November 17, 1998 – CoreStates Center, Philadelphia
The smell hit J.J. first — stale beer, hot dogs, and the faint whiff of pyro smoke from earlier in the night. Philly had its own kind of energy. It wasn't the bright lights and big smiles of a casual crowd. This was the city that cheered ECW bloodbaths and booed Santa Claus. If you weren't real, they'd tear you apart.
The locker room was already humming. Some guys were stretching, some were taping their wrists, others were arguing over the Sixers' latest loss. In the corner, Bob "Hardcore" Holly was lacing up his boots. He looked up, caught J.J.'s eyes, and smirked.
"Styles," Holly said flatly, "I hit hard. You hit back harder, maybe we get through this without me thinking you're soft."
J.J. gave a single nod. "Good. I don't like soft."
Holly chuckled low, shook his head, and went back to tying his boots.
The Stephanie Sighting
As J.J. adjusted his knee pads, Stephanie walked by with a clipboard, talking to a stagehand. She glanced over, just for a second — a faint, unreadable smile — then disappeared down the hallway toward gorilla. No words exchanged. Just enough to plant a thought.
Gorilla Position
The air near gorilla was tense. Monitors showed the end of the previous match, and the stagehands were checking cables. J.J. bounced on his heels, loosening his shoulders.
JR's voice came faint from the headset rack: "…and coming up next, folks, the rookie J.J. Styles looking to make a name for himself against the hard-hitting veteran, Hardcore Holly."
Someone patted his shoulder — Al Snow. "Philly's tough. Don't try to win 'em over with smiles. Make 'em respect you."
J.J. nodded, the words sinking in.
The Entrance
The lights dropped.
"VIOLENCE FETISH" by Disturbed kicked in, pyro blasting in sync with the drum beats. The titantron flashed the lone wolf silhouette before morphing into J.J. Styles.
The Philly crowd reacted — some cheers, some boos, but mostly a loud, curious energy. The camera cut to wide crowd shots, before locking on J.J.'s slow, steady walk to the ring. No pandering. No smiling. Just eyes forward, laser-focused.
The Match
JR: "This young man from the Philippines calls himself the Lone Wolf — a former MMA fighter with a technical wrestling base. But King, tonight he's facing one of the toughest customers in the WWF."
King: "Yeah, and Hardcore Holly's gonna chew him up and spit him out. You can't teach toughness, JR, and Holly's got it by the truckload."
The bell rang, and Holly didn't waste time — stiff forearm to the face, followed by a snap suplex that landed with a thud.
J.J. rolled to his knees, wiped his mouth, and smirked. Holly noticed.
They went again — collar-and-elbow into a waist lock, J.J. transitioned into a standing switch and hit a quick German suplex. The crowd popped, surprised.
JR: "Nice suplex! That's that MMA grip strength coming into play!"
The match turned into a fight. Holly chopped him hard in the corner — the kind that echoed. J.J. responded with a sharp leg kick, then a stiff right hand. The Philly fans started to come alive.
Near the end, J.J. countered a clothesline into his modified GTS, but Holly rolled out before he could cover. That moment was enough — Holly grabbed him on the outside, threw him into the steps, and rolled him in to finish with the Alabama Slam.
1… 2… 3.
JR: "A hell of a fight from the rookie, but Hardcore Holly's experience wins out tonight."
King: "Experience? That was just a straight-up beatdown, JR! The kid survived, but he didn't win."
Aftermath
As Holly left the ring, he paused. Looked back. Nodded once at J.J. — barely noticeable, but it was there.
In Philly, that meant something.
J.J. sat up, the crowd giving him a respectful mix of applause and chants. He didn't smile. He just rolled out of the ring and walked up the ramp, the lone wolf leaving the battlefield.