Post by Jeff L. on Oct 7, 2024 11:44:57 GMT -5
“Hello, wrestling fans, my name’s Bob Caudle, and together with my partner, Mr. Ventura, we welcome you on for this fifth night of the Atlantic Cup.”
Ventura took over: “And tonight’s special surprise, the one-night-only deluxe, welcome our guest commentator for this evening, Jerry, THE KING, Lawler!”
Lawler cued in: “Now, I don’t know if you two are familiar, but I have a little bit of experience here on commentary myself, so I think I’ll be just fine tonight. As for you, my loyal Lawler lovers, and I don’t mean just the females”, he snickered and giggled self-indulgingly, “don’t worry: The King is merely on a recon mission, looking for my next best move, and my next chance to strike.”
Ventura then picked up the cue: “If scouting is your mission, King Jerry, I have just the tool for you. Bestow thine royal gaze upon the fates of the knights of the Atlantic up to this point. You can see who’s on top, who’s on the bottom, and everyone in between. You may choose from these, whomever your kingly heart sees fit!”.
Bob Caudle then continued: “As you can see, Mr. Funk had decided not to put you as the replacement for Robinson in Block B, Mr. Lawler, but I believe you’re gonna find something to do here in ARC soon enough.”
And finally, Lawler finished the opening calls: “Oh no worries there, Mr. Caudle. I sure as hell will.”
Next man with mic time was waiting backstage, Afa the Samoan.
“Next week, a pretender on the throne, and a true Chief of his tribe, will battle it out. There is no greater ally than your family, but even when your own family betrays you, your friends are always there. I support Wahoo McDaniel in the next week’s Clash of the Chiefs. As for tonight, another great friend awaits me in that ring. Jack, there are few men in that locker room I respect more than you, but tonight, you will be looking at the lights, as I put yours out with a Samoan Splash!”.
#1. Jack Brisco vs Afa
Jack Brisco respected Afa as much as Afa respected Jack Brisco. Hence, the men shook hands, before circling each other around the ring, drawing ever closer, and finally locking up. Afa did lock up with Brisco out of respect, but he knew he’d never match his amateur prowess.
And Brisco worked Afa’s joints without a hitch. Collar-and-elbow quickly turned into a wristlock, and then a hammerlock. Afa tried to throw an elbow to get Jack off of his back, but Brisco ducked, before spinning The Samoan around, and placing him on the mat with a double leg takedown. Brisco worked the legs for a few minutes, before Afa turned the contest into his own specialty – a slugfest.
Brisco was however, not angered; he persevered, and endured a barrage of kicks and right hands from the islander. Ducking a punch, he quickly delivered a single leg-pick takedown, and would have went into the front mount position, if it wasn’t for Afa kicking him away. Slowly, favouring the leg already, Afa got up, and ran full speed at Brisco. And the amateur Oklahoman side-stepped, before kicking the back of the islander’s leg, sending him crashing into the ropes.
Brisco would work the hurt leg even more now, outwitting the passion of the Samoan on his every step. But slowly, even with the hurt leg, Afa would rise for one final hoorah. He proceeded to play his biggest hits: chops, savate kicks, a hip attack, and a Samoan Drop all followed in quick succession. But Afa still heavily favoured the leg, delaying the pin. And with a few precious seconds spent, Brisco would kick out at two.
Afa knew he had only one more weapon left, and it was of the high-risk variety. He started climbing the top rope, but his leg gave him trouble. Jack saw this, he waited for this moment the whole match, and had worked up to it. As stoic as he was during the match, he now moved as quickly as an arrow; blitzing to the second rope to meet Afa, he snatched the islander’s hurt leg, and delivered a knee-twisting, tendon-tearing, awfully-looking, top rope dragon screw.
On the mat once more, right in Brisco’s territory, Afa found himself in a kneebar. He fought on bravely, until Jack bloody bridged out, applying an ungodly amount of torsion on the leg. Finally, Afa had quit. And not a soul in the arena blamed him.
Men shook hands, friends still; but Afa was disappointed. There was no shame in losing to a Brisco, nor in losing table points. It’s the trying timing of it – he couldn’t afford a loss if he was to face the High Chief down the line.
#2. Harley Race vs Abdullah the Butcher
Race attacked Butcher as soon as the bell rang: he knew The Butcher’s tactics, and he wouldn’t let him assert them.
The battle spilled to the outside; the ref was liberal with the count, and the men fought all around the ringside area, with barricade bumps, cable chokes, post shots, all of it. The Butcher was already bleeding.
In the ring, Butcher saw his blood, and lost all control. He attacked Race with a wildman onslaught, and yet The King persevered. Butcher missed the Meat Cleaver elbow drop, and held his hurt arm. Race impressed the audience with picking Butcher up, and he delivered a shoulderbreaker on the hurt arm.
Race saw the top rope, and thought about his next move. He rethought the diving headbutt however. Instead, he locked in an armbar, and The Butcher, although a brawler in his own right, now reached for the rope and a clean, legal break. Both men got up, but Harley was quicker, as he landed a pair of High Knees to the hurt arm/shoulder area. Abdullah the Butcher was on his knees, holding his arm in pain.
Harley would proceed to beat him to the mat, and finally went to the top rope. Butcher noticed this even through the pain, and promptly rolled out of the ring, and as he exited up the ramp, he kicked away at the equipment and cussed the ringside technicians, on his way through the curtain. Referee proclaimed Harley the winner, and The King on the commentary wondered if Race was satisfied with a count-out. Yet, Race did not seem to bothered; the points were what counted, anyway.
Gerald Brisco vs Billy Robinson was the third match scheduled for tonight, but Robinson had left AJPW a few weeks ago
Gerald Brisco came out in his wrestling gear, sporting a Ribera Steakhouse jacket. Once in the ring, he grabbed a mic, saying even though Robinson, his scheduled opponent, had left AJPW, he’d still like a chance to score his three points, much like Duncum had the chance two weeks ago.
“Wouldn’t you say this is a chance you’ve been scanning for tonight, King?”, Caudle questioned.
To which The King answered: “You know damn well I have my singlet under this blazer, Bob. But I’ll wait for Mr. Funk’s official word, if this is what he’d planned.”
Surely enough, ARC Commissioner DFJ came down the ramp, and applauding Brisco’s fighting spirit, he turned towards Lawler on commentary, who was already seen smiling, and removing his headset. The music then hit, but it wasn’t The Great Gate at Kyiv. In fact, the lights in the arena turned down, and red strobe light started pulsing.
It was then followed by sounds of footsteps, and then, the heavy, greasy, distorted riff of the electric guitar. Some recognised the sound, and exploded in a pop. Other soon joined, as a metallic, electric voice uttered:
As Iron Man from Black Sabath played, two warriors clad in leather shoulder-pads, armed with steel spikes, faces painted in post-apocalyptic reds and blacks, entered through the curtain, to a salvo of wild cheers. The Road Warriors had rode in to All Japan.
Hawk clotheslined Brisco where he was standing. Dory Funk went to scold him, but Animal ripped the mic out of his hand, before biting the mic head off of its stick. Both Warriors faced down The Commissioner, and he knew better than to push his authority any further. The post-apocalyptic crew brutally stomped on the fallen Briscoe, and having bloodied him, they disposed his unconscious carcass to the ringside. They’ve made their bloody mark, and exited through the crowd before security got the hold of them. As if they could, anyway.
Jack Brisco himself, still tired after his own match, went out to chase the Warriors away, and they knew they had nothing left to prove. Brisco Brothers left the ringside as well, looking over their shoulders for the Road Warriors. But they were already nowhere to be found.
#3. Stan Hansen vs Bobby Duncum Jr.
Hansen’s face was seen backstage. His signature moustache lifted, as he screamed the words out of his mouth:
“Now would youuu look at that - ol’ “king” Harley with a countout victory. I call it as I see it, and tonight - I saw it. You’re nothing but a fraud, Race, a lying, cheating, sorry coward! Ohhh, when I get my hands on you, Race, you’re gonna piss yourself so bad, your trunks are gonna match that yellow streak you got runnin’ down your back! And you, lil’ Bobby, you better not run away, boy, I’m coming to flog ya…”, Hansen whipped his lariat on the floor, and pointed to the camera, “…right goddamn now!”.
BDJ was already in the ring, listening, visibly distraught, as Sunrise played over the PA system; The Man came to town. Swinging his lariat as he entered the ring, both the ref and poor ol’ Bobby Duncum cleared the ring. Facing the crowd as he took off his hat and jacket, Stan screamed YOUUUUUTH! to the audience, half of them cheering, other half wincing away.
The cowboy screamed at the ref and Duncum to enter the ring. Both obliged, begrudgingly. And as soon as they did, the bell rang, and Hansen elbowed Bobby all the way to the mat. The Man did not yield, and continued with elbows and knee drops, as he bloodied the younger man’s nose already.
Stan wiped Bobby’s blood off of his face with his hand, and looking at it, he laughed: already, boy?!, after which he got the boy in question up for a pair of suplexes. Duncum managed to kick out of these, and ran to the ringside area, looking for an exit.
But The Man already caught his trail; dragging him by the hair, he flinged BDJ’s head against the steel post, which produced a sickening sound, not unlike the clank of a hammer against an anvil. But this was no hammer; it was in fact, poor Bobby’s bloodied head.
Hansen rolled the boy in the ring. As the ref went to check in on Bobby, he was soon chased away by the mere presence of the chaotic cowboy. And Stan found it within his heart to put the boy out of his misery. Pulling him by the hair, he finally put him to sleep with a brutal, yet in context, perhaps merciful, Western Lariat.
As Hansen threw the longhorn sign to the crowd to celebrate the victory, the crowd expected to hear from The Man once more. Now already used to his verbal berating of King Harley, they turned their ears to listen.
But what they heard was the music of The King; fresh after his match, Harley Race himself, clad in street clothes, was walking down the ramp, pissed, but not in the way that The Man predicted. His strut was unwavering, his look was focused, and his eyes – goodness, his eyes, they were deep pools of blood crimson red, boiling with rage, and in them, only the lights of the arena were reflected; and in his irate iris the figure of The Man was seen - The King’s next target.
Hansen threw away his lariat rope; and Race stepped through the ropes. Thousands cheered, as The Man smiled, assuming his fighting stance, and putting his fists up. For a moment it seemed as if The Man was taller, buffer, stronger than The King. And perhaps he was, and maybe he would’ve had overpowered him, if Harley didn’t bypass all of this by – kicking Hansen in the groin.
As Hansen fell on one knee from the unexpected low blow, he still fought on. Lefts and rights he buried in the barrel-like mid-section of Race, looking to fight The King back. But The King pulled at the hair of The Man with both hands, and he struck him in the nose with his right knee, time and time again. The Man was still not going down, and it took a dozen of these knees to finally make The Man stop fighting.
And still, The Man stirred on the mat, looking to rise up; and he would have, if it wasn’t for The King’s headbutts. Seven of them he performed, to the back of The Man’s head, and even when The Man’s body finally stopped stirring, The King still continued with headbutts. The Man was finally put to rest, laying in a pool of his own blood, smithen all to way to bitter slumber.
Men in black shirts now surrounded the ring; they were led by the commissioner. Dory Funk Jr. commanded The King to stop. Harley finally let go of Hansen’s head. Security tried to get in the ring, but Harley made them all stop in their tracks. For he reached behind his back, and pulled a long, grey, metal object out of his pants. Knowing Race’s reputation, and having heard stories about him, everyone, the security, the commissioner, and the terrified audience, all braced themselves…
Harley swiftly pointed the metal object at Stan’s face. He pulled Hansen’s hair back, and he pressed the button.
A sound was heard around the arena. But not the blaring boom most might’ve anticipated. Instead, a buzzing sound was heard, and soon, the sighs of relief. As everyone released their breath in relief, hair started falling off of Stan’s face, and it was pilling up in the middle of the ring. In a couple of fell swoops, the damage had been done, and Harley put the metal object, now identified as a hair trimmer, back in his pocket. Now the security entered the ring, but The King self-willingly left the ring, and the ringside area. Dory Funk Jr. checked on the fallen Man, calling for the medics. As he turned his unconscious body around, he saw the horror that The King had made of his face. Covered in a crimson mask, The Man’s eyes were closed, and the trademark moustache that donned his upper lip for decades was now gone. Dory wiped the blood off of the cowboy’s head: and it showed a clean shaven face. The pride of The Man, his status symbol, The King had taken away.
The other King, Jerry Lawler on commentary, was silent. Ventura stood by him quiet as well. Not even the great Bob Caudle so longed the wrestling fans. The camera simply faded to black, with thousands in shock of the events unfolded.
Atlanic Cup Night 5 results:
Jack Brisco def Afa (13:39)
Harley Race def Abdullah the Butcher (09:48)
Stan Hansen def Bobby Duncum Jr. (05:12)
Atlantic Cup table (following Night 5):
Atlantic Cup Final 8 - qualified for the knockout stage:
Block A: Harley Race (9) and Jack Brisco (6)
Block B: Stan Hansen (9) and Gerald Brisco (3)
Ventura took over: “And tonight’s special surprise, the one-night-only deluxe, welcome our guest commentator for this evening, Jerry, THE KING, Lawler!”
Lawler cued in: “Now, I don’t know if you two are familiar, but I have a little bit of experience here on commentary myself, so I think I’ll be just fine tonight. As for you, my loyal Lawler lovers, and I don’t mean just the females”, he snickered and giggled self-indulgingly, “don’t worry: The King is merely on a recon mission, looking for my next best move, and my next chance to strike.”
Ventura then picked up the cue: “If scouting is your mission, King Jerry, I have just the tool for you. Bestow thine royal gaze upon the fates of the knights of the Atlantic up to this point. You can see who’s on top, who’s on the bottom, and everyone in between. You may choose from these, whomever your kingly heart sees fit!”.
| Block A | Block B | Block C | Block D |
| Harley Race (6) | Stan Hansen (6) | Big Van Vader (6) | Peter Maivia (6) |
| Jack Briscoe (3) | Gerald Briscoe (3) | Gary Albright (6) | Wahoo McDaniel (6) |
| Afa (3) | BDJ (0) | Bam Bam Bigelow (0) | Sika (0) |
| Abdullah (0) | Ray Traylor (0) | Johnny Ace (0) |
Bob Caudle then continued: “As you can see, Mr. Funk had decided not to put you as the replacement for Robinson in Block B, Mr. Lawler, but I believe you’re gonna find something to do here in ARC soon enough.”
And finally, Lawler finished the opening calls: “Oh no worries there, Mr. Caudle. I sure as hell will.”
Next man with mic time was waiting backstage, Afa the Samoan.
“Next week, a pretender on the throne, and a true Chief of his tribe, will battle it out. There is no greater ally than your family, but even when your own family betrays you, your friends are always there. I support Wahoo McDaniel in the next week’s Clash of the Chiefs. As for tonight, another great friend awaits me in that ring. Jack, there are few men in that locker room I respect more than you, but tonight, you will be looking at the lights, as I put yours out with a Samoan Splash!”.
#1. Jack Brisco vs Afa
Jack Brisco respected Afa as much as Afa respected Jack Brisco. Hence, the men shook hands, before circling each other around the ring, drawing ever closer, and finally locking up. Afa did lock up with Brisco out of respect, but he knew he’d never match his amateur prowess.
And Brisco worked Afa’s joints without a hitch. Collar-and-elbow quickly turned into a wristlock, and then a hammerlock. Afa tried to throw an elbow to get Jack off of his back, but Brisco ducked, before spinning The Samoan around, and placing him on the mat with a double leg takedown. Brisco worked the legs for a few minutes, before Afa turned the contest into his own specialty – a slugfest.
Brisco was however, not angered; he persevered, and endured a barrage of kicks and right hands from the islander. Ducking a punch, he quickly delivered a single leg-pick takedown, and would have went into the front mount position, if it wasn’t for Afa kicking him away. Slowly, favouring the leg already, Afa got up, and ran full speed at Brisco. And the amateur Oklahoman side-stepped, before kicking the back of the islander’s leg, sending him crashing into the ropes.
Brisco would work the hurt leg even more now, outwitting the passion of the Samoan on his every step. But slowly, even with the hurt leg, Afa would rise for one final hoorah. He proceeded to play his biggest hits: chops, savate kicks, a hip attack, and a Samoan Drop all followed in quick succession. But Afa still heavily favoured the leg, delaying the pin. And with a few precious seconds spent, Brisco would kick out at two.
Afa knew he had only one more weapon left, and it was of the high-risk variety. He started climbing the top rope, but his leg gave him trouble. Jack saw this, he waited for this moment the whole match, and had worked up to it. As stoic as he was during the match, he now moved as quickly as an arrow; blitzing to the second rope to meet Afa, he snatched the islander’s hurt leg, and delivered a knee-twisting, tendon-tearing, awfully-looking, top rope dragon screw.
On the mat once more, right in Brisco’s territory, Afa found himself in a kneebar. He fought on bravely, until Jack bloody bridged out, applying an ungodly amount of torsion on the leg. Finally, Afa had quit. And not a soul in the arena blamed him.
Men shook hands, friends still; but Afa was disappointed. There was no shame in losing to a Brisco, nor in losing table points. It’s the trying timing of it – he couldn’t afford a loss if he was to face the High Chief down the line.
#2. Harley Race vs Abdullah the Butcher
Race attacked Butcher as soon as the bell rang: he knew The Butcher’s tactics, and he wouldn’t let him assert them.
The battle spilled to the outside; the ref was liberal with the count, and the men fought all around the ringside area, with barricade bumps, cable chokes, post shots, all of it. The Butcher was already bleeding.
In the ring, Butcher saw his blood, and lost all control. He attacked Race with a wildman onslaught, and yet The King persevered. Butcher missed the Meat Cleaver elbow drop, and held his hurt arm. Race impressed the audience with picking Butcher up, and he delivered a shoulderbreaker on the hurt arm.
Race saw the top rope, and thought about his next move. He rethought the diving headbutt however. Instead, he locked in an armbar, and The Butcher, although a brawler in his own right, now reached for the rope and a clean, legal break. Both men got up, but Harley was quicker, as he landed a pair of High Knees to the hurt arm/shoulder area. Abdullah the Butcher was on his knees, holding his arm in pain.
Harley would proceed to beat him to the mat, and finally went to the top rope. Butcher noticed this even through the pain, and promptly rolled out of the ring, and as he exited up the ramp, he kicked away at the equipment and cussed the ringside technicians, on his way through the curtain. Referee proclaimed Harley the winner, and The King on the commentary wondered if Race was satisfied with a count-out. Yet, Race did not seem to bothered; the points were what counted, anyway.
Gerald Brisco vs Billy Robinson was the third match scheduled for tonight, but Robinson had left AJPW a few weeks ago
Gerald Brisco came out in his wrestling gear, sporting a Ribera Steakhouse jacket. Once in the ring, he grabbed a mic, saying even though Robinson, his scheduled opponent, had left AJPW, he’d still like a chance to score his three points, much like Duncum had the chance two weeks ago.
“Wouldn’t you say this is a chance you’ve been scanning for tonight, King?”, Caudle questioned.
To which The King answered: “You know damn well I have my singlet under this blazer, Bob. But I’ll wait for Mr. Funk’s official word, if this is what he’d planned.”
Surely enough, ARC Commissioner DFJ came down the ramp, and applauding Brisco’s fighting spirit, he turned towards Lawler on commentary, who was already seen smiling, and removing his headset. The music then hit, but it wasn’t The Great Gate at Kyiv. In fact, the lights in the arena turned down, and red strobe light started pulsing.
It was then followed by sounds of footsteps, and then, the heavy, greasy, distorted riff of the electric guitar. Some recognised the sound, and exploded in a pop. Other soon joined, as a metallic, electric voice uttered:
“I AM IRON MAN!”
Hawk clotheslined Brisco where he was standing. Dory Funk went to scold him, but Animal ripped the mic out of his hand, before biting the mic head off of its stick. Both Warriors faced down The Commissioner, and he knew better than to push his authority any further. The post-apocalyptic crew brutally stomped on the fallen Briscoe, and having bloodied him, they disposed his unconscious carcass to the ringside. They’ve made their bloody mark, and exited through the crowd before security got the hold of them. As if they could, anyway.
Jack Brisco himself, still tired after his own match, went out to chase the Warriors away, and they knew they had nothing left to prove. Brisco Brothers left the ringside as well, looking over their shoulders for the Road Warriors. But they were already nowhere to be found.
#3. Stan Hansen vs Bobby Duncum Jr.
Hansen’s face was seen backstage. His signature moustache lifted, as he screamed the words out of his mouth:
“Now would youuu look at that - ol’ “king” Harley with a countout victory. I call it as I see it, and tonight - I saw it. You’re nothing but a fraud, Race, a lying, cheating, sorry coward! Ohhh, when I get my hands on you, Race, you’re gonna piss yourself so bad, your trunks are gonna match that yellow streak you got runnin’ down your back! And you, lil’ Bobby, you better not run away, boy, I’m coming to flog ya…”, Hansen whipped his lariat on the floor, and pointed to the camera, “…right goddamn now!”.
BDJ was already in the ring, listening, visibly distraught, as Sunrise played over the PA system; The Man came to town. Swinging his lariat as he entered the ring, both the ref and poor ol’ Bobby Duncum cleared the ring. Facing the crowd as he took off his hat and jacket, Stan screamed YOUUUUUTH! to the audience, half of them cheering, other half wincing away.
The cowboy screamed at the ref and Duncum to enter the ring. Both obliged, begrudgingly. And as soon as they did, the bell rang, and Hansen elbowed Bobby all the way to the mat. The Man did not yield, and continued with elbows and knee drops, as he bloodied the younger man’s nose already.
Stan wiped Bobby’s blood off of his face with his hand, and looking at it, he laughed: already, boy?!, after which he got the boy in question up for a pair of suplexes. Duncum managed to kick out of these, and ran to the ringside area, looking for an exit.
But The Man already caught his trail; dragging him by the hair, he flinged BDJ’s head against the steel post, which produced a sickening sound, not unlike the clank of a hammer against an anvil. But this was no hammer; it was in fact, poor Bobby’s bloodied head.
Hansen rolled the boy in the ring. As the ref went to check in on Bobby, he was soon chased away by the mere presence of the chaotic cowboy. And Stan found it within his heart to put the boy out of his misery. Pulling him by the hair, he finally put him to sleep with a brutal, yet in context, perhaps merciful, Western Lariat.
As Hansen threw the longhorn sign to the crowd to celebrate the victory, the crowd expected to hear from The Man once more. Now already used to his verbal berating of King Harley, they turned their ears to listen.
But what they heard was the music of The King; fresh after his match, Harley Race himself, clad in street clothes, was walking down the ramp, pissed, but not in the way that The Man predicted. His strut was unwavering, his look was focused, and his eyes – goodness, his eyes, they were deep pools of blood crimson red, boiling with rage, and in them, only the lights of the arena were reflected; and in his irate iris the figure of The Man was seen - The King’s next target.
Hansen threw away his lariat rope; and Race stepped through the ropes. Thousands cheered, as The Man smiled, assuming his fighting stance, and putting his fists up. For a moment it seemed as if The Man was taller, buffer, stronger than The King. And perhaps he was, and maybe he would’ve had overpowered him, if Harley didn’t bypass all of this by – kicking Hansen in the groin.
As Hansen fell on one knee from the unexpected low blow, he still fought on. Lefts and rights he buried in the barrel-like mid-section of Race, looking to fight The King back. But The King pulled at the hair of The Man with both hands, and he struck him in the nose with his right knee, time and time again. The Man was still not going down, and it took a dozen of these knees to finally make The Man stop fighting.
And still, The Man stirred on the mat, looking to rise up; and he would have, if it wasn’t for The King’s headbutts. Seven of them he performed, to the back of The Man’s head, and even when The Man’s body finally stopped stirring, The King still continued with headbutts. The Man was finally put to rest, laying in a pool of his own blood, smithen all to way to bitter slumber.
Men in black shirts now surrounded the ring; they were led by the commissioner. Dory Funk Jr. commanded The King to stop. Harley finally let go of Hansen’s head. Security tried to get in the ring, but Harley made them all stop in their tracks. For he reached behind his back, and pulled a long, grey, metal object out of his pants. Knowing Race’s reputation, and having heard stories about him, everyone, the security, the commissioner, and the terrified audience, all braced themselves…
Harley swiftly pointed the metal object at Stan’s face. He pulled Hansen’s hair back, and he pressed the button.
A sound was heard around the arena. But not the blaring boom most might’ve anticipated. Instead, a buzzing sound was heard, and soon, the sighs of relief. As everyone released their breath in relief, hair started falling off of Stan’s face, and it was pilling up in the middle of the ring. In a couple of fell swoops, the damage had been done, and Harley put the metal object, now identified as a hair trimmer, back in his pocket. Now the security entered the ring, but The King self-willingly left the ring, and the ringside area. Dory Funk Jr. checked on the fallen Man, calling for the medics. As he turned his unconscious body around, he saw the horror that The King had made of his face. Covered in a crimson mask, The Man’s eyes were closed, and the trademark moustache that donned his upper lip for decades was now gone. Dory wiped the blood off of the cowboy’s head: and it showed a clean shaven face. The pride of The Man, his status symbol, The King had taken away.
The other King, Jerry Lawler on commentary, was silent. Ventura stood by him quiet as well. Not even the great Bob Caudle so longed the wrestling fans. The camera simply faded to black, with thousands in shock of the events unfolded.
Atlanic Cup Night 5 results:
Jack Brisco def Afa (13:39)
Harley Race def Abdullah the Butcher (09:48)
Stan Hansen def Bobby Duncum Jr. (05:12)
Atlantic Cup table (following Night 5):
| Block A | Block B | Block C | Block D |
| Harley Race (9) | Stan Hansen (9) | Big Van Vader (6) | Peter Maivia (6) |
| Jack Brisco (6) | Gerald Brisco (3) | Gary Albright (6) | Wahoo McDaniel (6) |
| Afa (3) | BDJ (0) | Bam Bam Bigelow (0) | Sika (0) |
| Abdullah (0) | Ray Traylor (0) | Johnny Ace (0) |
Atlantic Cup Final 8 - qualified for the knockout stage:
Block A: Harley Race (9) and Jack Brisco (6)
Block B: Stan Hansen (9) and Gerald Brisco (3)
