“VALOR: PROVING GROUND”
Venue:
Wintrust Arena – Chicago, Illinois
A molten-hot crowd packed with hardcore fans, indie diehards, and lapsed wrestling purists. The lighting is darker than most promotions—deep shadows around the crowd, stark white light on the ring. Valor Wrestling immediately feels serious.
Commentary Team:
- Excalibur – Play-by-play, encyclopedia of holds and history
- Nigel McGuinness – Color commentator, brutal honesty, technical insight
- Mauro Ranallo – Big-fight emotion, voice shaking the building during crescendos
From the opening pyro—sharp bursts, no excess—you can tell Valor Wrestling is about competition first. The ring mat is branded simply: VALOR.
TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT – FIRST ROUND
DIY (Johnny Gargano & Tommaso Ciampa) vs Gallus (Joe Coffey & Mark Coffey)
This match sets the tone immediately: no easy nights in Valor Wrestling.
Gallus enter first, stone-faced, wearing their usual grim determination. They don’t pose. They stalk. DIY get a louder reaction—Chicago still respects Gargano and Ciampa as masters of tag wrestling—but there’s tension in their body language. They’re united, but history hangs heavy.
From the opening bell, Gallus impose their will. Joe Coffey bullies Gargano into the corner, grinding forearms into his face, while Mark Coffey cuts the ring in half with ruthless efficiency. Gallus wrestle like a bar fight with rules: stiff elbows, clubbing blows, and constant tags to isolate Johnny.
DIY survive through experience. Gargano uses quick roll-throughs and sudden arm drags to create space, barely escaping long enough to dive for Ciampa. When Ciampa finally gets the hot tag, the match explodes—running knees, a huge clothesline, and a draping DDT that rattles the ring.
The middle stretch becomes a chess match. DIY go after Mark Coffey’s leg, targeting it with tandem attacks: slingshot sentons, dragon screw leg whips, and Ciampa’s signature knee drops. Gallus respond with brute force—Joe Coffey flattens Ciampa with a pop-up powerbomb that nearly ends it.
The finish comes suddenly. Gargano attempts a slingshot spear, but Joe Coffey catches him mid-air and obliterates him with a discus lariat. Gallus hit All the Best for the Bells on Gargano while Ciampa is dragged out of the ring. The crowd is stunned as the referee counts three.
Gallus stand tall, unmoved, barely celebrating. A statement win.
Winners: Gallus
G.O.D (Tama Tonga & Tanga Loa) vs Creed Brothers (Brutus & Julius Creed)
This is raw power versus violent precision.
The Creed Brothers look like they were built in a lab—intense, twitchy, constantly moving. G.O.D enter with swagger and menace, slapping hands with fans who know what kind of fight is coming.
The match is fast and physical from the jump. Julius Creed shocks the crowd by deadlifting Tama Tonga into a delayed vertical suplex, holding him long enough for Brutus to tag in and add a mid-air dropkick. The Creeds wrestle like controlled chaos—constant motion, relentless pressure.
G.O.D slow things down the hard way. Tanga Loa chops Brutus so hard the echo rings through Wintrust Arena. Tama Tonga’s striking is vicious, mixing Muay Thai-style knees with sudden snap suplexes. Every shot looks like it hurts.
The heart of the match centers on Julius Creed, who absorbs punishment like a machine. Tama Tonga targets the neck with snap German suplexes and a brutal snap DDT. Every near-fall ramps the tension higher.
The finish is wild. Julius hits a rolling gutwrench suplex on Tanga Loa and tags Brutus, who follows with a moonsault that nearly ends it. Tama barely breaks the count. Seconds later, chaos erupts: all four men brawling, referee losing control.
In the confusion, Tama Tonga spits mist into Brutus Creed’s eyes behind the referee’s back. Tanga Loa capitalizes with Apeshit—the jumping neckbreaker—while Tama knocks Julius off the apron. Three count. Boos rain down, but G.O.D don’t care.
They advance, dangerous and hated.
Winners: G.O.D
NORTH AMERICAN CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT – FIRST ROUND
Mark Briscoe vs Darby Allin
This match is madness disguised as wrestling.
Darby Allin enters with no frills, taped ribs, dead eyes. Mark Briscoe follows, hyped, yelling, slapping hands, soaking in the energy. It’s chaos versus heart.
The bell rings and Darby launches himself like a missile—shotgun dropkick, low sweep, immediate coffin drop attempt that Briscoe barely avoids. Mark responds with wild redneck kung fu: chops, palm strikes, and a running forearm that sends Darby flipping inside out.
Darby thrives on pain. He lets Briscoe hit him, absorbing punishment just to bait mistakes. He throws himself into the guardrail, into the apron, into everything. A suicide dive goes horribly wrong when Briscoe catches him mid-air and slams him spine-first onto the floor.
The match becomes uncomfortable. Briscoe’s intensity ramps up—neckbreakers, a fisherman buster, and a brutal sliding lariat that nearly decapitates Darby. But Darby keeps kicking out, eyes glassy, body wrecked.
The turning point comes when Darby counters a Jay Driller attempt into a crucifix bomb. He locks in a Last Supper pin—2.9 count. The building erupts.
In the final sequence, Darby goes for the Coffin Drop. Briscoe rolls away, pops up, and hits a sudden Exploder Suplex into the corner. One final burst of energy: Jay Driller dead center.
Darby doesn’t move. The crowd gives both men a standing ovation.
Winner: Mark Briscoe
North American Championship Tournament – First Round (Continued)
Chad Gable vs Hikuleo
This match is framed immediately as skill versus scale.
Hikuleo enters first, towering and composed, wearing gold-trimmed gear that emphasizes his size and lineage. He looks like a final boss dropped into the wrong bracket. Chad Gable follows to a strong reaction—Chicago understands exactly how dangerous he is despite the obvious size disadvantage. Gable doesn’t look intimidated; he looks excited.
The opening minutes are all about Gable trying to move a mountain. He shoots for takedowns repeatedly—single-leg, double-leg, ankle picks—but Hikuleo simply sprawls, shoves him away, or swats him down with clubbing forearms. One big boot sends Gable flipping inside out, and Hikuleo follows with a massive corner splash that rattles the ring.
Hikuleo dominates with power wrestling: fallaway slams, choke lifts, and a brutal sidewalk slam that earns a near fall. He methodically targets Gable’s ribs, leaning his full weight into nerve holds and knee drops. Commentary emphasizes that Gable has to stay mobile or this ends quickly.
The turning point comes when Gable counters a chokeslam attempt into a sudden arm drag, then another, then a low dropkick to the knee. Gable attacks the base relentlessly—dragon screw leg whips, chop blocks, and repeated rolling German suplex attempts that barely budge Hikuleo but clearly destabilize him.
Gable’s wrestling IQ shines. He uses the ropes for leverage, snapping Hikuleo’s knee across the cable, then locking in a kneebar mid-ring. Hikuleo roars in pain, dragging himself to the ropes. The crowd is fully behind Gable now.
In the final stretch, Hikuleo attempts his sit-out chokeslam again, but his leg buckles. Gable slips behind, hits three rolling German suplexes, and transitions seamlessly into an ankle lock. Hikuleo fights, crawls, reaches—but Gable grapevines the leg and wrenches back.
After agonizing seconds, Hikuleo taps.
A massive upset, earned through precision and perseverance.
Winner: Chad Gable
Montez Ford vs Angelo Dawkins
The emotional core of the tournament.
The arena buzzes with tension as former tag partners face off. No theatrics, no smiles. Dawkins enters first, serious and focused. Montez follows, slapping the ropes once before stepping in, eyes never leaving his former brother.
They lock up slowly. Neither rushes. Every movement feels heavy with history.
Early on, they wrestle clean—chain grappling, counters, leapfrogs. Montez shows his speed advantage with arm drags and dropkicks, while Dawkins answers with power: shoulder blocks, spinebusters, and a thunderous corner splash. They know each other’s tricks, constantly countering signature sequences before they can fully land.
The match escalates when Dawkins catches Montez mid-springboard and plants him with a devastating sit-out spinebuster. Dawkins begins targeting Montez’s back, grounding him with backbreakers and heavy slams. He talks trash—not cruel, but disappointed. “Stay down, Tez.”
Montez refuses. He fires back with blistering kicks, a sudden enzuigiri, and a diving crossbody that shifts momentum. His athleticism takes over—running shooting star press, standing moonsault, and a high-angle German suplex that shocks the crowd.
Near falls pile up. Dawkins hits a massive silencer, but Montez kicks out at 2.9. Montez attempts From the Heavens, but Dawkins rolls away and responds with a lariat that nearly decapitates him.
The final moments are raw. Dawkins goes for a second spinebuster; Montez counters into a small package—two count. Montez immediately springs up, rebounds off the ropes, and lands a sudden superkick, followed by From the Heavens dead center.
Montez doesn’t celebrate right away. He kneels, exhausted, as Dawkins rolls to the corner. After a moment, Dawkins nods. They share a brief, respectful fist bump.
Bittersweet, but necessary.
Winner: Montez Ford
Kyle Fletcher vs Gabe Kidd
This match is violent poetry.
Gabe Kidd storms to the ring like he’s already mid-fight, jaw clenched, shoulders tight. Kyle Fletcher enters calm and confident, but there’s steel in his eyes. This is speed and technique versus unfiltered aggression.
The bell rings and Kidd immediately charges, throwing wild forearms and headbutts. Fletcher absorbs the shots and fires back with sharp strikes of his own—European uppercuts, snap kicks, and a beautiful snap suplex that halts Kidd’s momentum.
Kidd thrives in chaos. He bites, claws, and throws Fletcher into the turnbuckles repeatedly, unloading with stiff chops and elbow smashes. He hits a brutal exploder suplex that sends Fletcher halfway across the ring. Every move Kidd delivers looks like it’s fueled by anger.
Fletcher adapts. He begins targeting Kidd’s neck and arm, slowing him down with methodical offense—hammerlocks, grounded knees, and a perfectly executed half-and-half suplex. Fletcher’s pacing frustrates Kidd, drawing him into mistakes.
Mid-match, Kidd snaps. He no-sells a kick and responds with a headbutt that opens Fletcher up. Blood trickles, and Kidd smiles. He hits a brainbuster for a terrifying near fall. The crowd is split—some cheering the brutality, others horrified.
Fletcher digs deep. He counters a piledriver attempt into a sudden Michinoku Driver, then follows with a running kick and a deadlift powerbomb. Both men are exhausted, barely standing.
In the final sequence, Kidd goes for another headbutt. Fletcher sidesteps and nails a sudden superkick, then immediately lifts Kidd into a turnbuckle brainbuster. Without hesitation, Fletcher hooks the arms and delivers the sheer drop brainbuster in the center of the ring.
One. Two. Three.
A war ends, and Fletcher survives it.
Winner: Kyle Fletcher
Strap in. This is where Valor Wrestling plants its flag in the ground.
WORLD TITLE TOURNAMENT – FIRST ROUND
The arena lighting changes for the World Title Tournament. Gold spotlights sweep the crowd. A low, ominous hum fills the arena speakers. Mauro Ranallo sells it perfectly:
“This… is what Valor Wrestling is built on. One night. One path. One champion.”
Jon Moxley vs Hangman Adam Page
This match feels like it could main event anywhere—but tonight, it’s just round one.
Hangman Page enters first, intense, focused, no cowboy theatrics. He’s locked in. Jon Moxley follows through the crowd, shoulders rolling, jaw clenched, soaking in the Chicago chaos like oxygen. This feels less like a match and more like a collision course.
They don’t even lock up.
Moxley immediately starts throwing wild forearms and elbows, backing Hangman into the corner and biting at his forehead. Hangman fires back with stiff right hands, forcing Moxley to retreat—briefly—before Mox explodes forward with a running knee. The tone is set: violent, personal, relentless.
Moxley drags Hangman to the floor and introduces the barricade early, grinding Page’s face into the steel and dropping him with a DDT on the outside. Hangman sells big, clutching his neck, but when Moxley tries to press the advantage, Hangman counters with a sudden fallaway slam into the barricade that stops Mox cold.
Back in the ring, Hangman takes control with explosive offense—corner lariats, a rolling elbow, and a massive top-rope crossbody for a close near fall. He targets Moxley’s midsection, trying to slow the wild brawler down.
Moxley adapts by getting nastier. He rakes the eyes, bites the ear, and locks in a bulldog choke mid-ring. Hangman fights desperately, fading before muscling up and driving Moxley back-first into the corner to break it. The crowd is roaring now.
The match escalates into a slugfest. They trade forearms in the center of the ring, each shot louder than the last. Hangman hits a sit-out powerbomb—2.9 count. Moxley answers with a sudden Paradigm Shift—Hangman barely kicks out.
The finish comes out of sheer chaos. Hangman attempts the Buckshot Lariat. Moxley catches him mid-flip and immediately transitions into a bulldog choke, rolling to the mat and grapevining the body. Hangman fights—reaches—almost escapes—but Moxley wrenches back with everything he has.
Hangman goes out.
The referee calls for the bell.
Moxley releases immediately and stumbles to his feet, exhausted, victorious, dangerous.
Winner: Jon Moxley
Jacob Fatu vs Sami Zayn
This is survival.
Sami Zayn enters to a massive reaction—pure heart, pure belief. Jacob Fatu follows, eyes empty, breathing slow, radiating violence. The size and power difference is terrifying.
The bell rings and Fatu explodes—running hip attack, corner splash, and a headbutt that sends Sami crumpling. Fatu dominates early, tossing Sami around like a ragdoll with pop-up Samoan drops and brutal snap suplexes.
Sami’s strategy is clear: don’t get hit twice. He uses speed, angles, and desperation—dropkicks to the knee, roll-ups, and sudden tornado DDTs just to create space. Every burst of offense feels like a gasp for air.
Fatu catches Sami mid-move and launches him across the ring with a release German suplex. He follows with a devastating running senton for a near fall that silences the crowd.
But Sami refuses to die.
He counters a pop-up into a sunset flip powerbomb—2 count. He traps Fatu in the corner and unloads with Helluva Kicks, one after another, dropping the monster to a knee. The crowd senses the impossible.
Sami goes for one more Helluva Kick. Fatu catches him mid-air and slams him down with a spinebuster that shakes the ring. Fatu climbs to the top rope—rare for someone his size—and hits a massive double-jump moonsault.
One. Two. Three.
Fatu doesn’t celebrate. He just stares at Sami, then walks out.
Winner: Jacob Fatu
Konosuke Takeshita vs Zack Sabre Jr.
This is a masterclass.
Zack Sabre Jr. enters calm, confident, stretching his limbs like a predator preparing for a hunt. Takeshita enters to a strong reaction, exuding quiet intensity and raw power.
They start with pure grappling—counter for counter, wristlocks into hammerlocks, leg trips into sprawls. Commentary is losing its mind calling the transitions. Sabre targets the limbs immediately, twisting Takeshita’s arm into painful angles.
Takeshita responds with power and explosiveness—deadlift suplexes, blistering forearms, and a massive Blue Thunder Bomb that nearly ends it early. Sabre barely survives.
Sabre adapts, dragging the match to the mat, chaining submissions together—armbar into triangle, into heel hook. Takeshita screams in pain but powers out, deadlifting Sabre into a powerbomb that turns the tide.
The match becomes a clash of philosophies. Sabre dismantles. Takeshita overwhelms.
In the final stretch, Sabre locks in a brutal octopus hold, then transitions into a penalty kick barrage. Takeshita absorbs it and fires back with a roaring elbow, then another, then a third that drops Sabre.
Takeshita lifts Sabre and delivers a thunderous wheelbarrow German suplex, followed immediately by a running knee strike. He hooks the leg deep.
Three.
A clean, decisive win—but earned through hell.
Winner: Konosuke Takeshita
Claudio Castagnoli vs Drew McIntyre
Two titans. No wasted motion.
Drew McIntyre enters first, intense, pacing like a caged animal. Claudio follows, calm and focused, stretching his arms, eyes locked on the prize.
They collide in the center with a test of strength that Drew wins—booting Claudio in the gut and unloading with chops and headbutts. Drew uses his size early, hitting a huge overhead belly-to-belly and a spine-shaking powerbomb.
Claudio weathers the storm and responds with precision—uppercuts from every angle, a snap neutralizer attempt, and a beautiful swing that goes nearly twenty revolutions before Drew escapes.
The crowd is electric as the match escalates. Drew hits a massive Claymore attempt—Claudio sidesteps and hits a pop-up uppercut that nearly knocks Drew out of his boots.
Both men are exhausted. Drew connects with a Future Shock DDT—2.9 count. Claudio counters a second Claymore into a sudden Ricola Bomb. Drew kicks out at the last possible moment.
The finish comes with strategy. Claudio catches Drew’s kick, spins him, and locks in a brutal crossface, transitioning into a body scissors. Drew fights, muscles up, nearly powers out—but Claudio rolls through and traps him again, wrenching back harder.
After long seconds, Drew taps.
A technical victory over raw power.
Winner: Claudio Castagnoli
