NWA: New Year’s Eve of Destruction
New Orleans Superdome
12/31/1989

Mighty Morgan leaned against the turnbuckle and sucked air. Sweat poured down his face. According to the clock mounted on the timekeepers table the match had only been going on for ten minutes. Halfway through the planned twenty minutes and he was already blown up. He glanced across the ring and saw Rich Money preening to the crowd and flexing his muscles before he ran a thumb across his thick mustache. Even though Money was a heel, Morgan noticed he was getting pops to go with the heat.

“Rich is going over tonight,” Jack Murphy had growled. It wasn’t a request like the last time the NWA had wanted him to drop the belt. This time it was an order. “It’s time, Morgan.”

For almost six months Money had been chasing Morgan and the title across all the NWA territories, their feud building and building until the blowoff match tonight. Going into the weekend Morgan had expected to come out of New Orleans with the title, like he always did at the big pay-per-views. In his mind Rich Money was just another in a long line of challengers he had faced over the years. But Murphy and the rest of the booking committee had other ideas. He argued with Jack, threatening to just walk out with the belt, but the old man made it very clear that with Morgan’s contract set to expire next year, the only way he could get a new one was to play ball and drop the belt.

The reception Morgan got on the way to the ring made him think about Jack Murphy’s words. For over four years, night after night across the country and in Japan, Canada, and Mexico, Morgan came out to sold-out shows eating out the palm of his hand. He would stand on the apron of the ring and flex his mighty muscles as the crowd popped so loud you would need earplugs. But tonight, as he came out to his theme and walked down the ramp towards the ring, he noticed more disinterest among the fans than anything close to respect or awe. He saw a few booing and giving him the thumbs down. Today marked his 1,522 day as NWA World Heavyweight Champion. He was the longest reigning modern day champion. And after tonight it would all be over.

Morgan came out of the corner towards Money. Money flashed a big white smile as the two men locked up,

“Irish whip into the corner,” Morgan whispered into Money’s ear. “German suplex on you and two-count kick out.”

Morgan broke the lock and swung Money into the turnbuckle face first. He hurried and wrapped his two meaty hands around Money’s waist. Morgan took a deep breath and executed a slow, laborious German suplex where he tossed Money over his head, thanks to a little jump from Money to help get more air and sell it. He tossed Money to the mat flatback and tried like hell to catch his breath as he fell to the mat to attempt a pin.

The ref slid down beside the two men with his arm raised. “One!... Two!”

Money kicked out just seconds before the ref’s hand hit the mat on the third count. Morgan sat up, his eyes bugged wide in disbelief. The disbelief had some kayfabe in it, but there was also his reaction to the crowd. They were cheering for Money's kickout.

“The fuck is going on?” Money asked as he pretended to double over in pain. “How am I getting over?”

“It’s not about you,” Morgan said as he gasped for breath. “It’s about me, these dumbass marks. Let’s go home.”

Money put a hand over his jaw to cover up his talking. “We still got eight minutes scheduled.”

Morgan started to stand, speaking softly to Money as he stood. “I don’t care. We’re going home, Rich. Powerbomb reversal into your finisher ”

If Money had a problem with the called finish, he didn’t raise his objections out loud. The plan had been for Money to get in a cheapshot with his famous diamond encrusted brass knuckles. A failed two count pin by Morgan would lead to Morgan complaining to the referee. While they were distracted, Money would pull the knuckles from his trucks and lay the champ out for an easy pinfall. A cheating finish, befitting a heel. But with Morgan’s audible Money would win cleanly.

Fuck Jack Murphy, Morgan thought to himself. It was clear he was losing the crowd, they wanted Money as champ, even if he was a heel. Time to give the people what they wanted. He stood and wrapped his arms around Money’s sternum, bending him down before picking him up for a powerbomb. His grip was loose enough for Money to slip out, which he did. Money delivered a pulled punch to Morgan’s stomach and then grabbed Morgan’s head in a ¾ facelock before turning around and falling to the mat. He took Morgan down with a jawbreaker over Money’s shoulder. The Bank-Breaker, he called it. Morgan fell backwards and sold the move. He stared up at the lights as he felt Money hold up his leg for the pin.

“One… two… three!”

The bell clanged and the crowd went wild as Rich Money was declared the new NWA Heavyweight Champion. Morgan continued to stare up at the lights as commotion ensued through the ring. He couldn’t see it but he knew Money was holding the belt up high for the entire Superdome to see. For all his animosity towards Murphy, the NWA, and even the fans, Morgan decided to let Money have his moment. For the first time in over four years, all eyes were no longer on Mighty Morgan. He take a step back, spend time at home, and rest up. Then when he was healthy and energized, he would do everything goddamn thing in his power to get that belt back.

Edit: wrong thread

Southwest Wrestling: New Year Bash
El Paso County Coliseum
12/31/1989

The air in the stadium was electric. The crowd was going crazy for the main event that was happening. Eddie Hernández was facing Terio Balboa and El Tigre in a triple-threat match. This match was for the SW World Heavyweight Champion belt. The match had been going on for about twelve minutes, and it seemed it would not end anytime soon. Eddie was easily flying through the air and slamming himself into his opponents. During the match, he performed in many high-flying spots. Terio dominated at one point in the match with his chest slaps and big boots. El Tigre meanwhile was at one time almost one the match with a leg lock. Paul was waiting in the back watching the match. Being satisfied so far by how the match was going. He just hoped that the finish would be good and get El Tigre over. The plan was for El Tigre to hold the Heavyweight belt even though he was at best a cruiserweight.

This would lead to a feud between him and Eddie which would he assumed make him the big bucks. The two had been trained together by Eddie’s father Richardo Hernández. The two were very close in real life. However, in the ring they were rivals always trying to undermine and get one over the other. Paul was behind one of the operators both of them watching the match through a monitor. The tall chubby man was nervously biting his nails or taking big gulps from the can of Sprite in his hand. El Tigre hit the finish which was a muscle buster. The crowd went wild as El Tigre pinned Eddie. Paul cheered loudly spilling some of his drink onto the operator seated in front of him. Apologizing and approaching El Tigre as he made his way to the back.

“That was amazing Al. God damn, I was on the edge of my seat.” Paul was slapping the back of the short wrestler. El Tigre smiled and nodded his head. The man looked utterly exhausted because of the match.

“Thanks. I think we can milk my feud with Eddie. Maybe we could do a match with no rules, I got an idea for the match.” Paul had not heard of a match with no rules.

“Do you mean a match with no pinfall or ref?” He asked while the two walked back to the locker room.

“Something like that Paulie, maybe we should have a meeting so we can properly plan out the match.” Their conversation was interrupted by an employee walking up to Paul.

“Sorry to bother you Mr.Cornette but there is someone on the phone wanting to talk to you.” The employee seemed to be at first dismissed by Paul. But when he knew who was calling him made him regretfully take the call.

“We’ll have that meeting hopefully sometime this week. Have a good week Alejandro.” Paul patted El Tigre on the shoulder before heading towards a local pay phone.

“Hello.” He said curtly while holding the receiver near his ear. Feeling his heart drop when he heard the voice on the other end.

“Hi Paulie it’s Vince. I just finished watching your PPV. It was amazing, especially that final match. I was just wondering if you had time to talk.” The voice was overly chipper which made Paul sweat a little.

“I got time, but not a lot of time I’m really busy.” Paul said lying since he didn’t want to have this conversation. “What did you wanna talk about?” Paul was fiddling with the cord of the payphone.

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about doing a crossover event with both of our promotions?” Vince said with what Paul imagined was a sly grin.

“Maybe we could although we’d have to discuss how we’d even do that. Are you free in two weeks? That’s when everyone is back from our vacation.” Paul could hear Vince writing something down on a piece of paper.

“Sure that works for me, you wanna meet over dinner? I know a good chicken restaurant in Dallas..” Vince seemed to be finishing writing something.

“Anything else you wanna talk about?” He asked hoping that would be it. “You can contact me later so we can iron out the details.” Paul coughed loudly hoping that the conversation would be over.

“Okay, let’s talk when you come back. Give me your address so I can come over to your place.” Vince wrote down Paul’s address who was unsure if he should have given it to him. Paul put down the phone to which the employee that summoned him was standing a few feet away.

“What did McMahon want?” Asking to which Paul turned to face him. His face looked like he had seen a ghost.

“He just wanted a meeting. But I got a bad feeling his real intention is to try and buy out the territory.” Paul hoped that was not going to be the cause. But he had a gut feeling was going to try and encroach on his territory. Luckily for him, he had a meeting with Dusty Brisco in a few days. Perhaps he could give Paul some good advice.