cost,
imma tell you I detonated it, man ofcourse
It's something like I put my rachet to the statue of liberty, oh

Now that Julio finds himself in the squared circle, the song has no choice but to cut out just as soon as the last set of lyrics were to begin.

---
Tom Tyco
---

The quick three-step musical talents of Chris Cornell blast through the speakers throughout the arena. Mind-blowing; absolute frenzy is all that can said about the people of this humble arena. In place, all swim with their own technique in "stroke." The three-step musical piece repeats. At the top of their lungs they push out the last shreds of oxygen in vocal manner. A third three-step ensues. In and out signs jive as to create a wave effect. The last of the three-steps sets up the song.

If you take a life do you know what you'll give?
Odds are, you won't like what it is
When the storm arrives, would you be seen with me?
By the merciless eyes of deceit?

I've seen angels fall from blinding heights
But you yourself are nothing so divine
Just next in line ...


Yes! He appears, top stage; body covered in pure darkness. Only his pure hues at the coincidental start of the song's chorus can send the embassy crumbling. His body still in shadow, one can only imagine what his appearance may contain. Patience is kindly rewards in the most unlikely way ... with a sudden deafening BOOM and bright pale flash. A single light adjusts itself upon this man of mystery.

Arm yourself because no-one else here will save you
The odds will betray you
And I will replace you
You can't deny the prize it may never fulfill you
It longs to kill you
Are you willing to die?

The coldest blood runs through my veins
You know my name


Darkness hides itself at the rim of the lone light; a spotlight. The figure's formed stride holds steady without the slightest of miscue. Head sits upon his broad shoulders cocked forth into place, although slightly tilted forward. He walks in in his two satin black boots, laced from atop about mid-shin. The spotlight captures an image of itself reflecting from the gloss black plastic knee pads in several different perspectives in result of stride. Below the character's torso, his pure black trunks fit snug, all the while exposing his whole thighs. One can catch his signature symbol in crimson as he slithers on by them. His march halts; he quickly rolls himself into the ring. As he relinquishes himself to vertical base, his entrance music fades away. The prolific Hardcore Legend majestically stands amongst ropes. He cocks his head and shrugs his shoulders to warm up. Alas, the time has come. Silence drains.
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The Jesus
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Milk was a bad choice.
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Ding! Ding! Ding!

And so it begins. The omega of the night and, hopefully for Julio, the omega of his streak of unimpressive showings. To say that after nearly three hours of gringo action, a friendly face in the ring was the best thing for this Mexican crowd to see would be an understatement. Julio, despite being hated nearly everywhere else in the world, was cherished and embraced with open arms by the near fifteen thousand people packed into 'el Palacio de Deportes'. And it doesn't take much for the crowd to show that – a simple twitch of Julio's brow, him raising his arms in a pre-match celebratory pose and the crowd erupts into a frenzy of cheers for “their” luchador. La raza is, undoubtedly, fully behind the leader of WAR.

The ringing of the bell sets of a chain reaction in the young body of Julio Guerrera which inevitably concludes with the man, firing all pistons, charging his championship-carrying counterpart. This match is non-title, of course, but that doesn't matter to Julio, who slams into his oblivious opponent with a disgusting running forearm strike, as there is something much, much bigger than that on the line. Simply put, it is Julio's pride. And it is the thought that all eyes are on him – not just the audience's but truly ALL eyes – that propel him to back the intercontinental champion into the corner and unleash a volley of closed fists to the man's midsection. There's nothing beautiful about it, there's nothing poignant about it, all there is is a man, backed into a corner in his own right, taking out his aggressions. Yet, despite the brutality which Julio currently exercises, every single one of his actions is still cheered on by the crowd. After all, what's wrong with beating on a skin headed gringo?

Julio's barrage is stopped only by his desire to inflict more critical damage to his opponent. After all, the simple lefts and right to the sternum probably only feed Tyco's sick, demented thirst for pain. Instead, Julio's knuckles retract themselves from Tyco's rib cage only for his palm to widen and for Julio to whip the broader side of his hand into the man's throat, the shock of which is inevitably felt all throughout Tyco's cranium. Not wanting to risk one of the wrestlers getting seriously injured (despite Julio's best attempts), the referee has no choice but to interject himself in between the two men. And although he initially faces no man, the PWA official quickly twists around to warn Julio to ”Cut that out, man!” – to which Julio responds with, of course, ”No hablo ingles!”, which receives a small laugh from the select few close enough to the ring to be able to audibly understand his words.

When a referee physically involves himself in a match, there are only really two possible outcomes. Either he is simply brushed off and ignored (which Julio does), or he is shoved out of the way and ignored (which Tyco does). Tom Tyco, not one to take such punishment lightly, bursts out of his turnbuckle surroundings. And while he's usually not one to resort to such bad treatment of the non-performers, it is the fact that the referee stands in the way of Tyco's target that results in the official getting shoved to the ring by Tom, “The Pick” not even bothering to glance back at his work as he continues on his charge towards the wily Mexican. A boot to the gut puts a disappointing end to Julio's momentum, and a stiff Knife Edge Chop to the breast of Julio ensures that the ball remains in Tyco's side of the field. A second chop doesn't particularly serve any reason other than to help quench Tyco's hunger for retribution.

The Messiah's back brushes up against the thick nylon for a split second before his arm is pulled and the two hundred and thirty pound frame of the crowd favorite is sent charging towards the opposite set of ring ropes. Once again, the Messiah's back is introduced to the unforgiving cable wires, although this time it's a considerably harsher affair. Stripes of red mark the exact spots where the cables dug into Guerrera's skin as his body is unwillingly propelled back towards the Intercontinental Champion, whose mind quickly races to find the most opportune and pain-inducing way to capitalize on the current situation. He resorts to a simply over-the-shoulder slam, Tyco's arms wrapping themselves around one of Julio's legs and lifting the man into the air before releasing him and allowing gravity to do the rest. It's a move which resembles the tragic accident involving Chris Benoit and Sabu which left the latter with a broken neck over a decade ago – perhaps Tyco's own little ode to the now unfortunately deceased Crippler.

Thankfully, the result of the move isn't as horrific as it was when it was used in an ECW ring, thanks largely to the fact that Julio manages to lessen the impact by simply ducking his head in and rolling through the move. He rolls himself all the way back up to his feet, the momentum of Tyco's move proving to inexplicably work against The Gargoyle as Julio simply continues his run, bouncing off the ropes he initially made contact with. Although Tyco, stricken with a sense of disappointment and urgency at the fact that the potentially bone-breaking move he just performed didn't bring forth the desired ”thud!” one would expect, begins to twist his body around to face what he hopes is a hurting Julio, the man doesn't even manage to complete his one-eighty rotation before the crowd favorite bulldozes his shoulder into the man's back with a Running Shoulder Block. The audience once again breaks into a series of cheers for their luchador as The Pick succumbs to the strike to the lower back by dropping onto his knees and struggling to prevent himself from collapsing onto his face. Tyco's obsession with pain is undoubtedly bitter sweet, as this proves. The sense of ecstasy which accompanies pain and the sense of euphoria which results from pain must be combined with a grueling paroxysm of hurt.

Julio, looking to pick up a fall as quickly as possibly, swiftly rolls the hurting man onto his back and positions himself on top, making sure to not only pin the man's arm to the mat with his hand but also shove his elbow into Tyco's chin. The official drops onto his knees for the first time in this match.

1..
2..
Kick out!


*OOC*
I'm trying something different here, not sure why. >_>

EDIT - omfg die siggy
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Tom Tyco
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Reaching from the confines of his being, Tom is able to stretch his right arm toward the rafters thus bouncing the very shoulder from the canvas. Although in the states this would be a sign of hope, south of the border it is a mere cry for rage and anger being as this less than Mexican human is what he is. A reigning harmony of "boo's" shower upon the two combatants with the lower of the two being the recipient of their praise. A smug smile fits cleanly upon the mandible of the slightly above cruiser weight wrestlers as he corrects his stature by jumping into a vertical stance. He picks his opponent off the ring's tight surface whilst doing so and molds him into a right angle stance with the upper half of the body parallel to earth. The crazy jeers evolve into even crazier rants of joy at the sight of Julio departing from his opponent in a typical native wrestler's sprint. He adds vigor and pride to every step taken and even bounces off the ropes with a sense of class and dignity. Every move made, whether it be the swaying of the arms as they reposition themselves to support the quick stride or the grass cutting feet mowing their way toward the opponent, causes the vocal rage to attack the ring with a consistent higher tuning of the decibels. Even noise-makers such as hand-held bull horns and rattles add to the partying sounds emitting from the stands. There is a fiesta in the making and the hero has yet to even connect with his next move. One can only imagine the carnage of excitement that may take over once Tom has a knee volleying straight into his face; but it will only remain a thought for Mr. Guerrera fails to altercate the tactic. Upon jumping during the run to commit a spine-breaking Dropkick to the top of the skull, Mr. Tyco reels himself out of his slump and avoids contact of the boots; rather, he counters the move by wrapping his arms around the airborne feet and tightens them into a vice grip within his biceps and fore-arms. Naturally, the fan-fare hero ends his flying poise by basically barreling into the canvas like a rock. His vertebrate crashes into the surface first thus ending a fury of noises and voices. Tom remains latched to the ankles and begins to articulate the lesser mass of the two so his back may face the arena ceiling. This of course would cause the Mexican fighter to be held in torture to a submission move, most likely the Boston Crab. Realizing the consequences, Julio begins to squirm like a mad man trying to escape a straight-jacket. His body writhes in multiple directions as it flops in place until one of his feet comes loose. Tom attempts to latch back onto the free appendage, but it retaliates and kicks the standing fighter in the sternum; and yet, the clever Gargoyle tucks the captured foot beneath his arm-pit. Another shot to the chest cavity cause the Intercontinental Champion to side-step whilst spreading his entire left side apart (left arm flailing backward and upward whilst the leg slips backwards in a half-bowlegged stance). One more wild donkey kick to the right kidney forces the Man-Beast to not only surrender, but double over as well to favor the infiltrated organ. Julio rolls forth upon being released and rallies to his two feet only to pivot into a face of Mr. Tyco's direction. The previous match tactic for Julio picks up where it leaves off and he charges toward the downed opponent with fire in his step. A dive with the feet leading (Dropkick) connects this time into the head of the opponent thus knocking him into his own unprofessional roll backwards toward the ropes. The focus of caressing shoots toward the head as the arms gently fold themselves about the top of it to comfort the pain. The fiesta reappears among the "Julio!" chanting crowds and the noise-makers grow plentiful. Ultimately, the champion of competitors rests with his arms and neck draped upon the bottom cable, leaving the standing technical heavyweight to jolt toward the same ropes that propelled him into his predicament moments ago. The Messiah's back molds around the upper two thick strands of twine with as much push a whole second can give before slinging away from them and back toward the fallen champion. As the pace thickens and the thunder among steps is made, jumping children scream Julio's name in desire and many parents allow them to do whatever crazy antics they may enjoy. Some jump off chairs to be high-flyers, others clutch their arms to their chest in an "X" formation to emulate his arrogant taunt - he is a hero to these children and they want to be like him in every which way. Mr. Guerrera arrives to his destination and jumps, leading the mass media of flashbulbs to blinds the entire ring area. Not a person is sure if he even connects his Flying Legdrop to the face of the foe until the five seconds of man-made light dissipates from satisfied photographers. With a sick writhe, Tom's his jerks into the rope before becoming ajar and peeling away while leading the full body forth. He falls into a fetal position under the rope, moaning and holding the neck. Meanwhile, Julio retains his position upon the feet and grips the top rope with both hands. He uses the elasticity to shoot his jumping body toward the atmosphere only to come down with sickening force and connect a standing Baseball Slide on the victim's mid-spinal region. Naturally, this subdued Man-Beast unleashes a thunderous yelp and falls to the foam pads just outside the ring. He lands in a random sprawl with every appendage faced in a different direction. The roan tint on mouth-stretched face paints the picture that this man is utterly dismantled, and not a person cares. A man known as one of PWA's top faces does in fact receive cheers, but they are for his demise and Julio's dominance!

Johnny: In a bizzaro world, Julio is the man receiving all the applause for his tactics. Could this be the reason Tom is losing this first match significantly; by being thrown off his game with a new situation?

Donny: You over-analyze too much! Enjoy the match and join the Julio cult if not for one night! This is the greatest crowd I've ever seen!


Out of RP: Sorry this took so long. My arms were so soar after fixing my car, I had trouble even lifting them. I got time for one more RP if you post one before midnight tonight.
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Tom Tyco
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The superstar for a night Julio Guerrera gears up for what could be the end of match one. Although his battlefront is nothing but sheer brilliance, he decides to allow the opponent a moment to regain his second wind and make it more of a contest, uncharacteristically. A smug grin wielded on his face suggests that it doesn't matter how much of an advantage Tom may gain in the match because he will not fall in defeat; not once and definitely not twice. Slowly now, Tom reels to his feet whilst shuddering in motion. His feet dance upon the foam pads searching for that ultimate poise in which to regain his stance. Alas, it occurs, but transitions into him falling forth and draping himself upon the apron. This would be the perfect opportunity for the over weight cruiser weight to connect with a drastic move such as a Baseball Slide, but the patiences within him grows in the name of fairity (if you will). The Intercontinental Champion splats his palms against the canvas and eagerly claws his way in. Several moments flash by with the excitement among spectators ceasing to falter. Miserable in his movements, the champion grips the middle rope and pulls his wretched body to the feet whilst heavily leaning against the cable for maximum support. A following second palm latches onto the top cable thus solidifying his upward charge to be stable enough to maintain. Steadily, he turns toward the opponent, but this would only prove to be the end of his struggle reach toward matching the opponent; Julio charges with all his greatness and connects the Black Magic! Naturally, Tom slumps forth and rolls near the center of the ring. If the fans were estatic before, imagine the godly chants emitting from their lips as a god of their own scores one of his ultimate feats upon a mere United States mortal. The Mexican fighter jumps into a wide-armed stances which transforms into his signature "X" of the arms. He can't even hear himself think nor can the official speak to the downed fighter because of the decibel rage upon the ring. He does attempt to awaken the Intercontinental Champion, but Julio capitalized on his maneuver by covering the destroyed adversary. Hesitantly, Kirk bows to the canvas and allows his hand to free-fall. "One!" The elusive Tom Tyco dares not stir. "Two!" same scene, rope shaking pitches and now streamers jumping out of random hands. "THREE!" Julio has done it. He has won the first match.

Announcer: And the winner of the first match, JULIO GUERRERA!!!

The official raises the hand of the winner of round one thus sending the entire ring in a rumble to vigorous voices. Not a one sits still for it is an every last man women and child group effort to make this man feel right at home. The standing combatant stares down at his opponent whom has yet to so much as flinch. He quickly shouts at the official to chime the bell whilst jumping in his face with his own. Fearing the threat, Kirk beacons for the bell. Julio does nothing more but merely collapses upon the opponent again! This time with a slow tone, the official slaps the mat to form a "One!" count. No movement. Has one move REALLY caused enough damage to defeat the foe with two pin falls? "Two!" emerges from the pin-striped mediator's voice. Again, not a sound from the fallen fighter. Alas, the palm slaps the mat a third to ... again! To the shock of the world and the official, a "THREE!" successfully transpires!!! Julio has covered the competitor with two pin falls in one shot! Not much more can be given from the Mexico City residents for their voices and celebrations are to their fullest.

Announcer: And the winner of the second fall, AND the match, JULIO GUERRERA!!!!

Many of the people begin to rendezvous at the ring, pouring through and over the barricades to celebrate such a monumental victory! Not such a scene has been seen in many matches on the PWA stage, but it goes to show how much one small man can mean to thousands of people with the pride of a race the same as his. Glory is and shall forever be his among the Mexican heritage. Julio is hoisted in a sort of crowd-surfing form and celebrated greatly atop the fans amid the ring. Tom meanwhile receives an odd shot from the vulgar fan here and there, but is fairly safe with security pulling him from the ring and shielding him from the people as they lead him back to the ramp. What a scene to end the show tonight; Julio Guerrera, a god among his people, sitting above them all to celebrate a simple victory. The scene flickers off with this sight being the last.
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