1/23-Wrestling Night in the Heartland on HOTv


St. Louis Supershow Results:
-Adam Ellis defeated Aaron Gray, Buckshot Henderson, and Randy Barrington
-Jill Berg Enterprises defeated The Hanson Sisters to retain the Women’s Tag Team Title
-No Quarter defeated The Stevens Dynasty to retain the MVW Tag Team Title
-Victoria McGill defeated Amberley Stanton to retain the Women’s Title
-‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson defeated Charlie Blackwell to retain the MVW Title

Cue the pyro…

Missouri Valley Wrestling
Wrestling Night in the Heartland
Ford Center
Evansville, IN
Tuesday January 23rd, 2024

Announcers: Thunderbolt Smith and ‘Long Haul’ Rick Hall

Backstage Interviewer: Kellie Burkowski

Ring Announcer: Heather Cooper


The pyrotechnics exploded with a deafening roar, igniting the Ford Center in Evansville, Indiana, into a frenzy of flashing lights and searing colors. As the smoke wafted through the arena, camera lenses hunted for signs of life amidst the chaos, finding a sea of wrestling fanatics on their feet. The first Wrestling Night in the Heartland of 2024 was underway, and not a single seat lay vacant.

“Welcome everyone to the Ford Center in Evansville, Indiana for an electrifying night of action!” Thunderbolt Smith’s voice boomed over the din, his steady hands planted firmly on the broadcast table. Behind him, fans bounced with energy, their voices melding into one thunderous cacophony of anticipation. “I’m Thunderbolt Smith.” He pointed to the man next to him.  “He’s ‘Long Haul’ Rick Hall.”

“Hey,” Hall said, nonchalantly.

“Tonight,” Thunderbolt continued, his eyes sparkling with the reflection of the spectacle before him, “we have not one, but two title matches for you!  Rick.”

“Long Haul” Rick Hall, his excitement barely contained within his barrel chest, leaned into his microphone. “No Quarter is putting those MVW Tag Team titles on the line against The Stevens Dynasty. And folks, let me tell ya, it’s gonna be a slobberknocker!”

“Absolutely, Rick,” Thunderbolt nodded, his voice a tranquil contrast to the bedlam around them. “But that’s not all. ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson, our MVW Champion, is looking to extend his historic title reign when he goes toe-to-toe with Luke Woods of the Sports Entertainment Corporation.”

“Can’t wait to see if the ‘Redneck’ can hold off Woods and that slickster manager of his, Mr. McMann.” Hall’s lip curled with distaste at the mention of the advocate of sports entertainment excess.

“Speaking of challenges,” Thunderbolt segued, his tone dipping a note as he relayed less cheery news, “We’ve got updates on John O’Reilly and Randy Barrington. Both men sustained injuries—O’Reilly at Night of Champions, Barrington just two weeks ago at the St. Louis Supershow.”

“Two major losses for MVW,” Hall interjected, shaking his head solemnly. “They’ll be sidelined until after the summer break, folks. We’re gonna miss seeing them in the ring.”

“Indeed we will,” Thunderbolt agreed, then shifted gears. “But in brighter news, Adam Ellis has made a triumphant return to MVW—”

“Big win for Ellis two weeks back,” Hall cut in, a grin spreading across his face. “Jumped straight into title contention like he never left!”

“Absolutely. And let’s not forget the return of the Kentucky Redneck Mafia with Dawn McGill at the helm, and Ninja Kitty, who’s always ready to pounce.”

“Talk about stirring up the pot!” Hall chuckled.

“It’s time for our first match of the night,” Thunderbolt said.  “Let’s send it to Heather Cooper in the ring.”

MATCH #1-NON-TITLE: Women’s Tag Team Champions Jill Berg Enterprises vs. #3 The Working Girls
Heather Cooper, clad in her signature sultry outfit, stood confidently in the center of the squared circle.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Cooper began.  “Our first match tonight will be…”  She paused and waited.

“ONE FALL!” shouted back the crowd.

“…introducing first!”  Her voice soared over the crowd as Caroline Lewis appeared first, her Hooter’s crop top and Daisy Dukes- a nod to the working-class heroes she represented. Donna Summer’s anthem to the tireless worker “She Works Hard for the Money” underscored her every step, the crowd clapping rhythmically along.

“Go get ’em, girl,” Thunderbolt encouraged, feeling a swell of solidarity for the underdog.

“Queen Cool” Leah Iris joined Lewis, strutting out to the electric guitar riffs of “Ah Leah” with a confidence that drew cheers from the crowd.

“The team of Caroline Lewis and ‘Queen Cool’ Leah Iris.  They are… The Working Girls!” Heather proclaimed.

Both Lewis and Iris slapped hands with the fans on their way down the ramp.

“Always good to see people who work for a living get their due,” Hall remarked.

“Absolutely, but here come their opponents,” Thunderbolt interjected as the ominous drumbeats filled the arena next.


Jill Berg, CEO of Jill Berg Enterprises, made her entrance flanked by her security detail and her enforcer, Prisoner #034291.

“And their opponents…” Heather continued.

The crowd’s reaction flipped, boos cascading down as ‘The Canadian Cyborg’ Sheline Carrigan and her tag team partner Madison Miller followed in tow.

“They are the reigning MVW Women’s Tag Team Champions,” Heather introduced them, her voice barely rising above the disdainful chorus. “The Canadian Cyborg… Sheline Carrigan… Madison Miller… they are JILL… BERG… ENTERPRISES!”

“Talk about a clash of cultures,” Thunderbolt observed as the champions made their way to ringside, their focus laser-sharp.

“Money and power versus hard work and determination. This match encapsulates what MVW is all about,” Hall mused, capturing the essence of the impending battle.

“IRIS TOO LATE TO MAKE THE SAVE AND JILL BERG ENTERPRISES GETS THE WIN!” Thunderbolt calls out as new women’s referee Justine Mills raises Carrigan and Miller’s arms in victory.

“Good match.  You know with Caroline Lewis and Leah Iris that you’ll get one hundred percent effort from them,” Hall commented.  “But I’m really impressed with Madison Miller tonight, Thunderbolt.  She’s come a long way from her first run here in MVW.”

“She’s impressed Jill Berg as well,” Thunderbolt added.  “That’s why she got the call.  Okay, Jill Berg Enterprises gets the tough win.  In two weeks, they’ll be defending the tag belts against Laney Harrison and McLean Oswald.”

“Looking forward that one, Thunderbolt,” Hall chimed in.  “That should be a very good match.”

“We’ll be back with more action right after these messages,” Thunderbolt said.


High Octane Wrestling

The air was thick with anticipation as “Thunderbolt” Smith’s steady voice cut through the charged atmosphere of the arena, signaling a return from the commercial break. His tone, a constant in the chaotic world of MVW, heralded a special presentation.

“Fans at home,” Thunderbolt began, his words painting a vivid picture, “you’re about to witness the rise of a star beyond our shores.”

Jennifer Colton in Japan
The screen lit up with neon kanji characters, segueing into a montage of Jennifer Colton, her spirit aglow amidst the electrifying Tokyo skyline.

Jennifer Colton

In the dimmed arena, thousands of eyes were glued to the jumbotron as Jenny, alongside her kin—the formidable trio of Nate, Benny, and Denny—battled with a ferocity that transcended language barriers. The footage rolled, showing Jenny’s technical prowess weaving through the match like a scarlet thread, her movements sharp and deliberate against the backdrop of a roaring Japanese crowd.

“Look at that!” exclaimed ‘Long Haul’ Rick Hall, unable to contain his excitement as Nate Colton hoisted “RED” Ryota Saijo into the air. There it was, the Colton Clutch Suplex, executed with such precision—a cobra coils around its prey—that the outcome was inevitable. Saijo hit the mat with a resounding thud, the referee’s hand slamming down for the third count. Victory belonged to the Coltons.

“Jennifer Colton has truly made her mark in Japan,” Thunderbolt affirmed, his voice a calm anchor amidst the replayed cheers. “And in two weeks, she goes toe-to-toe with Victoria McGill for the Women’s Title.”

Kellie Burkowski Interviews Cary Stevens
The scene shifted, the vibrancy of the Tokyo bout fading into the stark reality of the backstage area where Kellie Burkowski, her blonde hair an ethereal halo under the fluorescent lights, stood waiting. Cary Stevens loomed into frame, his body language a tempest of barely restrained fury.

Cary Stevens (The Stevens Dynasty)

“Kellie, I’m pissed off,” he growled, his voice gravel mixed with gunpowder, “I am pissed off beyond belief.” He leaned in, his shadow falling over her petite figure. “Bo and George are hungry, and we ain’t gonna take any crap from anyone or anything anymore.  Especially that Bracken Krueger and Daryn Thompson.  No Quarter my ass.  You want ‘no quarter’… you’re gonna get it!”

As Cary’s tirade intensified, the camera caught every tick of his jaw, the fierce glint in his eye speaking louder than his impassioned words. “In 2024, anyone who steps into the ring with the Stevens Dynasty had better be ready.” His voice rose, echoing off the concrete walls. “We ain’t taken no prisoners this year. The belts are comin’ back to Texas.”

No Quarter Responds
Cary skulked off, leaving a definitive tension hanging in the air, which the camera followed, slicing through the backstage area to rest on No Quarter. Bracken Krueger and Daryn Thompson, the MVW Tag Team Champions, stood tall, their expressions a mix of disdain and resolve.

“Let’s go kill them,” Krueger’s deep voice rumbled, each word a dark promise.

“Damn straight,” Daryn agreed, her Texan drawl cutting through the ambient noise. They moved with purpose, their boots hitting the floor in a measured cadence, a duet of destruction heading towards ringside.

“Fans,” Thunderbolt’s voice brought the focus back, “don’t go anywhere. We’ll have the match after this commercial break.”

The arena, a living entity, pulsed with the energy of titans on a collision course, and as the screen faded to black, the collective breath of the audience seemed to hang in the balance, awaiting the clash of wills yet to come.




MATCH #2-MEN’S TAG TEAM TITLE: No Quarter © vs. #1 The Stevens Dynasty

The camera cut back from commercial, zooming in on the center of the ring where Heather Cooper stood bathed in the spotlight.

“All right,” Thunderbolt Smith said from his broadcast position.  “Let’s go right to Heather Cooper.”

Heather’s voice, a smoky melody over the loudspeakers, set the stage with authority laced with a hint of excitement. “Ladies and gentlemen, the next match will be…” She paused dramatically, microphone aimed at the crowd.

“ONE FALL!” The audience erupted in unison, a thunderous echo that bounced off the arena walls.

“And it will be for the MVW Tag Team title!” she declared as the roar swelled even louder.

“STEVENS DYNASTY” blazed across the video screen, the Texas flag undulating like a war banner behind the bold letters. The mournful wail of “Ghost Riders in the Sky” filled the air, signaling the arrival of the challengers.

“Accompanied to the ring by the patriarch of the Stevens Dynasty—Cary Stevens and Scott Stevens… weighing in at a combined 679 pounds… Bo and George Stevens… THE STEVENS DYNASTY!” Heather’s voice rose over the music as the duo struck imposing silhouettes against the blazing backdrop.

Cary led the charge, his scowl etched deep, the embodiment of Texan pride bruised but unbroken. Bo and George followed suit, their strides purposeful, muscles twitching with pent-up aggression.

“And their opponents…” Heather paused, letting the suspense hang like a thick fog before the crowd exploded in cheers. “Weighing in tonight at a combined weight of 455 pounds…”

“Kicking and Screaming” by Blues Saracino kicked in as Bracken Krueger and Daryn Thompson stepped out, MVW Tag Team title belts glinting around their waists like trophies wrought from battle. “They are the reigning MVW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS!… Bracken Krueger… Daryn Thompson… NO QUARTER!”

Thunderbolt Smith leaned into his mic, his tone steady but brimming with anticipation. “Folks, if you recall, No Quarter defeated The Stevens Dynasty handily two weeks ago in St. Louis.”

“Long Haul” Rick Hall, his eyes scanning the seething crowd, couldn’t help but chime in with a grittier edge to his voice. “I’ve got a feeling the Stevens are gonna be out for blood tonight, Thunderbolt.”

“GEORGE STEVENS KNOCKED OUT BRACKEN KRUEGER!” Thunderbolt’s voice hit a crescendo, disbelief painting every word.

“Disqualified! The Stevens Dynasty has been disqualified!” Hall observed, noting the referee signaling the end of the match.

Cary Stevens, the ornery patriarch, stormed forward, face red with anger, pointing an accusatory finger at the referee. “What in tarnation do y’all think yer doin’?” he bellowed, his Texas drawl thick with indignation.

Bo, George, and Scott Stevens lunged towards Krueger like a pack of ravenous wolves, their heavy boots pounding against the ground. With ferocious determination, they launched themselves at his massive frame, their fists and feet raining down upon him like a storm.

Daryn Thompson raced across the ring and belted Bo Stevens. Her movements were swift and precise, a testament to her years of training in martial arts. However, as more attackers joined the fray, even her skills were not enough to fend them off. In the end, she too crumpled to the unforgiving mat beneath her. It was a brutal and merciless assault, leaving nothing but destruction and defeat in its wake.

Then came the roar, a primal sound that shook the very foundation of the arena.

“IT’S THE ALABAMA GANG!” Thunderbolt could barely contain his excitement.

R.G. Jenkins, the imposing figure with a wild beard and a sneer permanently etched on his face, led the charge towards the ring. He was flanked by Mark Hendry, a towering man with bulging muscles, and ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson, a stocky brawler with a devilish grin. As they stormed ringside, their heavy boots thudded against the hard ground, echoing like a war drum throughout the arena. They were a fearsome trio, clad in denim and leather, with the determination of avenging angels fueling their every step.

The crowd erupted into cheers as they crashed into the melee with the force of a tornado tearing through the heart of Dixie. The three men wasted no time in unleashing their fury upon their opponents, trading brutal blows that could shatter bones and fracture skulls.

“It’s a brawl now, Thunderbolt,” Hall exclaimed over the deafening roar of the crowd.

All six men were locked in a fierce battle within the squared circle, each one fighting with reckless abandon. Like a storm raging out of control, they exchanged blows that left bruises and blood in their wake.

Krueger, coming to his senses amidst the chaos, pushed himself off the canvas, his mind foggy but fueled by the adrenaline coursing through his veins. His thoughts flitted between revenge and survival as he eyed the tumult around him, his fists clenching with renewed purpose.

“Y’all done opened up a can of whoop-ass now!” Cary Stevens yelled at the Alabama Gang, his voice cutting through the din like a knife. He spat on the mat, his challenge thrown down amidst the pandemonium.

The ring was a war zone, the air thick with the scent of sweat and the sharp tang of hostility. The cacophony of the crowd had reached its zenith as MVW Security—a phalanx of burly figures in black—descended upon the scene like the cavalry in an old western, their presence a promise of impending peace.

“Back it up! Give ’em space!” one of the security team barked, his voice authoritative as he wedged himself between the warring factions. The trained professionals moved with swift precision, their arms and bodies creating barriers that even the most incensed wrestler dared not cross.

“Y’all are gonna regret this, I swear on the Lone Star!” Cary Stevens howled, his face beet-red with fury, spit flying from his mouth as security gripped his arms. His eyes bored into ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson with unadulterated loathing. “You hear me, Dickinson? This ain’t over!”

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a classic standoff!” Thunderbolt chimed in, his voice crackling with excitement, echoing the intensity of the moment. “MVW Security doing their best to keep these combustible elements apart!”

The Alabama Gang stood their ground, their chests heaving, muscles tense and ready for more. But they too were restrained, the security’s firm hands ensuring the brawl didn’t reignite.

“Let ’em go, let ’em go!” the crowd chanted, their thirst for action unquenched. But the professionalism of the security team prevailed, their training evident as they slowly ushered the wrestlers toward opposite corners.

Cary’s mind raced, each heartbeat drumming a relentless rhythm of revenge. He could feel the bitter taste of injustice coating his tongue, a reminder of this evening’s disgrace. The image of Krueger and Thompson laid out, vulnerable to the Stevens’ onslaught, was replaced by the sight of security now buffering them from retribution. His nostrils flared as he fought the urge to charge once more.

“Look at the eyes of Cary Stevens,” Thunderbolt said, his voice a low murmur. “That’s a man who’s not going to forget tonight anytime soon.”

“And neither will No Quarter. Bracken Krueger and Daryn Thompson,” Hall added.  “The Stevens Dynasty got one in on them tonight, they’ve been wronged, and in this business, debts are settled between those ropes.  The payback is coming.”

The camera panned across the chaotic scene, capturing the raw emotion etched onto every face.

“Mark my words, Alabama Gang,” Cary seethed, his words punctuated with vehement gesticulation. “We’ll have our day, and when we do, y’all gonna wish you stayed down in that mud pit you call home!”

As the teams were finally separated, the jeers and shouts of the audience began to fade, giving way to an uneasy silence that draped the arena. The tension remained palpable, a living entity that lingered long after the wrestlers had vanished behind the curtain.

“Next week, next month, whenever it happens, the showdown between the Stevens Dynasty and the Alabama Gang is going to be something else,” Hall mused, his gaze lingering on the emptying ring.

With a final snarl and a pointed finger that promised retaliation, Cary Stevens allowed himself to be pulled away, but his glare never left his adversaries. The Alabama Gang returned the gesture with equal venom, their own promises made without words.

“Back with more after this,” Thunderbolt said.

sVo Logo

Sanctioned Violence Organization

Kellie Interviews Bill Dickinson
The camera panned down a narrow corridor backstage where the concrete walls echoed with the sound of heavy boots thudding against the floor. A storm was brewing in the form of “Redneck” Bill Dickinson, his face twisted into a snarl of fury, sweat beading on his brow from his recent altercation in the ring. Kellie Burkowski, her blonde hair falling like a golden curtain around her shoulders, stepped into the eye of the storm with her microphone poised.

“Bill! Bill, a quick word about what just happened out there with the Stevens Dynasty?” she called out, her voice firm despite the tension crackling in the air.

Dickinson whirled around, his eyes blazing like coals. “You want to know what I think, Kellie?” he spat, leaning in so close that the lens of the camera caught every quiver of anger on his lips. “The Stevens boys are damn lucky that MVW Security got between us, ’cause if me, Jenkins, and Hendry had gotten our hands on them, there wouldn’t be enough left for a referee to count out!”

Kellie took a step back, her professionalism not quite masking the flicker of apprehension in her blue eyes. Dickinson towered over her, his chest heaving as if the mere mention of the Stevens Dynasty fueled his rage.

“Let me tell you something,” he continued, jabbing a finger toward the camera, asserting his dominance not just over Kellie but to everyone watching at home. “The Alabama Gang don’t take kindly to being disrespected. The Stevens better steer clear if they know what’s good for ’em. Their long-term health depends on it.” His words were a loaded shotgun, each syllable a shell ready to blast.

Without another word, Dickinson stomped away, leaving a trail of hostility in his wake. Kellie quickly wrapped up, “Thank you, Bill. Back to you, Thunderbolt.”

The scene cut to the commentators’ booth where Thunderbolt Smith sat with an impassive expression, his gaze steady as he processed the vitriol he’d just witnessed. Beside him, ‘Long Haul’ Rick Hall adjusted his headset, his usual excitement now replaced by a more contemplative demeanor.

“Wow, Thunderbolt,” Hall said, shaking his head. “Dickinson is a powder keg ready to explode. You can feel the bad blood between the Alabama Gang and the Stevens Dynasty.”

“Absolutely, Rick,” Thunderbolt replied, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of gravity. “And when a man like Bill Dickinson issues a warning, it’s not just talk. The Stevens should tread carefully from here on out.”

“Or they might just find themselves on the wrong end of a Southern beatdown,” Hall added, the hint of a southern drawl creeping into his own voice, reflecting the regional pride at stake.

Thunderbolt nodded, then turned his attention back to the camera, signaling the shift in the show’s momentum. “Folks, we need to take a short break, but don’t go anywhere.”

Shoot Logo

SHOOT Project

“Back to the ring and Heather Cooper,” Thunderbolt’s voice carried through the arena, signaling the end of the commercial break. The crowd’s chatter crescendoed into a fervent buzz of anticipation.

MATCH #3-NON-TITLE: Victoria McGill vs. #3 Yosemite Samantha
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Heather began, her sultry tone gripping the audience as she stood center-ring, “our next match will be…” The crowd erupted, finishing her sentence with a thunderous “ONE FALL!” She paused for effect, a knowing smile on her full lips, then continued, “…and will be a non-title match.”

The spotlights converged on the entrance ramp as dramatic tension filled the air. “From Dodge City, Kansas! She is the roughest, toughest, rootinest, shootinest cowgirl who ever crossed the Rio Grande! Please welcome…YOSEMITE…SAMANTHA!” Metallica’s “Moth to a Flame” blared from the PA system, its heavy riffs reverberating off the rafters.

Yosemite Samantha swaggered onto the stage, her larger-than-life presence instantly commanding attention. Her ten-gallon cowboy hat sat low over her steely gaze that shot daggers into the hearts of fans and foes alike. With deliberate movements, she twirled her six-shooter in a show of bravado, then holstered it with a click that echoed in the charged silence. She stomped down the ramp, her boots hitting the steel with a rhythmic clank, before leaping onto the ring apron with an agility that belied her rugged exterior.

Taking aim at her unseen opponent, Yosemite Samantha narrowed her eyes, her every muscle coiled and ready to strike like a viper in the sun-scorched desert. “And her opponent,” Heather’s voice broke through the mounting suspense, as a new beat pulsed through the arena. *THUMP… THUMP… THUMP-THUMP-THUMP*

Jill Berg emerged, flanked by her escort and the towering figure of Prisoner #034291. Their presence was a silent testament to the high stakes of this confrontation. As they took their places at ringside, the focus shifted back to the stage where Victoria McGill made her entrance.

Tori stepped out to the gritty blues of Samantha Fish’s “Twisted Ambition,” her theme song a reflection of her own relentless drive. The spotlight shone on her tall frame, casting long shadows that danced around her as she struck a pose on the stage. Her eyes locked with those of Yosemite Samantha across the distance, an unspoken challenge hanging heavy in the air. With a confidence that bordered on arrogance, she strode down the ramp, her gaze never wavering from her opponent’s.

“And Victoria McGill gets the win!” Thunderbolt’s announcement cut through the din of the crowd, his voice steady despite the drama unfolding before him.

“Boy, I tell ya, Tori’s Gutwrench Facebuster is a killer move,” ‘Long Haul’ Rick Hall chimed in, excitement coloring his usually measured commentary, “that’s what caused Yosemite Samantha to get pinned.”

Tori’s moment of triumph was palpable as she celebrated in the ring, raising her arms high while Jill Berg and Prisoner #034291 surrounded her in solidarity. Yet, the victory was short-lived as the arena’s roar reached a fever pitch; Jennifer Colton had appeared on the stage.

An intense staredown ensued. Tori, brimming with defiance, gestured brazenly for Colton to join her in the ring. “Come on, Colton! Show me what you got!” she shouted, her voice carrying over the noise.

Jennifer, however, remained unmoved. Her cool stare was a stark contrast to Tori’s fiery demeanor, her poise unshaken by the challenge. It was a psychological chess match playing out before thousands.

“Remember folks,” Thunderbolt interjected, grounding the moment with the weight of his words, “Tori will defend the Women’s Title against Colton in just two weeks.” The implication hung heavy in the air, a promise of an epic clash yet to come. “We’ll be right back after these messages.” And with that final call, the screen faded to black, leaving the audience to ponder the fate of these titans until they would meet again.

January 26th – Eagle Point Park Lodge / Clinton, IA
January 27th – McLeod Center / Cedar Falls, IA
January 28th – Lee Lohman Arena / Davenport, IA
February 2nd – Helen Stephens Sports Complex / Fulton, MO
February 3rd – Gibson Arena / Rolla, MO
February 6th – JHQ Arena / Springfield, MO
February 9th – KVPD Rec Center / Kankakee, IL
February 10th – Peoria Civic Center / Peoria, IL
February 11th – Effingham Performance Center / Effingham, IL
February 16th – United Wireless Arena / Dodge City, KS
February 17th – North Platte High School Gym / North Platte, NE
February 20th – Knapp Center / Des Moines, IA

Kellie Interviews No Quarter
The camera flickered back to life, returning from commercial with a jarring cut to the backstage area. Kellie Burkowski stood amidst the chaos of steel chairs strewn about and cables snaking across the concrete floor. Beside her, The Lakeshore Leviathan” Bracken Krueger towered like an angry monolith, his face a canvas of purples and reds where the Stevens had left their mark. “The Texas Technician” Daryn Thompson swayed slightly at his side, the Texan’s drawl more pronounced through clenched teeth, each word dripping with venom.

“The Stevens think they can just jump us? After they knocked me out defending these titles?” Krueger fumed, his voice echoing off the walls, resonating with the fury of a man betrayed not just in flesh but in spirit. “That BLEEP isn’t going to fly.

“Stevens Dynasty,” Thompson spat, her eyes narrowing into slits of pure disdain, “you done riled up a storm you ain’t prepared for.”

Kellie nodded, stepping back as if feeling the heat emanating from the champions. “You both seem ready to escalate this feud,” she observed, her tone professional despite the tension crackling in the air.

“Escalate?” Krueger’s laugh was short and devoid of humor. “This ain’t escalation, sweetheart. This is war.” He leaned in, his bloodied visage filling the frame. “They want to come at us? We’ll show ’em what happens when you corner beasts!”

“Make no mistake,” Thompson added, her hand gripping her partner’s shoulder, “we ain’t givin’ any quarter.”

Krueger’s final words were punctuated by a censor’s bleep, but the lip-readers at home knew exactly what he meant: “The Stevens are *BLEEP*-ing toast.”

The scene abruptly shifted to Thunderbolt Smith and ‘Long Haul’ Rick Hall at the broadcast desk, two calm islands in the storm of passion that had just unfolded. Thunderbolt, ever the steady voice of MVW, smoothed over the raw energy with professional ease.

“It’s been an interesting night so far—the drama between No Quarter and the Stevens Dynasty reaching new heights,” he noted with a slight shake of his head.

“Indeed,” Hall interjected, his excitement barely contained under his broadcast persona. “But now, folks, it’s time for our main event.”

Thunderbolt gestured grandly to the ring. “Let’s send it to Heather Cooper one last time.”

MAIN EVENT-MEN’S TITLE: ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson © vs. #1 Luke Woods
The sultry tones of Heather’s voice caressed the charged atmosphere of the arena. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, the crowd hushing to hang on her every word before erupting with “ONE FALL” at her cue.

“And it will be for…” She paused, letting the anticipation build before the audience roared back, “THE MISSOURI VALLEY WRESTLING TITLE!”

“Introducing first…”

Luke Woods strutted out to his theme, his confidence bolstered by the presence of Mr. McMann at his side.

“…the challenger,” Heather bellowed into the microphone. “Representing the Sports Entertainment Corporation from St. Louis, Missouri. Weighing in at 200 pounds, tonight. Please welcome… LUKE WOODS!”

Wood raised his arms. Then…

My truck’s where my money goes- got buck blood on my Sunday clothes
and directions to a honey hole that I’ll never tell.”

The crowd explodes at the acapella opening of Hardy’s epic “Unapologetically Country as Hell”. But as Hardy’s song rippled through the airwaves and Sunny O’Callahan emerged, dressed in the guise of a background singer from a 1970’s Southern rock band, Southern Comfort bottle in hand.

“His opponent is the reigning Missouri Valley Wrestling Champion! He is the 330 pound Southern Brawler!” Heather paused and then finished. “REDNECK! BILL! DICKINSON!

The crowd was on its feet, whipped into a frenzy as the champion himself—’Redneck’ Bill Dickinson— MVW title belt wrapped around his waist… asserted his dominance with every thunderous step he took towards the ring.

“Is Luke Woods ready to take the next step?” Thunderbolt mused aloud, his voice betraying no bias but hinting at the weight of the moment.

“Ready or not,” Hall’s reply came, tinged with the gravitas of someone who’s seen stars born and fall in the squared circle, “we’re going to find out soon enough.”

“And Bill Dickinson retains again,” Thunderbolt Smith’s voice cut through the pandemonium, steady and sure as a freight train barreling down the tracks.

“Luke Woods gave it his all, but nothing can stand up to Dickinson’s Southern Fried Powerbomb,” ‘Long Haul’ Rick Hall added, the excitement making his words thrum with energy. “It’s like being hit by a damn bulldozer!”

Dickinson’s chest heaved, each breath mingling with the taste of victory and the faint metallic tang of blood from a split lip. He didn’t need to look at the fallen challenger to know he had this match firmly in the win column.

“Your winner,” Heather Cooper said, “and STILL MVW CHAMPION! ‘REDNECK’ BILL DICKINSON!”

Referee Davey Keels raised Dickinson’s arm in victory… but the celebration was short-lived. Two menacing figures rolled into the ring and charged towards Dickinson from behind like rabid wolves, their fists pummeling him to the mat without mercy.

“WHAT A MINUTE!” Thunderbolt cried out.

Hall indentified the two intruders. “That’s Gator Bates and the Alabama Kid!”

The cheers and jubilation turned into panicked screams as onlookers saw the two men blindside Dickinson from behind, their fists raining down like a hailstorm in a brutal post-match attack. Sunny O’Callahan climbed into the ring and surged forward, her frizzy hair wild around her face. But Mr. McMann caught her by the arms, his grip ironclad.

“Let me go, you snake!” she screamed.

Bates and The Alabama Kid stomp the hell out of Dickinson while McMann cackles off to the side and Sunny frantically tries to get loose.

“Thunderbolt,” Hall called out. “I’m getting word that something is happening backstage too.”

“What now?” Thunderbolt asked.

The video screen comes on and there’s more.

Backstage, the scene was a chaotic battlefield, with bodies and debris strewn about. The Alabama Gang, comprised of fierce fighters R.G. Jenkins and Mark Hendry, faced off against their arch-nemesis, the ruthless Stevens Dynasty. The air crackled with ferocity as fists flew and grunts echoed through the room.

“It’s a major backstage fracas, Thunderbolt!” Hall described. “The Stevens Dynasty jumped the Alabama Gang when they were on the way to the ring to help Bill Dickinson out…”

Suddenly, the explosive No Quarter crew joined in on the melee, their pent-up rage from earlier now fueling their every move. It was a no-holds-barred clash of titans, with no quarter given or asked for.


MVW Security appeared on the video screen, diving in to separate the three teams.

Sunny let out a primal scream as McMann tossed her to the unforgiving mat, her body hitting with a sickening thud.

He snatched the microphone from Heather Cooper, his voice booming over the chaos in the arena. “Are you not entertained?” he bellowed, taunting the crowd. “Or shall I say… SPORTS-entertained?”

‘Sports Entertainment Genius’
Mr. McMann

The audience responded with deafening boos and jeers, their anger fueling McMann’s ego.

Meanwhile, Dickinson struggled to his feet on shaky legs, dazed and disoriented from being thrown like a ragdoll out of the ring.

McMann was far from finished. “2024 will be the year sports entertainment takes over MVW,” he declared triumphantly, standing tall next to his newly formed tag team. “Luke Woods—the MVW title… Gator Bates and The Alabama Kid—the MVW Tag Team Titles.”

The SEC raised their arms in victory while Dickinson spat out a mouthful of blood onto the arena floor, his gaze locked on the SEC standing tall in the ring. They thought they had won the battle, but the war was far from over. With a mouth full of blood and determination in his eyes, Dickinson leaned against the ring apron, ready to continue the fight. This war was far from over.

“An explosive end to an already volatile night here in MVW,” Thunderbolt stated, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the bedlam unfolding around them.

“The Sports Entertainment Corporation’s made their intentions clear,” Hall concluded, shaking his head with a mixture of disbelief and anticipation. “They’ve brought in Gator Bates and The Alabama Kid to go after gold in the MVW Tag Team Division.”

Thunderbolt agreed. “But if there’s one thing I know about ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson, it’s that he doesn’t stay down for long.”

“Oh, hell no, Thunderbolt,” Hall concurred. “McMann, of all people, knows just how dangerous Bill Dickinson has just become following that sneak attack on him. I’m sure he’s got a plan formulated already.”

“All right, we will be back next week,” Thunderbolt said.  “See you then!”

As the show wrapped up, Dickinson pushed himself to his feet outside the ring, his eyes burning with a fire that only a true fighter knows. This wasn’t just about titles anymore; it was about pride, about proving that old-school wrestling wouldn’t go down without a hell of a fight.

-Women’s Tag Team Champions Jill Berg Enterprises defeated The Working Girls at 19:56 in a non-title match
-No Quarter © defeated The Stevens Dynasty via DQ at 6:02 to retain the MVW Tag Team Title
-Women’s Champion Victoria McGill defeated Yosemite Samantha at 5:17 in a non-title match
-‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson © defeated Luke Woods at 6:34 to retain the MVW Title.

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