Before we go any further, let’s get the concept nailed. A Royal Rumble works like this:
Two wrestlers (or mascots in this case) start in the ring, and then every couple of minutes a new mascot enters the fray. The order of participation is drawn at random before the event, with each participant being assigned a number.
The winner is the last mascot left in the ring after everybody else has been tossed over the top rope.
We’ll be assigning each mascot a random number between one and 20 by drawing names out of a hat. Genuinely — this is legit. We don’t know what’s going to happen as we’re writing this. Wait… is that Hey Jude?
The first mascots arrive
Brentford’s Buzz & Buzzette walk down the ramp hand-in-hand, antennae-in-antennae, traipsing honey behind them. The crowd go mild. Buzz’s mandible is caked in pollen. Buzzette is supporting his weight but trying to hide it from the crowd.
The anthropomorphic bees have barely reached the ring when the lights cut out and Wolfmother’s Joker & the Thief comes blaring through the PA. Captain Blade, the Sheffield United mascot stands at the head of the ramp, cutlass glistening in the pyrotechnics.
The bell rings
The inland pirate only has one functional eye, and it is projecting ice-cold fear. There are no bees on the high seas. He enters the ring, immediately slices the pollened-out Buzz in half and boots what’s left of him over the top rope, then cowers under the turnbuckle as Buzzette aims her stinger right at the pirate’s neck.
Hammerhead: Half man, half hammer.
2 minutes in…
Cock-a-doodle-doo, you c*nts. Chirpy the Tottenham cockerel comes tearing toward the ring and begins pecking frantically at the widowed bee and the cowardly pirate.
There’s blood everywhere. Captain Blade’s good eye is rolling around the mat, pecked out his skull by Chirpy’s frantic beak.
4 minutes in…
The air is filled with doom-laden buzzing as Bertie & Bella Bee of Burnley stream down the entrance ramp. Captain Blade has a panic attack and turns his sword upon himself, Samurai style. Ends it on his own terms. He is eliminated on account of being dead.
6 minutes in…
Bertie, Bella, and Chirpy are still taking in the horrific scene as the crowd launches into a mighty rendition of You’ll Never Walk Alone.
Mighty Red, the Liverpool Liver Bird appears and swoops down from the ceiling. It’s the birds and the bees, now. But there ain’t nobody making babies, here.
Chirpy and Mighty Red beat their wings in unison to create a gust so powerful that the bees are blown into the sky and outside of the confines of the ring. They’re gone.
The cockerel and the liver bird go for a winged high-five, but the cockerel keeps grabbing hold of Mighty Red’s flight feathers and kicks him in the testicle sack.
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8 minutes in…
ROOOOOAAAAARRRR! A big f*cking lion prowls toward the ring.
Chirpy picks up the prostrate figure of the downed Mighty Red and holds him between himself and the advancing Hercules the Lion of Aston Villa.
The lion slashes Mighty Red to shreds. Just straight up butchers him.
Chirpy’s next. He tries to flee but Hercules just sparks him clean out with one big paw to the head, and eats him. Chows down on Chirpy.
Feathers, bones, the lot. Spits the bones over the top rope for comic effect. Absolute psycho behaviour.
10 minutes in…
Hercules is left to gloat in the ring by himself, working up the crowd and giving it the big one.
Bubbles begin to fill the air. That’s nice. Thinks Hercules. A celebratory parade all for me. Hercules is wrong. West Ham’s Hammerhead emerges from the bubbles, death in his eyes.
He’s not a shark—Hammerhead—he’s a robot-looking thing with a hammer for a head. Ever wondered who’d win in a fight between a humanoid hammer and a lion? Us neither, but we’re about to find out.
The lion and the hammer go at each other hell for leather. It’s the match-up of the night so far. Blow-for-blow, an absolute slobber-knocker. The crowd don’t want it to end. Claret and blue smeared all over the mat.
12 minutes in…
Brighton’s Gully the Seagull wanders toward the ring, pecking at the remains of Captain Blade and Buzz the bee, lifts his head, sees the carnage taking place in the ring, turns around, and f*cks off.
Doesn’t want any part of it. See yer later, lads.
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14 minutes in…
Hammerhead and Hercules the Villa lion are still going at it. Knocking seven shades of sh*te out of each other when Seven Nation Army pervades the earholes of all in attendance.
The hammer and the lion stop in their tracks. “Dunno about you, but I am sick to death of hearing this song at sporting events.” Says the lion.
“Aw, honestly, mate. I’m done with it,” replies Hammerhead. The two of them turn on Bournemouth’s Cherry Bear the very moment he enters the fray, and double-suplex the c*nt out of the ring.
The music stops dead. The hammer and the lion nod at each other, then get back to battering each other.
16 minutes in…
Z-Cars is pumped through the speakers for a solid two minutes. Nothing happens. Nobody appears, because Everton don’t have a team mascot.
The Toffees are the only team in the league who don’t have one, and they will not be winning this Royal Rumble.
18 minutes in…
Hammerhead and Hercules are near death, now. They can’t keep this up for much longer. A beam of light appears in the centre of the ring, shining down from above. Manchester City’s Moonchester materialises in the light, as if from thin air.
Confusion reigns. Moonchester has one eye with two pupils. The exhausted hammer and lion don’t understand what they’re looking at. Nobody does. Hammer smashes Moonchester into an alienite burger patty, Hercules chomps him down, and that’s the end of that.
20 minutes in…
BAH GOD, THAT’S THE LIQUIDATOR!
Chelsea’s Stamford & Bridget (the Lions) circle the ring before entering. Now we have a conundrum.
Hammerhead looks from lion to lion to lion, wondering how this is going to pan out. Without warning, Stamford and Hercules launch themselves at each other, claws and teeth slashing through the air with a reckless lust for violence.
Stamford manages to overpower the spent Hercules in this particular struggle for dominance. Hercules is clinging to the edge of the mat, his feet dangling inches above the ground.
“Stamford! Brother…” Hercules pleads. Stamford meets Hercules’ gaze.
“Long live the king.” The Chelsea lion stabs his claws into Hercules’ paws and watches him fall to the ground. ELIMINATED.
Long live the king.
22 minutes in…
Hammerhead has been catching his breath in the corner. Bridget is thoroughly embarrassed by this whole alpha male sh*t going on between the two lions.
She approaches Hammerhead and whispers sweet nothings in his ear about how tough and strong he is. Hammerhead leans in for the kiss and Bridget clotheslines him over the top rope.
Classic bait and switch.
24 minutes in…
The lions are having a domestic in front of the entire nation. They don’t even notice when Wolves’ Wolfie & Wendy sneak into the ring dressed as sheep.
Wolfie lets out an unconvincing baaah, and the lions go silent as the wolves-in-disguise ambush the lions.
26 minutes in…
It’s absolutely going off in the ring. Wolves and lions chewing each other up mercilessly. Just as the fight is coming to a head, Louis Dunford’s The Angel — North London Forever seeps from the arena speakers…
All four mascots exit the ring, climb the walls, and rip the speakers apart so they don’t have to endure the worst football song ever written any longer. All four are eliminated, but they will forever be remembered as the heroes in this Royal Rumble.
28 minutes in…
Arsenal’s Gunnersaurus stands alone in the ring, in silence, confused and bewildered.
He tries to get a chant of Aaaaaarsenal! Aaaaaaaarsenal! going. The crowd don’t respond.
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30 minutes in…
Happy Harry the Luton Hatter emerges from backstage, breaking the awkward tension a little. He looks like a nightmare. Sideburns direct from the 1970s, a straw boater hat, and eyes that are all pupil like a rag doll in a K-hole.
Gunnersaurus wraps his jaws either side of the strange little bloke’s hat, and crunches his brains.
“I hate you.” The dinosaur whispers, as he watches Happy Harry’s previously smiling figure topple to the ground. And the crowd goes wild.
32 minutes in…
Flames engulf the ring. Seemingly rising from the underworld, Undertaker-style, Manchester United’s Fred the Red appears, a cuddly demon summoned to the mortal realm especially for this pay-per-view event — and for every United home game at Old Trafford.
“Happy Harry,” says the demon in his guttural bass, “you are coming with me, for you are clearly an absolute wrong’un.”
Fred the Red drags Happy Harry’s corpse through the portal that has opened up in the centre of the ring, straight to Hell. Both are eliminated.
34 minutes in…
A traumatised Gunnersaurus is left questioning the blurred lines of reality, but not for long, as an arrow lands just short of the dinosaur’s left foot.
Gunnersaurus raises his head in confusion, just in time to see the second arrow, which pierces his flesh and skull right between his eyes, sinking deep into his Cretaceous cranium.
From the dry ice that has gathered around the entrance ramp, emerges medieval folk hero Robin Hood, who moonlights as a mascot at Nottingham Forest’s City Ground.
Straight to Hell.
36 minutes in…
Before entering the ring, Robin has spent a minute or two redistributing wealth to various members of the crowd. His shining bag of coins jangling over his shoulder. You know what likes shiny things?
Magpies.
Monty & Maggie of Newcastle United swoop on Robin’s coin sack, taking it in turns to divebomb the outlaw. The man is an archer. He just shoots them out of the sky and pops them in the bag. He’ll have them for his tea later.
38 minutes in…
The technicians have got the sound system back up and running. The crowd is sent into overdrive by the sound of The Dave Clark Five’s Glad All Over.
Crystal Palace’s Pete the Eagle comes shooting out of the entrance and toward the ring. He gains altitude before reaching the ropes, climbs high into the arena rafters, and plunges on Robin.
Robin launches arrow after arrow, trying to skewer the huge bird, but nothing lands. Pete grabs Robin in his talons, carries him into the upper reaches of the building, and drops him.
Robin spins in mid-air, facing the eagle, and fires an arrow right at Pete’s belly. Both mascots fall to the mat with a sickening thud, and lie there, lifeless.
40 minutes in…
Fulham’s Billy the Badger ambles up to the ring, casts a glance over the mangled bodies strewn around the ring, and nudges them out of bounds with his muzzle. And that’s that.
The bell rings.
Billy the Badger wins the first-ever PL Mascots Royal Rumble.
But at what cost?
