WWE SD (3.28.25 = 7.44025)

Smackdown Results 

03/29/2025

Opening 🌟 

*The crowd cheers to a deafening roar at the start of the show as The Rock stands in the center of the ring with a microphone in hand.”

“FINALLY… THE ROCK… HAS COME BACK TO FRIDAY NIGHT SMACKDOWN!”

Oh, but don’t you dare get it twisted, you popcorn-munching, social media-scrolling, TikTok-dancing jabronis! The Rock ain’t here for fun and games—NO! The Rock is here to talk about two things: a little boy pretending to be a man on some second rate show, and a ‘Tribal Chief’ who’s about to get his ass evicted from the table!

So let’s start with The Ladies Man—oh wait, The Rock misspoke—it’s The Tiny Man! The Rock saw you on public access cable prancing around, wearing the ULW Championship like it meant something. But let The Rock tell you what really happened. That title wasn’t on your shoulder, NO! That title was WEARING YOU like a cheap wristwatch from a gas station claw machine!

You come on t.v. after a Mister Rodgers rerun with your fake bravado, talking about how you’re the smoothest man in the business, but The Rock sees the truth. You ain’t the Ladies Man! The only women checking you out are the ones trying to figure out if you wandered away from the daycare center! You call yourself a champion, but the only title you deserve is ‘Most Likely to Get Carded at Chuck E. Cheese!’

But enough about that walking embarrassment—because now, The Rock wants to talk about the real fraud walking around. The man who calls himself The Head of the Table… Roman Reigns.

Roman, The Rock is sick and tired of hearing you run your mouth. For years, you sat back, let your little cousins do all your fighting, and let others build an empire on your fragile little ego. But now? Now you think you’re untouchable? You think you’re the king of SmackDown? The king of my WWE?

Let The Rock make one thing crystal clear: You ain’t the Head of the Table. No, no, NO! You’re just the spoiled brat sitting at the table while The Rock cooks up the biggest can of whoop-ass the world has EVER seen!

You see, Roman, you wouldn’t even HAVE a table if it wasn’t for The Rock! The Rock BUILT the damn table, set the plates, and fed the entire wrestling world with the most electrifying career this business has ever seen! And at Wrestle Empire, when The Rock steps into that ring with you, there won’t be any ‘Bloodline’ to save you. There won’t be any cousins at your side. There will only be YOU… and THE ROCK… and a beatdown so brutal, so historic, that even your own family won’t acknowledge you anymore!

So hold onto your fake as uces real tight, Roman. Cherish these last few moments, because in just a few weeks, The Rock is taking back his throne. And when The Rock sends your tribal ass packing, The Rock will sit at the REAL Head of the Table, where he’s always belonged.

IF YA SMEEEEELLLLLLLLLL… WHAT THE ROCK… IS COOKIN’!!!

(Mic drop, eyebrow raise, crowd ERUPTS!)

Backstage 🌟 

The scene opens in a dimly lit backstage area. The air is thick with tension. Rey Mysterio Jr., the legendary luchador, stands in front of the camera, his mask reflecting the flickering light above. His eyes burn with intensity. His voice, steady but filled with passion, commands attention.

Rey Mysterio Jr.:

“For decades, I have fought, bled, and sacrificed for this sport. I have carried the spirit of Lucha Libre on my back, through every arena, through every moment of adversity. And now, here I stand, on the road to Wrestle Empire, where I will step into that ring and take what is mine—the Intercontinental Championship.”

Rey clenches his fists, the weight of his legacy evident in his posture.

“But Chad Gable… you and Doc Brown? You think this is all some kind of joke? Some experiment? Some game you can manipulate, bending the rules to your advantage, mocking the art and the culture that I hold dear? You insult every luchador who paved the way, every warrior who dared to dream beneath this mask!”

He steps closer to the camera, his voice rising with conviction.

“You call yourself a wrestler, Gable? You are a technician, an athlete, but you lack the heart. You lack the respect for what came before you. At Wrestle Empire, I’m not just coming for the Intercontinental Championship… I’m coming to remind you and the entire world why Lucha Libre is sacred. Why this mask is more than just fabric—it’s blood, it’s history, it’s honor.”

Rey takes a deep breath, his expression unreadable beneath the mask, but his determination shines through.

“You and Doc Brown think you’ve mastered time? That you can rewrite history? Well, at Wrestle Empire, time catches up to you. Because no matter how much you scheme, no matter what tricks you pull, you can’t outrun destiny. And my destiny is to stand tall as Intercontinental Champion.”

“Viva la Raza. Viva Lucha Libre. And Chad Gable—prepare to fall.”

Rey stares into the camera for a few more seconds before walking off, his mission clear. The screen fades to black.

Going To Far 🌟 

Scene: Big E’s Home

The house is quiet. The only sounds are the ticking of a wall clock and the occasional rustling of trees outside. Big E sleeps soundly in his bed, his chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths. The security system’s red light blinks steadily in the dark.

Then—a crash.

The sound of shattering glass jolts Big E awake. His heart pounds. He reaches instinctively for the bat under his bed. Silence follows—too much silence. Then, footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Inside his house.

Big E grips the bat tightly and moves toward the bedroom door, ears straining. A shadow moves past the dim light in the hallway. His breath catches as he realizes—someone is in his home.

Steeling himself, he flings the door open, bat raised—but he freezes.

Kofi Kingston stands there. His face is twisted with something ugly, something Big E has never seen before. He wears a hoodie, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles are white.

“Kofi?” Big E’s voice is low, cautious. “The college was one thing man but what the hell are you doing in my house?”

Kofi exhales sharply, nostrils flaring. “You left me behind, E. You moved on. And I—I sat in the shadows, watching. Waiting. You forgot about me. But I will never forget about you.”

Big E’s grip on the bat tightens. “Man, you need to leave. Now.”

Kofi shakes his head. “I’m not leaving until you understand.”

Then, he lunges.

Big E barely has time to react before Kofi tackles him, slamming him into the wall. BAM! A framed picture crashes to the floor. Kofi swings wildly, fists connecting with Big E’s ribs, his jaw. Big E fights back, using his size and strength to shove Kofi off, sending him stumbling into the coffee table.

Kofi scrambles to his feet, grabbing a lamp and hurling it across the room. It smashes against the wall, sparks flying. Big E pants, his body tensed. “What the hell happened to you, man?”

Kofi doesn’t answer. He charges again—but suddenly, red and blue lights flash through the window.

Police sirens wail.

Big E hears the front door burst open, officers rushing in with guns drawn. “FREEZE!” one of them shouts.

Kofi spins, wild-eyed, chest heaving. For a second, he looks like he might fight them too. But then, his shoulders slump. His hands shake as he slowly lifts them into the air.

The officers rush forward, slamming Kofi to the ground. Handcuffs click. Big E watches from the floor, wiping blood from his mouth.

As they haul Kofi to his feet, he locks eyes with Big E. “This isn’t over,” he growls.

Big E exhales, his body aching. “Yeah, man,” he mutters, watching Kofi get dragged out into the night. “It is.”

Tonight’s Main Event 🌟 

Dual Dominion Championship Qualifier Match

Flex Fuller vs. Batista

No Holds Barred

The atmosphere inside the packed arena was electric as the Dominion Championship Qualifier Match was set to begin. The ring was surrounded by steel chairs, kendo sticks, and even a barbed wire-wrapped table, signifying the war that was about to unfold.

Batista was the first to enter, his silhouette cutting through the red flashing lights as the pyrotechnics exploded. The Animal stomped to the ring with his signature intensity, cracking his knuckles, ready to destroy anything in his path.

Then came Flex Fuller. The crowd erupted as he strutted out, fists taped, looking like a man who had been through hell and was ready to drag Batista into it. His eyes locked on The Animal’s, and the two behemoths met in the center of the ring.

The referee barely had time to call for the bell before Fuller and Batista began trading massive blows, fists flying, neither man backing down.

Batista gained the upper hand with a thunderous clothesline, sending the United States Champion sprawling to the outside. Wasting no time, he followed him out and whipped Fuller into the steel steps, causing a sickening thud. Fuller clutched his shoulder, but Batista wasn’t about to let him breathe. He grabbed a kendo stick and smashed it across Fuller’s back, each shot leaving welts.

Flex, gritting his teeth, managed to duck a third strike and countered with a spinebuster onto the announce table, which didn’t break but bent under the impact. The crowd roared as Fuller grabbed a steel chair, wedging it in the corner before rolling Batista back inside.

As Batista staggered to his feet, Fuller charged, aiming to send him headfirst into the chair. But Batista reversed at the last second, slamming Fuller face-first into the unforgiving steel. Blood immediately began trickling from Fuller’s forehead, staining his white wrist tape.

Sensing an opportunity, Batista set up for the Batista Bomb, but Fuller, fueled by sheer adrenaline, raked his eyes and low-blowed him, drawing unexpected gasps from the audience.

Fuller, now a crimson-masked warrior, reached under the ring and pulled out a wrapped bundle of barbed wire. The sight alone made the crowd chant, “Holy S***!” Batista, dazed but still dangerous, lunged at Fuller, but he was met with a vicious barbed-wire bat shot to the ribs.

Batista collapsed, gasping in pain. Fuller, with sadistic intent, unrolled the barbed wire and began wrapping it around Batista’s arm. He then stomped on it, forcing the barbs deeper into The Animal’s skin. Batista howled in agony, his body writhing.

Despite the punishment, Batista powered through, tackling Fuller into the ropes. He managed to hit a spinebuster onto a pile of steel chairs, but he was too exhausted to capitalize. Fuller, rolling to the outside, grabbed a glass pane from under the ring and slid it inside.

As Batista groggily stood, Fuller, with one final burst, lifted him into a powerbomb position. The crowd rose to their feet as Fuller powerbombed Batista through the glass pane! Shards flew everywhere, Batista’s back shredded upon impact.

Flex, barely standing, pulled Batista’s limp body over and hooked the leg.

One! Two! Three!

The bell rang, but the carnage was far from over. Medical staff rushed to check on both men as Fuller staggered to his feet, blood still dripping down his face. He raised his arm in victory, signaling that he had punched his ticket to the Dual Dominion Championship.

Batista, barely conscious, was helped to his feet, his back bleeding from the glass. He locked eyes with Fuller one last time—a mutual respect formed in battle.

As the fans chanted, “That was awesome!” Fuller stood tall.