The 2020 All-Philadelphia Royal Rumble

This Sunday the WWE is hosting its best pay-per-view of the year. The organization’s ROYAL RUMBLE is BY FAR the best PPV the wrestling brand puts on every year, with pops and surprises that no other event can top.

So as always we decided to COMPLETELY rip it off with our own Royal Rumble.

For those unfamiliar with the concept, a “Royal Rumble” consists of 30 wrestlers entering the ring every two minutes in an all-out, every man or woman for themselves brawl. The entrants are eliminated when thrown over the top rope, and the final man (or woman) standing wins the event and gets to headline Wrestlemania.

What better way to honor the WWE’s best show by putting on our own knock-off event with far less athletic and far, FAR LESS famous contestants that are flimsily connected to Philadelphia in the thinnest ways possible? SOUNDS FUN TO ME!

Of course, as its done the past four years in a row, The Coggin Toboggan hosts its own annual All-Philadelphia Royal Rumble on the Friday before WWE’s event, completely overshadowing the real deal with its complete lack of morals, its utter depravity, and absolute disregard for human life and well being. As always we’ve invited 30 of the most ruthless and knuckle dragging Philadelphians to bash each others brains in for minimal glory, absolutely no prize money, and a dark spot on their careers they’ll never be able to erase.

Is it bloody? You bet. Are concussions a plenty? Oh my yes. Why do you think Angelo Cataldi is the way he is today? When you take steel chair shots to the punim year in and year out in the name of Royal Rumble glory it can certainly take its toll on your psyche and your gray brain matter.

Last year, Nick Foles broke the hearts of Philadelphians everywhere when he turned on Carson Wentz and unceremoniously dumped the franchise quarterback over the top rope after the Eagles chose the ginger-faced athlete to lead the Eagles over the man who brought the first ever Super Bowl to the city.

Thirty of the most ruthless competitors have cast their lot with us to become an immortal champion for the city of Philadelphia. We’ve written a short bio for each, given each an entrance song and a trademark maneuver we feel is appropriate for their particular skillset.

Ladies and gentlemen, the 2020 All-Philadelphia Royal Rumble. May god have mercy on our souls.

Get caught up on all of the previous rumbles right here.

The Venue


The Wells Fargo Center! For the second year in a row, the fine people at the Center have allowed the Coggin Toboggan to host its annual embarrassment of an event in the cozy confines of the Wells Fargo Center. With the Flyers struggling to draw fans and Wing Bowl long gone, the Center has hitched its wagon to the Coggin to keep butts in the seats and make that ticket nut money for the year.

Oh my what a mistake that will be. It’s like selling your soul to the devil. Sure you may be happy for a fleeting moment, but when you ultimately realize what you’ve done and who you’re in bed with, you’ll wish for the sweet escape of death after cleaning up swaths of vomit and deep pools of blood for weeks to come.

Last year’s event featured 573 stitches, 97 concussions and three stabbings…and that was before beer sales opened at 3 a.m.

The Belt


Behold! The Coggin Toboggan belt! Revel in its glory and thank god that such beauty graces us in this world. Nick Foles didn’t even ATTEMPT to get it through security when he flew out of Philadelphia International Airport. We found it on the side of I-95 next to a bag of spilled medical waste. We gave it a good once over with a few Clorox wipes, it’s fine.

How poor David Coggin still allows us to put his likeness on the world’s dumbest championship belt is beyond me. We love you David!

The Entrants

1) Mike Scott (Entrance theme: Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting by Elton John)


Mike Scott! Quite possible the only entrant in this year’s rumble who has been in an actual, honest to goodness fist fight! Last seen pummeling several overweight Eagles fans in the F-Lot of Lincoln Financial Field, Scott vowed to finish the job he started in September and literally KILL several men in the ring tonight! That’s just good old fashioned family fun right there.

Trademark Maneuver: Discus lariat and looking fly in plaid pants.

2) The F-Lot Crew (Entrance Theme: Whoomp There it is by Tag Team)


The F-Lot Crew! Just six complete losers who somehow thought it would be a smart idea to hurl racial epithets at a highly trained, highly unstable professional athlete at an Eagles tailgate. All six have declared for the Rumble and we’ve allowed them to enter as a single entry because we saw how they fought this past September. Seriously, these cream puffs were gassed after throwing five punches. Good luck losers.

Trademark Maneuver: Embarrassing Philadelphia.

3) Gabe Kapler (Entrance Theme: I Left my Heart in San Francisco by Tony Bennett)


Gabe Kapler! He’s back and the collective ladies of Philadelphia are going to need a change of underwear. The ousted Phillies manager now finds himself in the fertile soils of San Francisco, ready to lead the Giants to the promised land once again in one of the worst cities in the entire country. Should be fun the first time Kapler has Buster Posey batting 9th in the lineup to “maximize his swing angle and velocity proficiency.”

Trademark Maneuver: Torture Rack and throwing coconut oil in his opponents eyes.

4) Joe Girardi (Entrance Theme: That’s Amore by Dean Martin)


Joe Girardi! Mama mia! When the stars make you drool just like a pasta fazool, that’s Girardi! The newest skipper of the Philadelphia Phillies is looking to split open some heads just like-a Nana Romano would split open the oysters for her traditional Sunday gravy. Molto Bene! Somehow Girardi has yet to be embroiled in a baseball cheating scandal and he’s looking to really enjoy the first few weeks of Spring Training before Philadelphia fans start to hate him.

Trademark Maneuver: Repeating head butts and garotting Carlo for turning his back on the family. I’ll let you ask me about my business just this once, Kay.

5) Angelo Cataldi (Entrance theme: Creep by Radiohead)


Angelo Cataldi! His third appearance in the All-Philadelphia Royal Rumble. The hero of the lowest common denominator in Philadelphia was last seen being thrown into the crowd in the 2018 event by former Phillies coach Gabe Kapler. Cataldi has sworn revenge and vowed  to have a much better showing in the 2020 event, which I’m sure will go quite well for the out of shape senior citizen.

Trademark Maneuver: Superkicks and speaking for the dumbest subsection of fans in the city.

6) Philadelphia Eagles Tattoo Guy (Entrance Theme: Tattoo by The Who)


The Philadelphia Eagles Tattoo Guy! What a specimen! The average BMI of the competitors will rise by about 900% as this behemoth of a man makes his appearance in the Royal Rumble. What he lacks for in stamina he makes up in by sheer mass. An absolute unit. Pain tolerance may be the highest of any competitor in the rumble, as most draw the line at tattoos around belly buttons, even those as cavernous as the one pictured above.

Trademark Maneuver: Banzai Drop into a casual afternoon of binge drinking in the Jetro Lot.

7) Joel Embiid (Entrance Theme: Psycho Killer by The Talking Heads)


Joel Embiid! Last seen demolishing the competition in the 2019 All-Philadelphia Royal Rumble before being eliminated by his once-faithful coach Brett Brown and a can of bear mace, rumor has it Embiid has been wreaking havoc throughout the dark backwoods of Pennsylvania and terrorizing any creature that dared to cross his path. Still searching for Brown, still hunting for the man that once called him friend that tried to take him down for the good of humanity. A truly tortured soul with an above-average three ball and an elite defensive game.

Trademark Maneuver: A big boot and biting out the jugular of any who oppose him.

8) Brett Brown (Entrance Theme: Foreplay/Long Time by Boston)


Brett Brown!

“I met him, 15 years ago; I was told there was nothing left; no reason, no conscience, no understanding in even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, of good or evil, right or wrong. I met this… six-year-old child with this blank, pale, emotionless face, and… the blackest eyes – the Devil’s eyes. I spent eight years trying to reach him, and then another seven trying to keep him locked up, because I realized that what was living behind that boy’s eyes was purely and simply… evil.” – Brett Brown on Joel Embiid after watching “Halloween.”

Trademark Maneuver: Boston Crab and blowing late lead games.

9) Karl Anthony Towns (Entrance Theme: Purple Rain by Prince)


Karl Anthony Towns! The twisted visage of a man you see before you was made this way by Joel Embiid when the two titans clashed in the pit of combat on the Eve of Halloween in this very arena. The clashes of their fists could be heard for miles before Towns was vanquished and retreated to the frozen tundra of Minnesota. Only recently has he resurfaced, having gone quite mad and now donning a gruesome Scream mask he picked up at a Spirit Halloween for 90% off to hide the wreck of his face.

Trademark Manuever: Tombstone Piledriver and purifying himself in the water of Lake Minnetonka.

10) The Blue Meanie (Entrance Theme: The Blue World Order)


The Blue Meanie! AKA Brian Heffron….an ECW original and Philadelphia sports fanatic. The Blue Meanie danced into all of our hearts during an inspired ECW and WWF run. His professional wrestling background may give him a leg up on the competition, but most likely in the Rumble because a young Coggin loved the J.O.B. Squad and thought it was a drastically under utilized stable in the late 90s attitude era.

Trademark Maneuver: An elegant moonsault and criticizing the Eagles on Twitter.

11) Al Horford (Entrance Theme: Philadelphia Freedom by Elton John)


Al Horford! The crown jewel of Elton Brand’s offseason acquisitions, Horford has had an up and down year for the 76ers so far and has assured us he is 100% not a sleeper cell for the Boston Celtics looking to derail the 76ers season one wide-open brick at a time. Phew, we’re glad that’s not the case.

Trademark Maneuver: Coquina clutch and not being a good fit with Joel Embiid.

12) Les Bowen (Entrance Theme: Here Comes the Boogeyman by Henry Hall)


Les Bowen! Philadelphia Eagles beat writer for the Philadelphia Inquirer! He may be old, but he’s spry and what he lacks in physical stature he more than makes up in wisdom. Bowen should be considered a legitimate darkhorse as he’s thrown a few legitimate punches at his fellow press corp members. God knows what foreign objects he keeps in the pockets of his cargo pants.

Trademark Maneuver: 360 DDT and blowing clouds of Metamucil Fiber dust squirreled away in his cargo short pockets into the eyes of his enemies.

13) Alain Vigneault (Entrance Theme: Two Times by Ann Lee)


Alan Vigneault! Newest head coach of the Philadelphia Flyers who will likely be fired in three years after getting out to a hot start in his inaugural season like every coach before him for the last, oh, 9,000 seasons for the Flyers. Hailing from Quebec, Vigneault will most likely be shitfaced on Molson Black Ice and distracted by the news of Megan Markle and Prince Harry spending most of their time in Canada.

Trademark Maneuver: Goalie stick to the eye and five minutes for roughing.

14) Josina Anderson’s secret source (Entrance Theme: Tubular Bells by Mike Oldfield)


Josina Anderson’s secret source! A mysterious figure who has been shoveling horseshit to Josina Anderson about the Eagles all year long. You’ll always endear yourself to Eagles fans and the Philadelphia media when you rely heavily on an anonymous source to defile the beloved Birds, well done Josina. I’m sure you’re not being fed a healthy dose of nonsense by this surely trusted secret source.

Trademark Maneuver: Belittling Carson Wentz and providing sports talk fodder for lazy hosts with nothing else to talk about.

15) Paul Jolovitz (Entrance Theme: Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus)


Paul Jolovitz! The only competitor who has appeared in all five Philadelphia rumbles! As always, I have to be real honest with this one, he’s only in it again because I laugh every time I see his Twitter avatar (above) and the idea of him coming out to “Teenage Dirtbag” by Wheatus tickles me pink. Give em’ hell, Jolly! May we all one day have the opportunity to hold our chin in our hand and laugh at this crazy thing we call life!

Trademark Maneuver: Elbow drop off the 4:30 a.m. WIP time slot.

16) and 17): Jerry and Bryan Colangelo (Entrance Theme: Loser by Beck)


Jerry and Bryan Colangelo!






Last seen being eliminated from the 2019 All-Philadelphia Royal Rumble by Bryan’s humiliated wife Barbara Bottini in a stunning backstab, Jerry forced his dunderheaded son Bryan to yet again sign up for the event to clear the family name. Not going to happen.

Trademark Maneuver: Nepotism and ineptitude. Mostly ineptitude.

18) Charlie Manuel (Entrance Theme: Foggy Mountain Breakdown by Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs)


Charlie Manuel! Cast off from his duties of trying to right the unpopular ship of the Philadelphia Phillies for Gabe Kapler, Charlie is looking for ways to fill his free time and cracking skulls is as good as any. Let’s hear it from the man himself as to why he decided to enter the foray at such an advanced age:

“Well I’ll tell you man, you know, well, man, age is just like a number and them old hoppin’ toads will tell ya that it’s not about the years in your legs but the spring in your old step, lemme tell you. When the crickets sing to the moon in the old swamps of the rolling foohills of West Virginia, ya know, that’s when you know to play the fiddle to the green hills of pasture, I’ll tell ya. To be the best you gotta beat the best, dag gummit.”

Trademark Maneuver: Figure Four leg lock in honor of his close, personal friend Ric Flair.

19) A Mummer (Entrance Theme: The Mummers Medley)


A Mummer! Yes, just a singular mummer strutting and jiving his way into all of our hungover hearts on New Years Day. He could be in blackface, he could just be dressed up as a complete jagaloon, but whatever he’s doing you can count on him being an embarrassment to the city of Philadelphia. All you can really count on with the mummers is an intricate costume, precise choreography, and a thin sheen of racism just beneath the surface of their performances always threatening to rear its ugly head and ruin it for the entire parade.

Trademark Maneuver: The Mummer Strut into a special expose by the Philadelphia Inquirer on Jan. 2.

20) Gritty (Entrance Theme: Brass Bonanza)


Gritty! Terrorizing young children and filling their heads with nightmares since Sept. 24, 2018! Last seen writhing in agony as blood poured from his eyes from a Jon Dorenbos curse placed upon his soul in the 2019 rumble, Gritty has made a full recovery and has vowed a better showing in this year’s event. Lovable? He is! Equally as horrifying if you really think about him for more than a few moments? Oh my yes! Guaranteed to lurk in shadowy corners of rooms and exist only in the periphery of your vision for as long as he’s doomed to roam the earth.

Trademark Maneuver: Cobra Clutch and punching 13-year-old brats in the back as hard as he possibly can.

21) Unlike Agholor guy (Entrance Theme: Drop it Like It’s Hot by Snoop Dogg)


The Unlike Agholor Guy! He was catching those babies, UNLIKE AGHOLOR! Most likely a desperate last grasp at staying relevant, Hakim Laws is a true wildcard in the competition. He caught babies that were on fire TWO AT A TIME (possible exaggeration) so throwing a few elbows at washed up Philadelphia “celebrities” will seem like cake by comparison.

Trademark Maneuver: Flying Knee and eyes to die for.

22) Chris Wheeler (Entrance Theme: Talking Baseball by Terry Cashman)


Chris Wheeler! Hey gang, it’s me, Chris Wheeler! What say we hit a few off the back foot and put up some crooked numbers out there, right gang! Gotta look middle in and just have some fun out there, right fans? Woah! Look out down there, hope everyone is ok.

Trademark Maneuver: Trying to smother hall of fame announcers in their sleep.

23), 24), 25), 26) The Corporation of Misinformation (Nelson Agholor, Alshon Jeffery, Orlando Scandrick and Skip Bayless) (Entrance Theme: No Chance in Hell)

Alshon Jeffery! Nelson Agholor! Orlando Scandrick! Skip Bayless! Two professional athletes, a rat, and a haggard old woman! Led to the ring by Josina Anderson, these four will stop at NOTHING to tear the Eagles apart, one rampant rumor and awful take a time.

Trademark Maneuver: Dual Doomsday Devices and dropping passes in crucial situations.

27), 28), 29), 30) The NWO (New Wentz Order) (Entrance Theme: The NWO Theme)


The New Wentz Order! Wentz, Ward, Goedert, Scott! When you’re NWO, you’re NWO FOR LIFE! The rats are gone and Wentz is looking to lead his new charges to the next level. He stayed healthy before having his brains scrambled in the first game of the playoffs (progress!) and is rallying the troops for another run next year.

Trademark Maneuver: Throwing for over 4,000 yards with no wide receivers topping more than 500 yards in a season….and acne.

The Main Event Highlights

• Former WWF wrester The Godfather’s theme blares through the arena, as he struts down the entrance ramp with a stable of his finest Philadelphia hos. He motions for a microphone and addresses the crowd.

“It’s time, once again, for everybody to come aboard the HO TRAIN! I want you to roll a fatty for this pimp daddy, light that blunt up and say, PIMPING AIN’T EASY! Who wants these hos!” The Godfather declares, officially opening the All-Philadelphia Royal Rumble as he and his stable of fine, fine Philadelphia hos make their way into the crowd to celebrate with the THOUSANDS of Coggin fans in attendance for the fifth annual All-Philadelphia Royal Rumble.

• Mike Scott arrives to the throngs of Hive fans cheering and chanting his name, clad in a Redskins jersey and comfortable flannel pajama bottoms. He whips out his phone and sends a quick tweet, which immediately prompts another 27 Process nerds to schedule appointments for #MikeScottHive lower back tattoos. The dated beats of “Whoomp There It Is” fill the arena as the F-Lot crew slowly make their way down the entrance ramp, most becoming visibly winded before reaching the squared-circle, all while pushing their ceremonial coffin to the ring in front of them through the throngs of boos and trash piling up at their feet.

• Despite facing such stacked numbers, Scott swings wildly at the first two F-Lot crew boys, knocking the  dimwitted Eagles fans out cold and over the top rope before being overwhelmed by the four remaining slack-jawed yokels. With their combined moron strength, the crew lift Scott over their heads and point to the coffin brought to ringside. One of the goons slides out under the ropes and opens the coffin, eager to dump Scott into its velvety confines, but moments before he can swing the top open the lights of the arena go out…

• And when they come back up M. Night Shyamalan sits up from the confines of the coffin, grabbing the goons throat and dragging him into the coffin with him. Stunned, the

shyamalangoons drop Scott and he quickly dumps the three remaining losers over the top rope, back into the coffin, purple smoke pouring out of the receptacle before Shyamalan’s hand closes the lid, trapping the entire crew into their own nauseatingly stupid symbol. Tortured screams pour through the closed lid as the arena lights yet again turn off. When they’re brought back up, the coffin is in the center of the ring, held by four cloak enshrouded pallbearers. One hands Scott a piece of paper….and it’s a death certificate proving Shyamalan passed away the morning of the event, meaning HE’S BEEN DEAD THIS ENTIRE TIME! AHHHH!

• The enshrouded pallbearers ushers the coffin up the aisle as the soothing dulcet tones of Tony Bennett echo through the arena, an already shirtless Gabe Kapler strides confidently to the ring, pouring over a heavy spreadsheet in his hands that charted every single punch Scott threw moments before during his scuffle with the F-Lot Crew. Before he can crawl through the ropes Scott charges and wraps his arms around the beefcake manager in an intimidating bear hug….but Kapler slips out of his arms easily, deftly, as if Scott couldn’t get a perfect grip. Scott seems confused, trying to wipe his hands on his jersey, leaving greasy streaks across the Red and Gold of his Redskins garment….his hands, my god his hands are COVERED in coconut oil. Kapler is covered from head to toe in coconut oil, dripping from his six pack, his chiseled jaw…and before Scott can put two and two together Kapler slides across the ring, defying all laws of physics, and throws himself into a flying knee that connects with Scott’s jaw, knocking him out cleanly and over the top rope for the second elimination of the tournament.

• Mama Mia, business is a-picking up as Joe Girardi sprints to the ring, his tight wife-beater flowing through the breeze and his gold chain bouncing exotically through his nappy chest hair, suspenders already hanging off of his shoulders down below his sensible trousers. He slides into the ring and doesn’t waste a moment, the two managers trading harrowing blows, Girardi trying to find footing among the dripping coconut oil in the insanely impractical reflective wingtips he chose for the occasion.

• As Girardi struggles for breath, deep in clutches of a devastatingly oily sleeper hold from Kapler, everyone’s favorite geriatric fake-Philadelphia sports talk host Angelo Cataldi makes his way through the crowd, taking a moment to stand atop a ringside barricade and chug a can of recycled cheesesteak oil to the utter REVULSION of the Wells Fargo Crowd. “I SPEAK FOR THE FANS!” Cataldi screams, spittles of oil dripping down his jowls as he lumbers into the ring, the crowd stirring as they expect Cataldi to defend the new Phillies manager’s honor against Kapler, the man he’s sparred with on so many occasions live on WIP. Cataldi cocks one meaty fist and sends it crashing into Girardi’s sternum to the utter CONTEMPT of the thousands in attendance, standing tall alongside Kapler.

• As Girardi gasps for breath on the ring mat, Cataldi motions to the timekeeper, demanding a microphone. “You’re all a bunch of slaves…I know what’s best for all of you, I speak for the real Philadelphia fans, and it was a mistake to fire this man,” Cataldi screams, raising Kapler’s hand in triumph. Before the two can unceremoniously dump Girardi across the top rope, the first few chords of “Tattoo” thunder through the arena as the Philadelphia Tattoo Guy (I’m far too lazy to look up his real name) rumbles down the aisle, sliding gracefully into the ring, double clothes lining Kapler and Cataldi. He points to a spot on his back, bloody and raw, a new freshly inked tattoo of HIMSELF gorilla pressing both Kapler and Cataldi over the top rope, a harbinger of doom for the disgraced ex-Phillies manager and the over-the-hill radio host. Life indeed imitates art, as the tattoo guy hoists both over his head, Kapler’s oiled up corpse firmly stacked on Cataldi’s wrinkled husk of a body, before both are dumped out of the ring onto a conveniently set up merchandise table at ringside.

• A roar from the crowd turns everyone’s attention to the entrance ramp, as Joel Embiid and Karl-Anthony Towns crash through the curtain, throwing thunderous haymakers as the two tortured behemoths fight their way into the ring. A bloodied Brett Brown staggers through the curtain, throwing ineffective thigh kicks that glance off the marbled legs of both titans, shrugging them off like a kitten’s soft prods to a chew toy. Girardi and Tattoo Guy wisely take a powder to either ring post, watching in awe as the colossuses trade knees to the stomachs. Brown retreats under the ring and returns with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, sending it smashing down on the back of Town’s back, then Embiid’s, as both slowly turn their gaze to the grizzled Boston coach. Their masks not betraying their true emotions, both grab Brown by the neck and hoist him skyward, hurling him into the stands and crashing into a group of drunkards in the front row, killing them instantly. Thank goodness everyone signed those waivers! USA USA USA!

• Embiid turns his attention to Scott, wrapping his hands around his throat, as his teammate begs him for mercy. Towns sends a big boot to the face of Girardi, breaking his jaw in three places. The Blue Meanie sprints down the ramp, his glorious half-tank top flowing through the breeze as he slides under the ring ropes. Towns and Embiid lift him up for a tandem suplex, but the crafty veteran shifts his weight and wraps his arms around both of their masks, falling backwards out of the air for a vicious DDT, momentarily stunning the two goliaths. The Blue Meanie raises his arms skywards and dances to the heavens, but four meaty paws fly off the canvas, raising the Meanie in the air for a double-choke slam. Embiid and Towns gather up Scott and Girardi, unceremoniously dumping each out of the ring, having formed some kind of crude blood pact to annihilate the lesser human specimens before once again turning their violence unto themselves.

• Al Horford jogs out to the ring, reaching out a hand to Embiid, his fellow back court mate….and to the amazement of everyone Embiid shakes it in return. Towns looks worried as both turn their attention to him….until Horford flips a double-middle finger to Embiid and kicks him square in the balls. He slowllllyyyyyyyyyy takes off his jump suit, revealing a Boston Celtics jersey….a double agent this entire season. Horford and Towns put the boots to the stunned Embiid, a single tear flowing down from his mask, as they pick him up and signal a clothesline out of the ring….but before the deed can be done a flash flies into the ring, jumping on the back of Towns and choking him with all of his might. It’s Ben Simmons! Ben Simmons! My god it’s Ben Simmons! The moments of Simmons crashing into Towns sends the two into Embiid and Horford, the entire mass of humanity hurtling over the top ropes. The four athletes fight into the stands, scattering the fans, sending them flying over the aisles as the tornado of fists and elbows wreaks havoc throughout the arena.

• Les Bowen strolls to the ring, wasting little energy, taking his sweet old time to enter the empty ring, a truly grizzled veteran maneuver. He rolls ever so slowly through the ring ropes, his glorious khaki cargo shorts at mid-thigh, before Alain Vigneault sprints down the aisle with a hockey stick in hand. He raises it over his head, ready to bring it down on the seasoned beat reporter….but Bowen raises both hands and halts the aggression. He motions for him to wait, and unclasps one of the pockets of his cargo shorts. He points to the pocket, a curious Vigneault peers inside…..and starts to scream. Vigneault is shrouded in a dark golden light, too glorious and horrible for mortal eyes to consume, to comprehend, as he wails in misery and ecstasy before both of his eyeballs melt out of their sockets and his scalp sets on fire. Vigneault flees from the ring, eliminating himself, where he’s doused with fire extinguishers before being escorted to the back. Bowen simply shrugs, puts both hands in his pockets, and walks calmly out of the ring.

• A shrouded man enters the ring from the audience, cloaked, hidden from view, as the crowd boos viciously. Josina Anderson’s secret source perches himself on the ring hacksaw-jim-dugganturnbuckle, calmly awaiting his first foe. “Teenage Dirtbag” pipes through the Wells Fargo Center, the crowd roaring its approval as Paul Jolovitz bursts through the backstage, an American flag waving patriotically above his head, the crowd in a complete fervor as the fan-favorite makes his way to the ring. Truly a man among boys, Jolovitz sprints to the source on the turnbuckle, ready to teach the Philadelphia turncoat a lesson in manners and journalism. The source calmly puts down his hood, only allowing himself to be seen by Jolovitz, who stops in his tracks. The source demands a microphone.

“Paul….you know you cannot defeat me. It is not in your nature, it is not your destiny to defeat me…” A high voice says, as Jolovitz looks on, anger and betrayal playing out over his face. “It is you destiny to join me….together, we can rule this city….and WIP.”

A shocked hush falls over the center as SPIKE ESKIN takes off his shroud, a perfectly smoothed My Chemical Romance t-shirt from Hot Topic hanging loosely off his lithe frame.

“Think about it Paul, what I did makes sense, doesn’t it? The rumors about Wentz, the lies, the dirt…it’s a sports talk radio hosts dream. Topics upon topics, hours of content, and my god, Paul, the callers. Think of the callers….we can rule the airwaves. Me and you, you and I! I know you’re tired of overnight shifts, of filling in after Flyers games, of being a non-descript member of WIP’s on-air force. Join me, Paul, and we will rule the city, telling these IDIOTIC fans what they should think,” Eskin screeches into the microphone. Jolovitz contemplates the offer, obviously torn by the literal deal with the devil. The crowd shouts out warnings to the deep in thought Jolovitz, as Eskin slowly slips on a pair of brass knuckles behind his back. Before Jolovitz can react, Eskin drives the knucks into Jolovitz’s stomach, sending the beleaguered 2 a.m. to 5 a.m. shift host to the mat.

“You’re weak, Jolovitz! Just like all of these LOSERS. None of you deserve me, my station managing skills, joy or happiness in your worthless lives! It’s why I poisoned the well of goodwill for Wentz, with the lies and rumors to Josina, my puppet. You’re sheep, all of you, and now I’ll show you what I do to saviors in this city,” he screamed, throwing the microphone down to the ground. He lifts Jolovitz’s chin up, readying a final shot to his jaw. As Eskin’s fist hurtles through the air, it’s met by a meaty fist, catching it square out of the air. Jolovitz bends Eskin’s fist back, the cracking of bones echoing to the back rows as the crowd pops VIOLENTLY….Jolovitz gets to his feet and delivers a sharp boot to Eskin’s stomach, before lining him up for a vicious stunner, sending the wispy turncoat hurtling over the ropes.

• Jolovitz raises his arms in triumph, but the celebration is cut short Jerry Colangelo spits a gob of Bengay into Jolovitz’s eyes. The Colangelos had made their way to the ring during the scuffle and lift the blinded Jolovitz up for a double-power bomb before throwing him out of the ring….though only under the lower rope, not eliminating the host, who lays motionless on the ringside cement.

• “My boy deserved better than you! Better than this city! Better than the 76ers!” Jerry Colangelo grumbled into a microphone. Bryan stands behind his father, his face a blank, Untitledemotionless. “Yes he’s a dimwit, yes he’s slow, but he’s a Colangelo damnit, he deserves your respect god damnit!” Before a pair of boots cracks into the back of his head, sending him careening over the ropes. It’s Charlie Manuel! My god, Manuel zip lined into the ring for THE entrance to the Rumble! He unclasps himself from the ring, ducks an awkwardly hilarious clothesline attempt from the dunderheaded Bryan Colangelo, before offing him with a DDT, sending the brain-moron to the shadow realm before dumping him over the ropes.

• An entire string band emerges from the behind the curtain, as a conclave of mummers sashay to the ring, dressed in their fanciest of attire. The mummers strut fancifully to ringside to the disgust of anyone in the audience under 55 years of age, before an orange blur crashes through the entire lot. Tired of waiting, Gritty bowls through the entire corp of middle-aged men who devote their lives to playing stringed instruments in outfits that would make Elton John blush. Gritty wades through the knocked out teeth and viscera, men mewling in pain with banjo cut deep into their forearms. Manuel invites Gritty into the ring to get these hands. Before he can give Manuel his wish,  a 13-year-old boy throws a can of soda at the beloved mascot. Googly eyes shaking in rage, Gritty breaks free from his handlers and jumps over the ring ropes, wading into the throng of humanity in search of the adolescent who dared throw the soda in his direction. Gritty swings without a care in the world, trying to connect with any unshaven face he can, egged on by the crowd as he connects with teens left and right, in pursuit of the pimple-faced nerd who made his way to the emergency exits.

• The action turned back to the ring, as Manuel threw dizzying European uppercuts at both the newly entered Unlike Agholor guy and Chris Wheeler. Wheeler’s toupee flies into the third row, ensuring one lucky fan will go home with a souvenir, as Manuel russian leg sweeps Wheeler to the ground. He flicks out a Terry Funk-like jab to the Unlike Agholor guy, sending him down on top of Wheeler. Manuel grabs the legs of both men and begins to aiplane swing both to the delight of the entire arena. “ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN….” The crowd counts along with each rotation, getting up to an impressive TWENTY FIVE before Manuel mercifully lets both out of his clutches. He stands both men up, clotheslining them over the ropes for two more eliminations, a total of four on the night.

• As Manuel raises both hands and motions to the crowd for even more noise, he turns around to a cloud of salt thrown in his eyes by the rat Orlando Scandrick. The entire Corporation of Misinformation, Scandrick, Alshon Jeffery, Nelson Agholor and Skip Bayless, makes their way to the ring, all four stomping Manuel as Josina Anderson shrieks at ringside, shouting instructions, urging them to not let up. The beleaguered Manuel throws a few punches, momentarily breaking free from the gang up, dropping Jeffery with a thumb to the eye and a last-ditch, double tornado DDT to Agholor and Scandrick. The momentary foray is stopped by the coward Bayless, who low-blows the country strong ex-manager. Manuel is then dumped to the outside by Jeffery and Agholor before the NWO can make the save, ending Chollie’s run.

• The NWO enters the ring, Carson Wentz, Boston Scott, Greg Ward, and Dallas Goedert, and stand toe-to-toe with the Corporation as a palpable buzz rolls through the stands. Electricity crackles through the air as the two stables are nose-to-nose, talking shit, before Wentz throws a right at Jeffery and both stables begin to trade vicious shots. Bayless attempts to remove a steel pipe from his boot, but is super kicked into oblivion by Goedert, who chucks the bleach-blonde host out of the ring….but in his distraction is tripped up by Agholor, who viciously irish whips him into the ring post and suplexes him over the ropes for another elimination.

• Only three men are left now in either stable. Wentz and Jeffery are trading blows on top of a turnbuckle, both jockey for position, as Ward and Scott throw simultaneous cross bodies at Agholor and Scandrick. The four tumble into the center of the ring before Scandrick and Agholor charge at Ward and Scott, who back up to the ropes and fall in front of the charging athletes, pulling the top rope down, sending both crashing to the mat below, eliminated.

• Only Jeffery remains, as he begs off from the three remaining NWO members who surround him in the center of the ring. Wentz goes in for a strike to the head, but is doubled over in pain as a helmet crashes into the back of his head, a competitor spearing himself into Wentz’s brain. The mystery competitor rips off his helmet and throws it into Ward’s face with a sickening CRUNCH of hardened plastic on bone. IT’S JEDEVEON CLOWNLY! BAH GAWD IT’S CLOWNEY! He boots Scott in the stomach and lifts him high in the air for a jackknife powerbomb, before hoisting Ward up in one hand and Scott in the other, dumping both out of the ring. He turns his attention to Wentz, who is clearly woozy, and drops a vicious leg over the back of his head to the delight of Jeffery and Anderson, who has entered the ring for a definitively certain victory lap. Clowney motions to the outside, picking up Wentz, and…..

• The lights go out and the first few notes of Fly Eagles Fly fill the arena….and when the lights come back Nick Foles is standing next to the confused Clowney. It’s FOLES! FOLES! THE WINNER OF LAST YEAR’S RUMBLE WHO TURNED ON WENTZ IS BACK AND HE’S WEARING AN EAGLES HAT! He ducks a panicked Clowney lariat and fells him with a Scorpion Death Drop. Wentz is up and on top of the ropes, delivering a graceful shooting star press to the dropped behemoth as Foles tosses both Jeffery and Anderson to the floor. Wentz rakes Clowney’s eyes before delivering a vicious Pedigree to the cheap-shot artist. Foles and Wentz lock eyes and drag Clowney to his feet, delivering duel superkicks that send him out of the ring to the delight of the crowd.

• Foles and Wentz embrace and Foles raises Wentz arm, as the thousands in attendance cheer the reunion. Foles cedes the ring and Wentz moves forward to address the crowd. A crash echoes through the arena and Foles is standing over him with a steel chair, sneering at Wentz, as he raises the chair again and brings it down over the young quarterbacks skull.

“NONE OF YOU GET IT, DO YOU! I’M NICK FOLES, GODDAMNIT, THE ONLY QUARTERBACK IN THIS CITY TO BRING YOU STOOGES WHAT YOU ALWAYS WANTED, A SUPER BOWL….AND YOU CAST ME OFF TO JACKSONVILLE,” he yelled into a mic, before bringing the chair up again and driving it into Wentz’s fragile spine.

He picks Wentz up and throws him over the top rope, eliminating the redheaded quarterback. Foles wins?! Did he win?! Was he even an official entrant into the Rumble? The Coggin CEO comes out to the entrance ramp with the Coggin Belt, confused, wondering if he should bestow the belt to Foles yet again.

“NO NO NO, GET HIM BACK IN HERE, ROLL HIM BACK IN!” Foles yells to Josina Anderson, who pushes the barely conscious Wentz back into the ring. “I’LL NEVER FORGIVE ANY OF YOU, AND WILL DESTROY ANY AND ALL OF YOUR NEW SAVIORS….STARTING WITH THIS ONE RIGHT HERE,” he yells, before he places a chair under Wentz’s head and another over his head. Foles climbs to the top turnbuckle, pointing upwards, as he leaps into the air, readying to drop both feet down on the chairs to permanently cripple the Eagles franchise quarterback.

But before his boot-heels land on the prone Wentz, his body is pulled out of the way by a meaty hand at the last moment. The stunned Foles looks back and is greeted with a thunderous spear to his abdomen, as PAUL JOLOVITZ, THE NEVER ELIMINATED PAUL JOLOVITZ PUMPS HIS FISTS AND DROPS FOLES WITH A CLOTHESLINE FROM HELL, OVER THE TOP ROPES.

The dizzied Wentz crawls to his feet and Jolovitz sends a knee into his chest, hurtling the quarterback to the mats below.


“Yo Philadelphia…….WE DID IT!!!” as the final chords of “Teenage Dirtbag” usher us away from another gloriously successful All-Philadelphia Royal Rumble.

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