Champions:

After the show ended Tuesday Night…

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Jan
11

After the St. Louis Supershow came to an end…
The arena lights dimmed, save for the spotlight that suddenly bathed Ray McAvay and Joe Bergman in an ethereal glow as they emerged on stage.


MVW owner’s Ray McAvay and Joe Bergman

“Redneck” Bill Dickinson stood center-ring, his massive frame heaving from the exertion of victory, while Sunny O’Callahan clutched her ever-present bottle of Southern Comfort like a talisman.

“Would you look at that!” ‘Long Haul’ Rick Hall’s voice boomed over the PA system, astonishment coloring his tone. “It’s the big bosses themselves!”

Charlie Blackwell, knowing the significance, retreated to the corner and flashed a knowing grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. As McAvay and Bergman descended the ramp, the tension denoted that something monumental was in the air. Bergman cradled an object in his hand—a book or perhaps some honorific relic? It was leather-bound and reeked of importance.

“Bill,” McAvay’s voice cut through the charged atmosphere as he and Bergman slid under the bottom rope, joining the titans within. “You put on one helluva fight tonight.”

Dickinson nodded, the normally stoic brawler’s chest swelling with pride. “Appreciate it, Ray.”

McAvay clasped Dickinson’s meaty hand in both of his. “And in two day, you’ll break Charlie Blackwell’s record.” He paused, letting the anticipation build like pressure in a keg. “But there’s more.”

Bergman stepped forward, extending the mystery tome towards Dickinson. “You earned this, Bill.”

“Redneck” Bill Dickinson, a mountain of a man who’d faced countless opponents without flinching, now found his rugged features softening. He took the book, its weight heavy with history and honor. McAvay didn’t miss a beat.

“Congratulations, Bill Dickinson, for joining the MVW Hall of Fame!” McAvay announced, his voice echoing off the rafters.

The crowd exploded in cheers and applause, their adoration washing over the ring like a tidal wave. Dickinson’s throat tightened, his eyes glistening with unshed tears—it was everything he’d worked for, encapsulated in this singular moment.

“Aw, hell,” he thought, trying to reel in his emotions. “Keep it together, Dickinson.”

Meanwhile, Sunny couldn’t contain herself. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she threw her arms around Dickinson’s broad shoulders, her bottle of Southern Comfort momentarily forgotten.

“Y’all did it, Bill! Y’all really did it!” she sobbed.

Jenkins, Hendry, and even Blackwell approached, adding their hearty congratulations with pats on the back and firm handshakes, creating a tableau of camaraderie seldom seen in the squared circle.

“Wait, folks. There’s more,” McAvay gestured grandly towards the video screen.

A montage rolled, capturing the raw power and tenacity of the Missouri Valley Fight Club—Carrieanne McDermott and Harley Davisson—in action. Their greatest hits played out for all to see: tag-team synchronization, brutal takedowns, championship victories.


The Missouri Valley Fight Club
Carrieanne McDermott and Harley Davisson

“Also joining the MVW Hall of Fame,” McAvay declared as the clips faded, “will be The Missouri Valley Fight Club… 4-time MVW Women’s Tag Team Champions!”

The arena’s foundation seemed to shake as fans roared their approval, voices melding into a symphony of excitement. Dickinson watched, a smile cracking his grizzled visage. “Deserved,” he thought. “Those girls are dynamite.”

As the raucous cheers continued, McAvay and Bergman raised their hands in thanks, acknowledging the near sell-out crowd. “We can’t do this without each and every one of you!” McAvay shouted.

“Thank you all for coming out tonight!” Bergman added.

“Goodnight everyone!” McAvay wrapped up as the show closed, the final echoes of the evening reverberating long after the house lights came up.

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