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"Uh-!!" Salem meets Freakshow midway with quite a surprise. Crowd reaction turns around in the split of a second, from worry to elation. He is smashed hard with the european uppercut, Crofts bicep nailing him right under his scruffy chin as he sprints in full force, lacking the foresight to do so much as attempt to stop himself. The new yorker lifts up off the ground briefly, blonde hair flipping back as he's knocked senseless by the intercepting strike, spit and sweat flying out from his jaw. Colored blobs form in his vision as he suddenly feels very light, he felt himself moving backwards, towards the ropes, staggeringly, fittingly, like a drunk. Miraculously he was still on his feet, be it by muscle memory, instinct, or the christmas spirit. It wouldn't last for long though.

He hits the ropes, arms loose at his sides, his stance wide and open. With his eyes flashing open and close he bounces off the ropes. Like a toddler learning to walk he takes a couple clumsy steps forward, back towards Salem, a zombie like expression on his face before his foot catches the ground and he flops face first onto the mat. After hitting the ground he makes no movement, the fall could have been what put him out, but in all likelyhood it was the brutal One-Hitter Quitter. In a fell swoop the advantage now seemed to fall into Salems court.

After a good ten seconds Freakshow slowly tips his head up and see's Croft right in front of him, reaching far out for the microphone, just inches from his grasp. Freaks head nods, his body sways as he puts one arm in front of the other, dragging himself steadily towards the hurt man. He stops occasionally to take a few breaths and keep himself from tipping over as he gets his knees underneath himself. Sweat dripping from his jaw he finds himself right next to Salem, barely conscious. Knowing that there was but one way to end the match at this point, he crawls ontop of the seemingly blacked out young man. He gathers up the competitors arm in the crook of his elbow, and reaches around his neck to apply the crossface chickenwing, an old classic. If applied he would turn the hold on its side, hooking a leg around Crofts body.

Unified clapping is heard from the many Croft supporters in the audience. As Croft gets closer to the microphone Freakshow pulls back harder on his arm, at the same time thrashing his taped up forearm into his features, staining the white material red in some areas as he brushes over the eye wound. "Taaaaaaaaap!" He hollers out, he wanted nothing more than to get backstage and put his head on a big bag of ice, maybe get a stiff drink. Freak swings his head back and forth while twisting on the submission, Crofts fingertip now up against the base of the mic.

"Hey! Hey!" Freakshow barks at the ref, bits of spit flying from his mouth as he makes his demands of the long suffering official, "His arm! Do it! Do the thing!" His voice hoarse from exhaustion, eyes bloodshot and wide open as the adrenaline of a near win began to flow through him. He digs his heel into the ribs of Salem, turning over onto his back. The official takes his place next to the two men, one of them knocked out, and grabs the forearm of Croft. "Hah.." Freak pants, his tongue dangling out of his mouth as Salems arm is lifted up to the air, then dropped for the first time.

Salems hand hits the ring, an occurrence that took only a second, but felt to Freak as if it were an hour. "Hurry.." He pleads now, his arms and legs getting tired from the prolonged amount of time applying pressure. No one had expected Freakshow to put on the showing he'd given in this match. Even in his prime he had been a defensive wrestler, it was not uncommon to see him absorb punishment from a tougher opponent before finding a rule to break, a way to slip by with the win. What the shocked audience was bore witness to was far from the norm. The referee grabs Crofts wrist, lifts it, and lets it drop once more. Closer and closer, all it took was a moments hesitation as the official again reached for the arm.

"You little-" Freaks face starts to turn light pink as Croft manages to get his hand up! He shakes his head rapidly, "No!" Freakshow tries to hold tighter on the crossface chickenwing, but had expended most of his energy early on. Cursing, and screaming over Crofts louder, microphone aided voice as the man declares it a Last Man Standing match, prolonging the match by just a tad bit more it would seem. The small bit of time could, however, prove crucial to Crofts chances of winning. As he reaches for the mic in Salem's hand, the item is pitched to the outside of the ring.

Just when he though things couldn't get worse. Freak, a look of irritation, anguish, and general tiredness on his face, rolls the hold over onto Salem's stomach. He unhooks his leg from around the torso of the opponent, keeping his stranglehold and chickenwing somewhat loose now as he used the hold to try dragging the man up to his feet. Freak strains and groans, It would prove a somewhat difficult task, considering one of them was almost dead weight. "God.. Damnit.." He whines, jaw hanging wide open as he takes deep mouth breaths.

"Ugh" He sighs out as he hunches over to hold the barely functioning Salem up to his feet. If this had been a normal match, it would have been over, is what Freak thought to comfort himself as he took baby steps towards the edge of the ring. Gradually he grip relinquished more and more, until he was hardly applying any pressure and simply using the move as a means of keeping his opposition in place. After some slouching around Freakshow finally makes it close enough to the ropes. Finally he lets go of Croft, but only for a brief moment could he rest. Immediately Freak would double the rookie down, grab him by the neck and seat of the pants to unceremoniously shove him through the middle rope to the floor below. It wouldn't take much, just a little nudge and gravity would do the rest.

Freakshow drops down to his rear on the inside of the ring, his legs hanging on the outside as he takes a second to collect his thoughts. Under the bottom rope he slithers, the crowd surprised by the amount of poise and control Freak had demonstrated in his first match in over a year. Soft on his feet he stalks behind Croft, careful not to alert the man of his presence. Once within the appropriate distance, he lunges towards the back of the mans head, grabbing at the sides of his temples with both hands. Not caring for frills or flash at this point, he lifts starts to lift the opponent up before whipping him right back down, trying to bash him head first against the ramp!