Welcome to FWrestling.com!

You've come to the longest running fantasy wrestling website. Since 1994, we've been hosting top quality fantasy wrestling and e-wrestling content.

EFG BATTLEMANIA ALTERNATES RP THREAD

Ernie

El Gringo Loco
Joined
Feb 27, 2008
Messages
618
Points
16
Age
41
Website
efedguerillas.com
There are FOUR SPOTS open to alternates to qualify for the event and the $150 grand prize. All alternates are fist come first serve based on when you RP. You will have 1 week, so until 1AM Saturday 03/21/2015 to post and claim your spot.

All alternate RPs will follow the same rules as the other RPs. All alternates can post in this thread starting... NOW!
 

Ataxia

League Member
Joined
Feb 22, 2015
Messages
1
Points
0
Title: 29 egos...1 free will...

We fade in on a creepy looking haunted house set. Standing in front of a obviously fake tombstone, with his back to us, is a man wearing a black tuxedo with a top hat. As we move in closer he turns to us. The creepy mood lighting does it's work as we see the man is wearing a brown, sack like, mask over his face. His pupils are blood red along with his teeth in a face splitting grin. Black and white face paint adorn the parts of his face you can see through the mask. A black opera gloved hand extents to us a white card as we move in closer.


Ataxia: (in a raspy unsettling voice) Hello...darlings. My name is Ataxia. I know what your thinking. How did this devilishly handsome man show up on my screen? Who is he? What is his purpose? And what is on the card?

He flicks his wrist and the card is gone.

Ataxia: I'll answer that question last. You see, I know that right now all of you are probably laughing at my appearance. And if I were you, seeing a guy dressed like me on a set like this, I would be laughing my ass off. And that's a good tactic...for a bunch of idiots.

He smiles and sits down on a tombstone removing the hat.

Ataxia: Now, I know a few of you have heard of me. Amp, Meyhu, Envy, and Aidan. All the boys of Boardwalk know of me. They're probably not laughing. You see. When you face me. I'm the one that's laughing. You see. They know a secret. That secret is that “Even if I lose...I still win.” AHAHAHHAHAHAHHA....

He pops his jaw and stands up reaching into the hat.

Ataxia: What does that mean exactly? Does that mean that even if I lose this match I'm going to win? How? How is that possible? Well, if I were out to win the match by the classical term I'd be doing this to prove my superiority. That's what we are all here for right? That's what we are all trying to prove. Well...twenty nine of you. Twenty nine wrestlers are trying to prove that they are the best of the best on this one given night and me. What am I here to prove? That you are all going to fail. You see, I'm not a “Living Legend”. I don't brag that much. I'm not the “Best of the Best”. I'm not that egotistical. No, I'm simply “The Messiah Pariah”. That means for those of you who aren't in the know...that I am here to only impress one person. Myself.

Ataxia gets up and walks off the set and onto another. This one is a bit more...bedroom oriented. Like late night on Cinemax at the last forty minute mark set where you know you're about to see some boobs. Ataxia leans back on the bed and stretches out.

Ataxia: Now, that we know why I am here. I am here to ruin your lives. You see. You all have it in your heads that you are going to become this unattainable goal. Me? I just am here to hurt you. And the best way to hurt you all is to win. Someone like me wins then...what does Mike Best have to brag about? What does any former world blah blah blah and this title blah blah blah have anything to say? Oh I could brag about world titles that no one gives a shit about to to pad my promo, but why jerk off on myself when I can just fuck myself?

We see another Ataxia walk into frame. He's wearing the same suit, mask, gloves, and makeup as the other one. He winks at us and the camera repositions to where we can't see what the one talking is doing but we can hear a fly unzip and pants fall down. We can only see the second ataxia's head, torso, and arms. We start hearing the sound of smacking and moans of pleasure from the second Ataxia as the first one gives him what for from behind. The first Ataxia leans over so we can see him talk as he thrusts out of sight of the camera.

Ataxia: You see. Em that's tight. Tight like this competition. Yet, after a while of making enough poundings and thrusting the competition starts to get wet. It starts to get loose. Eventually it's gonna start to climax as more and more abuse is inflicted upon it. Some of us can take it. Some of us can go long and hard and forever. But those of you who can't will just moan and give the excuse of “this has never happened to me before.” When we all know otherwi...Em...otherwise. Stop clenching so much damn it.

Ataxia smacks the second Ataxia in the back of the head as the second Ataxia looks on longingly at the first.

Ataxia: Anyway. I think...you've been twerking a lot haven't you. Sorry, multitasking takes a lot out of someone in these and sometimes you get distr...ACT...ted...You really need to behave. Oh fuck it I've made my point.

The first Ataxia grabs the second one's jacket and shirt and rips it open to reveal...a woman wearing a modest one piece swimsuit. He takes off the mask and waves at the camera. We pan back and see Ataxia hasn't taken off his clothes at all. He walks over to the commissary table and grabs a banana. He opens it and provocatively swallows it down in one gulp.

Ataxia: Just like porn...in wrestling...it's all about the angles. So this all pretty much just a clusterfuck of bragging rights. No matter what any of you have done in the past it doesn't matter. It's all a clean slate. Oh sure we got old grudges, but truth be told..no one gives a fuck. In the words of Godzilla. “Let them fight!” And they are going to let us fight. It won't be anymore trashtalk. It won't be anymore bullshit promos where you pretend that the rest of us actually give a fuck about you. You're a number. And you're going over the top. But what if poor...sadistic...twisted...me...get eliminated.

The lights go out and a spotlight cuts on over Ataxia as he poses sadly as tears of blood come out of his eyes and his wrists as rose petals fly in the background.

Ataxia: I'll (sniff, sob, SNORT)....

The lights cut back on and Ataxia just shrugs.

Ataxia: Get the fuck over it. Just like the rest of you. Except I'm not gonna make excuses. You beat me. Good for you. Cookies for everyone who throws me out. However, you are all more worried about these bragging bitches more so than me? You can't just have someone accomplish more than you and not eliminate them. It's just not in the self centered nature of professional wrestlers. All to often you all are trying to prove your masculinity in a world that has sadly moved on from this line of thinking. Clutching to your gold plated backwards weight belts like they mean something. It's like the dollar bill...it's only worth as much as they tell you it's worth. The truth is it's just denim cloth paper with funny writing on it. It has no value aside from what's in your mind. It's the same for all of your accolades and titles. To be blunt. Nothing you have fucking done matters and nothing you will do ever fucking will. The people are the only thing that matter and no one gives a fuck about what the fuck you use to you. You all think that you got a shot at becoming some kind of legend. History isn't written by those who are right...it's by those who are left.

Ataxia walks over to another set in front of a Nazi Flag. The screen goes black and white.

Ataxia: If this behind me would have won, America would have been listed as a vile and evil nation. Does that take away from the horrors the implemented...hell no, but it does bring up an interesting point. No nation, person, or concept is without flaw. There is always a dark sin to cover up. No one is a saint and we are all sinners. We just chose to throw those who are different than you under the bus. In a world where the bad guys win and the good guys always fucking die what does pro wrestling provide. An escape. The fans choose to live through the heroes and villains. They wanna beat up their boss and when one of us does it we fulfill that wish.

The color comes back and the Nazi flag flies down and now it's an Americian flag. Ataxia holds up his hands like Nixon.

Ataxia: It's the American Lie!! It's the right to be the right guy and to win because if you are wrong then your entire fucking concept of who you are is a lie. You can't be a lie. You have to be the truth otherwise you might fucking realize that you. Yes! You Laddy! Are just another prick in the ass of life! We are all getting fucked over because we don't fucking wake up. No one is innocent when we are all guilty. We like to punish evil...why?! It's just someone sinning different than you. What makes you so pure? What makes you so damn fucking special ya fucking snowflakes? So what does all of this have to do with professional wrestling?

The flag starts to burn as Ataxia moves forward.

Ataxia: Because I'm here to wake you all the fuck up! That's the point! The point is that this whole thing is just bread and gore. We are the gladiators of this unholy empire. This is a distraction from the truth. Good or bad it doesn't matter...what matters is who you are. Who you really are. Not the mask that people like Amp, Mike Best, and ever other ego maniac puts on. No. I don't want to fight Mike Best. Mike Best is a fucking idiot! Mike Best is a joke! Mike Best is a god damn lie...I want the man behind the Best...I want the guy who cries in the night because he's not good enough and stays up late wondering can he really back up his shit!

Ataxia holds out his arms and titles appear on them.

Ataxia: This...isn't who you are.

They melt into goo on the floor.

Ataxia: This is.

Ataxia flicks his wrist and the card reappears. He holds it up to the camer and we see the cameraman's lens in the reflection.

Ataxia: This. Is. You. The purest form of a professional wrestler. The purest person is the one that you scream at in the night. The one that when you are down for a two count you get the fuck up. The one that says I will not fucking stay down because the script tells me to! I will not be a cliché any fucking more! I will say fuck this tripe and I will just kick this son of a bitches face in because damn it...I want to! I want to destroy something beautiful just because. You see...I'm different from all of you because I get it. As long as those fans cheer me or boo me...I have a job. I'll make the money. I'll use it to do some good outside of the ring. That's my purpose. That's my mask. Who I am in the ring while I wear this is who and what I really am...and the sad part is...

Ataxia pulls off his mask and we see generic white face mask that gives Ataxia indistinguishable features.

Ataxia: I am all of you...and you all are me.

Ataxia puts the mask back on.

Ataxia: Deep down. We're all the same. The same ugliness. The same “sin”. No matter what you say you are going to do to me I've done worse. No matter how bad you wanna hurt me...I want it more. No matter how sick and twisted you claim to be. I make Hitler look like a fucking choir boy.

Ataxia sits down and the camera follows him onto the floor. We hear the sound of a heartbeat start.

Ataxia: So when I get into this match. When you see me and you hit me with everything that you have in your entire body and I take it. And I don't go down. There will only be this sound of your heartbeat...

The heartbeat picks up as Ataxia reaches off camera grabbing a heart. He starts devouring it as the beat gets faster and faster.


Ataxia:...and my laughter. AHAHHAHAHAHAHHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA...

Fade to static.
 

Parkera

League Member
Joined
Feb 28, 2015
Messages
12
Points
0
Location
Auckland, New Zealand
Website
anzacpro.boards.net
A man is sitting on a small computer office chair with his back turned to the camera. He is wearing a white singlet that leaves no doubt to the imagination of the power he would possess with well-defined shoulder, neck and arm muscles forming a solid shape almost identical to that of some dominant male Silverback Gorilla in the African Jungles.

Voices can be heard, one fairly clear the other slightly distorted by noise and what is obviously a bad connection of sort. Not much can be seen in front of the man due to his shear dominant frame, the monitor of a computer screen is all that can be made out clearly as we zoom closer we can make out that he is video chatting someone. The darkness of the room is illuminated by the bright monitor, a single light behind and slightly to the right of where the man is sitting aids in beating back the darkness.

The blinds on the windows either side of the monitor are open, yet only a gloomy wet night sky is visible. The wind can be heard as it rushes past the windows escaping the outside through slight cracks where the windows open causing the blinds to rattle slightly now and again.

The voices of both men suddenly erupt into rage, the man suddenly leaps up almost as agile as a cat slamming his fists onto the key board, cursing as he throws the keyboard at the monitor knocking it against the wall causing it to pop and spark as the monitor is then picked up and slammed onto the carpeted floor….silence…the wind howls as the man’s heavy chest rises and falls slower and slower each time, his arms tight with anger, fists closed knuckles white, jaw clenched, looking, staring at the broken remains of the monitor….slow controlled breaths, slower his chest rises and slower it falls. Arms, fists and jaw relaxing…slower...Slower...Relaxing.

“Damn it, damn it that son of a...” breathing deeply, slower. “Each and every time” The man turns and lifts his head towards the camera, a small sly grin crosses his face, before bursting into a full smile revealing a set of white well looked after teeth.

“Sorry about that, it happens all the time. Seems to be more and more lately.” The man walks over to the window looking out between the blinds. “Ever since I decided to come here to New Zealand and work for ANZAC Pro Wrestling…No, actually ever since I decided to leave home, leave Alabama and wrestle elsewhere my pa and I have...well become more distant.”
As he spreads the gap between two blinds wider with his fingers revealing the wind blown trees and the rain rattling against the window, his shoulders drop.

“Man, this is my chance, can’t he see it? I don’t wanna be some local yokel indie star of little ole Alabama, no pa, NO that was your life. You wasted it, I’m not! New Zealand’s my chance to be who you couldn't...no, didn't want to be.”
Turning back eyes showing the slight reflection of the light behind the camera

“New Zealand pa, ANZAC pa….BATTLEMANIA! Twenty nine other talented competitors from across the board, all competing for one thing, to be crowned the very best, to be crowned the winner of Battlemania. It’s not going to be a walk in the park, no hand shake deals here pa, nothing but the best, nothing but the very best. Battlemania, BATTLEMANIA!!!

That’s right my chance, Mine! Not yours. This is what I came here for, first it’s Battlemania, then its Championship Royal, then New Zealand Champion! That’s me pa, my chance, my destiny, my opportunity… I represent my new home Anzac Pro at Battlemania, ME! James Jackson. Not some small time indie star, No, NO! Battlemania winning New Zealand Champion! HISTORY!”

The gloom is brighter, the rain is dancing outside with the howling wind growing, dancing towards fever pitch. A Storm is coming Battlemania A storm from the land downunder!
 

English

League Member
Joined
Feb 23, 2015
Messages
5
Points
0
VOW Presents
A Casanova English Original​

Faded Prima Donas

“I'm glad you have a really good view of the mountains.”

My mother was looking much better, better than she ever did in my opinion. Her blonde hair was growing long again. I smiled at her, and she returned one that was weak, a complete and utter lie. Right now she hated me, but she has only been here a week.

“Yeah. It is beautiful out here.”

Vancouver was the best place I could think to send her. It was still inside Canada, but far away enough from Ontario that she wouldn't be tempted to try and escape and hook up with a dealer. This is a side of myself that I keep very low key, not even the members of my stable know that I placed my mom in rehabilitation last week after a frantic and anxious phone call I received from my aunt. Things were going well in my career. I forced VOW into giving me the first shot at the World Visionaries Championship after a year of complete domination. Former champions from all walks of the wrestling world fell at my fresh boots. In one year in this industry I have become a force to be reckoned with. With that comes a pay raise. When my aunt told me my mother was willing to seek help it was nothing for me to sign the paper work, and write a cheque. My mother may have put me through hell, but she was still my mom.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah. I am doing alright. I'm just worried about you.”

I stopped walking alongside her for a second. I was stunned. I don't think I have ever heard my mother say those words to me. Once I took my brother out of a preheated oven when she took too many dilaudids.

“Me? Why?”

“Well this whole wrestling thing. I saw some of your stuff and the things you say. You talk about revolution, about violence. You talk about taking down the “corporate elite”, about finding your “inner savage”. You sound like a terrorist half the time.”

“I thought they didn't let you have TV's in here.”

“No, I saw this before I came here. Before you sent me here I saw it a few times on TV. I have just been thinking about it a lot lately. It's hard to see my son speak so much. . . hate.”

She looked at me for a few moments, and I looked at her not knowing how to respond. She begins to walk ahead of me letting out a sigh as her Nike hiking shoes pushed her up the slight elevation lined with stones.

“Wrestling. . .”

I say before jogging to catch up to her.

“My job is the reason you are here getting better.”

She lets out a laugh as she continues walking along.

“The reason I am here. Then maybe you should quit. I'm not getting better here Cass. I am going insane. Look at this one kilometer trek I am allowed to take supervised. I can only really go hiking with a stupid counselor.”

“Then why in the hell did you say you wanted to come here then mom?”

“I don't know. Turning 40 messes with you.”

“You had a reverse mid-life crisis?”


I let out a slight snicker.

“As soon as my month is up I am out of here.”

I stop, and grab her arm forcing her to stop.

“What do you mean?”

She pulls her arm out of my grasp and snaps at me

“Don't you put your hands on me! As soon as my month is up I am getting out of here and I am going to get better on my own.”

“We tried that a million times already mom we know that is no longer an option. I am working now an I can't be there to watch you like a hawk. I need to be on the road.”

“Oh right! With your weird old wrestling brainwashing crap. The stuff that landed me in this damn prison. Where they medicate me far more then I ever medicated myself. I feel like a god damn zombie. Like the drones you preach about Cass.”

I look away from her begging eyes. Her eyes that beg me to take her home. To let her leave the fences all by herself. She wants her free will back, the decision to make the call if she needs the pill or not. She's not that type of person though. She never was and never will be. She is weak, she gives in. She is locked into the programming, mistaking the numbness for feeling. She can't do it on her own, and most of you can't. You sad little sheep all need some kind of crutch, some kind of excuse to indulge in your vices.

“You are not leaving here in a month. I signed you up for three.”

She steps back, but the look on her face was like a pulled a .45 from my pocket while she was in tight and fired it into her stomach at close range.

“That's not what the doctor says. He says after I am here for a month he will do an evaluation and I am free to go.”

“Well the doctor is mistaken.”


“No. . . No.”

She slams her feet into the ground like a stubborn todler drawing to attention of a counselor passing along on the small short trail.

“Calm down mom. It's fine we have to do this to get better.”

“You hate me! You want me to turn into some FREAK! YOU WANT ME TO DIE HERE!”

I grab her by both arms pulling her near me. Trying to speak softly, and to avoid the counselor intervening.

“Calm down mom everything is fine, You need to be here so we can get you sober. We need to get you off the drugs and back into life. You can help deal with your brothers passing. It's only been two years and the family still needs you.”

“SHUT UP!”

She pulls free of my grasp again, like a repeat of when we were in the kitchen of our two bedroom trailer. I was 10 and it was the first time my mother asked me to help her get better. I was 10 and I fully understood. I never had a child hood.

“I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!”

She pushes me hard and I take a step back as the counselor shouts and runs over. He warns my mother that he is going to have to sedate me, but she breaks free of his grasp too foaming at the mouth, tears rolling down her cheeks, she lets out a primal shriek that bounces off the mountains far off in the distance.

“YOU WANT ME TO DIE HERE!”

She pushes me one last time before the counselor shoves a needle into her side and she falls back slowly, him catching her in his defined arms. I grab the other side of my mothers limp body and the counselor and I drag her along the path back the the redhead center while she drools and mumbles complete nonsense.

The doctor is startled as I push through the door without knocking. I stand in front of him with my leather jacket loosely hung on my shoulders.

“So what is this about my mother only being here for a month?”

He straightens his glasses and ruffles through a few papers.

“Ah. Yes. Miss Jones. You signed her up for three months yet you only paid for month. If you don't pay for the rest in full by the first week of April then she is free to go on her own free will.”

“I'll pay it now.”

“Well here is the balance. You will have to take it down to the finance department to settle up.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

I grab the document from his hand and leave the room quickly. I hate doctors offices. They are always filled with shit that attempts to make you feel comfortable. Like tissues within arms reach. . . it just suggests bad news. I get into the lobby and look at the document. My eyes widen as my heart sinks looking at the balance owing. When I paid the first time I figured that was for the entire duration. It would take three months of my salary at VOW to pay this bill off.

I walk quickly from the creepily clean, blinding white lobby to outside and I pick up my cellphone to call my assistant Corpse, back at The Orphanage.

“Hey. Is all our cash tied up into projects at The Orphanage?”

“Well yeah. I put in the order on the studio this week to increase our production values for promos like you asked. If we are going to compete with corporate propaganda we have to be as presentable as them.”

“I figured. I really need some cash.”

“Well I did get a call today regarding Battlemania. I hear if you win there is a cash prize. I know the whole inter fed thing isn't for you. . .”

I hang up the phone cutting Corpse off. What other choice did I have? This week I have a match with Ziu Zhong and Stacy Jones. Two VOW Champions, a chance to prove that I have what it takes to be The Vision despite what corrupt management wants. Then I have a chance to defeat Vanessa and be the first World Visionaries Champion. This might just kill me, but I needed to save her some how. I at least need to try. I'm not pure evil.

There was no time to waste. I had to let my the competitors at Battlemania know who they are dealing with. I had to announce that I would be taking an alternate spot in hopes of being named the first Batlemania winner. I normally hate shooting in such haste, but the balcony of the hotel provided a nice backdrop of the Vancouver mountains. I place my camcorder in the corner of the rail by the building careful not to let it fall to it's demise a few stories below. I snap on record and pull a sole cigarette away from it's prepackaged brothers.

“So I hear there is an opening. A spot for me to slither into that Battlemania match. How unfortunate for you bright up and coming glimmers of hope, and you old tired dinosaurs.”

I take a long deep haul off the cigarette and blow a plume of smoke into the camera.

“It's not about winning for me it never has been. I know that seems so fucked up in a game that is fixated on the outcome of a match. No, now before you go thinking that you “know” me, I'm not one of those people who loves the idea of pain. I always thought those people were foolish. I'm not saying that I hate pain, it lets me know I am alive. What I am saying is that it's not me, the sadist need to inflict pain on myself and others. . . that is not what drives me in this business. It's defiantly not what drove me to join this interfed battle royal.”

I take another few short puffs off the cigarette, taking an extra inhale of the fresh Canadian air. I blow a few smoke rings up towards the now fading blue sky. The sun was preparing itself to set.

“I'm a soldier of change, I am bringing forth a revolution. Oh, I know you have heard this story before too. I know you have heard the man spout that he is going to bring forth a revolution in this industry. Sadly, those schmucks rarely know the definition of the word. Originality is hard to find in this world that tells you that you are a unique and beautiful snowflake, that you can grow in any way shape and form you choose. It fills your head with false hope. It tells you that you can be a movie star, you can be an astronaut, but the truth is not all of us can. It was all a lie. . . The American fucking dream.”


“I didn't really come to win, as much as I came to make you loose. Every bit of credibility I can take from the “legends” that have a choke hold on this industry the better. The more I can destroy them, break them, manipulate them. Every weakness I reveal, slowly but surly reveals to these mindless brainwashed drones that these heros in tights, are just sad men making a pay check off their intangible dreams. It's time we wake up, it is time we top sleeping in the dark and seize the day. Too long we have sat in the shadows and allows the same continues group to rape us of the almighty dollar. To rape us of our fame and our time.”

I take another hard long puff off the cigarette letting the dry tobacco crackle. I toss the only half smoked cigarette behind me off the balcony, blowing a cloud in front of me. I lean into the camera.

“I am a dose of enlightenment. I'm here to weed out the sick pill addicted brain dead, juiced up imbeciles that have been ruining the credibility in the industry for too long. I am here to stop them dead in their tracks and attempt to open your eyes and show you that these men you look up to, there woman you worship like some kind of Amazonian goddesses. . . they are human just like you. They are weak.”


“Me I am your inner demons. I take the same of that, my game. . . it's far more mental. You know evolution didn't stop at thumbs like you idiots seem to think. No, the mind kept on going. You just have to learn to open it up. There is more then one way to break a person. It can be a maneuver sure, but it can also be a set of words, a look. I see all your secrets. I see the pills you take for your sad little aches, and poor little pains with those dilated pupils. I see your eyes twitching floating back and forth trying to choke out your schizophrenia. I see those eyes well up when you try and keep the thoughts of you dead parents at bay while in that ring. I see it all. . . I see broken men, and fragile woman.”

I open my eyes wide and shoot my eyes around frantically like I see them around me right now.

“I see people who can't come to grips with reality. At the end of the day I think that is what I represent, and that is what terrifies you.”

I shake my head leaning back, speaking in a more calm tone.

"Some people hide it in their addictions, behind a painted face hiding of who they are. . . ashamed. Me, I'm in your face. I'm brash, My faults, my flaws, my derangement’s are all right here out in the open for you to respect. I don't hid it behind a mask, I don't wear some kind of Elvis suit, I don't pop a needle into my ass to get my biceps building. No matter how you want to dress it up it's all the same to me, I'm in that ring with 29 faded prima dona's. You have all these champions, all these lineages. You have all this respect, and history in that ring. Then you have me. I'm honest. I'm not here for fortune and fame I am here to be heard. I'm here to wake you all up. I am what wrestling fears most. . .”

“I am reality.”


“And when that bell rings, and you all stand up and can't help but respect what I have done in that ring. What I have exposed from your paper champions and your false idols. Win loose or draw, you will remember my name.”


"I am The Modern Day Messiah."

I pull my iPhone out of my pocket and opened the camera to a saved photo of my mother holding my brother when he was a baby. I almost forgot the camera was still on. I snap it off quickly, hiding the human parts of myself.


I guess even the devil has his motives.
 

About FWrestling

FWrestling.com was founded in 1994 to promote a community of fantasy wrestling fans and leagues. Since then, we've hosted dozens of leagues and special events, and thousands of users. Come join and prove you're "Even Better Than The Real Thing."

Add Your League

If you want to help grow the community of fantasy wrestling creators, consider hosting your league here on FW. You gain access to message boards, Discord, your own web space and the ability to post pages here on FW. To discuss, message "Chad" here on FW Central.

What Is FW?

Take a look at some old articles that are still relevant regarding what fantasy wrestling is and where it came from.
  • Link: "What is FW?"
  • Top