THE MOLE-MAN, disoriented and distressed, distracted indeed and despairing that this overload of sensation might never end, faces only yet further suffering directly ahead - that is, above him, and descending with alacrity.

MOLE-MAN's skull is designed to endure and deflect many inconveniences, such as boulders dropping on top of it, and falling into caverns, and most of the immediate consequences of THE MOLE-MAN doing unwise things like telling people how he thinks they look. MOLE-MAN's skull is hardy. However, today THE MOLE-MAN's skull is struck by the foot of Danger, Danger Fontaine, and it hurts, a lot, like, a ton.

The screaming MOLE-MAN does not stop screaming. THE MOLE-MAN stumbles, and bumbles in a small circle around the ring, his small MOLE-MAN brain rattling in its cage, like a creature upset at a failing in its accommodations. In this case, the failing is fragility.

Concussed, still blinded, baffled, and at a stretch, perhaps, bereaved, THE MOLE-MAN rapidly and helplessly stumbles with its full weight from one side of the arena into the part of it that Danger, Danger Fontaine is occupying. The announcers stammer, trying to think of a name for this move on the spot.

"This- this is THE MOLE-MAN's famous... ah, what is it, do you think?"
"Flying charge tackle!"
"Flying?"
"Certainly!"