AUTHOR'S NOTE: Real American lyrics are trademarked by their respective copyright holders.
"Hold still, you stupid British boob!" the Sheik bellowed, chasing Davey around the ring. The British Bulldog ducked under the Iranian's attempted clothesline, slid out of the ring, raced a quarter of the way around, then rolled back in and kicked the Sheik in the face to hold him at bay. Groaning, the Sheik stumbled over to Blassie. "This is ridiculous, Freddie; why won't he fight me like a man?" he complained.
"He's a coward, Sheiky; he's always been," the Classy One rolled his eyes in disgust, "Well, I know how to fix this. Get him over this way."
"Right," the Sheik rolled into the ring. Blassie checked his watch impatiently. The match had gone on for close to forty minutes now, with Davey hardly landing any blows, and leading the Sheik on a merry chase in and out of the ring, staying out just long enough each time to avoid a countout. But now, he was going to give the British Bulldog a taste of his own medicine.
He stepped down into a crouching position and watched the Sheik kick Davey's legs out from under him, dive out of the ring and run in his manager's direction. "Yeah, that's it, follow him out," Blassie mumbled under his breath, raising his cane. Once the Sheik turned the corner, he shouted, "Down!" and walloped Davey hard in the chest with the cane once the Sheik had hit the deck. He added another cane shot to the head for good measure, then rolled the British Bulldog into the ring. "Cover, now!" he ordered the Sheik, who dove through the ropes and hooked the leg to get a three count. "Finally!" Blassie exclaimed out loud, exasperated, "That was the longest unnecessary match I've ever had! Let's go," he waved the Sheik out of the ring.
"Shut up you mutt!" the Sheik snapped at a barking Mathilda before sliding out of the ring and following his manager through the cheering crowds into the tunnel. "Good work, Comrade Blassie," Menzhinsky commended him and the Sheik on the other side, "Now the Soviet Union is tied with America for the Summit Series cup; Volkoff's default victory well clinch it."
"And for all you people have done for us, we're glad to give it to you," Blassie glanced around, "Where's Nikolai...?"
"Coming, Comrade Blassie," Volkoff sounded slurred as he stumbled out of the locker room, visibly intoxicated. "Nikolai, what did I tell you about getting drunk before matches?" Blassie upbraided him.
"We tried to stop him, Freddie, but he smuggled in vodka without us knowing," Perfect was shaking his head as he and Flair exited the locker room behind Volkoff.
"Besides, I don't think that victory tour we went on all day where he had full access to liquor helped," the Nature Boy added.
"I'm not surprised," snorted an sarcastic voice from around the corner, "People under your control tend to be completely out of control, Freddie."
"Care to say that again?" furious, Blassie dragged the rotund figure of Captain Lou Albano around the corner, "I think that describes you to the T as well, Albano...!"
"My men play by the rules, at least these days; as you may have noted, my U.S. Express won their match earlier by the book," Captain Lou said firmly, glaring in Blassie's face, "And while I may have been a louse myself for so long..."
"You're not just a louse, Albano, you're a sellout and a traitor!" Blassie ripped into him, "I thought you were someone I could trust, but then you stabbed me and my good friend the Grand Wizard-God rest his soul-in the back by going soft!"
"OK Freddie, you want to play hardball, I can play hardball!" Captain Lou pulled himself away and screamed at Blassie, "You and the Wizard were cheating cowards from day one, and it's my own stupidity that I hung out with the both of you for so long. But I was lucky; I saw the light, and I got away and reformed while I had the chance. Now, through the U.S. Express and everyone else I manage today, I think I'm more of a man that I was when I..."
"You're a subhuman slug, Albano, plain and simple, and, like I said, a traitor!" Blassie screamed back, "And one day...!"
"It's time to go, Comrade Blassie," Menzhinsky told him, waving an honor guard of Soviet troops, each bearing arms and the Soviet flag, forward towards the tunnel.
"Right, right. Nikolai, suck it up and try and look sober," Blassie started towards his charge-then abruptly turned and bashed an unsuspecting Albano over the head with his cane. "And some day, I'll do worse than that, Albano, because that's what happens to traitors!" he snarled at his former friend, "Sheik, come on, you're his second, remember?"
"Coming, Freddie," the Sheik was slipping on his headdress and a coat. "Straight line, Nikolai, just walk out to the ring in a straight line, and all will be well," he told his partner, handing Volkoff another Soviet flag and placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him.
"And don't worry, all of you; Hogan's safely in the gulag, with the championship belt coming our way real soon; this is our victory lap at last, WOOOOOO!" Flair shouted in celebration.
"Of course, Ric. All right, Nikolai, let's go out for your moment of glory," Blassie told his charge proudly, nonetheless rolling his eyes as Volkoff drunkenly belched out loud. He stepped into position behind the honor guard, who snapped to attention and shouldered their rifles, then at their captain's command marched out the tunnel towards the ring while patriotic Russian music blared over the stadium's loudspeakers. Blassie fell into line with Volkoff behind them (with the Sheik bringing up the rear), smiling at the tremendous ovation they were getting from the crowd. "Finally, people who appreciate me," he mumbled out loud, "Maybe I ought to move here after I retire."
"We'd make sure you have a good retirement apartment and pension then, Comrade Blassie," Volkoff told him, managing despite his hangover to hold the Soviet flag high to more cheers. He climbed up to the top rope once they reached the ring (which was being surrounded by the honor guard) and waved it wildly to even more cheers-before drunkenly toppling off the ropes to the mat. Blassie rolled his eyes again. But at least Hogan wasn't going to ruin the moment this time. Now if only the belt would arrive for Volkoff in the next few minutes...
He smiled grandly as he approached the center of the ring, waving for the ring announcer to give him the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Soviet Union," he announced out loud, staring right at but not recognizing the glum-looking Polivinovs in the front row, "Will you all please rise and sing along with your great national hero and newly crowned world champion Nikolai Volkoff as he sings the Soviet National Anthem for all of you."
The ring announcer repeated the request in Russian before handing it to Volkoff, who belched loudly into it before starting a proud, if slurred, rendition of the Soviet anthem. Blassie removed his own hat, planted it to his chest, and started singing along himself as well. It was definitely his finest hour, he knew, and in moments, the world championship would officially be his...
"Say, Freddie, you hear something?" the Sheik abruptly raised his hand, frowning. Blassie stopped singing and listened hard. And, in the distance, from the tunnel, something could in fact be heard. He rubbed his ears; it couldn't be what it sounded like. But there it was again, now louder: "...when it comes crashing down and it hurts inside, you've got to take a stand; it don't help to hide..."
"No, it can't be," he shook his head firmly, "It's got to be my imagination..."
"...if you hurt my friends, then you hurt my pride," it came louder still, "I've got to be a man; I can't let it slide..."
"What's happening here?" the Sheik was starting to look worried. It was at that moment that a stream of panicked-looking Soviet soldiers ran out the tunnel, screaming. Seconds later, the entire facade of the tunnel collapsed as a large vehicle plowed into the stadium, the music blaring louder than ever: "I am a real American; fight for the rights of every man. I am a real American; fight for what's right, fight for your life..."
"NO!" Blassie shrieked at the top of his lungs, unable to mistake the figure wearing the world championship belt standing up now on top of the vehicle, waving an American flag proudly and defiantly to the silent, stunned stadium, "IT'S NOT POSSIBLE! HE'S IN THE DAMN GULAG!"
"I feel strong about right and wrong," Hulk started singing his theme as well loud enough to be heard in the ring, "And I don't take trouble for very long. I've got something deep inside of me; courage is the thing that keeps us free..."
"I am a real American; fight for the rights of every man..." everyone else on the huge truck joined in with him, even those holding the British, Canadian, Scottish, French, and Mexican flags. "Hey, what's going on?" Volkoff blinked drunkenly at the approaching vehicle.
"What's going on is we're screwed, Nikolai!" the Sheik lamented, shaking his head as Hulk leaped off the truck as it slid to a stop at the edge of the aisle, hopped up to the ring apron, and defiantly ripped the HULK RULES T-shirt he'd slipped on over his coat clean through before raising and waving the American flag once more. Viktor also hopped down, a wide smile spreading on his face. "Vera!" he cried to his wife in the front row, who shrieked in delight to see him, leaped over the barricades, and flung herself into his arms. "Oh, I thought I'd never see you again: Kostya, Marina, I missed you all this time..." he scooped his children up and embraced them as well.
"Here he is, safe and sound," Bret slid down to the ground and approached the happy family, "We promised we'd get him out too, didn't we?"
"I...I don't know what to say... thank you," tears of joy flowing down her face, Vera embraced him as well.
"All right, Hart; I don't know what stunt you're pulling here, but I want that oversized contraption out of here right now, or you and Hogan don't have a match!" Blassie shouted at the Hitman.
"Oh I think we will very much have a match, Blassie. Bring him here, Andre," Savage waved to the Giant, who dragged a limp Yermakov forward. "You see, Freddie, the general here enlivened us to a few things on the way back from the prison," the Macho Man hopped up to the apron and glared the Classy One down, "a lot of interesting things about a certain plot to give Volkoff the championship by throwing the champ in jail, something about DiBiase's money helping him decide to go along with it, yeah."
"You can't prove a damn thing, Macho; it's your word against mine, and we're in a place where the word of anyone connected with my man goes," Blassie countered.
"Maybe, but I think those American news agencies would believe us," Savage grandly gestured at the network news cameras at ringside filming the event, "So as I see it, you either back off and let the match proceed fairly, or we tell the media everything, and Jack Tunney has you, Volkoff, and everybody else in on this kicked out of organized wrestling for good once we get back to the states, ooooooh yeah. So what's it gonna be, hot dog?"
"Yeah, what's it going to be, you cheating cad?" Andre added, stepping onto the apron himself, where he towered visibly over Blassie. Blassie for once gulped to be in the Giant's presence. He glanced backwards at Volkoff, swaying drunkenly in place and belching loudly once more, then back at Savage and Andre. "I hate you," he growled at them, "I hate every last one of you...!"
"Don't worry, Comrade Blassie, I can take Hogan easy," Volkoff bragged with a still-noticeable slur, "Ring the bell timekeeper; let's get this on."
He pulled off his ring jacket and tossed it blindly in Blassie's direction, then stumbled drunkenly towards Hulk as the bell rang and swung a wild punch that missed completely. Hulk easily moved out of the Russian's way, then grabbed his arm and flung him into the far corner. "U.S.A.! U.S.A.!" a wound up Duggan started shouting atop the assault vehicle, where the rest of the Western wrestlers, excepting the Savages in Hulk's corner, had now congregated.
"Shut up you monkey!" the Sheik screeched at him. "What do we do now, Freddie?" he asked the Classy One worriedly, watching Hulk piledrive Volkoff to the mat and cover him, but only getting a two count this time, "If I knew Nikolai would have to be in here dead drunk..."
"I'm thinking, I'm thinking!" Blassie bellowed at him, sweating nervously in the cold, snowy air. He grimaced as Volkoff swung wildly at thin air several times and was then flattened by Hulk to the mat. "We're going to have to help him; give me the brass knuckles," he extended his arm.
"Um..." the Sheik searched frantically through his coat pockets, "Not here; they must be back at the hotel-I didn't think we'd need them, Freddie!" he protested when his manager glared at him, "I thought Hogan was locked up and as good as dead...!"
"Stop him!" Blassie pointed frantically into the ring, where Hulk was diving on Volkoff for another cover. The Sheik dove through the rope and broke up the pin in time-but was then decked hard in the face by Hulk for his troubles. The world champion hauled Volkoff up and rammed the two Mega Mercenaries together, then picked up Volkoff and slammed him hard. A wild look raging in his eyes, Hulk rushed for the ropes to enact the atomic leg drop, but Blassie grabbed the leg and tripped him. "Cripple him, while I figure out how to stop him for good!" he ordered his men, digging through his own pockets to search for anything that could be used to his advantage.
"Yes, Comrade Blassie. Good night, Hogan you bourgeois swine," Volkoff stumbled towards his foe-and right past him, ending up hanging over the ropes, where he proceeded to throw up. Blassie just managed to get out of the way in time. "Next time, remind me to keep you away from liquor before matches!" he upbraided the Russian. "Sheik, here!" he tossed his cane into the ring at the Iranian, who grabbed it and started towards Hulk...
"OOOOOOOOOh no you don't!" Savage rushed in and intercepted the Sheik. He knocked the cane out of his hands, grabbed him by the collar, rushed towards the ropes, and dove over them, snapping the Sheik back into the ring awkwardly. Hulk, meanwhile yanked Volkoff off the ropes with wild eyes, picked him up, and slammed him one more time. "That's it, Hulk; finish him now while he's down!" Elizabeth shouted the order from his corner.
"You've got it. Here we go, Volkoff, just like Lake Placid!" Hulk shouted to his opponent. He then quickly bounced off the far ropes, dropped the leg on the Russian and covered him for the three count. He let out an excited cry as the bell rang. The United States' honor had been upheld.
With a wide smile, he strode over to the corner and took the championship belt off the timekeeper, thrusting it into the air to the strains of Real American now playing again from his applauding teammates on the assault vehicle (and the loud crash as Blassie flipped over the timekeeper's table in frustration outside the ring). "Get it good, America," he held the belt towards the American network cameras, "This is why we're better than the Soviets at heart."
"You did it!" an ecstatic Elizabeth climbed into the ring and hugged him, "I'm so glad you overcame everything to...!"
"I'll kill you!" a murderous expression on his face, Blassie stormed into the ring, his cane back in hand. "You've embarrassed me and kept me from my belt for the last time, Hogan!" he snarled hatefully at the champion, "And I've had it with you upstaging me, you dirty skirt!" he bellowed even more hatefully at Elizabeth, raising his cane like a weapon, "You've both had this coming for a long time now...!"
"You ain't touching a hair on her head, Blassie!" livid, Savage stepped into his path, lifted the Classy One off his feet and hurled him on top of the prostrate Volkoff. "What happened?" the Soviet wrestler mumbled, stumbling to get to his feet, "Why hasn't the match started yet?"
With an angry roar, Blassie started kicking his charge unmercifully. "It's not over yet!" he barked at the Mega Powers between kicks, "That's MY title, and I'm going to get it next year no matter if everyone you know has to be crippled...!"
"You think you can cripple me, Blassie?" Andre stepped alongside him again, making the Classy One shiver. Andre growled at him and stepped forward, making Blassie quickly dive out of the ring. "Sorry, Freddie I tried..." a dazed Sheik tried to say to him, only to get decked in the jaw for his troubles. Blassie stomped up the aisle, leaving the dazed Volkoff behind in the ring, shouting one last time back towards Hulk, "Justice will be done next year, Hogan, mark my words!"
"Yeah, yeah, merry Christmas to you too, Blassie, ooooooooh yeah!" Savage shouted after him. His brow furled even more when he turned to see his wife still hugging Hulk hard. But before he could say anything, the rest of the Rock 'n Wrestling Connection poured into the ring. "Hail to the champion!" Piper all but screamed, lifting Hulk off his feet.
"Good work, Hulk; you whipped him good," Bret commended him as well.
"Just another day's work, Hitman; why thank you," Hulk looked down to see the Polivinovs at ringside now, and Kostya was handing him the American flag. He happily took it from the boy and waved it proudly despite the crowd's stunned silence. Then he pushed the ropes down and waved the entire Polivinov family into the ring. Hesitantly, they did so. Hulk took hold of Viktor's hand and raised it in celebration; the man deserve it too, he felt, for getting his freedom back on the most important night of the year. And then, an idea crossed his mind. A smile simultaneously crossed his face. He knew exactly what he could get the family for Christmas...
"I thank you sincerely, ambassador," he said into the phone back at the apartment complex much later, "I'll let them know right now. Merry Christmas to you too."
He hung up and walked back into the main apartment, where most of his teammates were sipping celebratory champagne with their hosts around the Summit Series trophy, now on its way back to the victorious U.S. "...Christmas morning, we'd come down in a flash, and in the good years when Stampede was making tons of money, there would be just an absolute mountain of presents waiting for us under the tree," Bret was telling the Polivinovs, "Some of the wars we had to open them were just as intense as the matches my brothers and I would have in the ring."
Hulk cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. "Speaking of presents, Viktor, Vera, I have one for you and the kids," he told them, taking a dramatic breath, "I just talked to the U.S. ambassador here; he'll willing to grant all of you asylum and safe passage."
"What?" Viktor looked happily stunned, "You mean...?"
"That's right," the world champion smiled, "I've arranged you all a permanent trip out of the Soviet Union. They'll help set you so all up in an American city of your choice, and make sure you can get better jobs than the ones you have now."
"Oh my God..." Vera looked stunned herself, "A real, real job..."
"Yep, no more janitorial work for you," Hulk told her proudly, "And, they'll also make sure they set something up with a good eye doctor so that Marina can finally have some sight."
Vera burst out sobbing in delight. "I...I don't know what to say," she mumbled, walking up to the world champion and then hugging him, "I...I'm sorry if I couldn't trust you all earlier...you did get Viktor back as you promised..."
"When we make promises, we intend to keep them," Davey told her, dropping Mathilda into Marina's lap again, "Consider this a special Christmas present from all of us."
"Yep, and you'll find America's infinitely better than anything here. We're glad to have some more citizens," Duggan told them proudly.
"So, Jim, now I suppose you see that not all Russians are bad, right?" Bret had to ask him.
"Well, I guess you were right, Hitman; these people here are all right," Duggan rubbed Kostya's hair.
"How about me?" Nikita spoke up from the corner, frowning.
"Yeah, Koloff, you're not so bad once someone gets to know you," Hacksaw conceded, "Your uncle still has a ways to go, but you're a good man at heart."
"Much appreciated," Nikita smiled, walking over and shaking Duggan's hand. "Well, Mr. Slaughter, you did it; you successfully completed one final mission," he walked towards the former Marine at the window, where he was finishing off his latest round of champagne, "You feel better now?"
"Much better, Mr. Koloff; I fought the good fight and won," Slaughter indeed looked happier now, "I gave dozens of people, including Mr. Polivinov, freedom, and what can be a better Christmas gift from America than that? So, a toast," he raised his glass high, "To the noble concept of universal freedom, and the best wishes for it in the coming year."
"To freedom," everyone agreed, raising their own glasses.
"And to Hogan," Slaughter raised his glass to the champion as well, "Long may he continue to reign."
"I hope so too, Sarge," Hulk smiled, raising his own glass, "Three years now; hard to believe I've been champ that long. Well, here's hoping to at least three more years on top giving America honor in the world of ahtletics."
"Three years," Savage mused softly, staring out the window of his room at the Christmas snow still falling heavily outside, having left the party early, "That's an awful long time to be champion..."
"What does it matter how long he's champion, Randy?" Elizabeth posed from the bed, where she was finishing the magazine she'd brought, "Certainly he's earned it being able to fairly keep it this long."
"Still, three years is pretty long," the Macho Man pointed out, frowning, "A lot of people come and go during those times-people who're just as worthy. Look at the rest of the Connection; they'd all make good champs too if they had the chance, yeah."
"They'll get their chance, Randy, just as you will," she rationalized, finishing the magazine and placing it on the nightstand, "Try not to let it worry you."
Savage shook his head softly. "I can't help it," he mumbled, "There's so many worthy contenders out there; why should one man have it for so long? I'm not gonna be young forever; I jumped from Dad's outfit for a chance at the world title. If he holds on to it till I'm too old...what if he never let's go of it till he retires...?"
He sighed out loud. "I can't help it, Elizabeth," he repeated, "I see everyone swarm him every time he wins, I see the smile on his face, see how thrilled he is to be cared for like that-I want that for us, I want to know how it feels to have reached the top of the mountain. And if anyone deserves the belt, it's you; for everything you've done to make my life better, you deserve nothing less than the title. If he holds it forever..."
A low sigh was all he got in response. He turned to see his bride had already fallen asleep. Shaking his head, Savage pulled the blind shut and climbed into bed with her. "Merry Christmas, Elizabeth Ann Hulette," he whispered softly, pulling her into a kiss and rubbing her hair affectionately, "I promise you, I'll get you your title this year, one way or another; I'll get you the world championship you deserve..."
THE END-FOR NOW