<<<Back to the Results Index

.

11-24-01 Lincolnton, NC Echelon vs. Little Parka -Millennium Wrestling Federation So. Saturday night. Brawl Games. I sat backstage beforehand and kept busy changing clothes & putting on my makeup. Then I paced...and paced and paced and paced. Scared? You betcha. Finally I snagged my CD player and sat in a quiet corner with the headphones on. By the time I'd run through enough Godsmack, Deftones & Rammstein to get sufficiently jacked up...well, I wasn't so nervous anymore. And so I stood behind the curtain and waited until I heard it... Ladies & gentlemen, boys & girls... Dyin' time's here 16 seconds later I burst into the arena for the first time as a wrestler. I looked from one side of the crowd to the other and grinned before walking to the ring and rolling in under the bottom rope (like I always have in practice). My opponent, Little Parka, rolled out the opposite side of the ring and left me to introduce myself. I stalked his movements on the outside for a few seconds before turning my attention to the nearly 200 people crowding the building. First the right side of the audience...they got a smirk and a "check me out" pose before being waved off dismissively. Next the left side...I strode over and lazily rested my arms on the top rope, grinned, and rolled my eyes. One more quick circle just to make sure everyone could get a good look before flinging myself against one turnbuckle to wait impatiently for the ass kicking to commence. Little Parka gathered his nerve and joined me in the ring, approaching me and offering to shake hands before the match began. I stared at him with a raised eyebrow. He tried again, and even got the crowd behind his efforts. I took a step forward, met his eyes, and with a grin invited him to bring it on. No, you little dork, I'm not shaking your hand. I came to fight, and fighting's what we're gonna do here. We circled each other before tying up, and the little bastard must've tripped me or something cuz I somehow wound up backed into a corner. Well, the ref broke things up and we circled each other again. Is it really a surprise that I took the advantage and backed the masked moron into a corner just to show him who's boss? And the whole driving my shoulder repeatedly into his gut after the ref broke us apart...well, I slipped. Several times. Ooops. Anyways, the little guy somehow went flying like he was on rollerskates into the opposite corner and I slipped again and "accidentally" choked him on the ropes. I was just trying to regain my balance. I think he tripped me again. Then the thought occurred to me that I'd really like to yank his skinny arm right from the socket, so I hauled him to his feet. One armwringer didn't do the trick, so I twisted his arm a little more and locked on an outside armbar. Yeah, you know you're good when the pain drives a grown man to his knees. Figuring all that connective tissue to be nice & loosened up, I abruptly switched to a third armwringer and watched as Little Parka flew through the air and landed in a crumpled heap at my feet. I dropped a leg on that skinny little arm and pulled out the ol' lying top wristlock. I screamed at him to give up already, and I swear I saw tears underneath that silly mask of his. But that sonofabitch ref must've been in cahoots with the little guy, cuz he distracted me enough for Parka to roll me onto my back. Yeah, like that'd get him anywhere? I rolled him back over easily and continued my assault. Damn that ref though, he distracted me again! Well, I wasn't about to have any more of that, so I kicked Parka's battered body off of me and put him back in his place with a few strategic stomps to the shoulder. Before he could recover, I dragged him back to his feet and wrenched the target arm behind his back. It was oddly reminiscient of some of those handcuffing scenes you see on COPS all the time, let me tell you. But that's me, always thinking. Can't do much with a dislocated shoulder, can ya? The little bastard kept struggling with me, though. When that got old, I gave him a gentle little shove into the ropes and clotheslined him so hard across the back of his neck that he turned a full flip midair before landing rather ungracefully. I love the sound a body makes when it hits the mat. So it's about time to end this thing, don't you think? In what had become a recurring theme, I hauled Little Parka back to his feet and set him up for a killer suplex. Denied. The masked moron tripped me up yet again (and people say I fight dirty!) and rolled me ass over teakettle into a pin. Definately uncool, but like I wouldn't kick outta that one before the ref could get anywhere near the three count? He got another lucky shot in, knocking the wind outta me with a boot to the gut before knocking me into a corner with a few chops to the chest. I was so stunned at his blatant attempts to fondle me (the little perv!!) that before I knew what happened he'd whipped me hard into the opposite turnbuckle. I came out ready to fight, but he grabbed me and tried his pathetic best to lift me off my feet. He must've forgotten to eat his Wheaties that morning, cuz he tried once and had to club me across the back a few times before he kinda-sorta succeeded. But I was still in shock from what had happened earlier, with the chops and all. Little pervert. Yeah, okay, so the lucha-loser picked me up and planted me rather unpleasantly on my back. I may be tough, but I still feel pain. I am human, if just barely. Well wouldn't ya know, while I was down he ran off and I lost him in the lights. He must be in cahoots with the lighting guys too. So I look up just in time to see him flying towards me from the top rope like a skeletal missle. It's a good thing Little Parka is so...well, little, because his flying crossbody barely fazed me. In fact, I think it hurt him more than it hurt me, because I flung him off of me and whipped him hard into the corner. Poor l'il thing fell down & went boom. And he got up just in time to see my eyes as I flew through the air. It must've felt like a freight train when I hit that Spear, and I know it nearly killed him. He didn't move, and I could only grin as the ref counted one-two-three. And this, my friends, is why that move is known as the Fatal Error. If you take your eyes off me for a second you're dead.