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WrestleWizard

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Segment VIII: The Revolution's First Defense

The arena was still buzzing from the chaotic fallout of WrestleMania XX when the soft, classical instrumental of Molly Holly’s theme began to play, drawing a wave of boos. The former champion emerged, not with the regal confidence of a queen, but with the cold, focused fury of a deposed monarch. Dressed in her immaculate ring gear, her expression was a mask of indignation as she marched to the ring, her eyes burning a hole through the woman who had taken everything from her. The crowd’s jeers were answered by an explosion of raw, grungy guitar as Lita’s theme hit, and the new Women’s Champion burst onto the stage to a deafening roar. The title was slung over her shoulder, not like an accessory, but like a hard-won battle standard. She charged down the ramp, a whirlwind of red hair and rebellious energy, the physical embodiment of the revolution that had triumphed less than twenty-four hours earlier.

The bell had barely sounded when Molly Holly came tearing across the ring like a storm let loose. There was no hesitation, no lock-up, no circling—it was raw fury. She speared Lita into the corner, driving her shoulder deep into the champion’s midsection once, twice, a third time, each impact drawing a groan from the crowd. Molly had studied those ribs since WrestleMania, and she made them her target, pounding away with merciless precision. She grabbed Lita by the wrist and hurled her down hard to the canvas, then stomped down with the heel of her boot, each blow landing like a hammer. With Lita writhing in pain, Molly bent low, cinched her arm around the waist, and wrenched her into a grueling abdominal stretch. The look on Molly’s face was chilling—teeth clenched, eyes narrowed, every inch of her body bent on causing punishment rather than winning quickly. The referee hovered nearby, asking Lita if she wanted to submit, but the champion’s head shook wildly, hair whipping around as she refused to give Molly the satisfaction.

For the next few minutes Molly toyed with her prey, shifting from holds to high-impact attacks that only deepened the rib damage. She dropped a knee across Lita’s midsection, then another, then dragged her up only to slam her back down with a snapmare, following with a stiff running kick to the spine. Lita tried to roll away, but Molly gave her no space, dragging her up again and throwing her shoulder-first into the corner before charging with a knee lift that nearly folded the champion in half. From there she hooked the arms and delivered a picture-perfect double underhook suplex, bridging for a pin, but Lita somehow kicked out at two. Molly slapped the mat in frustration, then rolled her foe over and clamped down with a waistlock on the mat, digging her forearm into the ribs and twisting cruelly. The champion gasped for air, her face etched with anguish, but Molly only tightened the pressure, leaning her full weight into the hold. The arena began to clap and stomp, a rhythmic chant of “Let’s go, Lita!” swelling louder with each second.

That chant seemed to awaken something deep within the champion. With a guttural scream, she fired her elbow back into Molly’s ribs, then again, then a third time, loosening the grip. Summoning every ounce of strength she had, Lita rolled her hips and hurled Molly over with a desperate hip toss. The crowd erupted as Molly hit the mat hard. Staggering to her feet, Lita ducked a wild clothesline and came roaring back with one of her own, knocking Molly down. She repeated it again, and again, three clotheslines in quick succession, and suddenly the match had turned on its head. She grabbed Molly by the hair and drove her face-first into the canvas with a snap DDT, the impact jolting the crowd to its feet. Lita flung herself across Molly for the cover—one, two, but Molly kicked free at the last heartbeat. Still, the eruption from the crowd told the story: the champion was alive.

Feeding off that energy, Lita rose and pointed to the top rope, a signal that sent the arena into a frenzy. She climbed gingerly, clutching her ribs, but Molly had life left in her yet. Just as Lita launched herself into the moonsault, Molly rolled toward the corner and thrust both knees up. The collision was sickening—Lita’s ribs slammed down onto Molly’s knees, and she collapsed in agony. Molly pounced instantly, hauling Lita up and snapping her over with a perfect German suplex, bridging beautifully. The referee dove in—one, two, th—Lita jerked her shoulder up at the last possible instant. A gasp spread through the crowd, followed by thunderous applause at her resilience. Molly sat up wide-eyed, then slammed her fist against the mat in disbelief. She dragged Lita to the corner, climbing the ropes with her back to the ring. The audience knew what was coming: the Molly-Go-Round. Molly steadied herself, leapt, and spun—but at the last moment Lita shoved her mid-rotation, sending Molly crashing chest-first to the mat below in a brutal spill.

Both women lay motionless for a moment, the crowd roaring encouragement. Slowly, painfully, Lita pulled herself up by the ropes. Molly staggered to her feet, clutching her chest, only to walk straight into the champion’s trap. With a burst of energy, Lita hooked her head and planted her with a devastating Twist of Fate. The noise was deafening, the entire arena shaking as fans leapt to their feet. But Lita was not done yet. She rolled onto her stomach, clutching her ribs in agony, before dragging herself inch by inch toward the corner. Every rung of the turnbuckles felt like a mountain climb. The fans willed her upward, stomping, screaming, begging her on. Finally she stood at the top, arms spread wide in defiance. Molly lay prone on the canvas, still gasping for breath. Lita took one final breath and soared through the air with her trademark Litasault, twisting gracefully before crashing down with pinpoint accuracy onto Molly’s chest.

The landing drew an explosion of sound, the kind that rattles the walls. Lita hooked the leg, pulling Molly tight against her. The referee’s hand hit—one! two! three!—and the bell clanged in victory. Lita rolled to her side, clutching her ribs with one arm while raising the Women’s Championship with the other. Molly slid under the ropes, furious and dazed, retreating up the aisle with venom in her eyes. But inside the ring, the image was unmistakable: a battered, bruised, yet unbroken champion standing tall, proving once again that her fire could not be extinguished.

As the referee handed Lita her championship, she collapsed to her knees, clutching the title to her chest, the physical and emotional toll of the last twenty-four hours washing over her. She pushed herself to her feet, her body aching, and took a microphone, her voice cracking with emotion. "Last night," she began, her voice trembling, "last night was for every single one of you who ever felt like you didn't fit in. For everyone who was ever told you were too different, too reckless. Last night, we proved them all wrong!" The crowd roared in approval. "Molly Holly said this title was about dignity and tradition. Well, I'm here to say that this title is about heart! It's about passion! And as long as I am your Women's Champion, I will defend it with everything I have, for all of you!"

Her expression then hardened, the celebratory fire in her eyes turning into a defiant blaze. "But it seems like there's always someone new waiting in the back, ready to tell you what you are. Earlier tonight, I heard what Gail Kim had to say. I heard her say that I'm not a champion... that I'm a 'symbol' that's meant to be broken." Lita took a step forward, her voice now low and steady, filled with a dangerous intensity. "Well, Gail, you're right about one thing. I am a symbol. I'm a symbol for every person who fights for what they believe in. And let me tell you something about this symbol... it doesn't break." She raised the championship high, her knuckles white. "This symbol fights! So, Gail, if you want a piece of this, if you want to try and break me... you know exactly where to find me. I'm right here!" Lita's music exploded through the arena as she stood tall in the center of the ring, the fighting champion of a new era, already staring down her next war.

SEGMENT IX: Randy Orton vs. Ric Flair

The camera cut backstage to the interview area, where Todd Grisham stood with a microphone, his expression a mixture of anticipation and professional concern. "My guest at this time," he began, "scheduled for action next against his former mentor, 'The Nature Boy' Ric Flair... Randy Orton." The camera panned to reveal Orton, who leaned against a production crate with a cool, dismissive arrogance. He was completely fresh, showing no signs of wear from the previous night, only the supreme confidence of a man who believed he had conquered the world.

"Randy," Grisham said, "last night at WrestleMania, you didn't just defeat Batista; you stood tall over the ruins of Evolution. Tonight, you face the patriarch of that group, Ric Flair. What are your thoughts heading into this match?"

Orton let out a cold, humorless chuckle, pushing himself off the crate. "Thoughts? Todd, you're giving this far too much credit. Ric Flair is a fossil. He's a walking, talking history lesson that nobody wants to hear anymore. Last night was the end of an era. Tonight isn't a match; it's a public execution. I'm going to do to Ric Flair exactly what I did to him at WrestleMania: put him out of his misery and prove that the age of Evolution is extinct. As for Batista..."

Before he could finish the sentence, a blur of motion exploded into the frame. Batista, a freight train of pure muscle and rage, blindsided Orton, driving him off the crate and into a stack of metal scaffolding with a sickening crash. Grisham scrambled for safety as Batista unleashed a torrent of raw, untamed violence. He hauled Orton up by his vest and threw him like a ragdoll into the cinder block wall, Orton's head cracking against the concrete with a dull thud. "You stabbed us in the back!" Batista roared, his voice a guttural snarl. He dragged Orton through the backstage corridor, the camera crew scrambling to keep up with the chaotic brawl. As they neared the gorilla position, Ric Flair, already in his magnificent ring robe, stepped out and joined the assault, cackling as he delivered a series of vicious stomps to Orton's already injured ribs. The two-on-one mugging was merciless. They dragged Orton's limp body through the curtain and shoved him violently onto the stage. The crowd roared in a mixture of shock and fury as Orton's music hit, and the battered superstar, his body screaming in protest, began the long, painful crawl down the ramp as his opponents waited in the ring, ready for the bell to ring on a match that had already become a slaughter.

The clang of the bell served only as the official start to the slaughter that had already begun backstage. Randy Orton, still reeling from the brutal two-on-one assault, struggled to his hands and knees as Ric Flair circled him, a predator savoring the moment. With Batista standing guard at ringside like a monolith of pure rage, Flair immediately went on the offensive, unleashing a torrent of vicious stomps on Orton's already battered ribs. A cacophony of knife-edge chops followed, each punctuated by a triumphant "WOOO!", turning Orton's chest into a raw, crimson canvas. The first few minutes were not a wrestling match, but a public flogging, as Flair used every bit of his veteran experience to exploit the damage his enforcer had inflicted just moments before.

Running on pure survival instinct, Orton finally created an opening. As Flair indulged in a classic strut, Orton sprang forward, driving a thumb deep into the legend’s eye. The illegal tactic, unseen by the official, gave Orton the space he needed to breathe. He exploded with a desperate burst of offense, catching Flair with a sharp dropkick and following up with a methodical attack on Flair's back. For a brief moment, the "Legend Killer" seemed to reemerge from the battered shell, dissecting his former mentor with a cold precision that silenced the crowd. As Flair staggered to his feet, Orton began to pound the mat, signaling for the RKO. The entire complexion of the match was poised to change on that one, serpentine strike.

It was a change that would never come. As Orton coiled, ready to strike, Batista leaped onto the ring apron, roaring at his former stablemate. The referee's attention was immediately diverted, ordering Batista back to the floor. Orton, his focus broken, turned and barked at Batista, "Get down from there!" This momentary distraction was his undoing. Behind the referee's back, Ric Flair, the dirtiest player in the game, rose to his feet and delivered a brutal, blatant low blow that crumpled Orton in an instant. As Orton collapsed to the mat, gasping in agony, the referee turned back, completely oblivious to the foul. Flair, smirking, simply rolled the incapacitated Orton onto his back, hooked his legs, and defiantly placed both of his own feet on the middle rope for illegal leverage. The referee dropped to the mat, his count echoing Orton's fate: one, two, three. The bell rang. But the night was far from over for Randy Orton. As soon as the match ended, Batista stormed the ring. The two men, the vengeful remnants of Evolution, began a savage two-on-one beatdown. Flair held Orton's arms while Batista delivered a series of brutal, clubbing blows to his back and ribs. The crowd's boos were deafening, but they were ignored. The assault culminated with a thunderous Batista Bomb that left the Legend Killer motionless in the center of the ring.

Just as it seemed the carnage was over, the iconic, snarling riff of Motörhead's "The Game" detonated from the speakers. Triple H, dressed for his main event match against Shawn Michaels, emerged onto the stage, but he wasn't empty-handed. In his grip was his signature sledgehammer. He walked down the ramp with a cold, deliberate purpose, the steel weapon resting on his shoulder. He slid into the ring, and the three original members of Evolution stood over the broken body of their former protégé. Triple H surveyed the damage, a cruel smirk on his face. He then raised the sledgehammer high and brought it crashing down into Orton's already bruised ribs with sickening force. Orton's body convulsed in agony. But Triple H wasn't done. He threw the sledgehammer aside, grabbed Orton by the hair, and dragged his limp body to the center of the ring. With a final, definitive roar of dominance, he hooked Orton's arms and drove him into the mat with a devastating Pedigree. The faction's music hit, and the three men stood tall over Orton's broken body, a reunited, vengeful force of nature. The Main event is next.
 

WrestleWizard

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Segment X: Special Guest Referee: Kurt Angle; Shawn Michaels vs. Triple H

The final, thunderous chords of Evolution's theme music faded, leaving a tense, humming silence in Jersey. In the center of the ring, Triple H stood over the broken body of Randy Orton, his chest heaving, a cruel smirk of satisfaction on his face. He was dressed for war in his black trunks and boots, ready for his main event match, but he had made time for this brutal piece of business first. Ric Flair cackled, stomping near Orton's head, while Batista circled the carnage, a predator surveying his kill. The crowd rained down a torrent of boos, a sound of pure, undiluted hatred for the reunited faction.

Suddenly, a swarm of referees and backstage officials rushed down the ramp, their faces a mixture of urgency and fear. They slid into the ring, creating a human barrier between Evolution and their victim. Several officials immediately tended to Orton, checking on him with concerned whispers, while the lead referee, Charles Robinson, got in Triple H's face, ordering him to his corner. At the same time, a larger contingent of security guards in black polo shirts surrounded Flair and Batista. "Get them out of here! The match is next!" Robinson yelled, pointing emphatically toward the entrance ramp.

Flair, his face flushed with adrenaline and victory, was incensed. "Don't you put your hands on me! Wooo! We run this show!" he screeched, jabbing a finger in a security guard's chest. Batista simply stared down the men surrounding him, his massive frame an immovable object of defiance. It took the combined effort of nearly a dozen men to finally corral the two enraged legends and begin slowly, forcefully, escorting them out of the ring and up the ramp. Flair jawed at the crowd the entire way, while Batista never took his cold, menacing eyes off the ring, a silent promise that this was far from over. As they disappeared behind the curtain, a team of EMTs arrived with a stretcher for the motionless Randy Orton. The message was clear: Triple H was now alone.

The arena was a powder keg of hatred and anticipation as the final match of the night began. First to enter was the special guest referee, the NEW World Heavyweight Champion, Kurt Angle. He walked to the ring not in a suit, but in his wrestling gear with a referee's shirt stretched taut over his muscular frame, the Big Gold Belt gleaming around his waist. He moved with a focused, professional air, a man determined to officiate by the book, despite the circumstances. Next, "Sexy Boy" erupted, and Shawn Michaels emerged to a massive ovation, looking battered from his war with The Rock but still carrying himself with the defiant swagger of "Mr. WrestleMania." Finally, with Triple H already in the ring, the bell rang, and the main event was underway.

The atmosphere was immediately toxic, but Angle was the picture of impartiality. He called for a clean lock-up, his commands sharp and clear. He administered his counts with a steady, even cadence, giving neither man an advantage. When Triple H tried to choke Michaels on the ropes, Angle was there instantly, physically inserting himself between them to force the break. When Michaels threw a closed fist, Angle issued a stern warning, his face a mask of pure professionalism. The match was a classic encounter between two legends, a story of hatred and history told through brutal, beautiful violence, with the World Champion having the best seat in the house.

For ten minutes, the action was a breathtaking back-and-forth. Triple H controlled the early pace with a methodical, punishing assault, but Michaels exploded into a fiery comeback. He hit his flying forearm, kipped up, and dropped a thunderous flying elbow onto Triple H's heart. The crowd was unglued as he retreated to the corner, stomping his foot, tuning up the band for Sweet Chin Music. As Triple H staggered to his feet, Michaels lunged, but The Game ducked and shoved him forward. Michaels stopped himself just short of colliding with Angle, who stood his ground, unflinching. The momentary hesitation was all Triple H needed. He spun Michaels around, kicked him in the gut, and went for the Pedigree.

But Michaels countered, back-dropping Triple H over the top rope to the floor. As Triple H recovered on the outside, Michaels saw his opening. He hit the ropes, built a head of steam, and launched himself over the top with a spectacular crossbody, crashing into Triple H and sending both men tumbling in a heap. Angle, ever the professional, began his ten-count. As the two rivals brawled on the floor, Michaels reversed an Irish whip, sending Triple H careening toward the referee. Angle, with his incredible reflexes, sidestepped the collision, but as he turned, he was met by a charging Shawn Michaels, who accidentally crashed into him with a flying forearm meant for Triple H.

That was the final spark. Angle tumbled to the floor, his face twisting in a mask of pure fury. The professionalism shattered. He ripped off his referee shirt, threw it down, and slid back into the ring, a predator unleashed. He tackled Michaels to the mat, raining down a series of furious, mounted punches. Triple H, seeing the chaos, slid back into the ring and joined the assault on Michaels. But this was no alliance. After a few stomps, Angle shoved Triple H aside and dropped him with a thunderous German suplex, drawing a massive pop from the crowd.

The main event had devolved into the chaotic three-way war that had been promised for Backlash. Angle hit an Angle Slam on Michaels. Triple H recovered and planted Angle with a spinebuster. Michaels kipped up and delivered Sweet Chin Music to Triple H, sending him crumbling to the mat. As Michaels stood tall, Angle blindsided him, locking in a vicious Ankle Lock. The crowd roared as Michaels writhed in pain, but before he could tap, a recovering Triple H minutes later grabbed the sledgehammer he had left at ringside. He slid into the ring and brought the weapon crashing down across Angle's back, breaking the hold.

Angle collapsed, releasing Michaels. Triple H then turned his attention to his oldest rival. He stalked the downed HBK, a cruel smirk on his face, before kicking him in the gut, hooking his arms, and driving him into the mat with a devastating Pedigree. But he wasn't done. He turned to the stirring World Champion, snatched the Big Gold Belt from Angle's waist, and threw it to the mat. He then dragged Angle up and delivered a second Pedigree, spiking the champion's face directly onto his own title. The show went off the air with a final, chilling image: Triple H, standing tall over the broken bodies of both the World Heavyweight Champion and Mr. WrestleMania, hoisting the championship high above his head as if it were already his. After already helping dismantle Randy Orton just moments earlier on Raw, it was a definitive, violent statement: the new era on Monday nights would be defined by The Game.


WWE BACKLASH 2004
May 2, 2004
Air Canada Centre, Toronto, Canada


AD_4nXc1v_8NAxsh9M3kgv9QUfzxxJwjk25XTmRZcGCszUJGZ_zr-Xwhb2eJy6ahbB2u7UgT3GUSW3J3NqRxQXh1dW5d1I6x8f2nDWJm28wjFw7KPo8KUS5i5L6BLHhre5xGS_gd1aQAng


WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP
Kurt Angle (c) vs. Triple H vs. Shawn Michaels

LAST MAN STANDING
Christian vs. Chris Jericho

NEXT WEEK ON RAW

World Tag Team Championships

The Hardy Boyz (c) vs. Lance Cade & Mark Jindrak

WrestleMania XX Rematch
Batista vs. Randy Orton
 
Last edited:

Stojy

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If I'm honest, I'm not a huge fan of the show being posted in a bunch of parts. Just feels really disconnected and makes it hard to ascertain whether the show was match heavy/promo heavy/overbooked etc, because everything just feel like its own entity. I guess I'm more of a traditionalist that way, but as a reader, it all feels a bit disconnected and hard to follow for me.

I'll just comment on the final segment to Raw. Pretty standard booking with Trips/Michaels and Angle here, leading to the triple threat. I'm more interested in how heavily involved Triple H could possible stay with the Orton stuff, whilst he's still chasing the World Title. It feels like something will have to give soon.

Looking forward to seeing how SD follows Mania.
 
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WrestleWizard

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Thanks Stojy for the feedback. I agree and for me personally I think WWE.com style recaps will be my TV route going forward and PPVs will be full all out detail/effort. I love the criticism as it will only help me make a more enjoyable BTB!! Hopefully these recaps/articles will be enough to get the story across.

SmackDown Results: April 1, 2024

Latino Heat Turns to Vicious Venom as Guerrero Desecrates Mysterio’s Mask, Ignites War with Edge

COLUMBUS, OH – Just days removed from one of the most shocking betrayals in WrestleMania history, the WWE Universe inside a sold-out Nationwide Arena did not have to wait long for answers. The April 1st edition of Friday Night SmackDown opened with the familiar hiss of hydraulics and the sight of Eddie Guerrero’s iconic lowrider rolling into view. But this was no celebration. Instead of the roaring cheers that once greeted Latino Heat, the atmosphere was drenched in a thick, venomous cocktail of boos and genuine hatred.

Eddie stepped out, his usual mischievous grin replaced by a cold, arrogant sneer. In his hand, he held the ultimate trophy of his treachery: Rey Mysterio’s sacred mask. With an exaggerated swagger in his step and pure disdain in his eyes, Guerrero strutted toward the ring, clutching the mask like a prized scalp. The jeers only seemed to fuel his arrogance as he held the mask high in the air, mocking the proud heritage it symbolized.

Taking the microphone, Eddie’s voice, once a beloved rasp, cut through the boos with bitter contempt. “You boo me? After everything I’ve given you? You’re all hypocrites!” he snarled, lashing out at the same audience that once adored him. He claimed his actions at WrestleMania were not betrayal, but liberation. For too long, he seethed, he had been shackled by honor, by friendship, by Rey Mysterio.

Eddie’s tone grew sharper as he spat Rey’s name. “Mysterio… my so-called brother… he was dead weight! For years, I carried him, I carried the burden of tradition, of ‘la raza,’ of respect. But respect doesn’t win you the main event. Respect doesn’t get you the WWE Championship.” He branded Rey’s mask as nothing more than a crutch—a shield for sympathy—while Eddie, he claimed, was the one doing the fighting. He then addressed the elephant in the room regarding his own family turmoil. "And Chavo? You people think I forgot about the Royal Rumble? You think I forgot what my own family did? That was Guerrero business! We settle our scores in-house. But Rey... Rey had to play the hero. He stuck his nose in our family's business. He tried to come between blood!" Eddie's voice dripped with venom. "So let me make something clear: When an outsider tries to break up the pack, the pack turns on them. Blood is thicker than water, and Mysterio, you ain't blood." In a chilling proclamation, Guerrero dismissed all notions of outside loyalty, declaring that the Guerrero family creed was the only one that mattered. “Lie, Cheat, Steal… it ain’t just a t-shirt. It’s who we are. And it’s who I am.”

The boos only intensified, but Eddie pressed on, revealing the true depth of his motive. He reminded the world that at WrestleMania, he had gone toe-to-toe with Goldberg and survived, proving his rightful place among the elite. According to Eddie, the constant need to protect Rey and uphold friendship had been the only chain keeping him from greatness. Now, with Rey broken and disgraced, Eddie promised his path to championship gold was clear. His hunger, his addiction to glory, would consume everything in his way.

Then came the final insult. With a look of sheer disgust, Eddie raised Rey’s mask one last time, before spitting venomous words: “This means nothing.” He tossed the symbol of Lucha Libre pride to the mat, he deliberately placed the sole of his boot onto the sacred fabric, grinding it into the canvas to scar the symbol of Lucha Libre pride as the crowd’s fury became a deafening roar.

Just as the boos for Guerrero reached a deafening crescendo, his tirade was suddenly sliced in half by the electrifying guitar riff of “Never Gonna Stop.” The arena exploded as Edge emerged, marching down the ramp with a grim determination that transformed the fans’ anger into a thunderous wave of cheers. Still visibly battered from his hellacious WWE Championship Match against Brock Lesnar, Edge moved with a noticeable limp, his ribs heavily taped beneath his shirt.

Sliding into the ring, Edge went nose-to-nose with Guerrero. “Last night,” Edge rasped, “I went through hell with Brock Lesnar, and I came this close. But I’m not done—my fight for the WWE Championship isn’t over.” The crowd roared before Edge’s gaze turned cold. “But then I see you… a guy I respected, a guy I thought had heart. And I’m not angry, Eddie… I’m disgusted.”

The words hung in the air, silencing the arena for a heartbeat before Edge delivered the final, devastating dagger: “What you did to Rey Mysterio… taking his mask, taking his pride… that wasn’t ‘Latino Heat.’ That was pathetic. You’re not a champion, Eddie. You’re not even a Guerrero… you’re a coward.”

The accusation lit a fire in Eddie’s eyes, and he snapped, throwing the first punch. But Edge, fueled by righteous fury, unleashed a torrent of fists that staggered Guerrero. Despite his injuries, Edge tackled him to the mat in a storm of strikes before stalking into the corner, his eyes blazing as he set up for the Spear. In a desperate act of survival, Eddie bailed out under the bottom rope, snatching Mysterio’s desecrated mask from the mat as he scrambled up the ramp. With a wicked smirk, Guerrero clutched the stolen mask, leaving Edge standing tall in the ring, seething with rage. The WWE Universe had witnessed the birth of a new, venomous Eddie Guerrero—and he had just ignited a war with a relentless new enemy.


GM Teddy Long Makes a Blockbuster Main Event!

Backstage, the door to the General Manager's office flew open with such force that it slammed against the wall. A furious Brock Lesnar stormed in, the WWE Championship slung over his shoulder. He found the new SmackDown General Manager, Teddy Long, leaning back in his chair, cool and composed.

"Long!" Lesnar barked. "I just went through hell. I want competition, not a circus. Who's next?"

Teddy slowly rose from his chair, adjusting his suit. "Holla, holla, holla, playa. Settle down. I see you went to war with Edge, and congratulations. But things are gettin' heated around here. You got a problem with Edge. And now, Eddie Guerrero, he seems to have a problem with Edge, too. And let's not forget about the brand new United States Champion, John Cena, who's ready to prove himself."

Lesnar scoffed, "I don't have problems, Long. I am the problem."

"That may be," Teddy replied smoothly, "but tonight, you're also part of the solution. Because, you see, I'm gonna do what I do best. Tonight, for our main event... we're gonna have ourselves a tag team match!" In a blockbuster announcement, Teddy declared that Brock Lesnar would be forced to team with Eddie Guerrero to take on Edge and the new United States Champion, John Cena! Lesnar's face contorted in a mask of pure rage, but Teddy simply grinned. "Now can you dig that... sucka?! Holla!"


Bashams Punch Their Ticket in Triple Threat Chaos

The Basham Brothers def. The World’s Greatest Tag Team and Rikishi & Scotty 2 Hotty to become No. 1 Contenders

In a chaotic Triple Threat Tag Team Match, The Basham Brothers emerged from the carnage to earn a future shot at WWE Tag Team Champions Paul London & Brian Kendrick, who were watching intently from the commentary desk. The action was fast and furious from the opening bell, with all three teams brawling inside and outside the ring.

After a wild sequence that saw Rikishi clean house and Scotty 2 Hotty successfully deliver the W-O-R-M to Shelton Benjamin, the match broke down. As Scotty celebrated, he was nearly turned inside out by a brutal clothesline from Danny Basham. Doug slid in immediately, and the brothers hit their double-team elevated inverted DDT finisher for the victory.

Post-match, the new champions London and Kendrick rose from their seats, locking eyes with the triumphant Bashams. The contenders pointed to the gold, making their intentions crystal clear.


"The Hunt Begins": A Furious Goldberg Unleashes Hell on SmackDown

Still seething from the humiliation he suffered at WrestleMania, a furious Goldberg marched to the ring with a singular, terrifying purpose: total annihilation. His opponent, local competitor John Walters, was obliterated in seconds, cut in half by a devastating Spear and finished with a ring-rattling Jackhammer.

After the demolition, Goldberg snatched a microphone. “You people saw what happened at WrestleMania!” he barked, pacing like a caged animal. “I wasn’t beaten. I was conned! Eddie Guerrero didn’t beat me like a man—he tricked me! But now… now the hunt begins. I’m not stopping until I’ve destroyed every single person on this show who stands in my way. And Eddie… your time is coming.”

Later, backstage, Goldberg’s path of rage led him to a dejected Big Show, who was lamenting his own WrestleMania loss. After a tense exchange where Goldberg mocked Show for losing to "a kid who thinks he's a rapper," the two behemoths stood nose-to-nose, on the verge of a cataclysmic explosion, proving that no one on SmackDown is safe from the fallout.


The Champ is Here! Cena's Celebration Derailed by a Hostile Takeover from a ‘Wrestling God’

The electric atmosphere inside the arena reached a fever pitch as the new United States Champion, John Cena, sprinted to the ring to a thunderous ovation. "This title... this title is home!" Cena declared. "This is for every single person out there who's ever been told you're not big enough, not strong enough, or not good enough! This is the Ce-Nation's Championship, and it is here to stay!"

His celebration was cut short by the blare of a limousine horn and the pompous, orchestral theme of John "Bradshaw" Layfield. Dressed in an immaculate suit and cowboy hat, JBL strode to the ring with an air of immense superiority. "You are a disgrace to that championship's legacy," JBL sneered, calling Cena a "common street punk."

After a heated verbal exchange, JBL laid down his mission statement. "At WrestleMania, I didn't just win a match; I ended an era. That championship you're holding deserves a champion of my stature. A man of wealth, of power, of distinction. I am putting you, and the entire world, on notice. I am officially making a bid to acquire that asset. I am coming for my United States Championship." Refusing to fight on Cena's terms, JBL promised to strike when the market was favorable, leaving Cena with a new, dangerous enemy on the horizon.


Guerrero Proclaims Family Unity, but Cruiserweight Open is Struck by ‘Thunder’ as Legendary Jushin Liger Arrives!

Cruiserweight Champion Chavo Guerrero Jr., flanked by his father Chavo Classic, smugly addressed the WWE Universe, proclaiming that with Eddie's actions at WrestleMania, the Guerrero family was stronger and more united than ever. He then announced a Cruiserweight Open, with the winner earning a future title shot. Billy Kidman, Tajiri, Akio, Jamie Noble, Funaki, and Nunzio all answered the call.

But just as the match was about to begin, the lights cut out. An unfamiliar, electrifying guitar riff hit, and a name exploded onto the TitanTron: JUSHIN "THUNDER" LIGER.

Columbus, Ohio did not cheer; it detonated. The living legend, a global icon, emerged in his iconic full-body suit and horned mask. Liger marched to the ring, his presence otherworldly, and vaulted over the top rope. The segment ended with an unforgettable image: Liger, pointing a single, gloved finger directly at a horrified Chavo Guerrero, as the entire arena came unglued.


Liger Conquers Chaos! Japanese Legend Wins Cruiserweight Open

In a breathtaking and chaotic encounter, Jushin "Thunder" Liger outlasted six other competitors to win the Cruiserweight Open and earn a future championship match. The action was a non-stop highlight reel, featuring spectacular dives, stiff Japanese Strong Style strikes between Liger and Tajiri, and multiple near-falls. In the stunning conclusion, Liger met Akio on the top rope and delivered a crushing top-rope Brainbuster for the victory. The legend stood tall as a terrified Chavo Guerrero clutched his title, realizing the dream match had now become his nightmare at Backlash May 2nd.

The Phenom Delivers a Final Eulogy for a Fallen Brother

In a somber moment, the arena lights plunged into darkness, and the soul-shaking GONG of The Undertaker echoed through the building. Flanked by Paul Bearer, The Phenom made his deliberate walk to the ring to address the WWE Universe for the first time since defeating his brother Kane in an Inferno Casket Match at WrestleMania.

His voice a low, gravelly rumble, The Undertaker delivered a chilling eulogy. "The creature I faced last night... that was not my brother," he stated. "My real brother… died a long time ago. He wore a mask... to contain the inferno that raged within his own soul. He chose to remove that mask, and in doing so, he did not reveal a man… he unleashed a devil."

The Undertaker declared that his actions at WrestleMania were not about victory, but about performing an exorcism. "Last night, I did not bury Kane. I buried the weakness, the jealousy, the evil that had corrupted him. I buried the devil himself. The war is over. The cycle of vengeance is complete. And now… the soul of my brother… can finally… Rest… In… Peace.” With that, he dropped the microphone, and a final GONG left the arena in absolute silence.


Volatile Alliance Implodes; Edge and Cena Stand Tall in Chaotic Main Event

Edge & John Cena def. Brock Lesnar & Eddie Guerrero

The blockbuster main event was a powder keg from the start. The tension between WWE Champion Brock Lesnar and Eddie Guerrero was palpable, with tags being taken by force via aggressive slaps to the chest. The dysfunctional duo managed to isolate both John Cena and Edge for long stretches, with Lesnar inflicting monstrous punishment and Guerrero adding methodical, rule-breaking offense.

The match exploded when Edge received a hot tag, leading to all four men brawling in the ring. The pivotal moment came when Edge hit Lesnar with a massive Spear. As he went for the cover, Guerrero broke up the pin to save his hated partner. An enraged Lesnar rose to his feet, made a shocking decision, grabbed Eddie from behind, and planted him in the center of the ring with a devastating F-5.

The ultimate betrayal left the arena stunned. Lesnar simply smirked at the carnage he created and exited the ring, leaving his partner to the wolves. With Lesnar walking out, Edge, the legal man, hit a final, definitive Spear on the unconscious Guerrero for the victory. The show went off the air with the two new top heroes of SmackDown, Edge and John Cena, celebrating in the ring, while a smirking Brock Lesnar held his WWE Championship high on the stage, looking more dominant than ever.


Stock Crashes as JBL Savagely Ambushes Cena

As SmackDown was nearing its conclusion, John Cena was seen walking through the backstage parking garage when, from the shadows, John "Bradshaw" Layfield emerged, viciously attacking the new United States Champion from behind with a steel tire iron.

"I told you, kid," JBL sneered over a crippled Cena. "A good businessman strikes when the market is right. And your stock... just crashed."

What followed was a savage and systematic destruction. JBL brutalized Cena, slamming his head into a parked car and repeatedly crushing his arm in the door of his own pristine white limousine. The assault culminated with a truly hellacious Clothesline from Hell that left Cena in a motionless, bloody heap on the concrete floor. In a final act of dominance, JBL ripped the U.S. Title from Cena's grasp, draped it over his unconscious body, and calmly wiped a smear of Cena's blood onto a white handkerchief before departing in his limo. The night ended not with a celebration for the new champion, but with a brutal, unforgettable ambush, signaling the beginning of a dark and hostile takeover on SmackDown.


AD_4nXdcVdgacVfpvYeIjNhP1-jjUlhecH5P9t62ldwkJ0oAFIAb2yz6FBrxE4To0nfuqhwlq5V-A4ShU3fCLSZqAA3jDJTsKpJfu0DBnEI-fhUjpADP1SjbocRr9fcLxrwneH1qUo0Hyw

WWE BACKLASH
May 2, 2004
Toronto, Canada


WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP
Kurt Angle (c) vs. Triple H vs. Shawn Michaels

LAST MAN STANDING
Christian vs. Chris Jericho

CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP
Chavo Guerrero (c) vs. Jushin "Thunder" Liger

NEXT WEEK ON SMACKDOWN

GM TEDDY LONG TO NAME WWE CHAMPION BROCK LESNAR'S BACKLASH OPPONENT

JUSHIN LIGER & CHAVO GUERRERO SIGN THE CONTRACT FOR THEIR BACKLASH CRUISERWEIGHT TITLE MATCH


PLUS.....MAY 3RD THE LANDSCAPE OF WWE WILL CHANGE FOREVER
AD_4nXdV7SXOfLZ09lY0w9hSk-jclRYZwiCAhYybS5TOCyPitJHhW99-nTShEptgyz2OkAdYHWzGuNpnAfTGt-FSB324ej9doZvkhOgXU6ML8-zupwz17V26OY-qqEEKK6VrNJQ501hR
 
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