[Fade up on a black screen. Silence. A white dot appears in the centre of the screen, and grows larger as text zooms towards the camera. It simply reads: THE FIRST TIME. The text engulfs the screen, and the brilliant white fades through to a composite video still of Dan "Flash" Kauffman and "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley standing face-to-face. A low, pulsing, threatening bass is heard in the background as a voice-over speaks:] VO: Two of the greatest superstars the sport of wrestling has ever seen. Two men. Two legends. Two destinies. [The screen flashes again. Cut to footage subtitled, "IIWF Ring Wars II: October 12, 1996." The scene is the double-ring steel cage Wargames Match. Kauffman and Quigley are in the ring doing battle with "Badboy" Randy Acorn. Kauffman hoists Acorn into position for a powerbomb. However, as he lifts the "Badboy" up, he catches Quigley in the face with Acorn's boot, and "Quickstrike" goes down. Kauffman nearly puts Acorn through the mat, and makes the cover, but he is immediately pulled off Acorn by an irate Quigley, who berates Kauffman for his clumsiness. Kauffman shouts back at Quigley, and the two engage in a shoving match. Dan shoves Quigley, who retaliates with a hard right hand. The two squabbling athletes don't see Casey James coming, and as Kauffman knocks Quigley back with a punch of his own, James grabs Quigley's tights, pulling him over backwards and cradling him. The referee counts - 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Kauffman merely shrugs his shoulders and turns away. The ring announcers' voice is heard:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley has been pinned by Casey "Blackheart" James! [In all the confusion, few notice "Painbringer" Billy Sexton entering the ring. Quigley gets to his feet and again goes after Kauffman, this time demanding to know why he didn't make the save when James blindsided him. Kauffman, clearly irate, shoves Quigley away. A brawl between the two men breaks out. The screen is again engulfed by white, and then fades to black. The bass rises in intensity as the voice-over continues:] VO: But their paths were destined to cross. Two athletes, similar in style, comparable in achievement, and each assured in the self-held belief that he is the best. [Another white dot expands from the centre of the screen. This time, the text reads: THE LAST TIME. Cut to footage of Dan Kauffman's Championship match against Casey James, subtitled "January 4, 1997." The Players' Club attack Chris Quigley outside the ring. Kauffman pulls Dynamite away from Quigley, who is being held by Reyna for Dynamite to punch and kick. Kauffman argues with Dynamite, and although the camera is unable to pick up their words, it is clear that the discussion quickly becomes quite heated. Reyna drops the winded Quigley to the floor, and muscles up to Kauffman. Kauffman turns his back on the Players' Club to help Quigley to his feet. Reyna moves to nail Kauffman from behind, but Dynamite steps in, and pushes his partner back a few paces. Tim Dross' voice is heard:] TD: Kauffman's helping Quigley back to his feet -- perhaps these two will be able to put their differences behind them now. [The crowd cheer as Kauffman checks on the still dazed Quigley, but then explodes with a huge heel pop as Kauffman clotheslines Quigley back to the arena floor! He stomps away on the Canadian, and before long, the Players' Club are joining in the assault!] SR: What?! TD: I can't believe what I'm seeing here, Steve! Have the Players' Club gone crazy?! [Reyna drags Quigley to his feet and places his head between his legs in position for a powerbomb. He hoists Quigley high up above his head, and both Kauffman and Dynamite assist Reyna in executing a deadly spike powerbomb! Quigley's head snaps back as he hits the barely-protected arena floor. Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! The spike powerbomb! That move should be outlawed! The Players' Club could have paralysed Quigley right there! [The Players' Club throw in a few more shots on the semi-conscious Quigley before climbing into the ring and holding their hands aloft as if victorious. Kauffman, having grabbed his belt from the timekeeper's table, holds it above his head. The crowd give a big heel pop! The shot freezes and fades to black. The voice-over again continues over the ever-building intensity of the bass:] VO: The pressure of sitting on top of the IIWF mountain took its toll on Dan Kauffman. Under fire and under stress, the IIWF Champion snapped -- and forever severed his friendship with Chris Quigley. But his fall from grace was not yet complete... [Cut to footage subtitled, "January 24, 1997." Dan Kauffman stands in the empty ring of the IIWF Coliseum, illuminated starkly by a single bank of white spotlights. He is almost cast in silhouette by the back-lighting as he speaks:] DK: There comes a time when you reach the pinnacle of your career, and things start turning downward. I've always considered this to be the time to walk away from the thing you loved. When I won the IIWF World Championship, I reached the top of the wrestling world. Unfortunately, once you reach the top, there's nowhere to go but down. I have just one more goal in the world of wrestling. That goal is to face Chris Quigley one on one, to see who is the better wrestler. I will meet Chris Quigley at IIWF's Ring Wars III, and after the match, win or lose, I will retire from active participation in the sport of wrestling. [The bass picks up more and more momentum as flashes of wrestling action appear on the screen: Dan Kauffman applies the Quickstriker on Serge Annis.] VO: Jealousy. [The screen flashes. Chris Quigley hits Marty Warnett with the Powerplant spinebuster.] VO: Desire. [The screen flashes again. Quigley and Kauffman are shown standing face to face in the squared circle, as officials fight to keep the two men apart.] VO: Intensity. [The bass continues to build in intensity as the screen is engulfed in brilliant white once more. Cut between excerpts from interviews with the two men, each punctuated by a white flash.] DK: You've become the biggest fraud in wrestling, Chris. [Flash.] CQ: Dan Kauffman should pay more attention to how I wrestle and less attention to what I say. How many times have I told my opponents _this_, Dan Kauffman: I do my talking in the ring. [Flash.] DK: Chris Quigley, I will always have respect for you. But pal, you are becoming a little too annoying for your own good. [Flash.] CQ: Hell, you invited me here, DK. I got the message for help on my machine. But wait, as soon as I come in, everyone immediately takes notice. Considered by many to be the _best_ wrestler in the IIWF and the world! You couldn't handle losing the attention then, and it's all boiling over now! [Flash.] DK: Who has the will? Who has the heart? Who wants it the most? [Flash.] CQ: When I say that come Ring Wars III, there will be absolutely nothing left of you but a bloody, sorry, retired has-been... I MEAN IT! [Flash.] DK: Chris Quigley, at Ring Wars III, the wrestling world witnesses the greatest single match in history. That is my promise. Let's get it on! [The screen is engulfed once more in brilliant white, and then fades to black. Another white dot grows until words are visible: THE ONLY TIME! The words crash through the screen once more as the bass reaches the peak of its intensity as the opening graphics explode onto the screen:] ##### ###### ### ########## ########## ########## #### ## ########## ########## ########## #### # #### ######## ##### ##### #### ## ##### #### #### #### #### ### #### #### #### #### ############# ######### #### #### ########### ######### #### #### #### #### #### ######### ######### ### #### #### ######### ######### ### ## #### ######## ######## ## # #### ## ###### # # # # # # #### # # ##### # ## # # ###### ###### # # # ## # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #### # # # # # # # # #### ###### # # ## # # ## ## ####### ###### # # ## #### # # ###### # # # # # # ###### ########### ############### ##### ##### #### ##### ###### ######## ########## ###### #### ##### ##### ##### ############### ########### .-------------------------------------------------------------------. | LiVE! + Saturday 22 March 1997 + Skydome, Toronto, Canada + LiVE! | `-------------------------------------------------------------------' [The opening graphics fade through to a spectacular aerial shot of the jam-packed Toronto Skydome, taken by the overhead helicopter. Spotlights search the darkening sky, and fireworks shoot up into the air from the ring and aisleway, screaming into the evening air in coloured bursts. Cut to a reverse-angle shot, peering up from the floor of the Skydome at the helicopter hovering high above. The shot pans down to reveal the clamouring fans on each side of the aisle, waving their arms wildly and shouting at the cameras. Over these scenes comes the voice of Tim Dross:] TD: We are just a matter of hours away from one of the most highly-anticipated matches in wrestling history. We are just two hours away from the moment when the retiring Dan Kauffman will fight his last match against long-time friend and rival, "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley. [The shot cuts to a montage of sweeping pans over the fans, the huge lighting rig over the ring, beneath the glass windows of the Hard Rock Cafe and the huge video wall above the entranceway. Fireworks explode in all directions, as archive shots of many IIWF superstars pulsate on the gigantic screen.] TD: This is the jam-packed Toronto Skydome. More than ninety thousand fans make up this heaving mass of humanity, all awaiting the most incredible wrestling action the world has ever seen. [The shots continue to pan over the sea of excited faces, young and old, and finally cut to the broadcast table in the ringside enclosure, at which stand Tim Dross, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, and Becky LaRue.] TD: This is IIWF Ring Wars III! Welcome, everybody, to what is sure to be the most incredible night of wrestling action in history! I'm Tim Dross, and beside me are my broadcast colleagues, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts and Becky LaRue. I can barely hear myself think in here! SR: This has to be the noisiest bunch of morons I've ever seen, Dross! BL: I've never seen a crowd like it, Timmy, not since that time I opened a lingerie superstore in North Carolina... TD: Thanks for sharing that with us, Becky. Fans, we are coming at you _live_ from the gigantic Skydome here in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, and over the next three hours, we have twelve phenomenal match-ups in store for you, headlined, of course, by that huge double main event. For the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship, Casey "Blackheart" James battles the Subway Psycho, and, of course, the other half of that double main event pits two wrestling legends against one another. As you saw at the top of the show, emotions are certainly running high between Dan Kauffman and Chris Quigley... and we're set for an explosion here in the squared circle tonight! SR: I hope those two losers beat each other to death. TD: You'll see some of the most remarkable matches in wrestling history here tonight at Ring Wars III. The bizarre Dirt Dog Unique Allah will face "Sychosys" Joe Petrow in a crazy Seven Tables of Fear Match -- and even if this dangerous match doesn't end his career for him, Petrow may join Dan Kauffman in retirement after tonight. BL: The Sandman battles the New Jersey Nightmare, Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, in a Toronto Tower Street Fight Match from the tallest building in the world, the CN Highpoint Tower. SR: And one of my favourite athletes, Mad Dog Watkins, battles rookie 'roid freak, Creed, in a wild Falls Count Anywhere brawl. TD: All of the IIWF's championships will be on the line here tonight. The IIWF World Tag Team Champions, the Dark Disciples, will defend against whichever of the top contenders wins the draw later on tonight. SR: The Cruiserweight Championship will be decided in the IIWF's first Ladder Match between current titleholder, the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi, and the White Phoenix, Shinja Chow. Hopefully those two Japanese jumping beans will end each other's careers in this one! TD: Chow is Chinese, Steve. But in any case, the Intercontinental Champion, Lord Byron, will battle the man from whom he took the title in controversial fashion just two weeks ago, the Welsh wunderkind, Marty Warnett. BL: And we'll see who goes home with the brand new United States Tag Team Championships as the Night Patrol go up against the Prophets of Rage in the finals of the sixteen-team elimination tournament which started back in February. TD: And don't forget the "Dead Man Rising" four corners match pitting Deathbringer, Serge Annis, Requiem and Highwayman against one another a little later tonight. But before all of those unbelievable matches, let's go up to the ring for our opening encounter -- the Wild Card match pitting Otto Verhoeven and his terrible trio against Ronnie Paris and the dynamic duo of Randy Acorn and a Mystery Partner. Will Paris' team have a fourth member, or is it going to be four on three right from the outset? We'll see as we go to Sparkplug Lee for the introductions. ### # # ### -------------------------------------------------------. # # # # # WILD CARD MATCH: | ### # # # ### Otto Verhoeven, Mr. Damage, The Hangman, Luke Steele | # # ## ## # vs. Ronnie Paris, Randy Acorn and Mystery Partner | # # # # ### -------------------------------------------------------' WRITER: NN [Nurse Heidi makes her way to the ring to a mixed pop. Sparkplug, who was busy searching his tuxedo for his cue cards, is shoved away by the gorgeous valet, who also takes his mic.] NH: I greet you, you bloated Canadian inbreds. You are going to vitness in a few moments a carnage nearly unprecedented in IIWF history, when mein Liebling and his teammates destroy their utterly doomed, veak, vimpy opponents. Introducing first, accompainied to the ring by the devious and dangerous Judge Roy Bean, here is the brutal powerhouse, the Hangman! And the Antipodean athlete, a vicious trickster if there ever vas one, Mr. Damage! Next is the technically skilled boy scout, the master of the Real Steele Press, "Real Deal" Luke Steele! And finally, the captain of this devastating team, a former IIWF World champion, the German Juggernaut, the Teutonic Terror, Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven! Stand up and show respect to these men, you imbeciles! [Big heel pop as all four men make their way down the aisle to the theme from "Halloween".] BL: I just have to say something about this Heidi character. SR: What's that? BL: I am the best looking woman in the IIWF, and if that Heidi thinks she can swing it, well... TD: [chuckling] Why don't you take a Sedative, Becks? SR: If you don't, Heidi'll give you one herself! BL: I'd take that two-bit bimbo and -- [A sizeable pop rises from the crowd as Ronnie Paris, dressed in his red singlet, white boots, and a knee brace, enters through the curtain. To his right is Randy Acorn, wearing his baggy pants. The two men stop and turn to face behind them, looking up at the huge video wall which shows highlights from their respective IIWF careers. Suddenly, the image on the video wall changes, showing a freeze-frame computer-aided image of Ronnie Paris wearing a diaper, captioned, "Spur says good luck, Widdle Wonnie!" Big heel pop from the crowd as Paris shakes his head in fury. Acorn calms him down as the two men head towards the ring, Paris seething.] SR: Hehe... Paris caught unawares in the locker room, by the looks of things, Dross! TD: Don't be ridiculous, Steve. BL: [laughing] Aw, isn't he cute? TD: This isn't funny, you two. Spur is simply intent on causing trouble here tonight. He's already attacked Nightwing, and now he's playing mindgames with Ronnie Paris... BL: Wrong again, Dross. You're assuming that Paris _has_ a mind. TD: Okay, let's just calm down. We've got a big announcement coming up next. As I announced earlier, the Superstar himself, Stud Stetson, has walked out on the IIWF, and as such will not be able to wrestle in this match. This team was originally supposed to have Stetson, Ronnie Paris, Randy Acorn, and a mystery partner. SR: Yes, Dross. But with the backbone of the squad, Stud Stetson, out of picture, it looks as if Widdle Wonnie and Randy Acorn will have to dig up not one, but _two_ mystery partners. BL: I doubt they even have _one_ mystery partner, boys. Think about it: Would you go play for Ronnie Paris's team? SR: I'd certainly take the opportunity, just to get a shot at Paris. BL: Yes, but your injury, Steve. Heh. [Otto and his teammates seem to enjoy themselves in taunting Paris and Acorn, who are calling for the microphone. Sparkplug hands it over. The crowd falls silent as Ronnie Paris raises the microphone to his mouth:] RP: I'm going to cut straight to the chase. First of all, Spur -- very funny, you freak. You want to get at Ronnie Paris, fine. Name the day. But right now, the odds are certainly stacked against us here tonight, people. Two of us versus those four powerhouses. Well, the so-called "Superstar" Stud Stetson may not be man enough to stick it out in the best damned league in the world today, the IIWF... [Big pop from the partisan Toronto crowd.] ...but I'm honoured to be able to introduce to you a man who just last year thought his career would be over. Last year, this man suffered crippling injuries due to a terrible accident. For a while, it looked like he would never even walk again... [The opposing team is becoming restless. Verhoeven settles Mr. Damage and the Hangman, both of whom are moving as if to attack Paris.] TD: [over the headset] Who's Paris talking about...? Surely it couldn't be... SR: [over the headset] If this is who I think it is, Dross, I'll eat your toupee. TD: [over the headset] You will not, Steve. [Paris looks around at the buzzing crowd and smiles.] RP: [nodding] Yeah, you know who I'm talking about. You know who's making his return to the IIWF here tonight. ["C.R.E.A.M." by the Wu Tang Clan blares out over the PA system. Big pop!] That's right... ladies and gentlemen, making his return to the IIWF, hailing from Staten Island, New York, weighing in at 269lbs, here is... the one and only... Tony Starks! TD: [over the headset] You're kidding me! SR: [over the headset] There goes the neighbourhood! [Big pop as the spotlights swing to the top of the aisle. Lasers above the entrance curtain swirl patterns on the aisle, which are then interrupted as the burly frame of Tony Starks steps out onto the walkway. He puts his hands on his hips and looks around at the capacity crowd, an uncharacteristic grin spreading across his face. Starks is a black man, standing around 6'6", wearing black and gold tights and boots. He nods his head slowly, and then fixes his gaze on the ring. Taking a few steps, he is mobbed by the hands of excited fans on both sides of the aisle. Arriving at the ring, he climbs the ringsteps and then calmly steps between the ropes into the squared circle, where he shakes hands with Paris and Acorn as fireworks erupt in the arena of the Coliseum.] TD: This is remarkable, Steve Roberts! It was just last August that Tony Starks' career looked to be over after that terrible plane crash which took the life of his friend and fellow IIWF superstar, "The Machine" Hunter Robertson. For a while, it didn't even look like he would be able to walk... but he returned briefly to the IIWF a few months ago to accompany Onslaught to the ring at Snow Brawl, and since then, he signed a contract with a Japanese organization. I'm stunned, Steve! SR: So am I, Dross. Stunned that this piece of trash would have the gall to come back into the IIWF and think that he still has what it takes. I hope Verhoeven's team cripples him all over again. [The Butcher and his men seem taken aback by the arrival of Starks, who steps outside the ring, allowing Ronnie Paris to start things for his team against Mr. Damage. The referee signals for the bell as the crowd noise begins to die down.] SR: Well, Ronnie only has one mystery man, and there's the bell, so it appears as if it will be a four on three match. Still, an interesting plot twist with the cripple hobbling back into action. TD: My apologies to Tony Starks... but, so far, it has been quite a night! BL: Yes indeed, it is the biggest night perhaps in the history of the IIWF, it's Ring Wars III, and it's live from the Skydome in Toronto! SR: In fact, later tonight, Dan "Flash in the Pan" Kauffman will finally be making his exit from wrestling when he faces "Quickstrike" Chris Kick-me in a resthold match. BL: You know why they call him Quickstrike don't you? TD: [curiously] Why? BL: I've been saying it ever since his arrival here, Dross. The ladies tell me he strikes quick -- about thirty or forty seconds worth -- between the sheets. Remarkable. [Ronnie Paris circles Mr. Damage in the ring. Damage stands there in wait, and the crowd begins to stir with anticipation. Paris, looking determined, locks up with the larger Mr. Damage. Mr. Damage is able to stave off the attack and force Paris back into a neutral corner. The ref calls for a break, but instead, Mr. Damage slaps Paris across the face. Big heel pop!] SR: And Mr. Damage taking the initiative from the beginning, Dross! TD: He took a cheap shot. Hardly the initiative. [Ronnie puts his hand up to his mouth, and then shakes his head in disgust. Paris tries to lock up again, but Mr. Damage sidesteps and goes behind, hooking a waistlock. Paris swings an elbow back at Damage, but he ducks under and counters with a big clothesline, flooring Paris. Paris gets back to his feet, but is taken down by a quick arm drag. Damage shuffles his feet, waiting for Paris to get up.] BL: Look at poor defenseless Ronnie in there with Mr. Damage. The Mister's so tough, so strong... TD: Is there any IIWF badboy that you don't find attractive, LaRue? BL: Well, let me get a look at Acorn... [Mr. Damage walks over to his corner, and takes a swing at Luke Steele. Steele jumps to the floor, narrowly escaping the shot from Mr. Damage, his own teammate. Otto scolds Mr. Damage, shaking his fist at him, and eventually gets Mr. Damage to agree to get along... at least for the time being. In the meantime, Ronnie Paris rolls Mr. Damage up - 1 - 2 - kickout!] SR: Close shave there for the favorites. BL: Did you see how Otto took care of that developing situation? What a great captain. TD: Did _anyone_ actually see the nearfall... or what? Otto this, Mr. Damage that... well, wake up, because Ronnie Paris is putting on a clinic. [Otto demands a tag, and Mr. Damage reluctantly obliges. On Otto's way into the ring, he looks at Mr. Damage and says, "Now behave out here!" The crowd begins to jeer Verhoeven, who points at Tony Starks. Paris takes a step back, and points at Starks too, questioningly. The crowd responds with a huge round of applause!] TD: This crowd _wants_ to see Tony Starks back in action! SR: I don't. Loser! [Tony begins to motion for more crowd noise, and the crowd responds. Paris tags to Starks, and the capacity crowd rises to its feet in support!] TD: That's ninety thousand plus on hand tonight, and they're all getting a big treat as Tony Starks has made his return! [The crowd begins to chant "To - ny! To - ny! To - ny!", and Acorn and Paris help to lead the cheers. Otto steps back, redetermined to get the first advantage. Tony shoots in and takes Otto off his feet with a single leg takedown! Pop!] SR: Otto will definitely take over here soon, Dross. Don't worry. TD: I will worry if Otto does take control. [Starks locks up with Otto, and gets a go-behind. Starks tries for a belly-to-back suplex, but Otto holds onto the ropes. Starks falls backwards, and rolls over his back. Otto charges him, and Tony counters with a drop toe hold. Pop again. Tony slides up and applies a modified facelock on Otto. Suddenly, the crowd begins to stir again.] BL: Geez. Must the crowd scream at every move Tony executes with at least minimal success? TD: Hang on... look at this. [The Cell, followed by Oak and two cloaked figures, makes his way to the ringside area. The crowd and wrestlers begin to look around, confused, even Otto makes a strange face as Tony cranks back on the facelock.] SR: What's the Cell's crackpot religious sect doing here? TD: I don't know, Steve. About a month or two ago, the Cell hooked up with Oak, and these hooded men came with him. They really haven't specified just _what_ they're after in the IIWF right now. [The referee leaves the action to question the sect's intentions. Oak hands him a piece of paper, and the referee nods his head. He walks to the ring ropes, and says something to Sparkplug Lee:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, I've just been informed that the fourth member of Ronnie Paris's team is the Cell! [Tony Starks releases the hold on Otto. Otto steps back from Tony, who turns his back to the action. Otto, however, opts not to cheap shot, instead to complain to the referee. Mr. Damage, the Hangman, and Otto insist that the Cell not be allowed into the match, but the ref refuses to give up. He calls for the two men to lock up. Paris and Acorn are chatting about this new "recruit", and Starks seems to wonder a bit also.] TD: It doesn't appear that anyone is really taking to the Cell very well. SR: The Hangman and the Cell have some history, though, Dross. BL: The Hangman put his sorry butt out of the IIWF a while back, this past summer as a matter of fact. [Starks talks over the situation with his teammates, and has his back completely turned to Verhoeven, who quickly drives a forearm into the lower back of Starks. Starks screams in pain, and slumps to the floor. Otto begins to stomp away at the lower back of the injured Starks, and the crowd jeers profusely.] TD: Otto targeting the lower back of Tony Starks, the area injured in the plane crash last summer. SR: Good strategy. TD: I think it's cheap. BL: I have to side with Soundbite on that one. Dross, you're too much of a wuss. Gotta attack the back, Jack. [Starks gets bodyslammed by Otto, who holds him down and tags out to the Hangman. The Hangman comes in and drops an elbow onto the back of the Staten Island native. He covers - 1 - 2 - kickout. Starks gets dragged back to his feet, and the Hangman swings him to the ropes. Starks hits the rope, reaches and tags someone's hand, and gets hit with a big lariat from the Hangman. The Hangman covers, but there is no count. The Hangman stands up to protest, but is met by the man who received Starks's tag -- the Cell -- who quickly floors the Hangman with a clothesline. Pop!] TD: Great teamwork between Tony Starks and his other three team members. That kind of continuity will be key to winning the match. SR: Keeping track on my sheet here, Luke Steele is yet to enter the ring for Team Verhoeven, and Randy Acorn is yet to enter for the Parisian Punks. BL: Ha! [The Cell is quick to follow up, driving his forearm into the face of the Hangman. The Hangman fires back with a right cross, dropping the Cell. The Cell hops back up and begins to choke the Hangman, and soon a donnybrook ensues. Otto storms the ring, attacking the Cell, but Acorn and Paris are quick to aid him. Starks stays back, still holding his back, and Luke Steele sneaks around the end. He attacks Paris from behind, clipping him at the knee. The Hangman clotheslines the Cell over the top rope and follows him out to the floor.] TD: It's breaking down in there... I think we have trouble! SR: It's great! BL: Get 'em, get 'em! TD: If you two had half the zeal for the sport of wrestling that you did for chicanery and cheap shots... SR: Oh, chicanery _and_ cheap shots, huh? I love redundancy. I love redundancy. I love redundancy. BL: I hate it! I hate it! I hate it! [laughs] [As Steve and Becky high five and Dross bangs his head into the table, the Cell reenters the fray after slamming the Hangman to the steel rail. Otto targets Tony Starks, and the referee clears the rest of the ring. The Hangman slides back in at the feet of the Cell and nails him with a fist to the groin. The referee spins around only to see the Cell doubled over in pain. He questions the Hangman, who ignores the interrogation and executes a quick powerbomb. He covers - 1 - 2 - Paris tries to get through the ropes but is tripped by Luke Steele from behind - 3! Ding! Ding!] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the Cell has been eliminated from the match! The team of Ronnie Paris, Randy Acorn, and Tony Starks must continue, four on three! SR: Put him out of action last summer, put him out of action tonight. Way to go Hangman! [Randy Acorn charges the ring and attacks the Hangman, who is able to control the undersized Badboy. The Hangman drives his elbow into the back of Acorn numerous times, and swings him to the ropes. Acorn ducks under a clothesline and tries a crucifix, but gets caught. The Hangman drops him down into a fallaway slam. In the meanwhile, the Cell leaves the ring, dejected. His sect reassures him, and escorts him out. Acorn gets back to his feet but is quickly taken back down by a clothesline. The Hangman covers - 1 - 2 - kickout.] TD: The Hangman is like butter 'cause he's on a roll... SR: Hey, the Dross-man with a cheesy tagline. TD: I've been watching Sportscenter lately! [The Hangman drags Randy Acorn to his feet and lifts him high for a vertical suplex. However, he loses his balance, and Acorn shifts into a body press - 1 - Acorn hooks the tights - 2 - Otto is busy mediating talks between Steele and Mr. Damage, and looks up just in time to see the - kickout. Acorn scoots across the ring and tags to Tony Starks. Big pop!] SR: A second time for this loser! TD: But the crowd wants to see him in an Ironman... listen to them! [As Paris tells Acorn what a good job he did, Starks locks up with the Hangman and tries for a takedown. The Hangman counters, however, with a suplex. Starks holds his back and writhes around, but is able to get back to his feet. The Hangman fells him again with a side backbreaker. Otto barks instructions from the outside.] SR: Targeting Starks's back... a great strategy once again! TD: Yep, he's doing all that he can to get Tony out of there. BL: If Starks goes out, Paris's team will be screwed -- down four to two, with only Acorn left to save the team. TD: Acorn has struggled as of late, though. Since losing the IIWF Cruiserweight title a while back, he's really had a tough road. [The Hangman stands over Starks, but Otto calls him over, demanding the tag.] SR: He wants Starks! BL: That's good, because no woman would ever want him. [The Hangman doesn't seemed pleased with the bossy approach though, and refuses to tag to Otto. Otto shoves him, and the Hangman shoves back. In the meantime, Starks is quick to attack by snapping up the Hangman and executing an over the top backside suplex. Starks tags to Paris, who slingshots over the top rope with a big splash! He hooks the leg - 1 - Otto laughs at the Hangman - 2 - Steele tries to make a save, but Otto won't let him - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, Ronnie Paris has pinned and eliminated The Hangman. The matchup will continue, three on three! [Luke Steele charges after Paris and hits him with a flying dropkick. Paris hits the floor, but alertly tags to Randy Acorn, who enters the ring and dropkicks Steele himself. Steele reels backward, and Acorn takes him down with a crossbody block. 1 - 2 - kickout. Acorn takes a rebounding Steele right back down with a clothesline. Steele quickly crawls back across the ring and tags to Otto, who steps into the ring and then tags to Mr. Damage.] SR: Luke's first chance in the ring all match and he gets routed right back to the apron! What a loser! BL: Luke Steele stood on the ring apron for the entire match, got in, and then, like Marty Warnett at a one night stand, blew it in forty-five seconds. TD: BECKY! SR: Look at Otto. He's resting up on the apron, focusing on Starks. He didn't even accept that tag from Steele. He just tagged right back out. [Mr. Damage enters the ring and levels Acorn with a left hook. The Badboy staggers backwards into the corner, where Mr. Damage is quick to trap him. He rocks Acorn with three European Uppercuts, and Acorn slumps forward to the mat. Mr. Damage puts Acorn in a surfboard. Starks storms the ring, which forces Mr. Damage to release the hold. Starks quickly leaves the ring.] TD: Smart move by Starks. He distracted the attention of Mr. Damage just enough to get his partner out of trouble. BL: Cheater. SR: No kidding. I hate it when people cheat! [Mr. Damage grabs Acorn and tries to swing him to the turnbuckle, but the Badboy reverses it. Damage flies into the buckle, where he is met by a fist from Ronnie Paris. Mr. Damage falls backwards, and Acorn is quick to execute a German suplex - 1 - 2 - kickout! Acorn executes a snap suplex on his opponent, and then motions to the crowd to a big heel pop. Acorn applies the Newark Knife, his Texas Cloverleaf submission hold. Mr. Damage screams in pain, and Luke Steele jumps down the floor.] SR: The Newark Knife! I don't know if I've ever seen anyone escape it! TD: His teammates aren't coming to the aid of Mr. Damage... it's just about all over! [Otto charges in from between the ropes, and is cut off by the official. With his back turned to the action, the referee cannot see Steele slide underneath the bottom rope and kicks Acorn across the back of the head. Acorn slumps to the mat, and Mr. Damage reaches up and tags to Otto. Otto mauls Acorn immediately, hurling Acorn into the corner. Acorn is able to tag to Ronnie Paris, who steps into the ring and attacks Otto with kicks and punches. Otto drops him quickly with a big left hand.] SR: Here's the prime-timer... Otto Verhoeven in the ring! BL: Former World Heavyweight Champion... one of two former champs in this match -- the other being Randy Acorn. TD: And Tony Starks was once in an IIWF Championship Match, back at Coronation Clash. BL: And he lost that match, Dross. SR: The winner -- the Outlaw J. W. Hardin. What a champ. What a wrestling god. TD: Let's not forget the _other_ participant in that match, one Daniel Kauffman. BL: Oh, was it random-draw-for-title-shot night at Coronation Clash? I mean, Starks and Kauffman in the same match... [Otto picks up Paris by the hair and delivers a body slam. With Ronnie flat on his back, Otto bounces to the ropes and tags Luke Steele. On the rebound, Otto drops a leg on Ronnie, which crashes down upon his chest. Steele covers - 1 - 2 - kickout. Luke is quick to apply an arm bar on Paris. On the apron, Mr. Damage and Otto discuss strategy while Nurse Heidi taunts Ronnie Paris.] TD: Long time this match has gone on, and we've still got six men left. [Paris gets back to his feet, and swings Steele to the ropes. Paris takes off for the other side, leaps, and applies a quick sleeperhold onto Luke. Steele is quick, however, to drop into a jawbreaker, stunning Paris. Steele sprints to the ropes, and comes off with a flying tomahawk chop to Ronnie's facial area. It drops him flat on his back.] SR: He calls that move the TKO. TD: Well, he always has been a _technical_ type of wrestler. SR: Huh? BL: TKO stands for Technical Knockout, moron. SR: I knew that! BL: Whatever. Now pay attention, Ronnie P's about to be whacked out. [Steele delivers a piledriver on Paris, planting him in the center of the ring. Steele quickly goes to the outside. Cameras flash as he points to the crowd...] TD: Here it comes... one of the most spectacular moves in wrestling... [Steele delivers his "Real Steele Press".] TD: A shooting star press!! [The referee slides into position - 1 - Tony Starks tries to leap into the ring, but is tripped up from behind by Nurse Heidi - 2 - Randy Acorn doesn't care - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: He got him! BL: Nurse Heidi did an excellent job at stopping Tony Starks's blatant attempt at illegally obstructing the match. TD: That's not legal to grab a wrestler's leg! SR: Neither is a pin save, Dross. Fight fire with fire! RA: Ladies and gentlemen, Ronnie Paris has been pinned by Luke Steele. Paris is eliminated from the match, and his team must continue, outmanned three to two! [Steele picks Paris off the mat and pitches him over the top rope to the floor. Randy Acorn enters the fray. Acorn attacks Steele from behind, nailing him with a kick to the back of the leg. Paris picks himself up off the floor and hops up to the ring apron to wish Starks good luck. Acorn chokes Steele across the bottom rope, and Paris quickly comes over to slap Luke in the face. The referee warns Paris to not interfere in the match, and Ronnie obliges. Acorn pulls hard on the rope, snapping Steele back to the mat. He covers - 1 - 2 - kickout.] SR: Now why on earth does Paris get to stick around? BL: Yeah, he's gone. Loser! TD: As the team captain, he apparently gets to stay on the outside for moral support. SR: Get Pally Tinjoi out here... this needs to be overturned! TD: It's Poutine Janois. SR: He can come too if he'll make a decision in Otto's favor. TD: In any case, Janois is still convalescing at his home after that brutal attack by Steve Kowalski several weeks ago. He's expected to report back for duty in a couple of weeks. SR: Sorry, Dross, did you say something? [Acorn picks Steele up and swings him to the turnbuckle. Acorn follows him in, and ducks a shoulder. Steele, however, leaps and performs a sunset flip - 1 - 2 - kickout. Steele is up first, and takes Acorn down with an arm drag. He cinches up, nodding his head in self-affirmation.] TD: Acorn had something going, but this Steele is on fire right now. SR: See this arm bar? You'll see about four hundred of these tonight in the Kauffman match. It's going to be so boring. BL: I'll bring a pillow. [Steele tries to hold on to the arm, but Acorn gets to his knees. He rolls through, and takes Steele down with a headlock. Acorn inches toward the rope and tags to Tony Starks, who comes in to a big pop. Starks drops an elbow to the back of Steele, and gets on his back, locking on an STF. Acorn releases the headlock and goes back to the apron. Steele screams in pain!] TD: Good teamwork between Acorn and Starks. I'm surprised, but this is what they'll have to do to win the match, currently being outnumbered. SR: These two guys are professionals; they'll be able to put their differences in philosophy aside to win the match. [Steele seems as if he's about to give up, so Otto hops into the ring and attempts an elbow drop. Starks, however, rolls out of the way, and the elbow crashes down on to Steele's back! Starks gets up and assails Otto, driving him back into the corner. Acorn hops in and hits Steele with a lariat, taking him down. Acorn chokes Steele, while Starks works over Otto in the corner. Acorn begins to lock Steele into the Newark Knife, but Mr. Damage comes in and saves him by clipping out Acorn's knee! Steele gets back up and gives Mr. Damage a high five! Big heel pop!] TD: I don't believe it... apparently the hatchet has been buried! SR: No! Get the hatchet back out... it's a great weapon! [With Acorn holding his knee, Steele and Mr. Damage jump Starks from behind. Tony is quickly taken to the mat, and Otto leaves the ring. Damage and Luke swing Starks into the ropes, and deliver a double back body drop. The referee finally gets Mr. Damage out of the ring, and Steele tags to Otto, who obviously wants the former Championship Tournament finalist. Otto picks Starks up and delivers a tremendous backbreaker! Huge heel pop!] TD: Going back to the back... I have never seen such animosity between two guys who've never met before! Otto's really going after Tony Starks! [Otto drives his knee into the back of Starks, who screams in pain. Otto rolls him over and covers - 1 - Acorn lunges - 2 - Acorn makes the save. Mr. Damage and Steele hit the ring, attacking Acorn. Otto scoops up Starks and delivers yet another backbreaker. Acorn gets driven back into the corner, and Otto picks up Starks up for a side backbreaker. Mr. Damage and Steele hoist Acorn up for a double suplex, and Otto spins around. As Damage and Steele fall backwards with Acorn, Acorn crashes into Tony Starks's back. The impact sends Otto falling backwards, with Starks on top! The referee counts - 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: I don't believe it! SR: What a travesty! No! No! NO! RA: Otto Verhoeven has been pinned by Tony Starks! [HUGE pop!] Verhoeven is now eliminated, and the matchup continues, two on two! [Otto hops up and screams at Damage and Steele. The two claim it was an accident, but Otto doesn't seem sold. Acorn and Starks see their opportunity, and roll up both Mr. Damage and Luke. The ref counts - 1 - 2 - kickout by both men. Otto is quickly ejected by the referee. Otto walks off, screaming something in German, and Tony Starks tags out to Randy Acorn. Mr. Damage attacks Acorn, dropping him with a shoulder to the midsection. Mr. Damage covers - 1 - 2 - kickout. Damage snaps Acorn up and drops him with a side backbreaker. Tony tries to come into the ring to help, but Mr. Damage just thumbs him in the eye and ejects him from the ring. Mr. Damage quickly hops up to the top rope, and delivers his devastating legdrop. 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: Randy Acorn has been eliminated! TD: Nice move, I must admit. SR: Mr. Damage is a great wrestler, as is Acorn. It's too bad, but a blessing in disguise, because now we get to see that worthless Starks double teamed. [Mr. Damage hops onto the floor and slams his head into the guardrail. He tries for a second time, but Starks is able to get an elbow into his stomach and slam him into the rail. Pop! Starks reenters the ring, and gets attacked by Luke Steele. Starks takes Steele down with an arm drag, sending him out on to the floor. Starks stands alone in the ring! Pop!] TD: He's got a lot of fight in him, that Starks. To come back from injuries as severe as those he sustained in that plane cras is simply incredible. BL: He sucks. He took a long vacation, he should be rested. He's at an unfair advantage. [Mr. Damage gets into the ring and is taken down by Starks, who suplexes him. Starks covers - 1 - 2 - kickout. Steele gets back up to the apron. Mr. Damage scoots across the ring and tags to Luke, who enters by slingshotting over the top rope. However, he is tripped from behind by Ronnie Paris on his way over, and Starks slams his head into the mat! Starks quickly executes a Dragon Suplex and covers - 1 - 2 - Damage lunges, but is late coming through the ropes - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: Ronnie Paris grabbed his ankle! That's not fair! RA: Luke Steele has been eliminated! Tony Starks and Mr. Damage must finish the match one on one! [Luke Steele leaps from the ring and goes after Ronnie Paris. Paris obliges him, and they brawl right up the aisle, to a huge pop! Mr. Damage and Starks lock up in the ring, and Starks gains an advantage with a single leg takedown. He lets Damage back up, but takes him back down with a drop toe hold. Paris, on the outside, slams Steele's head into the barrier, and heads back toward the ring with him. Starks applies a kneelock submission hold on Mr. Damage, but Damage is able to reach the ropes. Damage gets up, but is swung to the buckle by Starks. Starks catches him with a backdrop on the rebound. Pop!] SR: Too much action! BL: This match really sucks, you know that? [As Paris and Steele brawl near the ring apron, Starks applies a double chickenwing! Pop! At the same time, Steele, fleeing Paris, hops up onto the ring apron. Paris jumps up next to him and swings, but Steele ducks, and Paris's fist hits Starks right in the back of the head! Paris can't believe what he sees, but is tossed off the apron by Steele! Big heel pop!] TD: Oh no! SR: Cheating didn't pay off for Ronnie! [Mr. Damage hops back up to the top rope, and launches himself with his Thunderstruck leg drop again. It lands to a big heel pop. He covers - 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: A shame. BL: Paris cost them the match... what a bum! RA: The sole survivor... representing the team of Otto Verhoeven, Luke Steele, The Hangman, and himself... is Mr. Damage! [Mr. Damage leaves the ring to a big heel pop, along with Luke Steele. Paris comes into the ring to see an obviously irritated Tony Starks. They exchange a few words, and Tony walks off without Ronnie. Ronnie sits alone in the ring, dejected. A few fans jeer him. Cut to the announcers' table.] TD: What a match to kick things off here tonight at Ring Wars III! Well, folks, the evening is drawing in, and it's time for the huge roof of the Skydome to be closed over this capacity crowd. [Cut to a shot from the overhead helicopter as the roof of the Skydome slowly rolls closed. The sky is almost dark now, and the lights of Toronto are spread out in a panorama behind the Skydome. The huge protrusion of the CN Highpoint Tower is marked out by the flashing aircraft warning lights at its pinnacle.] TD: And there's the tallest building in the world, which will be the scene of that brutal Street Fight match later tonight. Isn't that a magnificent sight, you two? SR: Not as magnificent as seeing Kowalski put the Sandman's head through the floor with a Skullpump, Dross. [Cut back to the announcers' table.] BL: And now the Dead Man Rising Match. TD: Yes, indeed. Four big men battling it out in an elimination free-for-all. Let's have some predictions. BL: I think that Serge Annis, tough as he is, will be ganged up upon and therefore not win the match. Requiem is way too much of a wimp -- I mean, have you seen those highlights in his hair?! Please! Same goes for Highwayman. I'm going with Deathbringer. SR: I have to go with the 'Bringer, too. He's rarely been defeated here in the IIWF, he's the only former champ in that ring, and he's so tough. TD: Well, two votes for Deathbringer... but I'm going to go with the dark horse candidate. BL: Figures. SR: Highwayman or Requiem, then, Dross? TD: Highwayman. Requiem is going to have too much on his mind with Serge Annis in there targeting him, and Deathbringer will brawl with Serge and Requiem also. We're set to go... let's get up to the ring! ### # # ### -------------------------------------------------------. # # # # # "DEAD MAN RISING" FOUR CORNERS MATCH: | ### # # # ### Deathbringer vs. Serge Annis vs. | # # ## ## # Requiem vs. Highwayman | # # # # ### -------------------------------------------------------' WRITER: NN [Sparkplug Lee climbs back into the ring once more.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this is a four corners "Dead Man Rising Match"! [The lights go out, and "The Reaper" by Grave Digger starts. A spotlight hits the head of the aisle.] Introducing, first, from the Dark Side... at 324 pounds... a former IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... here is the Dark Destroyer himself... this is... Deathbringer! [A huge mixed pop greets Deathbringer who walks through the curtain, fully clad in his cowl. His red piercing eyes can be seen through his mask, and he carries a scythe to the ring.] TD: There's the man who received two of our three votes to win this match. SR: Yep, and the only two that count at that! RA: Introducing next, from Leeds, England... at 285 pounds, the only man in the IIWF who claims to have been born in the 17th century, here is the Highwayman! [Highwayman enters through the curtain, to "Stand and Deliver". He wears grey leather trousers, knee high leather boots, and a white silk shirt. The crowd seems to be backing Highwayman well. He enters the ring, and looks at Deathbringer. Bringer stares at him for a while, and then nods in approval of the Highwayman. The Highwayman returns the pleasantry, and then both men take to a corner and look down the aisle.] RA: Introducing, third, from nearby Oakville, Canada [partisan pop from the crowd!]... at 6'8" and 293 pounds, here is the Epitome of Evil... Serge Annis! [Annis comes down to the ring, in his basic black pants. His music, "Some Days It's Dark" plays over the PA system. Annis takes his time, and enters the ring with caution. Annis scoffs at Deathbringer, and then steps into the center of the ring.] SR: Well, Annis will be one of the men starting off, and he'll be anxiously awaiting Requiem for the start of the match. RA: And the final combatant in this four corners match... [Big pop as "The Music of the Unknowingly Damned" starts up!] From parts unknown, at 306 pounds, Requiem! [Requiem enters the aisle, to a huge pop. He sprints down the aisle and is immediately attacked by Serge Annis. The referee calls for the bell.] SR: We're starting off quick here! [Annis pummels Requiem, but he will not back down. Requiem fires back with right hands and left jabs, which rock the shorter, lighter Annis. Annis stumbles backwards, but rebounds off the rope and nails Requiem with a right hand. Requiem stares at Annis angrily, and a wild brawl ensues. The two combatants begin rolling on the floor, pounding fists into each other's heads. Annis gains an advantage, gets his weight on top of Requiem, and begins to drive his fist into Requiem's head repeatedly. The referee tries to pull Annis off, but cannot disqualify.] TD: A wild pier six has broken out between Annis and Requiem, while Highwayman and Deathbringer conserve energy on the apron. SR: Good strategy. Why get involved? BL: I'm fascinated by the size of these characters. Look at this: 6'10", 6'10", 6'8", 6'4". It looks like the starting lineup of a Rick Majerus Utah basketball team, but ends up in a wild four way dance. TD: I like Rick Majerus. SR: Yeah, did you know that he once ate his weight in backribs at Smokey's? [Annis gets to his feet and snaps Requiem up by the hair. He winds him up and performs a short arm clothesline. He covers - 1 - Highwayman drops a fist into the back of Annis. Annis turns and chases Highwayman into the corner, and begins pounding on him. Deathbringer then senses his chance, and he enters the ring, jumping Annis from behind. Requiem stands in the far corner, watching the brawl. Annis spins around to be dropped a Deathbringer punch, and the Highwayman leaves the ring. The referee finally forces the Destroyer out of the ring, and Annis reaches up and tags Highwayman, via a slap in the mouth.] TD: Annis was certainly driven out of the ring in a hurry. SR: He's just saving energy, Dross. [Highwayman enters the ring, and Requiem offers him his hand. Highwayman shakes it immediately, and the two men circle each other. They lock up, and Requiem gets a go behind. Highwayman reverses it with a standing switch, and runs Requiem into the ropes. He tries for a roll up, but Requiem holds on. He tries to come back with a clothesline, but Highwayman ducks, and executes a crucifix. Requiem falls back - 1 - 2 - kickout. Requiem nods in appreciation of a good move, and then points at Deathbringer. Highwayman talks to Requiem for awhile, and when Requiem nods, tags out to Deathbringer, who enters the ring to a huge pop.] TD: These two guys, I have a hard time figuring them out. SR: I can't tell whether or not they're friends or not, Dross-man. [Deathbringer slowly takes a step forward, as does Requiem. The two men meet nose to nose, and stare each other down. Neither man makes a move for about thirty seconds. The crowd is dead silent in anticipation.] BL: Who will make the first move? [Deathbringer shoves Requiem. Requiem fires back with a right hand, which incenses Deathbringer. The Angel of Death attacks, kneeing Requiem in the stomach, and then felling him with a running clothesline. Deathbringer picks Requiem back up, and swings him to the ropes. Requiem walks right into an inverted atomic drop, which stuns him. Deathbringer takes him down with a scoop slam, and then tags to Serge Annis. Annis exchanges a few words with Deathbringer, who ignores him. As Annis taps Deathbringer on the shoulder, Requiem quickly catches him from behind with a roll up - 1 - 2 - 3! Deathbringer laughs right in the face of Serge! Big pop!] RA: Serge Annis has been eliminated! [Annis swings at Deathbringer, but misses. 'Bringer storms the ring, attacking Annis. Annis fires back, but is quickly overwhelmed by the collective efforts of Highwayman and Requiem from behind. Deathbringer grabs Annis by the tights and hurls him over the top rope! Big pop as the three remaining men stand in the ring taunting Serge!] BL: I don't believe Annis was so quickly ejected! How embarrassing! TD: Annis has had a tough week, and he didn't come into this match at full strength. He was jumped by a trio of chain-wielding goons just this past Tuesday, and it's a credit to him that he pushed himself to wrestle here, in front of his home country crowd. [Annis points up at Deathbringer and yells something which the microphones don't pick up before heading back up the aisle.] SR: Those three are celebrating, but I don't think they realize they're fighting each other in there now! [Deathbringer attacks Requiem, taking him to the mat. Highwayman leaves the ring, and stands on the apron. 'Bringer reaches down for a chokehold, but Requiem rolls out of the way and counters with a roll up - 1 - 2 - kickout. Requiem gets to his feet first and scoops Deathbringer up and body slams him. He covers - 1 - kickout. He tries to sling Deathbringer to the turnbuckle, but the Dark Destroyer reverses and sends him in. As Requiem falls backwards, Deathbringer ducks and lifts him up on his shoulders! 'Bringer walks near the ropes, as if to plant him on the outside, but Highwayman reaches up and pushes Requiem forward to save him. Requiem uses this to perform a victory roll - 1 - 2 - kickout. Requiem tags out to Highwayman.] SR: What a coward! BL: I wouldn't want to slug it out with Deathbringer, either. And, why not let Highwayman get his butt kicked? TD: In an elimination style match, this is certainly a good strategy. Stand on the apron and allow the others to wear themselves out. Now, in a one fall triangle match, this would be a different story. SR: I would think that Deathbringer is going to have to go the full distance now, as I don't forsee Highwayman and Requiem in the ring against each other. [Highwayman punches Deathbringer. The Angel of Death staggers backwards, and is taken off his feet by a clothesline. Cover - 1 - kickout. The Highwayman tries to apply an abdominal stretch, but Deathbringer escapes, and executes a side salto backbreaker. He covers - 1 - 2 - kickout. Deathbringer applies a headlock.] TD: Look at the technique! [Highwayman is able to get his hands underneath his head and reverses the hold into a top wristlock. Deathbringer bridges up, and gets back to his feet. Highwayman punches him several times, and then takes him down with a clothesline - 1 - 2 - kickout. Highwayman applies a grapevine, and tags out to Requiem. Requiem enters and drops an elbow on the inside of Deathbringer's leg, legally. Deathbringer holds his inner thigh in pain, and Requiem misses with an elbow drop. Deathbringer hops back up to his feet, as does Requiem. Both men freeze. This time Requiem attacks first, flooring Deathbringer. Pop!] TD: I can't figure this deal out. It looks as if there is definitely some respect, but also some animosity between the two as well. SR: It's pretty cool. [Deathbringer gets back up, and is able to force Requiem into the corner. He works him over with forearm shots, and then executes a suplex. He covers - 1 - 2 - kickout. Deathbringer, relentless in his attack, swings Requiem into the ropes. He ducks his head for a back body drop, but Requiem counters with a Leaping DDT! Big pop! Requiem tags to Highwayman. Deathbringer barely gets back to his feet, and Highwayman executes a gutwrench suplex. He covers - 1 - 2 - kickout! The Reaper gets back to his feet, but is quickly subdued in a bearhug.] SR: Deathbringer, the odds-on favorite, is in big trouble here. TD: Well, we've got the man who supposedly was resurrected from the dead, and the man who wants to send him back, no doubt. BL: I think that's why we call it the "Dead Man Rising" match. [Deathbringer gasps for air, but is able to lift one arm and punch Highwayman. However, he will not let go, reapplying pressure on the midsection. This time, Deathbringer is able to pound his way out of the hold. He heads for the ropes, but is taken down by a knee to the midsection from the Highwayman! The Highwayman snaps Deathbringer's head back via his mask, which sends him falling to the mat. He covers - 1 - 2 - kickout!] TD: Deathbringer has been in the ring since shortly after the elimination of Serge Annis, and yet he still cannot be eliminated! SR: Highwayman and Requiem are hitting him with all they've got, but they just don't have enough! BL: I picked the Reaper, and I'm going to be right. [The Highwayman slaps the mat, but gets encouragement from Requiem on the outside. Deathbringer gets back up, and is whipped to the ropes by Highwayman. The Highwayman shifts to the side and delivers a powerslam! He stays on top - 1 - 2 - kickout! Big pop for Deathbringer's resilience! Highwayman goes up to the top rope. The crowd begins to stir.] BL: This is unusual. I don't think I've ever seen this guy perform a high risk manoeuvre. SR: He needs to try something different. [Cameras flash as the Highwayman launches himself across the ring at a staggered Deathbringer. He hits a cross body, but has too much momentum. Deathbringer rolls on top - 1 - 2 - 3! Highwayman kicks out, but just one moment too late! Ding! Ding! Ding! Big pop for Deathbringer!] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, Deathbringer has eliminated the Highwayman! The match continues, Deathbringer vs. Requiem! TD: Nice move by the Reaper there. SR: He did what he had to do, and now my picked favorite is in the finals. BL: How are you doing in the NCAA pool, by the way, Steve? SR: I picked Cincinnati to win it all. TD: They lost in the second round, Steve. SR: Shut up. BL: To a bunch of farm boys from smalltown Iowa. SR: I said, Shut up! [Deathbringer, exhausted, stands on all fours to catch his breath. Highwayman, disappointed, pats Deathbringer on the back, who nods in appreciation. Requiem shakes hands with Highwayman on the way out, both men showing great respect for each other.] TD: How sportsmanlike. It's shakes around for these three. BL: Big, big mistake. Requiem should forget that loser in the ring and start kicking Deathbringer's tired out butt while he can. [Requiem finally gets over to Deathbringer, and kicks him in the knee area. 'Bringer winces in pain, and is attacked in the side by the knee of Requiem. Deathbringer gets back to his feet, but is hit by a tilt-a-whirl suplex! 'Bringer, flat in the center of the ring, is covered - 1 - 2 - kickout. Requiem drops a leg across the Destroyer's chest, and steps through the ropes to the outside. He slingshots himself over the top, with a big splash! 1 - 2 - kickout again! Disappointed pop!] TD: He just won't die. SR: If you don't have anything intelligent to say, Dross, don't say anything at all. [Requiem snaps Deathbringer up. The Reaper gets taken down by a flying shoulderblock from a running Requiem. Cover - 1 - 2 - kickout! Requiem drops an elbow, but Deathbringer finally escapes, rolling to the side. Requiem crashes to the mat, and holds his elbow in pain. He hops back up, but is assailed by Deathbringer. He forces him back into the corner, and suplexes him out of it. 'Bringer snatches Requiem up and flips him upside down.] SR: There it is. The tombstone coming up here. BL: Requiem did all that he could, but it's all coming undone right here. Too bad, he's kinda cute with those beautiful blue eyes. If only it wasn't for those highlights. TD: Please, Becky. Let's keep the hormones to a minimum. BL: You're just jealous that I don't think your toupee-wearin', pun-makin' hide is attractive, Timbo. [Deathbringer begins to stumble backwards, however, due to the exhaustion. Requiem is able to reverse Deathbringer's grip, and gets the tombstone of his own. Big pop!] TD: I cannot believe it this! Requiem just reversed Deathbringer's tombstone! SR: No! BL: It's over, just like I was saying. It's over. TD: Becky jumps ship... [Requiem, now energized by the fan support, drags Deathbringer to the near turnbuckle. He steps up to the second turnbuckle. The crowd jumps to its feet!] TD: This is the Final Lament... a lethal powerbomb! [Requiem grabs Deathbringer and pulls him up with him. He looks at the crowd, which pops. However, Deathbringer is able to drive a fist into the stomach of Requiem, and just as quickly as he got up there, he comes down with the Burial! The crowd pops in astonishment!] SR: I knew that the Dark Destroyer would be the bad guy tonight! TD: A huge reversal by Deathbringer, but listen to this crowd... rooting, really, for both men! [Deathbringer crawls over to Requiem and covers - 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: Here is your winner... Deathbringer! [The lights go out again. As "Grave Digger" starts, Deathbringer picks Requiem off the mat. The crowd waits to see whether or not he will cheap shot him -- or shake his hand. Instead, Deathbringer does neither, just walks off, hands raised in victory.] TD: A huge victory for Deathbringer here tonight, but Requiem so nearly took it all! This may be the first time we've seen these two men in the ring together, but something tells me it won't be the last. There's some kind of attraction, some kind of polarity represented by these two men. SR: What the hell are you gibbering about, Dross?! TD: Both men claim to have the power to take the souls of their opponents. Deathbringer takes them to the dark side, and Requiem says that he takes them to the light, wherever that might be. SR: As long as they carry on breaking bones, I don't care. [Requiem stands in the ring, watching Deathbringer leave, and then leaves the squared circle himself to a big pop from the Canadian crowd. He heads up the walkway. Cut back to the announcers' table.] TD: Okay, in just a few moments we're going to see the first ever IIWF United States Tag Team Champions crowned right here, but before that, the director is telling me that there is a late-breaking situation in the locker room. Let's go over to Larry Morton. [Cut to Larry Morton standing in the locker room with IIWF President Daniel Spreadbury.] LM: Mr. President... before the rumor-mongers begin, can you tell us what is happening in the locker room right now? DS: It is an unfortunate situation, Larry. We received an annonymous tip from one of the IIWF wrestlers that another wrestler in this federation had used this trip to Canada as an excuse to try and smuggle controlled medications across the border. While our tipster has a less than reliable reputation, we were forced to take the allegations seriously. I am pleased to say that after a complete strip search the tip was completely false. We apologize to the wrestler involved and promise harsh discipline against the wrestler who made the accusation. LM: Can you tell us the names of either wrestler? DS: No, Larry. I think it best we put this behind us and return to the excitement of Ring Wars. LM: I'll try to keep you up to date, guys. For now, back to you. [Cut back to the broadcast table.] TD: Drug smuggling is a serious international offense. I'm glad to hear that our clean reputation is intact. BL: Oooh, a strip search. I wonder who it was? Brody Thunder, I hope. TD: Wait a moment... I hear that Larry has found a source... [Cut back to Larry a little distance down the hallway. A dark figure can be seen hiding in the shadows.] LM: I have with me a man who says he knows who gave the tip and who was searched. FIGURE: Yeah, I can tell you. It was Spur... he told the President. And the guy they searched... LM: Yes...? FIGURE: It was Joe Petrow. [Larry is shocked.] FIGURE: Oh, and Larry... it was a body cavity search. LM: [wincing] Um... back to you, Tim. [Tim and Steve sit uncomfortably in their seats. Becky is laughing so hard that she can't catch her breath.] TD: I can't quite believe what we've just heard, people. We sincerely apologise for any disturbance this segment has caused any of our viewers. I think it's best if we move swiftly on to our next match, to see the IIWF United States Tag Team Champions crowned. Who will it be -- the undefeated Prophets of Rage, or one half of Team Brutality, Night Patrol? BL: And I'm tipping the Night Patrol to go all the way. SR: Nice to see you being impartial for once, Becky. Not after a new car, are you? BL: Hey! I know Brenda, and she'll have been planning this for weeks. There's no way that little petite French princess can out-think her. And Derek and Shadoe are muscle-brained idiots, just like that half-woman Medusa. SR: Wow. Touchy. TD: Funny to her you say that about the Rage Brothers, Becky. I thought that was the way you liked your men. Let's go to ringside for the introductions. ### # # ### -------------------------------------------------------. # # # # # IIWF UNITED STATES TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP | ### # # # ### TOURNAMENT FINAL: | # # ## ## # Prophets of Rage vs. Night Patrol | # # # # ### -------------------------------------------------------' WRITER: MP [Sparkplug Lee bows to the crowd and beams with pride as he adjusts his bow-tie, nodding to acknowledge the "Sparkplug Rules" chants from the crowd...] RA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a thirty minute time limit, and is for the IIWF United States Tag Team Championship! [big pop!] Introducing first, weighing in at a combined weight of 573lbs, and hailing from Halifax, Nova Scotia, accompanied to ringside by the beautiful Pizzazz, here are Shadoe Rage... Derek Rage... The Prophhheeeeets of Raaaaaaage! [Big heel pop as the "Death March" starts up over the PA system, and Pizzazz enters the aisle first, quickly followed by the huge frame of Derek Rage, and lastly by Shadoe.] TD: The Prophets have made their way to the final in devastating fashion, first the Armed Forces, then the Zodiac Connection, and then that brutal semi-final with the Harlequins... SR: Brutal. Yup. Take it from me, Dross, these two are going to town in this one... TD: Steve Roberts, the greatest fan of the Age of Rage? BL: I wonder if it's not too late to enforce those unpaid parking tickets? SR: ...but of course, as I was saying, the Night Patrol have the ability to take it to anyone on the night, and Brenda will make sure they're in the right frame of mind. Wonderful people, all of them. TD: Just how low can a man go? BL: Hehehe.... snort! [The Rages hit the ring, each taking to the turnbuckles and holding their arms in the air to a huge heel pop. Pizzazz steps up onto the apron to confer with Derek...] SR: No Medusa either. Damn. TD: She may be concentrating on Unique Allah, Steve. He's got an incredibly dangerous match with Joe Petrow coming up later. BL: Yeah. Maybe she's giving him some "personal" advice on how to "deal" with Petrow... TD: Becky, please... [The Death March fades out, and Sparkplug Lee steps into the centre of the ring again, carefully trying to avoid the psyched up Rages...] RA: And their opponents... weighing in at a combined weight of 530lbs, and hailing from Houston, Texas, accompanied to the ring by Assistant District Attorney Brenda Hawkings, here are Lieutenant David Keene and Sergeant Jack Blazer..... the Niiigggggggght Paaaaatrooooooooool! [Big heel pop as the revamped version of the "Dragnet" TV theme plays over the PA system, and Keene and Blazer enter the aisle, behind the sharp-suited Brenda Hawkings...] BL: Yay! Go sister! [The Night Patrol make their way to ringside, slapping away the fans' hands and holding their nightsticks in the air... as they reach ringside, the Rages quickly home in on the referee, protesting loudly...] TD: It looks like the Rages aren't too happy about something here... BL: Probably scared out of their wits. SR: Yeah, right. [The Night Patrol stand by ringside, hands on hips as the Rages' tirade continues. The referee hesitates, and then nods his head, calling the Night Patrol over... Keene and Blazer listen to him, then almost explode in anger! Keene has to practically hold Blazer back! Big pop!] RA: The referee has ruled that the foreign objects carried by the Night Patrol must be left at the ring announcers' table for the duration of the match! SR: Hah! Get out of that one, Becky... BL: What?! He can't do that! TD: I'm afraid he can, Becky. After all, having a nightstick on standby is hardly fair. BL: It's a disgrace! He's practically accusing the Night Patrol of cheating! [The Night Patrol continue to fume in anger outside the ring, but Hawkings quickly composes them, and takes the nightsticks and briefcase herself, depositing them on the ring announcers table. The Night Patrol finally get into the ring, Keene still shaking his head... Hawkings gives them some last minute advice in the corner as the bell rings...] TD: It looks like we're finally ready to get things underway here. Who's going to start? It looks like Blazer for the Night Patrol, and Shadoe for the Prophets. BL: Blazer's going to crush him like a bug. Just you wait. [The two slowly start to circle in the ring, and Blazer moves in for the lock up, but Shadoe slips under his arm and hits the ropes running, coming back with a clothesline that staggers the big man! Blazer winds up to punch Shadoe, but he ducks under again, this time hitting him with a standing dropkick as he turns! Blazer staggers back towards the ropes, and Shadoe flies at him, hitting a clothesline that sends the bigger man over the top and to the outside! Blazer manages to keep hold of the ropes, and lands awkwardly on his feet, and slams his hands on the ring apron in frustration, walking around the ringside area, shaking his head.] TD: Shadoe using his speed to good effect there, frustrating the bigger man. BL: Not for long, trust me. [Hawkings calms Blazer down on the outside, and he rolls back in, offering a test of strength to Shadoe. Shadoe grins, and moves in, but slips under Blazer's grip again, this time catching him with a kick to the midsection, and then another hard dropkick as Blazer straightens up! Pop! Shadoe quickly moves onto Blazer with a headlock, pulling Blazer across to his corner and tagging in Derek...] SR: Here comes trouble... TD: Derek steps over the top rope with ease... Shadoe holds him open... Big axehandle to the ribs by Derek... now a double Irish whip into the ropes... double clothesline -- but Blazer ducks and tags out to Keene! And now we've got a four-way here! [Keene flies into the ring, nailing Derek with a flying dropkick that sends him staggering backwards, and Shadoe his him from behind with an axehandle as he rises, but he is caught himself by Blazer, who throws him over the top and to the outside! Big pop! Blazer and Keene quickly go to work on Derek in the corner, laying into him with a series of kicks before Irish whipping him into the opposite turnbuckles, and Keene whips Blazer in after him, hitting hard with a reverse elbowsmash! The referee tries to take control, forcing Blazer back to the outside as Shadoe gets back onto the ring apron...] TD: Now it's Keene on Derek, taking control with an armwringer... tag back out to Blazer, he climbs to the top... and comes crashing down with an axehandle! BL: But Derek's still standing! [Blazer doubles Derek up with a kick to the midsection, and he and Keene take him to the canvas with a double gut-wrench suplex. Blazer drops down on him with one, two, three elbowdrops, and then pulls him to his feet, tagging in Keene once again... Keene and Blazer whip Derek into the ropes, and nail him hard with a double elbowsmash, before showboating to the crowd. Derek stayed on his feet, however, and stumbled back to his corner to make the tag! Shadoe vaults onto the top rope and hits them both with a double clothesline as they turn around! Big pop! Blazer rolls out of the ring, and Shadoe catches Keene with a fast armdrag as he rises, pulling him up to his feet and backing him into the ropes...] TD: Irish whip by Shadoe... and a flying axehandle! Shadoe covers... One! Two! Thr... No! Kickout by Keene! Shadoe back up, pulling Keene with him... No! SR: Ack. Forget the proverbial elephant, that'll stop anything dead in its tracks... TD: Low blow by Keene, and he rolls Shadoe into a small package... One! Two! No! Kickout by Shadoe! And a clothesline takes Keene down as he tries to rise! BL: Come on, Brenda, get them together! [Shadoe pulls Keene up to his feet again, and backs him into the Rages' corner, before unleashing a series of rapid kicks into Keene's midsection. Derek leans back, arms in the air to show he's not cheating, and Shadoe tags him back in...] TD: This is a big mismatch right here. Derek is much bigger than Keene, and he'll be looking to dominate the smaller man now. SR: What's up Becky? You've turned white as a sheet. [Derek picks Keene up and hoists him into a high vertical suplex, sending him crashing down into centre ring. Keene sits up, clutching his back, and Derek drives his knee in, before pulling Keene up in a headlock and tagging out to Shadoe...] TD: Shadoe to the top rope -- and an axehandle to the small of the back! After a somewhat sloppy start, the Prophets of Rage have begun to take complete control here! BL: Dross, you can be really annoying at times, you know that? SR: What do you think I've been telling him for the past ten months? [Shadoe backs Keene into the ropes again, and Keene reverses the Irish whip attempt, Shadoe ducks the clothesline, and Keene catches him with a back brain kick! Both men go down, but Shadoe catches Keene's foot, holding him down as he makes the tag...] TD: In comes Derek... Big elbowdrop to the back! And Keene is in agony right now! [Derek lifts Keene's leg and tears the hamstring, before locking in a spinning toehold... Keene scrambles back to grab hold of the ropes! Derek kicks at Keene's knee, and then picks him to his feet and lifts him up in a military press... and Keene rakes his eyes! Heel pop! Derek drops him and staggers backwards, Keene goes to the ropes, and Derek steps back in, nailing him hard with a belly-to-belly suplex! The cover... - 1 - 2 - Blazer makes the save with a kick to the back of Derek's head! Derek glares across at Blazer as the referee forces him out, and uses the distraction to throw Keene back into the Rage's corner, where the two start to pound away on him! Big heel pop! Derek tags out to Shadoe as the referee turns, and Shadoe whips Keene into the ropes, before lashing out with a clothesline! Keene ducks, and Shadoe runs into the opposite ropes, and is caught by a kick to the kidneys from Blazer, and then by a swinging neckbreaker from Keene! Both men go down in the center of the ring, and Keene rolls over to make the tag!] BL: Yes! Go Blazer! Squash him like a flea! [Blazer nails Shadoe with an axehandle inches away from making the tag, and pulls him back to his feet, whipping him hard into the Night Patrol's corner, where he is met by an elbow from Keene! Shadoe staggers back out, and Blazer hoists him up in a high back suplex! Blazer covers... - 1 - 2 - kickout by Shadoe! Blazer measures Shadoe and connects with a flying elbowdrop... - 1 - 2 - kickout again! Blazer pulls Shadoe back to his feet, and makes the tag to Keene. Keene and Blazer whip Shadoe into the ropes, and elevate him with a high double backdrop, but Shadoe lands on his feet to a big crowd pop, tags Derek behind the Night Patrol's back as he rebounds of the opposite ropes and then nails the Night Patrol with a double cross body block! Big pop! Derek steps into the ring, and picks up Keene just as Blazer backdrops Shadoe over the top rope, and Derek hoists Keene up in a military press, throwing him at Blazer! Big crowd pop!] TD: Wow! Blazer caught Keene in midair, and dropped him down to his feet! And the two big men are squaring off! [Blazer shoves Derek back, and Derek responds with a shove of his own.. Blazer swings a punch, and Derek turns it into an armdrag, before dropping an elbow across Blazer's neck as he tries to get up. Derek pulls Blazer back to his feet and whips him into the ropes, catching him on the rebound in a devastating tilt-a-whirl piledriver! Huge pop! Derek covers... - 1 - 2 - kickout by Blazer! Derek starts to pull Blazer to his feet...] TD: Blazer with a football tackle takes Derek down, and a kick to Derek's gut! And a blatant choke by Blazer! The referee counts... break on the four count! BL: Ummm... hate to interrupt you in full flow, Timmy, but it looks like we've got company down here... SR: Who? Aw, hell, what do they want?! [The Harlequins Tragedy and Chaos start to walk down to ringside to a big crowd pop. In the ring, Blazer pulls Derek to his feet and makes the tag to Keene, who is caught by a blow to the stomach from Derek as he steps through the ropes. Keene responds with a facerake, then by choking Derek on the top rope... the referee counts again... - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - Keene breaks, and pulls the rope back, slinging Derek back into the center of the ring! Big pop! Keene quickly moves into a facelock on Derek on the canvas...] TD: The Harlequins have taken up position at ringside and are watching this match intently... this has got to be a distraction for the teams in the ring. [Derek pushes himself to his feet and Keene quickly drags him back into their corner, tagging in Blazer... Blazer climbs to the top rope and comes crashing down with an axehandle to the small of Derek's back, before locking on a chinlock. Keene exits the ring, yelling some insults across at the Harlequins as he does so... Derek starts to push himself up, and Blazer knocks him straight back down with another punishing axehandle blow, locking the chinlock in again. Shadoe stomps on the mat and holds his arm out, trying to rally Derek...] TD: Derek now, trying to push himself up again as the Harlequins watch on... he's up to his knees... [Shadoe stomps the mat harder, and Blazer slips the hold into a choke... Derek pushes himself to his feet, lifting Blazer up on his back and backing him hard into the Night Patrol's corner! Blazer tags out to Keene, as Derek staggers across to his corner and tags in Shadoe, before falling backwards, dropping Blazer to the canvas underneath him! Big pop! Shadoe vaults to the top rope and leaps off, hitting Blazer hard with the Angel of Death Drop! He covers...] BL: And Keene nails him with a bulldog! Hah! Are these guys stupid or what? TD: If Blazer had been the legal man, this match may have been over right there. BL: Not a chance. [Keene pulls Shadoe back up to his feet as Blazer exits the ring, and whips him into the ropes... Shadoe leapfrogs Keene's backdrop attempt, and comes back with a huge flying forearm shot.. the cover... - 1 - 2 - kickout! All of a sudden, there's a loud *SQUEAK*!] SR: Hold on, I know that noise... TD: The Rages' corner! Harlequin Comedy! And Melody! They've knocked Pizzazz out cold with that Happy Hammer! BL: Yay! Go, Harlequins! [Derek looks around angrily, spots the Harlequinettes and drops off the turnbuckle, pointing at them angrily... Comedy and Melody quickly back off, and Derek follows them in a fury, to be met by a kick to the midsection from Harlequin Chaos, then a jack-knife powerbomb through the Mexican commentators' desk! Huge pop! Inside the ring, the action has turned into a brawl as Shadoe fights off both Keene and Blazer, hitting Blazer with a dropkick that sends him outside! Huge pop! Chaos and Derek continue to go at it as Brenda Hawkings takes advantage of the chaos to run across to the ring announcers' table...] TD: This match is rapidly turning sour here, Steve. The referee needs to take some control. SR: What he needs to do is get those crazy geekoids away from ringside... [Hawkings reaches out for the suitcase, but finds herself caught in a tug of war with Medusa Rage, who springs out of the crowd... elsewhere on the outside, Derek smashes Harlequin Chaos to the floor with a steel chair, and runs around ringside to rescue Pizzazz, who is having a beard and moustache drawn on her by Comedy and Melody... the Harlequinettes scatter again as he flies at them... Keene nails Shadoe with a superkick in the ring... the cover... - 1 - 2 - kickout by Keene! Medusa Rage clocks Brenda with the suitcase, knocking her cold, and she heads for the ring, leaping up onto the ring apron and distracting the referee...] BL: Excuse me guys, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do... TD: Becky... what?! Come back here! Folks, Becky LaRue has left the announcers' table and is heading for ringside... this is chaos down here, there's too much happening to keep up... [Becky tears Medusa Rage down from the ring apron, just as the bearded Pizzazz flies off the opposite turnbuckles, catching Keene with the Headwrecker! Huge heel pop! Pizzazz rolls out of the ring and Shadoe makes the cover, but the referee is still being distracted by the Becky/Medusa brawl! Chaos jumps Derek from behind again, and Tragedy tosses Blazer his steel mask...] TD: This is a warzone down here, there's eight people brawling away... Blazer's rolling back into the ring! And he nails Shadoe with Tragedy's steel mask! Keene drapes his arm over Shadoe as the referee turns... One! Two! [Derek dives into the ring to try and make the save... - 3! The referee signals for the bell! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: The Night Patrol have won it, after one of the most chaotic tag team matches I've witnessed in a long, long time! SR: Just what was the referee doing?! The Night Patrol should have been disqualified half an hour ago! [Shadoe rolls out of the ring, holding Derek back as Keene and Blazer hold their arms in the air. Medusa and Pizzazz try to calm the furious brothers down...] RA: Here are your winners, and inaugural IIWF United States Tag Team Champions... The Niiiiiiggggghht Paaattrrrrrrrrol! [The referee hands Keene and Blazer the new titles, and they raise them high in the air to a huge heel pop... which increases tenfold as the Harlequins hit the ring, nailing the pair from behind!] SR: Aw, man here we go again! Don't these guys ever quit? TD: It looks like there's going to be another brawl here, folks... [The Harlequins quickly overrun the exhausted Night Patrol, before picking up the U.S. Tag Team titles and holding them in the air themselves. They drop them on the Night Patrol's bodies as the Prophets of Rage fly into the ring again, and start a slugfest with the Harlequins... ] SR: Heads up, here comes more of them... TD: Pain Inc., the other half of Team Brutality! [Pain Inc. storm down to ringside, rolling into the ring to join in the brawl, and the Harlequins quickly bail out. The Prophets follow them down the aisle, the two parties trading insults as they go. The Night Patrol are helped to their feet by Pain Inc., and are joined by Brenda Hawkings, who hands them the titles once again. Team Brutality raise their arms in the air, and leave the ring to a big heel pop as Becky rejoins the commentary team.] BL: Whew! That was fun. SR: I guess a Porsche can buy almost anything, hey Becks? How does it feel to be the deciding factor here? BL: Hey, the Prophets started it. I was just looking after Brenda. Besides, Medusa had it coming. TD: Well, Night Patrol are the first ever IIWF United States Tag Team Champions! Before we find out just who it is that the Dark Disciples will be defending their World Tag Team titles against, let's go to Larry Morton, who I understand is out here in the crowd somewhere with an important guest. [Cut to midway up the second tier of seating. Larry Morton is seated next to a gentleman in a suit. All around them, fans clamour to get in shot, waving signs and shouting at the camera.] LM: Guys, I'm here in the stands with all the IIWF fans who are really enjoying this tremendous event... [The fans ranged around Larry give an enthusiastic cheer.] LM: ...and right now I'm with ESWP President, David Lawson. Mr. Lawson, are you enjoying the card? DL: Very much, Larry, and I'd like to thank the IIWF for their hospitality. LM: We're glad to have you. Now, I understand you have something to say to the IIWF? DL: Yes I do Larry, in nine days, the ESWP will have a tournament to crown the first ESWP Junior Heavyweight Champion, and I would like to invite two of the IIWF's finest to compete in that tournament, namely IIWF Cruiserweight Champion "Enigma" Takezo Musashi... [Crowd pop!] DL: ...and former IIWF Cruiserweight and Intercontinental Champion "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare! [Huge crowd pop!] LM: Well, we'll have to see if they'll take you up on that David. Enjoy the rest of the show! DL: Thank you, Larry. LM: Back to you, Tim. [Cut back to the announcers' table.] TD: Thanks, Larry. Of course, while most of the IIWF's superstars will be having some time off next weekend in the aftermath of this goliath event, one Lord Byron will be carrying the banner of the IIWF in the first inter-federational match with ESWP as he faces their European Champion, the "Spartan" Troy Walters. And now it appears that ESWP is keen to recruit more IIWF talent for their events. I know the IIWF President is very excited by this trade agreement. SR: Yeah, yeah. Can we see the Disciples now? TD: Okay, folks, it's time for the first title defense of the evening, as the Syndicate's Dark Disciples defend their IIWF World Tag Team Championship against one of the teams who are, at this very moment, backstage drawing lots for the right to a title shot. As you fans may have heard during the Free for All portion of the event, Monster of Domination was injured after a mysterious attack earlier today, and was ruled unfit for the Tag Team Championship match tonight. SR: It's a shame, too, Dross... they put themselves out of the running for the U.S. belts just for this shot, and now it's slipped away. TD: Indeed. In any event, it has been decided by IIWF President Daniel Spreadbury that a blind draw will be held before this match to determine who will get the title shot against the World Champs, the Dark Disciples. BL: Yeah, right, look at the list of teams in the draw: Cold Spell, Rising Sun Revolution, Armed Forces, The Harlequins... The only teams on here that are even close to deserving are the High Plains Drifters and the Hangmen. TD: Among that group are three former championship teams, Becky. Any one of them has impressed recently enough to earn a shot. Let's go up to the ring and find out just which partnership will be getting their big chance here tonight! ### # # ### -------------------------------------------------------. # # # # # IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: | ### # # # ### | # # ## ## # Dark Disciples [c] vs. #1 contenders | # # # # ### -------------------------------------------------------' WRITER: JB [Sparkplug Lee takes the mic.] SL: Ladies and Gentlemen, due to an injury suffered by Monster, Domination will be unable to wrestle during tonight's Tag Team Title match! [disappointed pop]. Their replacement for this match is currently being selected by a blind draw, and will be announced prior to this match. SR: [over headset] What, the Disciples don't get to prepare for this match? This is a crock... SL: Introducing first... [Druidic Chants start, to a heel pop] Being led to the ring by their managers, Brian Lau and Don McQueen, from parts unknown... weighing in at a total combined weight of 615 pounds... The current IIWF World Tag Team Champions, Kane and Wulf, THE DARK DISCIPLES! [The lights drop and strange, arcane symbols spin on the walkway and over the crowd as the Disciples make their way out into the Skydome, the charred and defaced tag belts thrown roughly over their shoulders. The huge frames of Kane and Wulf betray their anger, and their demonic faces are all the more twisted into furious snarls. Brian Lau and Don McQueen follow behind. McQueen appears to be absolutely beside himself, and Lau attempts to calm him as the foursome make their way to a huge heel pop.] SR: Boy, Dross, those fellows don't look the least bit pleased about this! BL: Yeah, I'd be too, going into a match not knowing who I was taking on. SR: You don't even know the next morning... BL: That's it, you're getting it now! TD: Calm down, you two! [pause] We now wait for the result of the draw, which will be announced by that wrestler's entrance music. SR: Maybe it will be the Outlaw, J.W. Hardin! TD: Steve... BL: Yeah, Hardin and Kinder! TD: Becky, don't encourage him. SR & BL: Har-din! Har-din! Har-din! ["The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" strikes up, and Icehawk of Cold Spell appears at the top of the entranceway. Huge face pop!] TD: It's Cold Spell! Cold Spell will get a title shot! SR: NO! Please! Not these inbreds! BL: Didn't Night Patrol beat these guys last week? Why don't they get a shot? SL: Now entering the ring, the challengers, at a total combined weight of 500 pounds, Icehawk and Edmund Fitzgerald, here is COLD SPELL! TD: What an inspirational story! The IIWF rookies have been catapulted to a title shot here in front of more than ninety thousand fans here in Toronto! BL: The only people this will inspire are Ontario's finest plastic surgeons after Kane and Wulf get through with them. SR: Wulf's ready to tear into both of them right now! Kane's trying to hold them back from getting them DQ'ed! Of course, that's not a bad strategy... TD: Excuse me? SR: If you DQ yourself, the title stays with you... I did it back in the eighties when I had a belt. BL: You never had a title! Well, not one worth having, anyway. SR: [quietly] Did so... [Icehawk starts out against Kane, who immediately tags in Wulf! Wulf charges headlong at the Hawk, only to run into a drop kick! pop! Wulf makes another rush, into a frankensteiner! big pop! Icehawk hits a knee drop on the big man!] TD: Icehawk is starting things of on the right foot tonight! SR: Enjoy it while it lasts, Timmy. [Icehawk tags in, and Fitz steps in to a big pop! He quickly picks up Wulf, and executes a backbreaker! Huge face pop!] TD: What a display of power! Fitzgerald is giving up almost seventy pounds to Wulf, but he hits the backbreaker! BL: Big deal... we saw Jack Blazer powerbomb Wulf a few weeks ago... [Fitz goes for the cover... 1 -- kickout!] SR: A little early to be going for that pin, big guy! [As Fitzgerald picks Wulf back up, Wulf thumbs his eye, stopping him! Heel pop! Wulf grabs Fitz by the head and tosses him into the Disciples' corner to a big heel pop!] TD: That illegal tactic just shut down the momentum of Cold Spell! BL: Timmy, honestly... you didn't think they could keep that up? [Kane enters on the tag and slaps on a choke hold! Heel pop! The ref counts five, calls for a break, and Kane again starts to choke! The ref again warns Kane.] SR: Now this is why the Dark Disciples hold the Tag Team Championship! Great, solid, traditional wrestling. TD: [despairingly] Good grief. [Kane whips Fitz into the ropes, and nearly takes his head off with a clothesline! heel pop as Kane laughs evilly! Kane then picks up Fitz, who instictively begins to head to Icehawk for the tag. Kane toyingly allows him to head over and, at the last second, yanks him back! big Heel pop!] BL: That's the best tease I've seen since last night, when President Danny came over and... never mind. [Kane then, out of nowhere, hits the DDT on Fitzgerald! The big man bounces off the canvas from the impact as the crowd gasps and boos!] SR: That'll finish him... it's all over! TD: Kane covers...One... KICKOUT! BL: Edmund Fitzgerald doesn't even seemed fazed by this punishment! He powered Kane off! [Kane sets on Fitz with a series of stomps, then makes the tag. Wulf hits a standing splash as Kane holds him down! As Kane leaves, Wulf 0 applies the cover... 1 - 2 - Kickout!] SR: Incredible! Fitz is still going after a DDT and 350 pounds of Wulf! [Wulf then begins to chomp at the head of Fitz as he rises... the ref calls for a break.] SR: Did McQueen forget to feed Wulf again? I told him this would happen! TD: Wulf has Fitzgerald in the chokeslam! This could be it! [But Fitz slips out, grabs Wulf's choking arm, slips to place and armbar over his own shoulder and Drops to hit an elbow breaker! Wulf screams in pain as Fitz shakes off the damage of the barrage!] BL: Impressive countermove by Fitz! As long as he doesn't tag that weirdo partner of his, They could do well here. [Fitzgerald slaps an armbar on Wulf, forcing him to the canvas! He then uses the leverage to apply more pressure to a huge face pop!] TD: Look at the face of Wulf! he's in incredible pain as Fitzgerald works on the left arm! SR: Come on, Disciples, do something! [Fitz drops the bar and hits a fireman's carry!] TD: The cover, One... Two... Thr... NO! [Fitz tags in Icehawk, who receives a big pop! He whips Wulf off the ropes, and connects with a jumping spin kick that sends the big man down! Hawk then goes through the ropes, signals to the crowd and hits a springboard splash for the cover - 1 -- 2 -- kickout!] TD: Cold Spell has the momentum here! SR: You know, Tim, ever since Hardin left, things in the IIWF have gone haywire! BL: Icehawk is on the top rope for a Shooting Star Press! Aw, too bad, nobody home! [Icehawk curls up after the belly buster while Wulf crawls over for the tag to Kane, who begins to take Icehawk apart. Heel pop!] SR: Heh, heh, say goodnight, Cold Spell! The Icechick is gonna get cooked! [Kane nails the cruiserweight with a piledriver! Heel pop! Kane then slaps on a clawhold as Icehawk flags in trying to stay awake.] TD: Later tonight, fans, we still have our Double Main Event! Casey James and Subway Psycho for the World Title, and Dan "Flash" Kauffman in his final match against "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! SR: Pay attention, ya moron! Kane's about to win this bout! [As Kane looms over the prone Icehawk with the claw, the ref counts... 1 -- 2 -- Shoulder up! Face Pop! Kane, enraged, scoops up Icehawk for the DDT... bang! A solid connection that leaves Icehawk in the ring moitionless!] BL: Kane's on the top! Here comes that elbow! [...and a miss as Icehawk rolls out of the way! Big face pop! Both men, in the center of the ring, slowly rouse to movement and crawl back to their corners, but Icehawk tags first! The crowd goes nuts!] TD: Fitzgerald picks up Kane and whips him into the ropes! SHIPWRECK SLAM! [Face pop as Fitzgerald methodically hooks in Kane's ankles, and flips him for...] TD: The Boston Crab! Kane is in excruciating pain! SR: He's got that locked on tight! He must have gone to my submission school! BL: If that was the case, Kane would have already reversed this hold. [As Kane begins to break down... Wulf climbs through the ropes to make a save, only to get a flying body press from Icehawk! The Hawk follows with a dropkick that sends Wulf over the top rope! HUGE FACE POP as Hawk hits a suicide dive which slaps Wulf into the railings and Fitzgerald bears down on the Crab!] BL: Kane can't take this much more! there's only so much pain even he can stand! SR: You should know... [Icehawk hits a enzugiri to the back of Wulf's head on the outside! Wulf is out!] TD: Kane looks ready to tap out! NO! SR: Good ol' McQueen saves the day! [Don McQueen slides into the ring, Hitting Fitz with a kick! The ref calls for the bell as Fitzgerald drops the hold and gorilla presses McQueen out of the ring! Big pop!] SL: The winners of this match, as the result of a disqualification, Cold Spell! [pop!] Due to the nature of the win, the Dark Disciples retain the World Tag Team Titles! [Big heel pop as the Disciples stagger out of the ring while the two members of Cold Spell argue with the ref.] TD: That was the most cowardly action I've seen since... since... SR: Your barber charged you $20 for cutting nothing? TD: Fitzgerald and Icehawk dominated the last minute of that match! They should be the tag champions right now! BL: Okay, let's see...since Night Patrol beat Cold Spell, and Cold Spell should be the champs...does that mean that Night Patrol should be the champs? [The Disciples make their way up the aisle, congratulated by McQueen and Lau, who present their men with the disfigured championship belts. Icehawk kicks the ropes in an emotional display of his frustration, and is eventually calmed by Fitzgerald. Fitz finally persuades his partner to leave the ring, and together they head up the aisle to a big pop. Cut back to the announcers' table.] TD: The longer the Disciples have a stranglehold on those belts, the harder it will be for another team to knock them off that top spot -- but Cold Spell had them beat. It was a done deal right there in the ring. The Disciples are vulnerable, and like hungry sharks, the highly competitive tag teams here in the IIWF are going to be queuing up to take their shot at the champs. SR: And one by one, they'll fall to the might of the Syndicate, Dross. TD: That remains to be seen, Steve. Okay, folks, our next match won't even take place here in the Skydome. If you thought the last clash between Steve Kowalski and the Sandman was unmatched for lawless violence, wait until you see this one. SR: That's right, Drossy, Kowalski and the Sandman have the whole of the CN Highpoint Tower to beat each other up in! It's gonna be wild! ### # # ### -------------------------------------------------------. # # # # # TORONTO TOWER STREET FIGHT MATCH: | ### # # # ### | # # ## ## # The Sandman vs. Steve "the Fury" Kowalski | # # # # ### -------------------------------------------------------' WRITER: RD [The camera pans outside the SkyDome to display the CN Tower, the tallest building in the world. The shot pans over the stately elegance of the building, demonstrating its staggering height in comparison to the SkyDome. Sparkplug Lee's voice, coming over the PA system in the arena, is heard over the shots:] RA: The CN Tower, one of Toronto's most famous landmarks. A building renowned for its elegance, sophistication and majesty. Tonight, this tourist mecca will be put to a use its archetects never dreamed of. Tonight, it will be the battleground for two of the IIWF's most brutal competitors! [The crowd gives a solid pop. The massive video wall above the aisle, and the Jumbotron at the opposite end of the arena, show an image of the CN Tower, preparing to transmit the match to the rabid fans in the SkyDome. The crowd strains their necks looking up expectantly; many spill out into the SkyDome carpark, hoping that the brawl will eventually make its way down there. Numerous roguish looking fans wearing "Fury" T-shirts are hanging around the parking lot. They are drinking heavily from Molson Ice beer kegs and shouting insults at a bunch of Sandman fans.] TD: I hope the IIWF reinforced the security team for this evening, those maniacs out in the parking lot could wind up starting a riot. SR: Security doesn't dare go near "Kamp Kowalski", Dross! BL: What do I care? My Porsche is safely stashed in the special employee carpark, well out of harm's way. RA: Ladies and Gentlemen! This match is unprecedented in IIWF history! [crowd pop] The stipulations are as follows: both competitors begin at the top of the CN Tower. After the bell sounds there will be no further restrictions. The match must continue until one man gains a pinfall victory over the other, with falls counting anywhere in Toronto. No count-outs, no submissions and no disqualifications will be recognised. This will be a no-rules fight to the finish! [The crowd gives a big pop as the camera pans to the top of the CN Tower. The referee stands in the midst of the highest platform, glancing expectantly at the elevator doors.] RA: Introducing first, hailing from the depths of your darkest dreams; weighing in at a power-packed 290 lbs, here is the IIWF's worst nightmare... The Sandman! ["Concerto of the Desperado" thunders over the arena speakers. A group of fans wearing Sandman t-shirts out in the parking lot cheer loudly. Most of the fans in the arena respond with deafening jeers. The camera focuses on the CN elevator doors. They sweep open and out steps the Sandman, rubbing his fists together, preparing for a fight.] RA: And his opponent, hailing from the bad streets of Newark, New Jersey; weighing in at a lean, mean 268lbs, a former IIWF Intercontinental champion... Steve "the Fury" Kowalski! ["Don't Fear the Reaper" blasts out over the arena loudspeakers, prompting a wild heel pop. Out in the parking lot the "Fury" fans cheer maniacally and pour beer over each others' heads. The camera shows another set of elevator doors opposite to the Sandman's. Ding! The doors slide open and Steve Kowalski steps out. His hands are on his hips and a five o'clock shadow is on his face, showing that the "Fury" is all business.] TD: I hope the CN Tower took out extra insurance before this match. SR: Fans, you just might witness the destruction of the world's tallest building tonight. BL: Get real, Steve. [The two combatants face off on the top deck of the CN Tower. The ref stands between them holding the bell. He pauses for dramatic impact and then: Ding! Ding! Ding! Sandman and Kowalski immediately lunge at each other. Kowalski swings several wild punches but Sandman is able to block them with his forearms, retaliating with a vicious palm strike to the bridge of Kowalski's nose. The "Fury" winces and staggers back; Sandman lunges straight in with a knee to the mid-section, doubling Kowalski up. The masked man follows up by executing a quick-fire DDT, driving Kowalski's head straight into the unprotected deck of the CN Tower!] BL: The Sandman better not mess up the face of my Stevie or he'll have me to deal with. SR: What does Sandman have to fear from some dumb red-head... Yowch! Pain! BL: Steve, if you ever mention the words dumb and red-head in the same sentence ever again, you will bear the consequences for the rest of your life. SR: ...ack... TD: Becky, please remove your stiletto heel from between Steve's legs so we can concentrate on the match. [Sandman drags Kowalski to his feet, only to send him flying into a nearby ashtray bin. The "Fury" gets to his feet, looking furious indeed. As Sandman charges in, Kowalski seizes up the heavy metal cylinder, slamming it right into the masked man's midsection! Sandman groans and clutches his stomach. "Yer a sorry excuse fer a man, Sandcastle!" yells Kowalski, before bashing Sandman in the forehead with the bin, dropping the masked man to the ground. Kowalski smiles grimly. "I _am_ the MAN! Yer a fadin' memory, Sandy! Fadin' fast!" Kowalski hurls the bin hard into the small of Sandman's back. The metal cylinder clangs loudly and then rolls off.] SR: What a stunning display of technical superiority by the "Fury"! TD: You call hitting your opponent with a trash can technical wrestling? BL: Well, Timmy-boy, there is the precise handling, delicate execution and keen eye for pressure points required in weilding a foreign object around. Only Kowalski can raise this wrestling technique to such a fine art. TD: Oh, please! [Kowalski hauls up the groggy Sandman and drags him over to the elevator. He uses the Sandman's head to push the "Open Doors" button rather forcefully. Ding! The doors slide open and Kowalski throws the Sandman inside. The masked man careens into the elevator and slams headfirst into the wall. Kowalski steps into the elevator and considers which floor to select.] TD: That's curious, he selected the CN Tower restaurant. BL: Perhaps he wants to stop off and have a snack before finishing the Sandman off. SR: No, you morons! Kowalski chose the restaurant because it has more breakable objects than any other floor! [The ref slips nimbly into the elevator before the doors slide shut. The lift begins its descent and Kowalski begins slapping the dazed Sandman around while laughing to himself. Sandman struggles to fight back but can't quite seem to get his balance. The lift eases its descent to a halt and Kowalski grabs Sandman's head, smashing it into the elevator control panel in the general direction of the "Open Doors" button. Ding! The doors sweep open and Kowalski heaves Sandman out into the massive CN Tower restaurant. Sandman stumbles around and retains his balance by grabbing onto a chair. Kowalski stalks up behind the masked man, striking his palm with his fist. Suddenly Sandman swings around and gives Kowalski a mighty crack over the head with the wooden chair! The chair shatters into splinters and Kowalski crashes flat on his back out cold!] SR: Wow! What a chair shot! The chairs in the IIWF arena don't do that! TD: The Sandman showed that he can take the punishment and dish it right back; in a match like this either man could win. BL: I assure you that Kowalski will win this time Timmy. TD: Why do you say that, Becky? BL: I've given the "Fury" a special incentive for victory. I promised him a wonderful surprise if he can put the Sandman away. TD: I don't think I'll inquire too deep into the nature of that surprise. Our censorship guys have a tough enough job as it is. [Sandman is still holding onto a broken chair leg, which he uses to crack across Kowalski's kneecap. "Welcome to your worst nightmare, Kowalski!" he yells. Sandman leans over Kowalski and rams the chair leg into the Fury's mouth, apparently trying to force it down his throat! Kowalski kicks his legs and struggles to get the chair leg out of his mouth but the Sandman just laughs. The referee looks pertubed by this act but, because of the no DQ stipulation, can do nothing. Sandman throws the chair leg away and hauls Kowalski to his feet. The New Jerseyman's knee almost buckles underneath him and he clutches at his throat, gasping for air.] TD: That was absolutely disgusting. I don't care what the stipulations are; such dangerous activity has no place in wrestling. SR: But this is a no DQ match, Dross! Sandman is perfectly within his rights to do whatever it takes to win! Stuff like that should happen more often. BL: Hmmm. Even if Kowalski does win this one, he doesn't look like he'll have much breath left for anything else. Perhaps I should give Brad Kinder a call. [Sandman drags Kowalski over to the nearby bar. He lifts the "Fury" up over his head and then slams him down right on the bar top! Still holding onto Kowalski, Sandman slides him down the length of the bar, clearing a path through the assorted glasses, bottles and bowls of peanuts! Sandman lets go of Kowalski, who careens off the end of the bar and crashes into the floor. Sandman climbs up onto the bartop and poises himself, then jumps right off, stomping into Kowalski's kneecap as he does so!] BL: Boy, Sandman is really doing a number on Kowalski, isn't he? Perhaps I misjudged the "Fury's" manhood. SR: Nonsense! I've seen Kowalski get beaten up by entire gangs and come back kickin' ass! TD: Since when have you been within ten miles of a gang fight, Steve? SR: Hey, I used to run with a pretty rough crowd back in my younger days! BL: Yeah, that's if you call the Mid-Western Cross Dressing Society a rough crowd. Hehehe... snort. SR: Hey! How did you know about... I mean, whaddaya talking about, Larue? [Sandman goes behind the bar and picks up a tall beer glass. Steve Kowalski staggers to his feet with the aid of the bar and attempts to shake out the cobwebs. Sandman lunges at Kowalski and smashes the glass right in his forehead! A collective gasp goes up down in the arena. The ref is unable to contain himself any longer and berates Sandman for such a brutal tactic. The masked man just laughs and shoves the ref aside, however, knowing he can get away with whatever he wants. Kowalski is straggled back against the bar panting heavilly, blood dripping down his face.] BL: Hell, maybe I should give the Sandman a call. The problem is I suspect him to be horrendously ugly; why else would he wear a mask all the time? SR: I never knew the Sandman could be so brutal! He's a man after my own heart. [The Sandman slaps Kowalski across the face: "I'm not done with you yet, punk!" He drags Kowalski over to a nearby table and palms his face. He signals towards the camera...] TD: Oh my goodness, the Sandman is going to execute the Nightmare Slam on Kowalski through the table! This is it folks, it's all over! [Sandman mocks the "Fury", yelling "Sweet Dreams, Kowalski!" He goes to lift Kowalski, but the "Fury" digs his heels in. A steely glint appears in Kowalski's glazed eyes. Sandman goes to execute the slam again, but once again he is incapable. Kowalski begins to slowly shake his head, despite the iron grip locked on his face. Once again, Sandman attempts to execute the slam. Kowalski swipes the masked man's arm away, his face showing an expression of cold fury. "Not this time, Sandcastle!"] TD: Look at the Sandman! He can't believe what's happening here! Kowalski has broken free! SR: Listen to the "Fury" fans outside in the parking lot! They're going crazy! They know their man won't go down so easily! [Sandman takes a swing at his foe, but Kowalski catches the blow in his hand! Sandman can only look on stunned as Kowalski sends his other fist crashing into the masked man's face, sending him reeling! Massive pop from down in the parking lot! Kowalski seizes hold of the Sandman, then heaves him up, executing a belly-to-belly suplex right through the table! Both men crash through the wood to lie prone amidst the splinters. Kowalski is first to his feet, blood coating his face, but not concealing the dangerous gleam in his eyes. He grabs up a dinner plate from the next table, then grabs hold of the Sandman's head with his other hand. Smash! Kowalski strikes both the dinner plate and Sandman's head togethor, scattering broken crockery and busting the Sandman open through his mask.] SR: Heh, heh! Kowalski evens the score by giving the Sandman an up close view of the crockery! BL: I hope nobody had that table reserved for after Ring Wars. Unless they ordered extra ketchup, of course. [Kowalski grapples the Sandman and drags him over to a door on the far wall. A plaque on the door reads "Men's Room". Kowalski uses Sandman's head as a battering ram to open the door, and both men crash through into the bathroom. "This is where you belong, Sandman, right in the shitter!" Kowalski forces Sandman's head down one of the toilets and presses the flush. The "Fury" laughs as Sandman can be heard gurgling from the depths of the toilet. Kowalski slams down the toilet seat on Sandman's neck and presses the flusher once again.] SR: I bet Sandman feels like his first day at high school! The royal flush treatment all over again! TD: This is a sick farce of a wrestling match. BL: I changed my mind, I definitely won't be giving the Sandman a call after that. Not unless he washes his hair first. [Kowalski drags the spluttering and gurgling Sandman out of the toilet and throws him back through the bathroom doors. "Yer goin for a little ride now, Sandcastle!" Kowalski gives Sandman a few more punches before dragging him over to a door reading "Staircase: Use Caution". Kowalski once again uses Sandman's head to bust the door open, further aggravating the wound on the masked man's forehead. The "Fury" then wrenches Sandman's mask, turning it around until it is facing the opposite direction! The Sandman can't see! Kowalski laughs as his foe blunders around and then boots him right in the rump, sending the Sandman tumbling down the flight of stairs!] TD: Oh my goodness! That could have broken the Sandman's neck! [Kowalski casually descends the staircase to the next landing, where Sandman is prone and rearranging his mask around. Kowalski stomps brutally on Sandman's forehead and chest, then grabs him by the legs. He holds Sandman's legs under his arms and then hurries down the staircase, so that Sandman's head bounces off every step!] TD: I can hardly bear to watch. SR: Amazing! How much punishment can these two men dish out and still remain alive! [The stairs open up onto the ground floor and Kowalski seems intent on taking the bloody brawl out into the parking lot. Halfway down the steps Sandman realises the desperation of his situation, and uses his last reserves of strength to boot Kowalski from behind. Kowalski totters on the staircase, and then tumbles down the stairs out in to the ground floor! The "Fury" is motionless at the foot of the stairs. Sandman remains prone and struggles to catch his breath, blood streaming from his forehead. Outside, the fans can be heard cheering wildly for the wrestlers to get to their feet.] TD: Sandman isn't out of this yet! Kowalski isn't moving, the pinfall could be moments away! BL: But look at the Sandman, he doesn't look too eager to get up either. [Sandman lifts himself wearilly to his feet. Kowalski remains motionless. The masked man slowly makes his way down the steps; he reels for a moment and clutches his battered head. Kowalski is stirring on the ground floor. Sandman regains his composure and makes his way to the ground floor. Kowalski is on his feet, and the two bloody foes lunge dazedly at each other once again. They trade shots back and forth, both too weak to gain an advantage over the other. Gradually they make their way out of the sliding doors and into the parking lot, trading wild bolo punches. At the sight of the two combatants the fans out in the carpark pop wildly! "Come an' join our keg party, Kowalski!" yells a fan wearing a beer stained "Don't Fear the Reaper!" t-shirt.] TD: That beer should be confiscated. Alcohol is a corrupting and dangerous influence on our youth. SR: Stow that gab, Drossy! Beer is the food of real men! BL: Not when they get so drunk they can't get it... TD: [interrupting] That will be quite enough of that, Becky! [With desperate effort, Sandman gouges Kowalski's eyes, buying himself the advantage. He siezes hold of Kowalski and hauls him up over his head in a gorilla press. Grunting with the effort, barely managing to hold the weight in his weakened state, Sandman staggers over to the nearest car and brings Kowalski crashing down onto the windscreen! Crunch! All the fans wearing Sandman t-shirts cheer wildly! The windscreen cracks but holds, and Kowalski rolls down the bonnet onto the concrete ground in a heap.] TD: Oh! The force of that blow made me wince! Surely Kowalski is done for now. SR: Isn't that Billy Shakespeare's Ford Pinto? BL: Let's hope so. [Sandman drags Kowalski up by the hair and once again palms his face. Blood trickles over his hand. He signals one more time for the Nightmare Slam...] TD: The Sandman has almost nothing left. Can he possibly execute his finishing maneuver after everything that's happened in this match? [The Sandman shakes his head trying to clear the cobwebs. He goes to execute the slam... He can't quite get Kowalski up. He goes to execute the slam once again. Suddenly a full beer can comes flying from out of the audience and strikes Sandman right on the back of the head! After all the beatings, this is too much to take and Sandman slumps to the ground, dragging Kowalski with him. Both men lie prone. Sandman fans immediately rush up to help revive their man, security helpless to hold them back. The Kowalski fans rush up with a cup of Molson Ice and helpfully pour it over their man's head, hoping to revive him. Kowalski splutters and kicks his legs. Security manages to push the fans back, and Kowalski staggers to his feet. He walks over to the Sandman and drags him, obviously grunting and straining under the effort, over to the Molson Ice beer keg. He slips one arm under the Sandman's armpit, and then the other. The pop from the Kowalski fans reaches fever pitch! The Fury yells "Have a drink on me, bitch!" and with the last ounce of his strength executes his Skullpump double-underhook piledriver right onto the keg! Beer sprays everywhere. Kowalski drops over the prone body of the Sandman. The ref begins the count... 1 -- 2 -- 3! The Kowalski fans explode into a massive pop and crowd around their hero, helping him to his feet and pressing cups of beer into his hands. Kowalski takes a good chug-a-lug on the beer and raises his fists to the air!] RA: Here is your winner, Steve "the Fury" Kowalski! SR: What a tremendous brawl, and what a finishing move from Kowalski, executing a Skullpump right onto the keg of Molson Ice Beer! BL: Well, he could have at least used a decent brand. Ring Wars III is a special occasion, after all. TD: I hope I never see a match like that again as long as I live, but I must praise the resilience of these two competitors. The question still remains, however: would Sandman have been able to execute the Nightmare slam if that can of beer hadn't hit him? BL: Who cares? Kowalski is the winner of the match and that's final. [Security clears a path and the stretcher team comes out. They tend to the Sandman and place him upon a stretcher. As they carry him from the battlezone the rabid Kowalski fans pitch beer at the medics and the Sandman. Cut back to the interior of the SkyDome as the fans settle back into their scenes. The shots pan around the crowd, and eventually come to rest at the broadcast table.] TD: Well, we're now at the proverbial halfway point of our big card here... SR: What proverb exactly is there about Ring Wars, Dross? TD: ...and we're going to reconfigure a little bit. Becky is on her way down to the ring, where she will serve as our "roving reporter" for what is sure to be a wild... SR: How 'bout the fox and the grapes? Was the fox and the grapes about Ring Wars, Dross? TD: ...affair featuring two of the IIWF's most unpredictable athletes, Joe Petrow and Dirt Dog Unique Allah! SR: I always liked Psalms 3:16. How does that go again, Dross? "I just whipped..." TD: How about we go down to Becky LaRue at ringside for some comments about this upcoming match -- Becky? SR: Down to. Interesting preposition. [Cut to Becky watching the final of seven folding tables placed around the ring.] BL: Okay, leave it to me, of course, to have to explain the rules of this match. How do you boys ever do IIWF Saturday Night without me? SR: Check the tapes. BL: All around the ring, as you can see, are seven folding tables. Each of them beautifully, or in some cases, not so beautifully, adorned with a commissioned portrait by famed artist LeRoy Neiman. TD: Good grief. SR: Hey, that's me! I'm on that table! Whoo! BL: That's right, Steve, you are on one of these seven tables -- don't let it go to your head, big guy. In fact, we're all on one of these special Ring Wars 3 commemorative folding tables. There's you, Steve. There's you, Timmy. There's our beloved President, well how about that, it's Daniel Spreadbury. Here's my table -- aren't I stunning in my golden spandex workout gear? Don't forget to buy my video, folks. TD: Good grief. BL: There's Sparkplug Lee's table. Good for you, Sparkplug. [Sparkplug gives a proud thumbs up.] BL: Now, look, here's IIWF Vice-President Steve Owens' portrait on this table. Is Stevie still with the Federation? I have to give him a call... TD: Good grief. BL: And finally... oh, I don't think that's particularly appropriate. SR: It's Bulldog Brown! It's Bulldog Brown! Flat -- just like the last time I saw him! Hey, Bulldog -- what's up? Not you. Hah! TD: Good grief. Can we get to the introductions already? ### # # ### -------------------------------------------------------. # # # # # SEVEN TABLES OF FEAR MATCH: | ### # # # ### | # # ## ## # Dirt Dog Unique Allah vs. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow | # # # # ### -------------------------------------------------------' WRITER: JJ [Cut back to the ring where Sparkplug Lee stands admiring his portrait on one of the outside tables.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen. The following Ring Wars 3 contest is a very special SEVEN TABLES OF FEAR matchup! [Big Pop] There will be no pinfalls, no disqualification, no countout and no submission. The ONLY way to win is for one man to put his opponent through four out of the seven ringside tables! [Big crowd pop as "Snakes" by Ole' Dirty Bastard begins.] SL: Introducing first... at a weight of 238 lbs... from Brooklyn, New York... DIRT DOG UNIQUE ALLAH! [Unique enters alone, Medusa Rage nowhere in sight, and begins his walk down the aisle. He seems oddly subdued for the occasion as he sheds his denim coat near the top of the aisle. Unique ignores the taunts of the ringside "Sychopaths", finding solace, however, in a group of middle aged, obviously inebriated fans in homemade t-shirts which proclaim themselves as "Li'l Soundbiters". They cheer Dirt Dog as he reaches the ring and he responds with a drunken stumble into the crowd, returning with a bottle of... something... which he places in the corner of the ring.] TD: "Li'l Soundbiters?" SR: Buy the shirt! SL: His opponent... at a weight of 227 lbs. and currently residing in Tokyo, Japan... "SYCHOSYS" JOE PETROW! [Peter Gabriel's brilliant "Games Without Frontiers" blasts over the Skydome PA as Petrow appears at the top of the aisle. He is decked in trunks from days gone by: red pant length, with the words "Heartbreak Kid" written in white on each leg and on the backside. Petrow walks a quarter of the way down the aisle and stops to survey the crowd.] TD: I believe this is the first time that Petrow has worn the colors of his original incarnation, if you will, since that disfiguring fireball attack which took him out of this sport for so long. SR: I wonder how he feels after that, uh, incident with the security staff earlier tonight. BL: Petrow's so far out of his tree, he may even have enjoyed it. TD: I wouldn't count on that, Becky. [Petrow now proceeds to the ring, more slowly than before, stopping to shake many of the hands of the "Sychopaths" who have turned out in force, many wearing simple red and white t-shirts which read, "Joe Petrow. Period."] TD: Sort of an emotional moment here, Steve Roberts. For those of you fans who didn't dial up Option 1 of the IIWF Superstar Line this week, rumors are rampant that win, lose or draw -- this will be Joe Petrow's final match. SR: What, you're givin' that stuff away now? TD: After my week in Nebraska City, we all know that good ole' TD certainly isn't getting his pockets lined with that hotline. SR: Good ole' TD? TD: Buy the shirt! [Petrow reaches one particularly rabid "Sychopath", who he clearly recognizes as an IIWF Coliseum regular... and slaps him hard across the face! The young man pauses -- and then pops wildly, screaming at Petrow to "kick some doggy ass!" Petrow now runs full tilt toward the ring, smacking himself on the chest as he reaches the apron -- which he then pounds madly, working himself into a palpable frenzy -- and then he dives into the ring. Ding! Ding! Ding! Petrow charges crazily at Unique, catching him with rapid clubbing forearms and overhand rights, putting the boots to Unique's head and driving him into the corner, Petrow climbs immediately to the top rope... as Dirt Dog rises... and comes down on his shoulders for a wild attempt at a hurricarana which Unique easily turns into a powerbomb! Pop! Petrow jumps up quickly... gives a banshee-type yell and races toward Unique... who back bodydrops him out of the ring... but Petrow stays on the apron... quickly hopping to the top rope and diving at Allah with a big flying clothesline! Pop!] TD: Petrow almost got caught early there... remember, if he crashes through one of those tables, he's in a hole 1-0. He has got to be... SR: [interrupting] That's the BULLET TRAIN FROM HELL, Dross! Unique is out! [Petrow hits his modified DDT/Perfectplex on Unique right in the middle of the ring. Huge pop as he then drags Allah to the floor underneath the bottom ropes... and props him up on the "Tim Dross" table. Wild crowd pop!] SR: Guess you're lucky number one, Dross. TD: I couldn't be more proud. [Petrow wastes little time in abandoning Unique on the table, instead moving back to the apron and climbing to the top rope...] TD: What's he gonna do here, what's he gonna do here...? He's turning around... Petrow's turning around... this is crazy... it's -- oh my! [Petrow hurls to the table with a modified Starsault Press, spinning through no fewer than two and a quarter revolutions... and crashes into... nothing but the picture of Dross! Big Dirt Dog Pop!] TD: Unique escaped! Unique escaped! It's 1-0 in favour of Dirt Dog Unique Allah! SR: What in the hell is Petrow doing? That was the single worst-looking Starsault Press I have ever seen in my life. What the hell -- he's coming over, hey... HEY! I'll kick your... HEY! [Petrow removes himself from the broken Tim Dross table and stumbles madly to the announce position, taking a standing mic. and addressing his opponent...] JP: HEY EUNUCH! YOU WANNA DIE, YOU STUPID MUH'FUH? WELL, SO DO I! [Petrow throws the microphone into the crowd and picks up a leg from the newly destroyed folding table. Petrow sprints into the ring and waffles Unique with his weapon! Pop! Petrow begins choking Unique out with the leg, putting Allah in a modified camel clutch with the table leg smashing Unique's larynx. Pop! Petrow then abruptly breaks the hold and throws the table leg into the crowd. Then he begins to climb... climb to the top rope as Unique continues to lie motionless...] TD: What in the hell is Joe Petrow doing? This is an absolutely suicidal performance... he's coming down with a SOMERSAULT HEADBUTT! NO! SR: He just overshot him, Dross! He missed Unique by a mile! [Petrow effectively spikes himself in the middle of the ring as Unique now begins to rise, shaking off the beating from that Tim Dross table leg. Unique scoops up Petrow into a fallaway slam that drives him hard into the mat! Pop! Unique now dives atop Petrow, biting at his legs, clawing at his skin. Unique is getting absolutely vile on Petrow, grabbing at his groin, squeezing Petrow to such an extent that even the most hardcore "Sychopaths" have to avert their eyes from the ring.] BL: Looks like Dirt Dog's been watching my workout tape. SR: Is she still here? Hey, LaRue -- go fetch me a couple of them Canadian biscuits. [Unique picks the already spent Petrow to his feet and whips him farside... and is then Sychokicked hard over the top rope... and out onto the floor! Pop!] TD: Did you see that amazing superkick from Petrow? From where did he get that... OH NO... OH NO! [Petrow bounces off the backropes and hurls himself outside in a suicide dive... and IS SMACKED dead by a swing of the Sparkplug Lee folding table by Dirt Dog! MANIC POP!} TD: It's two to nothing! It's two to nothing! Dirt Dog just swung that folding table like a graphite tennis racket and hit Petrow with a forehand that cracked that Sparkplug Lee table clean in half! SR: Better show that one to Chrissy and Martina for later tonight, Dirt Dog! And Petrow's busted open! That folding table has busted Petrow wide open! I think it was Sparkplug's moustache that got him, Dross. TD: Joe Petrow is really hurt here... I think we might need to stop this match, folks. This is anarchy, it is 2-0 and Joe Petrow's forehead is spurting like Old Faithful. SR: That suicide dive was appropriately named, Dross. BL: If you men aren't too busy -- I might have something of worth to pass along here. You might remember Joe Petrow's appearance on LaRue's Lair a few weeks back when he said something to the effect that his last match would involve his last breath on earth. I think we might be seeing something more from Joe Petrow than a goodbye to the IIWF. SR: Extra honey on 'dem biscuits, Becks. [Petrow is a crumpled heap on the floor, surrounded by shards of broken wood on which Sparkplug Lee's smile has turned into an almost sickening grin. Unique throws Petrow back in the ring, and then methodically goes to work. Allah works predominantly on the left leg. Using kneedrops and hamstring tears Unique wears away at Petrow's legs.] TD: Unique has really slowed the pace way down here, Steve Roberts. There's a Boston crab... he's got that Boston crab locked in... I think Petrow is out! I think Petrow is unconscious! SR: This is real smart for Unique. Real smart. He's got the big lead -- and he's gonna make sure there's no possible way that Petrow can come back. You gotta admire something that cold, Dross. BL: Did you just call Dirt Dog smart, Soundbite? SR: Speaking of cold... Becky, where the hell are my damn biscuits? [Unique now releases the hold and dumps Petrow to the outside... whipping him to the guard rail and then propping up a table up in the corner of the retaining barrier.] TD: What's he gonna do, Steve Roberts? What's this Dirt Dog gonna do next to Joe Petrow? [Unique has the table situated and now goes into a huge drunken stumble, giving a loud belch as he lurches forward, bending over the still motionless body of "Sychosys".] DDUA: I'm such a baaad doggie. I'm a sycho muh'... TD: Oh my! [Petrow halts Unique's monologue with a thrusting can of spraypaint to the "lower midsection," then savagely beats Unique about the head and shoulders with both the spraypaint can and a huge chunk of wood from the Sparkplug Lee table. Big pop!] TD: How did Petrow get that spraypaint? SR: Maybe from one of the guys in the t-shirts with the words "Joe Petrow" on them. TD: What is this maniac doing now...? He's whipped Unique into that propped up table. BL: Hey, that's my table! That's my table! SR: Come on LaRue, don't pretend that's the first time you've ever had some drunken, nearly unconscious man propped up on your face. [Petrow doesn't bother to wipe away the still flowing blood that clearly obscures his vision as he quickly spraypaints the letters "DDUA" above Becky LaRue's painted head, delivers two reverse knife edge chops... and then grabs a table himself...] SR: That's my table! Petrow's gonna use my table! What's he gonna do, Dross? [Petrow grabs the Roberts table, folding the legs and sprints into the aisle. Petrow stops at the midpoint, turns around and exaggeratedly stomps his foot twice while slapping his knee... place the table in front of his face... and charges... Petrow races down the aisle, running as if there were wings on his shoes, the painted visage of Steve Roberts blurring as Petrow reaches ringside... and leaps from a chair... to the Spanish announce table... where, like an Olympic triple jumper, his velocity increases exponentially... as he then leaps to a television monitor... and then amazingly, incomprehensibly flies down...] TD & SR: Oh my! [Crazed pop from the capacity Skydome crowd!] TD: It's two to two! It's all tied up! SR: Petrow just ran down the length of the aisle... and sandwiched Dirt Dog between two tables! [The popping continues as neither man is visible underneath the debris, Joe Petrow triple jumped into the propped up Unique, driving the Steve Roberts table clean through the Dirt Dog -- and also driving Dirt Dog clean through the Becky LaRue table. Disbelieving pop as neither man's head has yet to poke through the wooden debris!} BL: The commotion down here is unbelievable, the ringside crew is trying to clear away some of this debris... and I don't even want to think about what's going to happen to my face... SR: That's not what you said last night, Becks. [Petrow and Unique stumble, fumble, tumble their way back out to near the ring... they are fighting, brawling with their every strength around the ring... working over to the other side. They are now sending wild, roundhouse lefts and rights... Unique misses a European uppercut and Petrow locks on for a... for a crcifix... but Unique is able to turn his head...] TD: He hit him with the deadly venom spray! He hit him with that deadly venom! SR: And there's a Samoan drop by Unique! There's a Samoan drop out on the floor... Petrow is OUT! PETROW IS OUT! TD: Unique's got him set up on the table... Unique's about to go up three to two! [Unique has Petrow set up on the Steve Owens table, Petrow's eyes not only blinded by the deadly venom spray... but by the blood which is now covering his face in a crimson mask. Unique climbs to the top rope, makes the sign of the cross... and leaps down for a missle drop kick... as someone is clearly heard yelling the word, "Nooo!"] TD: Allah just dropkicked a "Sychopath"! Did you see that, Steve Roberts? That fan -- that fan who Joe Petrow slapped just before this match has just saved Joe Petrow from going through that table! He took the missle dropkick from Allah right in the chest! SR: And he stopped Allah from the table, Dross. That table is still up -- it's still 2-2! It's still 2-2! BL: Guys - this "fan" if that's what you want to call him -- is really hurt out here -- he took a huge shot from Dirt Dog -- there are paramedics... this is crazy. [Petrow is now off the table -- and genuine concern passes over what is visible of his face. And something else too: maybe a renewal, a revitilization... a rebirth... as Petrow dives at Unique. Petrow pummels Unique without a hint of mercy, pounding his head into the floor, kicking him repeatedly in the ribs... driving a knee to Unique's head as he rests atop the steel steps. Petrow climbs to the top rope... and comes down on the head of Allah with a crushing double axe that sends him to the mat. Petrow then goes behind Unique for a waistock... and then German suplexes him to the floor... leaving Unique completely laid out to an enormous pop from the crowd!] TD: This is an awesome display of fortitude... Joe Petrow seems to have gained evergy... more than energy... seems to have regained focus with that selfless effort from one of his legion of fans. And now he's got Unique up on that Steve Owens table! He's got Unique up on that Steve Owens table... and he's grabbing the Daniel Spreadbury table! BL: Suck up. SR: Biscuits, Becky. Biscuits. [Petrow now does wipe the blood from his eyes as he climbs the ropes, Daniel Spreadbury table in hand. Petrow reaches the top rope... and again turns around...] TD: He's gonna moonsault again?! Petrow's gonna leap with that Spreadbury table and try to crash Unique through with these final two and get this victory... PETROW'S GONNA MOONSAULT FOR THE WIN! [Petrow leaps... and heads to the prone Unique...] SR: Allah lifted his leg! The Dirt Dog lifted his leg! [Allah sticks his boots into the painted face of Daniel Spreadbury, breaking the table over Joe Petrow's head... but the momentum built from the huge moonsault does not abate... and Petrow continues his drop to the Steve Owens table... smashing Unique on through... it's three apiece!] TD: Unbelievable. Unbelievable. I don't know what else to say. SR: I do Dross, it's 3-3! It's 3-3 and these people are absolutely beside themselves -- what a great freaking match! [The two warriors pick themselves up again, standing amidst the devastated remains of the tables representing the IIWF administration. Unique is the first to get an advantage, doubling Petrow up with a boot to the midsection... and then nailing him back to the floor with a rocker dropper that runs Petrow back through the shards of table. Pop! Pop! Unique drags Petrow close to the only table remaining, that bearing the picture of Bulldog Brown... and picks "Sychosys" up for a powerbomb...] TD: It's over! It's finally over for Joe Petrow! SR: If Unique hits this powerbomb... on the seventh table... HE HIT IT! HE HIT IT! Ring the bell! Dirt Dog wins! TD: No! No! The table didn't break... for the love of God, the table did not break! [Petrow has been powerbombed onto the portrait of the late Bulldog Brown... but indeed, somehow the table did not break.] SR: Well, Bulldog got in one last no sell, didn't he Dross? Hey, he wasn't related to Leon White, was he? TD: Unbelievable. It may never end... [Dirt Dog is momentarily too stunned to move, utterly without comprehension that his powerbomb did not finish off Petrow... and when he is able to compose himself... realizes that Petrow is no longer on the table. Joe Petrow is in the ring. Dirt Dog is frozen in front of the seventh table. Petrow now runs... and leaps over the top rope into a plancha... and hits Dirt Dog high... taking him over...] TD: IT'S MEDUSA! It's Medusa! Medusa flipped over the table! Medusa just flipped over the table! SR: Can she do that, Dross? Can she do that? Medusa just turned over that seventh table on its side and prevented Unique from crashing into it! BL: All three of them are down... it's like a train wreck out here... I've never seen anything like this... I never wanted to see anything like this. TD: We got company... here come the PROPHETS OF RAGE! [Medusa's other motley crew has now turned up... and The Prophets go to work on Petrow, dragging him into the ring and thoroughly assaulting whatever is left of "Sychosys", landing not just brutal kicks and punches... but their patented Hammer of God and Angel of Death Drop. Petrow is out... Petrow is done... Petrow is finished... The female members of this group have cleared a space for the final table -- and the picture of Bulldog Brown stands alone... waiting for Joe Petrow. Dirt Dog Unique Allah steps into the ring and Derek Rage props Petrow up over his shoulders... and Unique gets set to send him over the top rope... The camera captures the look on Petrow's face. It is a look of resigned peacefulness. Petrow closes his eyes, and extends his own arms out a little wider, and a slow smile spreads across his face as he is held their, high in the air, awaiting the impact as if it is his last act on this earth...] TD: Here comes the Knightmare! Unique's gonna send Petrow into that seventh table with his own Knightmare! [The Rages thrust their black gloves in the air... and Unique throws Petrow over... and onto nothing! Huge, huge pop!] TD: THE SYCHOPATHS TOOK THE TABLE! [Petrow's fans grab the table away, just as their man crashes to the floor from the inverted crucifix slam... and they begin passing the table back into the crowd! Huge pop! The entire collection of Rages jumps into the crowd... where they are immediately swallowed up... and they begin being passed throughout the entire Skydome! Pop! Unique and Petrow stand alone in the ring... neither seeming to know what to do as the capacity Skydome crowd seems to ripple with the passing of the various and sundry paraphenalia. Then -- as if gently deposited by the Hand of God -- the Bulldog Brown table re-appears, right at the bottom of the aisle, right near the ring. Petrow and Allah give each other a look of utter astonishment... and then quickly apply mutually sharp facelocks as they sprint together... moving almost as if they were of one mind and four legs... and then launch each other over the top rope in a double flying plancha bulldog that is reminiscent less of a finishing maneuver than of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid running out to meet their certain collective death in a hailstorm of bullets. And then they crash through the table. Ding! Ding! Ding! TD: It's over. It's all over. SR: I need a nap. [The crowd stirs, buzzes, and awaits the words of Sparkplug Lee...] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... the referee has ruled this match... A DRAW! A DRAW! SR: God, no. That's just wrong. That's just flat wrong. TD: I don't know, Steve Roberts. I don't know of any way to finish a rivalry like this. Look at this capacity crowd. Listen to them cheer for these two warriors. [Petrow and Unique lie amidst the wreckage of their double bulldog onto Bulldog Brown's table. Together they rise and stare into each others eyes -- perhaps out of sheer exhaustion -- perhaps out of a degree of mutual respect -- the two men refrain from attacking each other for the first time in months. Instead, Dirt Dog leaps into the crowd... presumably going in search of his new found family... and Joe Petrow gazes into the ring, then out into the crowd, and walks back up the aisle... possibly for the final time.] TD: Have we seen the last of Joe Petrow right here tonight at Ring Wars III? This match pushed the bodies of the Dirt Dog and Petrow to their absolute limits, and beyond. If Petrow had nagging injuries before tonight's match, he's going to be hospitalised now. [Becky LaRue rejoins Dross and Roberts at the broadcast table as a ring crew descends on the area to clear away the debris of the match.] BL: I have never seen anything like that, you two. I've not seen so much wreckage since the time I was signing copies of my autobiography in that two-bit bookstore in Memphis... What a tragedy that was. TD: But what an incredible match that was, folks. You only find action like that right here in the IIWF! And there's more incredible action coming your way in just a few moments, but before our next match, let's go backstage to Larry Morton, who has details of an altercation in the locker room. Larry? [Cut to Larry in the locker room. Behind him Brian Lau is chewing out security and Casey James is spitting on the floor.] LM: Details are faint at best. Brian Lau was called out of the locker room to answer a non-existent telephone call from President Spreadbury. In the meantime, it appears that the masked wrestler known as Spur entered the locker room and asked IIWF heavyweight Champion Casey James if he could join the Syndicate. James was noncommittal. Spur offered his hand to wish the Champion luck, but as James reached out to take it, Spur slammed the Champion's fingers in a locker door. After that, he attempted to wash Casey's mouth out with a bar of soap. He fled when the rest of the Syndicate arrived. We'll tell you more about this if more details become available. For now, back to ringside. [Casey James storms in front of Larry, pouring forth a string of profanities. Larry dodges out of the way. Cut back to the announcing booth.] BL: Is it just my imagination, or does Larry enjoy his locker room assignments a _little_ too much? SR: Well, the little turd is missing out on all the real action, Becks. TD: Spur is intent on causing trouble here tonight, folks. First that video wall stunt for Ronnie Paris, now attacking the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... Okay, fans, it's time for our next match. The rivalry between "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare and the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder has rumbled on for some months now, and it all comes to a head in the ring tonight in this special Winner Must Use Loser's Finisher match. Let's get back up to the ring. ### # # ### -------------------------------------------------------. # # # # # WINNER MUST USE LOSER'S FINISHER MATCH: | ### # # # ### | # # ## ## # "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare vs. Brody Thunder | # # # # ### -------------------------------------------------------' WRITER: DS [Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring and raises the microphone again.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is a special "Winner Must Use Loser's Finisher" Match! [Pop!] The rules are as follows: there will be no countouts, disqualifications or submissions. In order for one man to win, he must execute his opponent's finishing manoeuvre on his opponent and pin him. SR: I can't believe these rules, Dross. Thunder's been given the shaft yet again. TD: But Brody Thunder has proved that he is capable of executing Shakespeare's Curtain Call, Steve. This match isn't as much of a foregone conclusion as it initially appeared. BL: Particularly as Thunder is such a dominating athlete, Timmy. Reminds me of ol' J.W. Hardin. TD: Indeed. And here he comes now... [The lights in the Skydome drop as the theme from "High Plains Drifter" starts up over the PA. The huge video wall above the entranceway shows looped footage of the bare prairies of Texas, interspersed with some of Thunder's finest moments in the squared circle: his victory over Mad Dog Watkins; putting Billy Shakespeare through a table; performing the Cattle Buster DDT on the Players' Club... The lights on the rigging around the video wall focus on the entrance curtain, illuminating it with a deep crimson hue. Other lights cast Thunder's characteristic thunderbolt symbol onto the walkway. Sparkplug Lee raises his microphone once again:] RA: Introducing first, making his way down the aisle, hailing from the "Town Too Tough To Die", Tombstone, Texas, weighing in at 267lbs, here is... the "Lone Wolf"... Brody Thunder! [Big heel pop as Thunder steps out into the crimson glow of the lights. He is wearing his typical black leather vest, emblazoned with his thunderbolt symbol, his normal black trunks, and his black cowboy hat, its brim pulled down over his eyes. He walks to the ring without acknowledging the clamouring fans.] TD: This is one mean individual, folks. Brody Thunder has simply run through the competition since he arrived here in the IIWF last November -- with the exception of one man, his opponent tonight, Billy Shakespeare. SR: He's going to run through Pukespeare tonight like a hot knife through butter, Dross. BL: Shakespeare does have the advantage of speed and agility, don't forget. Although Thunder is more of a man than little Willie will ever be. You know why he's called "little Willie", don't you, Timmy? TD: Er... I don't think I _want_ to know, thanks, Becky. [Thunder enters the ring and removes his hat and vest, handing them to a ringside attendant. He performs a few stretches and checks the tension of the ropes. The red lights fade out as the arena is darkened, save for a single spotlight which illuminates Sparkplug in the ring, and another spotlight which illuminates the walkway just in front of the entrance curtain, from which dry ice is slowly beginning to seep.] RA: And his opponent... ["Little Willie" by the Sweet kicks in over the PA to a huge pop.] Hailing from Ashland, Oregon, and weighing in at 230lbs, he is a former IIWF Cruiserweight Champion, and a former IIWF Intercontinental Champion... he is "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare! [The huge video wall runs highlights of Shakespeare's career: his match with Moondust; his victory over the Man of Steel to win the Cruiserweight title; his victory over Tiger Claw to win the IC belt; his victory over Dan Kauffman in a cage match... And the crowd gives a resounding pop as Billy steps out into the Skydome. He gives a deep bow, and then walks down the walkway, slapping the hands of fans on both sides of the aisle. He jumps to the apron, and then over the ropes into the ring. Climbing to the top turnbuckle, he raises his arms aloft to the crowd, who cheer even more wildly.] TD: This is the man who will carry the mantle of the IIWF into the Superstar Summit in just two weeks... SR: Oh well, we're going out early, then. TD: Steve, this is one of the most accomplished athletes in the wrestling world today. Countless impressive victories, two championship reigns... SR: Doesn't change a thing, Dross. He thinks he's so damned clever just because he can read four hundred year old books, but who the hell wants to hear about the love affair of a Roman emperor who turns into a donkey? TD: Uh, Steve, I think you're getting your Shakespeare mixed up. SR: My point exactly, Dross?! Who cares? If it hasn't got Robert de Niro in it, who's going to care? TD: Okay, let's get up to the ring. We're just about ready to begin this match. [The lights in the Skydome rise once more as the referee signals for the opening bell. Ding! Ding! Ding! Thunder and Shakespeare approach one another in the centre of the ring. The two men stare eye to eye.] BL: These two men are about the same height, but look at the difference in build. SR: Pukespeare's a scrawny runt, and Thunder's built like a man. TD: Well, Billy's giving up thirty-plus pounds in this match, but the extra speed and agility should be to his advantage. [The two athletes exchange a few words. Shakespeare apparently hits a raw nerve, as Thunder fires out with a hard right hand, sending Billy staggering backwards. Heel pop. Shakespeare shakes off the cobwebs, and charges right back up to stand toe to toe with Thunder, who again attempts a huge right hand swing, but Billy blocks, and fires back with a haymaker of his own. Big pop! Thunder is staggered, but even successive punches don't take him down. Shakespeare bounces off the ropes and floors Thunder with a dropkick! The "Lone Wolf" rolls out of the ring under the bottom rope, and Shakespeare immediately charges for the corner, leaps to the top turnbuckle, swivels, and launches himself with a front somersault plancha onto Thunder all the way to the outside! Huge pop!] TD: Wow! What a move from Shakespeare right at the outset in this match! BL: Billy knows that he's got to try and take Thunder out early, because if Brody gets a chance to work on Shakespeare's back or legs, it's over for the runtweight. SR: Come on, Brody! [Both men pick themselves up, and a slugfest quickly erupts on the floor. Shakespeare attempts to whip Thunder into the steel ringsteps, but the "Lone Wolf" reverses, and sends Billy for the ride. Shakespeare tries to avoid clattering into the steps, but ends up slamming his back into the cold hard steel. Big heel pop! Thunder stalks up to Shakespeare and drags him to his feet, then nails him in the midsection with a jab. Billy is doubled over, and Thunder picks up the top half of the steel ringsteps, throwing them down hard on Billy's back. Shakespeare crumples to the floor. Big heel pop!] TD: I think we're seeing Thunder's gameplan come into action here. He knows that if he weakens Shakespeare's back, he won't have the strength to pick him up for the Thunderbolt later in the match. [Shakespeare crawls out from under the dislodged steps, and is met by several hard boots to the small of the back from Thunder, who then drags Shakespeare to his feet and scoops him up. He brings Billy down hard across his knee with a backbreaker, but instead of letting him drop to the floor, Thunder keeps his grip, and repeats the backbreaker not once, not twice, but three times, before dropping Shakespeare to the floor once more. Heel pop!] TD: Unbelievable! Four backbreakers from Brody Thunder! Billy's got to be hurting right now! [Thunder is relentless, dragging Shakespeare to his feet again and attempting to whip him into the steel ringpost. Billy, however, reverses, and it is Thunder who crashes into the steel! Big pop! Shakespeare rolls back into the ring, and pulls himself back to his feet using the ropes, while Thunder shakes off the cobwebs on the outside. The big man climbs back to the apron, but a few hard right-hands from Shakespeare sends Brody back to the arena floor. Thunder walks round the ring and attempts to come back in at another side, but again finds himself pounded back to the floor by Billy. He approaches a third side, and this time pulls Shakespeare's feet out from under him, dropping him to the mat, and allowing him to climb back into the ring. He attempts to drop an elbow on Shakespeare, but Billy rolls out of the way. Pop! Both men get back to their feet, and Billy attempts to whip Thunder into the ropes. Thunder, however, reverses, and looks to be sending Shakespeare for the ride -- but doesn't let go of Billy's arm, wrenching it in its socket. Billy yelps in pain as Thunder ties him up in an armbar.] TD: That's one of Billy's favourite holds, Steve! Thunder's taunting Shakespeare here! SR: And he's putting the bad mouth on the little puke, too. Go, Brody! [Shakespeare's face is contorted in pain, but he grimaces and twists out of the hold, turning and charging at Thunder with a clothesline, taking Brody off his feet. Shakespeare leaps to the middle rope and then throws himself backwards at the prone "Lone Wolf" with a mid-rope moonsault -- but Thunder darts out of the way! Big heel pop! Thunder drags Shakespeare to his feet and whips him into the ropes -- but Shakespeare performs a hand-spring snapping back off the ropes, and launches himself across the ring with a flying crossbody block, which takes the Lone Wolf off his feet! Shakespeare kneels on Thunder and pounds on his head with volley after volley of right hands! Big crowd pop!] TD: Shakespeare's turning up the heat on Thunder now! [Shakespeare gets back to his feet and lets Thunder rise. Billy signals to the crowd that he intends to put Thunder in the torture rack. Huge pop! Thunder groggily stands, and Shakespeare attempts to hoist him up into the torture rack... but his back gives out, and he drops Thunder ineffectually to the mat. Thunder lands on his feet, and nails Shakespeare in the small of the back with an elbow, dropping the former IC champ to the mat. Big heel pop!] TD: His back gave out! Shakespeare's back gave out! How's he going to get Brody into the Thunderbolt if he can't bear his weight? SR: Heh! I love it, Dross! Thunder had his gameplan worked out right from the start! BL: Shakespeare hasn't been helping himself by pulling off those high-risk moonsaults and planchas, Timmy. Each time he pushes his body to the limit, he exacerbates the damage to his back -- and you can bet that Thunder's going to take advantage of it now! [Thunder drags Billy back to his feet and puts his head under one arm. He raises his other arm to the crowd, who give a huge heel pop!] TD: No! Thunder's going to execute the Cattle Buster DDT! SR: Plant him, Brody! Plant him in the mat! Whoo! [Thunder brings his arm down on Shakespeare's back as he executes the Cattle Buster -- but Shakespeare grabs hold of the top rope, and manages to avoid the impact, Thunder landing hard on his backside. Shakespeare straightens up, clearly in pain, and moves to the corner, jumping over Thunder with a flying monkey flip, sending the Lone Wolf flying across the ring towards the other corner! Big pop! Thunder gets to his feet, and is floored by a big clothesline by a charging Shakespeare! Huge pop! Shakespeare drags Thunder to his feet once more, and again attempts to hoist him up. Again, however, his back is unable to take the strain, and he steps back, clutching his lower lumbar region.] TD: Shakespeare's back has simply taken too much damage in this match. He just can't get Thunder up! SR: Hang on -- hey, look at that! [Thunder, his back to the corner, has grabbed Shakespeare as if to execute a suplex on the former IC champ. He hoists him up in the air and over his head -- and, more by luck than judgement, Shakespeare ends up straddling the top turnbuckle! Big heel pop! Thunder turns, and climbs to the second buckle on the inside. He hooks Shakespeare's arm over his head in preparation for a superplex...] TD: Is Thunder going to superplex Shakespeare into the ring here? He grabs his tights... Yes! Wow, what a move! [Both men crash to the mat inside the ring to a big pop, and Thunder gets back to his feet. He points to the top rope. Heel pop! Thunder walks back to the corner and begins the climb to the top rope, his back to the ring.] TD: He's going for it! He's going for the Curtain Call! SR: Come on, little Willie... Get up and meet your maker! BL: Thunder really doesn't look at home on that top turnbuckle, Timmy. [Shakespeare begins to stir in the ring as Thunder crouches on the top turnbuckle, biding his time. Shakespeare slowly gets to his feet, and teeters in the ring, his back to Thunder, who now begins to pull himself to his full height on the top buckle. The crowd is on its feet, willing Shakespeare to turn around and see the danger that awaits him... Shakespeare groggily turns... Thunder launches himself backwards with the reverse back-flip cross-body block known as the Curtain Call... and misses! Shakespeare ducks to the mat! Huge pop!] TD: Thunder misses! Thunder misses! SR: No! [The crowd are going wild as both men lie on the mat, their chests heaving. Shakespeare is the first to stir, apparently drawing energy from the fans as he kips up back to a vertical base! Huge pop! Billy points at Thunder once more. Another huge pop! The fans begin to chant, "Bil - ly! Bil - ly! Bil - ly!" as Shakespeare brings Thunder back to his feet. Summoning up every ounce of strength in his exhausted body, Shakespeare hoists Thunder up onto his shoulders...] TD: Yes! He has Thunder up! And once you're up on those shoulders, there's only one way to go... [Shakespeare takes a few steps into the middle of the ring and brings Thunder crashing down with a shoulderbreaker! The crowd go absolutely nuts!] TD: ...and that's down! Shakespeare has hit the Thunderbolt! All he needs to do is cover him! SR: I can't believe this, Dross! Kick out, Brody! Kick out! [Billy makes the cover on Thunder and the referee drops to the mat to make the count. The crowd chants along... "One!... Two!... Three!" Ding! Ding! Ding! Huge pop!] SR: No! TD: Billy Shakespeare has done it! He has felled Brody Thunder with his own finisher! [Shakespeare stands, wincing at the effort of straightening his damaged back, allowing the official to raise his arm in victory.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner: "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare! ["Little Willie" kicks in over the PA again as Thunder rolls from the ring, clutching his head. The camera captures the look of anger on his face.] TD: A humiliating defeat for the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder here tonight, but you can rest assured that this setback will only make Thunder all the more determined to succeed here in the IIWF. SR: You're damned right, Dross! I can't believe it! Pukespeare beats Brody Thunder?! What's the world coming to?! [Thunder heads up the walkway back to the locker room as fireworks erupt above the ring and Shakespeare climbs to the top turnbuckle in each of the four corners, saluting the crowd, who wave signs -- among which are a few which read, "Billy: top of the Summit!", "Shakespeare Bolts Thunder!", "Little Willie? Big Man!", "Billy Breaks The Loop!" -- before hopping back down into the ring and leaving the squared circle. Shakespeare heads up the aisle, rubbing his back with one hand and slapping hands with the fans with the other. Cut to the broadcasters' table.] TD: Billy will need to rest his back for a while after the beating it took in the ring -- and outside -- tonight, but he'll undoubtedly be in peak condition in two weeks' time when he will be competing against seven other tremendous athletes in the Summit Cup, live over five days from Wembley Stadium, London, England, from April 6. SR: Why on earth the IIWF is sending Pukespeare to that event when they could be sending a real man like Thunder or Watkins is beyond me, Dross. TD: Now's not the time for such arguments, Steve. We've got a Falls Count Anywhere Match to call. This is a long-awaited encounter between the veteran, Mad Dog Watkins, and the youngster, Creed. SR: Even better, it's personal. There's been a lot of mystery surrounding Creed and Watkins, everything from whose side are they on to... BL: Who's your daddy? [Steve and Becky begin laughing] TD: Creed has been seemingly waiting his entire life for this match. He has some burning inner desire to beat Watkins. SR: I get that burning inner feeling after eating at the IIWF Cafeteria. TD: Watkins brings the experience into this match. He's 15 years older than Creed and he knows his way around the ring. BL: And he knows his way around the outside of the ring, too. Don't forget that falls count anywhere in this match. The only way to win is by pinfall. There are no countouts, submissions or disqualifications. There aren't many places in an arena that Watkins hasn't brawled during his career. SR: The old guy still looks pretty good, but can experience overcome the energy of youth? When you get right down to it, this is the "Old Dog" versus the "Pup" to find out who's the baddest dog on the street. TD: And both of these men know how to bite. I have to wonder if the absence of the "CEO" Jack Montgomery will alter Creed's gameplan for this match? After all, Creed has shown us several different styles in recent weeks. BL: That has to have thrown Watkins off. Everyone knows the Mad Dog is a master of studying videotapes of opponents. Is Creed coming in as a finesse wrestler, a counterwrestler, a purely technical wrestler, or a martial artist? Creed has kept his cards close to his chest. TD: We're about to play out that hand because Sparkplug Lee is waiting in the ring with our introductions. ### # # ### -------------------------------------------------------. # # # # # FALLS COUNT ANYWHERE MATCH: | ### # # # ### | # # ## ## # Mad Dog Watkins vs. Creed | # # # # ### -------------------------------------------------------' WRITER: SO [The shot switches to Sparkplug, who is smoothing his eyebrows with the help of the Jumbotron video wall in centerfield. When he notices the shot on him, he casually pulls a bottle of "Sparkplug" after shave from his coat pocket and smiles before replacing it with his notes.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following encounter is a "falls count anywhere" grudge match. Introducing first, from Detroit, Michigan, weighing in at 269 pounds, he is the man they call Mad Dog... he is Mad Dog Watkins! [Big heel pop as "Paint it Black" by the Rolling Stones begins to play and Watkins steps into the cavernous SkyDome, the sweat already dripping from his shaved head. He is attired in his usual long black tights with the purple trim around the waist. He adjusts his black kneepads before walking slowly down the aisle, encountering a number of fans wearing black "Anyone... Anywhere... Anytime" t-shirts. As they jeer him, Watkins tosses them looks that quickly shuts them up.] TD: It looks like Creed has some fans here tonight. SR: Jack Montgomery was probably passing out those t-shirts for free. You know these Canadians -- give 'em something free and they'll wear it in a heartbeat. BL: Except feather boas. Hehehe... snort. [Watkins enters the ring and grabs the microphone from Sparkplug, who quickly retreats the the corner. The crowd falls silent as the PA system lowers the volume of "Paint It Black", and Watkins begins to speak in his low gravely voice, which booms throughout SkyDome.] MDW: Creed... You've been see-sawing back and forth for weeks now, afraid to lay a finger on this "Old Dog." You been counting down the days 'til you can move me out. Well, bring it on, punk... you don't have to wait any more. I'm gonna beat your ass so hard, you're gonna thank God that I'm not your daddy! At least your real daddy would have some pity. Me? I ain't got nothing but an ass-whoopin' for ya. It's business... it's personal... and IT'S ON! [Watkins tosses the microphone back to Sparkplug as a red spotlight hits the top of the aisle.] TD: Wow, Mad Dog Watkins challenges Creed to bring the fight to him. SR: That's because he knows Creed doesn't have what it takes to go to war with the Mad Dog. Watkins has consistently pounded on the kid, who won't fight back. Watkins is the master of mind games. BL: Is Creed scared of the Mad Dog? I guess we're going to find out. [Right on cue, Creed's voice blares over the PA system: "Anyone... Anywhere... Anytime." Creed steps into SkyDome, as Sparkplug completes the introductions.] SL: And his opponent, hailing from Oakland, California, weighing in at 276 pounds, he is... Creed! [Mixed pop as Creed walks very calmly down the aisle. The fans wearing the Creed t-shirts attempt to touch their hero, but his eyes are fixed on Mad Dog Watkins in the ring.] TD: Why isn't Creed's music playing? We're used to hearing "Ode to Joy" when he makes his way to the ring. SR: Creed knows this match isn't an ode to anything joyous. It'll be an ode to pain when Watkins gets finished with him. BL: And, as promised, Jack Montgomery is nowhere to be seen. [Creed walks down the aisle to its midpoint. He raises his lethal left hand, his eyes still fixed on the ring... then slowly lowers it and charges into the ring. As referee T.C. Patterson is knocked aside attempting to restrain Creed, both wrestlers go nose-to-nose in the middle of the ring. They exchange words as the crowd begins to work itself into a frenzy. Neither man backs away, but Creed begins to shake as if two decades of frustration are being shaken from his body. Patterson finally calls for the bell as Creed reaches back and rocks Watkins with a hard right hand. SkyDome erupts.] TD: So much for Creed being afraid of Watkins! BL: This one could turn ugly. Of course, with Steve sitting here, it has no choice but to turn ugly. SR: Hey! [Watkins fires right back at Creed and both men stand in the center of the ring exchanging blows. Creed finally backs Watkins into a corner and fires away with punches to his face. He follows up with knees to the midsection, alternating blows in an attempt to take Watkins off his feet.] SR: So much for the mystery of Creed's style tonight. He's taking the fight right to the Old Dog. TD: Which may have been the last thing Watkins expected. [Creed attempts to whip Watkins into the opposing corner, but Mad Dog reverses it and the youngster hits the turnbuckles. As he staggers back toward the center of the ring, Watkins follows up with a clothesline. Creed goes down and Watkins begins stomping on his head, screaming "I know who your daddy is, Pup!" However, Creed catches Mad Dog's foot and uses his brute strength to push Watkins backward, allowing him to get back to his feet. Creed charges full steam into Watkins, knocking him back into the turnbuckles. He then hits a belly-to-belly suplex that rocks the ring and echoes throughout SkyDome. Big pop.] TD: It's clear this is going to be a match of high-impact moves, but that will take a lot out of both men. How long can they go at this pace? BL: Both are in good condition, but each blow slows them down. They haven't stopped since the opening bell. [Creed uses his speed to twist one of Mad Dog's arms behind his back in a hammerlock. Watkins bends down, trying to escape the hold, but Creed hooks his neck and leg and executes a standing faceslam, drawing "oohs" from the crowd. He quickly rolls Watkins over and goes for a pin: 1 - 2 - Kickout! Creed pulls Watkins back to his feet and delivers a few European uppercuts which stagger the big man, then floors him with a swinging neckbreaker. Cover: 1 - 2 - Kickout!] TD: Creed may not have thrown as much as a punch at Mad Dog Watkins before tonight, but he's sure making up for it now. SR: But Watkins, the wiley veteran that his is, takes each count to the last second to give him time to recover. [Creed again pulls Watkins to his feet and whips him across to the other corner. He attempts to follow up with a splash, but Watkins moves out of the way and Creed slams head first into the turnbuckle. As he staggers back into the ring, Watkins hits a reverse DDT, then rolls over and catches his breath.] SR: There's the experience of Mad Dog Watkins! He knows where his opponent is in the ring at all times. TD: Maybe so, but both men are beginning to suck wind right now. [Watkins is the first man to his feet. He lifts Creed and hits a hard suplex. He follows with a textbook tiger driver, then slides out of the ring and grabs a metal chair from the timekeeper's table. He tosses it over the top rope and it nearly hits the prone Creed on the fly.] TD: What's Watkins planning to do now? SR: He's gonna "teach dat boy a lesson!" BL: Remember, there is no disqualification in this match, so that runt referee T.C. Patterson has to keep his mouth shut. [Watkins slides the chair over, then lifts Creed for another suplex and brings Creed's back down across the chair. Again, "oohs" pour from the SkyDome crowd. Watkins leans over Creed and slaps his face, again taunting him. The ring mic picks up the word "daddy" several times. Watkins lifts Creed and executes a snap suplex, then grabs the chair and slams it across Creed's back. He rolls Creed over and goes for the cover, but referee T.C. Patterson is busy kicking the steel chair from the ring. Patterson turns to see the pin attempt and drops down, but Creed kicks out after a one count. Watkins is quickly to his feet and in Patterson's face, complaining about the count, but the referee holds his hands up in innocence.] SR: Watkins had Creed right there! Where do we get these incompetent referees? TD: Patterson has earned the praise of head referee Earl Alfonso on more than one occasion. He just has his hands full trying to keep order in this match. BL: Order? It's no DQ and falls count anywhere. Who said anything about order? SR: Yeah. Blood! We want blood! [Watkins returns to the business at hand, squeezing Creed's head between his legs. He cinches Creed's waist, but before he can execute the piledriver, Creed turns it into a backdrop. As Watkins hits the mat, Creed drops to one knee, then grabs the top rope and gets back to his feet. He stands calmly for a moment, then shakes the rope and turns to face Watkins.] TD: Uh-oh, I think there is more than one mad dog in the ring right now. Creed is fuming. BL: There's more than a little family resemblance between these guys right now, huh? [Creed goes to work on Watkins with his entire high-impact arsenal, mixing punches with a spinning spinebuster, an inverted neckbreaker, and finally a double underhook piledriver that seems to shake the very foundation of SkyDome. Creed covers, but Watkins gets a foot on the ropes after a two count. As Creed attempts to pull the Mad Dog back to his feet, Watkins grabs Creed's tights and hurls him from the ring. Creed lands hard, giving Watkins time to recuperate.] TD: What a battle this has turned out to be! Both men are giving as good as they're getting. SR: Still no blood, though. BL: The question now becomes do they keep it in the ring or are they going to... whoops, I guess that question is about to be answered. [As Becky speaks, Watkins leaps from the ring apron and nails a double axe-handle across Creed's back. He whips the younger man into the ring barrier and Creed's momentum carries him over the barrier and into the crowd. Security is quickly on the scene to clear that area. Watkins jumps over the ring guard and pulls Creed to his feet, only to be met by a hard right hand from Creed. Watkins staggers backward, then smiles at the younger man and they begin exchanging blows once again, working their way deeper into the SkyDome crowd.] TD: Keep security over there! This is a dangerous situation with these two going at each other like that! SR: Hey Watkins, take out a few illiterate Canadians while you're over there! BL: You guys in the truck had better get those hand-held cameras ready. We're gonna have a clean-up on aisle five. TD: A what? BL: It's technical talk. [Watkins and Creed finally arrive at an aisle and fight up the steps toward a portal into the mezzanine. Creed gains the advantage and slams Watkins' head into the concrete wall surrounding the portal, then hurls the Mad Dog into the mezzanine area. The cameras inside SkyDome lose sight of both men.] TD: I'm being told by our producer that cameras are on their way to the scene. I can only imagine what carnage is taking place out there. SR: At $29.95 a pop, I think a lot of people would like to _see_ what's taking place out there. BL: And if you're not happy about this, fans, don't call us. Call those local cable operators we're always talking about. SR: Hey, while we've got a break, why don't we scan the windows of those hotel rooms out beyond the left field wall? Remember those honeymooners who were caught on video during a baseball game? Now _that's_ action! BL: Yeah. In fact, I think I can see two "gropers" out there now. It looks like... ooh, Mistress Quickly and Melissa Etheridge. TD: Oh, would you two just... wait, I'm told we've got the action! [Cut to a shaky picture from a hand-held camera. Fifty feet down the mezzanine, Creed and Watkins are still exchanging blows. As the camera gets closer, it is evident that Watkins is now bleeding from the forehead. Creed snap suplexes him into a souvenir stand, which collapses under Mad Dog's weight. As the debris is cleared, Watkins swats a souvenir Brody Thunder cowboy hat from his head. Creed dives in to get to Watkins, but is met by a Rotundo piggy bank which Mad Dog smashes over his head. Creed now shows a cut on his head as both men continue to struggle in the remains of the souvenir stand.] TD: These men are trashing SkyDome. SR: Nah, just one of those souvenir stands. I hear those Rotundo piggy banks weren't selling anyway. [Both men get slowly back to their feet and brawl toward the wall. An elevator opens and a well-to-do older couple step out. They see the wrestlers coming toward them and quickly run up the mezzanine. The elevator operator looks out and his eyes widen at the sight in front of him. He runs over toward the older couple, narrowly avoiding Watkins whipping Creed into the elevator's wall. Mad Dog dives into the elevator on top of Creed as the elevator doors close with the wrestlers still inside.] TD: You're kidding me! They're fighting in an elevator?! We can't get a camera in there! BL: As I was saying, fans, call your local cable operators with those complaints. SR: I've never seen anything like this. In fact, I still haven't seen _this_. Where the hell are the cameras? [The crowd inside SkyDome, which had been watching the brawl on the JumboTron, grows restless at the video feed of the elevator doors. Referee T.C. Patterson watches the elevator stop on the fourth level of SkyDome, then repeatedly presses the button to automatically call the elevator back. Patterson yells "fourth level" to the camera and continues pushing the button.] TD: Apparently the elevator stopped on the fourth floor. We don't know if Creed and Watkins are still on the elevator or not, but I'm told by our producer that we do have a camera on that level and it is on its way to the elevator's location. BL: Hey, the fourth level. That's the one Larry and I stopped at last night to get to... [Becky's words finally sink in as all three broadcasters grow quiet. Becky finally finishes her sentence.] ...the Hard Rock Cafe! [The screen jumps back to life with a new shot from another hand-held camera. Well-dressed fans are running in the opposite direction. The camera catches an elevator opening ahead, but it is referee T.C. Patterson who runs from it. The walls of the elevator are stained with blood. Patterson runs toward a commotion ahead, just inside the Hard Rock Cafe.] BL: Ooh boy, the suits are gonna hate this bill! TD: This is unprecedented in our sport. How in the world did they get up there? Oh, the humanity! [As the camera ducks into the Hard Rock Cafe, it picks up both wrestlers still exchanging blows, although much more slowly than before. The brawl has clearly taken its toll on both men, who bleed freely. Diners flee from the two brawlers, who turn over tables and smash plates and glasses. Creed rams Watkins' head into the lobster tank, which shatters and soaks the carpet in that area of the restaurant. The crustaceans begin flailing on the wet carpet. "Papa Was A Rolling Stone" plays in the background.] BL: Hey, maybe Keith Moon was Creed's daddy. SR: Ha! Good one, Becky. TD: [incredulously] I don't believe this is happening. [Back in the Hard Rock Cafe, Watkins grabs one of Elvis Presley's framed gold records and slams it over Creed's head, prompting Becky to make a "Don't Be Cruel" comment. Creed counters by grabbing an autographed Pete Townsend guitar and clubbing Watkins with it. The guitar shatters, of course. Mad Dog tackles Creed and they both crash through the large glass case containing the Village People mannequins, which topple like dominoes. As the SkyDome crowd, still watching on the JumboTron, finally begins to realize where the brawl is now taking place, the pop grows ever louder inside the arena. The fans begin to chant the names of the wrestlers, with Creed's fans being the most vocal.] SR: Just when you think you've seen everything in this business, something like this happens. BL: They're rocking and rolling all over each other. And they both look like they're about to fall down. TD: [incredulously] This isn't really happening. Tell me it isn't happening. [Creed and Watkins finally battle their way out a rear door and to an outdoor patio just above the centerfield stands, which fortunately are empty for this event because of their distance to the ring. Watkins whips Creed into the concrete wall above the stands, then manages a final burst of energy and clotheslines Creed. His momentum takes Mad Dog over the railing as well, and both men drop the four feet to the back row of the centerfield stands. The crowd is popping like it hasn't all night with both men back in view. Referee Patterson leaps over the railing and sees Watkins' arm draped across Creed's chest. He begins a count: 1 - 2 - Creed incredibly gets a shoulder up, but coughs up a bit of blood in the process. Watkins, whose right eye is closed, merely shakes his head at the youngster.] TD: These men look like they've been hit by trucks. SR: They may as well have been. BL: Trucks may have done less damage. [Watkins struggles to rise, his back to the SkyDome crowd. Suddenly, Creed whips his boot and kicks Mad Dog in the midsection, sending him tumbling two-thirds of the way down the concrete aisle. Creed half stumbles and half crawls down the aisle, using the seats as a brace. He reaches Watkins and kicks him down the remaining steps to the base of the wall over the outfield fence.] TD: What a spill! Mad Dog Watkins may be seriously injured after that fall. SR: Creed doesn't exactly look like a poster boy for a health club right now. TD: Referee T.C. Patterson needs to put an end to this match right now. This is too brutal. BL: It's no DQ. He's got no grounds to stop this match. Both of these men have something to prove. TD: I'm surprised either one can still stand. They're both on the edge of that wall. This is too dangerous! [The effect is dramatic as Creed stands over Watkins 15 feet above the surface of SkyDome. The JumboTron towers above them, showing both men and their injuries from a vantage point at the base of the baseball wall, which has been partially constructed for the Blue Jays' upcoming home opener, below them. No one doubts Creed's intent any longer as he looks over the edge and nods his head. Mad Dog Watkins, however, sneaks in a low blow to the groin region, then pulls himself to his feet with his remaining energy. He also looks over the edge and slaps Creed, then points to the floor of SkyDome fifteen feet below as if signalling for his finisher.] TD: No! If Watkins hits his Samoan Drop from that height, both men could be killed. SR: Hey, think what that would do for the ratings! [Watkins begins to pick up Creed, but does not have the strength to complete the move. Creed, as if saving his lethal left hand for such a moment, counters by punching Mad Dog with his gloved hand. As Watkins doubles over, Creed lifts him for the "Goodnight... Farewell... Amen" flying powerbomb and executes it off the wall. Both men fall hidden from view behind the outfield baseball fence. On top of the wall, referee T.C. Patterson slaps the concrete three times and signals across SkyDome for the ring bell: DING! DING! DING!] TD: I've never witnessed anything like this in my life and I hope I never do again! SR: Shut up, Dross. The bell rang. Who won? BL: What a drop to the floor of SkyDome! A flying powerbomb from... what do you think, Steve, fifteen feet? SR: Yeah, I'd say about fifteen feet. But who won? But who landed on whom? [Referee T.C. Patterson is already yelling for emergency medical personnel. The camera at ground level has reached a break in the wall and proceeds to the site where both men lie crumpled in a pile of cardboard boxes behind the wall. As the camera approaches, Creed rises very slowly and holds his gloved hand above his head. He mutters, "Any...time... Any..." before collapsing unconscious.] SR: It looks like Creed is our winner. TD: I'm not sure there is a winner in this match, in the end. Neither of them seems to be moving. [Patterson is yelling Creed's name toward the camera to verify that he is the winner. Two ambulances pull around the warning track behind the wrestling seating in that area and SkyDome workers remove a section of the portable fencing. Medical personnel flock to the area and surround both men.] TD: Fans, I have to apologize for what we've just seen. SR: Apologize? Are you crazy? That was great! TD: The IIWF is not about hardcore matches. We're about _wrestling_. BL: Well, this match was about two men who had a definite score to settle. It was inevitable that something like this would happen. SR: Yeah, and we got to see it! BL: Well, most of it. TD: Thank goodness there seemed to be some boxes out there which possibly broke their fall, but Mad Dog Watkins could be in serious condition. A flying powerbomb from that height... oh my goodness. SR: Goodnight... Farewell... Amen. [Medical personnel roll two stretchers from the scene and place one in each of the waiting ambulances. The lights immediately begin flashing as the vehicles quickly leave the building with Mad Dog Watkins and Creed inside.] TD: Fans, we'll try to get some word from Toronto Memorial Hospital before we leave. This is a serious situation and we know you're concerned about the health of these great wrestlers. SR: Yeah, yeah, let's get on with the show. TD: Well, it's already been an unforgettable night of action here at the SkyDome... More than ninety thousand people packed in here to witness one of the greatest nights in IIWF history. And the action is set to hot up even more here in our next match, as "The Enigma" Tazeko Musashi defends his title against his nemesis, The White Phoenix, Shinja Chow. BL: Defend it? He's going to lose it, more like. Sun Tsi has turned the Phoenix into a killing machine. SR: And it's a ladder match. These two are going to be flying all over the damn shop. TD: It's not going to be pretty, that's for sure, folks. These two have been on each other's tails for weeks now. The ladder has been set up in the aisle, and we're ready to go down to ringside for the introductions. This could be a big one, folks. BL: Hehehe... snort! ### # # ### -------------------------------------------------------. # # # # # IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP LADDER MATCH: | ### # # # ### | # # ## ## # "Enigma" Takezo Musashi [c] vs. The White Phoenix | # # # # ### -------------------------------------------------------' WRITER: MP RA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a sixty-minute time limit, and is for the IIWF Cruiserweight Championship! [Huge pop!] This is a ladder match, and the stipulations are as follows... The only way to win is to use the ladder to climb up above the ring, and fall to the mat with the belt. No pinfalls, submissions, countouts or disqualifications. The ladder _may_ be used as a weapon! [Big pop!] SR: Yes! I love it! This is going to be wild! RA: Introducing first, the challenger, hailing from Beijing, China, and weighing in at 220lbs, accompained to the ring by his manager, Sun Tsi, here is the 'White Phoenix' Shiiiiinjaaaaa Choooooooow!! [Big heel pop as a gong sounds, followed by an eagle's cry, and Shinja Chow enters the aisle, accompanied by Sun Tsi, who is pointedly berating Chow... the pair stop at the steel ladders, and a camera crew picks them up..] ST: You will not dare suffer defeat here tonight, Chow, or you will experience pain the like of which has never before been seen! Do not fail me, Chow! [Sun Tsi points to the ladder, and The Phoenix climbs to the top, arms raised in the air! Big heel pop! Chow throws his arms down and vaults back to the aisle, where Sun Tsi renews his threats...] TD: Incredible, Steve. Sun Tsi has exposed a darker, more threatening side to the Phoenix, and he's certainly been showing a great deal more aggression since his return. SR: Aggression is good, Dross. Aggression is good. [The White Phoenix enters the ring and stands in his corner, expressionless. Sun Tsi swiftly follows him, continuing his verbal onslaught and slapping the Phoenix in the face to get his point across.] RA: And his opponent... [HUGE crowd pop] he is the current IIWF Crusierweight champion, hailing from Toyko, Japan and weighing in at 211lbs, here is "The Enigma" Taaaazeeekoo Muuuusaaaaaashiiiii!! [Huge crowd pop as the Enigma's oriental music plays out over the PA system, and the Enigma enters the aisle, arms raised and with the Crusierweight title around his waist. He slaps the fans' hands, and then walks across to the ladder, climbing to the top and holding the Cruiserweight title in the air! Huge pop! The Enigma points across at the Phoenix, who is watching him impassively, and then leaps off the top of the ladder, somersaulting to land on his feet in the aisle! Big crowd pop!] TD: Wow! What a display of agility there by the Enigma! BL: What a stupid risk, more like! All he had to do was slip, and the match would already be over. [The Enigma makes his way down to ringside, and vaults into the ring, eyeing the Phoenix coldly. He hands the referee the Crusierweight title, who holds it in the air one last time before fastening it around a steel ring. The two athletes square up to each other as the belt is hoisted into the air...] SR: This is it, Dross. For these two, this is what it all boils down to. One on one, these two have wanted this for a long time. BL: [whispering] Amazing. Even Steve is finding himself in awe of these two. TD: [whispering] Must be the moment, Becky. SR: Of course, the Phoenix is going to splatter Musushi all over the ring. [The belt is held in position, and the bell rings. Both men stare at each other for a second, and then the Phoenix flies into a martial arts combo: A series of roundhouse kicks, a backhand strike, throat punch, axe kick... the Enigma ducks and twists, avoiding or blocking the blows, before striking out with a front kick that catches the Phoenix in the stomach, backing him into the ropes! The Enigma goes for an irish whip, the Phoenix reverses, the Enigma ducks the knife edge and comes back with a flying cross body! The Phoenix ducks at the last second, and the Enigma rolls with it, rising to his feet and catching the Phoenix with a Japanese armdrag as he charges in! Big pop! the Phoenix kicks up to his feet, and the Enigma takes him back down with a headlock takedown! the Phoenix quickly escapes through headscissors, both men spring up and attempt a dropkick at the same time, nailing each other! Big pop! The two roll to their feet, and start to circle again, cautiously...] BL: That was... fast. TD: What a breathtaking opening by both men! They're so quick, so athletic... and so evenly matched! [Sun Tsi yells at his man as they circle, and the two move to lock up... the Phoenix quickly takes control with a headlock, and the Enigma tries to quickly counter it with a back suplex, but the Phoenix lands on his feet and takes Musashi down with a hip throw as he turns! The Enigma springs back up, and is backed to the ropes by a series of martial arts kicks, the Enigma responds in kind, ducking under a high side kick and forcing the Phoenix back with a reverse kick, and then a spinning back kick! The Phoenix staggers back, and the Enigma takes to the ropes again, only to be caught by a single leg takedown as he returns! The Phoenix quickly springs up, twisting to drop an elbow towards the Enigma's neck, but the Enigma rolls away at the last split second! Both men kick up, landing in a fighting stance to a huge crowd pop!] TD: These two are simply just too quick! Neither can take the advantage! SR: They can't keep this pace up forever... sooner or later, one of them'll make a mistake, and with the kind of moves they pull out, it's probably going to be a very painful mistake. [The Phoenix wastes no time, charging the Enigma again, unleashing a furious assault that forces the Enigma onto the defensive. The Phoenix backs him into the ropes again, the Enigma switches their positions, and whips the Phoenix cross-ring... the Enigma leapfrogs the Phoenix as he comes back, and then twists, catching the Phoenix on the rebound with a sacrifice throw! The Phoenix rolls with it, and the Enigma hits the ropes himself, charging the Phoenix, who leapfrogs, only to be caught hard in mid-air by an Enigma dropkick! Huge pop as the Phoenix falls into the ropes and tumbles to the outside!] TD: Oh my! A mistake like that, you mean? SR: Don't worry, it's coming... [The Phoenix shakes his head to clear the cobwebs on the outside, and climbs up to the ring apron, under a volley of abuse from Sun Tsi. The Enigma catches him with a knee to the gut as he stands on the ring apron, and locks him into a facelock, preparing to send him back into the ring the hard way...] TD: Snap suplex coming up by the Enigma... he lifts the Phoenix... BL: No! The Phoenix has the rope hooked with his other leg! TD: Surely he won't...? SR: Suplex to the outside, and the Enigma hit hard! I love it! Trust me, Dross, the Phoenix is going all the way in this one... [The Phoenix rises to his feet as the crowd continues to yell in disbelief, and he picks the Enigma up, nailing him with a knife edge, then a knee lift, and then throwing him hard into the steel steps! Huge heel pop! The Phoenix follows through, slamming the Enigma's head into the cold steel, and then, at Sun Tsi's prompting, setting him up against the ringpost...] TD: The Phoenix, unloading now with a series of punches to Musashi's head and body... SR: Don't stop until you make him bleed. TD: I'm sorry? SR: Just a little something I picked up out of a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie. [Sun Tsi yells something at the White Phoenix, and he holds Musashi's head back against the ringpost, clenching his fist... *CLANG!* Huge crowd pop! The Phoenix sinks to his knees, clutching his hand!] TD: Oh my! The Enigma slipped out of Shinja Chow's grasp at the last second, and he hit the ringpost! SR: His hand's gotta be broken, Dross... BL: Forget his hand, I think he broke the ring post! [The Enigma pulls himself to his feet as the Phoenix reels back in pain, and picks up an unnoccupied steel chair... the crowd pops in anticipation... the Enigma backs behind the Phoenix as he rises to his feet, and smashes him hard across the back! Big pop! The Phoenix slumps to the concrete!] SR: Musushi use a chair? Now I've seen everything! TD: It certainly isn't like the Enigma... [The Enigma turns, and starts to stagger back down the aisle, towards the steel ladder... he folds it up, and lifts it up, charging at the rising White Phoenix and smashing him into the steel steps with the ladder! Huge crowd pop! The Enigma lifts the ladder up over his head, and brings it smashing down across the White Phoenix's back!] TD: Unbelievable! The Enigma is going all out here, folks! He is out to win this match, there's no question about that! SR: Look at the Phoenix's hand, Dross, it's swelling up and bleeding! The Enigma may be fighting a crippled man! [The Enigma pushes the ladder into the ring, and rolls in himself, looking up and unfolding the ladder, setting it in position... the White Phoenix starts to pick himself up on the outside, as Sun Tsi practically screams at him to get up... The Enigma starts to climb the ladder, as The White Phoenix pulls himself up onto the ring apron...] TD: The Phoenix is in the ring! The Enigma's almost at the top of the ladder, and the Phoenix hits the ropes, and hits the ladder with a flying dropkick! [Huge crowd pop! The Enigma leaps off the ladder at the last second, landing on his feet! He turns round, and straight into a double palmstrike from the White Phoenix, catching him in the face! The Enigma staggers back into the corner, and the Phoenix slams his knee into the Enigma's midsection, before grabbing him by the hair and charging the ropes, throwing the Enigma clean out of the ring! Huge heel pop! The Enigma doubles over, clutching at his injured hand, and then turns back to the ladder...] TD: The Phoenix now, setting the ladder up... The Enigma's slowly getting to his feet on the outside... The Phoenix sees him... [The Phoenix leaves the ladder standing and goes across to the ropes, slingshotting himself over and catching the Enigma with a flying dropkick! Huge crowd pop! The Phoenix pulls him back up, and sends him crashing head first into the crowd barriers! Heel pop! The Phoenix rolls back into the ring, and starts to climb the ladder...] TD: The Enigma's taking his time getting up on the outside, he looks badly hurt here... SR: Yeah? Well, he better hurry up, or he'll be saying goodbye to the title.. [The Phoenix climbs up to the third step from the top, and reaches up, but is still way off reaching the belt.. The ladder appears to be in slightly the wrong place.. the Enigma climbs up to the ring apron, and Sun Tsi yells out a warning... the Phoenix looks around, scowls and drops to the canvas, folding the ladder up...] TD: What's the Phoenix got planned here? Oh no... [The Phoenix picks up the ladder, and holds it horizontally, charging the Enigma and smashing him hard off the ring apron, where he lands sprawled on the ring announcers' table! Huge heel pop! Sparkplug Lee looks on in shock!] TD: Now what's the Phoenix doing? Oh no... surely he can't be contemplating this... [The Phoenix quickly sets the ladder up next to the ropes, and starts climbing...] SR: Oh yes! If he hits this, they'll be scraping the Enigma up from the Skydome floor! [The Phoenix climbs about three quarters of the way up the ladder, and leaps off... camera flashes go off around the arena and the crowd gasps in awe as the Phoenix comes crashing down onto the Enigma, and through the ring announcers' table in a flying body press, smashing it into splinters! Huge heel pop as both men roll in agony on the floor!] TD: That was quite simply the most reckless move I've seen in my life! SR: Oh yeah, that was a maim job and a half! How many tables have we gone through tonight already? BL: These two have no regard whatsoever for their bodies, do they? SR: Suits you, Becky... [Both men are down on the arena floor, and the White Phoenix slowly starts to stir first, pushing himself to his knees to the prompting of Sun Tsi... the Phoenix staggers up, looks around at the Enigma dazedly, and then slowly climbs back into the ring, picking up the fallen ladder.] TD: I don't believe it, but the Enigma is starting to make a move on the outside! This is incredible! SR: What does it take to put that madman away? It doesn't matter, he's not going to make it in time... [The Phoenix slowly sets the ladders in position, and looks up at the title, and starts climbing as Sun Tsi urges him on... the Enigma stumbles to his feet on the outside, and drops to one knee, the crowd popping in encouragement...] SR: He's not going to make it, Dross, the Phoenix is almost at the top! BL: He can't make it.. it's not possible... [The Enigma pulls himself painfully onto the ring apron, clutching his ribs, and then starts to climb the turnbuckles...] TD: What a display of guts by the Enigma here... he's taken incredible punishment and he's still going... [The Phoenix stands on the second from top rung, reaching up for the belt, but it's still just out of his grasp... the ladder rocks precariously as he pushes himself up ont the very top, his fingertips scraping the belt and sending it swaying... the Enigma reaches the top turnbuckle and leaps..] TD: Flying dropkick by the Enigma! SR: No! The Phoenix has got the belt! He's got the belt! [The Phoenix is hanging fifteen feet above the ring, clutching onto the belt's strap with his injured hand, his face a mask of pain! Huge crowd pop! THe eaches up with his free hand, trying to unfasten the belt, and again.. the belt sways and the Phoenix tumbles back down into the ring! Huge relived crowd pop!] TD: I don't believe what we're seeing here, Steve... these men are taking it to the limit and more... [The Enigma slowly rolls up, and looks down on the fallen Phoenix... and stomps his hand! Big pop! The Phoenix doubles up in agony as the Enigma applies a knucklelock, and starts kicking away at the Phoenix' midsection...] TD: The Enigma is showing signs of frustration here, Steve... and the Phoenix must be in intolerable agony now... SR: He's got the guts to win it, Dross, and with Sun Tsi in his corner... [The Enigma pulls the Phoenix up, hands still locked, and sends him crashing down in a swinging neckbreaker! The Enigma pulls the Phoenix up, and Irish whips him hard into the turnbuckles, before setting the ladder in the opposite turnbuckles...] TD: What's the Enigma got planned here? He's going back over to the Phoenix... [*CLANG!*] TD: The Enigma just Irish whipped the White Phoenix into the steel ladder! BL: He's not finished yet, Timmy, look! [The Enigma picks the Phoenix back up and steadies the ladder, practically pushing the Phoenix up it. The Phoenix lashes out with a kick that knocks the Enigma back down, but the Enigma grabs his hand and crushes the fingers, causing him to yell out in pain! The Enigma climbs up the ladder after him, and hooks him in a facelock, setting the Phoenix up for a superplex... the Phoenix smashes his knee into the Enigma's stomach, the ladder rocks, and the Phoenix leaps off, spinning the Enigma around and sending him crashing to the canvas in a swinging DDT! Huge heel pop! The Phoenix stumbles up, picking the ladder up and closing it on the Enigma's leg, and lodging the ends of the ladder under the...] BL: How much more punishment can these two take? TD: I don't know, Becky... this is going beyond the limits of physical endurance here... SR: They both want this match too bad, Dross... they're not going to give up, even if it kills them... [The Phoenix climbs the turnbuckles quickly, and without turnng around leaps off, landing on the ladder in a vertical splash, crushing it around the Enigma's knee, causing him to yell out in pain! Huge heel pop! The Phoenix releases the leg, and starts kicking away at the knee joint before snapping the hamstring back and then nailing the Enigma with a shinbreaker...] SR: Yes! Excellent stragegy by the Phoenix here! The Enigma's not got a chance of catching him now! BL: Well, I suppose it makes up for the injured hand, anyway... [The Phoenix pulls the Enigma to his feet, and sits him on the top turnbuckles, climbing up after him and locking him into a facelock...] SR: He's gonna superplex him onto the steel ladder! This is it, Dross, the Enigma's finished! [The Phoenix sets himself for the superplex, and the Enigma blocks it! Huge crowd pop! The Enigma sets himself, and reverses the attempt, sending the Phoenix flying over the top turnbuckles and to the outside with a backdrop! Huge awed crowd pop! The Enigma turns on the turnbuckles, facing the outside...] TD: That has to finish it right there! The Phoenix managed to catch the ropes as he fell, but he still hit hard, and he landed on the steel steps! SR: What's the Enigma trying here? BL: Whatever it is, he should be trying for the belt right now! TD: You may be right, Becky... [The Enigma crouches on the turnbuckle as the Phoenix slowly pushes himself up onto his feet, and as he turns and looks up, the Enigma leaps, somersaulting in mid-air... camera flashes go off all around the arena, drawing an incredible crowd pop!] SR: Oh... oh no... TD: The Enigma just nailed the standing White Phoenix with a Starsault Press all the way from the top turnbuckle to the outside! BL: Both men hit the crowd barriers, Timmy... I think they're both out cold... SR: What.. what... has this man got a death wish? Is he on a suicide mission, or something?! Get up, Phoenix! [Both men lie crashed out on the outside, drained to the very limit. The Enigma lies back, hands clutching his head, his chest heaving as he tries to recover enough energy to move...] TD: If the Enigma's going to make a move for the belt, he'd better do it now. The Phoenix hasn't even moved since the... collision. [The Enigma slowly, painfully sits up and rolls to his knees, eyes blinking as he tries to clear his head. The crowd get behind him as Sun Tsi waits for him to move. The cheers are deafening as the Enigma rises to his feet and staggers across to the ring, limping along using the ring apron as support... Sun Tsi runs across to his man, slapping him in the face and yelling, trying to revive him any way he possibly can. The Enigma rolls into the ring, and crawls across to the ladder. Sun Tsi runs across to the announcers' desk...] SR: Hey! What'cha... that's my water! [Sun Tsi runs back to the Phoenix, throwing the glass of water in his face and pulling him up, shaking him... the Enigma slowly sets the ladder up underneath the belt as Sun Tsi practically drags his man across to the ring apron and rolls him in...] TD: I doubt the White Phoenix knows where he is at the moment. The Enigma's starting to climb the ladder... this is going to be very close... [The Phoenix starts to roll to his knees, slapping the canvas as Sun Tsi yells in frustration... the Enigma is halfway up the ladder, but his injured leg is giving him some problems... the Phoenix makes it to his feet, and staggers forward, looking around in a daze before stumbling across to the ladder and starting to climb the other side... the Enigma reaches the second rung from the top and reaches up, trying to reach the title... the ladder sways slightly, and he loses his balance.. the Phoenix pauses, slumping against the metal frame...] TD: The tension in the arena is unbearable... the Enigma's so close here... [The Enigma climbs up onto the top turnbuckle, and reaches up, fingers touching the title... the Phoenix reaches up and grabs his leg, making him stumble.. the ladder rocks again, and the Enigma fights to keep his balance... the Phoenix climbs up after him, punching him in the stomach, and then up even further, catching him in a headlock... ] TD: The Phoenix and the Enigma... both in a very dangerous position on the top turnbuckle... what's going to...NO! SR: Yes! BL: That's it... it's got to be finished now... [The Enigma tried to quickly snap suplex the Phoenix off the top turnbuckle, but he twisted in the air, catching the Enigma with a hurricarana from the top of the ladder that sent him spinning down onto the top rope, and then back into the canvas! Huge heel pop! Both the champion and the Phoenix are down in the ring...] SR: That's got to be it, that has got to finish it. TD: The Phoenix, staggering up, he's pulling the ladder up... setting it in position. The Enigma isn't even moving! Sun Tsi is yelling at the Phoenix to get the belt... [The Phoenix slumps against the ladder and starts climbing again, and the Enigma slowly starts to push himself to his knees!] SR: Aw, no! What does it take to put this man out, Dross? What does it take? BL: A machete would probably help. [The Phoenix slowly pushes his way up, and the Enigma rolls to his knees, gasping for breath... the ladder rocks slightly as the Phoenix climbs, and the Enigma pushes himself to his feet! Huge crowd pop! The Phoenix is almost within grabbing distance of the belt as the Enigma starts to climb up after him... everyone in the arena, including the broadcast team, are in silent suspense... the Phoenix climbs to third rung from the top, and the Enigma catches his foot! Huge crowd pop! The Phoenix curses and tries to kick him off, but the Enigma punches back and climbs up after him... The Phoenix pushes himself up another rung, and reaches up for the belt... the Enigma climbs up behind him, moving into a waistlock... the Phoenix stumbles as the ladder sways, and reaches up, grabbing the belt with one hand and trying to hold the Enigma off with the other...] TD: The Enigma... he's positioning the Phoenix for a.... oh no.. a German superplex from the ladder... SR: All the Phoenix need to do is unfasten the belt, but his damn hand's injured! [The Phoenix struggles with the clasp of the belt as the Enigma sets his feet.. the Enigma lifts... and the Phoenix falls back in the German superplex, with the gold clasped in both hands! The referee signals to the timekeeper, and the bell rings!] TD: I don't believe it! The Phoenix took the gold! What a match! SR: Yes! I told you Dross, I told you, the Phoenix won it! [The Phoenix lies flat out in the ring, the gold on his chest... the Enigma lies in a crumpled heap next to him, and Sun Tsi rolls into the ring.] RA: Here is your winner, and _new_ IIWF Crusierweight Champion... the White Phoenix, Shinjjjjaaaaa Choooooooow! [Huge pop from the crowd, which turns into a heel pop as Sun Tsi snatches the title from the White Phoenix and slaps him in the face, telling him to get to his feet. The Phoenix staggers up, and Sun Tsi points to the Enigma, drawing his thumb across his throat. The Phoenix stares at him for a second, then bows, and pulls the Enigma up slowly, pushing him back into the turnbuckles...] TD: What's... oh no... SR: Yes! Finish him off, Chow! Do it! [The Phoenix starts to throw blow after blow into the Enigma, first a thrust kick to the stomach, then a double chop to the throat, then a cresent kick to the head, then a palm strike to the chest... the Enigma collapses back into the turnbuckles, face covered in blood.] TD: This is ridiculous! This was such a hard fought match, there's no need for it to end this way... SR: Wrong, Dross, there's every need. What Sun Tsi says, the Phoenix does. [Sun Tsi pulls the Phoenix back, and draws his thumb across his throat.. The Phoenix pauses, then nods, and yanks Musashi's head back, aiming his fist at his throat... and pauses again...] TD: Don't do it, Chow, you have the belt, there's no need... SR: He can't hear you, Dross. [The Phoenix's grip hardens, and he pulls his fist back... and pauses again... then spins back, and dropkicks Sun Tsi clean out of the ring! Huge crowd pop! The Phoenix gestures for the mic, and it's passed across to him...] SC: Non... non serviam... [The Phoenix drops the microphone, and goes to the corner to tend to the Enigma, while the crowd gives a huge pop. On the outside, Tsi picks himself up groggily and makes a threatening gesture in Chow's direction, motioning that he intends to break the Phoenix, before heading up the aisle.] SR: Non _what_? TD: "Non serviam", Steve. According to the Bible, it's what Lucifer said to God... it means, "I will not serve." SR: Won't serve, huh? When Sun Tsi is done with the Phoenix, it'll be all that Oriental ingrate will be able to do to serve fries and burgers in a fast food restaurant. TD: The Phoenix has turned his back on Sun Tsi -- his friendship with Musashi is too important. What a tremendous match this has been! [The Phoenix helps the "Enigma" from the ring, leaving the Cruiserweight belt lying in the ring where it was dropped by Tsi. It is left to the official to pick up the title and carry it after the two athletes as they make their way up the aisle to riotous acclamation from the crowd. Cut back to the announcers' table.] TD: We're rapidly approaching our double main event here tonight. We heard from the Subway Psycho during the Free For All, but we've not yet managed to get comments from the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Casey James. I understand we've got Larry backstage outside the Syndicate's locker room. Larry? [Cut to Larry backstage, outside a locker room door.] LM: [almost whispering] I've tried repeatedly to get comments from the IIWF Champion over the course of the evening, but Brian Lau has been refusing interviews for his man. However, I'm here outside their locker room, and the door's been left ajar. Hopefully, our cameraman will be able to get a look inside. [The shot swings as the camera pokes its lens through the crack in the door, revealing the interior of a locker room. Casey stretches in the corner while Brian converses with him, both men unaware of the camera.] CJ: ...And this guy, he comes out of the washroom, drooling all over himself, wearing all these Maple Leaf clothes, and he says to me, "Hey, buddy, when does the game start?" I just kind of shook my head. Dumb-ass Canadians. All they think about is hockey and mega cities... BL: And here I was thinking the States had its share of losers... So, you know the plan? CJ: Yup... Kick him, punch him, throw him around, lock on some holds, make him cry, then set him up for the finish. BL: And if you run into trouble? CJ: Then I know I'll be taken care of. What about the backup? BL: Don't worry about the backup. I've talked to him, and he's got it down. If it gets to that level, he'll be right there to take care of it. CJ: Good. I'm not losing this belt to that degenerate sewer-dweller. I can't believe these morons worship him like they do. BL: You know full well that all the fans are idiots. CJ: Well, there's that little club I got behind me. BL: Don't fool yourself. They're not the brightest lights either. CJ: Got a point... [noticing the camera] Hey, what the hell? [to camera] Get that friggin' thing out of here! Who let you in? I'm gonna... [Casey springs up and chases after the cameraman, who makes a hasty retreat. The shot crackles to black. Cut back to ringside.] TD: Oh dear... I hope that cameraman has a good insurance policy. What kind of backup do you think those two were talking about? SR: Santa Claus and his reindeer, Dross! Who else?! The Dark Disciples, you moron! TD: Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Steve. BL: But your toupee is the lowest form of life, Timmy. TD: Can we leave my hair out of this?! In any case, we're getting ever closer to that huge double main event, but first... Steve? SR: [interrupting] Hey... hey, Dross. I have someone I want you guys to meet. [A heavy-set, approximately 45 year old man, wearing a "L'il Soundbiter" t-shirt, walks into the frame and heartily slaps Becky LaRue on the back. He is obviously inebriated.] BL: I'm gonna have to burn that. TD: It's just fabric, Becky, it'll be fine. BL: I meant my back. SR: I want you to meet one of my "L'il Soundbiters", here... what's your name, son? L'IL: Soundbite rules! Yeah! Ring Wars 3! Damn, you are hot, Becky! Yeah Doggies! TD: This is just sad, Steve. SR: I'll tell you what's sad, that you don't have a piece of my t-shirt deal. This is gonna be the hottest piece of merchandise in all of sports entertainment. TD: Entertainment? BL: Sports? SR: Look, it's beautiful... [Roberts maneuvers his "L'il Soundbiter" around, showing the front of the shirt: "Steve Soundbite Roberts: Kickin' Da Ass..."; and on the back, "...Eatin' Da Biscuits..."] SR: Damn, that's a helluva thing. Forget those guys like Creed and Petrow with their... shirts, this is a shirt for the kids... that's who I'm really all about, dammit, the kids, like L'il.... goddammit what is your name, moron...? I mean, L'il Moron. TD: Let's get to ringside. ### # # ### -------------------------------------------------------. # # # # # IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: | ### # # # ### | # # ## ## # Lord Byron [c] vs. Marty Warnett | # # # # ### -------------------------------------------------------' WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee runs his hands through what can no longer even be accurately described as thinning brown hair and then, oddly, mouths the words, "losing love is like a window to your heart." And takes the mic:] SL: The following Ring Wars 3 contest is set for one fall with a thirty minute time limit...and is for the IIWF Intercontinental Championship! [Big pop!] Introducing first, weighing 245 lbs, from Cardiff, Wales, the "Party Maniac"... MARTY WARNETT! ["Cold Gin" is barely heard over the volley of fireworks that explode from banks all around Skydome. Warnett appears at the top of the aisle, the voluptuous blonde Shawni Michelle on his arm. An enoromous pop rises from the capacity crowd as Warnett begins a slow walk down the aisle, the Canadian flag clearly evident on the back of his flowing spangled robe. Warnett removes the robe with a flourish as he hits the ring, a huge grin enveloping his face as he takes in the cheers of the mammoth crowd. He hands the robe to the young lady and offers up his cheek for a quick peck... receives it gratefully... and gives a knowing wink to the camera as every head in the Skydome watches young Shawni Michelle make her way back up the aisle.] TD: Well, the former champion certainly can make an entrance... SR: And he can make an exit too, Dross, right out of this match, right out of Ring Wars 3, and right out of the IIWF while he's at it. BL: He's really overcompensating, parading around that young bimbette, sashaying her little be-hind around all of Canada just to make... to make... Lady DeWinter jealous. SR: Hah! TD: Your powers of perception are overwhelming. [Warnett furtively waves at a number of his ringside fans as he limbers up in preparation for the entrance of his opponent.] SL: And his opponent... accompanied to the ring by Lady DeWinter...[Big heel pop as "Intermezzo from Karelia Suite" blares forth from the P.A.] ...at a weight of 265 lbs, he currently resides in New Orleans, Louisiana, and is the IIWF Intercontinental Champion... LORD BYRON! [Byron strides into the aisle, the luminous DeWinter on his arm, bedecked in a gold pinned black Donna Wang original. Byron's traditional garb has been replaced with a red hunting jacket, a white shirt, white leggings with a black sash and brown riding boots. Missing is the brass topped cane, replace with a brown riding crop which Byron smugly waves at a group of young fans who are bowing in deference to the IC champ.] TD: If anything, Mr. Byron's air is even more empirious than usual. SR: You want to talk foul air -- the Psycho's match is coming up next. [Lord Byron holds the ropes open for his ward DeWinter as they reach the ring -- she accepts gracefully and then moves behind Byron to slowly, drippingly remove the Intercontinental Championship belt from his waist. DeWinter hands the belt to Byron... who kisses it... then kisses the porcelain hands of his ward... and then hands her the belt, holding open the ropes again as DeWinter takes her place at ringside... glancing briefly over her shoulder at Warnett as she departs.] TD: Well, quite a scene here to open up this contest, I just can't get a fix on the feelings of this increasingly enigmatic DeWinter. BL: Not that you wouldn't like to, isn't that right, Timmy? I know a secret... I know a secret... TD: Becky, have you gotten Steve's biscuits yet? SR: Hah! You tell her, Dross. I'm beginning to like you more and more. TD: I'm not sure how to take that, Steve. [Byron and Warnett have cautiously circled, each man refusing to venure thoughtlessly... then they lock up... Byron quickly with a standing side headlock... which Warnett reverses... Byron goes behind and moves for a waistlock takedown... standing switch by Warnett... back into the headlock and an Irish Whip... big armdrag takeover by Warnett! POP! Byron is back on his feet and is taken down with another big armdrag and Warnett bars the arm.] TD: Good, crisp start for the former champion. BL: And it looks like DeWinter seems to enjoy it, what is wrong with this girl? [Byron attempts to maneuver from the armbar, but Warnett maintains the hold and cinches it up with a forward and backward roll of the arm... Byron is on his feet, and attempts a crescent kick... which Warnett slips and quickly maneuvers into position for a reverse neckbreaker... which Byron counters with a roll into a backslide and a... 1 - 2 - kickout by Warnett. Each man is up... Byron whips Warnett nearside... Marty leapfrogs and then backleaps Byron from the other side... Warnett sends a dropkick... which Byron slips... Warnett hits the deck, but monkeyflips Byron over him. Big Pop! But Byron remains on his feet and drives at Warnett with a clothesline as Warnett rises, but not fast enough, as Warnett is able to duck and lock on a crucifix that sends Byron... NO! A crucifix that sends Marty himself down as it is countered with a Samoan Drop! Big heel pop!] TD: See, right there... that's exactly the kind of mistake that you simply cannot make against Lord Byron. He is too technically proficient, too smart, and now Lord Byron is going to focus all his energies on a portion of Marty Warnett's anatomy. BL: He's not the only one focusing on Warnett's anatomy. Lady DeWinter hasn't taken her radar off him for a second during the match. SR: Yeah, maybe so, but she doesn't look all that bothered by the turn of events. I think she's with Byron all the way, Becks. [DeWinter gave both a little hop, perhaps with joy, at the Warnett crucifix, and then a small yelp, perhaps with excitement, as Byron brought him down with the Samoan Drop. Byron has a wrenching chinlock applied now which he is using in combination with a floating armbar to frustrate the ex-champ. Warnett tries a takeover... but Byron jabs a sharp knee between his shoulders and moves to a reverse chinlock -- pressing hard against a straining Warnett in a modified bow and arrow submission maneuver.] TD: Warnett is obviously in a great deal of pain. BL: And I'd say DeWinter looks pretty concerned about him, look at the way she's hiding that mug of hers, like she's almost hurt by looking at him. SR: I think she's trying to hide her laughter at what kind of a chump Warnett is. [The crowd begins a chant of "Mar - ty! Mar - ty! Mar - ty!" and Warnett tries to power out of the hold... flexing... pushing... his tank being fueled by the energy of the fans... and he's up! With one elbow, two elbows, three... NO! Byron sends him back down with a spinning neckbreaker that crashes Warnett into the canvas! Big heel pop! Byron dives down for a cover, and Warnett rolls him into an inside cradle -- Byron reverse cradles for a cover - 1 - 2 - Warnett reverses again for a cover -- and the two men go rolling outside to the floor! Pop! Byron is up quickly, landing a series of hard boots to Warnett's head, then picking him up and looking to whip him into the steel steps...] TD: Lady DeWinter jumped in the way! Lady DeWinter's protecting Marty Warnett! SR: Come on Byron, deck her! Put her in her place! Anybody else hungry? [DeWinter pleads with Byron not to whip Warnett into the steps, the Englishman pauses a moment, takes stock of the crowd... many of whom are encouraging him to heed his ward's wishes... ...and Byron's hesitation costs him, Warnett snapping him to the ground with a side Russian leg sweep! Pop! Warnett hops to the apron... and comes down on a fumbling Byron with a big double axe. Pop! Warnett puts a boot to Byron, thrustkicks him flat to the floor, and then rises again, moving to the apron and climbing to the top rope...] TD: There she is again... now she's standing in Warnett's way, Lady DeWinter is standing over Lord Byron's body and preventing Marty Warnett from coming down off the top rope! Unbelievable! [Warnett feverishly motions for DeWinter to move, but she does not. Warnett pulls his brown hair away from his face... and leaps! DeWinter is just able to move out of the way... and Warnett comes crashing down on Byron's head with a flying fistdrop! Pop!] TD: There's the choice! There's the choice that I was talking about on "Inside the IIWF". Is it the belt or the girl? Byron relented... and Warnett attacked... and I think Lady DeWinter's beginning to understand that. [DeWinter grabs at Warnett's arm as Marty stands over Byron... Warnett quickly pulls it away and stares hard at DeWinter, causing the Lady to take a step back. Pop! Warnett scoops up Byron, who jabs him in the eye with his thumb, and then sends him hard to the floor with a snap suplex. Heel Pop!] SR: Thumb to the eye... that'll stop an elephant. [Byron then re-enters the ring, gives an exaggerated bow to the heel popping fans, and waits for Warnett's return. Each man is in the ring, Byron motioning for Warnett to accept a collar and elbow. Warnett is tentative, but does accept, and the lock up is clean. Byron moves to a standing side headlock... whipping Warnett farside... and catching a flying shoulderblock on his return from "The Party Maniac"! Big Pop!.. Byron is up quickly and then snapped down with a savate kick from Warnett! Pop! Warnett bounces farside into a springboard crossbody... caught by Byron! Tilt-a-whirl backbreaker by the Champion! Pop! Warnett is quickly on his feet, landing a european uppercut... but is taken down with a front layout suplex! BIG POP!] TD: He's got him set up... he's, well, Byron's not going for the Aristoclutch yet! He's not going for it yet! SR: Not yet, Dross, but it's coming... look at him on the mat now. Look at Lord Byron twisting away at the upper torso. Warnett's almost out of here, Dross. BL: Look at DeWinter! She's on the apron... and she's got the Intercontinental belt! [Warnett powers from the hold, the crowd now firmly behind the Welshman as he Irish whips Byron... but is caught with a gutwrench suplex that sends him back to the mat. POP! Warnett is up again... Byron whips him farside... Warnett misses a clothesline and Byron maneuvers... but Warnett counters with a devastating salto suplex that brings the crowd to its feet and...] TD: Marty Warnett's hooked on his figure four! Is it the end for...? No! SR: Byron's got an Indian Deathlock... Byron's got an Indian... BL: NO! It's Warnett! It's Warnett... no! [Each man feverishly reverses leglocks as the crowd squeals, both men give brief shouts of pain, impossible to determine which is the man who has the more painful hold on the other... it's Warnett... it's Byron... it's... together they move near the ropes as the official drops to the mat looking for a submission, asking each man for a submission...] TD: Look at DeWinter! DeWinter's still on the apron! She doesn't know... BL: She's swinging that belt! TD: Oh my! [Lady DeWinter brings the IC belt down hard at the rapidly moving, rapidly shifting, duo grappling on the mat....] TD: She hit Marty Warnett! She hit Warnett with that belt! [Warnett is clocked as the official was checking for a submission, and now Lord Byron covers for the pinfall attempt...] TD: That's one... SR: That's two... BL: That's... a kickout by Warnett! [Huge roar from the Skydome crowd as Warnett kicks out, DeWinter is now off the apron and stares at the belt in her hands... looking clearly shaken as Byron now viciously attacks the legs of Warnett.] TD: That proves it... that proves it, DeWinter has chosen Byron, just like Byron chose DeWinter earlier in the match -- she's with... well, wait a minute... BL: I don't think this girl knows what she's doing, Timmy. I think she closed her eyes when she swung that belt. SR: You people are morons. [Byron is not to be denied... all over Warnett with hamstring tears, kneedrops, a half dozen vicious shinbreakers... and now moving to a grapevine that has Warnett gasping for breath and grasping fervently, wildly, painfully for the ropes.] TD: This grapevine is brutal... Lord Byron is devastating the legs of Marty Warnett... he's trying to... he can't reach the ropes... he's gonna submit! BL: Look at DeWinter! DeWinter's near the ropes. She can push the bottom rope to Warnett! DeWinter's gonna save... TD: ...NO! DeWinter doesn't know what to do! She looks paralyzed with indecision! DeWinter's just standing there! What the hell's going on? SR: Morons... no, wait... maybe I'm being unfair... no, you're morons. [DeWinter finally moves to the bottom rope..placing her hand on it... but the hesitation was too great, and Byron drags Warnett to the center of the ring where he moves from a half crab... to a cobra clutch!] TD: He's got him now. Marty Warnett is in a whole heaping pile of trouble. SR: He's gonna quit! I told you that he was gonna quit and here he is quitting. Qutting like Duran... quitting like Nixon... quitting like Alex Rio! BL: I wouldn't go that far, Steve. SR: That's the first time you've ever said that, LaRue. [Byron rocks back on the cobra clutch as the crowd begins a desperate chant... "Mar - ty! Mar - ty! Mar - ty!" and Warnett begins to power out! Warnett is lifting up... powering up.... now Byron shows fear... Byron shows real concern that his title may be slipping away... Warnett is up and fires away with big elbows... and whips Byron to the near side -- and then sends Byron crashing to the mat with a brainbuster suplex! Warnett quickly goes to the top rope, comes down with an elbow... and lands it! Warnett is swiftly back to the top rope. Byron begins to stand... Warnett leaps with a missle dropkick...] TD: No! Byron just pulled the referee... pulled the official into the path of that dropkick! SR: Referee down! Referee down! [Both Byron and Warnett are clearly spent, running only on instinct and the compulsive desire to win the IIWF Intercontinental Championsip. Byron Irish whips Warnett... Marty ducks under a clothesline and grabs on the the back ropes as Byron charges... and is backdropped by Warnett over the top rope and clear out to the floor! POP! Warnett bounds off the backropes as Byron struggles to his feet... and baseball slides Byron clear back to the retaining barrier! POP! Warnett picks up Byron and attempts to ram his head into the retaining barrier... DeWinter screams... Warnett hesitates and Byron goes to ram Warnett's head into the barrier... but Warnett blocks -- and is able to ram Byron's head! Big pop!] SR: Morons. [Warnett now whips Byron... reverse... and Warnett goes hard into the apron. Pop!] BL: What's she doing...? DeWinter is going into the ring to try to wake up the official! [Byron charges, and is caught with a big boot from Warnett. POP! The two men now brawl, each swinging wild lefts and rights as they walk up the steps... fight and walk up the turnbuckles... and stand on the top rope, each fighting, brawling, swinging with all they are worth... DeWinter places the IC belt down on the mat as she tries to wake the official... seeming not to notice the two men who are hurtling down...] TD: Superplex! That's a Warnett belly-to-belly superplex! Oh my! BL: Warnett hit his head on that belt! He's out... Byron's out... Both men are out! SR: Morons. [Byron took the brunt of the superplex, but Warnett went over, smashing his head on the IIWF IC belt, and now both men are down, along with the official, as Lady DeWinter stands in the middle of the ring amidst the carnage. And then she picks up the belt.] TD: DeWinter's got the belt... She's gonna... what's she gonna do? SR: Morons. [As the crowd pops madly, Byron and Warnett, one on each side of DeWinter, begin to struggle to their knees. The official is still down. DeWinter stands between the two men, and begins to slowly smack her hand across the belt... as if coming to a decision...] TD: What's she going to do now?! [Lady DeWinter slyly smiles, rears back the belt, and walks over to Marty Warnett. SHOCKED POP!] TD: She kissed him! She kissed him again! SR: Morons. [DeWinter gives Warnett a lingering kiss as Byron looks on, unable to make any sort of a motion... the crowd pops wildly as DeWinter then slowly turns to face Lord Byron...] TD: OH MY! [...and then whirls around again -- drilling Marty Warnett right between the eyes with the belt! Huge heel pop as DeWinter places the belt over her shoulder and exits the ring, heading back up the aisle as the official stirs and Byron covers for a - 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Your winner, as a result of a pinfall, and _still_ IIWF Intercontinental Champion... LORD BYRON! [Big pop as Byron quickly rolls out of the ring, hurriedly walking up the aisle, leaving Warnett to groggily get to his knees, then burying his face in his hands, the pain of losing both the girl and the shot at re-gaining his belt too much.] TD: Well, that was one of the most... amazing... miraculous... wild matches I have ever seen -- who could have predicted that? SR: Morons. Look, morons -- she hit him with the belt two weeks ago, and she hit him with the belt three different times tonight. I don't think his last name is Warnett -- I think it's McFly. Hello, McFly...? You're being set up... Hello, McFly! [Warnett walks dejectedly up the aisle, slapping the hands of his supportive ringside fans as he exits. Cut back to the announcers' table.] TD: A crushing disappointment here for Marty Warnett. Byron and DeWinter played him like a violin... Unbelievable. Who knows what kind of an effect this setback is going to have on Marty's somewhat, uh, unstable mental attitude? SR: More importantly: who cares? TD: You're despicable, Steve. Folks, we've arrived. We've arrived at the huge double main event. We're now just moments away from the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship match, as the Subway Psycho makes his attempt to regain the belt he never lost, the belt which he held so proudly for the people... SR: ...until he trashed his own subway and had it stripped from him. Moron. TD: But before we get up to the ring for that encounter, I understand Larry Morton is backstage with Chris Quigley, who will be a part of that other huge main event match tonight. Larry? [The shot cuts backstage, where Larry Morton is standing in front of a closed locker room door.] LM: Tim, Chris Quigley entered this locker room about forty-five minutes ago, and he did _not_ appear to be in a good mood! He refused all questions from a slew of reporters from various newspapers and wrestling publications, and even went so far as to toss a particularly pushy cameraman out of his way before going through this door. It may just be pre-match stress getting the better of him, but insider reports say something is definitely eating away at Quigley. Word is that he clearly expected to be the fan favorite here in Canada, but was taken aback at the ovation Dan Kauffman has recieved during several warm-up events here in Toronto so far this week. I don't know how much faith I can put it that, at the moment, but no matter, tonight is going to be a tremendous match! TD: [over the headset] Are you going to get a word with Quigley at all? LM: Y'know, Tim, I don't think that'd be a real smart idea. TD: [over the headset] Well, it's your call! Thanks, Larry! [Morton nods and smiles as the shot cuts back to the announcers' table.] TD: Quigley's in no mood to talk at the moment, and nor, I would suggest, are either of the men about to appear here tonight to do battle for the biggest prize in the world of professional wrestling, the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship. ### # # ### -------------------------------------------------------. # # # # # DOUBLE MAIN EVENT! | ### # # # ### IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: | # # ## ## # Casey "Blackheart" James [c] vs. Subway Psycho | # # # # ### -------------------------------------------------------' WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee, a peculiar odor about him, steps up and takes the mic:] SL: Ladies and gentleman, before we get to our DOUBLE MAIN EVENT there are some very special people who I would like to introduce at ringside. First of all, from Toronto's own two-time World Champion Blue Jays... here is Joe Carter! [Big pop as the veteran Blue Jay outfielder, wearing an official Ring Wars 3 baseball cap, stands and waves to the capacity crowd.] SR: Over the hill. [Cut back to the ring.} SL: Next... the newest member of your Toronto Blue Jays... a future Hall of Famer..."The Rocket" Roger Clemens! [Big Pop as Clemens, wearing an old J.W. Hardin t-shirt underneath an official IIWF blazer, stands and waves to the capacity crowd.] SR: Has-been. {Cut to the skybox area as the voice of Sparkplug Lee is heard.] SL: Seated in our luxury box area... please give a very special Toronto welcome to a true hero... a man known worldwide... Christopher Reeve! [Huge pop as Reeve is wheeled into frame on the Jumbotron. The crowd rises in a prolonged standing ovation, as Reeve motions his head to a life-size cut out of "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley.] SR: Hey... Hey freak. Wooooo! Hey, Superfreak... why don't you fly down here and kick my ass!? Hey Jor-El... maybe you should go back to the red planet. Come on, Superfreak, you're the kind of girl I don't take home to mother! BL: Even I think that's disgusting. SR: She's all right. She's all right. That girl's all right... with me... yeah. TD: Have you lost whatever was left of your mind? SR: Come on, Dross. I'm hardcore. That's hip now, haven't you heard? Come on, Dross. Loosen up, baby. It's all about the kids. All the "L'il Soundbiters" out there, they need my guidance. I'm the daddy they never had. BL: Sort of like Creed. SR: Yeah, maybe I'm Creed's daddy. "Who's your daddy? Soundbite! Soundbite!" I dig me. TD: Unbelievable. [Cut back to Sparkplug Lee.] SL: Finally, seated in the third deck, hidden underneath the shadow of the left-field foul pole... obscured by the support stantion... Canada's own... the one, the only... Anne Murray! [Virtually no pop as the songstress, theoretically at least, stands up, only those near her able to make out her homemade Stud Stetson t-shirt.] TD: Well... we're waiting. BL: Come on, Steve, let her have it. [Almost inaudibly, the "Soundbite" is heard gently singing...] SR: # You gave me strength/to stand alone again/to face the world/out on my own again/you put me high/upon a pedestal/so high that I could almost see... # What are you morons looking at? TD: Unbelievable. Let's get back to ringside. SL: The following contest is the first half of your special Ring Wars 3 DOUBLE MAIN EVENT! It is set for one fall... and is for the IIWF HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE WORLD! Introducing the challenger... [Big Face Pop as "Crazy Train" begins] he is accompanied down the aisle by Tiger Claw... he weighs 255lbs, and hails from the Subways in New York City... he is a former IIWF Heavyweight Champion... here is SUBWAY PSYCHO! [The lights in the arena dim, the huge video wall above the entranceway fading to absolute black. The crowd buzz as a white dot appears in the centre of the screen, and rapidly expands, like the front headlight of a speeding subway train, gradually brightening the area around the screen... and the light engulfs the video wall as fireworks explode all around the entranceway to a huge pop! Tiger Claw appears first, bounding down to the ring with his crutches quickly skipping across the aisle... then comes the Psycho, running, sprinting, his black face paint only augmenting the serious nature of his visage. He hits the ring to a deafening roar from his fans and leans down to access a few final words from his former rival Tiger Claw.] TD: Listen to these people! This crowd is fired up for this big double main event, Steve Roberts... Steve Roberts, will you stop gesturing at the luxury boxes? SR: Two words for you, Superfreak... I got two words... "Asai Moonsault." Hey, three other words... three other words... "I got legs!" BL: Steve, the hostility... while almost attractive... what can you possibly have against Christopher Reeve? SR: Glad you asked, Becks. And this'll be good for all you "L'il Soundbiters" out there to remember, so grab a pencil, or a crayon from your mommy, or your wife, whatever... There are three things I can't stand in wrestling. Three things: first, women; second, midgets; and third, celebrities. Now, Superfreak is at least two of them -- and I ain't sayin' which two, but I've heard things. TD: Please direct your hate mail toward the private offices of IIWF Vice-President Steve Owens. That's Steve Owens. BL: Still a little bitter about the Vagabond Inn, are we, Timmy? TD: I have three words of my own. SR: Let's get down to ringside. Gee, Dross, what the heck's gotten into you recently? TD: Buy the shirt. [Back to the ring as "Foul Taste of Freedom" has already kicked in leading to a rousing heel pop.] SL: And his opponent.... being led to the ring by his manager, Brian Lau... he weighs 340lbs, and hails from Washington D.C. He is the IIWF Heavyweight Champion of the World... CASEY "BLACKHEART" JAMES! [James bursts into a full sprint from the top of the aisle... then stops at the midpoint, laughs, waves for Lau to catch up, and proceeds to the ring. James chuckles in the direction of Subway Psycho and Tiger Claw as he reaches the ring... taking the championship belt from his waist in a mock offering to his former mentor.] TD: I don't think that's a good idea, Steve Roberts... even in his present incapacitation, Tiger Claw is not a man you particularly want to rile up. SR: No, if you were a man with no legs, Claw would be real dangerous in that cast. Speaking of no legs... hey, Freak... how's Lois? Do you s'pose she'd like a visit from a "Li'l Soundbiter", if you know what I mean... BL: We all know... SR: Am I eating biscuits? Do you see biscuits hanging out of this mouth? Snap to da biscuits, babe. BL: I'm going to hurt you. You do know that, right, Steve? [The referee signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! The two men circle each other hesitantly, Subway Psycho seemingly unwilling to directly engage James. Casey moves for a lockup... and the Psycho dances away... Casey again moves... only to greet air as the Psycho dodges him. James now stands, hands on hips, and motions for the Subway Psycho to come to him... the Psycho does not... instead sticking James with two fast right hands and moving off to the ropes.] TD: Odd strategy, here. It looks like the Psycho is looking to stay away from "Blackheart" early on. SR: He's scared! He's yellow! Come on, James -- punk him and junk him! [James suddenly charges, catching the "People's Champion" with a knee lift. James follows with a boot to the midsection and a corner whip... James charges, and lands a big clothesline that rocks the Subway Psycho to the floor. POP! James is furiously all over him now, stomping the Psycho into the mat with fast right boots. Heel POP! James steps back, motions for the Subway Psycho to rise... and then kicks him hard to the solar plexus, eight, nine, ten times, leaving the Psycho gasping for breath. Pop!] TD: So much for that. BL: It looks like Tiger Claw is really upset with himself on the outside... I have to think it's his game plan that is sort of coming apart here. [James brushes his blond hair away from his face and picks the Psycho up, landing a few big European uppercuts, a few roundhouse rights, a short arm clothesline... and then whipping him farside... James ducks too quickly on the pass, however, and the Psycho executes a sunset flip into a... NO! James halts the momentum, reaches down... and punches Subway Psycho dead in the face! Heel POP! James then scoops the Psycho up to his shoulder, runs the length of the ring, and powerslams him hard to the mat! Big POP as James stands to pose toward Tiger Claw.] TD: So cocky, this James. Look at the arrogance just ooze from the big man. SR: Ain't it great? [James eschews a fall attempt, picking up Subway Psycho by his hair, executing a backbreaker, another backbreaker, and into a sidwalk slam and now a cover - 1 - 2 - Kickout by the Psycho! Both men are up now, James whipping nearside, reverse by Psycho, into a big Subway Psycho clothesline! POP! James is up and the Psycho charges again, levelling the champ with another clothesline! POP! James rises again, into a whip, and on their meeting, Subway Psycho lifts James high into the air with a gorilla press, dropping the 340lbs champ behind his back to a huge roar from his fans... and the Psycho is feeling the momentum...] TD: This is the man we expect to see, Steve Roberts... the ever-so-powerful "People's Champion" who feeds off the emotion of his fans! The... what in the world is he doing...? [The Subway Psycho backs away from the fallen James, moving to a martial arts stance as James recovers from his fall. James stands and looks warily at the Psycho... then mimics him... James moving into a mock "crane" stance, his arms up and his left leg off the ground. Subway Psycho charges, hitting James with a fast volley of kicks, round, thrust, crescent... then leaps up for a scissor kick... and takes a forearm to the groin... HEEL POP! The Psycho doubles over, James scoops him over his shoulder again... and then jacknife powerbombs him into the canvas. Big heel pop!] TD: That didn't seem to work particularly well, either. The Subway Psycho got in some kicks, but lost the war again as he took a bad shot from James. SR: Wax on... wax off, babe. [James laughs at the fallen Psycho, does a mock bow, then turns toward Tiger Claw and offers the same mock bow... Claw struggles to the apron, pulling himself up by the ropes in an attempt to get at James! The official runs to order Claw off the apron, and Brian Lau takes advantage of the opportunity, leaping into the ring to land some boots of his own at the fallen Psycho! He and James really go to work on Subway Psycho, stomping away at the head and shoulders. Big heel pop as Lau gives his man a high five and exits the ring.] TD: Oh, this is bad. This is real bad. Casey James and the Syndicate aren't just beating the Subway Psycho -- they are out to humiliate this man -- they are out to make a statement. SR: Yeah, and that statement is... "You're a LOSER!" [James shrugs his shoulders at the crowd, makes the motion for the belt around his waist... then looks at his wrist, as if looking for a watch, and motions for the Psycho to get up.] TD: This is really sort of sad. [The Psycho does rise, slowly, painfully... and is immediately pounded back to the mat by James. Pop! James pushes the Psycho with his boot, laughing as again he challenges Subway Psycho to rise to his feet. The Psycho now rises a little more quickly -- and again is decked by huge right hands by James... who then stomps him into the mat... and Subway Psycho NOW SNAPS TO HIS FEET...] TD: Now we're gonna see it! The Subway Psycho is gonna do it now! [James looks at the standing Psycho, his eyes suddenly widening... then James fires with big right hands... big, massive, pounding right hands to the head of the Subway Psycho.] TD: The Psycho is not budging! He's not budging an inch! [James' shots have no effect at all on the Psycho! Now the Psycho growls at James and fires back with a lightning fast series of right hands that send James back into the corner! POP! Subway Psycho cross-corner whips, reverse, another reverse, and James crashes into the buckle, followed by Subway Psycho who charges with a shoulderblock that sends James all the way to the ringpost! POP!] TD: This... now this is who we all expected to see, no running, no martial arts... _this_ is the Subway Psycho! SR: Yeah, looks like even Tiger Claw couldn't get this guy to follow a simple game plan. [Subway Psycho now climbs to the mid-buckle, standing atop James and smacking a series of big right hands which the crowd counts off: "1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9... 10!" Big pop from the crowd as James staggers out a few feet... then pitches face first to the canvas! Big pop as Subway Psycho advances... but is now pulled back from words by Tiger Claw.] TD: Why isn't he finishing him off? James is ready to go, ready to be taken out of here... what the hell is going on? [Subway Psycho pauses, looks at Claw and then looks at the crowd... then establishes a reverse chinlock on the fallen James. Psycho moves for a knucklelock, but it's sloppy and the recovered James jabs him in the eye, stands, and drops the Psycho with an armbar takedown. Heel pop! James puts a quick boot to the face, bounces off the backropes... winds up and drops a big leg to the Subway Psycho for a cover - 1 - 2 - Shoulder up by Subway Psycho! James now picks up the Psycho, and hits him with a double underhook suplex and a cover - 1 - 2 - NO! Kickout by Subway Psycho! James is frustrated... he Irish whips the Psycho... who ducks under a clothesline... and hits James with a huge swinging neckbreaker that sends him crashing to the mat and a Psycho cover.] TD: He's got him! One! Two! No! KICKOUT BY JAMES! [James rolls out underneath the ropes, just escaping the Psycho's onslaught. James is out on the floor now, and is about to be attacked by the hobbling Tiger Claw, who is then stopped by the person of the Subway Psycho, who leaps from the apron and stands between Claw and James, pointing for Tiger Claw to go back to the corner...] TD: See, that's the kind of man the Subway Psycho is, he doesn't want this match by outside interference. He wants to do this by himself! SR: Well, that's how he'll lose, then... all by himself. BL: LOOK AT THIS! LOOK AT CASEY JAMES! [The time has again given James a chance to recover, and as the Subway Psycho turns around, James greets him with a BLACKHEART PUNCH!] SR: Yes! Yes! It is over! This thing is over! [James drops down, over the Subway Psycho for a cover, even though they are on the outside of the ring... James smirks at Claw and counts himself, smacking the floor as he does so: One! Two! AND THE PSYCHO KICKS OUT! James is stunned, looks at Subway Psycho and shakes his head, picking him up now and propping him to the apron...] TD: He's gonna hit him again with that Blackheart Punch! He's gonna hit the Subway Psycho again with that heart punch! BL: Look at the Claw! Look at the Claw... [James has the Psycho propped up and winds up for the punch, as Tiger Claw approaches, quickly, disregarding his crutches and moving so silently that not even Brian Lau appears to notice... Claw stands behind James, waiting... James is set for the punch, whirls... and...] TD: James sees Tiger Claw! He sees Claw, and... oh my! [James stops his momentum upon seeing his old mentor, and the smirk returns to the face of the Champion as he waves Claw on through...] TD: SPINNING HEEL KICK! Claw just knocked out the Psycho with a spinning heel kick! This is madness! SR: It's a set up! They set him up! This is fantastic! And it gets better -- here come the Disciples! [The referee hurriedly signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! The crowd are on their feet as the Psycho lies motionless on the floor.] SL: Your winner... as a result of a disqualification... the Subway Psycho! [The heel pop continues as Claw disposes of his cast, and he and James proceed to beat the tar out of Subway Psycho, dumping him in the ring as they are joined by Kane and Wulf, all four men brutally beating the "People's Champion" as the debris now begins to rain down from the capacity crowd.] TD: It's all a set up... oh, this is a travesty... that dirty, rotten Syndicate is just going to work on the Subway Psycho... [Huge face pop goes up from the top of the aisle...] TD: IT'S "QUICKSTRIKE" CHRIS QUIGLEY! SR: Oh, this is beautiful! He's gonna get wiped out! [Quigley runs to the ring... leaping to the top rope and coming down with a Lightning Strike onto Wulf! Big pop as Quigley battles the Dark Disciples while James and Claw pull the Psycho to the outside...] TD: Quigley is holding his own against the Disciples, but the Psycho is still... Hang on! [Another huge pop from the aisle!] TD: IT'S DAN KAUFFMAN! IT'S DAN KAUFFMAN! [Kauffman runs to ringside, leaping from the French announcers table with a double axe to the back of the champion. Big roar as they Syndicate now beats a hasty retreat back to the locker room, leaving the two main event opponents and the "People's Champion" to take in the applause...] TD: Well, what's gonna happen here? Chris Quigley is in the ring... Dan Kauffman is on the outside... We might see some fireworks early, folks... SR: Since we're not gonna see any at all in the real match. [Kauffman stares hard at Quigley, as if contemplating the entire course of the coming match, and then helps the Psycho to his feet. Together, they return to the locker room to the cheers of the crowd. Chris Quigley stands in the ring for a moment, clearly wired from the adrenalin rush, then begins leading the partisan Canadian crowd in a rousing cheer as he exits the ring. Cut to the announcers' table.] TD: What a shocking turn of events! I can't believe it! Hang on... Larry Morton is waiting backstage for the Syndicate to come through the curtain... Larry? [Cut to Larry Morton standing backstage, a little way down the hallway from the entrance into the arena.] LM: Thanks, Tim. Okay, I see Casey James and Tiger Claw coming down the hall... Guys! Guys! CJ: Why you little... [Casey makes a grab for Larry, but Claw holds him back.] TC: No, wait, I want to say somthing. So, Larry, what did you think of that title defense? LM: That was disgusting! You pretended to be the Psycho's friend just to stab him in the back tonight! TC: Damn right, worm. Did you think for one minute that I would actually be friends with that moron? He smells, he's stupid, and he has no hope. I told the world once that I would take care of him, and tonight, I did. Psycho, you were always stupid. This just takes the cake. You fell right into what I had planned, and you suffered for it. I will not rest until you have been put into a garbage bag and buried at the side of a road. I can't believe you ever thought otherwise. LM: And what about that leg? Were you faking all along? [Casey and Claw look at each other and laugh, and Claw holds his leg.] TC: Oh, my leg! my leg! You idiots, I'm one of the toughest men in the IIWF, did you think that I could break so easily? There's no human being alive that could actually succeed in breaking my bones. My training has made sure of that. It would seem that the world has less faith in the art of Muay Thai than they should. Psycho, when you wake up, you'd better heed my words, because you're going to be on the receiving end of some of my kicks very soon. You're lucky I had that cast on tonight. It cushioned the blow. Now, Larry, get out of our way. I've got titles to hunt. [Claw and Casey push Larry out of the way, then walk up the hall, laughing as they go.] LM: I can't believe it... I was actually starting to like him, and then he pulls this... Back to you at ringside. [Cut back to the announcers' table.] SR: Whoo! Yeah, the Syndicate rock this place, Dross! TD: I'm appalled by their actions, as ever, Steve Roberts. Lau and his men never cease to amaze me at just how low they are willing to stoop. [A brief cut shows the Psycho groggily making his way up the aisle to a big pop from the crowd.] TD: You can feel the excitement building here in the Skydome, Steve and Becky. You can feel these people preparing themselves for the final match on tonight's card, the epoch-making Submission match between Chris Quigley and Dan Kauffman. SR: I'm preparing for a good night's sleep, Dross. This match is going to be resthold heaven. Two of the IIWF's most overrated goons trying to break each other's arms... whoopee. BL: To be fair, big guy, both Kauffman and Quigley, while being among the least attractive wrestlers I've ever seen, are great competitors, and emotions are certainly going to be running high in this one. TD: Let's go backstage and see these two athletes as they ready themselves for stepping out in front of this ninety thousand-strong crowd. [Cut to a corridor on the other side of the entrance curtain. A number of officials are milling around, and the IIWF President stands with them. The shot turns as Chris Quigley walks into view. He has a stern look on his face, and has apparently just stepped out of the shower. He stands without his usual leather jacket and shades, simply standing in his silver-streaked black wrestling pants, the customary black straps crossed about his chest. An aide of some sort stands at his side, holding a piece of red cloth, and apparently giving him some kind of last-minute tactics. Cut back to ringside.] TD: There you see Chris Quigley, folks, the picture of determination. He's awaiting the introductions for this huge match, and Sparkplug Lee is just climbing into the ring... Here we go, folks. History is in the making! ### # # ### -------------------------------------------------------. # # # # # DOUBLE MAIN EVENT! | ### # # # ### SUBMISSION MATCH: | # # ## ## # Dan "Flash" Kauffman vs. "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley | # # # # ### -------------------------------------------------------' WRITER: DS [The crowd gives a huge pop as Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring. The house lights drop once more, leaving the ring as the only focal point in the huge expanse of the Skydome. The shot cuts to a wide-angle view which illustrates just how small the ring is in the context of the whole arena. Sparkplug Lee appears to be just a dot on the canvas as he begins his introductions, cameras flashing all about him:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is the second half of tonight's double main event, and is a special Submission Match! In this match, there will be no pinfalls, no countouts and no disqualifications. The only way to win is for one man to force his opponent to submit! And now, introducing the combatants... [Huge pop as "For Those About To Rock" by AC/DC starts up over the PA.] TD: Listen to these people! They're about to welcome back their home-town hero! [The shot cuts to the head of the aisle, where the huge video wall is already showing a highlights package of Quigley's greatest IIWF victories, interspersed by an animated Quickstrike symbol. The lights around the video wall swing wildly, throwing multicoloured beams all over the excited crowd, in which are seen dozens of hand-made signs -- some reading, "Welcome home, Chris!", "Strike him down, Chris!", and "Quigley: the new #1!" -- and a zig-zag path of Quickstrike symbols is cast onto the aisle as the shot zooms in on the curtain.] RA: Introducing first, from Corner Brook, Newfoundland, Canada, weighing in at 238lbs, here is... "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! [The crowd gives a deafening pop as Quigley steps out once more at the head of the aisle, a large Canadian flag draped over his shoulders, much to the delight of the home country fans. He stands at the top of the aisle, puts his hands on his hips, and drinks in the reaction of the crowd.] SR: Who does he think he is, Superman?! What a jerk... TD: Chris Quigley is a very patriotic individual, Steve Roberts. He's come home to his own country tonight for the biggest match of his career. Tonight, we're going to find out just who is the better man: Dan Kauffman, or Quigley? [Quigley begins the walk down the raised walkway to the ring, mobbed by eager fans on either side of the aisle. He cracks a small smile as he is buffetted by their clamouring hands, but keeps straight on to the ring undeterred, finally reaching the ringsteps and climbing into the squared circle, pulling the Canadian flag from his back and raising it above his head as he climbs to the second turnbuckle. Huge pop!] TD: And there you see the proud maple leaf of Canada... BL: The _proud_ maple leaf?! [Quigley jumps back onto the canvas and hands the flag to a ringside attendant. "For Those About To Rock" fades as Quigley goes to one corner and performs a few stretches, loosening his tense shoulders and neck.] TD: The tension must be incredible. To stand in front of ninety thousand home fans, and a television audience of millions worldwide, and know that you are just moments away from the most challenging match of your entire career. BL: It's a stomach-churning moment, Timmy. SR: Never bothered me, Dross. I always had a few beers before I wrestled my big matches. TD: That doesn't surprise me one little bit. We're awaiting the arrival of Dan Kauffman now... this crowd is on the edge of its seat. [Sparkplug Lee raises the microphone to his lips once more.] RA: And introducing his opponent... ["Call The Man" by Celine Dion kicks in over the PA to a comparably huge pop.] Hailing from Hagerstown, Maryland, and weighing in at 230lbs, wrestling his last match here in the IIWF, here is a former IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... Dan "Flash" Kauffman! [The shot immediately cuts to the entrance curtain. The video wall shows some of the finest moments from Kauffman's career. The crowd are on their feet as they await the arrival of the former champion. A few more seconds pass, seemingly an eternity, and then out steps Dan Kauffman, his blond hair pulled back away from his blue eyes. He wears plain black tights with the word "Flash" down the outside of both legs in white lettering. His upper body is bare, having eschewed his singlet, and he too moves his hands to his hips, nodding to the enthusiastic Canadian crowd. Fireworks explode on either side of the aisle, sending brilliant white sparks into the air. Cameras flash all over the arena. Kauffman begins his walk down the aisle, taking the time to greet as many of his fans as he can, but all the while heading ever closer to the opponent awaiting him in the ring. Eventually, he climbs the ringsteps, and vaults over the top rope into the squared circle, fixing Quigley with a full gaze for the first time. He twitches his eyebrows and once more gives a little smile.] TD: Dan Kauffman appears incredibly relaxed coming into this match. BL: Like him or not, Kauffman's done it all here in the IIWF, and he's really hit the stride that took him to the IIWF Championship in recent weeks. He knows that Quigley will go all out to beat him tonight, but it's Quigley who has everything to prove, not Kauffman. [Head referee Earl Alfonso calls both men into the centre of the ring, and says a few things which the cameras don't pick up. The official invites the two men to shake hands, and Kauffman readily extends his hand to the Canadian. There is a pause, but Quigley accepts, and the two men shake hands. Big pop! The referee signals for the bell -- Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: A display of sportsmanship here as this match gets underway! [Quigley and Kauffman remain face to face in the centre of the ring, and the crowd buzzes in anticipation as the two men stare each other down. The two men exchange a few words, and then, suddenly, like mirror images one of the other, they lock up collar and elbow. Kauffman slips Quigley into a side headlock, which Quigley slides out of, wringing Kauffman's arm with an armbar, which Kauffman reverses, and Quigley grabs Kauffman's head with his free arm, tossing him over to the mat and quickly locking on a reverse chinlock. Alfonso checks to see that it isn't a choke, and watches as Kauffman reaches for Quigley's hair, trying to find a way out. Kauffman reaches out and grabs the ropes, and the referee calls for the break, but is made to wait as Quigley keeps the headlock cinched in for a good few seconds longer.] TD: Of course, the official can't disqualify Quigley for not breaking when Kauffman reaches the ropes -- this is a no disqualification match. SR: Well, duh! TD: A fast-paced scientific opening here. One wonders whether nerves are going to get the better of either of these two men? [The two men lock up in centre ring once more, Quigley going to a side headlock. Kauffman pushes Quigley into the ropes, and is shoulderblocked to the canvas as Quigley comes bouncing back. Kauffman springs up and leapfrogs over Quigley as he makes another pass, and then drops back to the mat, hitting "Quickstrike" with a monkey flip! Big pop! Both men spring back to their feet, and Quigley charges Kauffman, only to be hiptossed to the mat. Pop! He is quickly back up and charges Kauffman again, who again attempts a hiptoss, but Quigley blocks and fells Kauffman with a hiptoss of his own. Kauffman kips back to his feet, and the two man face each other once more in a fighting stance. Big pop!] TD: It looks to me as if Kauffman is managing to frustrate Quigley just a little bit here, but there's nothing in it at this stage. This is like watching one man in front of a mirror. BL: Their styles are certainly well-matched. SR: But it's the wrong style. If these two guys were beating each other's brains out, this might be a watchable match. [The two men lock up again. Quigley traps Kauffman in another side headlock, but Kauffman slips out. Quigley performs a go-behind and a waistlock, attempting a back suplex, but Kauffman counters and puts Quigley in a wrist-lock, then wrings the arm and takes one of Quigley's feet away -- single-leg takedown! Pop! Quigley springs back to his feet and is whipped into the ropes by Kauffman, who is then knocked down and wrapped up in a spinning toe-hold. Kauffman's face is etched with pain, but he is able to reach the ropes behind him, and the referee calls for the break. Quigley again takes his time to break the hold, and when Kauffman is free to get back to his feet, he makes a comment to Quigley which the microphones don't pick up, but which certainly angers the Canadian. His face darkens, and he shoves Kauffman against the ropes. Kauffman shoves back, and the crowd begins to heat up as tempers flare. Quigley is the first to throw a punch, knocking the surprised Kauffman over the top rope and then slingshotting himself on top of the former champion with a plancha dive! Quigley lands flush on Kauffman, and continues to beat on him with right hand after right hand. Big pop!] TD: Whoa! Tempers have certainly boiled over in a hurry here! What a plancha by Chris Quigley! [Quigley backs away from Kauffman and yells for him to stand up, and Kauffman gets to his feet, shaking off the cobwebs of the repeated blows to his head. Kauffman takes a swing at Quigley, which is blocked by the Canadian, and Quigley fires a shot back. Kauffman blocks that, and then drives a knee into Quigley's gut! Pop! Quigley is doubled over, and Kauffman knocks him to the floor with a kneelift, then jumps to the apron and launches himself onto the prone Quigley with an elbowdrop! Big pop! Kauffman gets back to his feet, and as he looks down on the winded Canadian, fans in the front row pat him on the back. Quigley stirs, and Kauffman helps him to his feet, rolling him back into the ring. Quigley is quickly back to his feet, and stomps Kauffman as he rolls back into the ring, dropping a knee on Kauffman's back. Kauffman grimaces in pain as Quigley continues to kick away at the small of his back.] BL: I think we're seeing Quigley's gameplan come into action right here. He's going to focus on Kauffman's back, softening him up for that Quickstriker scorpion deathlock. TD: I think you're right, Becky. If Quigley weakens Kauffman's back now, that's going to have a direct detrimental effect on Dan's power. [Quigley drags Kauffman to his knees, and applies a crossface with one hand while he buries his knee deep in Dan's back, pulling one of Kauffman's arms back with his free hand.] BL: Look at the leverage in that hold. Kauffman's being hyper-extended in three primary areas right here -- his back, his shoulder, and his neck. SR: The only thing that's being hyper-extended is this match. Can't we get Thunder and Kowalski out here to break some heads? TD: No we cannot, Steve Roberts. This is a tremendous display of technical wrestling. SR: [lifeless] Like, yay. [Alfonso checks for the submission, but finds none forthcoming from Kauffman. The crowd begins chanting "Kauff - man! Kauff - man! Kauff - man!" and Dan begins to fight. With his free arm, he reaches behind himself and rakes Quigley in the face, forcing Chris to release the hold. The Canadian clutches at his eyes, gets to his feet, and labels Kauffman in the back with a hard kick before stepping backwards to try and regain his composure. Kauffman begins to drag himself back to a vertical base using the ropes, but is stopped in his tracks by another kick to the back from Quigley. Mixed pop from the crowd as Kauffman is slumped throat first over the middle rope! Quigley runs across the ring and then launches himself to land on Kauffman's back, not only damaging his lumbar region, but also hotshotting Kauffman's throat across the ropes! Mixed pop as Quigley prepares to repeat the move. He runs across the ring, bounces off the far side, charges Kauffman from behind, jumps -- and flies out of the ring feet first between the bottom and middle ropes as Kauffman rolls out of the way! Big pop! Quigley lands awkwardly on his right ankle, and crumples outside the ring, clutching his leg. Kauffman lies in the ring, fighting for breath.] TD: Smart move by Kauffman there! He's bought himself some time here, and it looks like Quigley may have hurt his ankle when he landed on the outside there, Becky. BL: He was travelling at a fair whack there, Timmy. It looked to me like he took his full weight on that right ankle. It may be badly sprained or even broken. Let's see whether he can stand. [While Kauffman recovers in the ring, Quigley drags himself to his feet, and he grimaces as he tries to put weight on his right leg. He limps to the corner and climbs the ringsteps, the shooting pain of a sprained ankle crossing his face each time he puts his right foot down. Kauffman is standing once more, and he nails Quigley in the stomach as he stands on the apron, stunning him sufficiently to suplex him back into the ring. Kauffman gets tremendous elevation on the suplex and holds Quigley in the air for nearly five seconds before finally dropping him into the centre of the mat! Cameras flash around the Skydome! Big pop!] TD: A fine display of power there from Kauffman! Now we'll see whether Dan has noticed Quigley's Achilles heel, so to speak. Is he going to go after that right ankle? [Kauffman immediately lays Quigley's injured leg across the bottom rope, jumps in the air -- and brings his whole weight down on Quigley's leg! Big mixed pop from the hometown crowd!] BL: I think that answers your question, Timmy, but I think Kauffman would be better served pursuing the submission at this point than trying to exacerbate the damage. SR: You know, I never thought I'd hear Becky LaRue use the word "exacerbate". BL: Go back to sleep, you bloodthirsty retard. SR: You got it. TD: Please, you two, there's a match going on here. Kauffman seems to be avoiding submission holds altogether! [Kauffman wishbones Quigley's legs, snapping the injured ankle back. Quigley yells in pain, and Kauffman drags him to his feet. The two men are face to face once more, both showing signs of exertion, but Quigley's face more palpably distorted with pain. Kauffman says something to Quigley, and then forces him to back off with a reverse knife-edge chop which sends a resounding "crack" around the Skydome. Pop!] TD: Wow! Did you hear that?! [Quigley appears stunned for a moment, and then launches himself at Kauffman, who side-steps him and brings him crashing back to the mat with a drop toe-hold. Mixed pop from the home crowd as Kauffman drops an elbow across the small of Quigley's back, and then drags Quigley to his feet once more, whipping him into the ropes and hitting an impressive tilt-a-whirl backbreaker on the rebound! Big pop! Kauffman again drops an elbow, this time across Quigley's throat, and then drags the Canadian towards a corner, positioning his legs on either side of the ring post. Kauffman rolls out of the ring and stands on the floor, grabbing both of Quigley's legs. The crowd pops in anticipation.] TD: No, don't tell me he's going to wrap Quigley's injured ankle around that ringpost?! [However, just as Kauffman is about to ram Quigley's ankle into the steel, Quigley brings both of his knees up sharply, pulling Kauffman into the steel ringpost! Mixed pop! Kauffman's head hits the post hard, and he crumples to the floor, blood pouring forth from his nose. Shocked pop from the crowd as Kauffman dizzily puts a hand to his nose, and tastes the crimson as it runs into his mouth.] SR: Yes! Blood at last! TD: You're sick, Steve Roberts. Kauffman's nose is busted open pretty badly here... [Kauffman remains stunned on the outside as Quigley rolls from the ring, approaches the timekeeper's table, and pushes an official off his chair. The crowd gives a big pop as Quigley folds up the chair and limps around the ring to where Kauffman is now on his hands and knees, fighting to his feet. The fans in the front rows are divided over whether or not Quigley should waffle Kauffman with the chair, and they are vocal in their opinions as Quigley brandishes it over Kauffman's exposed back -- but then he seems to shake off the cobwebs, and he brings the chair crashing down over Kauffman's back! Big mixed pop from the crowd! Kauffman hits the deck again like a sack of potatoes, and as Quigley turns him over, a bloody patch is visible on the mat from Kauffman's nose. The lower portion of his face is bloody, and where his blond hair has come loose from being tied back, it is becoming matted with blood. Quigley grabs both of Kauffman's legs, and immediately the fans start chanting for the Quickstriker, but Quigley instead simply drives a boot into Kauffman's midsection before picking him up and rolling him into the ring. He follows the former IIWF World Champion inside, and begins stomping away at Kauffman's left leg, using the ropes to support himself.] TD: Is this a change in gameplan by Quigley? Earlier he was targeting Kauffman's back, and now he's targeting the leg. BL: Those are the two primary areas targeted for the Quickstriker, Timmy. Quigley wants to make sure that when he finally gets that hold on Kauffman, Danny-boy isn't going anywhere. SR: Just like this match. TD: This is a real knock-down, drag-out encounter, Steve. I thought it would be right up your side-alley. SR: I want more blood. TD: Of course. [Kauffman rolls out of Quigley's line of fire, and begins to pull himself to his feet using the ropes. Quigley attacks from behind, clipping Kauffman's left knee, and pole-axing the former champion back to the mat. Big mixed pop as Quigley wraps Kauffman's left leg around the bottom rope and drops his whole weight on the knee! Quigley stands and pushes the hair out of his eyes, looking out into the crowd, greeted by two very different reactions from the two factions of fans. Quigley looks out into the sea of ninety thousand faces for a few more moments, and then drags Kauffman into the centre of the ring. He grabs the former champion's left leg, and then grapevines it into a figure four leglock! Huge pop as Kauffman yells in pain, blood still running down his face!] TD: Quigley's taking a gamble with this hold -- both men have injured legs, and this has got to be hurting him as much as it's hurting Kauffman! [Both men's faces are contorted into hideous grimaces as Quigley exerts as much pressure as he can on Kauffman's legs. A chant of "Kauff - man! Kauff - man!" starts up in the crowd as the former champion reaches with extended fingers towards the ropes behind him... but he is tantalising inches away from salvation. The crowd begins to chant louder as Kauffman attempts to claw his way towards the ropes, trying to drag Quigley close enough for the referee to call for the break. A minute passes, and still Kauffman is two or three inches away from the bottom rope. The crowd continues to cheer as Alfonso asks for the submission. Kauffman shakes his head, and battles on, trying with every sinew in his body to reach the ropes.] TD: What a display of intestinal fortitude we're seeing here from both men! Kauffman's been in that hold for over two minutes now, and he's oh so close to those ropes... You can feel the crowd in here willing Dan Kauffman on... This is incredible! [The "Kauff - man!" chant builds in intensity as Dan continues to inch towards the ropes... and there is a huge pop as Kauffman's desperate fingers finally touch the taped ropes and grab onto them, his hands clenching into fists as he clasps onto his one hope of escape. Alfonso calls for the break -- but Quigley refuses to break, and continues to apply the hold with as much leverage as he can muster. The referee is powerless to force Quigley to break, so Kauffman takes matters into his own hands. Using the ropes for added leverage, he manages to roll over onto his stomach, thus reversing the hold! Huge pop! Quigley yells in pain as his own damaged right ankle is agonisingly twisted.] TD: Dan Kauffman has reversed the hold! Quigley's in big trouble now! [The referee immediately checks on Quigley, asking him for the submission, but the Canadian shakes his head, blinking back tears of pain, and tries to turn the hold back over. Kauffman's sweaty hands slip in their grip on the ropes, and Quigley manages to flip him back over onto his back. Mixed pop! The referee, seeing that Kauffman is now under the ropes, finally acts, and physically untwines the two men's legs. Pop!] TD: At last the hold is broken! But who knows what damage has been done to both men's legs? [Kauffman wipes blood from his face, and pushes his hair out of his eyes, further matting his blond locks with drying blood. He is a grisly sight as he pulls himself to his feet using the ropes. Quigley, meanwhile, has also brought himself to his knees, and gets to his feet as he sees his opponent hanging onto the ropes. Quigley bounces off the far side, and charges Kauffman, who back bodydrops Quigley over the top rope to the outside! Cameras flash all over the arena! Quigley lands some way away from the ring, rolling to the foot of the aisle. Kauffman sizes his opponent up, bounces off the far side ropes himself, and charges across the ring, springing off his one good foot and launching himself with a plancha over the top rope and onto the recovering Quigley! Huge pop!] TD: Incredible! Where are these two men getting the energy for these high-risk manoeuvres? [Both men are laid out in the aisle, chests heaving, as the referee leaves the squared circle and approaches the two motionless athletes. The crowd begins to cheer them both on, rival chants of "Quig - ley! Quig - ley!" and "Kauff - man! Kauff - man!" vying for supremacy in the Skydome. Eventually, Kauffman is the first to stir, and he pushes his bloodied hair out of his face as he drags Quigley to his feet once more. Quigley fires a right-hand shot into Kauffman's gut, and then suplexes him right there on the walkway! Huge pop! Quigley limps across the aisle to a section of the steel crowd barrier, and wrenches it out of position, pulling it over so that it lies on the walkway. The crowd begins to buzz in anticipation as Quigley drags Kauffman to his feet and stands him on the felled barrier, placing his head between his legs as if for a piledriver. Big mixed pop!] TD: No! Don't let Quigley piledrive Kauffman out there onto that barrier! Do something, Alfonso! [Earl Alfonso dashes onto the downed barrier himself, standing in front of Quigley and demanding that he return to the ring. Quigley pushes the referee out of the way, and attempts to hoist Kauffman up for the piledriver. But Kauffman blocks, and manages to bring Quigley up and over his head, crashing onto the barrier with a big back bodydrop! Huge pop! Kauffman falls to his knees with the exertion while Quigley, his head having bounced back off the steel barrier, is apparently out cold.] TD: Dan Kauffman just back bodydropped Chris Quigley onto that steel crowd barrier! Quigley is out! SR: Good. Now somebody knock Kauffman out. TD: We have seen these two men push each other to the limit... I'm not sure either one has the words "I quit" in his vocabulary. [Kauffman drags Quigley to his feet and drags him back towards the ring as two security personnel replace the steel barrier. Kauffman rolls his opponent back into the ring and follows him in under the bottom rope. Still favouring his left leg, Kauffman drags Quigley back to his feet and attempts to whip him into the ropes, but Quigley reverses, and it is Kauffman who is sent for the ride. Big pop as Kauffman comes back off the ropes and is hit by a big spinebuster from the Canadian! Quigley grabs both of Kauffman's legs and holds them up again in preparation for the Quickstriker! But Quigley seems distracted by the "Kauff - man! Kauff - man!" chant, and hesitates, yelling something at the fans which the microphones don't pick up. The hesitation is all Kauffman needs, however, and he wriggles his legs free from Quigley's grip. It is all Quigley can do to simply drive his head between Kauffman's legs, catching him in the lower abdomen. Shocked pop from the crowd!] TD: Ouch! BL: Every man in the Skydome just crossed his legs. SR: Did I miss something? [The referee warns Quigley as Kauffman gasps from the stomach-turning pain. The Canadian yells again at the pro-Kauffman contingent in the front rows and then drags Kauffman back to a vertical base by his hair. The former champion is almost dead weight as Quigley whips him into the ropes again, knocking him back to the mat with a huge clothesline! Mixed pop! Quigley goes to the second turnbuckle, and leaps, dropping a leg across Kauffman's neck! Another mixed pop! The "Kauff - man! Kauff - man!" chant picks up momentum once more and Quigley appears to be getting frustrated. He drags Kauffman to his feet and snapmares him into a corner, then climbs to the second buckle and drops a splash onto the prone former champion. Once more dragging Kauffman to his feet, he props his opponent up in the corner, and hooks his arms outside the ring, opening up his chest completely. Quigley hits a vicious reverse knife edge chop, the "crack" resounding around the Skydome. Kauffman reels, but is unable to move. Quigley hits a second chop, and then a third, each blow leaving a red streak across Kauffman's already bloodied torso. Quigley unhooks Kauffman's arms, leaps up, hooking under Kauffman's shoulders with his feet, and monkeyflips Kauffman towards the centre of the ring! Big pop!] TD: Quigley is really turning up the heat here. I must admit to being surprised by just how much support Dan Kauffman has been getting from this partisan crowd, and I think it's upsetting Quigley. BL: He can't afford to get sloppy at this stage in the match. Both men have taken so much punishment that it's probably not unfair to suggest that whoever makes the next mistake will be the one who loses this bout. [Quigley stalks over to his downed opponent and drops a knee on Kauffman's head, then another. The crowd once more begins to chant, "Kauff - man! Kauff - man!" as Quigley drags Kauffman to his feet and sets him up for a suplex. He hoists Kauffman up quickly, bouncing him off the ropes with a slingshot suplex! Kauffman crashes to the mat! Big pop! Quigley limps across the ring into the opposite corner, and begins the climb to the top rope.] TD: Quigley's going all the way to the top! We're not accustomed to seeing Chris Quigley up there... BL: He's taking a long time getting his balance, Timmy. [Quigley balances on the top rope, and then launches himself with a front moonsault as cameras flash all over the Skydome -- but Kauffman raises his knees, and Quigley hits hard! Huge pop! Kauffman drags himself to his feet, and points to the top himself.] TD: Unbelievable! Quigley's hurting, and Kauffman must have been playing possum! He's heading for the top rope! [Kauffman climbs up the turnbuckles inside the ring, his back to Quigley, who drags himself to his feet. Without even looking, Kauffman launches himself with a reverse moonsault -- but is caught in midair by Quigley! Huge pop! Kauffman finds himself with his head between Quigley's legs, and the Canadian drops to the canvas, piledriving Kauffman into the mat! The crowd go wild as Quigley stands up and signals for the Quickstriker!] TD: Did you see that?! Quigley just plucked Kauffman out of the air and hit a piledriver out of nowhere! BL: That may be the mistake that costs Dan Kauffman the match! [Quigley drags Kauffman into the centre of the ring by his legs, steps over, and crosses the former champion's legs. Quigley struggles to put enough weight on his still injured right ankle to turn Kauffman over, but at the second attempt, he manages it!] TD: Quigley has the Quickstriker on Kauffman! It's over! It's over! [Alfonso is immediately in position, checking on Kauffman, asking for the submission. But the champion refuses to give up, his face contorted with the agonising pain shooting up his legs into the small of his back. He yells, he beats his hands on the canvas, but he refuses to submit. Quigley leans further back, forcing himself to put weight on his tender right ankle, and his own face shows the strain of locking the Quickstriker in at maximum strength. The crowd are on their feet and cheering their heroes on.] TD: It is _deafening_ in here! I can barely hear myself think! SR: What did you say, Dross? [Quigley adjusts his grip, trying to get as much leverage on the hold as possible. Kauffman grabs at the referee, trying to relieve the pressure any way he can, but still he refuses to submit. One minute passes, and Kauffman is still trapped in the hold.] TD: Now it comes down to heart. It comes down to desire. Which of these two men wants this victory the most? On the one hand, we have Dan Kauffman, the man who has been to the very top in the IIWF and is determined not to end his career on a losing note. On the other hand, we have Chris Quigley, fighting the biggest match of his career in front of an avid home crowd. Neither man is willing to give an inch... this is incredible. [Another minute ticks by, each second punctuated by the throbbing of Dan Kauffman's head as his entire body, his spirit, his soul fights against the desire to simply give in to the pain... but still he does not submit, trapped in the Quickstriker for more than two minutes. Quigley shuffles his feet, his ankle troubling him. The crowd's chants of "Kauff - man! Kauff - man!" build in intensity, as if ninety thousand people speak with one collective voice.] TD: Listen to these fans! They are willing Dan Kauffman on, willing him to find the strength to break the hold which no man has ever broken! [Three minutes in the Quickstriker. A camera captures the tears of pain, of determination, streaming down the blood-streaked face of Dan Kauffman, his matted hair hanging in tendrils over his eyes, tightly closed as if trying to hold them in his head, his jaw fixed in a grimace which speaks volumes of the pain that throbs through his back and legs. He beats his hands on the mat, but still he refuses to give up. "Kauff - man! Kauff - man! Kauff - man!"] TD: Dan Kauffman has now been in this hold for more than three minutes! He's not going to give up! The referee is going to have to stop this match before Quigley does some severe damage to Kauffman's back... SR: Why stop him? Let him break the Lame Duck's back for all I care. TD: Steve, I don't know how you can witness such a display of incredible athleticism and remain unmoved! [The referee watches Kauffman's face intently for any signs that he is ready to submit as Quigley continues to put as much pressure on the hold as his injured ankle allows. The crowd's chants of "Kauff - man! Kauff - man!" remain as strong as ever, as if the fans are trying to channel their collective energy into the exhausted, pain-wracked body of Dan Kauffman... and suddenly, Kauffman places the palms of his hands flat on the mat. Suddenly, Kauffman's face is contorted not with pain, but with grit and determination. Suddenly, Kauffman begins to push himself up on his hands, easing the pressure on his back, challenging Quigley to keep the hold locked on as he raises his torso from the mat, straightening his back and reducing the effectiveness of the deathlock. Quigley struggles to cinch the hold back in as he feels his grip on victory slipping away, but his ankle gives out, and Quigley releases the hold! Massive pop! Both men slump to the canvas!] TD: I cannot believe what I have just seen... and nor can any one of the ninety thousand fans in this arena! Dan Kauffman just powered out of the Quickstriker! Dan Kauffman just did the impossible -- he broke the unbreakable hold! SR: Damn. Is this match _never_ going to end?! Perhaps I should go in there with a gun and put them both out of their misery. [Both men lie on the mat, their chests heaving. The crowd continues to cheer like it has never cheered before, man, woman and child on their feet, every member of the heaving mass of humanity willing their chosen hero on to victory, to find that last reserve of energy deep within themselves, to snatch the victory! And sure enough, both men stir, both men fight to their feet, the lactic acid coursing through their veins, each breath rasping in their dry throats, their bodies aching through exhaustion. The two men make a lunge for one another, Kauffman swinging at Quigley with a wild right hand which Quigley ducks, and Quigley drives his shoulder into Kauffman's midsection, doubling him over, before attempting a gutwrench suplex on the former champion -- but Kauffman blocks, and hits a swinging neckbreaker of his own! Huge pop! Kauffman drags himself to his feet once more, and he looks around at the crowd, his mouth agape as he fights for breath, individual faces of fans in the front rows drifting in and out of the breathless haze before him.] TD: The endurance of these two men is incredible. I simply don't know what to say. SR: I do. Somebody get me a beer. BL: This match can't go on much longer. Kauffman's just looking for that one hold now, that one hold which will hand him victory. [Kauffman grabs Quigley's legs and prepares to apply the Falcon leglock, but as he steps through, Quigley frantically swats Kauffman's leg away with his hands, forcing Kauffman to release him. Kauffman drags his opponent to his feet, and whips him into the ropes. Quigley ducks under one clothesline attempt, and then bounces off the ropes, slides between Kauffman's legs, and comes up behind him. In a flash, out of nowhere, Quigley applies a fuginama armbar, an excruciating variant which has been known to break arms on a routine basis. The crowd gasps as Kauffman lets out a scream, almost primal in its agony.] TD: Oh no! Out of nowhere! A fuginama armbar! Quigley has this match in the palm of his hand! Kauffman can't resist this move for long. BL: The fuginama armbar is one of the most painful holds in the sport. After forty-plus minutes, Kauffman simply doesn't have enough to withstand the agony. TD: But he's fighting it, Becky! He's fighting it! [The referee checks Kauffman intently, watching his face for any sign of a submission. The seconds tick by, ten, fifteen... and the referee calls for the bell! Ding! Ding! Ding! Incredible pop from the crowd! Quigley allows Kauffman to slump to the mat as the official raises his arm in victory! "For Those About To Rock" kicks in over the PA, but it is barely audible.] TD: It's over! The match is over! BL: I have to admit that even _I'm_ impressed. [Sparkplug Lee strains to be heard over the cacophony of emotional cries from the ninety thousand-strong crowd.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match... "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! [The camera cuts around the crowd, showing the plethora of emotions written all over the faces of the fans. Some cheer Quigley, almost hoarse in their acclamations for the victor, some look concernedly at Kauffman, immobile on the mat, clutching his right shoulder. Others hide their eyes, and still others simply drop into their seats, drained from having witnessed a match such as this. In the ring, Quigley bends over his fallen opponent, and helps him to his feet. Kauffman's face is still twisted in pain as he looks past his matted hair at the sweat-stained face of his friend of fifteen months, Chris Quigley. The two men stand facing one another, as if neither knows what to do now. The crowd is hushed as Quigley's music fades... and then the two men embrace in centre ring! Huge pop! Quigley raises Kauffman's arm in victory!] SR: Oh, please! I think I'm going to be sick. TD: What scenes here in the Skydome, folks! Chris Quigley has triumphed in one of the most remarkable matches I've ever seen... and now he leaves the ring, leaving the man who must now make the hardest farewell of his life, the man who must leave all this behind... [Chris Quigley leaves the ring and heads up the walkway, absently slapping the hands of fans on his way back to the locker room, as if unaware of the magnitude of his victory. As he reaches the curtain, he turns back for one last look at the battleground on which legends are made, dreams are realised, and hopes are shattered. Quigley looks back at Kauffman, who still stands in the centre of the ring, battered, bruised and exhausted, and raises his arms once more in a salute to his opponent. Kauffman acknowledges Quigley's salute as the Canadian disappears into the locker room, and is then alone in the squared circle, awed in front of the emotion of ninety thousand supporters.] TD: And there, standing in the ring, is one of the greatest champions this sport has ever seen. A great wrestler, and a great man, but from now on, he is wrestler no more. Dan Kauffman will walk out of this ring tonight for the last time. He has put on his last show... and what a show. [The crowd continue to cheer Kauffman, all eyes focused on the ring, few noticing the near seven foot figure slowly making his way down the aisle to the squared circle. Kauffman turns, and sees his old foe, Deathbringer, climbing the ring steps. Big heel pop. Kauffman seems too exhausted to even make a move as he watches the black-clad reaper enter the ring, clutching a microphone.] TD: No, please don't let it end this way! SR: Yeah! Squash him, Deathbringer! Bury him! [Deathbringer raises the microphone to his mouth, and the crowd falls silent as his low, gravelly voice resounds around the Skydome.] DB: So this is the last that we shall see of Dan "Flash" Kauffman in the IIWF. Your career is at an end... and if I were to say that I do not care about it, that would certainly be a lie. I perhaps know you better than any other competitor here in the IIWF, and though we had many meetings, several opportunities to prove just who is the better man, we never really found out... [Deathbringer takes a few steps towards Kauffman.] And though we will meet again at the end of your life, Kauffman, there is something that has to be done right here, right now... [Deathbringer drops the microphone and lunges at Kauffman, grabbing him by the throat in preparation for a chokeslam! Huge heel pop!] TD: No! Please, for the love of God, no! SR: Yeah! Go, Deathbringer! [Amidst the clamour, with every eye in the Skydome focused on the ring, Deathbringer hoists Kauffman high in the air, but instead of driving him into the canvas, he lifts him onto his left shoulder, sitting him there, high above the ring. Deathbringer raises his right arm, and in an instant, the ring is lit up by a huge pyrotechnic display high in the rafters of the Skydome as "Call The Man" kicks in over the PA once more.] TD: Incredible... What a tribute paid to Dan Kauffman by his longest and sternest enemy! SR: I can't believe it, Dross. Even Deathbringer's gone soft. TD: And here come more of the IIWF's superstars to send Kauffman off... What scenes here in the Skydome! [The ring begins to fill with wrestlers as the IIWF's athletes walk down from the locker room area to pay their respects to the former champion: the Subway Psycho, Billy Shakespeare, Tony Starks, the Zodiac Connection, Luke Steele, Marty Warnett, Ronnie Paris, the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi, Cold Spell, the White Phoenix, Nightwing, Highwayman, Rising Sun Revolution, Requiem. The ring is filled with plaudits as fireworks continue to erupt high in the air.] TD: Fans, we're right out of time here in the Skydome. What a night it's been... and what a career it's been for Dan Kauffman. It's hard to imagine how he will feel when he wakes up tomorrow morning and he realises that tonight will be the last time he stands in that squared circle and feels the energy of a capacity crowd, cheering him, pushing him on to success, to gold, and to glory. There's no shame in his defeat tonight. Both men pushed themselves and each other to the limit and beyond, and Dan Kauffman can stand with his head held high, leaving the IIWF behind with the respect and admiration of his peers and his fans. Folks, thanks for joining us here tonight for Ring Wars III. I'm going up to the ring to join in the farewell, so for the lovely Becky LaRue, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, and Larry Morton, this is Tim Dross, saying: so long, everybody! [Dross puts down his headset and leaves the broadcast table, climbing the ringsteps and entering the squared circle, reaching up to shake the hand of Dan Kauffman amidst the crowd of his comrades. Cut to a wide-angle shot of the arena floor, the ring surrounded by the sea of faces saying goodbye to their hero. Another volley of fireworks explodes high above the ring. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+