"Just take it easy, there, Tito; we'll get you all back to normal," Bret told his teammate, gently holding him down as the doctors continued applying eyewash to him. "He will be OK, won't he, Doctor?" he asked the leading medic.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure, Mr. Hart; we were able to get to him quickly enough," the doctor nodded, "Give him about an hour, and his sight should be back to normal."
"Good," the Hitman breathed in relief.
"You know, I don't know why they don't just ban Martel from bringing that Arrogance sprayer to the ring," Steamboat complained on the other side of the operating table, "Even Jake's had medical problems from Arrogance."
"Well, this might be the last straw for Mr. Tunney; he might just lower the boom on Martel for this...Boss Man, good work," Bret commended the former prison guard as he entered the locker room with a satisfied expression.
"Oh yeah; I just loved the look on his face when Rude went nude!" Piper laughed hard in the corner.
"Yeah, that felt good; that felt real good," the Boss Man declared, swinging his nightstick deftly, "Now I can sleep better at night knowing Momma get her justice."
"Well, going by the program, the tag title match is next," Bret glanced at the clock on the wall, "So we've got to hope the Rockers have what it takes to beat the Sheik and Volkoff; otherwise, it'll all be in our hands to save the WWF..."
"All right, Shawn Michaels and Marty Jannetty, this is the moment you have been waiting so long for," Okerlund told the Rockers in the interview area, "In a few moments, you will be stepping in the ring to face the Mega Mercenaries for the tag team titles. Do you feel any hesitancy to face off with the champs?"
"Not at all, Gene; we all saw exactly how the Mega Mercenaries got the titles, using Freddie Blassie's cane behind the referee's back to defeat the Legion of Doom at the Royal Rumble. If that's what they have to do to win, then I predict this'll be a record match," Jannetty said with equal confidence as his partner.
"Absolutely, Marty; we've worked long and hard to get to this moment, and finally our dreams are going to become reality. The Rockers are rocking, and the worst of Iran and the Soviet Union can't stop us today," Michaels added. He and Jannetty high-fived and bustled to their cart. "You heard it right here, Gorilla; the Rockers are ready for action, and I have a strong feeling we just might see the tag titles come back here to the U.S.A. tonight," Okerlund said with a smile, "Back to you and Jesse for the call."
In the front row, Helen pulled a small American flag out of her purse. "Oh, I see you came prepared too," she smiled at Edna when the Boss Man's mother did the same, "I always root for the Americans when it's them against the world."
"Especially when it's against the Iranian and the Ruskie; I shudder to think they were actually allowed to keep the tag titles the way they got them," Edna snorted.
"Indeed. So let's hope Mr. Michaels and Mr. Jannetty can pull it off," Helen nodded, her expression now a bit confused, "I can't quite understand, though, why Bret doesn't quite seem as high on them as he is on some other tag teams."
"I think it might be something with Michaels, Mom; I can't guarantee anything, but I heard he had a run-in of some kind with him back when the Hart Foundation was still going," Keith theorized, "Have to ask him at some point."
"Well, here we go; let's see if the Rockers have it," Wayne pointed into the ring as Finkel hefted the microphone again. "The following contest is for the World Wrestling Federation tag team titles!" he declared loudly, "It is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, the challengers," he cracked a small smile as the electric guitars cranked up and the first cart zipped through the curtain, "at a total combined weight of 451 pounds, from San Antonio, Texas, here are Shawn Michaels and Marty Jannetty; the Rockers!"
"U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" in spite of her age, Helen stood up and shouted at the top of her lungs, waving her flag proudly. "Can't hear you, Mom," Smith grumbled, lowering his head, "And you're embarrassing us!"
"Embarrassing you, maybe, but I like that she's enjoying it," Georgia grumbled at him. "Rockers, Rockers, take them down!" she shouted at Michaels and Jannetty on the approaching cart.
"They are kind of attractive, yes," Alison grinned at the two of them as well, "If I wasn't married already..."
"Here we go; get your program ready again," Helen lifted Dallas up in anticipation again, although this proved unnecessary, as the Rockers went the opposite way around the ring to greet the fans before climbing in. "Oh well," she shrugged, lowering him back down into his seat, "Maybe when they're done and won it..."
"IF they win it, Mrs. Hart," Larry pointed out, "The Sheik and Volkoff aren't pushovers, after all. If I know Freddie Blassie, that devious mind of his will be working overtime to seal the deal here..."
"Could you get them to snap it here, Bruno; they're spending too much time admiring those damn pretty boys on camera!" Blassie snapped at Sammartino in the interview area, glaring at the prolonged footage of the Rockers romping around the ring on the overhead monitors.
"Don't snipe at me, I'm just the interviewer!" Sammartino snapped back at him, "You never could quit all those years...here we are, if you're happy," he hefted his microphone. "I'm here with the world champion Mega Mercenaries; Freddie Blassie, you're up against some tough competition here in the Rockers; any...?"
"Tough nothing; those two blasted rock and rollers are pushovers to the Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff!" Blassie barked at him, "I'll tell you something, Bruno; I don't care how many people, you included, put my men down, we are the champions, and we will not bend to anyone without a fight!"
"Absoultely, Comrade Blassie!" Volkoff leaned into the microphone, "And you, Shawn Michaels and Marty Jannetty, you bourgeois American dogs, you will regret the day you signed tag title contract when you feel the full power of Mother Russia in ring now!" he threatened the Rockers.
"Yes, Nikolai; Russia, Number One; Iran, Number One; U.S.A. and Rockers, bah, phooey!" the Sheik spit on the floor.
"You tell them, boys; let's go beat them into dust!" Blassie bustled towards the ring cart waiting for them. "Now remember, don't let up in there; just keep pounding them like there's no tomorrow," he gave the Iranian and Russian a few final words of advice, "Lest you forget, Vincenelli's watching, and there'll be hell to pay if we choke up the titles."
"Not to worry, Comrade Blassie; Rockers are weak American nothings who will fold like papers when up against superior Soviet training," Volkoff boasted, flexing his muscles.
"I hope so. Here we go," Blassie grabbed the cart's hand railing as it lurched up the tunnel and into the Silverdome proper. Almost immediately, a barrage of garbage flew towards he and his men, accompanied by an almost deafening chorus of boos. "Their opponents, and champions," Finkel's voice rang out, "to be accompanied to the ring by their manager, 'Classy' Fred Blassie, at a total combined weight of 571 pounds, from Tehran, Iran, the Iron Sheik, and from Moscow in the Soviet Union, Nikolai Volkoff; the Mega Mercenaries!"
"Ah, shut up!" Blassie bellowed at the crowd, tossing some garbage back at them. He leaned against the cart's front ropes, trying to ignore the booing, but still flung some debris back at the more blatant hecklers until the cart coasted to a stop at ringside. He defiantly marched up the stairs to the ring and held the ropes for his men, who proudly waved the Iranian and Soviet flags high in the middle of the ring despite the loudness of the boos. Blassie then took his men's tag belts and handed them to the timekeeper while Volkoff whispered his usual request in Finkel's ear. "Ladies and gentlemen," the ring announcer mumbled with a roll of the eyes and more than a little disgust in his voice, "Mr. Volkoff requests that you all rise and respect his singing of the Soviet National Anthem."
"You heard him, on your feet, you pencil-neck geeks!" Blassie shouted into the microphone at the top of lungs to try and be heard clearly over the boos. He sided alongside the Russian as he took the Soviet flag from Volkoff and mumbled, "Make it quick this time, Nikolai; don't give these pencil-neck geeks more ammo than they already have against us."
Volkoff merely grunted as he snatched the microphone, placed his cap to his heart, and started singing the Soviet anthem defiantly at the top of his lungs. And went on singing straight into a second verse Blassie had never heard before. "OK Nikolai, that's good," he muttered loudly.
But Volkoff continued singing despite the tremendous boos, and oblivious to Michaels' and Jannetty's impatient expressions behind them. "Come on, Nikolai, we want to get the match started!" the Sheik growled at him. Volkoff held up a hand and instead went into a third verse...
...at which point the Rockers abruptly rushed he and the Sheik from behind and kicked them hard in the back, ending the anthem the hard way; the Sheik in fact went flying head over heels out of the ring, still clutching the Iranian flag, to a tremendous ovation from the Silverdome crowd. "Finally the song over, and clearly everyone appreciates Shawn Michaels and Marty Jannetty saving us from hearing the entire Soviet anthem," Monsoon was relieved himself.
"Yeah, I'll bet you'll condone those rotten tactics by the Rockers," Ventura shot back.
"Volkoff looking stunned as he's whipped off the ropes, flung high in the air by Jannetty, and spiked down by Michaels!" Monsoon ignored his partner, "Freddie Blassie swinging the Soviet flag at Jannetty, but Marty blocks it, whoa, kicks Blassie clean out of the ring, and now he and Shawn rip the Soviet flag apart; listen to this place go crazy!"
"Now that's no way to treat the man's flag, after Volkoff brought it all the way over here!"
"After what they're doing behind the Iron Curtain and in Afghanistan, I don't blame the Rockers for doing it-and look at this; Michaels and Jannetty both going up to the top rope, measuring Volkoff as he stumbles to his feet, still wearing his ring jacket..."
"Who's the legal man!? The Rockers do this all the time; I demand the referee determine who the legal man is!"
"Michaels and Jannetty both off the top ropes and down Volkoff again with a double flying dropkick!" Monsoon kept ignoring him, "Look at this, Jannetty sends Volkoff for the ride into the ropes, ducks down-and Michaels hits the Russian with a Superkick! And Volkoff is down again as the Sheik starts climbing back in-no, Marty nails him hard, and the Sheik falls back to the floor! Shawn on top of Volkoff for the cover, and here's the one, the two...THREE! THE ROCKERS ARE NEW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS, AND THEY BEAT THE MEGA MERCENARIES IN LESS THAN A MINUTE TO GET THE BELTS!"
"What happened?" a dazed Volkoff sat up off the mat, "Did the match start yet?"
"NIKOLAI YOU IDIOT!" a livid Blassie barreled into the ring, brandishing his cane angrily. "I told you to shut up with the theme, you moron!" he roared at the Russian, shoving his way past the celebrating Rockers as Finkel proudly bellowed, "Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of this bout, and NEEEEEEEEEEWW World Wrestling Federation tag team champions, the Rockers!"
"Sorry, Comrade Blassie, but Momma was watching back in Moscow!" Volkoff gulped, slowly stumbling backwards, "I figured I'd do whole Soviet National Anthem in her honor!"
"We'll show you honor, you moron!" the Sheik, also fuming, charged at him brandishing the Iranian flag wildly. Volkoff frantically leaped out of the ring and ran like crazy for the aisle, his partner and manager hot on his heels. "Come back here Nikolai, you loudmouthed buffoon!" the Sheik could be heard roaring all the way to the second deck, apparently ignoring all the additional garbage being flung at the three of them, "How dare you cost us the gold over Mother...!"
"Nikolai Volkoff running for his life; there's really going to be hell to pay in Blassie's camp tonight," Monsoon was smiling outright in the broadcast position, "Meanwhile, nothing but joy on the faces of Shawn Michaels and Marty Jannetty as they climb the turnbuckle and thrust the WWF tag teams belts high; finally, after all this time, they've reached the top of the mountain."
"And why not; they back-jumped the Mega Mercenaries to get there!" Ventura complained.
"Volkoff was holding up the match singing the Soviet anthem too long; the Rockers simply remedied the situation by stopping the song, and Volkoff was unable to respond, and we have new tag team champions. Listen to the ovation the Rockers are getting here as they're carted out of the Silverdome, belts in hand; Shawn and Marty proudly saluting the crowd and the American flags now waving all around us, holding the belts high; these two are great Americans, and here's hoping they have a long and exciting reign as tag team champions..."
"Somebody make a note," Don Vincenelli muttered in disgust, his hand over his face, "We need to kick Volkoff out of the Million Dollar Corporation the next chance we get."
He jumped up and smashed his cocktail glass on the floor in frustration. "Just like that, Tunney's got the one-up on us!" he grumbled furiously, "And it's not just that they lost but how they lost..."
"If it hadn't ended so quickly, boss, we could have jumped in and done something," one of the goons with a machine gun by the window apologized.
"No need to be upset, Carlo; it wasn't you fault or anyone's fault," the don assured him, "But we need to double down for the remaining belt matches. Vinnie, Harvey," he snapped his fingers at a pair of bodyguards and waved them close, then whispered, "I want the both of you to start casing the arena, and I want you to find..."
"Great work, Shawn and Marty," Hulk was smiling himself aboard the airplane as it zoomed smoothly through the atmosphere towards Detroit, watching the footage from WrestleMania on the plane's overhead television sets, "Now we've just got to hope Ricky can handle the Intercontinental match later on."
He leaned backwards over his seat. "Feeling any better, Mr. Marella?" he asked the referee, who was having his blood pressure taken by his doctor.
"Sort of, Hulk," Marella was a bit more alert now, "As long as the doc here keep treating me, I think I'll be fine once we hit Detroit."
"You'll have to keep taking that anti-toxin medicine, though, Mr. Marella, so if we do get you to the Silverdome on time, let's hope the match doesn't go too long for you," the doctor reminded him, looking resigned to going on the quest against his better judgment.
"We'll do what we can, Doc. OK, then, Mr. Marella, tell me the whole story about what happened earlier," Hulk leaned forward, looking solemn now.
"Well Hulk," Marella took a deep breath, "it happened like this..."
"The following contest is scheduled for one fall," Finkel began introducing the next match, "Approaching the ring, accompanied by his manager, Bobby 'the Brain' Heenan, from Atlantic City, New Jersey, weighing 446 pounds, King Kong Bundy!"
"Look at the Brain; he's still handcuffed to part of the barrier!" Monsoon cracked up at the sight of the large section of metal hanging from Heenan's wrist no matter now much the embarrassed Brain tried to obstruct it from view.
"Yeah, you think that's real funny, don't you Gorilla?" Ventura glared at him, "Well it wasn't funny what the Boss Man did to the Brain, and I hope Tunney suspends the crap out of him for it."
"Heenan was making those same horrid remarks about the Boss Man's mother as Rick Rude, so they both got what they deserved," Monsoon said firmly, "Everyone still laughing at Bobby Heenan as he leads King Kong Bundy into the ring, and now we await his opponent..."
"HOOOOOOOOOOOO!" came the loud shout over the sound system, followed by Jim Duggan's familiar theme. "His opponent, to be accompanied to the ring by Sergeant Slaughter, from Glen Falls, New York, weighing 270 pounds, 'Hacksaw' Jim Duggan!" Finkel gave him a warm introduction.
"HOOOOOOOO!" the actual Duggan shouted on his ring cart, waving a large American flag proudly with one hand and thrusting his ever-present two by four high with the other. "Perfect timing for 'Hacksaw' Jim Duggan to make his entrance, right after the Rockers beat the Iron Sheik and Nikolai Volkoff for the tag titles; American flags waving everywhere in the Silverdome, and suffice to say, that makes both Hacksaw and Sergeant Slaughter feel right at home," Monsoon declared.
"Again, I'll reiterate for everyone at home, Gorilla, since I know you and McMahon love to castigate me as a monster: I have the deepest respect for my fellow veteran Sergeant Slaughter. If you've kept score at home, you'll know I never once in my career said a bad word about the man, because he served this great country of ours with pride in the Marines just as I did with the SEALs. My problem stems with the fact he'd want to bend down and help an empty-headed fool like Duggan, who disgraces true American patriots."
"Now how can you say that about someone like Jim Duggan, who loves America probably more than anyone else in this building?"
"Oh wake up, Gorilla; Duggan's an idiot, and the whole world knows it."
"Will you stop!? A tremendous ovation in fact for Jim Duggan, who clearly is not considered an idiot by everyone here in the Silverdome. And standing proud beside him, his good friend Sergeant Slaughter, who yes, has served this country very well, and deserves a lot of credit for it. While his best wrestling days may be behind him now, Sarge has made it clear he intends to continue in an active role here in the World Wrestling Federation once he does retire. Slaughter now with a salute to Duggan as they step off the cart, and Hacksaw hands him his flag for safekeeping before he climbs into the ring..."
"U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" Duggan roared at the top of his lungs, pounding his two by four on the mat to get the crowd pumped up for the match. He then laid the block of wood in the corner and struck a defiant pose with his hands on his hips, gesturing with his head for Bundy to come over and fight. Bundy, pounding his fists eagerly into his palms, obligingly charged forward. "Both men lock up, and here we go," Monsoon leaned forward in his seat, "And it looks like King Kong Bundy has the upper hand early in this one, pressing down hard on Duggan's shoulders to force him down to his knees, and now a kick to Duggan's chest. Bundy hoists him up on the shoulder, and here comes a powerslam...yikes! A cover: one, two...no. Bundy drops the elbow on Duggan hard, now hauls him up, whips him into the corner, and charges...no, Duggan out of the way in time! And Hacksaw starts pounding Bundy's head into the turnbuckle..."
"Well at least with Bundy, Duggan can't pull the hair."
"Now when has Jim Duggan ever done that in the ring!? Duggan finishes with Bundy's head, whips Bundy into the ropes, and he's-oooooowww, he wanted to clothesline Bundy, but Bundy gave it to him instead."
"Like I was saying, I don't know why Sarge is wasting his time on Duggan; I don't think there's anything inside that head of his but air."
"Sergeant Slaughter pacing back and forth in Duggan's corner, waving the American flag with one hand, clutching that whip of his close with the other. Slaughter's eyes zeroing in an Bobby Heenan in the other corner, making sure the Brain doesn't pull any dirty tricks here in this match."
"He wouldn't need to now the way everything's going; look at that, Bundy chops Duggan so hard on the throat, he goes flying flat on his..."
"Jim Duggan crawling out of the ring, trying to regroup," Monsoon cut in before Ventura could finish the sentence, making his partner glare at him in frustration, "He's now taking some advice from Sergeant Slaughter, who with all his ring experience is sure to have some strong pointers to offer him. The count is now at five, and Duggan in fact now getting into the ring again..."
"U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" Duggan shouted at the crowd again, prompting them to once more shout it back. "Let me guess, THAT was Duggan's entire strategy," Ventura snickered, "And let me ask this: why would he want to yell that all over and over during the match when Bundy's just as much a full-blooded American as he is?"
"Does Bundy do anything for this country? Hacksaw certainly does..."
"Maybe not, but what Bundy does do is headbutts, and Duggan's now taking one right on the empty noggin," Ventura laughed.
"Bundy with another headbutt, and now a blatant chokehold; he ought to know that's against the rules. But of course King Kong Bundy often has little if any regards for the rules; you of course remember, Jesse, at another WrestleMania a few years back, Bundy was up against Hillbilly Jim, with each side having a pair of midgets, and the stipulation being it could only be big man against big man and little man against little man; I as much as the next person was just as appalled when Bundy picked up and slammed Little Beaver and then dropped the elbow on him, crippling him and ending his career."
"Well the little idiot deserved it for going after Bundy all the...whoa, Bundy shoves Duggan clean out of the ring; I love it!" the Body exclaimed.
"So far King Kong Bundy with all the offense in this one; Slaughter again trying to rally his man outside; Duggan nodding firmly and climbing back in again, only to be pounded hard on the back by Bundy. Bundy sends him into the far ropes, swings a...no, Duggan slides down under his legs, pushes Bundy into the ropes himself, and pulls him back down into a crucifix; one, two...almost got him."
"He had a bad cover there, Gorilla; perfect proof that Duggan's too dumb to understand basic wrestling fundamentals."
"Will you get serious!? Duggan throws Bundy into the corner, and now the big splash on him..."
"On top of that, he's stealing Bundy's finisher; Heenan should sue for plagiarism."
"WILL YOU STOP!? Hard chop to Bundy's face, Duggan up and slugging away: three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten; Bundy now looking dazed..."
"HOOOOOOOOOO!" Duggan bellowed out loud, hurling Bundy into the ropes and downing him with a dropkick. "HOOOOOOO!" he repeated, dropping into his familiar three point stance, measuring Bundy as he dazedly got to his feet, and barreled full steam at him, plowing so hard into Bundy's chest that his opponent went flying out of the ring. "U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" Duggan bellowed again, climbing up to the top rope and diving down on top of Bundy, nailing him with an axhandle. "The tide has shifted in this one, and now it's Hacksaw with the edge," Monsoon declared, "Duggan dragging Bundy along and smashes his face into the ring apron-but Bundy with a sucker punch to the chest, and now he's running around the ring. Duggan giving pursuit-wait a minute, the Brain's waiting around the corner there," he frowned at the monitor, "I don't know what he has planned, but Duggan's coming his way...and look at that, Heenan nails Duggan in the face with that piece of barrier he's still handcuffed to!" he complained.
"I love it; good thinking by the Brain to help his man," Ventura applauded on the air.
"King Kong Bundy back over, rolls the dazed Duggan into the ring, climbs in himself with the count at seven. Bundy takes hold of Duggan's arm, flings him hard into the corner, and starts backing up himself into the opposite corner..."
"This is the end for Duggan; he's about to get buried under an Atlantic City Avalanche."
"King Kong Bundy measures Hacksaw Duggan, and yes, here comes the Avalanche-bullseye! Duggan crumples to the mat, Bundy with the cover: one, two, three. King Kong Bundy the winner in this one, but he needed help to get the win."
"But you've got to give some credit to Bobby Heenan, Gorilla; come on out and say it, come on."
"No I won't, because he cheated for his man here. Let's look at the replay: Heenan with the blatant use of that piece of barricade to knock Duggan senseless, and from there, Bundy employing the Atlantic City Avalanche to crush Hacksaw completely. Bundy celebrating with the Brain in the ring...but wait, Duggan groping for his two by four in the corner, and now he's getting to his feet..."
"He'd better not do what I think he's going to do..."
"Duggan charges Bundy from behind and wham, nails him with the two by four in the back of the head!" Monsoon roared along with the rest of the Silverdome.
"That's terrible; I have never seen such a sore loser in all my years here in the WWF...!"
"As I just mentioned, Bundy and Heenan cheated to win, and thus, Jim Duggan has some justification in this...and he nails Bundy again, sending him through the ropes! And here comes Sergeant Slaughter on the outside, and he's now whacking Bundy and Heenan with his whip...!"
"Come on, Sarge, don't stoop to Duggan's level; you're better than that!" the Body pleaded with his fellow veteran.
"Duggan and Slaughter chasing Heenan and Bundy down the aisle with the two by four and whip; it's clear this one is far from over. And now Hacksaw and the Sarge stand alone..."
"HOOOOOOOOO!" Duggan shouted one last time as his theme came up again. He thrust the two by four high and paraded merrily around the ring, again bellowing, "U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" He smiled as he came to a stop in front of Helen. "I like the way you think, Mrs. Hart," he commended her, taking note of her handheld American flag.
"You're a nice young man, Mr. Duggan, and I appreciate how well you stand up for America," she commended him with a smile of her own, waving her flag softly, "My grandson here is collecting autographs tonight," she gestured Dallas forward with his program again, "Care to give him yours?"
"It would be a pleasure," Duggan took the boy's pen and signed his name in the program. "How about you, Sarge?" he asked Slaughter behind him.
"Anything for a relative of a true, red-blooded American, soldier," Slaughter cracked a small smile as he took the pen and also added his autograph to Dallas's collection. "At ease, son, and that's an order," he told the boy with a salute. "And for you, Mrs. Hart," he handed her his full-sized American flag, "Fly it high with pride, even in Canada. God bless America."
"God bless America," she held the flag up and saluted Slaughter, who nodded and led Duggan back to their cart. "Well, that went very well," Stu smiled, putting an arm around her.
"Indeed," she agreed, laying the flag between their seats, "Already this is shaping up to be a very good night."
"Looks like we're almost at the halfway point already," Wayne consulted his own program again, "They have the six man match next, then it's time for Andre's finale..."
The bell rang to signal the start of the next match at that moment. "The following is a six man match scheduled for one fall," Finkel continued, "Introducing first, at a total combined weight of 1,002 pounds: accompanied by his manager, Dr. Harvey Whippleman, from West Memphis, Arkansas, Sycho Sid; and, accompanied by their manager, Afa, from Samoa, Samu and Fatu, the Headshrinkers!"
"This ought to be interesting," Stu mused. "After Sid back-jumped and all but killed Backlund after his first match back from the Camel Clutch a few weeks ago, it was only natural they'd have a big showdown at some point, and since Bob still has some health concerns from what I hear, it makes sense to make it a six man match to take some pressure off him. And since Men on a Mission and the Headshrinkers have been tearing it up over the last month, it made sense to make them the other teammates. Let's see how much everyone in here wants to get down when Bob and the boys come out..."
It was indeed then that a familiar hip-hop tune rose, accompanied by the confirming announcement, "Their opponents, at a total combined weight of 1,011 pounds: accompanied by his manager, the Golden Boy Arnold Skaaland, from Princeton, Minnesota, Bob Backlund; and, accompanied by their manager, Oscar, from Harlem, New York, Mabel and Mo; Men on a Mission!"
"Good evening, Detroit!" Oscar shouted excitedly into his microphone, "Everybody get up on your feet, and get the party going; come on, come on, come on, come on, yeah! Throw your hands in the air, and wave 'em in the atmosphere! It's the WWF, WrestleMania edition, and we're in the house...!"
"MEN ON A MISSION!" the enthused crowd roared back.
"You got it!" Oscar gave them all a thumbs-up, "It's time right now for the main event show, starring me, Arnold, Backlund, Mabel and Mo! Get ready for a fight; get set for demolition, because it's go time with us...!"
"MEN ON A MISSION!"
"YEEEEEEEEAH, that's it! Everybody get up and get down!" Oscar waved his arms over his head as he hopped off the cart at ringside, "Get down, get down; let's rock the whole town! Let's squeeze some smiles out of those frowns! Signatures, right? Well it's your lucky night," he happily took Dallas's extended program and signed his name to it, then handed it off to the rest of his team for their signatures as well. "There we go," Stu rubbed his grandson's hair once the team had finished, "Now you've really hit the jackpot; Bob Backlund's autograph'll be worth a lot some day as a long-reigning former world champion."
"Funny thing, though, Bret said on the phone last week that he'd heard Backlund in a frenzy in Tunney's office, ranting and raving how he wanted Sid's head," Keith told him.
"That can't be right. Bob Backlund's not crazy, Keith. You saw him before Hogan became champ; he's as calm as they come," Georgia wasn't convinced.
"The real question is, why put Backlund back in the ring when he's hurt, rusty, and over the hill in the first place-and willing to degrade himself like this," Smith looked repulsed at the sight of Backlund merrily dancing around in the ring with Men on a Mission, to the stern frowns of their impatient opponents.
"Oh come on, have a heart, Smith, this is fun," Alison held up baby Brooke to "dance" along with the music until the bell finally rang. "This is the moment we've been waiting for, the grand return of former WWF champion Bob Backlund," Monsoon declared at the broadcast position, "And what a contrast between the teams here; on one side, the insane, anarchical Sycho Sid and the Headshrinkers, for whom no tactic is too cruel or severe, and on the other side, the fun-loving, charitable Men on a Mission and the gentlemanly Bob Backlund, epitome of grace during his tenure here with the World Wrestling Federation. And Jesse, it is a strong relief to see he's apparently fully healed now from the terrible injury he suffered at the hands of the Iron Sheik when he lost the WWF title over three years ago."
"Well, if you ask me, Gorilla, he's coming back too soon," Ventura opined, "Having faced Backlund for the WWF title a few times myself-and being swindled repeatedly, I may add-I have some respect for the man, contrary to what I'm sure you and McMahon think, and so I say the damage he took from the Iron Sheik's Camel Clutch was too severe to be back at this point, so I suspect he's..."
"Backlund in fact getting into the ring to start things off, and he's up against Samu-and a big arm drag takes the Samoan down right off the bat, and we've got a cover; is it going to be over already...!?"
"No it ain't," the Body cracked as Samu kicked out at the last second, "Neither Sid or the Headshrinkers go down that easy."
"To comment on your earlier point, Jesse, Bob Backlund more than showed he had great stamina by holding the WWF championship for five years, so coming back from this was probably comparatively simple regardless of the damage the Iron Sheik did; his training regiment has always been second to none. A look now at manager Arnold Skaaland, watching the action in the ring with a concerned expression, no doubt with his man's health on his mind..."
"And if Backlund does get in trouble this time, Gorilla, don't think Skaaland won't throw in the towel again. You know, for the record, Backlund never did actually submit to the Camel Clutch, so technically, that should mean Hogan was never champion in the first place..."
"Will you stop!? Hulk Hogan more than earned the WWF championship and probably would have eventually won it no matter what had gone down between then and now. And as for your complaints of being cheated in your own matches with Backlund, you lost fair and square each time Jesse, it's as simple as that."
"Sure, toe the party line, Gorilla-and for your information, now that we made it clear Hogan's run might not count..."
"Bob Backlund with a tremendous gutwrench suplex of Samu in the middle of the ring, and now he's twisting the arm hard," Monsoon ignored him, "Samu groaning in pain, straining for his corner, but his partners are well out of reach..."
"Whoa yeah, Sid kicks Backlund in the back from outside the ring; I love it!" Ventura roared in approval at the act.
"Cheap shot move by the usually cheap Sid, allowing Samu to break out of the abdominal stretch the former champion had put him in and make a tag to his partner. Fatu with a hard left hook to Backlund's face; Bob swings and nails him in the head..."
"No one ever learns; you CANNOT harm the Headshrinkers with a blow to the head."
"Fatu with a headbutt to Backlund, and another one, and now he flings Backlund into the ropes and...no, Backlund grabs him around the head and gives him a bulldog! Another cover: one, two...diving save by Sid, who then slams Backlund's head to the mat. Furious look on Backlund's face as Sid's ushered back out, turns his attention back to Fatu, dishing out several blows to the back. Oscar trying to get the crowd into it outside the ring..."
"You know, you talk about people like Virgil having no business at ringside all the time, Gorilla; what business does Oscar have down there? That guy's more useless than the Federal Reserve."
"He's Mabel and Mo's manager; he's fully licensed to be in their corner."
"All he does is clap his hands and call for the crowd to get down-and did I mention I can't stand his intros for Mo and Mabel? And I thought Elizabeth was the most useless manager in..."
"Fatu whipped into the corner; Backlund charges in and nails him with the big splash. Now he rears back for a big punch-and Samu belts him in the back of the head from behind! Give me a break; they can't...hang on, what's this?" Monsoon frowned at his monitor as a furious Backlund suddenly let out a shrill yell and dragged Samu into the ring, "Backlund appears to be losing his cool-he's putting Samu into his patented Crossface Chickenwing, screeching like a chicken himself! What's happening here!?"
"Well for one thing, that idiot's lost his mind; he can't win the match if he doesn't apply the finisher to the legal man, and that's most definitely Fatu right now."
"This is unreal; the usually restrained Bob Backlund down on the mat, giving the Crossface Chickenwing full blast to a similarly shrieking Samu; referee Jack Lotz shouting at him to let Samu go; Arnold Skaaland looking shocked and shouting at him to let go too. This is a sight I'd never thought I'd say; Bob Backlund being as psycho as Sid, and Sid himself looks as confused as...now Backlund letting Samu go, staring in shock at his hands; I don't know what just happened there, and something tells me he doesn't know either."
"Well whatever it was, Gorilla, I liked it. Backlund was always too bland, too goody-goody when I fought him; this could be a good new leaf for him to turn over."
"Will you stop!? Backlund still staring in shock at his hands, and does not see a recovering Fatu charging right at him, and a diving headbutt takes him down. Fatu hooks the leg: one, two...just avoided the three there. Another diving headbutt, and now Fatu tags in Sycho Sid. Sid over in a flash and gives Backlund a contemptuous kick, hauls him over to the turnbuckle and starts smashing his face off it: three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen...he's well over the legal limit and still going...!"
"Well, they call him Sycho Sid for a reason, Gorilla, and this is it."
"Sid with a vicious neckbreaker, now picks him up...whoa, what a chokeslam! Backlund's eyes wide and rolling around as he's covered again: one, two...what a kick out! Sid goes flying halfway out of the ring; Backlund stumbling like mad to his corner, and uh oh, the tag to big Mabel! Mabel lumbering in; Sid doesn't see who he's going to...now he sees Mabel, and for once, Sid looks ill at ease. He nonetheless rushes straight on at Mabel...who lifts him clean off the ground and gives him one tremendous powerslam! The cover: one, two...just missed. Mabel drops the elbow as we get a look at an impatient Harvey Whippleman in Sid's corner, hoping his man can get with the program against that behemoth. Next to him, Afa grunting instructions to the Headshrinkers in Samoan between bites of the coconut he brought to ringside tonight. Afa of course dominant in years past in the tag division in the Wild Samoans, but the team disbanded before the first WrestleMania, so this is his first taste of the big time tonight."
"And right now, he's got to be proud with how well the Headshrinkers are holding up on their own."
"We'll see if that remains the same from here on. Meantime, Mabel hurls Sid hard into the corner, rushes him-and misses, and Sid with the tag to Fatu. Fatu with a dropkick that staggers Mabel, and now another that sends the big guy tumbling into the ropes. Fatu rushes-and Mabel off the ropes to give HIM a dropkick, and Fatu is down! Mabel off the ropes again, and big diving splash, and the cover: one, two...no. Mabel sits down hard on Fatu, and now the tag to Mo. Mo going up to the top rope, measuring Fatu good, and here he comes-direct hit. Mo twisting the leg, trying to wear him down. Men on a Mission and the Headshrinkers have been having quite the heated battles the last few weeks, so it's understandable that Jack Tunney would have considered having them face off tonight at WrestleMania, and I for one am glad they did manage to get on the card in the end."
"Well, I do agree with Tunney on one thing; this certainly will go down as the biggest night in the history of the sport."
"So far, certainly. Mo whips Fatu into the ropes, whoa, lot of verticality as he hurls him high over his head. Now Mo into the ropes himself...from behind, Sid grabs Whippleman's doctor's bag and bashes Mo in the head with it; referee did not see it!"
"And he certainly can't call what he can't see, Gorilla."
"Fatu tagging in his fellow Headshrinker; Samu with a particularly vicious headbutt on Mo right off the bat, followed by a low blow kick. Mo sent for the ride into the ropes, and now another kick to the chest, this one in a legal location, though. Dropkick drops Mo to the canvas, and Samu adds a diving punch as well. Mo swings one back and connects with the face..."
"And again, no harm done at all. They never learn..."
"Samu stomps on Mo's face, and now a tag to Sid, who's getting that crazy look on his face again. Sid rushes into the ring-a violent diving splash on Mo right off the bat, and now he's choking him out-choking him so hard he's shaking him. Referee warning him to let go at once, and Sid relinquishes the hold, only to throw Mo clean out of the ring; did you see that!?"
"Feel the power of Sid; this is why he rules the world," Ventura applauded the Sycho One.
"SYCHO SID RULES THE WORLD! I'M THE REAL MAN ON A MISSION, A MISSION TO DESTROY THE ENTIRE WWF!" Sid bellowed maniacally into the nearest camera. He coldly jumped off the apron onto Mo before he could get up, then jumped up and down on his back repeatedly. "Sid losing his mind again, taking it to Mo and then some-and oh no, he drops him throat-first on the barriers!" Monsoon grimaced at the action, "Mabel off the apron, coming around to try and help his partner, but Sid holding Mo in front of himself as a human shield, shouting that if Mabel takes one more step, he'll finish Mo's career for good. Mabel now freezing up, watching helplessly as his partner's thrown hard into the ring post-and here comes both Headshrinkers off the apron with diving headbutts. Mo taking a shellacking here; Oscar trying to shout encouragement to his man, who's been positioned partially under the ropes...and look at this, Sid yanking back on his head against the ropes! Get the guys in the white suits; he's completely lost his mind!"
"To quote Don Adams, Gorilla, 'And, loving it.'"
"Will you stop!? Referee asking Mo if he wants to submit after this terrible hold; Mo shouting that he won't through terrible agony; indeed, Backlund screaming to him across the ring not to surrender under any circumstances. Sid finally releases the hold, a stomp to the chest-and now makes a slashing gesture across his throat..."
"He's going to give Mo the Powerbomb, and nobody-and I mean nobody, Gorilla-ever gets up from that."
"Sycho Sid hefting Mo up over his shoulders; here comes the Powerbomb-and here comes Mabel from behind, and he plows into Sid, sending him toppling forward-and Mo's got the shoulders pinned down! One, two...Sid just escapes."
"That was terrible; what business did Mabel have interfering like that!?"
"You saw what Sid was threatening to do earlier on; good tag teams always stand up for each other. Sid finished for now, tags in Samu, who flings Mo into the corner while Jack Lotz herds Mabel out...and while his back's turned, Fatu chokes him out from behind; come on! Fatu now holding Mo in place for his partner, who rushed forward and nails Mo with the big splash, and now a gratuitous headbutt on top of that. Mo crumpling to the mat as Samu tags Fatu. Fatu climbs up to the top rope; I think a diving headbutt's coming up. Fatu with his hands on his partner's shoulders, measures Mo, and leaps over Samu...and Mo rolls out of the way at the last minute! Mo stumbling towards his corner; Fatu rushes into try and keep him from...too late, Mabel's tagged back in! Fatu tries to backpedal, but here comes Mabel, who splashes him hard into his partner in the corner! Mabel sandwiching both Headshrinkers repeatedly into the corner, yanks Samu out and gives him a headbutt of his own."
"Again, no damage to the guy."
"But this will; Mabel lifts Samu over his shoulder, and here comes a running powerslam-yes! Listen to this place go bananas!"
"He's not going for the cover though; what's he doing?"
"Mabel off the ropes, and big splash down on Samu's chest, and now the cover: one, two...no; that hand was just about to hit for the three. Mabel up and sits down hard on Samu; here comes Fatu, but a big armdrag by Mabel takes him down, and now Mabel hurls him over the top rope and out! Afa now running in too-and Mabel flattens him with a clothesline and, yes, he smashes the coconut over Afa's head! Mabel kicks the Headshrinkers' manager out of the ring, picks Samu up again; I think a piledriver's forthcoming-yes! Mabel done for the moment, and a tag to Backlund, who sends a dazed Samu into the ropes, and...hang on, Samu tagged Sid, I don't think Backlund saw it..."
"The ref did, though, so it's legal."
"Sid leaps over Samu on the rebound, and a diving tackle takes Backlund down! Sid punching away like there's no tomorrow on the former world champion, and now choking him out too, rather viciously..."
"Look, Gorilla, I think Backlund's starting to get that crazed look he had earlier in the match again," Ventura pointed at his monitor, "Something's going to happen again..."
"Sid, though, with a big slam of Backlund-now Whippleman shouting at his man from their corner; he's got that doctor's bag in hand again..."
"I love it; let's see what happens here."
"Sid rushes Backlund towards his...look out, Backlund reverses the momentum, and uh oh, Sid gets bashed with the bag instead!" Monsoon exclaimed over the roar of the crowd, "And look at Sid, he looks furious at his manager...!"
"Well that was an accident; he'd better not lose his cool here..."
"It's too late; Sid grabs Whippleman by the collar, demanding to know what the meaning of that was. Whippleman looking defiant, shouting back it wasn't his fault, that Sid was too clumsy. Actually, hold the phone, he's calling Sid an outright idiot; now wait a minute, that's not fair to...what's this now?" he frowned at his own monitor, "Backlund out of the ring, and he's getting a steel chair with a furious expression on his face. Arnold Skaaland waving his arms at him, begging him not to do it...and over at the timekeepers' table, Fatu getting a chair of his own...AND WHOA, IN THE RING SID NAILS WHIPPLEMAN WITH A CHOKESLAM, AND HE'S...YES, HE GIVES HIM A POWERBOMB TOO!" Monsoon roared with the crowd, "I think it's safe to say the two of them have just had a serious falling out here, and...and here comes Backlund with the chair, he's taking aim at Sid-and nails him from behind!"
"I'm liking this, Gorilla; Backlund should have done this years ago, let the anger out."
"Here comes Fatu with his chair behind Backlund-and here comes Men on a Mission to stop him-and Mo takes a chair shot to the face!" Monsoon grimaced, "Total chaos in here as the bell starts ringing; Backlund inexplicably continuing to hit the downed Sid with his chair, and the Headshrinkers and Men on a Mission brawling all-out with each other. I'm not sure what the official decision's going to be here..."
"If I were Tunney, Gorilla, I'm probably having second thoughts about letting this match go forward now; it's completely devolved into a total cluster-"
"Referee Lotz trying to get Backlund away from Sid, who frankly seems more like the victim in this case than the aggressor," Monsoon cut in quickly before his broadcast partner could deliver the curse word, "And let's get the official decision from Howard..."
"Ladies and gentlemen," Finkel declared loudly to the Silverdome, "The referee has disqualified both teams for illegal use of foreign objects."
"Look at Backlund; he looks possessed," the Body pointed to the former champion, "He's yelling at Howard, 'I won, I beat Sid fair; look at him, he's down and out...!'"
"Something not right here at all; this isn't the Bob Backlund I knew all these years. He would never...look at this, he's putting Sid into the Crossface Chickenwing!" he gasped as a crazed Backlund abruptly clamped the finisher on his dazed foe, despite the fact the bell continued to ring repeatedly, "What is he doing; the match is over! I never thought I'd see the day I'd feel sorry for Sycho Sid...!"
"And I never thought I'd see the day Backlund would finally stop being weak and spineless; good job, Bobby, you've finally become a man," Ventura openly applauded on the air.
"I can't believe you could condone...Arnold Skaaland looking panicked, prying his man away from Sid, demanding to know what in the world Backlund's doing. Backlund looking no less crazed, looks like he's shouting that...LOOK AT THIS, BOB BACKLUND CLAMPS THE CROSSFACE CHICKENWING ON HIS OWN MANAGER!" he gasped in horror, "BACKLUND'S GONE INSANE! LOOKS LIKE HE'S SHOUTING AT SKAALAND THAT HE RUINED HIS CAREER, THAT HE NEVER SUBMITTED TO THE IRON SHEIK AND THAT HE'S STILL THE WWF CHAMPION! SKAALAND SHRIEKING IN AGONY FROM THE HOLD...!"
"See, Gorilla, I had a point earlier, and you never gave me credit," Ventura shoved a finger in his face, "Skaaland's had this coming for a long time; he's held Backlund back for years."
"He did not, Jesse, and I don't know why Backlund's going off the deep end now like this! Backlund rolling on the floor, laughing maniacally, still applying the Crossface Chickenwing to Arnold Skaaland full blast; a stream of WWF officials running down to ringside, trying to protect Skaaland..."
"Hey, I'd worry more about Whippleman, he's still out cold from Sid's Powerbomb. And look at Men on a Mission; they're horrified at what's going on now..."
"Oscar looking utterly stunned at what Backlund's doing-looks like he's waving the equally stunned Mabel and Mo out of there. Men on a Mission leaving the ring; they want no part of Backlund's assault on Arnold Skaaland. Meanwhile, Sid slowly getting to his feet, he turns, and now he sees what's going on behind him. WWF officials trying to get Backlund away from Skaaland, but Bob still not letting go of the Crossface Chickenwing...BUT LOOK AT THIS, SID GRABS THE CHAIR AND STARTS BASHING BACKLUND WITH IT! HOLY MOLY, WHAT AN INCREDIBLE TURN OF EVENTS THIS IS; THE CROWD'S NOW CHEERING SID TO TAKE OUT BACKLUND!"
"Has he lost his mind now too!? Don't stop him, you fool; Skaaland deserves this!" Ventura lambasted Sid.
"Backlund screaming at him to mind his own business-and now slaps the Crossface Chickenwing on Sid! Backlund screeching like there's no tomorrow, having completely lost his marbles for whatever reason-but look at this, Sid breaks the hold, and now Powerbombs Backlund! And now he picks him up and gives him another one, and he's getting a tremendous cheer for it! What an incredible turn of events here!"
"And look at the Headshrinkers in the corner; they don't know what's going on or who to support," the Body pointed, "And I'm just as confused as everyone else, Gorilla: since everyone in wrestling seems to want to divide the wrestlers into 'good guys' and 'bad guys'-and even though it's clear you and I have different opinions on what constitutes which side-you tell me who the good guy and who the bad guy is here, because I have no idea right now."
"The fans are making it quite clear who they think the good guy is; they're giving Sid Justice a major ovation as he delivers a third Powerbomb to Bob Backlund," Monsoon held up his headset to catch the applause, "WWF officials swarming over, they're now carrying off the still raving Bob Backlund, who appears to be screaming that he wants an immediate title shot, that he is still the WWF champion and wants to defend it. It's clear he's going to need psychiatric help first and foremost, though."
"Well, the doctors better make it quick; this guy deserves a shot to officially regain his crown that the Iron Sheik thought he took and that Hogan kept from him..."
"WILL YOU STOP!? Medics now attending to Arnold Skaaland, whom we hope was not severely injured by that unwarranted attack-and speaking of which, the Headshrinkers and Afa trying to sneak up on Sid from behind...no, he turns and chokeslams both Samu and Fatu at once-and now a Powerbomb to Afa as well! The Headshrinkers and Harvey Whippleman lying groaning on the mat here in Detroit, and it's quite clear to me that despite the roughness of those moves, Sid Justice is no long a 'bad guy.'"
"You mean just like Razor Ramon isn't even though he still insists on calling himself one?"
"Don't start with that again! Sid Justice getting another big ovation for coming to Arnold Skaaland's defense, and maybe, just maybe, he may get a new shot at life here in the WWF for such a good deed. This one again ending in a double DQ, but both teams gave it their all before everything went wild and crazy in this one, which I suspect is far from finished as far as Sid Justice and Bob Backlund are concerned."
"You know it, Gorilla, and because Sid has no backbone, I'm going to support Bob in this one."
"You can support whoever you want, but you'll be in the minority there. Speaking of big ovations like the one Sid's now getting, there's bound to be an even bigger one coming next in what will be the final match of Andre the Giant's illustrious career..."