Champions:

Post Show Media Scrum From Last Night

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Feb
21

Missouri Valley Wrestling
Post Wrestling Night in the Heartland Media Scrum
Tuesday February 20th, 2024

The post show media scrum began when Cary Stevens, patriarch of The Stevens Dynasty, swaggered up to the microphone. His grin stretched wide across his weather-beaten face, the kind that told tales of countless matches and victories hard-earned within the squared circle.

Cary Stevens- Patriarch of the Stevens Dynasty
The gold glimmer of the MVW Tag Team Title belt in his grasp caught the glare of the overhead lights, its reflection dancing over the rabid fans who had gathered to witness what spectacle would unfold.

Cary Stevens: Let me tell y’all something…

Cary’s voice pierced through the murmurs with the confidence only a victor could muster.

Cary: The Stevens Dynasty came, saw, and conquered No Quarter just like we said we would!”

He raised the title belt high, the metal clashing against the spotlight.

Cary: This right here proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that when it comes to laying down the law in that ring, nobody does it better than us!

His words, dipped in Texan bravado, echoed off the walls, fueling the fervor of the crowd. Some cheered, others jeered, but all eyes were glued to the magnetic presence that Cary commanded. He wore his ego like a second skin, unashamed and unyielding, the hallmark of a man who believed the ring was his birthright.

But Kellie Burkowski was not there to bask in his glory. Her blonde hair seemed almost golden in the arena’s glow as she fixed Cary with a gaze that could stop a charging bull.

Kellie Burkowski: Cary, the whole world saw how The Stevens Dynasty won those titles. But let’s talk about the elephant in the room – or should I say, the foreign object in George Stevens’ hand.”

A murmur swept through the crowd like wildfire as Kellie stood unwavering, microphone in hand. Cary’s smile faltered, just for a moment, as if he’d been slapped with a challenge he hadn’t anticipated.

After a few seconds, Cary replied, his tone laced with condescension, yet a hint of defensiveness seeped through.

Cary: Kellie, darling.  In this business, you do whatever it takes to stay on top. My boy George? He did what was necessary to ensure our family legacy continued!

The crowd erupted, divided between admiration for the win-at-all-costs attitude and disdain for the dubious tactics employed by The Stevens Dynasty. Kellie pressed on, undeterred by the noise and the towering figure of Cary Stevens before her.

Kellie: Winning is one thing, but winning with honor is another.  Doesn’t the Stevens Dynasty care about how they’re remembered in this sport?

Cary’s rugged face tightened, the lines deepening like trenches in a battlefield, the smugness replaced by a flicker of anger.

Cary: Now you listen here, girl.  The only thing that matters at the end of the day is whose hands are raised and who’s got the gold. And tonight, that’s us—The Stevens Dynasty. And don’t you or anyone else forget it.”

Kellie nodded, her piece said, leaving Cary to stew in the heat of her words and the restless energy of the crowd

MVW Champion ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson
Cary Stevens’ words still reverberated off the walls as another form stepped into the spotlight, casting a broad, imposing shadow that demanded attention.

“Redneck” Bill Dickinson swaggered forward, his heavyweight champion’s belt gleaming under the harsh lights, mirroring the smug assurance that filled his deep Southern drawl.

Bill Dickinson: Now, listen here.  I hear all this yappin’ about honor and victory, but let me tell ya somethin’ ’bout bein’ on top.

He paused for effect, letting the crowd’s murmurs swell before continuing.

Bill: Adam Ellis thought he could just waltz right back into MVW, win this title, and take what’s mine, He was wrong.  I put that boy through the wringer—gave him a little taste of Southern hospitality with my powerbombs, and sent him packin’!

Seizing the moment, Kellie again interjected, her voice slicing through the din like a knife. Her tone firm yet not confrontational.

Kellie:  Bill, “There’s no denying your win, but at what cost? Was it necessary to deliver two Southern Fried Powerbombs to Adam Ellis after the match was already won?

Dickinson turned to face her, his gaze sharp and unyielding as the steel of a plow cutting furrows in hard Alabama clay.

Bill: Necessary?  In this ring, it ain’t about what’s necessary. It’s about makin’ sure everyone knows exactly who they’re dealin’ with. It’s about sendin’ a message that ‘Redneck’ Bill Dickinson ain’t someone you underestimate or mess around with.

Kellie stood resolute, her blue eyes locked onto the champion, unflinching in the face of his towering presence.

Kellie: And what about the respect for your opponent?

Bill: Respect?

Dickinson’s sneer was visible even beneath the shadows of his hat brim.

Bill: Kellie, you earn respect in this business, and Adam Ellis… he learned the hard way that respect ain’t given freely in MVW.

Kellie nodded, her questioning having struck a nerve. “Redneck” Bill Dickinson stood tall, his championship belt hoisted high, a symbol of dominance—and perhaps, for some, a question of decency left unanswered.

Jill Berg
Then Jill Berg, CEO of Jill Berg Enterprises, commandeered the microphone with a force that could rival a hurricane. Her high-heeled boots clicked aggressively against the floor, each step an exclamation point to the fury burning in her eyes. As she seized the mic from its stand and shooed Bill Dickinson away, her voice boomed throughout the arena, laced with venom and authority.

Jill Berg:: I am sick and tired of these… these interlopers! Lindsay Troy, Ria, Miranda DC… you think you can just waltz into MY business and throw your weight around? You come to Jennifer Colton’s aid as if she needs rescuing, but let me remind everyone here… this is MVW, not some playground for PRIME’s queen bee or SHOOT Project’s meddling meddlers!”

Her words were sharp, slicing through the charged atmosphere like a knife through silk. The fans booed and jeered, yet there was a smattering of cheers from those who resented the outside intervention.

Berg’s finger jabbed towards the camera, as if pointing directly at the offenders.

Jill: Stay out of my affairs, Or you will face consequences far worse than anything you’ve ever experienced in your precious little federations!  As for you Amberley Stanton… you’ve poked the Corporate Behemoth one too many times.  You’re going to pay for that little stunt tonight.

As her final word echoed in the arena, the lights dimmed momentarily before a spotlight shone on ‘The New Sports Entertainment Genius’ Triple R.

‘Sports Entertainment Genius’ and the ‘Raconteur of Road Rage’ Triple R
He sauntered forward, donned in a bedazzled jacket that glinted under the stage lights, his smile oozing arrogance. With a dismissive flick of his hand, he shrugged off the previous diatribe and brought the microphone to his lips.

Triple R: Thank you, Jill.  We all know what this show really needs.  It’s not more of the same old  headlocks and takedowns and bringing in outside talent to pop a rating and give some shine to your ‘wrestlers.’

Boos crescendoed through the crowd, a sea of discontent rising against the man who dared belittle the art they revered. Triple R soaked in the disapproval, thriving on the animosity as he continued.

Triple R: MVW has become stale, predictable. It’s time for a change, time for entertainment that thrills, that captivates, that electrifies! And who better to bring that to you than The Sports Entertainment Corporation?

A mix of excitement and skepticism buzzed among the audience as he spoke of grandeur and spectacle.

Triple R smirked, a self-assured glint in his eye.

Triple R: Face it, folks.  The traditional wrestling you cling to is a relic of the past… just like Lindsay Troy’s wrestling career.  The SEC is the future… Stevens Dynasty… congratulations on your win… but we’re coming for those tag team titles. The SEC is the best of the best.  The SEC will bring the showmanship, the pizzazz, and yes, the entertainment that MVW is sorely lacking.

Kellie Burkowski stepped up, her blue eyes alight with the fire of conviction. In her simple yet assertive manner, she addressed Triple R directly, the microphone amplifying her words through the charged atmosphere.

Kellie: Triple R,  you talk about entertainment, but what about the pure, unadulterated wrestling that’s the heartbeat of MVW? What about the dedicated fans who live for the technical prowess and the sheer athleticism that our wrestlers display in that ring?

Triple R, however, remained unfazed. With his trademark arrogance, he sneered at the sentimentality she conjured, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand as if swatting away an insignificant fly.

Triple R: Kellie, Kellie, wake up and smell the pyrotechnics. This isn’t about some outdated grappling game; it’s about the spectacle! It’s about giving these people…

He gestured broadly to press people on hand.

Triple R: …what they truly desire: shock and awe, not another yawn-inducing submission hold.  The future of MVW isn’t in holding onto the past—it’s in evolving, in embracing the showbiz that delivers unforgettable moments. The fans want more drama, more excitement, more Sports Entertainment.  Make no mistake, my friends, the Sports Entertainment Corporation recognizes talent when we see it. And the Stevens Dynasty… they’ve got it. But mark my words, The SEC isn’t here just to play second fiddle to a relic to Southern pro wrestling.

He leaned in closer, as if sharing a secret with the thousands in attendance.

Triple R: We’re coming for those tag team titles,” he declared, “and we’re bringing with us a tidal wave of entertainment the likes of which MVW has never seen!

A hush fell over the crowd, anticipation hanging heavy in the air. Whispers and speculation rippled through the audience, each person trying to decipher the cryptic promise laid out before them.

But before the murmurs could swell into a roar, the stage was suddenly commandeered by none other than MVW majority owner, Ray McAvay.

MVW Majority Owner Ray McAvay
His entrance was unceremonious, his demeanor stern—a stark contrast to Triple R’s flamboyant display.

Ray McAvay: Whatever.  MVW was built on the backs of men and women who bled for this sport.  It’s about the struggle, the sacrifice, and the sheer will to overcome—not just the glitz and glamor.

He paced deliberately, each step resonating with the weight of history.

Ray: We give our fans the perfect balance—wrestling that’s both pure and entertaining. We honor the craft, the technique, and the raw emotion that can only be found within these ropes.

McAvay’s presence commanded respect, and even the most ardent supporters of sports entertainment couldn’t help but feel a stirring in their chests. It was a reminder of why they fell in love with the sport in the first place.

Ray: Like I told Mr. McMann when he was flooding me with wrestling ‘scripts,’ I will tell Triple R… MVW won’t change its core values.

McAvay punctuated his statement with a pointed finger.

Ray: We are, and always will be, a pro wrestling show.

His declaration reverberated around the arena, a line drawn unequivocally in the sand. Fans rose to their feet, applause thundering through the venue, as McAvay stood tall—a bastion of the timeless spirit of professional wrestling.

Ray: This ‘pro wrestling’ show has stood the test of time, and under Joe Bergman and Ray McAvay’s watch, it’ll not only survive… it will thrive.  We’re talking about heroes and villains, triumphs and heartaches—all playing out under these bright lights. And I’ll be damned if we don’t continue to deliver that raw, visceral experience to every fan out there.  Thanks for coming tonight and we’ll see you in a couple weeks.

As he wrapped up, the energy in the arena reached a fever pitch. The media scrum dissolved, journalists breaking away with a flurry of excitement, their minds teeming with headlines

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