Scott Starr: 5'10, 195 lbs Cameron heaps on the humiliation as a double arm jap strangle saps Scott's strength A tree of woe proves doubly damaging as a chinpull wrecks Cameron's spine Scott seeks to put the punctuation on this sweaty ring battle with a skull shattering piledriver Scott presses his advantage with a punishing, curbstomping choke on the ring apron The patriotic prettyboy cannot catch a break as he's dragged up for more pounding punishment
How We Do Things Down South
Young Cameron Matthews is going for the all-American boy-next-door look, suited up in skimpy stars and stripes briefs. At this point in Cameron's career, the rising New England indy pro star was well seasoned, but still pink and rare in the middle. He was about halfway through his evolution from post-pubescent skinny kid to muscle-draped beefcake. He knew just enough pro wrestling to be dangerous, but more to himself than his opponents, really. But nobody ever complained about Cameron's win-loss record once they got a look at his ample bubble butt so perfectly on display in his flag waving trunks.
"Very patriotic, my friend," Scott Starr says with a heavy dose of sarcasm as he arrives ringside. Scott is 100% Grade-A, corn-fed, Southern beef, as he's more than happy to tell you himself, in so many words. With a little more seasoning than Cameron, and a heaping helping of farm boy muscle mass, he strikes the classic image of a 80's indy pro wrestling star. His solid red pro trunks pack one of the beefiest, bubbliest muscle butts in competition. Scott has produced mixed results in the BG East ring, but he's loaded for bear facing this upright, uptight, apple pie eating pretty boy.
"Scott, I'm Cameron Matthews, welcome to BG East," the earnest boy-next-door introduces himself with an outstretched hand. Scott balks at the open-faced offer of sportsmanship, but finally grabs hold of his opponent's hand firmly. "All right, I appreciate it," he says with his slow, Southern drawl, followed by a sudden, swift kick to Cameron's lower abdomen. "Rule #1," Scott snarls, "never offer a Southerner your hand. Didn't you learn that in the Civil War?"
Scott bitterly fights on against the War of Northern Aggression by raking Cameron's eyes, choking him in the ropes, and face-planting him into the turnbuckles of all four corners of the ring. He nearly decapitates his flat-footed opponent with a clothesline, sending Cameron somersaulting in mid-air. When his opponent grabs the rope for a clean break, Scott reminds him that there is no ref, there are no rules, and he intends to beat his pretty Yankee ass to Appomattox and back.
But Cameron has faced far more than his share of muscle-bellied beasts with bad attitudes. Just when Scott has dragged him off the mat by his hair and scooped up him high across his chest, Cameron slides down the Southern brawler's back and rolls him cleanly into a small package. Scott is so shocked he doesn't know whether to check his ass or scratch his watch, and in the meantime, Cameron slaps down a stunning, if hurried, 3-count pin to win the first fall!
The indignity of being robbed the first fall by a kid in an Old Glory bikini gives Scott a serious dying duck fit. To say Cameron proceeds to get demolished by 150 years of pent-up tribal rage is an understatement. Scott chokes him in the ropes until Cameron turns the same shades of red and blue as his briefs. The Southern brawler tosses him over the top rope, pounds him into the ring post, and rubs his face on the floor outside the ring. Submissions start to pile up everywhere, outside the ring, in the ropes, hanging upside down in a tree of woe, but no matter how he makes Cameron beg, and beg he does, none of it quite satiates Scott's hunger for revenge.
Scott wrings the fight out of him with a rear naked choke, then rouses his befuddled opponent so that he can do it over again and again. A dragon sleeper puts him back down, and a sharp slap to the face drags him back up, weeping into consciousness. A cobra clutch makes Cameron's beautiful body go limp yet again, before he's smacked back to his senses, already pleading for it all to be over. It's an epic, complete, rage-filled, take-no-prisoner's demolition. "And that's how we do things down South, my friend!"
Scott carts the lifeless carcass of the lean, lithe jobber over for a ring-shaking slam
A rope-assisted backbreaking boston crab variation has Matthews slapping the mat in submission
Cameron battles from the bottom as he suffers in a blatant choke from the domineering heel
Scott employs the ropes once more for a backbreaking boston crab submission
A rope bound boston crab variation elicits a furious mat-tapping submission from Cameron
A torturous widow's peak, racking variation, stretches Cameron's wasted body out
Cameron Matthews: 5'11, 160 lbs Scott's powerful cobra clutch brings a dazed superstar down to his knees in the ring Cameron's strength and resolve flag dramatically as Scott muscles his limp body around the ring Scott unleashes holy hell on the prettyboy with a wedge-pulling piledriver Cameron is trussed up like prey in a spider's web as he dangles limp, inverted in the ropes Devastated, destroyed, and demolished; Cameron lays ko'd under studly Scott Starr's knee
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