SuperFan (14 page)

“Go get 'em, Shawn,” Rey exhorted. Shawn stepped into the arena. The fans went nuts, cheering for the skinny kid who a few months before didn't even like the WWE, the boy whose mother was a librarian and father was a soldier serving his country. Shawn thrust the championship skyward, taking in the love and giving back as much as he could.

“And from West Newbury, Massachusetts, weighing two hundred and forty pounds, the reigning WWE Champion, John Cena!”

Out came Cena. Shawn thought his eardrums might shatter as the crowd rocked the noise to another level. Meanwhile, in the ring, Sheamus glowered.

Suddenly, spotlights shifted to the top of the Dome. Shawn followed the beams. Unbelievable. Somebody was up there! Then whoever it was dropped down a rope like a commando, covering the distance to the floor in a few seconds.

Who was it?

CM Punk. He landed just five feet from Shawn and Cena.

“Well, well, well,” Punk exclaimed into a mic. “If it isn't the so-called champ who's been ducking me for months! And the SuperFan champ-ette who couldn't fight his way off his mother's library cart!”

Cena found a microphone. “Go back to your hole, Punk.”

“That coffin? I should be nailing you in it, Cena!”

“Hold on! Just hold on!”

Shawn watched as Sheamus stepped up to Punk and Cena. “You're suspended, Punk. You can't fight until Rey Mysterio says you can. This Casket Match is between Cena and me!”

CM Punk grinned. “I guess you're right, Sheamus. You definitely should live in a coffin!”

The crowd roared with laughter, as much as they didn't like CM Punk.

Sheamus crossed his massive arms. “Punk? Go back to your Straight Edge Society. And stay there!”

“I don't think so, Sheamus,” Punk said evenly. “But I'm glad you reminded me about my suspension. I can't wrestle Cena officially. How about if I take him on unofficially?”

Without warning, CM Punk launched a flying dropkick that knocked Cena backward into the Superstars' entrance. As Cena tried to stand, a huge chunk snapped off the top of the structure and fell forty feet, landing on Cena's upper back. The champ doubled over in pain as boos and hissing shook the Dome.

It looked like Cena was hurt too badly to wrestle. Someone put a mic in his hands. “Thank . . . you . . . CM Punk. For ruining . . . the most important . . . event . . . of the year. WWE . . . Universe . . . says . . . thank you.”

An impromptu chant of “Thank you, Punk!” started in the upper deck. Within moments, the whole Dome had picked it up. Punk took it as a compliment, conducting the crowd like an orchestra while Cena was helped backstage. Meanwhile, Sheamus stomped around like a madman. Punk had just ruined his title shot!

Suddenly, the crowd roared. The “Thank you, Punk!” chant gave way unexpectedly to Rey Mysterio's theme music. Shawn spun around. There was Rey, mic in hand, dressed for combat. “CM Punk, not only did you disappoint all these fans, but you disappointed me, too. I was looking forward to watching John Cena destroy you!”

Rey continued. “The WWE Universe deserves to see someone destroy you tonight! I think that someone is going to be me!”

“Rey, you're hurt, you can't fight!” Shawn shouted.

“I can and I will! I am sick of this guy!” Rey was infuriated.

Sheamus stepped between Rey and Punk. “Oh, no, you won't! This is my night to regain my crown. Take your feud someplace else!”

The crowd booed. Rey raised a hand for quiet. “You know what? Sheamus has a point. Here's my proposition: A two-on-one handicap match. Punk and Sheamus against me! And I want it to be an ‘I Quit' Match!”

Sheamus blew up. “No! No! I want my title shot!”

Rey nodded. “Sheamus, thanks to Punk, you won't get a title match tonight. But if you two defeat me, the next time I'm champion—and I will be champion again—I will give you the very first shot at my title. That is my solemn promise. Do you gentlemen—and I use the term loosely—accept?”

Shawn looked at CM Punk, who was literally licking his lips at the chance to avenge his loss to Rey at last year's WrestleMania. The Celtic Warrior was less enthused, but understood that this was the best outcome he could ask for.

“I'm in,” CM Punk declared.

“All right, Mysterio,” Sheamus bellowed. “You've got your match!”

“This match will be a two-on-one handicap ‘I Quit' Match. For Rey Mysterio to lose, he must tap out with the words
I quit
!”

“For the team of CM Punk and Sheamus to lose,” the announcer continued, “the first member of that team can be pinned. The second member must tap out with the words
I quit
!”

Shawn stood ringside with Rey and shuddered. To battle both these Superstars at once? Nuts.

“I'm going to need your help,” Rey told Shawn. “I need you to be my eyes and my ears. If someone is coming at me from behind, shout ‘Blue Rey, Blue Rey!' If I've knocked someone out of the ring and they're coming back in, shout, ‘Red Rey, Red Rey!' And if either of them picks up a weapon—a chair, a table, anything!—shout, ‘Extreme Rey, Extreme Rey!' Got it?”

Shawn nodded. He had it.

Rey smiled grimly. “One more thing. Put on your new mask. For me.”

Shawn did. The crowd saw it on the monitors and went absolutely wild.

“Okay, here we go,” Rey declared.

He launched himself into the ring with a handspring as Sheamus and Punk climbed through the ropes. They'd clearly discussed strategy because they moved to opposite corners and started circling. Rey was forced to the center of the ring, where he whirled back and forth, trying to keep his opponents at bay. Shawn found himself constantly on the verge of shouting “Blue Rey!”

Then Sheamus and Punk struck.

By prearranged signal, the two Superstars rushed at Rey, who put up his hands to defend himself. Shawn expected a clothesline from the Celtic Warrior and an attack to Rey's midsection from Punk.

Instead, Sheamus unleashed a Brogue Kick—a flying bicycle kick designed to catch Rey on the chin. At the same time, CM Punk went for a spinning heel kick aimed at the same place. Executed well, both kicks were indefensible.

The kicks were executed exceptionally well. Shawn feared Rey would be knocked cold with a double concussion.

Somehow, Rey escaped destruction.

Shawn didn't know how he did it, but Rey leaped so high that the kicks passed underneath him. Then, still in the air, he grabbed Punk's leg and slung him toward the off-balance Sheamus.

Wham!
Punk's right foot landed squarely on Sheamus's left temple. Sheamus crashed to the mat. Punk landed on top of him. Rey climbed quickly to the top of the ropes and launched a swan dive splash, landing on the Sheamus-Punk stack with sickening impact.

There was no need for him to cover. The Celtic Warrior was accidentally pinned by his own partner.

“One, two, three!” everyone chanted with the referee, the crowd joyous at the word
three
.

The match had become Rey versus CM Punk.

Rey ran to the corner where Shawn was standing below. “What'd you think of that?”

“Amazing!”

They shared a fist bump. “Same code as before,” Rey reminded Shawn. “Because—”

It had been his job to keep an eye on CM Punk. But while he and Rey were congratulating themselves, Punk had gotten up, grabbed Rey, and whacked Rey's head into a turnbuckle.

Rey was helpless against the onslaught that followed. Punk did a Tilt-a-Whirl backbreaker. Then he heaved Rey to the far corner and drove his right shoulder into Rey's solar plexus. He followed with a series of knee strikes, then bounced twice off the ropes and smashed Rey with a springboard clothesline.

Rey crumpled. Punk stood over him, rubbing his chin as if trying to figure out how to get his final “I quit!”

“What do you think, Mysterio?” Punk shouted.“I own you! You know what? Your family is still pitiful!”

The crowd booed louder than they'd booed all night. A year ago, it was Punk's ugly verbal attack on Rey's family that had turned their rivalry from ugly to thermonuclear. Now he was doing it again.

Punk made up his mind. He dropped to his knees and pulled Rey to a seated position. Then he grabbed Rey's right wrist and locked him in the dreaded Anaconda Vise. Though the move was illegal, either the ref didn't recognize it, or Punk was doing some variation that passed muster. In any case, Rey was a goner.

“Say ‘I quit!' Say ‘I quit!'” Punk screamed.

“Don't quit, Rey!” Shawn hollered at his mentor. All over the Dome, fans were shouting the same plea.

“Get to the ropes!” Shawn shouted. If Rey could somehow maneuver toward the ropes and hook even the tip of his toe, the referee would signal a break. “Rey! Get to the ropes!”

The Dome crowd picked up Shawn's encouragement. In a matter of seconds, a “619!” chant rocked the house. It seemed to give Rey strength.

“Six-one-nine!” Shawn joined the chorus.

Rey somehow got his left foot over the bottom rope.

“Break!” shouted the referee.

Punk broke. The Dome rocked with cheers.

The match wasn't over, though. Not even close.

Each Superstar had his chances. Rey used a frog splash on Punk, but Punk kicked out at two. Punk dropped Rey with a one-handed bulldog and a slingshot somersault senton; Rey was lucky to kick out at two-and-a-half. Rey actually knocked Punk out of the ring with a Dragonrana.

That was when Punk grabbed a steel chair.

“Extreme Rey! Extreme Rey!”

Shawn did his job perfectly. Rey leaped out of the ring and grabbed a chair in self-defense. For a moment, it was a standoff. Then Rey courageously threw his chair away and climbed back in the ring. Punk turned to the crowd, grinned, and faked tossing his chair away. No way was he giving up his weapon.

Just then, with Punk's back turned, Rey flung himself off the top rope and onto Punk with a moonsault that knocked his opponent to the concrete and sent the steel chair flying. Then Rey threw Punk back into the ring and unleashed a series of devastating, high-flying dropkicks.

After that came the 619 that put Punk flat on his back. Rey covered, and the crowd chanted, “One, two, three!”

The ref waved off the pin, since the rules called for an “I quit!”

Rey didn't hesitate. He wrapped up Punk in an inverted STF, locking his hands around Punk's head. Punk fought for the ropes the way Rey had minutes before, but Rey held him in center ring.

“Shawn! Shawn!”

Rey was calling to him. What for?

“Shawn! Get a mic! I want everyone to hear it!”

Shawn understood. He scrambled to the announcers' table and grabbed a microphone.

Then he ran up the steel stairs and into the ring, where Rey motioned to him to put the microphone by Punk's lips.

“Say it to Shawn, Punk. Say ‘I quit!'” Rey demanded. He locked in the inverted STF even harder. Punk gasped in pain.

“I . . . I . . .”

“Say it!”

“I quit!” As if to underscore his words, Punk slammed his right hand against the canvas again and again, tapping out.

The match was over.

Rey sprang to his feet as the crowd roared. It roared louder when Shawn felt Rey grasp one of his hands and thrust it overhead as if they had been an actual tag team. The cheering was endless. Shawn thought it might be the greatest moment of his life. And it would have been, if only his dad were there.

As the cheers continued, Punk staggered away, defeated. Shawn turned toward the VIP section to wave to his mom, brother, and friends.

Huh. They weren't there. Was he looking in the right place? He sure was. But they were all gone. He didn't even see Taylor and his group.

Oh no,
he thought.
Maybe Taylor had to be rushed to the hospital. Maybe everyone went with him and—

“Members of the WWE Universe!” The public address system boomed one more time as the lights dimmed. “Please turn your attention to the Superstars' entrance to welcome a very special Superstar!”

Spotlights hit the entrance. Fireworks erupted. Patriotic scenes flashed on the screens. The Washington Monument. The Lincoln Memorial. Mount Rushmore. The Capitol. The White House.

It was a remarkable display. Whoever was coming in, he or she had to be big.

The fog machine pumped out red, white, and blue fog. Then the figure stepped out of the fog. A tall man in US Army fatigues.

Shawn's breath caught in his throat when he figured out who it was. “That's my dad! That's my dad! My dad is here!”

“Go to him!” Rey shouted.

As the announcer asked the WWE Universe to welcome Sergeant First Class Sanford Reynolds—father of SuperFan Shawn Reynolds, brought home from Afghanistan on a goodwill visit to see his son Shawn be a part of WrestleMania—Shawn ran to his dad.

No. He didn't run. He sprinted.

Moments later, Shawn was in his father's arms. He didn't even notice his friends and family step out from behind his dad. “When did you . . . when did you get here?” Shawn stammered.

His dad grinned as the cameras moved close enough to show everyone the scene as it unfolded. “Oh, yesterday.”

“You got here yesterday?” Shawn was stunned.

“Yeah! Mom and I have known for a week that he was coming. We were privy!” Peter chortled. “And I used the word
privy
right, too!”