SCOTT STEVENS vs. ABE LIPSCHITZ
We return from the Love Convoy back into Arena Mexico, where inside the ring, the competitors for our next contest are already standing, ready to go in opposite corners. Scott Stevens looks strident in his focus, his hands gripping the ropes, ready to charge out and get this bout underway. Across the ring, Abe Lipschitz is…not. On wobbly legs, his smile is wide, sloppy, his eyes drooping.
Nick Stuart: Folks, I have no idea what’s going on with Abe here but we’re about ready to get this next match underway.
Richard Parker: Fifty dollars says he ran into Jiles on the way to the ring again.
Nick Stuart: God help us all…
PRIME official Ashley Barlow directs between Stevens, who is eager to get this underway, and Abe, who she literally has to help back to a full stand. In the process, he nearly grabs her and tries to dance with her. Something…is very off here.
Nick Stuart: I…don’t understand this.
Richard Parker: And neither do I. Neither. Do. I.
DING DING
Uncoiling, Stevens charges forward, grabbing hold of Lipschitz, who is milling around his corner, shouting out something about Marjorie Taylor Greene. A tight collar and elbow from purported Demi-God of HOW becomes a biel toss, sending Lipschitz skittering across the ring.
Nick Stuart: Five inches in difference, nearly fifty pounds, and it looked like he just ragdolled him across the ring with little resistance.
Richard Parker: And Abe is…laughing?
Nick Stuart: Wasn’t there something shared about Abe feeling great going into this match? That people should beat their life savings on him?
Richard Parker: I would have even dropped fifty dollars on that, and if you did, your pants are probably filling with crap.
Nick Stuart: Easy money?
Richard Parker: No resistance.
Abe staggers drunkenly to his feet, putting up his dukes. Stevens brushes an errant hand side, grabbing hold of Lipshitz with a side headlock, jerking him, trying to torque his neck. It’s crazy, then, that it’s Scott Stevens feeling the sting of such a maneuver, as Lipschitz blindly trips him and leverages for a pin, nearly showing the world the famous Stevens scorpion tail with how much of his tights he has a hold of.
ONE
TWO
NOOOOOOOOO
Stevens kicks out, grabbing at the waistband of his tights and yanking them back up. Nobody wanted to see those dangerously pale buns which are stark against his tanned and tattooed skin. Annoyed, he gets up, and as Abe stumbles his way back to his feet, and seeing that he is remaining stationary, grunts and throws his leg.
Nick Stuart: Remember The Alamo!
Richard Parker: Damn, did you see how badly Abe’s head jerked back?
Lipschitz lays splayed out, and Stevens, realizing just what he’s dealing with, grabs a hold of him, lifts him up, and, with his arms locked around his neck, spikes him into the canvas.
Nick Stuart: Toxic Sting! Cover!
ONE
TWO
THREE
DING DING DING
Vince Howard: Your winner…by pinfall…SCOOOOOOOOOOTT! STEEEEEEEEEEVENS!
Nick Stuart: That…was quicker than most might’ve expected.
Richard Parker: And a different result than most would think going in, with Lipshitz being the next contender for the PRIME Alias title.
Stevens celebrates as Abe lays on the canvas, rolling around.