[Insistent and intense pulsing music kicks in as the screen fades up from black to shaky handheld footage subtitled, "Earlier Tonight." The shot moves rapidly down a hallway in the recesses of the IIWF Coliseum, and shouts can be heard over the music. The camera turns a corner, and a scene of chaos fills the screen. Three men, dressed from head to toe in black bodysuits, one with long black hair tied back and protruding from the back of his featureless black mask, are putting the boots to "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare, who is doing his best to fight back under the onslaught. Officials and security are on the scene within seconds, and as soon as they set about the black-clad attackers, the three men flee the area. One official helps Shakespeare to his feet, and he nods to indicate that he is shaken but not badly injured. The camera haphazardly spins around through 180 degrees to show the three men escaping down the corridor. The shot spins back to Shakespeare, who clutches his side with a furious grimace on his face. The music reaches a crescendo as the opening graphics explode onto the screen:] ##### ###### ### ########## ########## ########## #### ## ########## ########## ########## #### # #### ######## ##### ##### #### ## ##### #### #### #### #### ### #### #### #### #### ############# ######### #### #### ########### ######### #### #### #### #### #### ######### ######### ### #### #### ######### ######### ### ## #### ######## ######## ## # #### =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ## =-=-=-= INTERNATIONAL INTERNET WRESTLING FEDERATION =============================================== S + A + T + U + R + D + A + Y N + I + G + H + T ----------------------------------------------- + LiVE! + IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon + + 15 March 1997 + [The opening graphics fade through to interior shots of the jam-packed IIWF Coliseum. Fans wave hand-made banners and clamour to get in shot as the camera pans down past row upon row of folks both young and old, many wearing official IIWF merchandise, particularly Ring Wars III t-shirts. Fireworks erupt in the rafters to a big pop as the shot cuts to Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, standing at the ringside announcers' table:] TD: Welcome, everybody, to Portland, Oregon! Welcome to the IIWF Coliseum just seven days before the biggest pay-per-view extravaganza of all time -- Ring Wars III. We're coming at you totally live with two hours of the hottest wrestling action anywhere on the planet, and we have ten incredible encounters scheduled for tonight's show! I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my broadcast colleague, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. SR: Cut to the chase, Dross -- tell the morons at home about the footage they saw at the top of the show. TD: Yes, fans, as you saw just a few moments ago, Billy Shakespeare was the victim of an attack from three mystery men just an hour or so before we were scheduled to come on the air tonight. As you saw, the attackers managed to escape IIWF officials and slip out of the Coliseum evading capture, leaving everybody asking: just who were they? SR: Come on, Dross -- we know who they were. How many IIWF superstars have long black hair? TD: Well... I really don't think... SR: [interrupting] Come on, Dross, spit it out. It's that moronic ingrate, the Subway Stinker! TD: Steve, you have absolutely no proof. SR: Sure I do, Dross. The Stinker's so torn up about not making the grade to be the IIWF's representative for Superstar Summit that he went back there tonight to try and maim Pukespeare to take his spot in the Summit Cup. TD: I really don't think... SR: [interrupting] Who cares what you think anyway, Dross?! The "Soundbite" has spoken! TD: [pause] Okay. In any case, Shakespeare was fortunately not seriously injured by those three, uh, mysterious attackers, and thanks to the fast response time of the IIWF's security team, he's already been given clearance to continue wrestling, so there's no danger of him missing his "Winner Must Use Loser's Finisher" match against Brody Thunder at Ring Wars III. SR: Unless those three guys attack him again, and get the job done this time. TD: Perhaps so. In any case, security is on extra alert yet again tonight against the continued threat of incursion by representatives of the so-called "loop" feds. SR: Like it'll make any difference. TD: Hopefully tonight we won't be interrupted by any more uninvited "guests" -- particularly as tonight is the final IIWF event before we pack up and head for the Toronto Skydome for Ring Wars III next Saturday Night. Many of the IIWF's top superstars will be in action here tonight as they tune up for their huge matches in the Skydome next weekend. Tonight's main event will see Dan Kauffman's farewell match here in the IIWF Coliseum as he battles the Dirt Dog Unique Allah. SR: Good riddance, Dross. It seems like an eternity since ol' "Lame Duck" Kauffman announced his retirement, and now we're only seven days away -- but perhaps the Dirt Dog could shorten Kauffman's career even further. TD: I don't know about that, Steve. Dan Kauffman has certainly regained his old championship form in recent weeks, and with "Sychosys" Joe Petrow undoubtedly in the arena, the Dirt Dog may have other things on his mind. SR: Yeah, yeah. Anyway, we've got some _real_ wrestling matches coming up tonight, Dross. The two meanest hombres in the IIWF, Mad Dog Watkins and the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder lock it up for a second time. TD: Indeed. Last time round, Thunder came out with the lion's share of the purse money, but after Watkins blasted him in the "Lone Wolf"'s match with Steve Kowalski last week, Thunder's temper may get the better of him here tonight. SR: And the "Fury"'s in action tonight as well, Dross, going up against rookie sensation, Creed. TD: What a match that's going to be. We'll also be finding out just which two teams will be battling it out in the Skydome next week to be the first duo to wear the new IIWF United States Tag Team Championship belts, with both semi-finals coming your way tonight. The Harlequins battle the formidable Prophets of Rage, and one half of Team Brutality, Night Patrol, go up against Cold Spell. SR: Who cares, Dross? We want blood -- and maybe we'll get it when Requiem takes on Serge Annis. TD: Perhaps so, although I have heard from one of the backstage runners that Requiem hasn't yet arrived at the Coliseum... Let's hope he shows up in time. SR: He's probably scared of Deathbringer. TD: I doubt that very much. Another marquee match coming your way tonight pits former Intercontinental Champion Marty Warnett against "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley -- with both men going into arguably the biggest matches of their careers in just seven days, a loss here tonight could be crippling. SR: Just as well I brought my pillow with me for that snoozefest, Dross. TD: There's all kinds of action coming your way, folks -- don't you touch that dial! One hundred and twenty minutes of the hottest wrestling in the world, right here, right now. Let's get straight to the ring for tonight's opening encounter, as the Sandman battles the Highwayman. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Sandman vs. Highwayman -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: NN TD: The Sandman said he wanted, well... just about anybody in a match tonight, and it looks like we've found his challenger. SR: That's right, Dross. The Highwayman will "driving" to the ring tonight to face off with the big Sandman, and, I've got to be honest with you... Freewayboy doesn't have a chance. TD: Highwayman is another one of our great European stars, he's from Leeds, England. SR: Many great Europeans here in the IIWF. Otto Verhoeven, and uh... TD: Lest we not forget the English Sensation, Robski. SR: Oh yeah, he was cool. Where is he now? [Dross becomes suddenly uncomfortable with the topic.] TD: Ah, let us go to the ring, where Sparkplug Lee will make the announcements. Mr. Lee... RA: The following matchup is scheduled for one fall. Introducing, first, from Leeds, England... he stands six feet four inches tall, and weighs in at 285 pounds. Ladies and gentlemen... The Highwayman! [The Highwayman appears at the head of the aisle, to a sizeable crowd pop, and his theme music, "Stand and Deliver". He comes to the ring, clad in his grey leather trousers, knee-high leather boots, white silk shirt, long-tailed jacket and three pointed hat. The crowd seems to enjoy the strange attire. Highwayman is carrying a swag bag which seems to be full of IIWF merchandise of himself.] SR: My sheet here says that Highwayman is 330 years old. Whazzup? TD: Well, some legend about him being hanged in the year 1696 or something and then he was resurrected from the dead. [whispering to the camera] I say he's from Queens. SR: Ha! What a lunatic... they ought to throw him up and lock away the key. No, wait... TD: While my tag team partner tries to figure just what the heck he's talking about, let's go back to the ring. [Highwayman, bouncing from rope to rope, seems to be annoying Sparkplug Lee quite a bit. Sparkplug, to avoid him, walks over to a turnbuckle. Upon his arrival there, the crowd pops! Lee, caught up in the moment, tries to climb the turnbuckle to work the crowd, but stumbles off the bottom buckle. The crowd laughs, and an embarrassed Lee starts:] RA: His opponent is from parts unknown... ["Concerto of the Desperado" by the Roots plays. The Sandman emerges from behind the curtain.] RA: ...making his way to the ring, at a weight of 275 pounds, this is the Sandman! [The Sandman is wearing a white mask which has no facial features at all, just two eye holes. He dons white pants with "Sandman" written down the right side. He has a "Sleeper" tattoo on his right forearm. The crowd jeers him the whole way to the ring, as Highwayman stares him down.] TD: The Sandman set for action, and we're about underway. SR: You know something, Dross, The Sandman has that stupid tattoo yet never executes a sleeperhold anyway, does he? TD: He will from time to time. It's not his favorite, though. He's got a modified chokeslam as his finisher. SR: I hear he's focused on titles. TD: Yes he is. SR: I've got one for him, "Worst Dressed". [The Sandman steps into the ring, and runs straight after Highwayman. However, Highwayman ducks, causing the Sandman to hit the buckle. The bell sounds as Highwayman rolls him up from behind - 1 - 2 - kickout. The Sandman is right back up, but taken down by a drop toe hold. Highwayman slides up the back of the Sandman and locks an arm bar onto the right arm of his adversary.] TD: Nice display of technique here by the Englishman. SR: Yes indeed, a duck under is tricky, Dross. TD: I was talking about the arm bar. [Highwayman shifts his weight again, this time getting to the side of the Sandman, and applying an arm scissors upon the right arm. The Sandman screams in pain, and the crowd laughs. Finally, the Sandman lurches close to the ropes, but before he can reach, the Highwayman releases the hold and drops an elbow to the back of the Sandman's arm! Pop!] TD: Apparently we have the attack focus upon one body part, the right arm of the Sandman. SR: It's good strategy. The Sandman's a tough guy, and he does use that right arm to execute many moves. I just don't know if the Hitchhiker can keep up this pace. [The Sandman gets up, holding his right elbow with his left hand. Highwayman charges back in, but this time the Sandman is able to kick him in the stomach, doubling him over. He drives an elbow into the back of Highwayman's neck, which drops him to his knees. The Sandman drags him back up and executes a body slam. He covers - 1 - 2 - kickout by Highwayman. The Sandman knocks Highwayman back off his feet with a forearm.] SR: See, the Sandman has immediately retaken control of the match. There's no threat here from the Interstater... [The Sandman heads to the ropes opposite the camera, and peers through. He yells, "Kowalski, are you seein' this?" The camera has only gotten a nice shot of his hindquarters.] TD: I wonder if he knows _that_ camera isn't even turned on. SR: [laughs] [The Sandman turns around just in time to be punched in the face by the now-recovered Highwayman. As the Sandman staggers backwards, Highwayman follows up with a clothesline into the corner. The Sandman reels, but fires right back with a fury of fists. However, the Brit quickly overwhelms him, which sends the Sandman crashing to the mat. The Highwayman drops down, and slaps on a "Painkiller" arm bar.] TD: There he goes right back to the arm. I really think he's trying to take away the right of the taller Sandman. SR: Alrighty. [Still in the arm bar, The Sandman struggles back to his feet. The Highwayman quickly goes to a bearhug, which begins to drain the wind out of the Sandman. Highwayman, however, begins to lose grip, as the Sandman lifts an arm, but then the Highwayman executes a devastating belly-to-belly suplex! He covers - 1 - 2 - kickout! The crowd pops disappointedly.] TD: What a barrage by the Highwayman! SR: Yeah, and look where it got him. Did he score the pinfall? No! TD: It's a gradual beating, Steve. You can't expect a man to lay down and die after just a couple of moves. SR: I bet this loser Highwayman doesn't win. Just watch. [The Sandman backpedals, begging for mercy. Highwayman keeps coming, and the Sandman grabs him by the tights and throws him to the floor. The Sandman waits on the apron, and jumps on the back of Highwayman! Big heel pop!] TD: The Sandman wanted to start a "street fight" approach, Soundbite, and I guess this is what we're seeing here. SR: Good, hardcore action! [The Sandman drives Highwayman's head into the steel barrier. The ref counts - 3 - 4 - 5 - the Sandman hops back into the ring. He, this time, finds the correct camera and yells, "Fury, you're next!" into it. The Highwayman gets back into the ring, and the Sandman suplexes him. He covers - 1 - 2 - kickout. The Sandman looks at the official and immediately begins complaining about the slowness of the count.] SR: Our refs really should take Applied Math at the local area high school. They really struggle with counting to three. TD: I don't think you learn that in any math classes. I think that comes in Kindergarten. SR: Seems about their speed... yeah, they should go there, then. [The Sandman snaps up the Highwayman off the canvas and executes a legsweep faceslam, which lays the Highwayman out flat on his stomach. The Sandman begins to drive his knee into the lower leg of the Highwayman. He rolls him over and covers - 1 - 2 - kickout. The Sandman shrugs his shoulders, then hops up and points to his "Sleeper" tattoo. Big heel pop!] TD: If he can land the Nightmare, it'll be the end for the Highwayman. SR: The "Highwayman" will be "Roadkillkid"! [The Sandman wraps his right hand around the face of the Highwayman. Much to the Sandman's surprise, though, the Highwayman has much energy remaining, and begins to pound on the right bicep of the Sandman. The Sandman tries to lift his opponent, but cannot due to the pressure on his arm. He releases, and the Highwayman kicks him in the stomach. He follows up with a DDT! Pop!] TD: Look out now! SR: I can't believe it. The Sandman better be able to finish off this three hundred plus year old man. Reminds me of your mother, Dross. TD: Can we leave my mother out of this, Steve? Ol' Mama Dross is a fine woman. [As Dross fumes, the Highwayman snaps the Sandman up off the canvas and punches him in the face. The Sandman slumps to his knees. Highwayman grabs his hair, trying to pick him up, but the Sandman counters with a punch to the groin! Big heel pop!] SR: Yeah! TD: What was that?! [The referee interrogates the Sandman, who tries to talk him into thinking it was accidental. The ref then looks at the sick-to-his-stomach Highwayman and calls for the bell. Pop!] RA: The winner... as a result of a disqualification, is the Highwayman! SR: What a load of crap! TD: Ha! The Sandman just proved to the world that cheating doesn't pay. [The Sandman kicks the Highwayman around for a while, and then pitches him over the top. He leaves to a _massive_ heel pop.] TD: The Sandman's really fired up for his wild Street Fight brawl with Steve "the Fury" Kowalski next Saturday night at Ring Wars III. SR: Hey, Dross, I hear that match is going to take place in the CN Highpoint Tower! TD: That could very well be true, Steve Roberts. I'll have the inside scoop on that situation tomorrow night in the IIWF Hotline report. [Big pop as the Highwayman picks himself up and begins to make his way backstage. Cut to the announcers' table.] SR: Ha, the Highwayjerk doesn't look much like a winner from here, Dross. TD: Maybe not, Steve, but it's a mark in the win column for the big man from Leeds, England. Okay, let's move on to our next encounter, which features two of the combatants of the Wild Card match scheduled for next Saturday Night. The dangerous Otto Verhoeven takes on former Cruiserweight Champion, "Badboy" Randy Acorn. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven vs. "Badboy" Randy Acorn =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: DK TD: This match is one of the more intruguing encounters scheduled tonight. Acorn has been very quiet recently, and we all know the volatile nature of Verhoeven. In fact, both of two men are known for their quick tempers... SR: And if Acorn gets Verhoeven's temper up, he'll be mince meat just like that. Everyone knows that a mad Verhoeven is a very dangerous one. Especially for Acorn. TD: Verhoeven is dangerous at all times, not just when he's angry. Let's go up to the ring... [Sparkplug Lee is in the ring, about to announce the next match, when the crowd gives a surprised pop as "Badboy" Randy Acorn hops out of the stands and into the squared circle behind Sparkplug, who jumps. Acorn takes the microphone from the announcer.] TD: [over the headset] What's going on here? SR: [over the headset] Shut up and you might just find out, moron. RA: All of you people may be wonderin' what in the hell the Badboy's doin' out here. Well, it's simple. I told you that you'd get an explanation for my silence, and now you're about to get one. [Randy strokes his chin with one hand while holding the mic in the other as he continues to speak.] A lot of people have seemed to lose respect for me in the past few months. Now, people liking me is a thing that I never cared about... nor will it ever be a thing, although I don't mind. But respect... now there's an issue to discuss. Respect is the whole reason I'm in this sport... because that's what I get out of it. If it wasn't for the respect, then there would just be the money and that's no fun. [The fans laugh at the comments as Randy cracks a smile.] TD: [over the headset] This is certainly a different side to Acorn, Steve. SR: [over the headset] Makes me want to barf... RA: You may think I'm on drugs or something after you hear these next words, but believe me when I tell you that I mean everything I say with all my heart. There's been a lot of cheating going on in the IIWF and I know that I've been a part of it. It never really hit home about how it affects careers until people started to cheat against me. THAT'S WHERE I DRAW THE LINE! [Small pop from the crowd.] Petrow, Cheshire, and just about everyone else that breaks these rules, have been a thorn in my side now for a month or two... well, it's time to pull those thorns out. I'm stopping the cheating and I'm breaking the cheaters. And if you think I'm soft for saying this... let me change your mind. It's time for a little unscheduled wrestling. [The crowd goes nuts over Acorn's last words as he waves his hand up and down... signalling for the crowd to be quiet.] TD: [over trhe headset] What could Acorn be up to? RA: Right now, I want all the rulebreakers out here. Mr. Damage, Verhoeven, The Hangman, and anyone else who wants some to come out here... LET'S WRASSLE! [The crowd's pop makes it difficult to hear anything as Randy reaches into his shorts, pulls out two pairs of brass knuckles, and slips one on each hand.] SR: [over the headset] Hey, now this may not be such a bad thing... TD: [over the headset] Shush, Steve! RA: You may be wondering what these are for... well, there's a whole bunch of you, and only one of me -- and these make it a lot more interesting. NOW GET YOUR ASSES OUT HERE! [Big pop! Acorn motions to the head of the aisle for the men to start coming out, and the fans are waiting as well.] TD: This could become violent, Steve... Acorn has put himself in a compromising position here. SR: I'm ready for a fight, Dross. I've been waiting for a big brou-ha-ha. And it looks as if we're about to get one! [Within moments, the "Butcher" starts to walk down the aisle, pointing at Acorn and shouting obsenities. Acorn beckons him to step into the ring, and Verhoeven gladly climbs the steps into the squared circle.] TD: Verhoeven isn't afraid of anything or anyone, not even with brass knuckles! Acorn better be careful! SR: Are we even going to see a match here? Here come more people from the back! This thing is building! ["Superstar" Stud Stetson and Ronnie Paris run down to the ring, sliding in and helping out Acorn by confronting Verhoeven! Otto is not amused, and threatens both men straight away. Paris and Stetson don't budge, and Acorn stands with his knucks ready...] SR: It's three on one against Verhoeven! TD: But not for long! The ring is really starting to fill up! Look who's on the way now! SR: It's Mr. Damage, the Hangman and Luke Steele! [Damage, Steele and the Hangmen rotate around the ring before leaping in and surrounding Paris, Stetson and Acorn. Verhoeven points at Acorn and tries to single him out, and tempers start to rise and the pushing begins...] TD: This thing is starting to get out of hand! Damage and the Hangman have forced Paris back, and Steele has Stetson occupied... And Verhoeven is going for Acorn! [Finally, just as Damage and the Hangman start attacking Paris and Verhoeven goes after Acorn, the American Patriot flies down the aisleway and into the ring, at which point the spark is lit, and everyone starts going at it!] TD: We've got a preview of that Wild Card match at Ring Wars III right here! Verhoeven has ducked inside Acorn and is pounding away, and the Patriot has grabbed Damage and is pounding on him! Stetson and Steele are tooth and nail, and the Hangman is brawling with Paris! Someone needs to break this up! SR: Are you kidding? Let them do this all night! [All eight men go to town, as the brass knucks of Acorn start to work over Verhoeven, who amazingly continues to fight back! Paris holds his own against the Hangman, and the Patriot is hammering Damage! In the midst of the brawl, Cell and Monster of Domination come down to ringside and grab the Patriot's ankle, pulling him out of the ring! Monster holds him as the Cell grabs a chair and dents it over the Patriot's head! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! The Patriot may not get up after that shot! SR: That was some impact! I felt that one, Dross! [The Patriot is laid out on the concrete, and Monster and Cell continue stomping on the Patriot. Cell grabs Monster and powerbombs him on top of the Patriot! Heel Pop! The Patriot does not move as Monster and cell walk back to the dressing room area. In the ring, Damage and the Hangman do a number on Paris, and Verhoeven and Acorn still brawl in a corner! Stetson and Steele have brawled on the mat for a while as well, and Stetson has a small cut on his left eyelid! The Jobber Justice Squad enters stage left and starts to clear the fight, seperating Verhoeven's squad from Acorn's. Verhoeven starts to bad-mouth Acorn again, and Acorn stands returning the favor. Verhoeven eventually motions his men out, and Steele, Damage and the Hangmen all depart. Acorn, Paris and Stetson stand in the ring...] TD: Wow! If it weren't for the separation of those two sides, we could have had a bloody mess to clean up! SR: The Patriot is still out cold, Dross. here comes the stretcher... It looks like the Patriot really took a hit! TD: I hope the Patriot is all right... He'd only just been granted clearance to wrestle again after that shoulder injury at the hands of the Cell a week or two ago, and now he's put out again... [The medical staff place the Patriot on the stretcher and cart him away as a concerned Acorn watches on with the other three men. Cut to the announcers' table.] TD: Well, it was touch and go whether the Patriot would be in any state to wrestle at Ring Wars III next Saturday night in any case, but I think we can safely count him out of the running now. SR: He's not going to be running anywhere for a long time, Dross. TD: Perhaps not. And what's the connection between the Cell and Monster? Has Oak's religious cult managed to brainwash Domination into joining their ranks? So many unanswered questions... but so little time. We must move on, fans, to the first of tonight's two IIWF United States Tag Team Championship Tournament semi-finals. In this first match, the undefeated Prophets of Rage go up against the Harlequins. Let's get up to the ring: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= IIWF UNITED STATES TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT SEMI-FINAL: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Prophets of Rage vs. Harlequins --------------------------------------------------------------- WRITER: JB [Veteran IIWF Ring Announcer Sparkplug Lee walks into the ring with toilet paper stuck to the bottom of his shoe.] SR: What a moron. TD: Leave him alone, Steve. SL: This next contest is a semi-final match in the United States Tag Team Championship Tournament. The winner of this match will compete for the Titles one week from now at Ring Wars III, which is still available to order on pay-per-view! Contact you local cable company or satellite provider for details on this incredible event! SR: Oh, come on! Is Sparky doing plugs now? I mean, aside from the ones in his scalp... SL: Introducing first ["My Lover's Box" by Garbage kicks on, to a big pop.], from Sleepy Hollow, Illinois, accompanied by Comedy and Melody, at a total combined weight of 543 pounds, Harlequin Tragedy and Harlequin Chaos, THE HARLEQUINS! [Crowd pop as the 'Quins walk down the aisle, with their valets racing around playing tag at ringside. Comedy rushes up to the Announcers' table and lightly slaps Dross on the shoulder] TD: What the...? COMEDY: Tag! You're it! [Comedy flees, laughing as Dross looks confusedly at Roberts.] SR: Hey, I called King's X. SL: And now, their opponents ["Death March" plays, causing a very negative pop.], accompanied by their valets Medusa Rage and Pizzazz, hailing from Halifax, Nova Scotia, at a total combined weight of 573 pounds, Derek Rage, Shadoe Rage, THE PROPHETS OF RAGE! [Derek and Pizzazz walk in dressed in the same outfit as Chaos and Melody. The respective Harlequins look upset at the development. Tragedy drops to ringside to confront the 7' 2" Derek, who hurls his basketball at Tragedy. Tragedy foreheads the ball into the crowd! Huge pop, along with some cries of "Goooooooooal!"] TD: What a header by Tragedy! I wonder if the U.S. needs another player for their World Cup team? [Derek assaults Tragedy, clubbing him with forearms and slamming his back into the guardrail.] SR: I'll bet that's not allowed in soccer! [Chaos flies through the ropes at Derek, who has his back turned. The 325 pounder slams Derek into the guard rail with a plancha dive! Big pop!] TD: Now both Harlequins are on Rage! And we still haven't seen Shadoe! SR: Well, Dross, you can see him right now! Look! [Shadoe flies out of the crowd to blindside Chaos with a boot to the knee. The big man drops, allowing Derek to open up while Shadoe slugs away at Tragedy. Meanwhile, Medusa Rage crawls out from under the ring just behind Melody and gives her an axehandle from behind! Heel pop!] SR: Another great piece of subterfuge by the Prophets! Way to go, guys! TD: And now, just as last week, Medusa and Pizzazz are attacking the opponents' valets! SR: I don't think I remember President Danny saying he wanted a women's division at the meeting last week, but he may have one anyway if this keeps up. TD: All four men who are actually in the match are still slugging it out outside! The match has not officially begun yet! [Derek mounts the ring apron over a woozy Chaos, then hits a double axe handle on the teenage giant as Shadoe connects on a roundhouse kick to Tragedy! Heel Pop! Meanwhile, Pizzazz hits a running bulldog on Melody while Comedy gets a scoop backbreaker on Medusa! Small face pop to those who see it!] SR: The ref might as well grab a beer and get in the stands...I don't think he'll be needed here. [Still at ringside, the Prophets whip the Harlequins into each other, only to have Chaos duck while Tragedy leapfrogs him, springboarding off his back for a flying dropkick on Derek while Chaos bullrushes Shadoe into the ring steps, then pummells him with a series of punches! Face pop! As Derek staggers, Tragedy hits a superkick that causes Derek's head to snap back, causing him to go down for the count! HUGE FACE POP!] TD: That one bit of teamwork has changed the momentum in this match! SR: I haven't seen a superkick executed that well since "Fireball" Tom Andrews used it as a finisher in the early '80's! And let me tell you from personal experience, that was a SUPERkick! [In the women's brawl, Comedy leaves Medusa prone, picks up a chair and crowns Pizzazz with it from behind, sending her into a waiting belly-to-belly suplex by Melody! Just then, Medusa sneaks behind Comedy, picks her up under her arms, and hits a crucifix slam! Face Pop!] TD: Someone needs to get control of the ringside situation before one of those valets gets hurt! SR: Let me handle it, Dross... TD: Sit down! [Shadoe knees Chaos in the groin, causing the big man to drop! Tragedy rolls a punch drunk Derek into the ring, which causes the referee to finally signal for the opening bell. Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: At long last, this match is underway. SR: What, Dross, are you blind? Haven't you been watching what's going on? That's what I call wrestling! [Tragedy climbs back into the ring and drops a knee on the back of Derek, who appears to be attempting to get up from all fours. The knee drops Derek back down as Shadoe delivers a tilt-a-whirl pile driver to Chaos.] TD: Tragedy's rolling Derek over? What's he... It's the Tragic Ending! The Harlequins could get a spot in the final right here! SR: Someone better break this hold, or this will be a real short match! [Huge pop intesifies as Tragedy cinches the hold, arching Derek's back and causing the bigger Prophet to shout in pain. Derek refuses to submit, once, twice, three, four times as the camera zooms in on his twisted face amid the deafening crowd pop. A fifth time the referee asks for a submission, and just as Derek looks ready to yield...] SR: Shadoe's in the ring! [Shadoe delivers a series of karate kicks to the face of Tragedy, causing the Harlequin to drop the hold and slump to the mat. The referee orders Shadoe out as Derek crawls to set the cover. the ref gets back to apply the count: 1 -- 2 -- Chaos breaks the hold with an elbow to the head of Derek. The ref likewise forces Chaos to the corner.] SR: The Prophets just got cheated! That slow count may cost them the match! TD: The count was held up because Shadoe wasn't the legal man in the ring! SR: Your point being? [While both legal men begin to rise, the women's fight continues at ringside with Comedy and Melody gaining the decisive upper hand. Pizzazz is out on the floor, while Comedy sets up Medusa for a pile driver. Melody climbs up to the apron, and assists Comedy with a spike! Pop!] TD: Medusa and Pizzazz probably should have thought twice before attacking the Harlequin valets. SR: You said it, Dross... there aren't many many valets who can also wrestle, and both of these women have ring experience. [Derek whips Tragedy into the ropes, tosses him into the air and laughs as he watches him land face first. Heel pop as Tragedy coils up after getting the belly buster. Derek then tags to Shadoe, who mounts the top rope for a flying double axehandle! Heel Pop continues as Shadoe stomps on the downed Harlequin, then picks him up for a tilt-a-whirl piledriver. Shadoe makes the cover: 1 -- 2 -- Kickout!] TD: The Prophets of Rage are taking it to Harlequin Tragedy here! SR: If they can keep him in their corner, we could have part of the card for Ring Wars filled out! [Derek tags back in, and looms over Tragedy for...] TD: ...It's a hanging cobra clutch! SR: Just payback for that Tragic Ending earlier, Timbo. [Derek continues the hold, much to the displeasure of Tragedy and Chaos who is jump-stomping on the apron in frustration. Meanwhile, Melody sits on Medusa outside while Comedy hits Pizzazz with a stun gun on top of the railing.] SR: Derek's dropped Tragedy! What's going on? [Derek leans over the ropes and threatens the Harlequin girls for attacking Pizzazz, and appears to be ready to come out and deal with them himself. Comedy responds with a false look of terror, then laughs.] SR: Hey, Derek, get back in to business! [Tragedy slowly gets up and heads for the corner for the tag. Shadoe yells at his partner in vain, and steps through to stop Tragedy himself, but is forced off by the ref.] TD: He made the tag! Chaos is all over Derek! [Chaos sets on Derek to a big pop, while Shadoe attacks Tragedy getting through the ropes to the outside. The referee sees this and tries to break up the brawl. Chaos hits a Russian leg sweep, and Derek lies on the canvas.] TD: Look out! they're coming our way! [Shadoe slams Tragedy's head into the announcers' table, spilling coffee all over Soundbite, then setting him on another table.] SR: Hey, klutz, better be glad my back is still acting up! [Chaos hits the jack knife but the ref is still distracted by Shadoe's scaling of the rope to hit Tragedy. behind Chaos, Pizzazz mounts the ropes for an attack of her own with a chair.] SR: This is gonna hurt... [Pow! simultaneously, Comdey yanks Tragedy off the table, which Shadoe busts into several pieces with and angel of death drop and Pizzazz is shoved from the rope by Melody! pop! Derek ducks a cross body block by Chaos, who lands outside on the referee!] SR: He's asleep! do your thing, boys! [Melody locks on the figure for on Pizzazz in the ring, to a huge crowd pop! Tragedy opens up on Shadoe outside, while Derek slams Chaos into the ringpost and reenters the ring and moves toward Melody, still locked in the figure four.] TD: What is he going to... OH NO! [Derek hits Melody with a legdrop across the chest! The Crowd boos the loudest it has in months as Pizzazz drags Melody out of the ring.] TD: That was dispicable! I'm sure some serious penalties are coming down for this one! SR: You mean you wouldn't protect your woman, Dross? TD: Not in that manner! Melody could be seriously hurt! [Medusa chairs Tragedy and rolls him into the ring. The booing has woken up the ref, who now sees Derek with the cover on Tragedy. He slides in and counts: 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! The negative crowd pop is enormous!] SL: Your winners, the Prophets of Rage! TD: That was sick! The Prophets of Rage have aboslutely no scruples whatsoever! SR: Yeah... Don't ya love it? [The Prophets head up the aisle as all three Harlequins attempt to revive Melody.] TD: Before we get up to the ring for our second semi-final to find out who'll battle the Prophets at Ring Wars III, it's time for this week's LaRue's Lair segment, tonight with the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder. Over to you, Becky. [Becky makes her usual entrance. She is bedecked in a cow-girl emsemble which pushes the lines of good taste.] BL: The song says "Mamas, don't let you babies grow up to be cowboys". By my thinking that's all wrong. I never met a cowboy I didn't like... and neither has the IIWF. From "Bodybag" Kinder to the High Plains Drifters to the Outlaw J.W. Hardin, a cowboy hasn't failed to win gold in this fed. It seems that the legacy will continue with my next guest. He hasn't worn a title yet... but it's just a matter of time. He's big, mean and nasty. Better yet... he's a cowboy. Welcome Brody Thunder! [The thunderbolt insignia flashes on the entry curtain. There is a large heel pop from a number of chocolate cigar chomping children. Brody ignores them as he makes his way to the stage.] BL: You're a big cowboy... but you're married, aren't you? BT: Yes ma'am, to a pretty little lady in Arizona. BL: Did you learn any secrets from your time spent with Outlaw J.W. Hardin? BT: If ya spend time with a man like Hardin an' come away emptyhanded then ya weren't payin' attention. But the one thing that Hoss passed onto me is the one thing that will get me that 10lbs o' gold around my waist. That one thing is the Cattle Buster DDT. BL: We've all done silly things for money. Yours was working for Billy Shakespeare. What made you "see the light"? BT: The fact that the boy couldn't win a spellin' bee let alone a wrestlin' match! I tried ta help 'im but he wanted ta do it his way. Well, his way was layin' on his back countin' the lights instead o' gettin' the fat end o' the purse. Not much future in that way o' thinkin' as far as I'm concerned. BL: Shakespeare managed to pull a fast one and dupe you into a contract where you have to use his finisher. You're a mauler, not a flyer. What is your take on all this? BT: What I am is a wrestler... plain an' simple. I ain't no pretty-boy... I ain't some "dead" guy... which seems ta be _popular_ nowadays... an' I ain't one o' these rookie tinhorns. Now Ol' Billy-boy here gets President Dan Spreadbury ta okay this... this... travesty o'justice knowing full well that I didn't have the time ta read the contract an' check out the fine print. So Billy-boy gets _his_ match. That's fine. 'Cuz once the bell rings he ain't gonna be able ta hide behind a piece o' paper or Spreadbury. He's gonna have ta hook 'em up an' then I'm gonna do whatever it takes ta put that gutless punk outta this sport fer good. BL: So would it be safe to say that in the back of your head you might be willing to lose the match, forget the finisher clause, and just pound Little Willy into the mat? BT: Brody Thunder's _never_ been a loser. I've got me a little surpris fer Billy-boy so I hope he's watchin' real careful. An' at Ring Wars III... Billy Shakespeare's gonna face the toughest athlete the IIWF has to offer an' I don't care what I gotta do or how I gotta do it... but _Shakespeare_.. ...you _ain't_ leavin' that ring conscious, son. BL: Now he's managed to suck-up to Dictator Daniel and get the IIWF appointment at the Summit. Don't you think that you'd make a better choice? BT: There's three people that didn't want the Lone Wolf at that Summit. One is Billy-boy. Two is Spreadbury. An' three... are those flamin' punks... who call themselves the "LOOP". It's easy ta brag 'bout bein' tough, boys... but it ain't braggin' when ya can back it up. BL: Shakespeare always bored me in high school, and he does so now. The Syndicate. Are you in or out? BT: Let's just say we've got a "working arrangement"... an' leave it at that. BL: Who would you consider as a tag team partner? BT: Funny you should mention that Becky. You been talkin' ta Hardin lately? I just may be lookin' fer the next toughest man in the IIWF ta grab them gold tag straps. But we'll hafta wait an' see. BL: You currently owe a loss to Mad Dog Watkins. When is it going to arrive? BT: Lemme tell ya 'bout Watkins. He's a tough SOB... no doubt about it. But he ain't no Brody Thunder. I done put his shoulders to that mat once already an' now it seems like he's gotten a case of amnesia an' fergot it. Well, I'm sure a little instant replay might smarten him up 'cuz.. [All of a sudden Brody Thunder stops short as the crowd begins to rumble at the appearance of Mad Dog Watkins. Watkins is dressed in blue jeans and black boots, and sports a black tabogin pulled low over his bald head. As he steps on the set, the camera focuses in on his t-shirt, the same Creed/Watkins Ring Wars III t-shirt given to him by the CEO a few weeks prior. As the camera focuses in on the t-shirt's print, the image is placed up on the arena's screens which the crowd acknowledges with a loud "Who's Your Daddy?" chant. Watkins walks up to Thunder and begins to talk in his low, gravelly voice...] MDW: Brody Thunder... while I may not be what most would call a "smart man", I do know some things in life. First and foremost, I know that for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. You come to visit me on Larue's Lair, and I'll come to see you. You pin my shoulders to the mat, and I'll damn well make sure the same happens to you. Just too damn bad that it wasn't me that got the pin, but I don't think Kowalski is complaining too much. [A small group of hardcore fans erupt at the mention of Kowalski's name with a chant of "SKULLPUMP, SKULLPUMP, SKULLPUMP!"] MDW: I bet you didn't like that too much, 'ey cowpoke? Yeah, I knew you wouldn't. I also know that there ain't no quit in the Dog. You pin me once... big deal -- ain't like it's the first time in my career. But are you man enough to do it again? [Thunder starts to grab the mic, but Watkins jerks it away from Larue before the big Texan can get his hands on it.] MDW: Hold on a second, son, I ain't through talking just yet. Mind your manners, or I'll have to teach you a lesson in respect; just like the one I got for Creed, if he makes it out of the building tonight! The most important thing I know, and it's something young punks like Creed and yo'self need to learn, is that you don't go messing with the gorilla in the monkey house! 'Cause I'm that big bad son of a bitch, and you've done gone and pissed me the hell off! So shut your mouth and get in the ring, son, that way I can show you what it feels like to be beaten by a better man. [Watkins shoves the microphone hard into the chest of Brody Thunder, and then slowly backs away and off the stage. Thunder just smiles a devilish grin as he watches Watkins leave.] BT: Heheheh... bravo, son... bravo. So I guess now I'm supposed to be scared 'cuz yer a "big, bad son of a bitch" an' now yer "pissed off"? Well, Dog... [Thunder rubs his chin.] ...IT...AIN'T...HAPPENIN'. Ya ain't the first one ta think he's bigger an' badder than the Lone Wolf an' ya won't be the last... but what you _are_ gonna be is next. Next ta find out why I am the best wrestler aroun' today... BAR NONE. Not Kowalski... who couldn't win our match without yer help. Not little ol' Billy Shakespeare... who'll get his when I stomp 'im at Ring Wars. An' certainly not _you_. So you go pump yerself up nice an' big... an' git yer walker... an' try an' git yer ugly mug down in that ring tonight, an' I'll be more'n happy ta help ya on yer way ta retirement... the hard way. [Thunder throws the mic down and walks off abruptly, leaving Becky a little flustered.] BL: Hrumpf! This whole storming off the set thing is getting a little bit tiring to this girl. I'm demanding hazardous duty pay, and I'm demanding it now. [Becky storms off the set. Cut back to the announcers' table.] TD: Hazardous duty pay? Try working with Steve Roberts every week for a year and then see what a hazard really is. SR: Watch it, Dross, or I'll set the Animal Protection Agency on that so-called hair of yours. TD: Okay, let's get back up to the ring. The winner of this next match will face the Prophets of Rage in a battle to crown the first ever IIWF United States Tag Team Champions at Ring Wars III in just seven days -- will it be Cold Spell or Night Patrol challenging the dangerous undefeated Prophets? SR: Ask a stupid question, Dross -- Night Patrol, of course! TD: Let's find out as we go down to ringside! =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= IIWF UNITED STATES TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT SEMI-FINAL: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Night Patrol vs. Cold Spell --------------------------------------------------------------- WRITER: DK [Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring, amazingly enough without mishap this time.] SL: The following contest, set for one fall, is a semi-final matchup in the IIWF United States Tag Team Championship Tournamnet! [Big pop as "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" begins to play!] Introducing first, at a combined weight of 500 pounds... "Icehawk"... Edmund Fitzgerald... COLD SPELL!!! [Icehawk arrives out of the entranceway first to a big crowd ovation. He is more hyper than usual, running in full stride to the ring and running around it while his partner Fitzgerald walks slowly down the aisle. While Icehawk is fired up, Fitzgerald has the same concentrated look he always has: focused entirely on the ring...] TD: Well, here's the first of our two teams... SR: The losing one, coincidentally... TD: That has yet to be determined, Steve... As I was saying, Cold Spell is one of the teams still vying for the U.S. Tag Championship. They will face a tough task in the Night Patrol, one half of Team Brutality... SR: The name says it all... The Night Patrol will brutalize Cold Spell and teach thenm a lesson they won't soon forget! TD: I don't know... Icehawk sure is fired up, though! SR: That will be Cold Spell's downfall... Icehawk has too much emotion in him. I like Fitzgerald's syle, but his partner is the weak link in the team. TD: I don't agree with you one that one. Icehawk brings an aerial game with him that few teams can match. Let's go back to the ring! [Sparkplug Lee begins to speak again, but his attention is distracted by the arrival of Mr. Mic and Morningstar in the aisle.] TD: Hey, what the hell are Mr.Mic and Morningstar doing here? SR: Listen to the man, Dross. You might just learn something. [Mr.Mic and Morningstar come walking down the aisle. Mr.Mic is wearing a solid black Armani suit with Italian shoes. He has a very sinister smirk on his face. Morningstar is wearing a T-shirt that says "PAIN INC." across the front, and blue jeans. He looks very disgruntled indeed. There is a deafening heel pop as they approach.] TD: Whoa! Look at Morningstar. This guy looks like he's about to burst! SR: No kidding, moron. How would you feel? The Zodiac Connection injured his partner and may have cost Pain Inc. the World tag titles. [Mr.Mic grabs the mic from Sparkplug Lee as Morningstar stares down Cold Spell. Morningstar pulls out a Night Patrol bandana and displays it to Cold Spell as he points to the duo and draws his thumb across his throat with a grisly smile.] MM: I'm sure each and every one of you saw what happened to the master of the Indonesian Wrecking Crew last week. I'm speaking of Hellriaser. [Jeers from the crowd as Mr.Mic laughs] Oh, I bet all you fans think it's real funny how the Zodiac Connection... [large pop as Mr. Mic pauses and chuckles to himself]... attacked and maimed Hellraiser. Well, I have some things to say: one, Morningstar is not very happy about it [Morningstar continues to stare at Cold Spell]; two, the rest of Team Brutality is not too happy about it! $100,000 in fines is a joke -- but we have a better idea. I want President Spreadbury and the other suits to listen up. TD: [over the headset] He can't just come out here and order Preside... SR: [over the headset, interrupting] Shut up, you moron! MM: I hereby challenge the Zodiac Connection to a steel cage match at Ring Wars III. [The crowd gives a mixed pop.] Now let's get down to business. Ladies and gentlemen, being led to the ring by my business partner and friend, Assistant D.A Brenda Hawkings, the future US Tag Team champions, the two men who'll put the "finish" to the Finn over here, from Houston, Texas at a total combined weight of 530lbs -- Lt. David Keene and Sgt. Jack Blazer... THE NIGHT PATROL! [Big heel pop as the theme from "Dragnet" starts up and the Night Patrol appear in the aisle. Keene and Blazer seem ready for the match as they quickly make their way down the aisle and into the ring. Mr. Mic and Morningstar sit in the front row at ringside after having departed, and Cold Spell looks warily on as the two other members of team brutality take position. Then, the Night Patrol attacks...] TD: WHOA! It didn't take long for this match to get underway! The Night Patrol tried to get an early edge, but it didn't work, and Cold Spell has them reeling all iover the place! SR: The Night Patrol are double tough... OUCH! [Icehawk goes to town on Blazer in the corner with a series of high impact kicks to the midsection while Fitz makes quick work of Keene with a big powerslam! Keene rolls to the outside, and Fitz stands in the ring watching him. Icehawk whips Blazer to the other corner and charges in with a hard splash! POP! Fitz enters his corner and watches the match as Icehawk plasters Blazer with an earringer before nailing him with a spinning heel kick! POP! Cover... 1 -- KICKOUT! Icehawk tags in Fitz as Keene goes to his corner. Fitz enters and hits Blazer in the back with a big double-axehandle! Fitz whips Blazer off the ropes, but Blazer ducks down and takes the leg of Fitz out, before dropping on with a side-headlock.] TD: This is strange... Blazer is actually wrestling Fitzgerald! SR: It's a little too strange... Slug him! [The side headlock doesn't last for long, as Fitz powers him off the ropes. Blazer plows over Fitz off the ropes, then runs off again, and gets sidewalk slammed! POP! Blazer is stunned as Fitz drops an elbow! Cover... 1 -- KICKOUT! Blazer still has plenty in him as Fitz makes another quick tag to Icehawk. The flyer goes up top and crashes down on the arm of Blazer! Icehawk heads back upstairs and attepts a cross-body block, but is caught! Blazer plants him in the middle of the ring with a sweet shoulderbreaker to a big heel pop! Cover... 1 -- 2 -- Kickout! Blazer wraps up one of Icehawks legs and drives a knee across! Icehawk screams out in agony! Heel pop! Blazer drives down on the knee again, then tags in Keene, who climbs to the top and drops a leg down across Icehawk's vulnerable knee! Shocked pop!] TD: This is a great game plan by the Night Patrol! If Icehawk doesn't have the legs to fly on.... or even stand on... it eliminates a major part of Cold Spell's effectiveness! SR: The Night Patrol will become the U.S. Champs in a week, Dross. [Keene continues to pull and wrench on Icehawk's knee before placing it on the bottom rope, leaping... and sitting on nothing but canvas, as Icehawk yanks his leg out! POP! Icehawk tries to hobble around and get the use of his leg back, and in doing so, gets leveled by a Keene clothesline! HEEL POP! The clothesline surprised Icehawk, and the cover... 1 -- 2 -- Shoulder up!] TD: I think that clothesline may have done more damage than we know! [Keene brings Icehawk up and whips him off the ropes. Icehawk ducks a back elbow thrust, but then gets caught with a gorgeous belly-to-belly suplex! POP! 1 -- 2 -- Kickout! Icehawk struggles to get to his corner, and is cut off easily by Keene, who drags him to the Night Patrol corner before tagging in Blazer. The bigger man simply puts Icehawk in the corner and pounds away at will, causing Icehawk to slump down in the corner. When the referee warns Blazer, Keene starts using the tag rope to choke out Icehawk! Heel pop! Fitzgerald enters the ring to protest, which only forces the referee to get him in his corner, and enabling a double-team to occur in the corner! Fitzgerald is irate, but finally goes bcak to his corner as Blazer suplexes Icehawk into the center of the ring! POP! Cover... 1 -- 2 -- Kickout!] TD: The Night Patrol has established firm control of this match, but that was blatent cheating! SR: Anything that works, Dross. [Blazer brings the ailing Icehawk back up, and whips him off the ropes. Blazer attempts a backdrop, but Icehawk cartwheels around it, goes off the other ropes, and executes a quick bulldog on the return as Blazer is confused! POP! Blazer gets up quickly, and before Icehawk can lunge and make the tag, Blazer back suplexes him! HEEL POP! Blazer tags in Keene,who again heads up top as Icehawk lays in the middle of the ring. Keene goes for a swan splash, but Icehawk moves! Keene crashes down in the center of the ring, and Icehawk limps towards his corner!] TD: This could be the break that Cold Spell needed, now it's up to Icehawk to get to his partner! Keene is attempting to grab the ankle of Icehawk... SR: Keene got Icehawk... NO! TD: Icehawk made the tag! Here comes Fitzgerald! [Edmund Fitzgerald comes in the ring and absorbs three blows from Keene before winding up and shooting the lightweight across the ring with a european uppercut! Keene is slow to get up after such a blow, and Fitz whips him off the ropes, performing a spike slam on the return! POP! Blazer enters, and runs smack into a powerful spinebuster! HUGE POP! Keene is up again, and leaps up in a sleeper on Fitzgerald, who drops down and executes a jawbreaker! Keene staggers back and his momentum carries him over the top rope to the outside! Fitz then grabs Blazer up, tags Icehawk, and sets Blazer on his shoulders as Icehawk climbs up!] TD: This could be the end right here! Look at Mr. Mic's expression! SR: Somebody do something! [Icehawk missile dropkicks Blazer off of Fitzgerald's shoulders, but as Blazer falls back, he clips the ref with his elbow. Blazer hits the canvas hard, and Icehawk covers, but...] TD: No referee! Cold Spell has this match won! SR: No they don't! Keene is up top! [Fitzgerald tries to wake up the referee, and in doing so, does not see Keene climb to the top rope and leap off with a leg drop across the back of the neck of Icehawk! Icehawk slumps to the mat on his back after the blow, and Keene places the unconscious Blazer on top as the ref, now awakened by Fitzgerald, turns around... 1 -- Fitz sees what has happened, and tries to break the pin... 2 -- Keene meets Fitzgerald before the pin is broken... 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Frustrated with the loss, Fitzgerald heaves Keene over his head and dumps him all the way to the concrete floor! HUGE POP! Fitzgerald then grabs Blazer and fires him over the top! Fitzgerald consoles the dazed Icehawk while the Night Patrol members stagger towards one another...] TD: What a match that was, but it was the Night Patrol winning it by the narrowest of margins... and only because the referee was out cold! SR: Excuses, excuses, excuses. What matters is that in the end, the Night Patrol got the job done! Case Closed! TD: So the Night Patrol will wrestle the Prophets of Rage for the IIWF United States Tag team Championship at Ring Wars III... just one of the many great matches coming your way in just seven days. Order now! SR: Oh, stop it, Dross! TD: Okay, up next we're going to see a preview of next week's big "Dead Man Rising" Four Corners match, as two of the combatants, Serge Annis and the impressive Requiem, lock it up one-on-one here tonight. Any predictions, Steve? SR: Yeah, one of these days, your wig's gonna come off on live television. TD: [sighs] Let's go back up to the ring... and Sparkplug Lee! =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Requiem vs. Serge Annis =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: NN [The camera looks into the crowd, where Highwayman is sitting. It then hits Sparkplug, standing in the ring in his powder blue tuxedo, who grins to the chants of, "Spark - plug! Spark - plug!" He starts up.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this matchup is scheduled for one fall! SR: [over the headset] Hey, ol' Pluggy's got it goin' on tonight in that tux... whoa baby! RA: Introducing first, at 293 pounds.... from Oakville, Ontario... Serge Annis! ["Some Days It's Dark" plays. Serge Annis, dressed in his black pants and wristbands, emerges from the curtain and heads to the ring. He has light brown hair and ice blue eyes. Annis marches down to the ring in darkness. Upon entering the ring, a shower of one dozen black roses falls all around him. Annis ignores the jeering of the crowd and focuses upon the aisle, awaiting the appearance of his opponent.] TD: A very, very odd individual indeed, Serge Annis. SR: He's been terrorizing people here for quite some time now, Dross. It says here on my stat sheet that Serge once defeated Dan Kauffman in a tournament known as the World Cup of E-Wrestling. TD: Impressive. SR: Not really, Dross... who _hasn't_ beaten Kauffman... El Super Gecko maybe. RA: His opponent for tonight's matchup is from parts unknown, weighing in at 306lbs, here is Requiem!!! [The lights go out. Suddenly, "The Music of the Unknowingly Damned" starts up very quietly. Dim crimson spotlights hit the head of the aisle, and soon a white beam of light comes from behind the curtain.] SR: A flashlight? Why? TD: Who knows... maybe he wants to try and blind Serge. [The crowd waits in anxiety, and soon a roaring can be heard. The crowd pops as Requiem, dressed in a biker's jacket, drives through the curtain on a brand new black Harley Davidson!] TD: Do they allow those in here? SR: I doubt it, normally... but I'm sure that if he did enough puckering to Dictator Danny... he'd "make an exception". The only "exceptions" around here are fair decisions. TD: [sarcastic] Poor baby. [Requiem's jacket has "Angel of Destruction" written in crimson flames on the back. Riding with Requiem is a stunning albino woman, 18-20 years old. She has waist length dark hair, which is worn loose. She is also wearing a leather jacket. Requiem gets to the ring and enters. The lights come back on and the music dies.] TD: What entrances! SR: Who is this chick? She's holding Requiem's guitar... perhaps she's a rocker? TD: I doubt it. She doesn't look very old though. SR: Wonder if she's over eighteen? TD: [accusingly] Why, Steve? SR: Uh, no reason. [The bell sounds. Requiem and Serge lock up in the center of the ring, but neither can gain an advantage. Annis steps to the side and applies a full arm drag and twist. Requiem rolls through it, and fires back with a clothesline, rocking the big Annis backward. As Annis tries to keep his balance, Requiem stands there, intently staring at Serge... which seems to cause him to topple to the mat! Cover - 1 - kickout.] TD: Did you see that? Requiem almost WILLING Annis to fall, and it worked... the big mat hit the canvas! SR: Well, I don't see Annis on his back too often, but I guess there's a first time for everything. [Requiem takes some forearm shots to the face from Serge. Annis grabs Requiem's right arm and twists it, then executes a short arm clothesline. Annis is quick to drop an elbow, but Requiem rolls away, all the way out to the floor! Pop!] SR: Runnin' scared... [Requiem's valet comes to her man's side, and whispers something in his ear. The camera didn't exactly catch what it was, but Requiem nods and reenters the ring, met by a stomp to the leg from big Serge Annis. Annis is quick to snap up the reeling Requiem and swing him to the ropes, ducking for a back body drop. Requiem, however, counters and executes a sunset flip - 1 - 2 - kickout. Serge attacks again, but Requiem side steps and takes him down with a big hip toss. Requiem follows up with an arm bar.] TD: Look at the technique of Requiem, I'm impressed. SR: I'll show you technique, Timmy, when Serge pops Requiem in the face with a ball from his trusty Zippo! TD: That Zippo should be banned from the IIWF, Steve. You know it as well as I. SR: Why should guys like Serge not get the same benefits as the "straight" arrows around here? If Danny Kauffman wanted to have a Zippo lighter with him, Dictator Danny would say, "why not just bring an acetylene torch, sir?" TD: Hey, what's that? [The spotlight hits Deathbringer in the crowd, at the opposite end of the arena from Highwayman. He is standing in his cowl, with his arms folded, watching the match with interest. Back in the ring, Annis relieves the pressure on the arm, getting to his feet and swinging Requiem to the ropes again. This time, Serge catches Requiem with a knee to the midsection, but Requiem flips right over and rolls Annis up - 1 - 2 - kickout. Annis gets back to his feet and fells Requiem with a jumping clothesline.] TD: Whoa! Looks as if the big man has had enough of these antics. He darn well near took his head clean off. SR: Listen to yourself, Tim. "Darn well near"... "Clean off"... what's the deal with you today anyway... have you been in Fargo recently? [As Dross scolds Steve, trying to explain that some people do, in fact, live in North Dakota, and yes, about 500 of them have televisions, as many as three of which may be tuned into the show, Annis snaps up Requiem and delivers a headbutt. As Requiem stumbles around the ring, Annis slides in and gives him a side backbreaker. He covers - 1 - 2 - kickout. Annis begins to choke Requiem.] TD: This is Serge's weakness, if he has one. He's too easily angered, taking these cheap attacks on his opponent all the time. SR: But you can tell, he's still a much better wrestler than Requiem. Requiem's laid out on his back, he's getting choked, he's not exactly giving him a match. [The referee is able to pull Annis off Requiem for a moment, but then Annis is right back with kicks and punches. Requiem is able to struggle to his feet, due to the urgings of his newly found woman on the outside, and Requiem begins to stare directly at Annis. Serge seems mildly disturbed by this action, and begins protesting it to the ref. The official shrugs, as if he cannot do anything about it. Annis becomes incensed, and attacks with a fist to Requiem's face. It has no effect, Requiem just keeps staring at Annis.] TD: Ha! Requiem is boring into the soul of Serge Annis! SR: Nah, you should have stopped talking earlier in the sentence: "Requiem is boring." [Requiem begins to mount an onslaught, charging in and hitting Serge with a clothesline. Annis fires back with a shot of his own, but to no avail. Requiem charges in with a series of forearms, sending Annis against the ropes. As his valet cheers, Requiem bounces off the other side and sends Annis over the top to the floor with a big running clothesline. Pop!] SR: Come on... [Requiem flings Annis back into the ring after ramming his head to the apron once. Requiem immediately hops up to the top rope, and as Annis gets back to his feet, launches himself with a double axehandle, taking Annis to the mat. Requiem then glances at his valet, before snapping up Annis up by the hair. Requiem looks at the crowd, as if he's looking for approval. Pop!] TD: Looks as if this could be it... SR: Nah. [Requiem twists up Serge's left arm, bends him over, and puts a leg of his own on the back of his head. Requiem drops his weight, driving Serge's head into the canvas.] TD: A Rocker Dropper! [Requiem covers - 1 - 2 - Serge tries to kickout - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: He got him! SR: That was a way fast count... what is this? TD: What a win for Requiem! RA: The winner of the match... Requiem!!! ["The Music of the Unknowingly Damned" plays once more. Requiem comes to collect his valet, and together, they hop on the Harley. Requiem drives them away to a big pop. Serge is disgruntled in the ring, and then makes the walk back to the locker room.] TD: Highwayman, Deathbringer, Requiem and Annis are all on a collision course that culminates next Saturday night in the Toronto Skydome -- what an encounter that "Dead Man Rising" match promises to be. Right now, we must move on to our next incredible battle -- the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder battles Mad Dog Watkins. SR: At last! I've been looking forward to this match all evening. What could be better than watching two of the meanest hombres in wrestling beat the snot outta each other? TD: Well, Steve, it certainly is your kind of match. This encounter could well prove who the toughest man in the IIWF is. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Brody Thunder vs. Mad Dog Watkins =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: RD [The spotlight falls on Sparkplug Lee in center ring. The ring announcer gives a nervous cough and adjusts his bowtie.] RA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, hailing from Detroit, Michigan, and weighing in at 269 lbs, here is Mad Dog Watkins! ["Paint it Black" by the Rolling Stones plays over the Coliseum speakers and the crowd explodes into a tremendous heel pop. However the pop soon turns to confused murmurs, and the music is cut as Creed appears at the head of the aisle, in the place of Mad Dog. Creed simply ignores the fans, and heads down the aisle towards the ring. The crowd, not quite sure what to make of this, gives him a moderate pop.] TD: Hang on... what's going on? That isn't Mad Dog Watkins! SR: Congratulations on stating the blatantly obvious, Dross. It looks like 'roid freak Creed has decided to stick his ugly mug into somebody else's business, as usual. [Creed climbs up onto the apron and holds the ropes open. He beckons down the aisle and yells "Come on out, old man!" Once again Watkins' theme music starts up on the loudspeakers and the Mad Dog himself appears at the foot of the aisle. The crowd gives him a big heel pop -- although some of the more hardcore contingent cheer him loudly -- but Watkins ignores them and walks slowly down towards the ring, his steely gaze locked on Creed's own. Mad Dog Watkins ignores Creed's offer to hold open the ropes, walks round to the other side of the ring, and climbs through the ropes himself. Creed drops down from the apron to the outside, the whole time neither man's stony glare leaving the other's.] RA: Introducing his opponent, hailing from the "Town too tough to die", Tombstone, Arizona, and weighing in at 267lbs, here is the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! [The theme from "High Plains Drifter" resounds throughout the arena, and the fans give Brody Thunder a tremendous heel pop as he appears at the head of the aisle. As with Mad Dog Watkins, some of the more hardcore fans can be heard cheering the "Lone Wolf" fervently. Thunder steps through the ropes and throws his cowboy hat aside, and the two brawlers waste no time to wait for the bell, immediately exchanging roundhouse punches. Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: And the battle is underway! These two men are all business in the ring, you'll never see Brody Thunder or Mad Dog Watkins messing around playing mind games. It just isn't their style. SR: I think it's also fair to say you'll never see either of these guys wearing a dress. TD: The depth of your insight astounds me. [Thunder and Watkins exchange some punishing blows, but neither man is willing to take a step back. Thunder stuns Watkins with three left jabs and follows up with a staggering right cross. Watkins merely shakes his head and comes right back, blasting Thunder with an elbow followed by a clothesline, taking Thunder right down to the mat! Mixed pop! Watkins immediately goes to drop the elbow, but Thunder rolls aside and the Mad Dog strikes canvas. Both men are straight back on their feet and Thunder quickly goes to plant a headbutt. Watkins has the same idea and the two men butt heads with wincing force, sending themselves reeling!] TD: Ouch! The impact of that shot reverbrated right around the arena. Watkins and Thunder clearly determined to show their toughness, matching each other blow for blow thus far. SR: Look! Look! That shot rattled Watkins so much his brain has fallen outta his ear! TD: Will you stop! [Creed watches the battle intently from ringside, unconciously clenching and unclenching his crimson left fist. Both combatants look dazed from the headshot, but Thunder manages to recover first and clotheslines Watkins down to the mat. The cowboy slows down the pace and stomps methodically on Watkins' mid-section, then drops an elbow across the throat. Thunder gets up and grabs one of Watkins' legs and signals to the crowd, prompting a mixed pop. He sets Watkins' leg in position, and then locks on a figure-four. Mad Dog's face contorts with pain and a gasp escapes his lips as Thunder locks the hold on as forceful as he can.] SR: Resthold alert! Resthold alert! Get the hell up, you slackers! Bring on the brass knucks! Bring on the chairshots! Bring on the dancing girls! TD: Settle down, man, have you lost your mind? [Watkins raises his fists to the air and yells, struggling to reach for the ropes, prompting a desperate mixed pop from the crowd. Mixed cries of "Get to those ropes homeboy!" and "Crack his leg in two Brody!" can be heard from the ringside fans. With herculean effort, Mad Dog is able to inch his way to the ropes and grasp one of them firmly in his hand. The ref commands Thunder to release the hold and the cowboy reluctantly complies. Watkins limps to his feet, and Thunder bulls straight in with another clothesline, sending the Mad Dog crashing over the ropes and onto the arena floor. Big mixed pop! The crowd response grows louder as Creed makes his way over to the fallen Watkins, standing over his body ominously.] TD: Oh my goodness! These two men are destined to clash in just one week's time and Creed looks like he might dish out a little premature punishment to the Mad Dog! SR: Kick him between the legs, Watkins! Don't take no crap from this big ape! [Creed stares down at Watkins venemously, perhaps debating whether to strike. Instead, he just dangles his gloved left fist in front of Mad Dog's face and mouths "One more week, old man", before turning away and heading slowly back up the aisle. The ref's count is getting close as Watkins shakily rises to his feet. Thunder leans over the ropes and exhorts the black man to get back in the ring. Watkins snarls, winds up and pops Brody right in the mouth, knocking him flat! Big mixed pop! Mad Dog rolls underneath the bottom rope back into the ring.] SR: What a sucker punch! I saw that one coming a mile off. TD: I wonder what held back Creed from attacking Watkins? Restraint is an uncommon virtue in professional wrestling. SR: Stuff that, when are we gonna see some blood? TD: I rest my case. [Brody tries to get to his feet, but Watkins doesn't give him the chance, viciously kicking the cowboy back down. Mad Dog seems to take great pleasure in stomping on Brody's head and chest, and the cowboy writhes around the ring trying to escape the booting. Brody crawls to the corner and pulls himself up with the aid of the turnbuckles. Watkins grabs hold of him and whips him hard into the opposite corner. Brody slams into the turnbuckles with shuddering impact! Shocked crowd pop! Watkins charges Brody straight away, snorting like a bull. Thunder ducks aside, and this time it is the Mad Dog who strikes the turnbuckles! Mixed pop as Watkins staggers backwards.] TD: Neither man seems able to maintain any kind of dominance thus far in the match-up. With two ruffians like Thunder and Watkins, it's likely one of them will become frustrated and get themselves DQed before long. SR: Well, those guys are hard as nails, you can kick on 'em, punch 'em, slam 'em, they come right back at ya' like they don't even feel the pain. [As if to offer comfirmation to Steve's remark, the two grapplers immediately go at it once again, trading big bolo punches to the head and mid-section. This time Thunder gains the upper hand and furiously batters Watkins back against the ropes. Mad Dog staggers, and then tumbles through the ropes under the repeated blows. He manages to grapple Thunder as he falls however, and the cowboy is pulled through the ropes right along with him! Both men crash to the arena floor. This doesn't seem to impede the brawl however, and the wrestlers punch, grapple and bite one another while still prone!] TD: Neither man will let himself give an inch, what a fight we have on our hands! SR: The message is clear Dross, these guys aren't really out to kill one another, they just wanna let their Ring Wars opponents know what they're in for. Billy Shakespeare and Creed won't be sleeping too easy tonight after watching this match. [The two men drag each other to their feet, both looking considerably punch-drunk, but still clubbering away on each other's bodies. Brody Thunder has a nasty swelling around his left eye, and Watkins' cheekbone is bruised purply-black. Thunder manages to grapple a hold on Mad Dog, and sends him flying into the steel ring steps! Crash! Watkins is straight back to his feet and siezes up the ringsteps. He lifts them over his head, only to bring them crashing down onto Brody's bald pate as the cowboy comes charging in to do further damage. Clang! Brody staggers back and falls flat on his back. Watkins' scrambles beneath the bottom ropes back into the ring just as the referee's count reaches ten. Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: Ah! That was professional wrestling raised to a fine art. TD: It was professional wrestling way out of control, Steve! Thunder is going to be real angry when he finds out that he was counted out. RA: Here is your winner, as a result of a count-out, Mad Dog Watkins! [Watkins looks satisfied with the hard fought victory and raises his fists to the air, drawing a loud heel pop. On the outside, Brody Thunder struggles to his feet and attempts to get his bearings. He throws one of the ringside officials out of their seat and seizes up the folding steel chair. Watkins climbs out of the ring and begins to walk back up the aisle to the locker rooms, forgetting about his adversary in the thrill of victory. Thunder stalks up behind the big black man with the chair and yells "Yer forgot about me, yer flamin' idjit!" Watkins turns around, only to be met with the crack of the steel chair across his forehead. The Mad Dog staggers backwards and drops down in the aisle. Thunder stands over Watkins as he attempts to get to his feet. "Nobody whacks Brody Thunder over the noggin without paying the price, yer goddamn fool!" Thunder brings the chair down across Watkins' head once again, knocking him flat.] SR: Heh, heh, the fun never stops when Brody Thunder hits the arena! TD: This kind of violence has no place in professional wrestling! I sincerely hope that security... SR: [interrupting] Go tell it to yer' mother, Dross. This is the kind of action that guarantees the ratings will soar. Is it really surprising that security are "delayed" every time a fight like this breaks out? ["Come on, get up! I ain't finished with yer' sorry ass yet!" yells Brody Thunder. Watkins painfully clambers to his feet with the aid of the crowd barrier, intent on showing that even a chair shot won't keep him down. Thunder laughs and gives him another mighty crack with the chair, flipping Mad Dog over the railing and into the crowd! The fans scatter! Watkins crawls off through the crowd, trying to escape from the chair-weilding cowboy. Brody drops the chair and vaults the barrier, immediately launching himself at Mad Dog! Once again, the two ruffians are enmeshed in a punching, kicking, biting brawl. Suddenly numerous security members rush ringside, accompanied by the Jobber Justice Squad. With considerable difficulty, they are able to extricate the two maulers from each other and head them in seperate directions back to the locker room. Watkins and Thunder struggle to break free and yell abuse at each other, but the security simply has too much weight of numbers and manages to restrain them.] SR: I knew it, entertainment like that couldn't last for long. If I had the money, I would send the entire security team on a long vacation. Then maybe we would get to have some fun around here. TD: Well, I don't agree with what went down in that match, but theres no denying the intensity and determination of those two competitors. Billy Shakespeare and Creed will no doubt be studying the tape of this match intently in the coming week -- hang on, they're going at it again! [Watkins has broken free of the grip of the security staff, and launches himself like a missile at Thunder, sending more fans scattering. The brawl between the two men continues up the steps of one of the aisles in the stands, and eventually security manage to drag the two men out of one of the exits in the stands. Cut back to the announcers' table.] TD: It seems that nothing is going to stop Thunder and Watkins going at it! What crazy scenes here in the Coliseum tonight! Okay, folks, we must move on... And what a match we have coming up for you now, folks, as the Subway Psycho takes on the 'White Phoenix' Shinja Chow. You have to think, Steve, that both men will be looking for a victory here tonight to take them into Ring Wars III on a high. SR: Of course they will, Dross. They've both got tough matches coming up. I'm picking Shinja Chow to go all the way in this one. He's really started to show me something since his new manager came through... TD: Sun Tsi is certainly pushing Chow hard for his Ladder match with the Enigma, but the Subway Psycho has his chance for glory as well... SR: Which will turn into no chance at all, Dross, once he finds himself on the receiving end of a Blackheart Punch... then another... then another... TD: I think we get the picture, Steve. Let's go to ringside. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The White Phoenix vs. Subway Psycho =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MP [Sparkplug Lee stumbles between the ropes, drawing howls of laughter from the Sychopaths at ringside. Sparkplug, getting the wrong end of the stick, flashes them a "Triple M" handsign... fortunately, security manages to restrain the fans...] RA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a thirty minute time limit. Introducing first, originally from Beijing, China, but now residing in San Francisco... here is "The White Phoenix" Shinjaaaaa Chooooooooowwww!! [Big crowd pop as the eagle's cry sounds over the PA system, and the Phoenix, who is brandishing a flaming torch, steps into the aisle alongside Sun Tsi. The pair slowly make their way down to ringside.] SR: Okay, we're now taking bets on Sparkplug Lee managing to leave the building alive following that little stunt. I'd say at least 5/1 against. TD: I don't think it was deliberate, Steve... SR: I don't think they could care less... [The White Phoenix steps between the ropes and into the centre of the ring, whirling the torch around rapidly in a martial arts set piece, causing Sparkplug to scurry out of the way. The Phoenix finishes the set piece with a yell, dropping into a fighting stance. Huge crowd pop!] TD: What an incredible entrance from the White Phoenix! This man is spectacular, Steve! SR: I'll tell you what would have been spectacular, if he'd set old Sparky's hair on fire. RA: And his opponent... weighing in at 255lbs and hailing from the Subways of New York City, accompanied to the ring by Tiger Claw, here is the "People's Champion" [Huge crowd pop] The Suuubwaaaaay Psyyyyyyyycchooooooo!! [The crowd go wild as "Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne blasts out over the PA system, the arena lights dim and the Subway Psycho steps into the aisle, arms raised in the air. He starts to make his way to ringside, slapping the fans' hands, while Tiger Claw hobbles behind on his crutches, awkwardly reaching out when he is able to slap the hands of some of the fans.] TD: I tell you, Steve, this is a man for whom the fans have tremendous respect. Look at him, Steve! The former World Champ is on a mission! SR: Yeah. The Impossible Mission... [The Psycho starts to make his way around ringside, and Sun Tsi starts yelling instructions to the White Phoenix, who runs to the ropes, spring boarding over and connecting with an incredible flying dropkick, sending the Psycho crashing into the crowd barriers! Heel pop!] TD: The Phoenix is wasting no time at all here... watch out! SR: And the Psycho hits the ring barriers again! Whatever Sun Tsi's doing to this guy, I love it! [The Phoenix rolls the stunned Psycho back into the ring, and double jumps first to the ring apron, then to the top rope, before leaping off and connecting with a flying elbowdrop to the back of the kneeling Psycho's neck! Big pop! The Phoenix rolls the Psycho over and hooks the leg... - 1 - HUGE kickout by the Subway Psycho! The Phoenix pulls him quickly back to his feet, and Irish whips him into the ropes...] TD: Knife edge attempt ducked by the Psycho, back for the rebound, savate kick by the Phoenix takes him down! Another quick cover.. - 1 - and another big kickout! [Both men roll to their feet, and the Phoenix moves in with a roundhouse that is blocked by the Psycho! Big pop! The Phoenix tries a backfist, the Psycho ducks, and takes the Phoenix off his feet with a side kick that caught him completely off guard! Huge pop! The Phoenix rolls to his feet, and the Psycho lashes out with a series of roundhouse kicks himself, forcing the Phoenix to defend and back himself into a corner! The Psycho tries to send the Phoenix out again with a monkey flip, but the Phoenix puts on the brakes, and takes a martial arts stance as he faces the former champion. Pop!] SR: Maybe, but the Phoenix has his guard up now. There's now way he can beat Chow at his own game, especially not when Sun Tsi's made him this vicious... TD: You may be right, Steve. The Phoenix isn't going to be fooled again. [Both men cautiously close, and move in for a lock up, but the Phoenix feints, ducking under the Subway Psycho's arm and lashing out with a spin kick that the Psycho barely manages to avoid. The Phoenix quickly follows through with a reverse kick and side kick that the Psycho again manages to block, and then an axe kick that crashes down across the Psycho's collarbone, sending him reeling back, clutching his shoulder, and the Phoenix steps in, spinning the Psycho to the mat with an armdrag, wrenching on his shoulder once more.] SR: Good. Now if only the Phoenix hits him in the face next time instead of the shoulder we might get somewhere... [The Psycho rolls into a kneeling position, and the Phoenix reverses his grip, spinning over the Psycho's shoulder and pulling him back to the canvas with a crucifix armbar! The referee checks for the submission, to find the reply a definite negative. The Phoenix breaks the hold, but only to drop a kneedrop across the shoulder joint! The Psycho rolls to his knees again, and the Phoenix turns his grip into a standing wristlock...] TD: Sun Tsi's tactics seem to be paying off, Steve. The Phoenix is really wearing the Subway Psycho down now. Working on the arm, and wiping out that strength advantage. SR: There's a much easier way to wipe out a strength advantage... TD: Oh? SR: The good old thumb to the eye. Or salt, for preference. Works like a treat every time. [The Psycho pushes himself to a vertical base, and the Phoenix lashes out with a kick to the midsection, before ducking under the Psycho's injured shoulder and taking him to the canvas with a fireman's carry takedown, and slipping the hold into a Fujiwawa armbar. The Psycho slams the mat in frustration, and pushes up to his knees, actually lifting the Phoenix up with him!] TD: What an incredible display of strength here by the Subway Psycho! He's lifting the Phoenix's entire body weight! SR: Maybe, but the Phoenix has still got the hold locked on! This has got to hurt... [The Subway Psycho staggers forward, reaching out for the ropes... and catches one! The Phoenix quickly breaks the hold, but not his grip on the arm, and kicks up to his feet, spinning the Psycho with an armwringer and Irish whipping him cross-ring...] TD: Reversal by the Subway Psycho, backdrop, no -- leapfrog by the Phoenix... the Phoenix comes back and... [Huge crowd pop!] TD: Spinning leg lariat by the Subway Psycho? Incredible! The Psycho caught the Phoenix off guard again! [The Psycho makes a quick cover... - 1 - 2 - kickout by the Phoenix! The Psycho pulls the Phoenix back to his feet, and sends him for the ride again, the Phoenix ducks the first clothesline attempt, but gets caught on the rebound again, this time with a belly-to-belly suplex! Another cover... - 1 - 2 - kickout again! The Psycho rolls to the ring apron, as Sun Tsi yells at his man, and the Psycho leaps to the top rope...] TD: The Phoenix back to his feet, staggers around... double axe-handle from the Subway Psycho! Another pick up, and a whip into the ropes... [The Psycho Irish whips the Phoenix hard into the turnbuckles, and follows through... and Shinja Chow dives out of the way at the last second! Big pop! The Psycho staggers back out, turns, and the White Phoenix catches him hard with a shoulderbuster! The cover! - 1 - 2 - kickout by the Phoenix! Sun Tsi slams his hands on the canvas, and yells at his man, who nods and picks the Psycho up to his feet...] TD: The Phoenix now... going for a scoop slam? SR: No chance, the Psycho's just too big... [The Phoenix manages to pull the Psycho over his shoulder, and staggers for a second, before bringing the man crashing down with a sloppy but effective shoulderbreaker! Another cover... - 1 - 2 - The Psycho kicks out again! The Phoenix shakes his head, picks up the Psycho's arm and drops a leg across it, before pulling the man into an armbar submission...] TD: The referee's checking... no submission. The Psycho is not a quitter, Steve... SR: No, but maybe the guy should be thinking about Ring Wars. He doesn't want to suffer an injury for the sake of his pride here... TD: You just WANT to see him submit, don't you? [Tiger Claw looks on nervously, and slams his hands on the canvas, trying to rally the crowd behind her man. The Psycho kicks his feet against the canvas, and the referee checks again... huge mixed pop from the crowd!] TD: What's that? There's some sort of commotion going on in the stands... can we get a camera over there? [The camera focuses in on an area of the stands, and an emergency exit flies open, mainly as a result of Brody Thunder flying through it. Mad Dog Watkins quickly follows, throwing a fire extinguisher away as he does. Thunder staggers back to his feet, and the two fly right back at each other, brawling their way through the stands...] TD: Those two are still going at it? What happened to security? SR: Too scared to do anything. Either that or they got lost. The Coliseum's a big place, you know... [The brawling pair manage to reach the aisle to ringside, and Thunder throws Watkins over the barricades. He quickly follows, only to be waffled by a chair shot from Watkins, and the two disappear back into the dressing room area. The camera returns to the action in the ring, where the Subway Psycho is on one knee, struggling to try and push Shinja Chow into a pinning position...] TD: The Psycho's almost got his shoulders down, the referee's checking carefully... there's the count! - 1 - No! The Phoenix kicks, and the Psycho lands right back on the canvas! SR: And look at Sun Tsi! He's still not satisfied! [The Psycho clutches his face in pain, and kicks at the canvas, and Tiger Claw again tries to get the crowd behind his ally... The referee checks with the Psycho again, who erupts in fury! Huge crowd pop! The Psycho powers himself up to his feet, and forces the White Phoenix back into the ropes...] TD: Irish whip by the Subway Psycho, no! Reversed by the Phoenix! The Psycho ducks a double palmstrike attempt, both men off the ropes... big powerslam by the Psycho! The referee's in position... - 1 - 2 - the Phoenix kicks out! [The Psycho pulls the Phoenix back up again, and hooks him up, before lifting him into the air with a high vertical suplex, and sending him crashing down onto the canvas! Big pop! Another cover... - 1 - 2 - kickout again! There's a disturbance in the crowd near the top of the aisle as someone starts to make their way to ringside...] SR: Yes! Here comes the World Champion! TD: It looks like Casey James has decided to check out his Ring Wars III opposition... at least, I hope that's all he wants... [Inside the ring, the Psycho continues his onslaught on the White Phoenix, Irish whipping him hard into the corner before following through with a vicious running clothesline that almost takes his head off! Big pop! The Psycho backs off, and the Phoenix staggers out, to be met by another belly-to-belly suplex... the Psycho raises his arms in the air...] TD: Yes! It looks as though we could be about to see the De-railer! [The Subway Psycho steps to the ring apron and starts to climb the turnbuckles, but catches a glimpse of Casey James and stops, pointing across at him...] TD: The White Phoenix is down! The Psycho may be missing his chance to finish this match right here! [The Psycho turns back the ring, and leaps up to the top rope as the Phoenix starts to stir, and Casey James takes another step towards the Psycho, gesturing him to come and fight! Big heel pop! The Psycho looks at the Phoenix, still down in the ring, and leaps off the turnbuckle... to the ring apron, and then to the arena floor, following the champ, who is now backing off around the ring, laughing at the Psycho. The referee starts to count the Psycho out as the Phoenix stumbles up to his feet...] TD: This could prove to be a big mistake by the former World Champ right here, he had his chance to finish the match, and missed it. SR: That's my point. He missed his chance here, just like he will at Ring Wars. The guy's too dumb for his own good. Casey's going to take him to the cleaners. Trust me. [Sun Tsi starts yelling at the Phoenix and pointing, as the World Champion continues to back away from the furious Subway Psycho... the Phoenix looks around dazedly, and then starts to climb to the top rope... Casey smirks and points behind the Psycho, telling him to turn around, but the Psycho shakes his head suspiciously. James smirks and points again, and the Psycho seems slightly unnerved by the crowd's anxious reaction, and turns...] TD: Oh my....! SR: Yes! I love it! TD: The White Phoenix just caught the Subway Psycho with a flying dropkick all the way from the top rope to the arena floor! The Psycho crashed straight into the ringside barriers and he looks to be out cold! [Casey James turns, and walks back up the aisle, laughing out loud, as the White Phoenix, seemingly dazed by his own move, staggers to his feet and starts to roll the unmoving Subway Psycho back into the ring... Sun Tsi looks at his man and yells, pointing back up to the top rope... The Phoenix draws a deep breath and nods, slowly pulling himself up to the ring apron and the to the top rope...] TD: Oh no... this could do it right here... the Psycho is face down in the centre of the ring... the Phoenix, perched on the top rope... SR: Don't waste time, do it! Do it now! Do it! [The Phoenix raises his arms in the air as the crowd and Steve Roberts start to yell out frantically... and he leaps... catching the Subway Psycho with an elbowdrop from the top rope to the back of the neck! Huge mixed pop as he turns the Psycho over, falling on top of him for the pin...] SR: It's over... that's it, right there... TD: You may be right, Steve. Hold on a second, what's Sun Tsi doing? He's... he's telling the Phoenix to get up! SR: Oh, yes... he's telling the Phoenix to go for the Phoenix Strike! TD: No... this is too much! The Psycho's out cold, why doesn't he just let him cover him? [The Phoenix slowly starts to nod his head and pulls the Subway Psycho to his feet... he slowly backs him into the corner, and throws the Psycho into the opposite corner post, holds his hand in the air, draws a breath, and sprints across the ring, leaping and flipping in mid air.....] SR: He nailed it! He nailed it! He hit the Phoenix Strike! It's over! [Sun Tsi yells out instructions again as the White Phoenix starts to roll the prone form of the Subway Psycho over... the Phoenix looks up, shaking his head in disbelief. Sun Tsi is pointing to the top rope again! Huge heel pop!] TD: This is ridiculous. Just what is Sun Tsi trying to prove here? SR: He's sending out a message, Dross... to the Enigma, to all the IIWF athletes. The Phoenix is the man! [The White Phoenix slowly stands up, and walks across to where Sun Tsi is stood on the ring apron, shaking his head in disbelief. Sun Tsi shouts at him again, and the Phoenix half turns, then looks back, and angrily walks across to the corner, climbing the first two turnbuckles... huge anxious crowd pop!] TD: Oh, no... this is going way too far... the Psycho hasn't moved since he was hit by the Phoenix Strike! [The Phoenix pauses on the turnbuckles, looking around at the screaming crowd... he shakes hit head again, and Sun Tsi yells out angrily... the Phoenix' head snaps up, and he climbs to the top, facing the crowd...] TD: The Phoenix... he's setting himself up... this can't be happening... SR: But it is... TD: The Phoenix, leaping off with a moonsault... no! The Psycho got his knees up! Both men are down! [The Psycho slowly rolls to his knees as the Phoenix writhes in agony in the centre of the ring! Huge crowd pop! Both Tiger Claw and Sun Tsi are now practically screaming at their men to get up... the Psycho staggers up to his feet, and crosses to the turnbuckles...] SR: Oh no... come on, Sun Tsi! Get that loser up! [The Psycho climbs top up to the top as the Phoenix staggers to his feet, clutching his ribs and looking around in a daze... the Psycho raises his arms in the air and leaps off...] TD: The Psycho just hit the Train Wreck! There's the cover... [The referee slides into position and counts... - 1 - 2 - 3! The Psycho rolls off, clutching at his head, as Sun Tsi rolls into the ring.] RA: Here is your winner, as a result of a pinfall... the Subwaaaaay Psyyyyychoooooooo!! [Huge crowd pop as "Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne starts up over the PA system once more, and Tiger Claw helps the Subway Psycho leave the ring, arms held in the air. Inside the ring, the Phoenix shakes his head dazedly and rolls to his knees, as Sun Tsi shouts at him in disbelief.] TD: The Subway Psycho with manages to pull out a victory over the White Phoenix here, even after all the punishment he took, and will go into the championship match at Ring Wars III on a high! What a match that's going to be! SR: I can't believe it. Shinja Chow had his man beat, then goes and blows it right at the last second. [Tsi pulls the Phoenix to his feet and continues to berate him as the pair leave ringside. The fans settle once more as the shot cuts back to the announcers' table.] TD: Okay, folks, up next we're going to see rookie sensation Creed battle dangerous former Intercontinental Champion, Steve "the Fury" Kowalski. We've already seen one wild brawl here tonight, and I think this could very well be the second! =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Creed vs. Steve "the Fury" Kowalski =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: DS ["Don't Fear The Reaper" kicks in over the PA as Sparkplug Lee once again takes to the ring.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, heading down the aisle, hailing from Newark, New Jersey, weighing in at 268lbs, here is the New Jersey Nightmare... a former Intercontinental Champion... here is Steve "the Fury" Kowalski! [Huge heel pop as the lights dim and Kowalski steps out into the aisle. Kowalski stands with a muscular frame and gleaming green eyes. His rusty-brown hair matches the five o'clock shadow that is on his face. As he walks the aisle, he badmouths the crowd, who take great delight in shouting right back at him. Kowalski winds up to hit one fan, who quickly backs off. Kowalski steps through the ropes and immediately leans in one corner, facing the aisle, waiting for his opponent.] TD: That's one mean-looking athlete right there, Steve Roberts. SR: Kowalski's not a happy man, Dross -- and he's going to take it all out on that 'roid freak Creed right here tonight. RA: And his opponent, hailing from Oakland, California, and weighing in at 276lbs, here is... Creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed! [Huge pop as the lights drop and a bank of red spotlights in the rigging above the ring illuminate the head of the aisle, from which a dense fog of smoke is drifting, glowing in the crimson of the spotlights. Creed's characteristic voice booms out over the PA... "Anyone..." A red rocket screams up into the roof of the arena! Huge pop! "Anywhere..." A second red rocket streaks up from the entranceway! "Anytime..." A third rocket shoots up into the rafters! The crowd are on their feet as the magnificent choral finale from Beethoven's Ninth Symphony blares out over the PA and Creed emerges from the smoke, wearing a black Ring Wars III t-shirt. He stands in the aisle, bathed in the red spotlights, and drinks in the reaction from the crowd.] TD: Listen to these people, Steve Roberts! Listen to these people! SR: What did you say, Dross? I can't hear you for all these morons! TD: What an entrance -- but no Jack Montgomery tonight, just as he promised. Creed's here on a mission, but he's here on his own. [Creed nods his head as if satisfied with the enthusiastic response and begins to walk to the ring, his gaze locked on Kowalski. As he nears ringside, Kowalski suddenly launches himself across the ring and dives out between the top and middle ropes, catching Creed unawares! Huge pop as both men crash to the concrete floor!] TD: Oh my! You don't often see Kowalski take to the air, Steve! SR: He's pulling out all the stops in preparation for that brawl with the Sandman in the CN Highpoint Tower next Saturday night, Dross! [Kowalski rains right and left hand blows down on the head of Creed, who struggles to swat the Fury away. The official quickly leaves the ring and attempts to drag Kowalski off Creed, but the effort is redundant, as Creed swings his big gloved left fist and catches Kowalski flush on the jaw, sending the Fury sprawling. Big pop as both men get to their feet. Kowalski charges Creed again, only to be scooped up and bodyslammed to the concrete floor! Huge pop! Kowalski gets back to his feet, and is whipped by Creed towards the ring -- Kowalski crashes into the ring apron! Pop! Creed slowly approaches the ring, straightening his glove as he walks, watching the Fury intently. Both men finally make it into the ring, and the referee signals for the bell. Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Okay, we're finally underway! [Kowalski is a little more wary now, and strokes his stubbled chin as he circles Creed, who takes up a martial arts stance. Kowalski moves in, and Creed doubles him over with a quick thrust kick, and then drops him to the mat with a heel kick! Big pop!] TD: Wow! Martial arts from Creed? This is a new side to the big guy's wrestling personality. [Creed backs off, allowing the surprised Kowalski to get to his feet, more surprised than hurt. The two men circle once more, and Creed again seems to be looking for an opening for a quick strike. Creed launches in with a crescent kick, but Kowalski ducks out of the way, and hammers Creed in the midsection with a hard punch. Kowalski brings Creed up straight the hard way with a knee lift, and then floors him with a hard lariat. Creed tries to get back to his feet, but is kept down on the mat by a series of hard kicks to the torso. Creed rolls to the outside to collect himself, and walks around the ring, the referee keeping Kowalski at bay. Creed climbs to the apron on another side of the ring, and Kowalski approaches him. Creed ducks under a hard right hand, and then rams his shoulder into the Fury's gut, before suplexing Kowalski out of the ring to the arena floor! Cameras flash all over the Coliseum! Huge pop!] TD: Oh my word! What a suplex from Creed! Kowalski hit those steel crowd barriers hard! SR: Looks like a few of the fans in the front row there could have been injured by that shot! [Creed enters the ring and raises his gloved left fist to the cheers of the crowd as Kowalski picks himself up on the outside. The referee begins counting him out, but Creed breaks the count each time it reaches three or four. Eventually, as Kowalski gets back to a vertical base, Creed rolls out of the ring under the bottom rope and attempts to ram Kowalski's head into the ring apron. The Fury blocks, and instead plants Creed's head on the apron. Heel pop! The Fury nails Creed with a few more hard right hands, and then whips him into the steel ring steps. Big heel pop! Kowalski rolls into the ring and breaks the referee's count, then goes back to the outside and grabs a steel chair from the timekeeper's table. He folds it up and wields it above his head. However, the referee steps out of the ring onto the apron and grabs the chair, snatching it from Kowalski, but leaving the Fury open to a hard body shot from Creed's gloved left fist! Big pop! Creed rolls Kowalski back into the ring and then follows him in.] TD: The referee inadvertently gave Creed the advantage there -- that body shot really rocked Kowalski. SR: Kowalski's a tough customer, Dross. It's going to take more than that to put him away. [Creed drags Kowalski to his feet and whips him into the ropes, hitting him with an impressive tilt-a-whirl backbreaker on the rebound. Big pop! Cover - 1 - 2 - Kowalski gets a shoulder out! Creed stands, and then immediately drops an elbow across Kowalski's throat. Suddenly, there is a buzz in the crowd as a spotlight picks out a commotion high in the stands.] TD: It's Brody Thunder and Mad Dog Watkins! They're _still_ going at it out in the crowd! SR: Unbelievable. Those guys are gonna brawl all night, Dross! [Creed momentarily looks to the brawl, and grimaces at the sight of his nemesis, Mad Dog Watkins. However, he is not distracted by the commotion, and turns back to Kowalski, who is picking himself up. Keeping the pace as fast as possible, Creed again whips Kowalski into the ropes, and goes for a clothesline, under which Kowalski ducks, and runs against the ropes again. Creed spins around, and is taken down by a running lariat! Pop! Kowalski covers - 1 - 2 - Creed kicks out! Meanwhile, Thunder and Watkins are brawling down the central aisleway in the stands towards the ringside area. Security attempt to keep fans out of harm's way as chairs, soda cups and signs are grabbed by the warring athletes to be used as weapons. In the ring, Kowalski drags Creed to his feet again and whips him into the ropes, hitting him with a vicious spinebuster on the return! Pop! Kowalski covers again - 1 - 2 - kickout! Watkins and Thunder have reached the steel crowd barriers, and with one huge right hand, Mad Dog sends the cowboy over the barrier and into the ringside enclosure! Huge pop as Watkins himself hops over the barrier and grabs the chair discarded earlier by the referee.] TD: This situation could get out of hand very quickly! There's so much bad blood between these four men, we could use a transfusion! SR: What the hell are you talking about, Dross? TD: It's called an analogy, Steve. SR: It's called a steaming pile of sh... TD: [interrupting] Thankyou, Steve. Kowalski's at the ropes yelling at Thunder and Watkins... This could get ugly! [Kowalski yells down at Watkins, who looks up at the Fury, giving Thunder enough time to pick himself up and nail the Mad Dog, grabbing the chair from him. Thunder points up at the Fury, who beckons him into the ring. Meanwhile, behind Kowalski, Creed picks himself up and rolls the Fury up into a small package! The referee counts - 1 - 2 -- Kowalski just manages to get a shoulder out! Furious, he launches into Creed with another volley of vicious boots, but he is then jumped from behind as Thunder leaps into the ring and waffles him with the steel chair. The referee signals for the bell as Creed picks himself up and launches himself at Thunder, who wields the chair at Kowalski for a second shot. Watkins rolls into the ring and jams a thumb in Creed's eyes. Big heel pop as the big man stumbles backwards before being clotheslined out of the ring by Watkins! Huge pop!] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this match has been ruled a no contest! TD: It was only a matter of time before this got completely out of hand, Steve... We need some help out here! SR: We do not, Dross! Let these guys duke it out! I love it! [The bell rings again and again as the official attempts to get control of the situation. Watkins stands by the ropes and shouts abuse down at Creed, who picks himself up, holds his fist aloft, and yells, "One week" at his nemesis. Watkins is then nailed from behind by Thunder, and Creed rolls back into the ring to continue the brawl with the other three men. Security and the Jobber Justice Squad flood the aisle and surround the ring as the four men continue to go at it.] TD: Hopefully now we'll be able to restore some order out here, Steve! SR: I wouldn't count on it, Dross -- Watkins and Thunder have given security the slip all night. Now there's _four_ of the toughest guys in the IIWF brawling! TD: Creed still hasn't laid a finger on Mad Dog Watkins, Steve... I wish I knew what was stopping him! SR: It's the yellow streak that runs down his back, Dross. He's afraid of Watkins! TD: You know that isn't true, Steve. That simply isn't true. [Thunder and Kowalski are each dragged out of the ring by security, leaving Watkins and Creed standing face to face in the centre of the squared circle. Watkins takes a step closer to the big youngster as the crowd erupts into chants of "Who's your daddy?! Who's your daddy?!" Creed's left glove twitches, almost involuntarily, as he stares into Watkins' eyes. The Mad Dog says something to Creed which isn't picked up over the crowd noise, and then backs away, nodding and laughing. Creed stands his ground, mouthing the words, "One week... One week."] TD: The Falls Count Anywhere Match between Creed and Watkins is indeed only seven days away, fans -- and I can't even begin to imagine the explosion we're going to see next Saturday night in the Skydome. [Watkins steps between the ropes and is immediately surrounded by security as he backs up the aisle, pointing up at Creed all the while. The young rookie watches Watkins until he disappears behind the entrance curtains. The lights dim to their familiar crimson shade once more and Creed's voice booms out over the PA as the crowd cheer him before he leaves the ring and heads up the aisle. Cut to the announcers' table.] TD: Wow... what a wild brawl that was. None of those four men can wait to get their hands on one another at Ring Wars III, Steve Roberts. SR: And I can't wait either, Dross. TD: Indeed. Our final two matches tonight showcase the two men who will clash next Saturday night in one of the biggest matches in IIWF history. For the first time, the last time, the only time, Dan Kauffman will step into the ring one-on-one with Chris Quigley. And right here tonight, Quigley battles former Intercontinental Champion Marty Warnett, and Kauffman goes up against Dirt Dog Unique Allah in his final match here in the IIWF Coliseum. SR: Yeah, yeah, Dross. What I want to know is this: who actually cares?! TD: Steve, Dan Kauffman has been one of the greatest talents in our sport, and his career reached its pinnacle right here in the IIWF. He's a... hang on. Who's that?! SR: Oh no... [There is a disturbance in the crowd. A huge mixed pop erupts as a figure makes his way down the aisleway in the stands towards the steel barriers at ringside. Wearing a "LOOP SUX" t-shirt, it is none other than Super Scott! The hardcore fans give him a riotous ovation as he passes, bowing in deference to him, while the majority jeer him soundly. He hops over the barriers, grabs a microphone, and makes his way into the ring. He walks around the squared circle, waiting for the crowd to die down.] TD: [over the headset] I hope the censors have their fingers on the bleepers, Steve. SR: [over the headset] How many times is this bum going to interrupt our telecasts, Dross?! TD: [over the headset] At least he seems to have sent Mr. Robinson packing after that embarrassment last Saturday Night. [The crowd noise settles to an expectant buzz as Scott brings the microphone to his mouth.] SS: Well, hello there again, IIWF! [Mixed pop!] I just thought I'd drop in on the best damned league in the world to say "hi" to a few of my buddies out there in "loop" land... [Suddenly, there is a commotion at the head of the aisle. Scott turns to regard the scene. A whole gang of security and other officials appear to be trying to hold back a number of burly men.] TD: [over the headset] Who's that trying to come out? SR: [over the headset] Perhaps the IIWF's athletes have finally had enough of having their airtime stolen by these no-talent bums, Dross! [While Scott watches the scene in the aisle, a huge heel pop erupts as Mr. Robinson appears in the crowd behind Scott's back. Robinson, still dressed in his customary black latex, and clutching a big brown hickory stick, slides into the ring behind Scott, who becomes conscious of the danger and wheels around, only to be met by a huge lariat from Robinson! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! It's Mr. Robinson! SR: Aw, shucks. Call the cops! TD: Look at Robinson lay into Scott with those kicks and punches! This is totally uncalled-for! SR: I don't know about that, Dross -- Scott did embarrass Robinson in a pretty big way last week. I mean, being pinned by Billy Pukespeare! TD: It was an unsanctioned match, Steve, and Billy Shakespeare is a tremendous athlete! SR: Yeah, and so are you, Dross! [In the ring, Robinson lifts Scott up and piledrives him back to the mat, before going back to using the stick to beat Scott like an animal. The crowd are on their feet. In the aisle, the three burly men -- all dressed from head to toe in black, and one sporting a long black pony-tail -- finally break free from security's grasps and run to the ring, sliding in under the bottom rope. Robinson turns, and looks at the three men, squaring up to the man with the long black hair. The crowd is hushed. Meanwhile, behind the invaders, Scott groggily pulls himself to his knees using the ropes.] TD: This looks like a highly volatile situation, Steve! SR: Look at the guy with the hair -- it's the Subway Stinker, Dross! Look at him! TD: Well, his build _is_ similar -- has the Psycho assembled some kind of IIWF strike force to counter the "loop" invasion? And if he has, why would he attack Billy Shakespeare?! I don't understand this at all, Steve. SR: Come on, let's break some heads! [The staredown seems to last an eternity, until finally Mr. Robinson takes a step backwards. He extends his hand to the central black-clad man, who extends his own hand -- and the two men shake hands! Huge heel pop as all four men then turn on Scott and continue to set about him with kicks and punches!] TD: This is out of control! Super Scott is being quadruple-teamed right here in an IIWF ring! SR: I wish these "loop" idiots would take their squabbles elsewhere! [The four men tie Scott's arms up in the ropes and finally relent on their assault, although Mr. Robinson leans in and gives Scott a slap round the face before grabbing the microphone which Scott had previously been clutching. The crowd jeers Robinson as he motions for silence. He stands straight up, wearing black boots, loose black latex pants, a white cut-off tank top that says "THE LOOP" on it, black buzzed hair, black shades around his eyes, and he hands the hickory stick to one of the three men in black body suits before starting to speak:] MR: It's Scotty... I think your ego is blocking the way of reality. I don't have to talk too much about you, I think I'll just repeat what you've been saying... Super Scott... The self-admitted "JOKE". Yeah, if you think that you can shoot, let me do it too... That's all you are... A JOKE. You have the balls to call something "the biggest pile of shit in the world". Well, it only seems fitting that "the biggest pile of shit in the world" would go to a self-admitted JOKE to lead them... Scotty, the truth is that you are no longer wanted in the LOOP, that's the way its been for a _long_ time, Scotty... Mr. Robinson was the greatest thing that's _ever_ happened to you. The LOOP is not dead, _your_ career is DEAD. Your career died when you couldn't win a match to save your life. The last time you signed a match to the PCW except under any masked man bullshit was against TAROT. Well, I remember Tarot pinning your shoulders to the mat. Your last EWA match? Hellshock pinned you square in the middle of the ring. How _dare_ you blast something that handed you your ass?! Mr. Robinson, the nice guy he is, decided to do a little charity work, to try to save a poor pathetic soul... What is that Bible passage about helping the humblest of my brothers? Don't remember, let me ask someone who _knows_... [Mr. Robinson hands the microphone to the man standing behind him in the black body-suit with long black hair.] TD: [over the headset] Are we going to find out who this is? SR: [over the headset] It's the Stinker, Dross! [The man reaches behind his head and unzips the mask. The hardcore elements in the crowd give a shocked pop.] SR: [over the headset] Okay, so it's _not_ the Stinker. TD: [over the headset] It's Caleb Temple! Oh my! [The figure is unmistakable. Black boots. Black jeans. Heavily tattooed torso, a crucifix hanging on a silver chain around his neck. His long, dark hair hanging in strands over his face.] CT: Well, well, well... quite a little gathering we have here. Isn't this something? The _brightest_ new stars in this great sport, all come to pay their last respects to the last of the old order. You know, in the six months since I joined the Loop... all I've heard is the talk of the old days. The GREAT names who once dominated. Men like Trey Porter. Like James Killjoy. Like Alex Adams and HellShock. The Dark Destroyer. And Super Scott. Great names, yes. In THEIR time. But this... this is OUR time. Men like Caleb Temple. Mister Robinson here. _WE_ run the show now. Be under NO illusions about that matter. The Loop, as regards to the men who made their names there in times gone by... _IS_ dead. But the Loop as it stands now... is strong. Stronger than ever. Stronger.... than THIS. And soon enough... the men who walk tall now, shall come to call upon those who doubt. [Caleb Temple gives the microphone back to Mr. Robinson as the crowd erupts into a big heel pop. Robinson looks around with a big grin on his face, and reaches down to Scott once more, giving him another slap. Scott struggles, attempting to break free. Robinson and Temple merely step backwards and laugh.] TD: [over the headset] This is disgusting. MR: Dis shit ain't over yet, Scotty. When you say the LOOP is dead? The _old_ Loop is dead. When The Clique realizes that they're no match for the quicker, stronger, bigger, LOOP, your ass was told to walk. You can't destroy the best thing going. What happened to the _old_ LOOP? Dark Destroyer, _you_, yourself told me he was a JOKE... Who else do you got in your back pocket, Mr. Ouija? Last time I checked he was counting lights after meeting The Extremist. All of them are over. _You_ are over... So what's left for a broken up man like Super Scott -- or the Dark Destroyer -- to do? Try to rebuild a second rate "PILE OF SHIT" like the IIWF... [smirking] SR: [over the headset] I swear, if he says that one more time, I'm going to get in their and hand him his _own_ ass, Dross! TD: [over the headset] You'll stay right there, Steve -- I understand there's a scuffle in the locker rooms. Several IIWF athletes are apparently trying to come out here, but security are holding them back... MR: Super Scott, you're on one _downhill_ fall... Last year, you're "Super Scott: King of the LOOP", we all know that's over, _now_ you're "Super Scott: King of the shit feds." Where will you be at this time _next_ year? "Super Scott: King of the used car lots". Or maybe even door-to-door insurance salesman. There's nowhere for you to go than _down_. Why don't you fall _off_ the labor and join your boy, Dark D. [Suddenly the crowd gives a big pop as yet another figure storms down one of the gangways in the crowd. Wearing street clothes, the figure is nonetheless unmistakable.] TD: [over the headset] It's the Dark Destroyer! SR: [over the headset] What the hell's he doing here?! TD: [over the headset] I guess he came to watch the action -- but now he's getting _in_ on the action! [The Dark Destroyer tears his way through security and storms to the ring. One of the masked men dives through the second rope, landing on DD. He brings the Destroyer to his feet and whips him against the ring stairs as the crowd goes wild. The masked man moves the stairs a foot or so from the ring and brings DD to the top rope as he balances on the second. In one fatal moment, he drops back with his arm around DD's and DDTs him from the top rope, into the stairs.] TD: [over the headset] Oh my... A DDT from the top onto the stairs! That could break a man's neck! SR: [over the headset] Holy guacamole, Dross -- this is getting way out of hand, even for my tastes. TD: [over the headset] We need a medical crew out here right now! Fans, we apologise for this. Can we cut to commercial? [The crowd is silenced as officials race to the scene, calling for paramedics. The masked man rolls back into the ring, high-fives Robinson, Temple, and the other masked man, then removes the body suit.] TD: [over the headset] Can we cut to commercial?! Oh no, who's this?! [The man wears a sleeveless "THE LOOP" shirt, a flannel shirt tied around his waist, blue jeans cut off at the knees, black knee pads, black combat boots, and tape around his knuckles and wrists. He then removes the mask. Another shocked pop from the hardcores in the crowd.] SR: [over the headset] You're kidding me. TD: [over the headset] This is appalling... Can we cut away, please! MR: I give you the man who _terminated_ Steven Spector! The man who just _ended_ the _career_ of the Dark Destroyer... _WRATH_! [Wrath's brownish blonde hair is tied back into a pony tail. He extends his arms to the sides as Mr. Robinson places the microphone in his right hand. Wrath looks around, soaking in the reaction before commencing.] WRATH: I don't want to inhabit a "loop" where the men who rule are the ones who can disguise their behind-the-scenes pull as talent! [He kicks Super Scott in the ribs.] WRATH: You wanna know why this moron hitched onto IIWF? Because he has no more talent and all of the stroke he ever had is GONE! It doesn't exist any more because just when the public was getting smart enough to realize that his prime had passed him by, he came back to use some real names when lipping off! He'd come back and throw around a name like "Curt Kipp" or "Brian Nelson" and do the same old routine! He'd talk a little with the other competitors and used what they told him to try and embarrass those guys! The thing is, no one was listening any more! It didn't work! What he had to say they already heard from him months ago! He needed something to keep him from being alone! To keep him from drowning! So he jumps onto a sinking ship called the IIWF! [Huge heel pop!] SR: [over the headset] Sinking ship?! I'm out of here, Dross... TD: [over the headset] You stay right there, Steve Roberts. WRATH: You twit! Mr. Robinson gave you a second chance! One that NO ONE else would have EVER spared for you! And you thank him by completing your months of hard work to become the TOTAL ass! Failed angle after failed angle, and this is what it comes to! The old "LOOP" _was_ on life support... but now it's DEAD! [points to Scott] And so are you! [points to IIWF fans and announcers] AND SO ARE YOU! [Huge heel pop!] SR: [over the headset] We don't have to stand for this, Dross! TD: [over the headset] Stay calm, Steve -- that disturbance backstage is still ongoing. Can we cut to that footage? No? [Wrath practically has to shout over the jeers of the crowd.] WRATH: People like Gunnar Gaines. Hellshock. Dark Destroyer. Super Scott. They're liver spots on the world of wrestling and they'd do themselves a favor by accepting that! We're the ones who are gonna start filling seats! We're the ones who are gonna start doing whatever the hell we want and wiping our asses with the politics! We're the ones telling all of the above to get the hell out while you've got the chance! WE'RE THE ONES STANDING IN YOUR F'N RING, IIWF! IN CONTROL OF YOUR F'N CROWD! SCARING THE SHIT OUT OF YOUR F'N ATHLETES! All eyes are on _US_, 'cause WE'RE the new "LOOP"! IIWF! Old "LOOP"! You are now PEASANTS! You are now WORTHLESS! Why? ..... Because you are now being compared to us. [Huge heel pop. On the outside, an EMT crew has finally managed to brace the Dark Destroyer's neck, and they move him onto a stretcher, rolling him up the aisle to the back. Wrath hands the microphone to the next masked man. The masked man holds the microphone in silence for a second to let the crowd catch their breath. He then takes off his mask to reveal the pale face of Tribulation. His hair is jet black and slicked back, his red eyes seem to glow with the glare from the arena lights. Tribulation raises the mic:] TRIBULATION: Scott, it's time to accept that you are a relic from a time long past. When I entered in the DPW one month ago I knew who these men around me were. I knew of the accomplishments of Caleb Temple. I saw first hand in the DPW how Wrath and Mr. Robinson were changing the world of wrestling. I even respected both of those men enough to challenge them. But when I heard of the name Super Scott... I honestly didn't know who you were. You see, unlike these other men, I never saw you in your prime, I never saw all these things you claim to have done in the world of wrestling, so the only thing I have to judge you on is what you are doing now. So to me, all you are is a just a washed-up has-been who's trying to make it in a second class league. These names you throw out, people like Dark Destroyer, Gunnar Gaines, Alex Adams, Super Scott... These people mean NOTHING to me. I've never seen what the so-called "Clique" has done. So those people, and those events, mean nothing to me. What _does_ mean something is what is going on right now, and that's people like Caleb Temple, Wrath, Mr. Robinson, and Tribulation taking the sport you ruined and making it great once again! Men like us who took a "LOOP" that was only good, and made it GREAT. Scott, you think that you made the "LOOP" and that the "LOOP" is dead? Look around you, we're bigger then we've ever been, and that's because we've kicked talentless egos like you out, and brought greatness like me in! Scott, one month ago, when I scouted leagues that were worthy of a top-notch talent like Tribulation, the IIWF wasn't even mentioned. I wanted the best competition, I wanted the most exposure, and I wanted the toughest league around. So I chose the DPW, which is presently at a talent level that you've only seen in your wet dreams! Scott, the fact is you're trying to make the IIWF look good so that when you roll past the so-called competition here it makes you look better. Everyone knows you wouldn't last five seconds in the _NEW_ "LOOP", and the fact that you don't have the balls to stick around any more only proves it. Scott, you are truly pathetic. [Robinson again leans in and gives Scott another humiliating slap. Scott thrashes with his legs, but Robinson deftly steps back and out of range.] TD: [over the headset] This has gone on long enough... Get some officials out here! TRIBULATION: You know, Scott, they say the end of the world will be marked by the Tribulations. Well, this Tribulation is here to mark the end of your career... and the end of the IIWF. Scott, consider yourself lucky that you're getting your one last moment in the spotlight. Consider yourself lucky that the IIWF is letting you have a few wins before you fade off into oblivion. Because if you were still in the "LOOP", the _NEW_ "LOOP", we would have eaten you ALIVE! [Tribulation hands the mic back to Mr. Robinson, who bends down and yells in Scott's face.] MR: So, Scotty? What're you gonna do _now_? Back down _once_ again? Try to create some more heat cheaply? ANYONE can shoot, where's the talent? That's _exactly_ what my point is, the _real_ men can talk, and grab the world's attention, but Super Scott, the world's most famous reason for ABORTION, must compensate for his _lack_ of talent. _Everyone_ can say that MrNEWZ is a clueless putz who can't find his ass with both hands... Big deal. People say that you _had_ talent, what the hell happened to it? Do we get to see any of it? Probably not, the "LOOP" hasn't seen it in a whole year. Scotty, get some balls, and step back into a man's world. Is the JOKE running the biggest pile of shit prepared to face a _man_? I doubt it... Where's the balls, Scotty? ["Tragic" By Orange 9mm blasts as Mr. Robinson, Caleb Temple, Tribulation, and Wrath walk out of the ring. At that moment, there is a commotion at the top of the aisle as a number of IIWF athletes burst out past security. Huge pop as Mad Dog Watkins, Steve Kowalski, Brody Thunder, Billy Shakespeare, Dan Kauffman, the Subway Psycho, Casey "Blackheart" James, Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven, the Sandman and Requiem form a human wall at the top of the aisle. The crowd are going nuts!] TD: Look at this, Steve Roberts! The IIWF is uniting against these "loop" invaders! SR: About time too! Go, Kowalski! Go, Thunder! Hell, go, Stinker! Let's rock and roll! [The music cuts, and the four "loop"ers face the ten IIWF athletes in the aisle. Folding their arms, the IIWF athletes stand their ground. Meanwhile, in the ring, an official finally frees Super Scott from the ropes, and he drags himself to his feet, trying to shake out the kinks in his arms. The crowd are on their feet as the confrontation continues, with Super Scott approaching from behind.] TD: What a volatile situation we have here! We need some security, and fast! [Before security has a chance to act, Robinson looks around at his "loop" comrades, and together they hop over the steel crowd barriers and into the crowd, making their escape.] TD: Discretion may be the better part of valour right here -- we could have seen some very ugly scenes here tonight. [Super Scott approaches the IIWF athletes in the aisle. He looks to them, questioningly. They maintain their stance, arms folded, stony in their silence.] SR: Looks like our guys don't trust Super Scott either. TD: I don't blame them, Dross... This could still turn ugly. [The crowd continues to cheer as the IIWF athletes turn their gazes up into the stands, where the "loop"ers flip them off as they depart. Gradually, the human wall breaks down, and the IIWF athletes return to the locker room one by one, many slapping the hands of the fans as they go. Super Scott follows them into the locker rooms. Cut to the announcers' table.] TD: What scenes here in the Coliseum, folks. Incredible. SR: The Superstar Summit is going to be one big bar fight, Dross... Unbelievable. TD: As always, we'll bring you updates on this situation in IIWF programming over the following week, but for now we must get back to the action as "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley readies himself to face Marty Warnett. I understand we can go backstage to hear from Quigley now: [Camera cuts backstage where Chris Quigley stands with his black and silver wrestling attire on, wearing his usual leather jacket, unbuttoned, with his silver shades covering his eyes.] CQ: Warnett! We've got a little bit of a history for not liking each other, and and I don't forget the past very easily! You can throw all your outside problems out the window and walk into the ring, ready to be pummelled, because I tore you apart last time, and this time I'm gonna finish the job! And Kauffman? You want to come down here and watch me wrestle? Good! Maybe you can pick up a few pointers and how to apply a Quickstriker properly, so your opponent can _not_ escape! Hell, anyone else wants to come down and watch this? I'll invite them too! Lord Byron? Joe Petrow? Serge Annis? Hey, every single one of you damn "Loop"ers! Get a close up of what a real wrestler looks like! Warnett, you "Party Animal", I hope you had your fill of parties on Friday night, because you're not gonna survive Saturday night! You _will_ be struck down! [Quigley stares into the camera with his finger pointing directly at the home viewers, as the scene cuts back to Dross and Roberts.] TD: This should be a classic technical encounter. Both men would really like to be going into Ring Wars III on the back of a victory, Warnett especially, having lost the Intercontinental Title in controversial fashon only a week ago. Steve? SR: Hey, the kid made a mistake, and it cost him the title. It's his own fault, no one else's. TD: Let's get up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley vs. Marty Warnett =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MP [Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring.] RA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a thirty minute time limit. Introducing first, hailing from Cardiff, Wales and weighing in at 245lbs.... here is the "Party Maniac" Maaaaarrty Waaaarrrneeeett!! [Big crowd pop as "Cold Gin" by Kiss kicks in over the PA system, and Marty Warnett enters the aisle, and looks around the arena at the fans. He smiles, wiping the hair out of his face and makes the motion of a belt around his waist. Huge crowd pop! Marty starts to run down to the ring, slapping the fans hands as he does so.] SR: He's taking it well. TD: He's a competitor, Steve. He may have lost the title, but he's still got the fans! SR: Oh, that's just great. The federation's full of "competitors". Kick-Me's a competitior. Hell, so's El Super Gecko, but what's he doing right now? [Warnett walks around the ringside area, slapping the fans' hands and holding up a group of his young fans' poster, which reads "Marty, We love you!!" The Sychopaths surreptitiously start to make their way around as Marty turns and vaults into the ring.] RA: And his opponent... [Big crowd pop] hailing from Corner Brook, Newfoundland and weighing in at 238lbs, here is "Quickstrike" Chris Quiiiiiigleeeeeeeeeeeeyyy!! [Huge crowd pop as Chris Quigley enters the aisle, and "For Those About to Rock" by AC/DC blasts out over the PA system. Quigley makes his way down to the ring, an intense expression on his face, slapping the fans' hands without seeming to notice them. He quickly vaults into the ring, stretching on the ropes before starting to circle Warnett...] TD: Chris Quigley is looking more intense than ever before, Steve, he wants this match with Kauffman badly! SR: Great. Hopefully Kauffman'll be just as psyched up, and they'll put each other out of competition. TD: Hold on, we're recieving a feed from the dressing room area... [The image changes to to a picture of Dan Kauffman, watching Quigley's entrance on a monitor...] TD: I guess Kauffman wants to keep an eye on his Ring Wars III opponent tonight, and assess any weaknesses... [The referee gives final instructions to them both, the bell rings and the two lock up, each struggling for the advantage. Warnett drops his guard slightly, and Quigley takes him off his feet with a lightning fast armdrag. Both men break, and start to circle again.] SR: I see Warnett's basketball training has paid off. TD: Both men are just sizing each other up here, but Quigley is looking very sharp indeed. [The two lock up again, and Quigley takes the advantage again, this time with a side headlock. Warnett quickly backs him into the ropes, and throws him off with an Irish whip, catching him with a single leg takedown as he moves back in. Quigley rolls away before Warnett can lock on a submission hold, both men spring up, and Quigley takes Warnett straight back down with a headlock takedown, locking the hold in tight! Big pop! Warnett quickly rolls up, twisting to get his feet under him, and pushes up to his feet, switching behind Quigley in a hammerlock. Quigley reaches back, trying to take hold of first Warnett's leg, then his head, but finally snapping an elbow back into Warnett's jaw! Warnett staggers back, and Quigley takes him to the canvas fast with another headlock! The referee rolls into position and counts... - 1 - 2 - Warnett rolls his shoulder up! Big relieved pop!] TD: Fast technical opening by both men here, and Warnett was almost caught out early! SR: He's looking jaded, Dross. Probably still suffering. Poor little guy, unrequited love and all that bull. [Warnett rolls with the hold, and locks headscissors on Quigley, pulling his shoulders down to the canvas... - 1 - 2 kickout by Quigley! Warnett locks the hold on again, and Quigley twists out, both men springing to their feet, and this time it's Warnett taking the offensive, lashing out with a dropkick that sends Quigley to the canvas! Both men spring up again, and Warnett takes Quigley down with an armdrag! Big pop!] TD: Another fast series of moves! Quigley's having none of it though, rolling quickly to his feet... [Quigley scoops Warnett up and slams him down to the canvas hard, but Warnett keeps hold of the armbar, and Quigley finds himself on the canvas again! Both men push up to their feet, and Warnett twists Quigley's arm with an armwringer, Quigley reverses, and Warnett doubles him over with a kick to the midsection, flipping over the Canadian superstar and using the momentum to send Quigley to the mat with a hip toss! Quigley rolls to his feet, and nails Warnett with a fist to the stomach, forcing Warnett to put Quigley in a headlock...] TD: Both these atheletes seem so evenly matched: Quigley's probably got a slight technical advantage, while Warnett could edge it in the air. SR: Has anyone ever told you that you are incredibly dull, Dross? TD: Yes. You. Lots of times. SR: Fair enough. [Warnett twists the headlock on tight, and Quigley pushes Warnett forward, running towards the ropes and then turning at the last second, sending Warnett flying out through the ropes! Big mixed pop! Warnett rolls to his feet and turns to the ring apron, only to be met by a slide from Quigley, sending him crashing into the crowd barriers! Another mixed pop! Quigley rolls to the outside, pulls Warnett up and nails him with a headbutt, then a slam on the concrete, before rolling back in.] TD: Quigley is showing an aggressive streak here tonight, Steve! SR: No, no, no. If you want to see an aggressive streak, look no further than Kowalski. Or Watkins, or Thunder. Quiglet doesn't even come close. TD: Quiglet? SR: Yeah. Stick man. Twiglet. You know. TD: Oh, please... [Warnett climbs back up onto the ring apron, and is met by another headlock from Quigley, who then sends him straight back into the ring with a snap suplex! Warnett rolls, clutching his back, and Quigley drops a legdrop across the back of his neck, and then a series of elbows into the small of his back, before locking on a cobra clutch! The referee checks for the submission... none.] TD: Quigley's fired up here, he's not even giving Warnett space to breathe! SR: And he's focusing on the back. You know what _that_ means... TD: He's trying to set him up for the Quickstriker? SR: No, it means he's focusing on his back. Are you stupid or what? [Warnett manages to push himself up to his feet, and Quigley slips off, locking Warnett in a sleeperhold! Big pop! Warnett lashes out with an elbow strike, catching Quigley in the stomach, breaking the hold, and then runs to the ropes... Quigley feints a clothesline, Warnett ducks, and flies over Quigley's knee lift, spinning to the canvas and doubling up! Quigley measures Warnett, and then drives another elbowsmash into the small of his back! Big pop, followed by a big mixed pop as a certain Lady DeWinter begins to hesitantly walk towards towards ringside...] TD: Oh no, will someone get her away from here? She's caused enough trouble this week as it is, and Warnett doesn't need the distraction... SR: Are you mad, Dross? Look at her! [DeWinter is dressed once more in the clothing that Byron appreciates, a beautiful shimmering gold and black evening gown that captures her graceful figure perfectly. In the ring, Quigley executes a smart side backbreaker on Warnett, making the cover... - 1 - 2 - kickout by Warnett! Quigley starts to pull Warnett up, and gets caught in a quick small package... - 1 - Quigley reverses... - 1 - 2 - Warnett kicks out, and Quigley springs up, smashing another elbowdrop down across Warnett's back! Big pop! Quigley picks up Warnett's legs, and rolls him over into a Boston Crab, leaning back hard. Warnett yells out in pain but refuses to submit, and DeWinter reaches ringside, nervously taking up posistion in Warnett's corner, biting her fingernails...] SR: There's a quick way to ruin a manicure... TD: Warnett... what did you say? Never mind. Warnett's just inches away from reaching the ropes, but Quigley's got the hold hooked in tight... [Warnett reaches out for the ropes, but comes out about a foot short. The referee asks for the submission... and Quigley breaks the hold, slamming another elbow across Warnett's back! He pulls Warnett up to his feet, and whips him hard into the turnbuckles, Warnett staggers out, clutching at his back, and Quigley catches him with a takeover suplex... the cover... - 1 - 2 - kickout! DeWinter looks on anxiously as Quigley pulls him to his feet again... this time nailing Warnett with a swinging neckbreaker...] TD: So far, Warnett has hardly been able to get any sort of offense going... Quigley is looking just too sharp, too determined... Warnett needs to get some sort of offense soon if he's going to stand a chance.. [Quigley picks up Warnett's legs, and the Lady DeWinter yells out Warnett's name, trying to spur him on as Quigley starts to kick at Warnett's hamstrings... and Warnett kicks Quigley off! Huge pop! Warnett rolls to his feet, briefly glancing at DeWinter before turning to back to Quigley... Quigley lashes out at Warnett's midsection with a kick, Warnett catches, and Quigley leaps into an enzuigiri...] TD: And Warnett ducks! And Warnett goes wild, dropping elbow after elbow on Quigley's back! He picks up Quigley's legs, and a kick to each hamstring! [Quigley scrambles to the ropes as Warnett throws his hair back, and yells out for him to come on! Warnett turns into a house of fire, backing Quigley into the corner and hammering away with a series of rapid right hands and then an uppercut that sends Quigley's jaw snapping back! Huge pop! Warnett hooks Quigley's arm, and sends him flying out of the corner with a hiptoss! Quigley springs to his feet, only to be sent straight back down by a flying lariat! Warnett pulls Quigley up, doubles him over with a blow to the midsection, and then slings him back to the mat with a Russian legsweep! Huge pop! The cover... - 1 - 2 - Quigley scrambles out!] TD: Warnett now, running to the ropes... Quigley ducks the clothesline, Marty comes back, Quigley grabs the kick to the midsection, spins Warnett around... German suplex! One! Two! Thr... No! Kickout by Warnett! [Quigley pulls Warnett back up, and recieves a hard headbutt to the stomach for his trouble! Warnett grabs Quigley around the waist, and hoists him in the air, dropping him hard into an inverted atomic drop! Quigley spinsaround, and Warnett leaps forward, driving his head into the canvas with a bulldog! Huge pop! Warnett covers... - 1 - 2 - kickout by Quigley! Warnett pulls Quigley up to his feet slowly, and Irish whips him hard into the turnbuckles, Quigley hits face first and staggers back out, to be hit by a dropkick in the back of the neck, and then pulled down into a roll up... the referee counts... - 1 - 2 - Quigley kicks out again!] TD: Warnett, pulling Quigley to his feet again... backs him into the ropes... Irish whip... Quigley reverses... [Quigley drops his head, and Warnett catches him in a facelock, and leaps into the air, sending Quigley crashing to the canvas in a jumping DDT! DeWinter claps for joy on the outside, and Warnett stands up, running his fingers through his hair before walking across to the ropes...] SR: What's he doing? Ignore her, finish Quigley off! TD: I thought you wanted Quigley to win? SR: I'm not fussy, as long as one of them loses I'll be happy... [As Quigley slowly starts to recover form the effects of the DDT, Warnett steps between the ropes and leaps to the outside, arms spread. DeWinter takes a hesitant step backwards, looking around at the crowd. Warnett stops, tilts his head and looks at DeWinter. DeWinter bites her fingernails nervously, and points back into the ring, telling Warnett to finish the match off... Warnett shakes his head, and... and DeWinter steps forward, clasping him in her arms! Big crowd pop!] TD: Just what is going on here? I thought she was back with Byron? SR: Obviously not, Dross. This woman hasn't got a clue what she wants. I mean, come on, Warnett?! [In the ring, Quigley stumbles to his feet, and looks around dazedly... Warnett holds DeWinter back, asking her a question and she bites her lip, looking around and again telling him to get back in the ring. Warnett shakes his head again, and looks down at her, speaking softly, and DeWinter looks up... and kisses him! Massive crowd pop! Even Warnett looks slightly taken aback! Quigley turns around in the ring, and spots the pair on the outside, and breaks the referee's count by climbing up the turnbuckles...] TD: Quigley's perched on the top turnbuckle, waiting for Warnett to step away... SR: If he hits this, it's all over for Walnut... [The two break on the outside, DeWinter points back to the ring again, Warnett turns, and DeWinter spots Quigley just as he leaps, and reaches out to pull Warnett away... the crowd at ringside shout out in dismay!] TD: Oh my! No! Quigley... no... we've got to get an EMT crew down here... DeWinter tried to pull Warnett away from Quigley's lightning strike. This is most unfortunate. Both DeWinter and Warnett got hit hard on the outside... SR: DeWinter hit the crowd barriers, Dross... I think she's out! I can't believe Warnett would stoop this low... TD: Warnett? What are you talking about? SR: Isn't it obvious? Warnett saw Quigley coming, and tried to use her as a shield! TD: Steve... no, no, I'm not even going to bother answering that. [Huge heel pop as Lord Byron sprints down the aisle, throwing his suit jacket off as he does so. Quigley looks down at the two prone forms, and steps over to check on DeWinter. Byron hurtles around the ringside area, his face the picture of genuine concern, and throws Quigley off, yelling at him to keep away. Quigley's face reddens, but he turns back to Warnett, rolling him back into the ring... Byron franctically tries to revive DeWinter, and picks her up, carrying her back up the aisle.. where he is met by an emergency team carrying a stretcher...] TD: This is really unfortunate what has happened here... neither athlete can be blamed, it was DeWinter who tried to pull Warnett away.. we'll try to get word on her condition as soon as possible... SR: I'm telling you, Dross, Warnett is guilty as sin. [Dross ignores Soundbite's comment as the EMT crew carry DeWinter away... Byron turns to glare at the wrestlers in the ring one last time, before turning and hurrying out after them. In the ring, Quigley whips the still dazed Warnett into the ropes, and nails him with a flying elbowsmash on the rebound. Quigley turns, and starts to rapidly ascend the ropes...] TD: Warnett's down... I can't begin to imagine what's going through his head at the moment... SR: His face, if Quigley hits this one... [Quigley pauses on the turnbuckles, before leaping off, twisting in mid-air to hit Warnett with a spectacular moonsault! Awed crowd pop! Quigley picks up Warnett's legs, and looks around at the crowd... ] TD: This could be it for the Party Maniac... he's shown no offense since the incident... if Quigley puts on the Quickstriker... [Quigley grapevines Warnett's legs, then shakes his head, throwing them back down, to a big mixed pop! He picks Warnett back to his feet by the hair, Irish whips him into the ropes, and nails Warnett with a huge spinebuster! Huge mixed pop from the crowd!] SR: That was a Powerplant! TD: Quigley's sending out a message to Kauffman right here... here's the cover, Quigley hooks the leg... [The referee slides into position, and Quigley holds up his fingers as he counts... - 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Quigley rolls back up to his feet, and the referee holds his hand in the air...] RA: Here is your winner, as a result of a pinfall, "Quickstrike" Chriiiiiis Quuuuuiiiigleeeeeey!! TD: Quigley gets the win, but you have to wonder just what effect that little incident had on Warnett... [Quigley rolls out of the ring, and starts heading back up the aisle as Warnett rolls to his knees in the ring... Quigley pulls the straps down off his shoulders as he approaches the video wall, and watches the replay of him hitting Warnett with the Powerplant spinebuster. The image on the monitor changes, again showing Dan Kauffman watching the match on a monitor. Kauffman turns, and shakes his head as Quigley points at the monitor, and then at his chest with the thumb of his other, mouthing the words "the best". The screen flickers off, and Quigley looks around at thecrowd, before throwing his hands down and walking away.] TD: Quigley has his sights set on Kauffman at Ring Wars III, and nothing is going to get in his way! [Warnett, who had been sitting in the center of the ring with his head in his hands, brushes his hair back and finally leaves, drawing a sympathetic pop from the crowd.] TD: Everybody has tuned up his game, Steve Roberts. You can see it in the extra intensity of every single one of these IIWF superstars. SR: Well, it's about cash, Dross. It's money time in the IIWF, as anyone who's shelled out the thirty bucks for that bloated pay-per-match next week already knows. TD: You have to recognise that the increased intensity is about competition, a battle between... pay-per-match? SR: Yeah, it's my latest brainstorm. Why make people pay for that whole Skydome shindig next week? No one's gonna watch every match. People want to see Kowalski and Annis and Thunder and the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin! TD: Well, actually Ring Wars 3 is packed, loaded with big, big matches; it might just be the finest pay-per-view in the history of this sport. And for the last time... J.W. Hardin's gone, Steve, gone! Get a grip on it, man. SR: A six pack o' Cattle Buster DDTs fo' yo' ass! TD: Let's get to ringside. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Dan "Flash" Kauffman vs. Dirt Dog Unique Allah -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: JJ [As the shot cuts to ringside, the crowd can be heard chanting "Kauff - man! Kauff - man! Kauff - man!"] TD: Listen to these people, Steve Roberts! Listen to these people! [The totality of the IIWF Coliseum seems frozen in time from last Saturday Night, each fan on his feet, each man cheering for the former champion. A phalanx of photographers crowd the ringside area, clamoring to get as snapshot... one last momento of the great IIWF career of Dan Kauffman. Sparkplug Lee, again wearing his red and black RW3 baseball cap, calmly takes the mic...] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... the following contest is your very special... MAIN EVENT... of the evening! Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by Medusa Rage... he weighs 238 pounds and hails from Brooklyn, New York... here is DIRT DOG UNIQUE ALLAH! [There is no music as DDUA appears in the aisle, virtually surrounded by a private team of brown shirt clad security officials. A brief glimpse of Dirt Dog shows that he bears no resemblance to the scruffy, drunken Dog to whom IIWF fans are used. This is a focused, intense looking, angry man.] TD: There's the wild card in all of this, Steve Roberts. This man presents one of the more unorthodox styles ever seen in the IIWF. You know he is just itching to spoil Dan Kauffman's retirement party. SR: Dirt Dog? Come on, Dross, this is a joke, right? I mean, I don't want to say anything nice about Martina Kauffman, but come on, we know what we're gonna see -- Kauffman beat on him for awhile until that idiot Petrow gets out here and finishes the job. That's what always happens. Don't you watch the IIWF, Dross? [The security force has taken up a position around Medusa Rage in the corner, many crouched down in preparedness for attack from any corner of the arena. DDUA has removed his denim jacket and stands alone in the ring as the chanting continues... "Kauff - man! Kauff - man! Kauff - man! Kauff - man!"] SL: And his opponent... [Huge crowd pop as Janet Jackson's "Black Cat" is heard over the P.A.]... in his FAREWELL match at the IIWF Coliseum... he weighs 238 lbs. and hails from Hagerstown, Maryland... the former IIWF Heavyweight Champion... DAN "FLASH" KAUFFMAN! [The building is engulfed in camera flashes as Kauffman appears at the top of the aisle, his crop of blond hair no longer contrasted with a dark goatee. The lanky ex-champ quickly makes his way to ringside, as if almost a little embarrassed by the attention. "Kauff - man! Kauff - man! Kauff - man! Kauff - man!"] TD: This is some moment, Steve Roberts. You have to feel it... I know you felt it last week when this Coliseum, this place which has been treated to such a brilliant career by this great champion almost came apart when, after that classic technical battle against Joe Petrow, Dan Kauffman spinebustered the invading Unique right in the middle of the ring. SR: Yeah, it's really makin' me misty, Dross. [Kauffman extends a hand to Dirt Dog... and watches the Dog respond with a quick drop to his hands and knees, asking for a mat lock up.] TD: See, see, that's the kind of focus that Dirt Dog has brought to this match, he has taken a page out of the playbook of his bitter rival Petrow. [Kauffman moves to dive atop... but Unique crawls out of the way, rolling over on his back so that he might scratch his belly, "I'm a bad Doggy," yells the Unique one.] SR: Yeah, Dross. He's "itchin" all right, itchin' for another hit off that mojo juice, come on, Dirt Dog's as much of a mess as he ever was, he's even cut the fingers out of his gloves. Forget about it. [Kauffman takes a step back and shakes his head at Unique's antics as the Dog now crawls from corner to corner, seemingly looking for something.] SR: Maybe he's got something buried in the ring, Dross. TD: Or maybe he doesn't believe that Joe Petrow really isn't here. The security around Medusa, Dirt Dog's obviously a little distracted... [Kauffman moves in... and is taken down sharply with a leg lariat. Pop! Unique works quickly moving for a chinlock... Kauffman tries a takeover... blocked... and Unique snaps down the neck... holding on and moving to the legs... but Kauffman bridges up and out... the two men are on their feet as Kauffman attempts a backslide... and gets Unique over. Pop! But Unique remains on his feet and slides Kauffman over and cradles him for a quick cover... 1 - 2 -- kickout.] TD: That's what we have seen time and time again from this Dog, he turns seemingly losing positions into quick winners... don't let that act fool you any more, Steve Roberts. This is an intelligent man. SR: Intelligent? I have socks that are smarter than Dirt Dog. Hell, I have socks that are smarter than you, Dross. Come to think of it, I have some fairly intelligent socks. [Kauffman and Unique move are on their feet, and move for a quick lockup, Unique takes the advantage, with an arnwringer... stepover... stepover again. Kauffman counters with two sharp knife edge chops and and an Irish whip. Unique comes off hard with a spinning heel kick attempt... which Kauffman slips... but Dirt Dog is able to remain standing and latches on to Kauffman with a crucifx into a cover... 1 - 2 -- Kauffman rolls him over!... 1 - 2 -- kickout!] TD: Whew, we are seeing it again, Steve Roberts. Look how quickly each man applies and then switches from armlock... to armbar... and it's Kauffman with the hammerlock, lowering Unique to the mat. SR: Boring... Boring... Boring. Come on people, are you with me?! [Both men are now on the mat, it's Kauffman with a double reverse chinlock... now Unique with a head scissors... NO... Kauffman has ducked away and is now pressing against the small of Unique's back in a bow and arrow submission maneuver... Unique is in obvious pain, straining his torso in an effort to reach the ropes... Kauffman is trying to maneuver to a surfboard... but is unable as Medusa reaches in to nudge Unique through to a brief touching of the bottom ropes. The official calls for a break -- which Kauffman gives cleanly. Unique, however, takes advantage. Diving with a chopblock at Kauffman's left leg which sends him flipping to the ground. Pop!] SR: Kauffman's ass over teakettle now, Dross. TD: Look at Unique flailing away now. He is really assaulting Kauffman's leg. [Dirt Dog pulls at Kauffman's leg, exposing the hamstring, and drops a series of measured knees and elbows... pounding away at the muscle. Unique then grapevines the knee and tries to maneuver for an Indian deathlock...] TD: That's Kauffman's Falcon leglock! Dirt Dog is going to execute... NO! [Kauffman reverses the hold into an armlock-leglock combination, out of which Unique bridges, bringing Kauffman up and over, to their feet and into a backslide... but he cannot get Kauffman over as "Flash" runs to the ropes and springboards off farside and into a flying forearm that knocks Dirt Dog to the mat! Pop! Kauffman bounces off the near ropes now and comes down with a legdrop to the throat... Pop! Kauffman now rises, scooping up Unique in sidewalk slam... and a cover... 1 - 2 -- No! Unique just kicks out. Kauffman is up again, sending Unique to the mat with a snap suplex... but this time his cover is too late and Dirt Dog meets it with an upward forearm to the groin and then another clip of Kauffman's knee... then down to a slingshot SENDING KAUFFMAN'S HEAD TO THE RINGPOST! POP!] TD: Oh my! There it is, Steve Roberts. You saw right there the effect that Dirt Dog's calculated attack on Dan Kauffman's left leg has had... from the outset of this match he has been grinding away... and now he has sent Kauffman's head through that ringpost... look at him now! SR: This is what we wanted to see! Cripple him, Dirt Dog! [Unique has leapt to the outside, dragging Kauffman's legs under the ropes... and repeatedly rams the ex-champ's left leg into the ringpost. Over and over... Unique viciously sends Kauffman into the post. Heel Pop! Unique now leaps to the apron... and snaps Kauffman's leg down as he returns to the floor! Big heel Pop! Medusa now gets Unique's attention, telling him to get back in the ring. Dirt Dog does, continuing to administer the brutal punishment to Kauffman's leg along the way.] SR: Why the hell did he listen to the skirt? He should've stayed outside. TD: I think she doesn't want him so exposed to the crowd, Steve Roberts. I think she's concerned that Crazy Joe Petrow is setting him up. [Unique has Kauffman now in the middle of the ring. He drives a hard knee to the groin and then climbs to the mid buckle for a sharp elbow to the throat...] TD: Kauffman is out here, Steve Roberts. He has been dominated during the latter portions of this matchup. SR: And he's about to get put away... Unique's going for a clover leaf! [Unique moves to flip Kauffman over, but his attempt for a Texas clover leaf is thwarted by a stunningly quick hop by "Flash" to his feet... a lock of the head... and a crashing jawbreaker that lays Dirt Dog out! Huge face pop for Kauffman!] TD: Oh my! Oh my! Look at that jawbreaker... and a cover by Kauffman... [Earl Alfonso moves into position with a cover... 1 - 2 -- NO! Kickout by Unique! Kauffman picks up Dirt Dog quickly, still obviously favoring that left leg, and drives the Dog back with sharp European uppercuts. Kauffman whips Unique cross-corner... reverse... Kauffman heads to the buckle... Unique charges... Kauffman springboards back... into a waistlock and a German suplex for a cover... 1 - 2 - NO! Kickout by Dirt Dog Unique Allah!] TD: This Dog is game, Steve Roberts. You may appreciate his style or not... but he is giving Dan Kauffman all he wants! [Both men are up... it's Unique with an Irish whip and Kauffman ducks a clothesline... Unique bounces off the backropes... and leaps up for a hurricarana...] TD: He's up... Kauffman caught him with a powerbomb! Kauffman caught him with a powerbomb! SR: He's not covering, why isn't he covering? [Kauffman eschews the cover, instead picking up Unique and sending him quickly back to the mat with a side Russian leg sweep. Pop! Kauffman then hops to the midrope... and comes down with a hard elbow to the butt of Unique's jaw. Pop! Now Kauffman moves to Unique's legs... maneuvering him over...] TD: He's got him in the Quickstriker! He's got him in the Quickstriker! SR: He can't do it, Dross. That left leg's too weak! [The crowd chants again: "Kauff - man! Kauff - man! Kauff - man! Kauff - man!" Kauffman tries desperately to apply the hold, hoping that left leg will just give him enough support... Unique reaches for the ropes, too far! The ropes are too far away! Unique can't reach Medusa and Kauffman can't... can't get sufficient... Unique reaches out and Kauffman presses down.... down... down on his injured leg.... Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: HE GOT HIM! HE GOT HIM! SL: Your winner... as a result of a submission... Dan "Flash" Kauffman! [Huge roar from the masses as Kauffman's hand is raised and Unique is led from the ring by Medusa and the team of, as it turned out, unneeded security guards. There is now a brief moment of silence from the great crowd, their joy at seeing their longtime hero not only return to form, wrestling another tremendous match and defeating Dirt Dog Unique Allah subsides -- replaced with a collective realization that Dan Kauffman is walking out of the IIWF Coliseum forever. Kauffman then takes the mic.] DK: I want to thank the greatest.... [Big pop from the aisle!] TD: It's Chris Quigley! Chris Quigley is walking to ringside! [Quigley stops in the middle of the aisle and places his hands on his hips as Kauffman retakes the mic...] DK: Chris Quigley, the time has come for us to finally meet. Once and for all. Next week, I end my career with the biggest match of my career. Quigley, there MUST be a clear winner in that match. In order for that to happen... we have to add one stipulation to that match... the only way it ends is for one of us to say... "I QUIT!" [Huge crowd pop as Kauffman drops the mic and stares dead at his long-time friend and now rival.] TD: Did Dan Kauffman just challenge Chris Quigley to a submission match at Ring Wars 3? Are we gonna see those two men in a submission match next week at Ring Wars 3? SR: Are we gonna see a match at all, Dross? Quigley's on his way to the ring! Quigley's on his way to the ring! TD: There's not gonna be a Ring Wars! It's gonna happen right now! Folks, we are all out of time here. We are all out of time from the IIWF Coliseum, be sure to call the IIWF Hotline for the inside scoop about this possible submission match -- and then to all of the great IIWF programming in a special Ring Wars 3 preview week... for my colleague Steve "Soundbite" Roberts and all of us in the IIWF... we'll see you from Toronto! Chris Quigley is on his way to the ring... [Kauffman drops the microphone and beckons Quigley into the ring as the crowd goes nuts. Earl Alfonso stands between Kauffman and Quigley as security dash to the ring. The crowd are on their feet as the shot fades.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Steve Owens | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | sowens@admin.presby.edu | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | IIWFadmin@aol.com | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+