The Three Douches
Eli Black vs Quinn Harper vs Derrick Cole, #481 3-Heel Battle (UCW)
The three most vicious heels on the UCW roster battle it out in this highly anticipated match. It can't live up to everybody's expectations, can it? But if there is more that Eli, Quinn, and Derrick could have done to make this match epic, I can't think of what it would be. (Nudity. There could have been nudity.) What I feared the most is that they would wimp out in the end with a group hug or a DQ or some insipid shit like that, but (no significant spoilers here) I need not have worried: they duke it out till only one man is left on his feet in the end. It's a legit fight--over the top, sure, but legit.
Bodyslam, aka Michael Tovar, UCW's founder and head honcho, introduces the three players and the parameters of the contest. The match, he tells us, originated with an argument on the online fan site over who was the meanest, baddest, toughest heel on the roster. Each of these three had faithful supporters who presented plausible reasoning for each position. "This is something I don't normally do," Bodyslam says, half apologetically, but in the end the only way to settle a question like this one is a three-way ordeal. He guarantees that no alliances were made before the match because he kept the contestants separate and out of touch with each other. He did everything to ensure that "the last man standing" is indeed the worst of the worst.
In my dream of dreams, this fight would be played straight, no goofball hijinks, no mugging, strictly business. A shoot match. Hard, unforgiving aggression all the way. But this is UCW, where lunacy of every sort is tolerated and encouraged, the only rule being "no killing." And slapstick clowning is what UCW villains have done since ... well ... the low-blow jester himself: Joker. Still, this is one tough gig for everybody involved. What is so great about this match is that there's not a shred of sentiment or respect or decency to be found in the room. It's as if Bodyslam put three Siamese fighting fish into a shot glass and then switched on the video camera.
Derrick talks to the camera, saying he doesn't care what the fans want to see: "I'm not doing this for you people. I just want to beat them up." Quinn rolls his eyes at this big talk and invites Eli, who's been at UCW the longest, to do the honors in putting the fight in motion. Eli obliges, kneeing Derrick in the heart and piledriving him to the floor. That's right--the match starts off with a piledriver. How hardcore is that!
Temporary alliances are created and, almost as quickly, destroyed. It's every man for himself, just like the doctor ordered. At various points in the 32-minute video, any one of these three could be the victor. Without giving it away, I'll admit I'm very pleased with the outcome, but I suppose I would have been just as pleased had either of the other two won the fight this decisively, this nastily, this professionally.
In wrestling, bad guys are supposed to generate heat. Few wrestlers anywhere (and I mean anywhere) outdo Eli, Quinn, and Derrick for making the blood boil and putting dents and dings into their opponents. Each man here is consistent with his persona, each one sinister in his own way--Eli the tactical destroyer, Quinn the loose cannon, Derrick the sadistic bully.
There will be sweat.