The Rumble – An Original Poem

Just one more match until the main event,

Hard-earned money and a night well spent.

Tension builds, what excitement will it bring?

Gimmick tables empty as the bell starts to ring.


Thirty-man free-for-all, a pure test of might,

Over the top rope and you’re out of the fight.

The building’s so full the walls start to sway,

Hanging from the rafters as old Ricky would say.


Melodies bellow out from the ringside choir.

Out runs the babyface exploding with fire,

Entrant number one, can he last ’til the end?

With twenty-nine others he’ll have to contend.


Hold onto the ropes with an almighty grip,

Throws himself back in, hits the sunset flip.

With promise of glory and honour on the line,

There’s nothing they won’t do for a chance to shine.


Out strides a giant, the favourite in our eyes.

The fighters all stop and gaze upon his size.

Rivals must allign against this heavyweight,

Takes nine men to beat one the size of eight.


Broken bodies tumble from rope to concrete,

Boos reign down while the heels earn their heat.

Another soldier gone from this thirty-man war,

Tears from the fan club as his feet hit the floor.


Some sit in the corner to take a rest from the riot.

A boot to the face, no chance of peace and quiet.

The action never stops, there’s no time to relax,

Tackle, dropdown, and hit that double axe.


One boot on the floor, a large gasping sound,

He’s not out unless both feet touch the ground!

They stay in the match and fight through the pain.

A hero on the comeback, cheap seats go insane.


Jaws begin to drop as fighters cling and climb.

They’ve been in so long we’ve lost count of the time!

Plummets to the floor with an almighty thwack,

Keeps his head held down as he walks to the back.


Two men remain, sweat glistens in the spotlight.

It’s come down to this – a one-on-one fight.

Look into their eyes, see their desperation.

Bodies slam to the mat, soaked in perspiration.


And in the closing moments of this unique brawl,

One man lay in shame whilst the other stands tall.

Cheers invade the building right up to the rooftop,

Goosebumps on the skin when you hear that crowd pop.


It may seem strange, or perhaps a bit surreal.

Some call it fake but the emotion is real.

A legend is born when twenty-nine men stumble.

Memories for life, that’s the magic of The Rumble.


Click here for more wrestling poetry.

Follow me on Twitter @HairyWrestling.

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