Sharc vs. Daniel Phillips

Pressure Point 68
July 21, 2003

The sound of Korn's "Dirty" hit the speakers. The lights did no go blood red. There were no special effects tonight for him. No doubt a little punishment by Reed Young. He walked down the aisle wearing a black T-shirt with PIW in red letters across his chest. He walked down the aisle and slid under the bottom rope. He sat there on his knees, getting just about no reaction from the crowd.

He stared at them and ran his left hand through his blood red hair. And smiled. He stood up and raised his arms as high as he possibly could. He had the fans just where he wanted them right now, in his mind.

Lights out.

<i>CLASH</i>

"Downfall" by TRUSTcompany.

Boos in.

The King of the Cruiserweights was about to make his entrance, as he burst through both the curtain and the shower of sparks that followed, giving the crowd his usual treatment of middle finger gestures, "fuck Detroit's, and other assorted nuances that made Daniel Phillips one of the most hated individuals in Action! Wrestling today. He went with green for today's color scheme of choice, regarding his tights, and he simply paid Sharc no mind as he headed for the ring.

Daniel hopped up onto the apron and entered the ring, taking his red-tinted sunglasses off as he went, and giving the crowd another finger. He proceeded to march over to an unoccupied corner, and hand the ring attendant his sunglasses, with specific instructions not to break them, or he'll "break his fucking face in".

Something like that, anyway.

Phillips in. Sharc didn't even flinch. Phillips walked up to Sharc and saluted him with a pair of middle fingers. If you could read lips, well, Sharc said something like, "You sure you don't want that brick?"

Bell sounded.

Sharc didn't move. But Phillips did.

A couple of kicks in the stomach backed Sharc into the corner, but when Daniel tried to Irish whip him, Sharc simply didn't cooperate. So, Daniel proceeded to give him the finger, kick him in the stomach a few more times, and pull him out of the corner. A European uppercut followed, backing Sharc into the corner again.

This time, instead of Irish whipping Sharc, Daniel simply dropped down and used a fireman's carry takeover to take him out of the corner and down onto the mat, whereupon he latched in an armbar.

"Are you kidding me?" Sharc roared at Phillips as he shook his head. The crowd didn't know what to make of this. Sharc pounded on his chest, faking a heart attack, making fun of the "wrestling" aspect of the match. Sharc turned around and was ready to belt Phillips in the face but stopped. "Nice armbar. Zimmerman teach you that one?"

"You really suck at this." Daniel said, bashing Sharc in the face and opening him up hardway with a gash on his eye.

Daniel released the hold, only to pull Sharc up to his feet, perform a go-behind, and hit Sharc with a Blue Thunder powerbomb, or the Inciter I if some of you bother to notice.

And then there was stomping.

Oh, lord, there was stomping.

Sharc took it all. Every stomp to every part of his body. He felt to blood trickling down his face, stinging his eye, and he didn't care. At all. He just laid there on the mat, the biggest, stupidest grin on his face. His arms open wide, allowing to his just about every spot Phillips foot would go that wouldn't be considered birth control.

Daniel groaned.

I mean, maybe he understood the point Sharc was trying to make. He was a former Asylum fighter and he was in IWO, the only place that could've ever claimed to be more hardcore than PIW. But to be this uncooperative?

Well, fuck that.

Daniel allowed for Sharc to get up. Sharc, with blood trickling down his eye, smiled his big stupid smile and gave Daniel the finger.

Daniel responded with a double deuce of his own, because he had enough of this.

Somwhere, Steve Austin was blushing at this middle finger abuse.

KICK.

WHAM.

PERFECT HALO.

With the implant cutter that was his finishing maneuver connecting, Daniel casually dropped down into the cover.

Ichi.

Ni.

San.

And that was that, as far as Daniel Phillips thought.

As Phillips had his hand raised by, well, himself, there was some movement behind him. Sharc was a bit groggy, no doubt, but that wasn't going to stop him. He was behind Phillips, a Phillips who thought Sharc was all done for.

Little did he know.

Sharc grabbed Phillips around the neck and bent him backward! Sharc looked down into Phillips eyes for just a moment, and then looked around at the crowd, which, suddenly, just became VERY interested in this match. Sharc grabbed hold of Phillips tights and had him straight up in the air for his reverse brainbuster!

Blood In the Water!

Sharc stood up, looking around the crowd with a little bit different kind of smile. This one, a smile with a sadistic, humorous edge. The crowd was cheering on Sharc. The man had played the heel in Action since his debut this year, but with this assault on the hated Phillips, they either liked him, or they just liked seeing Phillips go down. He looked down at Phillips and slid to the floor and under the ring.

Table time.

But that table wasn't coming into the ring. It was staying right there on the floor.

Sharc slid back into the ring and grabbed hold of both of Phillips' feet. Phillips was dragged towards the apron and then Sharc pulled him down onto the table. Sharc got up on the apron and was about to go inside. But first....

STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP. Right to Phillips' skull. A little payback. He ran into the ring, across the other side of the ring and was charging back toward the side of the ring where Phillips waited on the table on the floor...

The crowd in unison got to their feet. Ready to give Sharc the biggest pop of his life.

Sharc grabbed hold of the top rope and launched himself over with a somersault.

CRUNCH

POP!

Phillips ate sawdust.

A combination of "P-I-W! P-I-W!" and "Holy shits" followed. Sharc stumbled to his feet and the roar from the crowd is something he would have never expected, after what he'd done prior to his moment.

After looking around at all the fans, Sharc raised his arms once more in triumph, spit in Phillips' general direction, and headed for the aisle. No doubt wishing this moment could be frozen, other than in his mind.

NEXT CHAPTER: Showdown >>

©2003 John Leary