The stage had been perfectly set for this explosive confrontation. We sat down, locked hands and started pulling. I was a firm believer in not dragging things out, the fans could only scream for so long. There was a momentary deadlock as we glared at each other. I made my move, slowly pulling Wahoo's arm down, stopping two or three inches from the top of the table. Making a comeback, he pulled my arm back up to the starting position. Another stalemate, with our arms quivering; this time it brought the fans to a fever pitch, giving them about five seconds of hope. The unbelievable was happening, my arm was going down, stopping inches from the table top. The studio fans were now in a frenzy.

I asked Wahoo, "Is your blade ready?"

"Yes!" was his response.

Making my move, I came across the table with a hard forearm shot to the side of his face and neck (I remember telling Wahoo earlier in the day, that when I came across the table with the forearm, it was going to be a hard one because the cameras would be right on top of us. He just laughed and said, "Graham, you couldn't hurt me if you had to!") and down went Wahoo, the table and our chairs. With him laying on the mat selling, I picked up the table and brought it down on his head.

A river of red gushed from his forehead. I stayed on him, breaking a leg off of the table, gouging his wound. I beat him unmercifully. Wahoo struggled to one knee and started throwing wild punches. As he was using the ropes to pull himself up, it was my chance to get in some more kicks and punches of my own. Wahoo fought back, swinging wildly. Finally one of his blows connected and I took a bump, then rolled out of the ring.

The war was on.