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Goliath was on his knees, in the middle of the ring, his left arm wrenched behind his back. Joey was going to win this match. The crowd was screaming beyond anything ever achieved in a wrestling event. Not one of the twenty-thousand was sitting; not one was silent.
Referee Aaron Grant squatted in front of Goliath, their faces inches apart. They had been that way for going on half a minute. To the audience, it appeared Grant was asking Goliath if he wanted to quit. Joey knew they were talking about something else, something he couldn’t hear over the roar of the crowd.
Joey’s ignorance didn’t matter. It was only a matter of time before Goliath had to tap out, or verbally quit. Even wrestling’s greatest monster couldn’t resist the pain forever. Joey would let him go as soon as that submission, in whatever form it took, was visible to the television audience, and not before.
Impossibly, the noise in the arena grew. Something had the crowd excited. Perhaps Goliath’s face betrayed signs of quitting. Joey looked down to the referee, hoping for the victory signal. It didn’t come. With his free hand, Goliath palmed the ref’s face like a basketball, then pushed him away. Grant, an experienced ref, turned the little shove into a massive attack, and he flopped against the ropes then fell on his face.
‘Maintain the hold,’ Joey told himself. Goliath, or maybe Max, was growing desperate, and the new plan apparently was for the ref to take a bump. No doubt this would lead to Goliath cheating to break the hold.
It didn’t matter. Goliath couldn’t break out of this hammerlock, even without rules. At some point he would have to tap out, and even though there would be no ref to call it, the world would see it.
Unless Goliath had help.
Joey couldn’t finish the thought. An explosion of force, accompanied by a sickening thud, smashed into the back of his head. The impact of the blow pushed Joey forward. His feet entangled with Goliath’s just as his strength began to leave, and he lost the hold. In that instant of clarity, right before the pain, Joey was able to turn his head and see the desperate eyes of Crusader, Scott Rollins, holding a steel chair with an imprint of Joey’s skull in the seat. Joey fell to the mat, then lost himself in agony.
He didn’t see Rollins face the crowd and hoist the chair, the weapon, over his head, to an onslaught of boos. He was too weak to resist when Goliath grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him to the center of the ring. Still dazed, he couldn’t fathom why the resonant boos instantly changed to piercing screams and thundering cheers. Nearly unconscious, Joey could tell there was activity in the ring, but he couldn’t open his eyes to see it. Whatever it was, the crowd adored it.
What was it? Joey felt the ring shake. He felt multiple sets of wrestling boots stomping around him. He heard a titanic splash, undoubtedly a heavyweight wrestler falling to the mat.
The crowd was ravenous. Joey still lay on his stomach. Blood was streaming into his head, bringing with it the sharpness of pain, but also a growing sense of clarity. He was going to be able to open his eyes soon. Then he would be able to stand. If he could just hold out for a few more seconds.
He felt more movement around him. Then a sound, a voice. It was Aaron Grant. “One,” yelled Grant. “Two,” yelled Grant, after a pause. On “Three,” the crowd joined in. Someone was being counted out. It was him. Noise and blackness and pain were swept aside for just a second as Joey’s brain contemplated what was going on. He was being counted out! He had to stand. He had to get up before ten.
Joey pushed against the mat with his hands, using his knees to help him crouch upright. Slowly and deliberately, fearful of dizziness, Joey lifted his head, and took in everything around him. Goliath was down, flat on his back, five paces from Joey. Grant was standing between them, holding up his hands as he yelled, “Four!” Scott Rollins was nowhere to be found.
Had he imagined Scott Rollins thwacking him with a chair? He couldn’t have. The pain was too real. Perhaps he had been out cold for a long time. But if so, why was Grant only on count four? And why was Goliath down?
“Five!” Grant and the crowd yelled together. The count would stop when Joey and Goliath were standing. Goliath rolled onto his side; he was about to get up.
“Six!”
Joey lifted one foot, planted it on the floor, and turned his knee into a stoop from which he could push himself up. Goliath was now on his knees.
“Seven!”
Joey briefly made it to both feet, only to be overcome with dizziness which sent him reeling backward. He stumbled two steps back and fell into the ropes, sliding down to his knees, his arms both hung over the second rope.
“Eight!”
Goliath was preparing to stand. Unlike Joey, he was taking the time necessary to ensure he would stay on his feet. Joey breathed deeply, then pulled against the second rope, willing himself upward.
“Nine!”
With help from the ropes, Joey was now on his feet, and only slightly dazed. Goliath too was standing. Grant dropped his hands, stopping the ten-count.
Goliath was bleeding from the mouth. His eyes were unfocused. He looked delicate. Were Joey not equally weak, Goliath would be easy pickings.
The two men circled the inside edge of the ring, facing each other, each frightened to make the first move, uncertain because of their own frailty.
With each step, Joey felt his head growing clearer. Despite great pain in every joint, and bitter nausea in his gut, the will was there to finish this fight.
Goliath struck first, stumbling forward and swinging with closed fists at Joey’s face. The right arm swung first, and was so slow that Joey, even in his debilitated state, was able to dodge it. The left arm swung next, and connected with Joey’s jaw. The hit would have knocked Joey cold, except that Goliath’s left arm was weak from the hammerlocks earlier, and the punch only registered as a hard push, a knock to the head that, if anything, helped wake Joey from his daze.
Staggering backward, Joey bounced off the ropes, then swung his arm at Goliath, in what would have been an ugly clothesline in a standard match. Goliath ducked, leaving Joey to swing like a weathervane. Goliath hurled a forearm at the twisting mass of Joey’s body, and landed the blow to Joey’s left kidney, knocking Joey backward, and forcing him to lurch his torso over in pain.
With his body slightly tilted, Joey was a lame duck for Goliath’s favorite hold of the night, the front facelock. Goliath reached around Joey’s head to lock it in. As the arm surrounded his ears in what was now a familiar position, Joey knew this would be the end if he didn’t escape.
Without thinking, Joey put his arms on Goliath’s torso and pushed. Goliath was too weak to resist, and he fell back, with his arm still locked around Joey’s head. They both fell to the floor in an ugly pileup.
The instant they hit the floor, both men began flailing and flopping like fish out of water, simultaneously trying to put a hold on their opponent while avoiding their opponent’s grasp. They rolled right to the center of the ring, where, by some providence or luck, Joey found himself on top of Goliath’s back, able to reach his left hand.
Joey put in the hammerlock for the third time of the bout, this time in the center of the ring with Goliath face down on the mat. As soon as Joey locked it in he knew. The crowd did as well. They popped like twenty thousand balloons in elation at what they were seeing.
Goliath tapped out.
Grant hesitated, probably waiting for the okay from backstage, before signaling for the ring bell.
“Let him go, Joey. You won,” said Grant.
Joey released Goliath’s arm, then fell flat, facing the ceiling. He closed his eyes.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this bout, and the new GWA World Heavyweight Champion, Joey Mayhem!”