AWL: The Rise and Fall of Nikolai Khruschev

"One, two, three. Odin. Dva. Tri. Yes, no. Da. Nyet. I vill preak you, capitaleest svine. Odin. Dva. Tri. Da. Nyet. Comrade. Tovarisch."

I’ve been at this for close to an hour. I’m pumping iron, currently bench pressing 400-lbs, as I recite the Russian words and phrases over and over again. Whether I’m doing squats, leg presses, curls, you name it, I just keep talking. One, two three. Yes. No. W's become V's. B's become P's. G's become K's. As I build my huge muscles even bigger, I build my knowledge of Russian phrases and work to perfect my English spoken with a Russian accent. Whatever I’m doing, it’s working for me, so far. I might not fool a real Russian, but who cares? It’s Americans that I need to convince.

I’m not a spy. I don’t work for the CIA or the KGB. No, I’m a professional wrestler with a Russian heel gimmick. So all I need to do is convince American wrestling fans that I’m a cruel, cowardly Commie – the kind you love to hate – during matches and promos.

In real life, I’m as American as apple pie. I grew up reciting the pledge of allegiance and playing baseball and football. I voted for Nixon in ’72 at the age of 21 and Reagan at age 29. Hell, I’ve never even left the United States before, except for one crazy weekend in Mexico. Yep, I love this country.

But that's my old life. Now, as of 9 months ago, my name is Nikolai Khruschev. I’m the grandson of the former Soviet leader, here to prove Russian superiority by destroying the best and strongest American men. Of course the best and strongest Americans all wrestle in the American Wrestling League.

When my new boss, Vic, recruited me, he said that even though I’d never wrestled before, I’m perfectly built for the new wrestling aesthetic - huge chest and shoulders, cut arms and legs and a pretty flat stomach. I'm 6'3" and 265-lbs, a big, powerful guy, which a Russian wrestler has to be in my book. I'm athletic and I can take a bump. I've got a deep voice and decent mic skills. Fans really believe I can take and dish out a lot of punishment. In the ring, I either wear a red or black singlet, cut like a trunk at the legs, with either the hammer and sickle or CCCP on it and black wrestling boots. I've shaved my head and grew a goatee, which adds to my evil heel look.

Yes, 1983 is shaping up to be a great year for me. I've got this new wrestling career that pays great. Shit, nine months ago, I was a mover, until Vic saw me and said I had the looks, body and strength to be a star in the ring. I wasn’t sure at first. I mean, wrestling? I kind of wondered if he was a weirdo just trying to get me naked. He wouldn’t be the first. But I checked him out and figured wrestling in tights on television beats hauling furniture. I tried out, earned a spot and they’ve been training me ever since.

I’ve already become one of the biggest heels in the AWL. I’d say that only the Doomsday Crew gets more heat than me. Sure, being a Russian heel is an easy way to get crowds to boo, but no one calls me a fake. I get told to go back to Russia by angry fans every time I march down the aisle. And I get booed louder and more fervently than any other so-called Soviet heel in the other federations.

I think I get booed so loudly, because unlike other Russian heels, I’m actually a good looking guy with muscles to spare. So when I say I’m better than Americans, it’s believable. For the past month, I’ve been feuding with a couple of cowboys – Jack Justice, a 44-year old former main eventer and his real life son Jake, who’s a good looking, 22-year old.

It doesn’t matter to the crowds that I’m in better shape than Jack. It doesn’t matter that I’m bigger and stronger than Jake. Jack now wears the American flag and the two of them chant "USA, USA" constantly. Fans love them and are buying their posters, t-shirts, bandanas, etc. Jack loves the fact that the gimmick makes him a relevant main card guy again – he recently won the US Title so he and I can feud over it. It is his first title in almost 8 years. Plus, he gets to work with his son and help him climb the ladder. I’m the best thing to happen to Jack in years.

I don’t mind any of it. Like I said, I know nothing about the business. Jack works with me every day in the ring to train both Jake and me, even when I’m just crushing local scrubs to build my record. I definitely need his help, because at age 32, I don’t have time to waste climbing ladders. For me, it's all about execution. I've got the raw materials, so if I can learn the moves, I can succeed.

It was Jack’s idea that I enter the ring with a chain around my neck (a chain that has already helped make sure our feud continues as I lost on a DQ after I busted the young and heroic Jake Justice wide open). As a Russian heel, I don’t play fair. I’m sneaky and cowardly, despite my size and power. When I'm in control during the match, I pose and taunt the American crowd with my power. On the way to the ring, I scare the little kids when I stick out my tongue and flex in front of them. I get oohs and ahhs from mom (and dad) when I jump in the ring and show off my hard muscles.

Things just keep getting better.

Meeting the New Kid

So I’m walking down the hall, dressed in my gear, heading to another in-ring training session with the Justices when Vic calls me to his office. He says that he wants me to meet a new addition to the AWL.

“Meet Vladimir. He just nailed his audition match. He’ll be partnering with you.”

I raise an eyebrow. All I see is a short, but really muscular kid in white trunks, boots and pads. Really, a small Russian heel? I don’t get it, but I don’t say anything. I look again and notice the gold star with a hammer and sickle on the front of his trunks. I guess we’ll be partners against the Justices.

Vic explains, “Vladimir has amazing skills. He’s exactly what we need, a younger Russian to wrestle Jake. I realize that it's wrong having two good guy Americans feuding against one evil Russian. Makes you the underdog. Can’t have that.”

I look the kid over and I have to admit that, despite being short, he looks good. Better than Jake, actually. The kid is built like a tank at 5'11" and 235-lbs of solid looking muscle. I'm impressed at how huge and cut his pecs and arms are. He is dark, handsome and scowling, which is perfect for my sidekick. I suppose he could be my kid brother or something. Vic excuses himself and leaves us to get acquainted.

I introduce myself, in accent. The kid sneers and replies, in a perfect Russian accent that puts mine to shame, "I know who you are. I have seen your antics on television. Viktor has decided that, because of my body and accent, I will be wrestling as Vladimir Rasputin, a genetically-perfected Russian soldier here to support you in your cause to crush America."

I'm surprised by his tone. He’s totally robotic. Kid doesn't seem friendly at all. Maybe it's part of his act. I accidentally slip out of my Russian accent and ask, "Kid, so, are you ... Russian? Like, for real?"

"I am from the Soviet Union. My parents prought me to this country when I was 16-years old."

I nod. I ask, "Uh, how long ago was that?"

Vladimir snorts. He says, "If you vant to know my age, I am tventy-years old."

My eyebrows go up. Wow, this kid is really just a boy? I'm even more surprised. I don’t really know what else to say. The kid says nothing. So after a minute of silence, I say, "Okay. Well, I've got a training session with the Justices now. Since you’re already in gear, you should come along."

Vladimir nods. "That seems like a kood idea."

The kid is still cold as ice, but he follows me down the hallway. I ask questions about him and get one-word answers in response. He asks me nothing.

Surprisingly, the kid warms up when he meets Jack and Jake. During the training, I quickly realize that this kid is good. No wonder Vic hired him. Forget his age, he has more experience than me and Jake put together. And he has some high-flying and submission moves that even Jack has never seen before. Kid remains cold to me and warm to the Justices. He clearly doesn't like me for some reason. I want to know why, but I decide to wait until after practice.

After practicing moves, we wrestle against the Justices, me in my black singlet, the kid in his white trunks. With Jack, it's full speed and stiff. One-on-one against the Justices, Vladimir doesn't miss a spot, but then, while we're tag teaming it, he ends up pulling down the top rope as I back into it. I end up flying over the top rope to the hard floor below. It's not yet instinct for me to take the bump right, so I land awkwardly. I pause, checking myself out, making sure I didn't do any damage.

I'm pissed, but mistakes happen. Only I'm not sure this was a mistake. Vladimir doesn't apologize or hop down to check on me. Instead, he screams at me like a drill sergeant to get up and keep going. I'm slow to get up as I test my limbs, joints and muscles on the floor, so this kid actually hops down, grabs me by my singlet at the shoulder and lower back, wrenches it up and hurls me into the ring. My singlet wedges up my ass, exposing one butt cheek as I roll into the center of the ring.

Jack stops things and asks if I'm okay. He has recognized that there's an issue. How could he not? I tell him I'm fine and pull my singlet out of my ass. Jack grabs Jake and excuses them. I can tell Jake wants to stay and watch what's about to go down, but Jack makes him follow. I rise up and turn. I'm seething as I face the kid. He is standing in the corner stone faced.

Russian Bear vs. Cub

"Dude, what the fuck? This is practice, you screwed up and I was making sure you didn't land me in the hospital. Now, you've been an asshole since I met you, kid. What's your fucking problem?" In response, the kid vaults over the top rope easily into the ring. He bounces his pecs and I can see his muscles tensing.

Vladimir says, "You are my problem. You know nothing about wrestling. You do not deserve to be in the ring vith men like me and Jack. I vould not care, but like all American wrestlers who pretend to be Russian, you act like a fool and embarrass my homeland. Your accent is pathetic and you act cowardly and traitorous in the ring. You can be a heel, but be a proud one." The kid beats his chest. "American heels, like Rex Dare or Andy Arlington, they don't act like you. I vill bring pride to my character. Yes, the crowds vill boo, but they vill also respect! From now on, I demand the same from you."

I roll my eyes. "Seriously? Kid, you want to be a positive Russian role model? Find another fucking career. Look, sorry, but that's not what the marks want to see. That's not how it's going down. We're big and bad, but when confronted, we're sneaky and cowardly. In the ring, Americans are the good guys and they're better than us Ruskies. As long as you work for me in this thing, we're doing it old school. Deal with it. It's just wrestling."

The kid laughs. Vladimir says, "Vork for you? Nyet. You vork for me now. I have wrestled my whole life. I vill show you vhat to do and you vill listen and learn. Jack is too soft on you. I vill not be. Like Jake obeys his father, you vill obey me."

I've had enough. I've heard how these things go down. When a young punk needs to be taught a lesson, it's up to the old timers to kick his ass. So when the kid approaches with his fists clenched, I throw the first fist and level the kid. Vladimir collapses back to the mat.

I stand over him and tell him, "Look kid, you talk about respect? You need to show some. To me."

The kid wipes his mouth and checks for blood. He looks at me with hate. My fists are up and I'm ready. I don't think one punch is enough to knock sense into that thick skull and I’m right. While my fists are up, the kid swings his feet and trips me to the mat. I stumble and crash down. Like a gymnast, Vladimir vaults over me and lands across my waist. He pins my arms down and laughs in my face.

I don’t stay down for long. The kid is skilled, but I’m stronger and tougher. I throw him off me easily. We rise. He’s faster and I turn into the setup for a scoop slam. Unluckily for the Russian boy wonder, I know this one. I block the move with my foot and slam a double axe handle across his back. He moans and backs off. I dive forward and tackle him, American football style. Now it’s my turn to pin him. He tries to throw me off, but I’m able to hold my position.

“Kid, stand down. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

In response, he draws up his knees and slams them into my back. As I arch my back, I instinctively lift my hands. Simultaneously, Vladimir thrusts his arms up and grabs hold of my huge pecs. The kid has big, strong hands, I’ll give him that. I feel pain as he digs his fingers into my pecs deeper and deeper, while continuing to lift his knees into my back over and over again. As he slams my back, it just drives my pecs further into his killer grip. Now I’m moaning, my hands on his forearms trying to pry the pec claw off.

The kid uses my lack of focus to roll me over onto my side and then my back. He mounts me again without ever losing his grip. Now with gravity on his side, an inconvenience turns into a real problem. I can feel him breaking down the muscle. I decide to fight fire with fire and try to claw his huge chest. Nice idea, but it's no use. His muscles aren't just big, they're rock hard, like granite. At this angle, I can't do much more than rub the sweat that's building on his chest.

As my hands run over his chest, I hit his nipples. It must have been just right, because he flinches. Suddenly, Vladimir releases his right hand and slaps me hard across the face. He points at me and says, "Do not touch me like that again."

Vladimir releases his left hand, rolls off me and stands up. The kid says, "So you are that kind of man? I am not surprised. If you are villing to submit to training, you may suck my deeck, but no more."

What? Now he thinks I'm a homo? I roll to my feet and charge him. I push him in the corner with a hand wrapped around his throat. I tell him, "Fuck you, I'm ..." I never finish, because he thrusts his fists out and back onto my pecs. I lose my choke on him. He pushes me back out of the corner fast. I stumble backwards, almost tripping over my feet as he drives me across the ring. SLAM! My back collides into the opposite turnbuckle, the pec claw tearing at my chest some more. The kid pulls me out of the corner, turns and flips me over his hips by my pecs. He lets go and I slam onto my back. I arch up holding my back. I immediately feel his size 14 white boot kick the small of my back - once, twice, three times.

As I try to roll to my feet, he finds my ankle and lifts it up. Vladimir is holding my ankle in the air as I try to crawl away. The kid steps on my other boot, pinning it to the mat. With a sudden, sharp movement, he wrenches on my ankle. The pain is intense and I can't help but scream in agony. I've never felt this before. With my other foot pinned, I'm helpless.

I slap the mat in submission, but the kid just applies more pressure. I don't know if they don't do that in Russia or if the kid is just playing with me, but I need to be free. I submit, "FUCK, I GIVE! KID, C’MON, LET GO!"

The kid releases the hold. My leg crashes down hard. I roll onto my back as Vladimir plants his feet on either side of me. He bends over, grabs my face and squeezes my cheeks. The kid looks me in the eye and says, "You vork for me. Do not call me keed again. You vill call me sir."

I snort. "Yeah right, kid. Go to hell."

Vladimir nods. "You still need training? Kood. I like that. Ket up." He backs off and waits.

I roll up and shake out my leg. Little brat thinks he's hot shit just because he got a submission. I obviously need to take this shit more seriously. No 20-year old is going to embarrass me in the ring. I may not know everything about wrestling, but I know how to fight. I raise my fists and move in.

Instead of backing up, the kid smiles and lifts his hands. He starts bouncing on the balls of his feet. I throw a couple of punches, but he avoids them. As I move in, he slips under my punches and comes in close, taking away my reach advantage. I swing, but he blocks it. With him in close, the kid starts peppering my abs and chest with body shots.

The powerful young stud continues to pummel my midsection, as I fail to block him. I've been in street fights, but he's obviously trained in boxing. I flail at him, but my blows seem to bounce off his muscle. He drives me back into the corner. I curl up, but as I do, my arms drop. Too late, I see a fist coming up at me. POW! An upper cut to my chin followed by a right hook and I'm seeing stars. I fall forward, completely out of it.

I roll on the mat, trying to get up, but I can't. Fuck. Next thing I know, I feel water splashing down on my face. I roll to get away from it, shaking my head and staggering up into the corner. I look out at the ring and see Vladimir holding a water bottle. He takes a drink, the smirk on his face mocking me. Damn this punk is cocky. Vladimir takes another swig then offers me some. He says, "Here, drink some of this. Then I vant to see you do tventy pushups followed by ten laps around the gym. Then you can suck my deck, like you want, and ve can start training again."

"What? I'm not doing that, you little piece of crap."

"I see. You vant more. You are not a kood wrestler. You are not a kood boxer. You are not very smart. I see ve vill have to vork very hard." The kid has that fucking grin on his face and his trunks are actually tenting.

"You cocky shit. Don't fucking talk to me like that." I charge forward, but the Bolshevik brat is waiting. He moves to my right, grabs my arm and trips me down. I hit hard, face first. I feel him plant his knee into my back as he wrenches my arm straight up. I moan in pain again as he controls me. I try the counters Jack taught me, but those don't seem to work with an unwilling opponent who is more skilled and very strong.

“You are not steady on your feet. Tvice I have tripped you. You are big, but clumsy. After you submit, ve vork on balance, too.”

Vladimir holds my arm with his shoulder and one hand. He slaps my face lightly with his other hand, taunting me. I can't break free, but it doesn't matter. Vladimir backs off and forces me up to my feet by my arm. He moves in close behind me and hammers in two kidney punches. I arch back and he moves in close. I feel him reach for my shoulders. He pulls down my singlet straps to my waist. As I lift my hands to free my arms, his hands slide around my waist.

Vladimir locks on a reverse bearhug and squeezes hard. I feel his dick against my ass crack. It feels big and stiff. Clearly, the kid is getting off on torturing me. I try to pry open his arms, but he has them locked in tight. He shakes me back and forth, the pressure building. I don’t want to submit again, so I try desperately to counter. Even though I’m tired from training and being abused by this junior bruiser, I still weigh 265-lbs. I plant my feet and push back, running him towards the corner.

As we move back, Vladimir doesn’t resist me. Instead, in the blink of an eye, he uses my momentum to spin us. We flip positions and he forces me into the corner front first. I take the brunt of the impact on my chest. The young Russian pulls me back and then slams me in again. He leans in tight in the corner. Again, I feel his cock against my ass, only two thin layers of fabric between us.

Vladimir slides his hands down and he grabs my cock with one hand and cups my balls with the other. I moan then scream as his huge hands crush my defenseless manhood. I squirm in the corner, but he holds me tight against the turnbuckles. I’m close to crying as he punishes my package. I feel his hot breath on my back and hear him laughing at my pain. I’m full on yelling out now, begging the young punk to stop.

“Call me sir and I vill stop.”

I’ve got no choice now. “Okay, okay, okay! Please sir! Please stop, sir!” He lets up and I sag in the corner. I make the mistake of muttering, “Fucking bastard,” under my breath. He hears and his arms wrap around my waist again into another reverse bearhug. I stumble backwards, stunned and sore. I feel the bearhug relax into a waist lock. A second later, I’m up in the air!

Despite being 30-lbs lighter, my muscular torturer actually lifts me over him, slamming my shoulders and back into the mat in a German suplex. He rolls me over and pulls me up to my feet again. Another German suplex into a bridge. I hear him count the pin, going up to ten before he releases my waist.

I’m like a rag doll in his arms. I’m exhausted. Shit, we trained for an hour with the Justices and have been fighting for god knows how long, but this punk can still manage to lift me up. I thought my size and age gave me the advantage, but it’s his experience and youth that’s keeping him on top and going strong. This punk just won’t tire out.

I feel his boot on my chest. He looks huge and more of a man than me at this point. I look up and say, “Okay, no more. Sir. I get it. Seriously. We’ll do it your way.”

Vladimir flexes over me then steps back. I roll over and maneuver to my knees and elbows. I try to stretch out. I’ve never been this sore before. I feel Vladimir’s enormous hand on my head as I kneel in the ring. He clamps down like he’s grabbing a basketball. He walks around me and stands in front of me. I see his white trunks are tenting. He forces my head back. I look over his heaving pecs into his dark, cruel eyes.

Vladimir says, “Kood. I am glad ve have an understanding. Now, pushups, laps and then you may suck my deeck.”

What? I tell him, “Dude, no. You got the wrong idea earlier. I don’t do that.”

ARGH! I feel his fingers dig into my temples as his grip tightens on my head. Damn, this brat’s fingers are powerful! I gasp in pain, blinded by a killer headache. Vladimir drags me forward by his claw. I crawl forward to the ropes. The young Russian turns us and forces me up against the ropes. I’m holding onto his forearm for dear life, trying to manage the agony of this hold.

Seconds later, I’m draped in the ropes and Vladimir’s tying the middle rope over my shoulders. With the claw removed, I’m starting to get my wits back. I try to maneuver out of the ropes, but the Bolshevik brat puts his boot on my still aching manhood and I stop. Message received – resistance will be met with more punishment. I’m red, muscles sagging, drenched in sweat and he is fresh as a daisy. We both know how a re-match would go.

With my obedience re-established, Vladimir grabs the waist of my singlet, which is hanging down on my hips. He forces the black spandex down, bends over and slides it off over my boots. I hang there in my jock and boots as he stretches my singlet over me, running my head through one of the leg openings. The Siberian stud proceeds to wrap my arms and wrists in the lycra fabric, binding them tightly as he wraps the singlet around my muscular arms and the ropes. When he’s finished, it’s tight and I’m not going anywhere.

Vladimir strips off his white trunks, releasing his throbbing uncut cock. Free of its prison, it grows exponentially. I’m shocked at the size of his erection, but I shouldn’t be, given the enormity of his feet and hands. This is yet another way he proves that he’s the man between us. He comes in close and wiggles his hips, slapping my face with his cock head. A trail of pre-cum runs across my cheek. When he presses the head against my lips, I try to beg him to stop and tell him he’s made a mistake, but as soon as my mouth opens, he forces his cock into my mouth.

I gag on the huge dick. I cannot speak and struggle to breathe, until I remember my nose. It takes me a second to adjust as he stands there. I look up, begging him to pull his monstrous python from my mouth. In response to the eye contact, he bounces his incredible pecs, flexes his arms and kisses his amazing biceps. I close my eyes as he starts thrusting his hips back and forth.

I start to get the hang of this, sucking my first cock ever. I’m not good, but I manage to hold on with minimal gagging. I hear him moaning as he takes his prize. I’m his plaything and we both know it. Vladimir savors the moment. No matter how little respect he has for me as a Russian or as a wrestler, I’m still a big stud and he’s getting off on dominating me.

Vladimir fucks my face for what seems like an hour, but I’m sure it’s only minutes. I swallow a lot of pre-cum from his uncut dick, but when he actually shoots, I can’t handle it. I swallow some, but I gag and choke. He pulls out and shoots again, spraying across my face and bald head as I cough, trying to get my breath back.

When the young Russian’s done, the punk pulls on his trunks. As I lift my head to look at him, I see Jack and Jake have re-entered the ring room. Fuck. Vladimir climbs out of the ring. He says something to Jack who nods. Jack sends Jake out of the room with Vladimir and comes towards the ring. I’m dazed with a splitting headache from the claw, humiliated from my predicament and battered from being the kid’s wrestling dummy. I look at Jack, my face coated in the kid’s cum.

I simply say one word, softly moaning, “Help.”

Jack just shakes his head and sits down in front of me. He doesn't move to free me. Even though we're only 12 years apart in age, he thinks of me like a son. Jack educates me on the ramifications of what has happened here. Vladimir exacted some old school dominance and that means something around the AWL.

Jack doesn't free me until he's said his peace. As I struggle back to the locker room to lick my wounds, I'm still not really sure what Jack is talking about. I can’t figure it out, but I soon learn as we plan our next television appearances.

Vladmir Rasputin's Debut

So it's the first match where the kid and I are being introduced together and it's being taped for television. We come into the ring together and the crowd is electric. They're expecting to see me tear apart some jobber named Daring Danny Chase, who is already in the ring.

As usual, they're booing me, but the crowd starts to notice a difference when Vladimir is introduced as my new "handler". Not protege, not valet, not nephew or little brother. No, handler. I'm still pumped and dressed in my singlet, but my chain is now attached to a collar around my neck. Vladimir is holding the end of the chain tightly. He pulls on it repeatedly to reign me in as we go down the aisle to the ring. I still act ferocious, but now, I'm a Russian bear on a leash, instead of loose, which is far less scary.

Vladimir is wearing a fur hat and has a folded Soviet flag draped down the front of his red trunks. His muscles are bare and throbbing. He bounces his heaving pecs as he stops and smirks at the confused crowd. He wrenches back on the chain, emphasizing to the audience his new role. Vladimir flexes his arms and spouts off at the now screaming marks.

When we enter the ring, Vladimir grabs the mic. He introduces himself and berates America. Unfortunately for me, he's great on the mic, too. While I play a Russian, he lives it. He knows all the right propaganda to say. The crowd gets more worked up than they ever were for me.

Chase waits in the corner to face me, encouraging the crowd to chant USA, but here comes the twist. Vladimir suddenly turns on me, leveling me with a fist to the jaw. He mocks me for failing to destroy Jack Justice and his son Jake, America's greatest champions. He declares that the Russian high command has sent him over to make up for my incompetence and that he will show me how it's done.

Vladimir then stomps me and scoops up my 265-lbs muscular body. He walks around the ring, showing off for the crowd. I act completely helpless and his character is set. When I finally do get slammed, the energy rises. The crowd is amazed as this younger, smaller kid throws me around the ring for nearly four minutes then chains me up to the ring post outside the ring. He slaps me and orders me to watch him wrestle Chase, so I can learn something. I'm chained to the corner as Vladimir takes my place and destroys Chase in a stiff squash.

As debuts go, this is a good one. He has clearly defined our roles and put himself on top as the main heel. He looks like a machine destroying me then the jobber in what can easily be edited down for our segment's allotment of eight television minutes. The size and age differences don't matter to the crowd any more. The kid has proved himself. They're booing Vladimir more than me now.

As we exit the ring, Vladimir drags me along like his dog. We get interviewed, but I don't speak, just snarl as my newly established master delivers a compelling speech that amps up the anti-Justice rhetoric even higher. My days of being the lead heel are clearly over for now. I'm now just the kid's subservient muscle. Sure I win a few matches, but this is a huge setback. Vic and the bookers have Vladimir feuding with Jack, while I'm costing us tag matches against the Americans on pay-per-view and jobbing to young Jake in house shows.

Jack and Jake are still great guys, even though they’ve seen me at my worst. They're still training with me, but it's clear that the savvy veteran no longer sees me as the way to stay in the main event or even as his son's long-term rival. No matter how hard I train, Vladimir still manages to outsmart and outwrestle me. With his youth and skill, it seems like I'm stuck as his bitch for as long as the Soviets remain our enemies, which will probably be forever. It's my own personal Russian nightmare.

The End