##### ###### ### ########## ########## ########## #### ## ########## ########## ########## #### # #### ######## ##### ##### #### ## ##### #### #### #### #### ### #### #### #### #### ############# ######### #### #### ########### ######### #### #### #### #### #### ######### ######### ### #### #### ######### ######### ### ## #### ######## ######## ## # #### =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ## =-=-=-= INTERNATIONAL INTERNET WRESTLING FEDERATION =============================================== S + A + T + U + R + D + A + Y N + I + G + H + T ----------------------------------------------- + LiVE! + 26 April 1997 + IIWF Coliseum + [The opening graphics fade through to interior shots of the jam-packed IIWF Coliseum. Fireworks explode high in the rafters as the capacity twenty thousand strong crowd cheer in their excitement. The shot pans down past row upon row of sign-waving, merchandise-wearing fans, swinging wildly over the sea of faces illuminated by the kaleidoscopic colours cast by the beams of the powerful spotlights in the rigging above the squared circle. The shot eventually pans down past the ringside fans to the ring enclosure and the broadcast table, at which stand Tim Dross, dressed in his customary IIWF suit, and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, who wears his IIWF leather jacket and an "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin t-shirt.] TD: Welcome everybody to the IIWF Coliseum! Welcome everybody to another live and loud edition of IIWF Saturday Night! I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, the self-professed greatest broadcast journalist in this great sport. SR: Damned right, Dross. I can't believe they made me turn up for the start of the show. I told the suits I wasn't going to do prelim matches any more. "Stick me in the booth for the main event," I said, "and boost the ratings a few points, but don't make me suffer the indignity of watching guys like widdle Wonnie and "Square Meal" Luke Steele." TD: But here you are. SR: Yeah, here I am -- and I'll just say that I'm not happy about it. I'm launching an appeal to all my "L'il Soundbiters" out there. Send letters to IIWF Towers, Portland, Oregon, and mark your envelopes, "Get the Soundbite out of the booth!" TD: Now there's an appeal we can all support, folks. SR: What's that supposed to mean, Dross? With a single click of my fingers, I could have you shifted out of this cushy job and announcing the Oklahoma state finals of the greasy pig competition. TD: I've worked that event before, as it happens. In any case, folks, we have another two hours of the finest wrestling entertainment anywhere in the world coming up for you here tonight as the temperature really starts to rise in the fortnight leading up to the IIWF's next pay-per-view event, Birthday Bash. SR: Have we really been working together a year, Dross? TD: Almost. SR: It seems like a lifetime. TD: Well, thank you for saying so. Fans, our main event tonight was originally scheduled to take place at Birthday Bash, but after repeated brawls between the two men, IIWF officials made the decision to bring the match forward two weeks... so tonight, we will see "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder and Mad Dog Watkins lock it up for the third time. They've met twice before and each man holds a victory. Who will win the deciding match here tonight? SR: I'd be surprised if they can even wait an hour and a half, Dross. They'd better have security on high alert back in the locker room area. TD: Indeed. We also have two other legitimate headline matches in store tonight -- "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley, who will be here in person a little later on to respond to comments made by IIWF Champion Casey James, his opponent in two weeks at the Bash, will tonight face the Subway Psycho in a real clash of the titans. SR: Clash of the titans?! You're kidding me, right, Dross? The Subway Stinker's had his tail kicked countless times by Tiger Claw, and Chris Kick-Me is still chasing his holy grail, the IIWF Championship -- a title he'll never capture, Dross. Not as long as the Syndicate are around. TD: We'll see about that, Steve. And in other incredible action, Creed, who has stretched his unbeaten streak to thirteen matches, will put both his streak and his Birthday Bash shot at Intercontinental Champion Lord Byron on the line tonight against Requiem. There's championship action in store, too, and it's a big night for the "Age of the Rage". Cruiserweight Champion the White Phoenix puts his title on the line against Dirt Dog Unique Allah, while the Prophets of Rage get the opportunity to take the United States Tag Team Championships from the Harlequins. SR: We could see the creation of a major force in the IIWF here tonight, Dross, if both the Prophets and that Dirt Dog walk out with belts around their waists. TD: Former two-time World Tag Team Champions Rising Sun Revolution return to action tonight against Cold Spell -- and I see some similarities between these two teams, Steve. SR: Yeah, so do I -- they're both awful. TD: That's not the case at all. Both teams feature a phenomenal aerialist and a more staid, powerful brawler. We could see some tremendous tag team action in that match. SR: And the athlete formerly known as Cheshire, Chris Herforth, will be wrestling tonight against the Highwayman. We'll see how much of a sense of humour that reanimated corpse has, won't we, Dross? TD: Nobody will be laughing if Herforth manages to apply that Humorizer mandible claw of his, Steve. Newcomer Duncan Macbeth will be facing Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven tonight -- a real clash of two of the strongest, most powerful men in the IIWF. SR: And I wouldn't be surprised to see Derek Mota and "Take a Hike" Sampson get involved in that match. TD: That's _Ike_ Sampson, Steve. But you're right -- all three men seem destined to clash at Birthday Bash, and that's going to be quite a match. But before all that action, we have our opening encounter. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow returns to the ring tonight after his injury at the hands of Steve "the Fury" Kowalski two weeks ago, and he'll be facing the Cell. Oak's "cult" appears to have become more and more desperate in the past week since Domination packed their bags and left the IIWF, Steve. SR: I don't care, Dross. This is the opening match, and therefore not worthy of my attention. TD: Let's get up to the ring. [Cut to Sparkplug Lee in the middle of the ring, where he fumbles with his cue cards, dropping them all over the mat.  He looks around in confusion until someone tell him what to say.] SL: The next match is scheduled for one fall. Coming to the ring... ["The Great Southern Trendkill" by Pantera starts playing as Derek Mota makes his way to the ring.  The crowd responds with a loud pop as they are not expecting him to come out.  Mota is wearing his black leather jacket and jeans, obviously not coming to wrestle.  Mota slaps hands with a few fans on the way to the ring.] TD: What's he doing here?  Mota's always trying to hog the spotlight! SR: Dontcha love it? [Derek Mota slides into the ring and grabs the microphone from Sparkplug.] DM: Okay everybody, I've got a couple of things I'm thinkin' about and I need your help [Mota snickers].  First of all though, I'd like to say to Ike Sampson, you're welcome.  After all, I didn't interfere in your match against Tiger Claw on Wednesday.  I'd also like to say to Sampson that I'm sorry.  By NOT interfering, I cost ya the match!  You see, it was pretty obvious how outmatched you were by the little man, Sampson.  Next time, maybe I'll hafta interfere to save your sorry ass!  One sec... [Mota removes his leather jacket to expose a custom drawn t-shirt of Ike Sampson picking his nose.  In the picture, Ike seems to be looking around, thinking that no one is noticing.  The crowd pops upon seeing the shirt.] DM: This brings me to my question.  I've got a couple of options here, so I figured I'd get the fans involved. [The crowd starts chanting "We like Ike!  We like Ike!".] DM: Why don't you all just shut up and listen to what I'm sayin' for a change!  Like I was saying, I got a couple of challenges on the table for Birthday Bash, and who better to decide what I'm gonna do then the fans? [Derek steps out of the ring towards the ringside seats.] DM: Ike Sampson just accepted my challenge for a Triangle Match with Duncan Macbeth at Birthday Bash.  Here's the problem:  Macbeth just challenged me for a one on one match with him.  What do you think I should do? [Derek points the microphone at a young lady who, upon realizing that she is on IIWF Saturday Night, begins jumping up and down hysterically.] Fan: YEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHH! [Derek quickly pulls back the mic.] DM: Okay. Let's try this another way. [Mota walks up to a group of guys who are cheering loudly.] DM: What do you think, guys?  Should I accept the challenge for the Triangle match? Crowd: WWWWHHHHHOOOOOOOOOO! [Derek is beginning to look frustrated.] DM: Okay, boys. Why don't you reform the Horsemen right here and now?! My other point to you is GET A LIFE.  It looks like I'm gonna hafta make this decision on my own. These guys are totally incapable of putting together a one syllable answer.  Must be the Portland air.  Macbeth, I'll see you in the ring.  But it's gonna hafta be in the Triangle Match.  If you and me can't get things solved there, then we'll meet again.  Name your terms. I'm not runnin' from ya.  If anythin', I'm chargin' at ya, full speed ahead!  It's gonna be a long road, but I'm ready ta take it.  So IIWF, look out for Derek Mota!  Birthday Bash PPV, I'll be there, and my imprint on the IIWF's just startin'!    ["The Great Southern Trendkill" plays again as Derek Mota leaves the ringside area, looking disdainfully at the fans.] SR: You know, he's right. It must be the Portland air.  Maybe I should be recording my segments in Hawaii or something. TD: Steve, you're terrible. Let's go back to Sparkplug for our real match. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Joe Petrow vs. The Cell =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MF [Sparkplug Lee appears to have mislaid his microphone. He shuffles around his table in search of it.] TD: Okay, so Sparkplug has a few technical problems here. This one is going to be an unorthodox contest, folks, you can bet on that. On one hand, you've got the mysterious Cell, whose entire career has been shrouded in weirdness. On the other, you've got the main Sychopath, Joe Petrow. Petrow is willing to put his body on the line to get the victory. What will prevail, the mystery or the insanity? SR: Wow. You're pretty dramatic when you want to be. TD: Thanks, Steve. SR: And incredibly cheesy when you're not even trying. TD: I should have seen that coming... Who do you pick for this match, Steve? SR: Let me see... A guy in a cult or a guy who should be in an institution... Hard call. I'll say Cell. He's got all those robed guys with him. TD: Speaking of all those robed guys, here they come! [The crowd gives a heel pop as the cloaked members of the cult of Oak walk down the aisle. there are about six of them, all looking identical with their cowls pulled over their heads. As they reach the ring, the unmistakable form of Poutine Janois storms down to the ring.] TD: I had a feeling that Poutine Janois would have something to say about all these guys down here. SR: Cheese-fry with gravy eating loser... What the hell is he doing? TD: Even you must have heard about the stand that the IIWF officials are taking against this cult. I say kudos for a job well done! SR: Ever had a kudo? They're disgusting. Who ever heard of eating bull nuts in cream sauce anyway? TD: Let's see wha... _what!?_ [As Roberts chuckles at Dross' loss of concentration, Janois motions for Sparkplug Lee to give him the microphone. All six cloaked figures turn to face him. Janois begins to speak in his trademark thick French Canadian accent, demanding that all but two of the cloaked figures leave ringside. One of the figures pulls back his cowl, revealing Oak. Oak argues with Janois for a few seconds, but Janois just closes his eyes and shakes his head. Oak looks angry but motions to the cloaked figures, and four of them move off and head back up the aisle. The camera picks up Janois' parting shot:] PJ: And Ah bet-TER not see dem down ere again tonight, or you be paying me da fifty tow-sand dol-LER fine. [The crowd takes a moment to get what Janois just said, then breaks out into a chorus of cheers. Oak appears even more angry, but does a good job of containing it, and bows politely to Janois. Janois nods his head and heads back up the aisle.] SR: Alright, what the hell just happened there? I couldn't understand a word he said. TD: He said that if the members of Oak's cult come down to the ring during the match, Oak will be fined heavily. SR: Oh... Okay, whatever. Not like Cell needs the help. [Oak helps Cell with his cloak as Sparkplug Lee gets ready to announce the next participant.] RA: His opponent, making his residence in Tokyo, Japan and weighing in at 227 pounds, here is "Sychosys" Joe Petrow! [Billy Joel's "You May Be Right" blares over the PA, and Steve Roberts reacts. Joe Petrow appears at the head of the aisle dressed in a tie-dye robe and trunks, complimented by a lavish fifteen-foot long feather boa. Roberts gets to his feet as Petrow makes thrusting gestures with his pelvis.] SR: You little freak! Who the hell do you think you are? TD: Sit down, Steve. SR: Shut up, Dross. This is insulting. You aren't even fit to wash my jockstrap, geek boy! TD: Exactly what training is necessary to _be_ fit to wash your jockstrap? SR: Shut up! Hey! That little loser. I was beginning to like him and then he pulls this! TD: Well, you know what they say, imitation is the highest form of flattery... SR: Hey... Nobody better even try and imitate me. It's just one of those things, man. I mean, I'm a legend! [Petrow gets into the ring and places the boa between his legs and pulls it back and forth, which gets Roberts even angrier. Petrow, noticing Roberts at the broadcast table, smirks and breaks into a laugh. All the while, Cell stares intensly at Petrow.] SR: I hope Cell kicks your scrawny little ass, punk! TD: Steve, really, stop yelling at the wrestlers. SR: Oh, he'll see... He'll rue the day, I tell you. [Petrow removes the boa and the robe and hands it to the ring attendant, then walks straight up to the Cell and engages in a staredown. The two look into each other's eyes, and the bell rings.] SR: All that imitation is going to stop here. There's no way Petrow can match my level of performance. TD: Let me guess... SR: Moonsault... of the Asai variety. [The staredown continues until abruptly, Petrow plants a huge kiss right on the lips of Cell.] TD: Well, I recognize _that_ one from your playbook... SR: You want some, geek? You want some of me? [The Cell is enraged, and lunges towards Petrow, but Petrow ducks out of the way, allowing Cell to go right by him. Petrow executes a low level dropkick that hits Cell in the back of the knees. Cell drops to the mat, and Petrow stomps on his leg, then hops away. Cell gets to his feet, and watches Petrow, who crouches in the corner. Cell closes in and tries to initiate a lockup, but Petrow ducks under again and throws an elbow into the back of Cell's head. Cell falls forward into the corner, hitting his head off of the turnbuckle. The crowd cheers, but Petrow backs off, prefering to stay near the ropes on the opposite side of the ring.] SR: Come on, punk! Fight! TD: This is a smart move by Petrow. He's playing a "stick and move" type strategy. SR: We know what he's doing... What a puss! [Cell gets to his feet again, and Petrow walks calmly to the centre of the ring and holds his hands up for a test of strength, and the Cell smirks. The Cell links hands, and immediately, begins overpowering Joe. The crowd rally behind Petrow, but to no avail, as Petrow falls to first one knee, then the other. Suddenly, Joe launches forward, driving the top of his head into the groin area of Cell. Cell doubles over, and lets go of Petrow's hands. The ref begins to warn Petrow, but Joe holds up his hands, claiming it was an accident, then scuffs his foot on the mat.] TD: That would be the international symbol for "There's a slippery spot on the mat right here." [The ref accepts Petrow's explanation, and Petrow executes a kneelift on the bent over Cell. The Cell falls onto his back, and Petrow signals to the crowd.] TD: I believe we're about to see the Sychostomp here. SR: Yeehaw. [Petrow stomps and Cell's head, then his right arm, then his right leg, then his left leg, then his left arm. By this time, Oak has jumped onto the ring apron, and the ref moves over to tell him to return to the floor. Joe uses the opportunity to raise his foot, spin it around in the air, and send it down hard on Cell's groin. The Cell holds his parts and rolls on the ground, and Petrow jumps to the second turnbuckle right in front of Roberts and gyrates his hips. Roberts flips the bird.] TD: Steve! SR: What? [Petrow laughs and returns to where the Cell lays on the mat and drags him to his feet. The Cell sneaks in an elbow to Petrow's midsection, slowing him. Cell follows up with a clothesline, which sends Petrow crashing to the mat. The Cell capitalizes by straddling Petrow and digging his teeth into Petrow's forehead. The ref makes the count, and Cell breaks by 4. Cell drags Petrow up and throws him into the ropes, attempting a knee lift on the return, but Joe flips over Cell's leg and rolls him up in a cradle. The ref counts... 1 - 2 - Kickout by Cell! Petrow quickly hits Cell with a stomp before he can get up, but Cell fights to his feet anyway. Out of nowhere, Petrow hits Cell with the Sychokick!] TD: The Sychokick! There it is! Petrow's got this one! SR: No he doesn't. Look. [Petrow is about to execute the Bullet Train to Hell just as Steve Kowalski storms into the ring with a can of something. He rushes Petrow and hits him over the head with the can. Petrow slumps to the mat, and the ref calls for the bell. Kowalski looks into a camera, holding up what can now be identified as a beer can, and pointing at it, says, "Mooselips... Guaranteed to knock you flat on yer ass!" By this time, the Cell has recovered enough to begin pounding on Petrow, not realizing the match is over.] TD: This is disgusting! Someone has to stop this. SR: I agree. TD: You do? SR: Yes... That was a shameless plug. To go in front of the camera like that and advertise Mooselips, well, that was uncalled for. TD: No more uncalled for than that attack! SR: I didn't see any attack that was uncalled for... [Kowalski turns to help Cell pound on Petrow, and the crows suddenly breaks into cheers as Shinja Chow runs down to the ring. He leaps to the top rope and comes flying into the ring with a dropkick that hits with one foot on each of the two attackers. Kowalski and Cell both roll out of the ring. Oak goes over to help out Cell, and Kowalski stays laying on the floor, cradling his beer can. In the ring, Chow helps Petrow up, but Petrow shakes off the assistance and gets ready to punch the White Phoenix. Chow steps back, hands raised in a fighting stance, and the two circle each other.] TD: No! Chow was there to help! SR: See? Told you Petrow was a dork. [Suddenly, Chow runs off the ropes and launches himself into the air with a double chop. Petrow ducks, allowing Chow to hit Kowalski, who has snuck into the ring behind Petrow. Kowalski again rolls out of the ring and staggers up the aisle, pointing a finger at Chow and swearing at him. Back in the ring, Chow just looks with disdain at Kowalski, then turns to face Petrow. Petrow just kind of stands there. Chow holds out his hand to Petrow, and the crowd cheers. Petrow nonchalantly looks at Chow's hand, flashes the Triple M sign, and leaps over the top rope and begins walking up the aisle, not looking back. Chow remains in the ring, somewhat confused.] TD: I'm not sure of what to make of that exchange right there. Chow helped out Petrow, but Petrow didn't even thank him. In fact, he pretty much ignored the White Phoenix when he realized that Chow wasnt a threat. SR: Petrow's a turd, Dross. He's thankless, and he's cocky. TD: So what you're saying is that he wasn't just wearing your clothes, but he was playing the part too? SR: You're begging for a biscuit upside your head, aren't you? TD: Certainly not, Steve. Fans, later tonight, the Harlequins will be defending their United States Tag Team Championships against the Prophets of Rage. Right now, though, they're joining Becky LaRue in her Lair. Over to you, Becky. [Cut to the LaRue's Lair set, erected on a podium some twelve or fifteen feet high and set back from the aisle halfway between the entrance curtain and the ring. Two pink pillars draped with chiffon frame the bright scarlet velour fabric of the two chairs standing on the set. Becky LaRue enters to a loud pop, mostly wearing latex and a "Birthday Bash" hockey jersey.  She leans far into the crowd to plant a kiss on a fan waving a "B.W.O.! Becky World Order!" sign.] BL: For the last two weeks I've been telling you that I was going to     interview tag champions The Harlequins. And I just haven't had the stomach to follow through on my taunts.  Well, I'm feeling spunky today... [crowd pop] so let's bring on the head of those pie-bald     grapplers:  Harlquin Tragedy. [A determined Tragedy enters as "Vow" by Garbage starts to play. There is a small pop from the crowd which eventually turns into a small roar.  He takes a seat.] BL: First off, "Sleepy Hollow, Illinois". Is there really such a place? HT: It's a small quiet town about an hour from Chicago. Considering that     you used to work for my father, Becky, I would have thought you'd have remembered that. BL: Yeah, well, I was drunk most of those years.  I don't remember a     whole lot.  Except that night your father and I... um, never mind.  You have won the IIWF United States Tag belts. How the heck did that happen? HT: My brother and I are not so easily distracted as the second rate teams that currently compete here. While the other teams were whining to the President, Chaos and I were winning matches. Plain and simple. BL: Are all of you like your wrestling personas in real life?  Are there     "Happy Hammers" just lying about the place? HT: You know Rebecca, these inane questions are starting to annoy me. BL: Just answer it! HT: My world is a dark place. There is no joy save my beloved who due to     stipulations cannot join us tonight. I have seen friends and family     die before me. I have seen lives shattered by neglect and treachery. I have seen my only brother taken away screaming as a child. And now     that we are reunited, I can only watch as his mind continues to leave him. You ask is this who I really am, the question is, how can I be anything else? BL: You really ought to think about working for Hallmark, y'know.  Other     IIWF business. How do Comedy and Melody feel to be a managerial unit? HT: From what they have told me, they are insulted that the executives in this league treat them as nothing more that valets. The four of us are a unit in and out of the ring. When Chaos or myself are in the ring, Comedy and Melody look out for us. When they compete, we watch out for them. It's not about pathetic backstabbing attempts, it's about being a Harlequin, being part of the family. BL: How do you take to Mr. Mic's more than justified complaints? HT: Justified? Those complaints are the cries for help from a frightened man who saw the masked faces of his doom and is trying desperately to keep it from happening. Whether Mr. Mic likes it or not. Everyone becomes a victim of Tragedy sooner or later. And one thing I am is patient. BL: Domination disappeared from the IIWF.  Are you going to miss them? HT: Who? BL: Y'know, Domination?  The tag team who... oh.  I get it now. Do you     think you're spooky with all the masks and stuff you wear? HT: People's obsessions with the way we look is only part of the equation that leads my brother and I to victory. It's not what we think, but what THEY think that really matters. BL: Exactly my thinking.  As long as others think I'm gorgeous, then I     know that everyone is thinking correctly.  Comedy... Tragedy. I can     handle that. But shouldn't the other part of Chaos be Harmony, not     Melody? HT: Melody is her real name. She doesn't want it any other way. BL: Were do you get all those really great toys? HT: Becky, when President Spreadbury finally tells the whiners of this     league to shut up and allows Comedy to return, I'm sure she'll let you in on it. BL: Does it bother you that when people say 'Harlequins' they think about cheap romance novels instead of you? HT: [looks perturbed] When we came up with the name, only two definitions came to mind. The first being a playful jester. The other a malevolent spirit. Those are what seemed to fit us and THAT is why we are what we are. Anyone who thinks otherwise will find themselves beaten in quick time. BL: If you could be anything besides a wrestler, what would it be? HT: You don't want to know. BL: Comedy shared a room with Melody in college.  Any great stories to     tell? HT: You'd have to ask them. I was only there for part of it. And some of     that I am not at liberty to discuss. BL: Oh, I'm sure I can get a video of it in the adult section.  Billy     Shakespeare's neurosis have been exhaustively detailed. As     experts on Comedy, Tragedy and psychosis, what advice would you give? HT: Mr. Shakespeare, you have begun the long road to embracing the darkness that most mortals fear. The mask is no longer nessecary. You are Spur, and through his ways, you will overcome all. BL: O - kayyyy. Sorry I asked.  Who will you lose your tag title too? HT: The only people who will be taking these belts from us are the Executive Committee once Chaos and I claim the World Tag Team Titles. We were told that there will be unification, and we will be the ones to do it. Becky, for weeks now I have been hearing how the President of this organization has been filled with complaints from the other teams on the constant interference in their matches. What I would like to know is who these teams are, bacuse it sure as hell hasn't been us! [Crowd pop!] All I have been hearing is the tag teams complaining about one team doing this and another team doing that. And they all go begging to the front office for a change in the rules. To the tag teams in the IIWF I can say only this: deal with it! [Huge pop!] When Lord Byron his me with a cane in my debut match, I didn't whine. I took care of the issue myself. When Sandman interfered in my match against Otto Verhoeven, I didn't cry to the executive commitee, I got back at him. When the Prophets of Rage attacked Melody, we didn't hang our heads in anguish, we went straight to Ring Wars and kicked their asses! When Icehawk started sexually harassing my fiancee, we didn't file any claims, we showed him to stay out of other people's business. And when eight men decided to get involved at our deserved title match, we didn't whine about it. We got the job done, and walked out with the titles! [Crowd pop!] HT: And for our stalwart behaviour and our associates' benevolent actions at ringside, President Spreadbury decided that Comedy and Melody would not have to be shunted away from the ring. But the rest of the teams here just can't deal with it. They bitched and moaned until Spreadbury relented. I have some news for all the so-called tag teams here in the IIWF. In wrestling, there are things that happen that are beyond your control, and your ability to deal with them is what determines whether or not anyone is going to make it. And from the looks of things, a lot of teams are on the downward spiral! [Crowd pop.] HT: When I decided to concentrate solely on tag team competition, I gave up a lot of opportunities. I was once the number one contender for the Cruiserweight Title, and I can surely defeat men like Lord Byron and Casey James. I should be standing before you right now as the IIWF World Champion, but I decided to take on the "quality" teams here in the IIWF only to find there are none! As far as I'm concerned every team in the IIWF owes me an apology for wasting my time! [Huge mixed pop.] TD: [over the headset] Wow. This isn't going to endear the Harlequins to many of the other teams here in the IIWF. SR: [over the headset] As if they weren't unpopular enough as it is. HT: But since none of you cowards are willing to admit your wrongdoings, it appears that The Harlequins are just going to have to teach all of you a lesson. And as for our President's recent ruling on keeping Comedy and Melody from us: President Spreadbury, I can no longer control Chaos by myself. The deaths of Derek and Shadoe Rage are on your hands. [Mixed pop from the crowd.] BL: Anything to add? HT: Only that Derek and Shadoe Rage's complaints will be their epitaph. As will all the others who have tried to get ahead at out expense. And to the executives who backed down under the pressure. Their blood is on your hands. [He exits rather abruptly, the crowd in a frenzy over his last remark. Becky looks after him, blinking, confused.  She scratches her head then turns to the camera.] BL: Well.  That guy is about as much fun as a Morton Family Reunion, but     with less facial hair on the women.  Determined?  Yes.  Depressing?     yes.  Sort of Deathbringer crossed with Prisoner #109 and just enough Marty Warnett to make him bothersome. Next week I have a special treat for y'all.  The man with his finger on the pulse of this federation... and I don't mean Sparkplug Lee. 'Til then... [She pulls off her jersey, wearing a tasteful leotard beneath, and tosses it to he crowd. Cut back to the announcers' table at ringside.] TD: Well, the long awaited return of former two time tag team champions, Rising Sun Revolution, is about to take place. I can feel the anticipation in this crowd, Steve. SR: I think that's just your toupee glue taking effect. These fans know just as well as I do that Rising Sun Revulsion are has-beens. TD: Come on, they were champions! SR: Yeah, so what? After they lost those belts, they completely sucked. TD: And that's your professional opinion? SR: That's the truth, dink. TD: Well, I beg to differ. Sure, RSR went into a slump, but I saw first hand the change that has occured in Hiroshi and Ryudo. SR: What, a goatee? Come on. I've seen that before... Remember Dan Cough-Fit? It's a desperate grasp at that hard edge. It doesn't mean a thing. TD: I guess we'll see, Steve. Let's get up to the ring for the introductions. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Cold Spell vs. Rising Sun Revolution -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MF [Sparkplug Lee stands in centre ring and raises his microphone once more:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this next tag team contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, weighing in at a total combined weight of 500 pounds, here is Icehawk, Edmund Fitzgerald, Cooooooolllllld Spellllllllll! [Cold Spell's intro music begins to play over the PA, and the crowd gives a good pop. Icehawk wears his mask with the Finnish flag on it, and Edmund Fitzgerald follows him closely behind. Icehawk makes a point of high fiving as many fans as he can while Fitz pretty much ignores everyone. The team gets into the ring and raises their arms.] TD: Cold Spell have been looking good as of late, Steve, and now they're looking for a shot at the US tag titles. SR: They're dorks, Dross. Look at this Icehawk weenie... He can't figure out if he wants to be masked or not, and then there's this big geek who thinks he's a boat. TD: But they're sound wrestlers. Icehawk has that aerial technique, and Edmund has almost superhuman endurance. The two of those styles make this team a real title threat. SR: Sure thing... Whatever... Who cares... RA: Their opponents, hailing from Tokyo Japan and weighing in at a total combined weight of 570 pounds, here is Ryudo Kenjinata, Hiroshi Kasai, The Riiiiiisiiiiinnnng Sun Revoooooooluuuuuution! [The lights drop, and the crowd pop is immense. The theme from "Blade Runner" pulses over the PA, and flares on either side of the aisle entrance send flames high into the air. Ryudo and Hiroshi step out into the aisle, looking fairly intense. They hold their arms into the air, and the crowd gives a renewed cheer. As the two atheletes walk down the aisle, rockets fire, and sail over the walkway. Ryudo and Hiroshi reach the ring, and climb opposite turnbuckles, facing the crowd. Over the ring, several flash bombs go off, and the crowd goes wild.] TD: What an entrance! Still think they're has-beens, Steve? SR: Oh, gee... I guess not... I guess a couple of firecrackers is the sign of true talent, huh? You're such a moron, Dross. [RSR climb down into the ring and do a few pre match stretches. The ref steps in, and the two teams both debate who should start. Ryudo and Fitzgerald exit, leaving Icehawk facing Hiroshi. The bell rings, starting the match. Icehawk and Hiroshi circle each other, and Icehawk offers his hand. Hiroshi stops, and looks at the masked Icehawk. He looks to the crowd, then back at the aerialist. The crowd cheers, and Hiroshi carefully, suspiciously, puts his hand out. The two atheletes shake hands, and Hiroshi quickly pulls his hand away, and locks up with Icehawk. Hiroshi overpowers the gymnast, locking on a headlock. Icehawk works his way to the ropes, and sends Hiroshi for the ride. Hiroshi bounces off the opposite ropes, and Icehawk hits the mat. Hiroshi goes over him, and Icehawk tries for an armdrag on the return. Hiroshi is just too heavy, and slams a forearm into the smaller man's chest. Icehawk hits the mat.] TD: What an impact from that forearm! SR: Next you're going to tell me how technically sound that forearm was. TD: Well, it was well executed, but I was thinking more of the intensity of the blow. [Hiroshi drags Icehawk to a vertical base, and hauls him up in a body slam. Hiroshi yells as he launches Icehawk into the air, and the Fin sails clear across the ring. The crowd pops, and Hiroshi yells out something in Japanese. Icehawk gets to his feet, and his eyes show a little bit of surprise and fear of the big man. Keeping his distance, he goes to his corner and tags in Edmund Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald gets into the ring and sizes up Hiroshi. Hiroshi holds his hands up for a test of strength, and Fitzgerald accepts. The two lock hands, and immediately, the effort is evident. Hiroshi sems to put all his power into he test, while Fitzgerald just seems to try and keep the test on a neutral base. Hiroshi begins to show the strain, yet Fitzgerald just stares off into the distance, but not moving an inch. Hiroshi begins to scream in effort, but still cannot move Edmund Fitzgerald. Finally, Hioshi breaks off, and yells something at Fitzerald. When Fitz just stands there, Hiroshi rushes him, downing him with a clothesline. This brings a mixed pop from the crowd. Hiroshi follows up by dropping a big elbow on Fitz, then dragging him up to his feet. Hiroshi sends Fitz for the ride, and on the return, catches him in a flying powerslam. Hiroshi carries Fitz almost 3/4 of the way across the ring, and the crowd pops at the big man's specialty move. The ref counts the fall as Hiroshi locks on a cradle... 1 - 2 - Kickout by Fitzgerald.] TD: Hiroshi is just dominating the team of Cold Spell! What a showing! SR: One word... Choke. [Hiroshi gets up and drags Fitzgerald up with him, then leads him to the RSR corner. He tags in Ryudo, who leaps to the top rope. Hiroshi holds Fitzgerald open, and Ryudo comes off the ropes with a flying round kick. Fitzgerald staggers back, and Ryudo closes in and unleashes a lethal punching combo that seems almost blurred by the speed. Fitzgerald falls to the mat from the last shot, and Ryudo turns to the crowd with an arm raised. Ryudo measures Fitzgerald as he gets up, and runs off the ropes. Ryudo attempts a Thesz style body scissors press, but Fitz braces himself and refuses to go down. Instead, he staggers back, and twists, dropping Ryudo in an impromptu spinebuster. The crowd pops for Fitzgerald's resiliance as the bigger man crawls to his corner.] TD: What a display of intestinal fortitude by Fitzgerald! SR: I think I had intestinal fortitude once... After eating the mystery soup in the cafeteria. [Fitz tags in Icehawk, and the crowd cheers. Icehawk leaps over the top rope into the ring, and sprints over to where Ryudo is getting up. Icehawk hits with a standing frankensteiner, and then follows up with a kip-up, then a leg drop. Icehawk drags Ryudo up to his feet and throws him into the ropes. Icehawk quickly leaps up onto the top rope, and as Ryudo comes off the rebound, Icehawk launches himself, and catches Ryudo in a swinging DDT. Huge pop from the crowd! Icehawk leaps back to his feet and gives the thumbs up to the crowd, then hits with a standing splash, making the cover... 1 -2 - Ryudo kicks out!] TD: I thought it was over right there... SR: I wish it was over right there. [Icehawk gets to his feet and drags Ryudo up with him. Icehawk turns Ryudo around, and locks on a full nelson.] TD: This really isn't Icehawk's style... He's not a submission wre... OH MY! A dragon suplex! That's a specialty of Harlequin Tragedy! SR: Let me guess... That's a message? TD: I guess so... [Icehawk gets up again and grabs Ryudo's legs, then locks on a scorpion deathlock.] TD: Now he's locked on the Tragic Ending! SR: So this is one of those psychological things, right? [Fitzgerald yells "What the hell are you doing?" to his partner, but quickly runs into the ring to cut off Hiroshi, who tries to make the save. The ref checks Ryudo, and calls for the bell, signalling the submission. Fitzgerald "escorts" Hiroshi out of the ring as Icehawk rolls Ryudo out.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners, as a result of a submission, Collld Spellll! [In the ring, Fitz moves towards Icehawk, obviously continuing the line of questioning he started, saying, "What's the matter, you trying to be that clown now?" The ring mics pick up Icehawk saying, "Of course I want to be just like Tragedy! Comedy loves him, and hates me, so he must be better than I am! If I get to be just like him, she'll love me too!" Fitz shakes his head, and leaves the ring.] TD: That was strange. Icehawk is trying to be more like Harlequin Tragedy? SR: What a nut. You know, there's some serious problems lately with these freaks... What's the problem with these wrestlers these days? In my day we never tried to be things we weren't... We never... TD: Wait a second... What about your cross-dressing? SR: Hey, that was different... Besides, that's not a neurosis anymore... It's a lifestyle... [Ryudo is helped back up the aisle by his partner to a large ovation from the fans. Cut back to the announcers' table at ringside.] TD: In our next encounter, Chris Herforth will battle the Highwayman, who is in his locker room at the moment. Let's go to him for some comments ahead of his match: [Cut to the masked Highwayman standing in his locker room. His eyes stare out through his black mask as he speaks:] HWM: "Cheshire"?  "Herforth"?  Will the change in name signify a change in heart?  I would like to believe it but I have grave doubts, the name may have changed but the man remains, a man who hurt a close friend of mine last month and was the catalyst of the torment he currently endures.  I should make you pay a heavy toll for your actions, Herforth; I should compound your suffering or give you _permanent_ release from it, but... This is the opportunity to change your ways, Herforth, become a force for good, not evil, and revel in the cheers, not the jeers.  Make your father as proud as I hope I made mine, honour him with your actions and your integrity, make him smile again. The alternative is a return to the conceit and arrogance of the "old" Cheshire, and a lesson in humility by my hands.  Your father's financial position will _not_ be my request as I call to you; "Stand And Deliver" and you _will_ suffer a "Daylight Robbery"! [Cut back to ringside.] TD: Let's go up to Sparkplug Lee for the introductions in this one. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Highwayman vs. Chris Herforth =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: DK ["The Trick" starts plying in the background as Sparkplug Lee takes center ring...] SL: The following contest is set for one fall. About to make his way     to the ring, from Germany, weighing 220 pounds, the man formerly     known as Cheshire... CHRIS HERFORTH! [...and into the spotlight steps the estranged former circus star, simply walking down to the ring without any acts of athleticism or showy maneuvers. Herforth seems calm and controlled as he enters the ring rather sedately...] TD: This is a very different man from the one we all knew just a     month ago. This is a man who has had his entire identity stripped     from him, Steve. SR: If you're trying to get me to be sentimental, you should just stop right about now. TD: Even you have to admit that Ches... er, Herforth has got to be     off stride after what has happened to him in the last month. SR: I don't have to admit anything, Dross. TD: [sigh] Are you always this way? SR: [mock sigh] Have you seen Becky LaRue in a negligee? ["Stand and Deliver" starts pulsing across the arena, and the fans start to come to life...] SL: And his opponent... from Leeds, England, weighing in at 285 pounds, accompanied to the ring by Nightwing... This is the HIGHWAYMAN! [Nightwing steps into the spotlight first to a rousing ovation, followed in close stride by his friend. The Nighwayman focuses on the ring and Herforth as he mindlessly slaps a few fives with the fans. Nightwing glares at Herforth for a time before settling at ringside in a seat, while the Highwayman enters the ring...] TD: The Highwayman/Nightwing friendship is once more apparent here,     Steve. Nightwing will make sure that herforth plays by the rules     here... SR: I should have brought my pillow, cause this is going to be worse     than a Nascar Race at Martinsville. TD: What's so bad about Nascar Racing? SR: All the southern accents. It's terrible. There's only one person     I can't stand more than those Nascar hicks. TD: And who would that be? SR: He's retired. Is that a good clue? [Sparkplug Lee steps out of the ring, and the bell sounds. DING! Highwayman immediately asks for a lockup, and Herforth accepts, thus being promptly driven to the canvas with a short-arm lariat! POP! Nightwing watches on as Herforth back rolls to his feet, and the Highwayman is on him again, this time with a single-leg takedown into a wrist-lock. Herforth again back rolls, then leaps up and dropkicks the Highwayman across the ring! POP! Highwayman gets back up, and Herforth quickly executes a victory roll! 1 -- 2 -- BIG KICKOUT!] TD: Herforth tried to end this match quick! I don't think he really wants to be out here, Steve. SR: I don't think it's a case of him not wanting to be out there, he     just saw an opening. I wish I saw an opening, I'd get out of here... TD: Will you stop! [The Highwayman is up extremely quick, and is able to ride Herforth down to the canvas, keeping the pressure around the midsection. Herforth wiggles to get up, and as soon as he gets a vertical base, the Highwayman lifts him into a German Suplex! POP! There is no count as Herforth is able to roll with the move, thus actually cradling Highwayman! 1 -- 2 -- Kickout! The Highwayman gets up and tries to stay on Herforth, but Chris ducks a haymaker attempt and connects on a spinning back kick that floors the Highwayman! POP! Herforth then runs off the ropes as the big Englander gets to his feet, and lifts a knee that sends the Highwayman awkwardly back innto the ropes. Herforth charges, and the Highwayman is able to duck down, causing Herforth to rocket to the outside floor besides Nightwing!] TD: Look out! SR: Ouch. Herforth really hit hard! Come on, Nightwing, show some mettle now! Pick up that chair and just waffle him! TD: That would be the "Steve Roberts Special", would it not be? SR: It would wake me up. [Nightwing simply sits and watches as the Highwayman rolls outside the ring, sends a couple hard rights into the cranium of Herforth, then rolls him back in the ring, following under the ropes. The Highwayman sends Herforth off the ropes, and connects on a well-timed side snap suplex! Cover... 1 -- 2 -- Kickout! Herforth uses the ropes to pull up, and as Highwayman closes again, sends a couple hard kicks into the abdomen. The Highwayman doubles over for a second, allowing Herforth to slide on a swinging neckbreaker! POP! Cover... 1 -- 2 -- Kickout. The Highwayman is still pretty quick to his feet, and herforth misjugdes and attempts a spinning head-scissors roll, leading to his planting into the canvas courtesy of a Highwayman spinebuster! POP! The Highwayman then turns him over and into a tight Boston Crab!] TD: This is a finishing move right here! This Boston Crab is one of     the most simple, yet one of the most devastating moves in all of     wrestling, and the Highwayman has it cinched! SR: I prefer the ol' roll of coins finisher myself. [The Highwayman continues applying the pressure as Herforth tries in vain to reach the ropes. Herforth's face is contorted in pain as he struggles to breathe as well as to work towards those ropes. Finally, Chris musters up enough energy to slowly creep towards the ropes, but as he reaches out, the Highwayman releases the hold and drops his full weight right on Herforth's back! Shocked Pop! Herforth is in trouble as the Highwayman lifts him up to his feet and executes a flawless belly-to-belly suplex! 1 -- 2 -- Shoulder up!] TD: That's a great display of stamina by Herforth right there! [Herforth uses the Highwayman's own clothing to try to pull himself up, and the Highwayman simply hammers him back down. As Herforth lies on the canvas, the Highwayman runs off the ropes, attempts a legdrop, and finds no one home as Herforth finds some energy from nowhere! Nightwing stands up in concern as Herforth quickly bounds to the top rope, executing a splash down onto the Highwayman! POP!] TD: One! Two! He got him! No, he didn't! SR: Announcing expertise at work to my left, folks. TD: What a match this is! [Cover... 1 -- 2 -- Shoulder up! The Highwayman is still dazed as Herforth drags him up and executes a back brain kick! Herforth has the momentum, drags the Highwayman up, and whips him off the ropes, this time using a quick Northern Lights Suplex into a bridge! The Highwayman's feet are on the ropes as Herforth covers... 1 -- Nightwing gets on the apron and yells at the ref about the foot on the ropes! 2 -- The ref turns and sees the foot, stopping the count! Herforth is agitated, and looks at the ref in disdain, while Nightwing stays on the apron shouting encouragement for the Highwayman. Herforth, not seeing Nightwing, runs off the ropes and square into him! Nightwing got his forearm up...] TD: Oh! Nightwing put his arm up to defend himself, and Cheshire hit it head on! SR: Accidental contact my butt! Nightwing just directly interfered! [...and as Herforth staggers back into the ring, the Highwayman grabs him and hits his "Daylight Robbery" neckbreaker! Big pop as the cover is made... 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: Oh, come on, Dross! Nightwing deliberately struck Cheshire! TD: He did not, Steve. He was simply trying to defend himself. SR: Why didn't the official get him down from the apron, huh? Why? TD: Who knows, but one thing is for sure, this match is over, and the     Highwayman has the mark in his win column. What a match, and as you     can see, Highwayman and Nightwing are walking back to the lockers     together. A great win for the Highwayman... SR: And when will Herforth's horrible streak end? [Herforth shakes his head in disgust before heading back on the heels of the Highwayman and Nightwing.] TD: Folks, I've gotta get to the ring.  We've got a big interview coming up! [Dross gets up from his chair, grabs a microphone and climbs in the ring.] SR: Oh great, "I'm Too Good For Weekly Reports" Chris Kick-Me is going to grace us with his presence and knock ratings points down a few notches... [Dross is in the ring now, and taps on the mic before speaking...] TD: Ladies and gentlemen... tonight we've got a very special live interview with the man who has been the focus of a lot of controversy as of late, which is really nothing new. He is the man who will face Casey "Blackheart" James for the IIWF World Championship at Birthday Bash, and he is the man who will face the Subway Psycho right here later on tonight! [crowd pop] Please welcome... "QUICKSTRIKE" CHRIS QUIGLEY! ["For Those About to Rock" by AC/DC kicks in its familiar heated chords and the crowd immediately responds with a massive face pop for their battered gladiator.  A few moments pass before Quigley emerges from behind the curtain wearing his usual black and silver wrestling attire underneath his trademark Quickstrike black leather jacket.  He has a pair of shades hanging from his collar that he grabs and throws into the crowd on his way down the aisle.  Quigley slaps a few hands and walks around the ring greeting the estatic fans.  He stops for a moment before taking off his leather jacket and seeing an attractive young brunette in the front row, he leans over the guardrail and hands her the jacket, much to her delight.  Quigley slides underneath the bottom rope and into the ring, getting to his feet with only the slightest grimace of pain thanks to his ankle injury.] SR: [over the headset] That nutcase just gave away a $500 jacket!  What's his problem?! He doesn't make that much money! ["For Those About to Rock" fades away as the crowd continues to cheer for a few seconds until Quigley signals for them to be quiet.] TD: Well, Chris, lately there has been some mudslinging going on with regar... [In a flash Quigley snatches the microphone away from Dross, and signals for him to stand over in the corner of the ring.  Dross does so, and Quigley starts to walk around as he speaks...] CQ: First of all, for anyone who's making smart comments about me being too good for weekly interview shows, this interview was requested by the main man himself, Dan Spreadbury.  With that out in the open, I'll begin!  For weeks and weeks there's been some real mudslinging going on in the IIWF! And 99.9% of it is directed at me, and 100% of _that_ has been uncalled for, with no basis of truth or serving any purpose other than to try to get under my skin! I'm going to start with you, Marty Warnett, just to get the garbage out of the way first.  Let's review our history a little bit before we go any further.  We fought twice, I had you beaten once, but due to Deathbringer sticking his cold carcass in my way, you got a victory on a technicality!  Then, we meet again, and this time there's no doubt as to who's the better man, and I pin you one, two, three. We were in that farce the IIWF called a battle royal a few weeks ago, and I threw you out fair and square. So when the hell are you going to learn that you cannot compete with me? You don't even belong in the same damn Federation as me, let alone the same ring!  You just keep your mouth going and going, and now you've started a little tirade of comparing me unfavourably to another wrestler, one we all know, so I won't even mention the name.  Yeah, that wrestler was an influence on me when I first started my career, and I stole everything I could from him.  But during the last year, I've worked my ass off to create my own identity, and I did damn well with it, until lately.  Lately the IIWF has been roping me and giving me a gentle nudge in the wrong direction, and I caved in and went right along with it.  They gave me lots of ammunition to "whine" about, and after a while, enough was enough, and I had no choice but to become what everyone up there wanted me to become.  But that's it!  That ship has sailed, pal, and I'll tell you why.  Never once did I come out here and say I've been screwed by the IIWF or Becky LaRue or whatever you want. Never once have I claimed to be the "best there is, best there was, best there ever will be."  I see no point in overstating the obvious!  [crowd pop!]  And then because I use a Scorpion Deathlock as a finisher, I get bitched at for that?  The Quickstriker is a modified deathlock for one, using only _one_ arm on the legs, and one hand on the mat for extra leverage, a move I created myself!  A move that has been too much for every wrestler I've faced in the IIWF, and I move that will be too much for anyone I face in the future!  So you might say, "Quickstrike, your image is pretty similar to... you know who!"  So screw the black designer leather jackets. I'll bring in the leather jacket I wear on the street when I go out!  Happy? Maybe that isn't good enough, so I tossed the shades.  I'll wear the shades I wore in my first wrestling match ever, the shades my girlfriend Steph took and got both our initials engraved in.  I didn't want to bring them around here and have some ring attendant's hands all over them, but if that's what it takes to make everyone happy, who am I to argue?  Oh what else?  Oh, of course! [Quigley looks down at his silver and black wrestling attire.] CQ: Now this actually bears no resemblance to anything that certain someone has ever worn in his life, but that makes no difference I suppose, so... [Quigley grabs the straps and rips them from the outfit, letting them drop to the mat.  He yanks the kneepads off and throws them out of the ring, and then ripes the tights themselves off, revealing a ragged pair of faded jean shorts.] CQ: These are what I work out in, so to quote Sheryl Crow, if it makes you happy, it can't be that bad! [Quigley walks around the ring with his hands outstretched, showing off the "new image", as the fans seem to approve.] CQ: Y'see, I don't hide behind any gimmicks!  I'm not a party animal, or a living dead, or even a troubled lone wolf! I am what I am, and what it is that I am would be the toughest, most talented wrestler in the entire _world_.  Somewhere along the way, I lost focus of what I intended to do when I came here.  I got tied up with Kauffman or Deathbringer or Verhoeven, but I don't give a damn about all that.  What I do give a damn about is winning the IIWF World Title at Birthday Bash and giving the IIWF the champion it deserves!  A champion who'll wear the belt with pride, and a champion who'll take on all comers, no matter who or when!  Dan Kauffman came close to being the champion, Casey James is nowhere near it, and that leaves one man to fill the position.  Or does it leave two?  Subway Psycho might think so, but everyone'll find out what I think of him later tonight. The fact of the matter is, I'm sick of being a persona.  Maybe Dan Kauffman was right, I was becoming a character and losing touch with myself!  Not anymore, man.  Not anymore. [Quigley paces around the ring with his hands on his hips for a second or two...] CQ: Now, the whole point of this interview was to respond to Casey James' comments about me as of late.  Sorry Prez, but I had to address that little situation first.  As for Casey James, let's look back at last Saturday Night.  First of all, he has the _nerve_ to go on LaRue's Lair and say a bunch of garbage that everyone knows isn't even close to the truth!  First of all, he says there are two wrestlers I'll never come close to touching? Right away James, I _know_ that isn't true, but I watched, just for fun, to see who you'd name. First, you say, Otto Verhoeven.  Excuse me if I laughed so hard I nearly kicked in my monitor!  Why don't you take a look at the history between Verhoeven and myself?  I ain't knocking the Neandrathal Nazi's wrestling ability at all, but he has _never ever_ beaten me cleanly, and in the only match between us to end without outside distractions or interference, I pinned him in the middle of the ring.  But of course, you knew that, right, "Blackheart"?  So then you go on to say that #2 is "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin?  Hey, Hardin was a decent wrestler, but for too long he was a big fish in a little pond.  As soon as the real boys came to the IIWF to play, Hardin "took his ball and went home"!  Hardin will never come close to accomplishing what _I_ have accomplished in his entire life, and somewhere he's back on the ranch puffing on a cigar right now watching this, and he's probably nodding in agreement! Casey James, you thought you had me entirely figured out, but what you had figured out was a man whose heart wasn't in it.  And that "robot" as Dan Kauffman put it, was _still_ good enough to beat Verhoeven, beat Warnett, and beat Kauffman himself!  What the hell are you gonna do James, when you've gotta face _this_ one on one?!  You say you've got the raw power to escape anything I hook on you?  First of all, I'd like to thank you for backing up your point about having _no_ technical knowledge!  The Fujinama armbar is 100% _unbreakable_, and if you do try to power out of it, and I wouldn't put it past you, you'll pop your shoulder entirely out of its socket.  But... you knew that, right, James?  All I can say, Casey, is, you did a good job of figuring out whatever the hell I've been for the last four or five months, but can you figure Chris Quigley out?  Can you stop me and keep a grip on that title?  I'll make it simple for you...  No! [Quigley tosses the microphone over to Dross, who is still standing, somewhat dumbfounded in the corner. "For Those About To Rock" kicks in once more over the PA system, and Dross snaps out of it quick enough to nod and exit the ring, while Quigley salutes the fans and exits the ring, walking back down the aisle behind the curtain. Dross rejoins Steve Roberts at the commentary table.] TD: Well, Steve, that's a very determined Chris Quigley... SR: Nah, he's still as full of it as ever, Dross. And I have palpitations of anticipation just trying to imagine what's going to happen to Chris Quigley when he fails to capture that title at Birthday Bash. TD: That's very malicious, Steve Roberts. SR: Well, what did you expect? Fluffy bunnies? TD: I never can tell with you, Steve. In any case, Quigley will return later tonight for that incredible match with the Subway Psycho. For now, however, we must move on. Up next, newcomer Duncan Macbeth is scheduled to face former IIWF World Champion Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven. Macbeth is backstage in the locker room area. Let's get his comments. [Cut to Duncan Macbeth standing in his locker room in his wrestling attire. His green eyes sparkle as he speaks:] DM: Verhoeven, I ken ye're a big strong fella, an' I ken tha' ye like t' scare th' Jaysis out o' people wi' yuir Frankenstein act, but Duncan Macbeth's no' tha' easy t' scare! Y'see, I dinnae think ye've met anyone like me b'fore -- if ye want t' brawl, I'll brawl, an' if ye want t' cheat, I'm more than willin', but I want t' WIN, an' t' do tha', one o' us is goin' t' have t' WRESTLE -- an' fer ye, Verhoeven, two out o' three'll NAE be GOOD ENOUGH! SCHOTTLAND ueber alles... und Macbeth ueber Verhoeven, stimt genau! [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: What the hell was all that about?! His brogue is too broad to understand under normal circumstances, but then he starts speaking in _German_?! Give me a break! TD: One has to feel for Duncan Macbeth... he's not a small man by any stretch of the imagination, yet he's on the wrong side of a big weight disadvantage for the second consecutive time here on IIWF Saturday Night. SR: If I were him, I'd be more worried about being on the wrong side of a Slaughterslam. TD: Let's get up to the ring... =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Duncan Macbeth vs. Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: JdW [Sparkplug Lee rises from his chair, puts down the donut he was eating, and brushes most of the powdered sugar from his powder blue tux before he enters the ring. He forgot the sugar on his face, but few have noticed yet, so he seems to be getting off easy. John Carpenter's "Hallowe'en" ominously begins to play...] SL: Introducing first, from Essen, Germany, at a weight of 340 lbs., a former IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, the "Teutonic Terror", Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven! [Verhoeven walks into the aisle with the always lovely Nurse Heidi, and the two seem quite focused about the task at hand. Otto sees another of those "Otto fears Starks" signs, but shows admirable restraint in limiting his response to a mumble.] SR: Are we paying Sparky by the clause? TD: Clause? What, contract clause? SR: Study your grammar, Drossy. That last introduction was a run-on sentence. We'll be having hordes of angry English teachers writing us soon. [Suddenly, a man who looks so sleazy that he can't be anything but a lawyer runs after the German couple, carrying some sort of legal papers. He approaches Otto with the papers, and says something about "Tony Starks" and a "living will for the 10th." The fans in that region must be hearing it all, as they're popping like mad for Starks in absentia. Otto blows his top, and takes a swing at the lawyer, who like all good attorneys is half gone by this time, the instinct of self-preservation being quite strong. He then shows that he's a _really_ good attorney, as he slips back up to Otto, hands him a business card, and is gone yet again.] TD: Whoa, Tony Starks really seems to have gotten under the skin of Otto Verhoeven! He really knows what buttons to push, although I'm not sure many people would blame Otto for taking a swing at a lawyer. SR: Am I alone in thinking that making the Butcher angry is a bad idea? This guy flattens people he doesn't even know for a living, imagine what he does to his sworn enemies! SL: And his opponent, from Glenfinnan, Scotland, at a weight of 270 pounds, Duncan Macbeth! ["Scotland the Brave" replaces "Hallowe'en", and the fans start to get more enthusiastic in their response. Duncan, however, focuses solely on his opponent, staring straight at Verhoeven as soon as he enters the aisle, and not taking his eyes of him for a second as he walks towards the ring. Otto begins some name-calling right away, calling Macbeth a "Scottish weakling.", but Duncan still stays focused, and his expression remains the same.] TD: It looks like we're seeing some early mind games, as both men will need a psycological edge to help put this one away. I'd really have to say that, despite Macbeth's speed and agility, Verhoeven is just too much power to overcome, especially with the added technical expertise from Lord Byron's training, and the competitive fire that Tony Stark's little stunt has fueled. SR: [mock brogue] I don' c're who wins th' mat', as lon' as som'un bleeds. TD: Why does everyone make fun of Duncan's dialect? I for one find it charming. SR: Yeah, and your brother's name is Hoss, so you're no character reference. [The two men circle for a moment, and then Otto lunges at the Scot, who darts away. Otto comes at him again, and the two lock up this time. Otto plants a knee into Macbeth's chest, and quickly zaps him with a reverse neckbreaker. The Butcher is disrupted from his assault, however, as Derek Mota starts making his way down to ringside. Mota's ignoring the warnings of Otto not to interfere, and he's also ignoring the loud heel pop he's getting.] TD: Oh no, this match may break down before it even gets started if Derek Mota gets his way! SR: Can you blame him? Macbeth tried to make Mota-kebobs just a week or so ago. If I were him, I'd want some revenge too. Then again, if I were him, I'd just let the Butcher beat seven shades of snot outta Macbean for me. TD: [with mock surprise] Steve, you'd let someone do your dirty work for you? SR: Of course not... now get me some biscuits! [Verhoeven turns back to Macbeth, but Duncan is waiting with a haymaker that lands right on the jaw. He whips Otto off the ropes, and then runs off himself. The two miss each other on the first pass, as Duncan ducks a clothesline, but the second time he catches Otto with a flying lariat that floors the big man. Duncan runs towards the ropes again, but Mota is there waiting, and he takes a swing, missing on purpose. Mota just laughs at him, but Verhoeven goes on up by hitting a waistlock suplex, and he holds onto a pin for: 1...2... Duncan drives a shoulder up!] TD: We almost had an early end to this match, all because of Derek Mota's inability to mind his own business. SR: This _is_ his own business, Dross. Both Macbeth and Ike Sampson want to take away _his_ top billing in that upcoming triangle match at Birthday Bash, so he has to protect his status as top rookie here. [Otto starts with those taunts again, calling Macbeth a "gutless wimp", and then hauls him to his feet, and hits a short-arm clothesline. He points an accusatory finger at Mota, who just laughs at him. Quickly Otto goes back to work, and he nails a kick right to Macbeth's face. He whips him hard into a neutral corner, and then charges in, but Macbeth lifts his feet and Otto runs right into them, causing him to stumble backwards. Macbeth climbs up to the top rope in one fluid motion, and leaps off with a flying clothesline. He decides to waste no time after he lands it, so he grabs Otto's legs, and turns him over into a Boston Crab, right in the middle of the ring. Heidi hollers on the outside about Macbeth having pulled the tights, but nobody's buying it. Mota just chuckles to himself, and doesn't make a move to get involved.] SR: Look at this Scottish punk, he's blatantly cheating! TD: I don't think even Nurse Heidi believes what she's saying, Steve, why should you? SR: Look at her, Dross! I'd believe her if she said the sky was green! [Verhoeven starts to use his power advantage, and he juts pushes straight up against the hold. Macbeth sees the trouble coming, so he lets go of the Crab, and catches a rising Verhoeven with a knife-edge chop. He then runs off the ropes for momentum, but Otto catches him by surprise and knocks him down with a shoulderblock. He follows up with a scoop slam, but gets distracted on his way up when he sees a fan holding a sign. The sign says "You "Otto" Know, Starks is the man!" Verhoeven takes contention with the sign, and he yells loudly at the fan, despite Heidi's exonerations to pay attention to the match. Macbeth, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, rolls the distracted Verhoeven up from behind: 1...2... Otto kicks out strongly, and the force of it drives Macbeth into the turnbuckles! Sympathetic pop!] TD: That's the one thing Macbeth has trouble with, he can neutralize Otto all he wants, but one quick burst of power and Verhoeven's back in control. SR: I wonder if Heidi was ever a candystripper... er, striper. TD: Steve, pay attention! We have a great pair of athletes here! SR: I am paying attention to that great pair... [Otto moves in on Duncan, and whips him full-force across the ring, into the opposite set of turnbuckles! He then gets up a head of steam, and charges into the corner with an avalanche, which he connects. Macbeth slumps down into the corner, so Otto just kicks at his ribs and face, and then picks him up, only to kick him in the gut, which doubles him over. Otto delivers a massive power bomb, and a very quick one to boot, that leaves Macbeth no time to counter. He then nods to Heidi, who's offering some words of encouragement, and locks on a camel clutch. Now it's Macbeth's turn to squirm, and Mota is enjoying this time even more than he did for the Boston Crab. Macbeth, realizing power won't help much, starts to try and find any leverage he can, while the fans are encouraging him not to give up. Verhoeven, for his part, just applies more pressure, and the hold seems unbreakable. Suddenly, Otto lets go of his grip on the left arm to strengthen his position, and Duncan uses the opportunity to cradle Verhoeven. The official is out of position, surprisingly enough, but he rushes in to make a two count. Otto gets up, enraged, but Macbeth drops him with a spinning toe hold as he tries to rush at the brawny Scot.] SR: What a cheater! How could he be allowed to get away with that! TD: With what? SR: I dunno... give me a minute, I'll think of something. TD: That switch to decaf is always hard on a person, isn't it, Steve? SR: How did you...? I mean, how could you...? I mean, that's beside the point. The point is that the Outlaw's winning this one easily. TD: The Outlaw's not with us anymore, Steve. [Macbeth takes advantage of the downed Verhoeven by applying a modified version of the scorpion deathlock. It's sloppy, as he isn't able to turn over a man who was already on his stomach, but Otto seems to be feeling it in his lower legs. The hold isn't on well at all, though, and Otto is easily pushing his way towards the ropes, which he reaches to break the hold. The two get up yet again, and Otto slaps Duncan right across the face, which angers the fiery Macbeth sufficiently that he slaps Otto right back! Otto takes offense and throws a punch, and Macbeth fires one right back, so the two resort to a slugfest that Otto's size advantage and boxing experience are helping him win. As if on cue, Heidi gets up on the ring apron to distract the referee, and Otto gets ready for a cheap shot, but Macbeth beats him to the mark with a kick into the midsection. Otto slumps to the mat in obvious pain, and even Derek Mota breaks his smile to wince quickly, before deciding he's seen enough. Mota makes his way back up the aisle, but the camera doesn't follow.] SR: [falsetto] It looks as if Macbeth is taking some liberties on the first date. TD: Steve, please! I certainly don't condone a low blow like that, but sometimes you have to fight fire with fire. SR: And sometimes you have to kick a guy in the... TD: [interrupting] Steve! SR: ...gonads. Happy? The kiddies won't be able to figure it out, so it's okay. The FCC has nothing to worry about. [Otto, understandably still in shock, gets placed somewhat less than gently on the second turnbuckle, and Macbeth follows him up. Heidi has finally run out of excuses, and she drops from the ring apron, allowing the ref to turn and see Macbeth nail the Claymore from the second rope on Verhoeven! He makes a lateral press, and hooks the leg as the count is made: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! A weakened Otto rolls out of the ring to be consoled by Nurse Heidi, while Macbeth celebrates and "Scotland The Brave" begins again. Sparkplug Lee grabs his mic...] SL: Here is your winner, Duncan Macbeth! SR: What a rip off! TD: I'd say what an upset. Despite Duncan's obvious skills, I'll admit I thought he was in over his head against a former World champion. He really showed an ability to get the job done, regardless of what's thrown at him, and that has to do two things: firstly, encourage Tony Starks, to show that Verhoeven can be beaten, and secondly, impress Derek Mota and Ike Sampson. [Speak of the devil, as Otto and Nurse Heidi leave the ringside area, they pass by Ike Sampson. Macbeth hops over the top rope, and also starts his way up the aisle, where he runs into Sampson. The two start jabbering, but only the following is picked up:] IKE: "What the hell do you mean, I'll show you extra baggage!"                               [Then, the two suddenly go at each other's throats. Sampson drills a tired Macbeth in the face, driving him back a few feet, and then a kick pushes him back a bit more. Macbeth sticks a thumb in Sampson's eye to slow him down, and then unexpectedly a spotlight shines on the LaRue's Lair set, where Derek Mota stands about twelve feet above the floor. He raises his arms to the crowd, and then flies off onto both brawling men with a flying senton splash! Huge pop!] SR: Wow! This is worth the price of admission alone! Strap the runtweight belt on that man, he just took a loonier dive than I've ever seen the White Phoney take! TD: [sarcastically] What about Steve Kowalski? SR: Oh yeah, give it to him! He'll Skullpump all those little Japanese punks! [Mota takes the least impact of the fall, as at least he knew it was coming, so he gets up first and hits a savate kick right on the jaw of Macbeth. Sampson drags him down and starts to wail away with punches that don't seem to be connecting properly, as Mota's putting up a strong defense. Macbeth lunges on top of the pile, pulling at Sampson's hair to try and get him off Mota. Ned Norton leads the charge of the Jobber Justice Squad, but he's felled with an inadvertent elbow from Sampson. The rest of the JJS stops for a moment, a little uncertain of what to do, while Mota bangs Macbeth's head off the security railing. Sampson drops an elbow into this mess of bodies, as the JJS finally decides to "divide and conquer". Triple M and Jumpin' Jack surround Macbeth, but he ducks and the two run into each other. The Rotundos are successful in corraling Derek Mota, but Sampson takes advantage by laying a cheapshot in on him while he's held back. Finally, security teams pour out into the aisle, and the sheer numbers are sufficient to subdue the three rookies. The Rotundos drag Mota away kicking and screaming, while the rest of the JJS force Sampson backstage. Macbeth, meanwhile, is after a short delay allowed to finish his "victory lap", as it were. He walks the rest of the aisle, high-fiving a few fans, and he definately looks happier than he did going in. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Those three men are all on a collision course which is set to culminate in a huge triangle match at Birthday Bash. Meanwhile, we've got more incredible action coming up tonight. We've already heard from Harlequin Tragedy, one half of the United States Tag Team Champions, stating that if Comedy and Melody are banned from ringside tonight, the deaths of Derek and Shadoe Rage will be on the conscience of the IIWF President. SR: Melodramatic bull, Dross. The Harlequins are gonna be pasted all over the mat by the Prophets of Rage. And right after that, the Dirt Dog is going to take the Cruiserweight Championship from the White Phoney. TD: Well, it's certainly a tremendous night of opportunity for the Age of the Rage, but it remains to be seen whether they can capitalise on their chances to take the gold here tonight. Sparkplug Lee is in the ring once more, so let's get up to him for this match. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= IIWF UNITED STATES TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= The Harlequins [c] vs. Prophets of Rage ----------------------------------------------- WRITER: MG [Sparkplug Lee grins and points to a fan holding up a "Lee 3:16" sign before noisily clearing his throat and raising the microphone to his lips.] SL: Wrestling fans, this match is scheduled for one fall with no time limit, and is for the IIWF United States Tag Team Championship! [big crowd pop] Making their way to the ring at a combined weight of 573lbs are the challengers, hailing from Halifax, Nova Scotia. Here are Derek Rage and Shadoe Rage, the PROPHETS OF RAGE! [The "Death March" begins as the crowd boos loudly. Derek & Shadoe make the long walk to ringside, without Pizzazz. Both men look very unhappy, and ignore the booing crowd completely.] TD: It's certainly odd to see the Prophets without Pizzazz, Steve. SR: Yeah, the IIWF ruling suits strike again, Dross. The Prophets look angry, and I've a feeling they're gonna take it out on... SL: And the champions [big crowd pop], making their way to the ring at a combined weight of 545lbs, here are Tragedy and Chaos, the HARLEQUINS! SR: Hey! That little runt Lee just interrupted me! We're gonna have words, Lee. After the show. Just you and me. [Big crowd pop as "Vow" starts playing. Tragedy starts to make his way to ringside, without Chaos] SR: This is Tragedy's music from the good ol' days when he was a rulebreaker, Dross! TD: Indeed. Fans, something strange is afoot here as Tragedy enters to his old music and Chaos is nowhere to be seen. Could it be that Chaos won't come to ringside without Melody? Will Tragedy be defending the belts alone? [Tragedy stops halfway down the aisle and points to the ring, where both Prophets stare at him. Suddenly "The Mathematics Of Chaos" starts up over the PA and Chaos bolts through the curtains like a streak of lightning! Within moments he slides under the ropes, only to be met with the big boots of Derek and Shadoe.] SR: That satisfy your curiosity, Dross? Chaos tries a sneak attack and gets nailed by the Prophets! TD: And just like that the match is underway! Tragedy sprints to ringside and -- wait a minute, instead of entering the ring Tragedy grabs the ringside steps and hurls them into the ring. What is going on? SR: Dunno, Dross. But I do know that Derek & Rage are about to beat the crud out of Chaos as they irishwhip him into the ropes and join hands for a double clothesline! This match could be over just like that! [Chaos ducks under the joined arms of Derek and Shadoe Rage, sprints to the opposing ropes, and rebounds off. Launching himself into the air he nails both Prophets with a huge flying double clothesline! The Prophets go down just as Tragedy enters the ring with two steel chairs, one of which he throws to Chaos.] SR: There's more steel in the ring than your wife's dental braces, Dross! What are the Harlequins planning on doing next I wonder... NO! Look out, Derek! [The Harlequins lay into the Prophets with steel chairs, landing massive blows all over the place, but mainly to the ribs, knees and elbows. The referee tries frantically to break this up as the Prophets, stunned by the chaotic ferocity of the Harlequins' attack, lie there defenseless! The timekeeper hammers the bell frantically and a swarm of referees descend upon the ring.] TD: The referees are trying to break this up but the Harlequins are having none of it. Chaos pulls Shadoe Rage up off the mat by his beard and -- oh my gosh! Chaos powerbombs Derek Rage into those steel ringsteps! Tragedy is choking out the huge Derek Rage as referees try frantically to pull him off! Tragedy is still wearing his steel mask, and headbutts Derek in the face even as he's choking him! Derek is bleeding from the nose, and Shadoe is contorted in agony on the mat! This is sheer carnage, Steve Roberts! SR: The Harlequins are really giving it to the Prophets, but the match is already over! You heard the bell, Dross! This must be a disqualification victory for the Prophets! [Chaos, despite two referees who have jumped on his back, is still pummelling away at Shadoe, even as Tragedy repeatedly smashes his steel mask into the bloodied face of Derek Rage. Referees manage to pull Tragedy off Derek, only to be shrugged away as Tragedy dives at Derek and applies a figure-four sleeper!] TD: I cannot believe the vicious streak I am seeing in the Harlequins, Steve! I would not have believed them capable of such mayhem! Derek is half unconscious and Shadoe is right now wishing he was too! Ooh, both Prophets the victims of low blows from the Harlequins! [Half a dozen more officials swarm down the aisle and manage at last to separate the two teams. A referee calls over a visibly shaken Sparkplug Lee and whispers in his ear.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners as a result of a disqualification, the Prophets Of Rage! However, the title cannot change hands as a result of a disqualification, and so the Harlequins remain the U.S Tag Team Champions! [Big heel pop from the crowd as the Harlequins immediately leave the ring and start making their way back to the dressing room area, leaving the dazed and battered Prophets Of Rage angrily getting to their  unsteady feet in the centre of the ring.] SR: This ain't right, Dross! The Prophets have been robbed by those... those clowns! TD: Steve, you're absolutely right. Not only have the Prophets been robbed, but so too have all our great fans who came here expecting to see a Tag Team championship bout. SR: Yeah, but who cares about the fans? Wait just a minute, Dross, what's going on in the ring? TD: It would seem that the referee for this match is conferring with one of his colleagues, Steve. I'm not quite sure what exactly is going on, but it would seem that the debate is getting heated. [In the ring two referees are arguing. You can't hear what they are saying but they are gesturing frantically. In the end one of the referees calls Sparkplug Lee over again, and whispers. Sparkplug looks shocked, asks for confirmation, and then raises the microphone.] SL: Wrestling fans, I have just been informed that the referee has reversed his original decision. After conferring with a colleague it has been confirmed that the bell had not rung, and so the referee rules that the match had not yet officially got underway. SR: Say what?! SL: Wrestling fans, the Harlequins must now return to the ring to face the Prophets of Rage, or they will be stripped of the IIWF United States Tag Team belts! [Big crowd pop!] SR: What? The referee can't do that, Dross. TD: It would seem that he just has, Steve. A controversial decision on the part of this referee, but I for one applaud this decision. Maybe now we'll get to see a proper match. [In the ring the Prophets are now back on their feet, although they still look groggy, and Derek's face is covered in blood. The referee begins a slow ten count. 1 - 2 - 3 - 4... The Harlequins, who were three quarters of the way back to the dressing room area, suddenly sprint back to ringside, barely beating the ten count. The bell rings.] TD: Fans, this match is now officially underway, and it will be interesting to see how both teams fare. I think it's fair to say that both teams' original game plans have gone out the window. SR: Really? I wouldn't have thought so, surely? You surprise me, Dross. TD: I'm going to ignore that last remark, Steve. The Harlequins dive straight for the Prophets, but this time the Prophets are ready for them, and a huge melee ensues in the middle of the ring. Derek and Shadoe look a little dazed, but it certainly isn't stopping them from giving Tragedy and Chaos a slew of fast rights and lefts! Oh, and Shadoe drops Tragedy with a standing dropkick that sends the clown careening out of the ring. Derek now has Chaos in his grasp and thunders him into the ring with a huge chokeslam! [Shadoe quickly climbs to the top turnbuckle, and is met by Derek who grabs him and --] SR: Rocket launcher from the Prophets! Derek Rage literally launches Shadoe, who crashes across Chaos with a huge splash! That's not a move you see the Prophets execute that often, Dross, but it sure was effective. Shadoe hooks the leg as Derek leaves the ring. We're down to two men in the ring and Shadoe is pinning Chaos! Hustle on over there, referee! [Heel pop. The referee was out of position as he made sure that Derek exits the ring, but he looks round and quickly drops to the mat. 1 - 2 - Chaos kicks out, sending Shadoe flying! As Chaos slowly gets to his feet he's met by a flying dropkick from Shadoe, but the big man stays up. Shadoe rebounds off the ropes, making the tag as he does so. Chaos extend the foot for a big boot which Shadoe ducks and runs under. Turning around swiftly to meet Shadoe's attack full on, Chaos doesn't see Derek enter the ring until it's far too late. Huge clothesline to the back of the head from Derek as the crowd pops big time!] SR: Nice sneaky move there from the Prophets. You gotta admire their style, Dross. TD: No, Steve, I don't have to. And I don't. But I do admire their resilience. From being practically unconscious, they would appear to have rebounded spectacularly. The Prophets have Chaos on the mat, and Tragedy is straining to reach the big man to tag, but he's just out of reach. What are the Prophets doing? Oh my! SR: And for those of you watching in radio, both of the Prophets have just flipped the bird at Tragedy, and he doesn't look at all happy about it. TD: Watching in radio? The mind boggles. Meanwhile the referee is trying to restrain a furious Tragedy, which gives the Prophets plenty of opportunity to doubleteam Chaos. And of course they do. Chaos is pushed over to the Prophet's corner, and he's being given a beating from Derek while Shadoe chokes him out with the tag cord. SR: Yup, and meanwhile Tragedy is delaying the referee, meaning that his own homey is getting a beating. Man, that clown is tragic. [Tragedy manages to push his way past the referee, and launches himself at Derek. Derek dodges out of the way and Tragedy impacts the barely conscious Chaos. Shocked pop!] TD: Good heavens! Well, that certainly was a wake-up call for Chaos, and Tragedy cannot believe what he's done to his own partner! That had to have hurt, Steve! SR: Nah, it's just woken up Chaos, Dross. You don't want to wake the sleeping behemoth, and look at Chaos go! [Chaos grabs Derek Rage and brings a big knee to the midsection as the referee tries to hustle Tragedy back to his own corner. Meanwhile, Chaos is pummelling Derek with blow after blow, but gets a kick to the back of the neck from Shadoe on the outside for his troubles. Chaos spins around.] TD: Uh-oh. I think Chaos is mad, Steve. Look at the expression on his face as he focuses in on Shadoe Rage. But he's forgotten about 7'2" Derek Rage, who thwacks him one with a big double axehandle blow. Chaos goes down. SR: Yeah, but see, Dross, this is Chaos' problem. Without his main squeeze by his side he's like a big dopey monster from some 50's B film. Yeah, he's tough. Yeah, he's strong, but man, is he stupid. The first thing he shoulda done is gotten out of that corner, but did he? Nooo. And he's paying for it. [The referee finally sees what's going on as Tragedy calms down, and rushes over to lay on a five count. At the four count the Rage's back away for the clean break.] TD: And as the camera focusses in on Chaos, we see our great IIWF fans at ringside, who are rooting for Chaos to get up, hoping that the strength of their cheers alone will somehow reinvigorate the giant clown! SR: It beats me why you say that, we both know that's a whole loada bull... wait a minute! Hey, producer, get the camera back to the left a bit. It is! I thought it was! Dross, see those four in the front row with the baseball caps pulled real low? That's the Zodiac Connection! What the hell are they doing here? TD: What? My goodness, you're right. Fans, the Zodiac Connection, Scorpio and Taurus, along with the Gemini Twins, are watching the action from the front row! I have no idea what they're doing here, Steve. SR: I guess they're scouting these two, maybe gonna jump the winners while they're weakened and beat the crap out of them? TD: You're in your own little dream world, aren't you? Meanwhile, back in our reality, Chaos has been getting a hammering from those big arms of Derek Rage, who is at present the legal man. The Prophets have currently got the ring cut in half, with the Harlequins really needing to make the tag. Derek now with a powerbomb! That's it, we have new champions! SR: Hey, six words for ya: Chickens. Eggs. Hatch. Before. Don't. Count. Rearrange to form a sentence, Dross. [Derek drapes himself over Chaos and hooks the leg. Chaos raises a shoulder just in time to beat the three count. Derek gets up and drops a big leg before quickly tagging in Shadoe, who immediately climbs the top turnbuckle.] TD: Near escape on the part of the Harlequins, but now the Prophet's most aerially maneuverable athlete is in play, and what has he got planned for Chaos? Shadoe comes off the top rope and -- misses with a flying splash! Chaos moves just in time, and he's slowly beginning to roll toward his corner. SR: Meanwhile Shadoe is in a world of hurt in the centre of the ring, and Derek is desperately reaching out a hand to make the tag. Come on Shadoe! TD: Chaos has almost reached his corner, and Tragedy is practically bouncing up and down on the outside, egging his partner on. Just a few feet more and Chaos will tag in the fresh man. [Just as Chaos reaches his corner, Derek rushes in and attempts to help Shadoe. The referee moves in to stop him and pushes him back to his own corner. Chaos tags in Tragedy, who vaults the top rope and immediately moves toward a still dazed Shadoe.] SR: And there's the tag! Shadoe Rage is out on his legs and the clowns have got a fresh man. Ooh, but the referee didn't see the tag! He's forcing a complaining Tragedy back to his corner. What brilliant diversionary tactics from Derek Rage, Dross. [Big heel pop] TD: You mean cheating? Yes, I'll concede that Derek Rage is an expert. [A slightly dazed Chaos meets with a slightly dazed Shadoe as they slug it out in the centre of the ring. Both men are yelled encouragement from their teammates. After a few moments of drunken swinging Chaos gets the upper hand and levels Shadoe with a big punch. Shadoe starts to crawl towards his corner and Chaos makes a move towards his corner.] SR: Now it's just a question of seeing who'll tag in first, Dross. And it's Tragedy! Tragedy somersaults over the top rope and is in the ring, just as Shadoe tags in big Derek. It's the midget clown versus the giant prophet, and it looks like David will not defeat Goliath as Tragedy is levelled by a big clothesline from Derek Rage! TD: I had no idea you had read the bible, Steve. SR: Oh yeah. And the Lord said the meek shall inherit the earth, unless somebody beats the crap out of 'em first, that kinda thing. And the serpent said unto Eve, "Fancy an apple, babe?" Classical education, me. [Derek Rage pulls Tragedy up in readiness for a belly-to-belly suplex, but Tragedy ducks under and Derek misses with the suplex. Tragedy with an uppercut to the midsection. Big pop! The big Prophet is momentarily winded and Tragedy uses this moment to his advantage. A legsweep brings the big man down to the man, and Tragedy immediately moves in for a blatant choke. The referee begins a count, but Shadoe makes the save as he rushes over and applies a boot to Tragedy's back. The referee forces Shadoe back to his corner as Chaos rushes over and drops a big leg over Derek's throat. Meanwhile Tragedy is setting up for a figure four leglock.] TD: Figure four leglock on those big legs from Tragedy. Will that be enough to make Derek concede? SR: Nope. Derek simply reaches over with a thumb to the eye. One of the advantages of being a 7'2" man facing a 5'10" man, Dross. [Rage rolls over onto his stomach, reversing the leverage of the hold. Tragedy yells in pain as Chaos rushes in to make the save, but Chaos is met by the flying form of Shadoe, and just like that the ring is filled with brawling athletes. In the confusion Tragedy gets to the ropes, but the referee is too busy trying to separate the brawling Chaos and Shadoe. Derek breaks the hold, grabs Tragedy by the hair and lifts him above his head. Tragedy is wriggling, some eight feet above the ring. Derek looks to be preparing to throw Tragedy at Chaos -- but then simply drops him over the top rope to the floor! Huge heel pop!] TD: That is the most devastating thing I have ever seen! Tragedy looks to be unconscious, possibly concussed, and there is little doubt in my mind that the move we have just seen may have cost the Harlequins the match! [Chaos, a concerned look on his painted face, breaks away from the fist fight with Shadoe, rushes over and clotheslines Derek, who falls to the mat clasping the back of his neck. Chaos lumbers out of the ring to check on Tragedy. The referee starts a count.] TD: The Harlequins are facing a countout if they're not careful, Tragedy is the legal man and he looks to be in no condition to continue. SR: Yeah, and the Prophets can't let that happen if they want to be the champs, Dross. [Shadoe Rage rebounds off the ropes, criss-crosses the ring for extra momentum, and then slingshots himself out of the ring, plunging onto Tragedy. Chaos is enraged and lays into Shadoe. Derek leaps out of the ring right, bringing a big axehandle down onto the back of Chaos. Both Harlequins are now down, and the Prophets pull Tragedy up and pushes him back into the ring, narrowly Shadoe narrowly making the count himself. Derek rushes back to his corner as Shadoe drapes himself over Tragedy. The referee begins the count, but, unbelievably, Tragedy raises a shoulder a scant second before the three count. Shadoe pounds the mat and yells "Too slow!" to the referee] TD: That count looked OK to me, Steve, but you've got to admire the toughness of Tragedy. Dropped over ten feet onto a concrete floor, and still able to kick out. Steve, the Harlequins just haven't been themselves for this match. Care to offer us any dazzling insight into why this might be, oh guru? SR: Sarcasm is my job in this booth, got it Dross? Besides, you're no good at it. And yeah, I'll tell ya why. My guess is that the Harlequins were hoping on getting a quick disqualification loss, and keeping the belts, before nipping off home to put their feet up in front of the fire with those two groupies o' theirs! They didn't count on a referee who doesn't know his own rulebook! TD: The referee was quite within his rights, Steve. But I fear you might be right about the Harlequins. The Prophets are all over the Harlequins right now. [Back in the ring Tragedy is slowly getting to his feet as Shadoe tags out to Derek. Chaos on the outside is slowly getting to his feet as Shadoe drops from the ring apron and sneaks around to clips the knee! Big heel pop! Derek has grabbed Tragedy and lifts him up onto his shoulders...] TD: Fall away slam from Derek Rage may be all she wrote, and on the outside Chaos is in no position to make the save. It's all going wrong for the Harlequins here tonight, Steve. [Tragedy raises a shoulder on the three count. Derek gets up and quickly tags in Shadoe as once again slowly Tragedy gets to his feet. Shadoe irishwhips Tragedy into the ring ropes and catches him on the rebound with a Frankensteiner. The referee is out of position as Shadoe covers Tragedy. Two and a half count only. Meanwhile Chaos slowly limps back to his corner, unaware of the count.] SR: If that referee had been in position, we'da had new champions, Dross. [Shadoe pulls Tragedy up and again irishwhips him into the ropes. Ducking his head for a backdrop, Tragedy is able to DDT him before collapsing onto the mat.] TD: Classic mistake from Shadoe Rage. He ducked his head too quickly, and was in a perfect position to be DDT'd by Tragedy, who is now crawling towards his corner. [Derek and Chaos start stamping their feet at ringside, egging their teammates on. It becomes a race to see who will tag in. A race won by Chaos -- who quickly runs over to punch Derek in the face! Derek wants in but the referee is restraining him, as Shadoe is grabbed by Chaos and pulled towards the Harlequin corner. The Harlequins double-team Shadoe, with Chaos choking Shadoe out with the boot while the dazed Tragedy holds onto Shadoe's singlet.] SR: This is despicable, Dross. How can the referee allow this to happen? TD: Well, turn about is fair play, and right now the referee can't do much but try and get Derek back into his corner, which he now does. He turns and sees what the Harlequins are doing, and begins the count. SR: Why? We both know the Harlequins want to be disqualified, Dross. TD: Maybe, Steve. Maybe. We don't know for sure. [The referee's count reaches four with no sign of the Harlequins stopping. Desperately Shadoe breaks out of the corner and lunges towards his teammate, but is tripped by Chaos. The referee stops the count as Chaos irishwhips Shadoe into the ropes, grabbing him on the rebound for a classic tilt-a-whirl backbreaker. Shadoe is on the mat, clutching his back in pain as Chaos comes off the ropes and splashes onto the smaller Prophet. Big mixed pop as the referee begins his count.] TD: That had to hurt, but incredibly Shadoe kicks out just before three. SR: Another slow count, Dross. [Chaos pulls Shadoe up by the singlet and executes a piledriver. Another mixed pop as Chaos again goes for the cover. Kick out on two, and Chaos pounds the mat in frustration. Pulling Shadoe up he Irish whips him into the ropes and clotheslines him on the rebound, the impact driving Shadoe to the mat with an audible crash.] TD: Shadoe is up and down like a yo-yo here, Steve. SR: Yeah, Shadoe needs to rely on his speed and agility, but Chaos isn't giving him the chance. Smart move on the part of the big clown. I can't believe I just said that, Dross. [Chaos again pulls Shadoe up, but Shadoe reverses things for a schoolboy rollup. Chaos kicks out immediately, but Shadoe uses the opportunity to roll over to his corner, where he tags in Derek. Derek immediately moves in with a big boot to the midsection followed by a tilt-a-whirl piledriver! Derek rushes over to the ropes and comes off the rebound for a big splash - NO! Chaos raises his knees, and Derek crashes to the mat, rolling in pain as Chaos slowly gets to his feet.] TD: Chaos is hurt, he's holding onto his leg, but he's still getting up. What intestinal fortitude. [Chaos measures Derek and drops with a big headbutt to the midsection.] TD: Fans, this is beginning to look like it could go on all night. Both teams are tired, but neither team is willing to give an inch when the US Tag titles are at stake. [Chaos moves in for the pin, but Derek kicks out weakly. Shadoe stretches to reach him for the tag.] SR: Get real, Shadoe, he's half way over the ring, man. [Chaos and Derek are now back on a vertical base, as Chaos grabs Derek for a side suplex, but his leg gives out and Derek falls on top of him. The referee drops down and makes the count... 1 - 2 - ] TD: So close! Fans, we were moments away from new champions, but Chaos still manages to kick out. Tragedy is yelling for Chaos to make the tag, and Shadoe's yelling for Derek. Both men want in on this match, Steve. SR: Yeah, and it looks like Shadoe gets what he wants as Derek manages to make the tag. Hello! Tragedy is in as Chaos makes it to his corner, and now we have two fresh men in the ring! [Tragedy and Shadoe begin slugging it out in the centre of the ring. The referee warns them but both men ignore him until he starts a count. Then Shadoe drops to his back on the mat and kicks upwards, knocking Tragedy half way over the ring.] TD: That's a move you don't see every day. What do you call that, Steve? SR: I'd call it effective. Tragedy is dangerously close to the Prophets' corner as Shadoe begins to stalk towards him. [Shadoe moves towards Tragedy, but is met by a boot to the midsection. Shadoe doubles over, and Tragedy bits a double underhook backbreaker. Shadoe once again is clutching his back as Tragedy moves in for the pin. Shadoe raises a shoulder at the two count.] SR: Slow count. TD: Will you stop? [Tragedy pulls up Shadoe by the singlet and irishwhips him into the ropes. Tragedy surges forward with a big clothesline, catching Shadoe on the rebound. Shadoe goes down like a felled oak. Tragedy begins to set up for Tragic Ending! But Shadoe has enough presence of mind to grab the ropes, and Tragedy breaks the hold as Shadoe slides to the outside! Shadoe and Derek regroup on the outside, the two whispering to one another as Tragedy awaits in the centre of the ring. Shadoe reenters the ring by his corner and immediately tags in Derek, who grins evilly and gestures to Tragedy to 'bring it on'. Tragedy moves forward gingerly, and ducks under a big boot from Derek Rage. Leg sweep brings Derek down to the mat, and once again Tragedy applies a figure-four, this time in the centre of the ring.] Derek cries out in pain, but nonetheless attempts to reverse the hold again. Big pop as Rage manages to reverse the hold, and Tragedy clutches at his face, beats on the mat, yells in pain as the leverage works against him.] TD: Would you look at that! Derek is using those big powerful arms of his to actually pull Tragedy towards his corner! [Chaos tries to get in the ring to break things up, but is prevented by the referee. Trying to push big Chaos back to his corner the referee doesn't see what the Prophets are up to.] TD: Oh my! Tragedy is trapped in his own hold, and now Shadoe comes flying off the top ropes with a splash right across the back of Tragedy. That must have hurt enormously! [Shadoe quickly exits the ring as the referee turns, and the referee doesn't see a thing.] TD: The Prophets are certainly expert in underhanded tactics, Steve. SR: Yeah, like the Harlequins have been playing fair all evening, right? [Tragedy has been in the figure-four for over two minutes, and he is trying to get to the ropes, but Derek uses his strength advantage to move them away from the ropes every time Tragedy stretches out an arm. The referee is down close to Tragedy to see if Tragedy will submit. So far Tragedy hasn't. Derek has now actually managed to edge all the way over to his corner where he tags in Shadoe. Chaos again tries to enter the fray, and again the referee has to push him back to his corner. Shadoe edges over to the ringside where he executes a perfect slingshot somersault splash right onto Tragedy. BIG POP!] SR: What a move from Shadoe Rage! Tragedy must have been flattened like a bug! [Derek releases the figure four and Shadoe moves in for the pin. The count - 1 - 2 - Tragedy kicks out!] TD: Oh, so close! What must the Prophets do to win, Steve? SR: Got any baseball bats hidden around here anywhere? TD: Tragedy is in a whole heap of trouble, folks. He can barely move after that devastating figure four and somersault splash, and he's stuck in the Prophets' corner. SR: Yup. Great, eh?  "Prophets of Rage, US Tag Team Champions" has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? TD: Six words for you, Steve: Chickens. Eggs. Hatch. Before. Don't. Count. Rearrange to form a sentence. SR: Very funny. [Tragedy is brought back to his feet by Shadoe, who tags in Derek before Irish whipping Tragedy to the ropes. Derek extends a big boot and catches Tragedy on the rebound. Big pop as Tragedy hits the mat! Fans on either side of the aisle begin to buzz in excitement as Becky LaRue, still bedecked in her latex leotard, makes her way down to ringside.] TD: Hey, it's Becky! What does she want down here? But in the ring, Derek is signalling for the Hammer Of God! If he hits that, it's all over, Steve. SR: Yes! Give it to the clown, Derek! It's Hammer Time! [Derek lifts Tragedy up from the mat by the throat and is just about to administer the Hammer when Chaos bursts into the ring and hammers Derek with a big clothesline. Derek goes down with a THUD! Tragedy quickly hits a big elbow right to the throat of the big man and then drapes himself over Derek, but the referee is pushing Chaos back to his corner, and can't make the count. Tragedy hits the mat -- 1 - 2 - 3!] TD: Tragedy may have made the three count but it means nothing unless the referee counts! Hurry up and get Chaos out of the ring, referee. Hang on, what's Becky doing? [As the referee is pushing Chaos out of the ring, Becky grabs Tragedy's steel mask from the timekeeper's table and yells out to Tragedy, who drags himself to his feet, pulling Derek Rage with him. Tragedy turns to face Becky on the outside as she tosses the mask into the ring -- but she appears to throw it too hard, and it is caught by Shadoe Rage, who stretches his hand into the air and intercepts it. Huge heel pop! Tragedy turns to face Shadoe, and is clocked hard across the head by the mask, which Shadoe then throws back outside the ring, where it is caught once more by Becky. Shadoe quickly rolls Derek over the unconscious clown before stepping back out to the apron.] TD: Oh my! Becky may have just cost the Harlequins their United States Tag Team Championship! SR: Did she mean to throw it to Tragedy at all? TD: Well, she doesn't look too upset... [Becky simply shrugs and tosses the mask aside before heading back up the aisle, blowing kisses at some of her amourous fans. Meanwhile, in the ring, the referee finally turns, sees Derek pinning Tragedy and dives over for the count... 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Wrestling fans, here are your winners... and _NEW_ IIWF United States Tag Team Champions, the Prophets Of Rage! [Big heel pop as the "Death March" begins to play. Derek staggers upright and grabs a belt from the referee before quickly leaving the ring. Shadoe grabs the other belt, and both men immediately make their way back to the dressing room area. Chaos is in the centre of the ring, checking on Tragedy, who is clutching his head and rolling around on the floor.] TD: Well, a big win for the Prophets of Rage, but a win in truly controversial circumstances. This is far from over, Steve Roberts. SR: Oh, happy day! My pals the Prophets have got the gold, and the clowns from hell haven't! I love it! TD: I have a feeling that things would have gone very differently if Melody and Comedy had been here tonight. SR: Yeah, and I have a feeling things would have gone exactly as they have if Pizzazz had been here. What's your point? TD: Well, Steve, the Harlequins were obviously thrown completely off their game plan, if they had one. I think that IIWF President Daniel Spreadbury -- and Becky LaRue, no doubt -- will be hearing from some very angry Harlequins very shortly. SR: Sore losers, that's all they are, Dross. Sore losers. The better team won, and that team was the Prophets Of Rage. My best buds, I might add. [Chaos assists Tragedy to his feet, and helps him from the ring. Chaos looks furious as he helps his exhausted brother up the aisle to mixed cheers and jeers from the crowd. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What a battle that was, Steve Roberts. And things look set to continue in the same vein in just a few moments, when the Age of the Rage will attempt to go two for two in championship action tonight, as Dirt Dog Unique Allah faces the White Phoenix. That's sure to... oh, great... look who's coming down the aisle... [Brian Lau walks down the aisle side by side with Don McQueen, followed by Kane and Wulf. There is a large heel pop with the occasional cheer for the ex-tag champs, but the group ignores the crowd reaction. The quartet steps into the ring, and Brian Lau snatches the microphone away from Sparkplug Lee.] SR: Finally! Brian promised a few words for us, and here they come. I can hardly wait. TD: Ever the epitome of impartiality, aren't you, Steve? SR: The what? Shut up, Rugrat, listen to the mastermind. BL: Okay... I've got some things to cover tonight. There's something I want to make public. Don, I've got something that you might find interesting, and I held off from telling you until now... You know, to keep the element of surprise. TD: [over the headset] He's going to fire him. SR: [over the headset] Shut up! DM: Go ahead Brian, I'm all ears. BL: Well, Your men, Kane and Wulf, were once proud tag team champions, but they were robbed of those titles, and as of yet, the titles haven't returned to the Syndicate. TD: [over the headset] Here it comes... Brian's going to be giving him his walking papers. DM: Well what the hell do you expect? Those goddamn suits in the head office are holding my boys back! We're the two time ex-tag team champions of the World and we haven't even been granted one rematch! BL: Don, you misunderstand me. I'm not blaming you. It's common knoledge that the suits in IIWF Towers don't like me or anyone associated with me. Unfortunately, the upper brass doesn't look kindly upon you because of me. They don't like me because I make them earn their paychecks, and they're getting their revenge on me through you. I know the reason that the Disciples haven't gotten the titles back is because of the difficulty in getting a shot. DM: You're damn right that's the reason! So why aren't you lobbying for a rematch? I'm on the cellular to those idiot suits every day trying to get my boys the shot they deserve, but I don't hear you sticking your neck out to bring those belts back to the Syndicate! BL: That is why I've gathered you all here tonight. Tonight, the World tag team belts come back to the Syndicate. Pain Incorporated, get out here! TD: [over the headset] What's he trying to do? SR: [over the headset] What are you, stupid? He's bringing the belts back to the Syndicate! Duh... [The crowd pops in anticipation for a potentially brutal tag title rematch, and the pop grows louder as Pain Inc. comes down the aisle with Mr. Mic.] TD: [over the headset] I can't believe it... Is Brian going to get his way again? SR: [over the headset] Of course! He always gets his way because he's smart. [Pain Inc. enters the ring, and Mr. Mic heads straight for Lau and begins speaking with him. Meanwhile, the Disciples and Pain Inc. go toe to toe, staring each other down. Words are exchanged, and the anger on each athelete's face is obvious. Don McQueen seems to advise the Disciples, but occasionally looks back to Lau. Brian and Mr. Mic seem to be debating something.] TD: [over the headset] Something's wrong here. If there was going to be a match, wouldn't Lau and Mr. Mic be arguing? They look like they're just talking business. SR: [over the headset] That's what this sport is to guys like this, Dross... A business. [Just as a shoving match begins between the two teams, Mr. Mic and Lau shake hands an turn to address them. Mr. Mic stops Pain Inc. from continuing.] BL: Kane... Wulf... Stop... Hold on a minute. I can't allow fighting between members of the Syndicate. [Kane and Wulf look confused, and Don McQueen can be seen saying "What?"] BL: I told you I'd bring the world tag titles back to the Syndicate, and I've done just that. Pain Inc. are now members. TD: [over the headset] Don McQueen is getting fired. Lau is a weasel. SR: [over the headset] I'll tell him you said that. TD: [over the headset] Sure thing, Gorilla. [Kane and Wulf look angry, and Don gets the mic.] DM: Let's get one thing straight, Lau! If you plan on bringing another tag team in you discuss it with me first! If you want the Dark Disciples out of the Syndicate then we work it out behind closed doors like professional businessmen! BL: Don, this doesn't mean that you guys are out. There are two tag titles, right? The US titles are held by the Harlequins. Kane, Wulf, you can beat them. You want a piece of them, right? Well, then you have them. Your new assignments are to go after them and take their titles. From now on, Pain Inc. is with us, and you will work together. DM: What the hell are you talking about, Brian? The Dark Disciples don't take a backseat to no stinkin' tag team, especially a couple of apes like Pain Inc.! [Big pop!] BL: Don, I'm not asking you guys to take a back seat to anyone. It's just a rearranging of our goals, that's all. It's a business deal. We need to make the group stronger, and the opportunity that presented itself was hard to pass up. So you see, Don, we all win in the end. Pain Inc. gains the stability of the Syndicate, Kane and Wulf, you have the chance to be the first ever tag team to hold two different titles, and Don, you and I gain more money as we speak. [Don seems to be pacified for the moment, but Kane and Wulf still eye the two masked monsters suspiciously.] DM: Goddammit, Brian, I wish you'd talked this over with me beforehand; I don't appreciate airing dirty laundry in front of all the idiot fans! Now, I'm gonna trust you Brian; this time! But I'm warning you now, this better work as planned, because if you double-cross me there's gonna be hell to pay! [Don noticably tries to restrain his anger.] DM: Now, let's all calm down, sort this out and get down to business. BL: Don, I really didn't know that you'd take this so hard. I thought you'd be pleased about this. Your guys have the chance to make history here, and we are all stronger as a group. I'm sorry, Don. I'd never cross you, you know that. TD: [over the headset] Yeah, sure. Not until there's profit in it. SR: [over the headset] Shut up! BL: But you're right, Don, we've got some business to take care of, so let's take this to my office. [Brian rallies up all the men and they exit the ring. Brian and Mr. Mic seem to be trying to convince McQueen that this is a good idea, and Pain Inc. and the Disciples slowly and suspiciously walk up the aisle, not wanting to let the other team get behind them.] TD: Well, I should have known. Lau wants it all. Not only are the world tag champs again in the Syndicate, but he wants the Disciples to go after the US belts. I can't say that these two teams look comfortable with each other. I mean, Pain Inc. _did_ take those titles from the Dark Disciples! I can see this causing trouble. SR: Aw, shut up, will you? What is your problem with the Syndicate? You're always starting rumors about how their members aren't happy. First it was Brody Thunder and Casey James, now it's Pain Incorporated and the Dark Disciples. Have you no dignity? TD: I find it really funny that you consider yourself a judge of dignity, Steve. SR: Well, I do... Now go get me a biscuit. TD: There's no time for that, Steve. We've got more action to get to. Right now, we're almost ready for the Crusierweight Championship match.  Steve, we've already seen Shinja Chow out here tonight, and I've heard that the noise from the backroom area is that Steve Kowalski is _still_ in the building... SR: The noise from the backroom area?  You're not turning all hip on me here, are you, Dross? TD: Erm, not quite... Anyway, you have to wonder that with the confrontation between Chow and Kowalski earlier, he can't be one hundred percent focused on this match. SR: Hey, Dross, stay cool.  You know, some shades, a gold chain, hell, we might be able to make a man of you yet! TD: Will you stop that?  Kowalski won't be the only one interested in this match.  Nightwing is still sat in the stands by ringside, and is showing a great deal of interest.  It's always possible he's here to scout out the Crusierweight champion. SR: Hey, Dross, be cool.  I'm cool.  Are you cool?  Stay cool, honey-bunny. TD: [sighing] Let's go down to ringside... =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= White Phoenix [c] vs. Dirt Dog Unique Allah ------------------------------------------- WRITER: MP [Sparkplug Lee makes his way into the ring once more.] RA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a fifteen-minute time limit, and is for the IIWF World Cruiserweight Championship! [Big pop!] Introducing first, weighing in at 238lbs and hailing from Brooklyn, New York, accompanied to the ring by his manager, Medusa Rage, here is the Dirt Dog Uniiiiique Allaaaaaaah!! [Big mixed crowd pop as 'Snakes' by the Ol' Dirty Bastard starts up over the PA, and the Dirt Dog stumbles into the aisle as though pushed from behind.  He takes a look around, grinning, and takes a swig from the bottle in his hand.  He stumbles across to the crowd barriers, where a large number of fans are cheering and hollering, and leans in, pulling out a sign saying "The Dirty Doggies:  Straight from Brooklyn Zoo".  Allah slaps his fans hands for a second, and stumbles back towards the entrance to the aisle with a huge grin on his face, before leaping up and catching hold of the overhang.  Scrabbling frantically, he manages to pull himself up...] TD: What the...?  Just what is Unique doing here? SR: Hey, yeah, DJ Timmy D, hitting the reels on a Saturday Night, yeah!  I can just picture you, cruising down the freeway in your open topped Ferrari... [There's a pause as Sparkplug waits for Unique to make his way to the ring.  Unique stands up on the entrance way, almost loosing his footing, and shouts out "Where's the Doggies at?" drawing a huge pop from his fans in the aisle, some of whom look like they've been dragged in off the streets..] SR: Yeah.  Ferrari.  Shaking your head to the beats on the CD, that rat on your head flapping in the breeze... TD: Steve, what the hell are you going on about? SR: Ratings!  Demographics!  No more Mr. Nice Dross!  Gotta change with the times, Dross... TD: Oh, brother... [Sparkplug finally shrugs as it becomes clear that Unique is not going to make his way to the ring any time soon, and adjusts his bow tie...] RA: And his opponent... [big crowd pop] weighing in at 220lbs and hailing from Beijing, China.. he is the current IIWF Crusierweight Champion... "The White Phoenix" Shinnnnnjaaaaa Chooooooww!! [Big pop as the eagle's cry sounds over the PA system, and The White Phoenix appears in the entrance way, arms raised to the crowd.  Unique stands up again, holding what looks like a petrol can... The Phoenix looks up at the warning pop from the crowd, just in time to see Unique drench him with a the liquid...] TD: Oh no... Please tell me this isn't going to happen... [Huge heel pop from the crowd as the Phoenix stumbles backwards, frantically rubbing his eyes... Above him, Unique strikes a match, grinning at it for a second and then letting it fall... huge heel pop as the Phoenix bursts into flames!  Medusa Rage appears in the entranceway, quickly putting the blaze out with a fire extinguisher... miraculously, the Phoenix doesn't appear to be badly burnt... but is quickly levelled as Unique jumps from the entrance way, connecting with a double axehandle...] SR: Yeah! Ratings! Are we hardcore?! The Dirt Dog knows! TD: Folks, I really feel I must apologise for what we've just witnessed. This is getting out of control.. Surely the official can't let the match continue... [Unique stands over the floored Phoenix, striking another match as the crowd pops in fear... and pauses...] UA: I know I saw this somewhere before... [Unique shakes out the match, pulling the Phoenix to his feet and locking him in a headlock as the bell rings... the dirt Dog charges down the aisle, running at full speed straight towards the ring and slamming the Phoenix's head into the ring apron.  He quickly picks him back up, and rolls him into the ring, following him in quickly...] TD: This is ridiculous, surely the official is going to stop the match. Nightwing is looking very concerned as well right here.. [The Dirt Dog covers, hooking the leg, the referee counts... 1 - 2 - kickout!  Unique looks up in surprise!] TD: Unbelievable. SR: Hey, how many times have we seen the Phoenix set himself on fire?  The Dirt Dog was just trying to bond with him, that's all... TD: I think there's a bit of a difference, Steve... [Unique pulls the Phoenix to his feet, and backs him into the ropes, Irish whipping him cross ring... The Dirt Dog stumbles forward drunkenly as the Phoenix rebounds, turning completely around before lashing out and connecting with a lariat of frightening speed and accuracy... the cover.. 1 - 2 - the Phoenix kicks out again!  Unique quickly reaches down, pulling up the Phoenix's leg...] TD: And an elbowdrop to the knee by the Dirt dog!  And another!  And a hamstring tear!  And now he's viciously kicking away at the White Phoenix's knee! SR: Oh yeah, tear that drumstick right off! [Unique locks Shinja Chow's leg, and falls to the canvas in a shinbreaker. A cover... 1 - 2 - kickout again!  Unique picks up the leg again, kicking away at the hamstring, before twisting the Phoenix into a spinning toehold. He picks up the other leg...] TD: Figure four by the Dirt Do... no!  The Phoenix kicks him off, and Unique hits the buckles! [Unique hits the turnbuckles face first, slumps against them and reels backwards drunkenly, before dropping back into an elbowdrop... and the Phoenix rolls away!] TD: What a vicious opening by the Dirt Dog... both men stumbling up to their feet.... SR: And a facerake by the Dirty Doggie!  You gotta love this guy, Dross! [Unique stumbles backwards, and the Phoenix reels forwards, only to get caught by a legdrag from the Dirt dog!  Unique rolls to his feet, and stumbles backwards, falling onto, and then through, the ropes... Medusa Rage leaps onto the ring apron, shouting angrily at the referee...] TD: This is insane... just what... oh no, this is going beyond a joke... [Unique reaches into the ring, pulling the Phoenix over to the corner by his leg, and then slamming his knee repeatedly against the ring post... Unique stumbles around, and turns to the French broadcasting team, pulling one of the commentators out of their chair.] SR: Go, Dirt Dog!  You know, I haven't had this much fun since that night I got Morton drunk and he told me all about his secret LaRue-based fantasies... TD: Well, once again it looks like our world-wide coverage is... hold on, what did you just say? [Unique folds the chair up, and stumbles around, swinging the chair at the same time, smashing the Phoenix hard in knee again!  Unique pulls the Phoenix to the floor, as the referee continues to try to calm Medusa Rage down. Unique begins to pound the Phoenix's knee with the chair on the outside. Huge crowd pop as Nightwing shakes his head and leaps over the crowd barriers...] TD: Here comes Nightwing! What's he going to... oh my! He just pulled Medusa Rage clean off the ring apron!  He's telling Chuck Sanders to keep his eye on the match! SR: What's it got to do with him? TD: I guess he's not a fan of the Dirt Dog's tactics... [Chuck Sanders rolls out of the ring as Unique raises the chair again, and snatches it right out of his hands! Big pop!  Unique turns around, to receive a severe warning from the official!  The Dirt Dog looks at him dazedly for a second, and then pulls the Phoenix up, rolling him back into the ring... he follows, as does Chuck Sanders, and the Dirt Dog makes the cover... 1 - 2 - kickout by the Phoenix!] TD: So far, Shinja Chow has not been able to get any momentum at all.  The petrol attack, coupled with the distractions by Medusa Rage and the sheer brutality of the Dirt Dog's onslaught... SR: Hey, it works.  I'd say the Dirt Dog's doing just fine. [Unique pulls the Phoenix's knee up again, tearing the hamstring back, before lurching into the corner and leaping onto the second turnbuckle...] UA: Where's da Doggies at? [Unique's fans in the aisle start barking and hollering, and Unique drops backs down to the canvas, crawling towards the Phoenix on all fours and then pulling his leg up again, laying in a series of kicks, which he suddenly cuts short...] UA: Wait a minute... I'm a Dirty Doggy not Stone Cold. Sorry, muhfuh. SR: [laughing] There you have it. The Dirt Dog 3:16... [Unique walks reaches down and starts to fawn over the Phoenix, shaking his hands and brushing him off as he starts to pull him to his feet...] TD: This man is completely craz... short clothesline by Unique -- no! The Phoenix pulls him into a crucifix! Incredible! [Chuck Sanders is caught out of position, and rolls in as the Phoenix struggles to keep the Dirt Dog held down... 1 - 2 - kickout!  The Dirt Dog rolls up, and comes crashing straight back down with a double axehandle... and the Phoenix rolls out of the way again!  Both men rise to their feet, the Phoenix favouring his left leg heavily...] TD: Clothesline by the Dirt Dog... ducked by the Phoenix... and a one-footed standing dropkick sends the Dirt Dog to the canvas! [The Phoenix quickly rolls back towards the corner, using the ropes to pull himself back up... the Dirt Dog stumbles up to his feet, lurches forward, turns and charges the Phoenix... to be caught flush on the jaw as the Phoenix raises his uninjured leg... the Dirt Dog turns around and stumbles back out of the corner... and the Phoenix comes flying off the turnbuckles, catching him in a huge bulldog!  Big crowd pop!  The Phoenix covers... 1 - Medusa Rage puts Unique's foot on the ropes - 2 - the referee spots it, and stops the count!] TD: Unbelievable. SR: You need a new catch phrase, Dross. [The Phoenix slowly pulls himself to his feet, limping towards the floored Dirt Dog... he grabs hold of Unique's matted hair, and pulls him slowly to his feet, hitting him first with a tomahawk chop to the head, and then a double reverse knife edge that sends him flying back theatrically to the turnbuckles... Unique shakes his head, and runs his mouth in a parody of a badly dubbed martial arts film...] UA: Hah! Hwooar... Chow!  Hah!  Wanna fight?  Hah!  Fight me! [The Dirty Doggies and Steve Roberts roar with laughter as the Dirt Dog drops into a martial arts stance and flies forward again with a side kick... the Phoenix ducks under it at the last second, flipping the Dirt Dog onto his back and hooking both legs... 1 - 2 - kickout by Unique!  Unique rolls away from the Phoenix and back to his feet, hitting the ropes running, coming back off screaming out a range of chop-socky noises...] UA: Hah! Fist of the North Star! [The Phoenix ducks a flying leg lariat attempt, and the Dirt Dog rolls to his knees, clutching his head...] UA: I gotta stop watching so much Pay TV. It's startin' to affect my muhfuhin' brain... SR: Oh, that's it.  We've got to get this guy on our commentary team.  Demographics, man. TD: This is truly bizarre... [The Phoenix shakes his head as he limps towards the Dirt Dog, who rolls away form him and into the ropes.  The Phoenix follows him, fists clenched, and nails him with a series of body blows, before pulling him into a Northern Light suplex...  1 - 2 - Medusa Rage leaps onto the ring apron again, distracting the referee away from his count!  The Dirt Dog and the Phoenix climb back to their feet, and the Dirt Dog lashes out with a quick lariat, taking the Phoenix to the canvas.  He quickly pulls the Phoenix back up, backing him into the ropes and sending him across the ring with an Irish whip as Medusa drops back off the ring apron...] TD: No! The Phoenix's knee gave out... he's doubled over... and catches the Dirt Dog as he comes in with a fist to the stomach, and a jumping DDT! SR: He was playing possum! That's hardly fair! TD: Steve, no, forget it... [The Phoenix rolls on top of the stunned Dirt Dog... 1 - 2 - Medusa Rage distracts the referee for a third time, and Chuck Sanders issues another stern warning.  The Phoenix shakes his head in disgust as he pulls Unique back up, just as the crowd at ringside starts popping madly...] TD: And the Dirt Dog is rescued by his manager yet again! Look out, here comes Steve Kowalski... [Kowalski walks down to ringside with a smirk, yelling at his "Furies" and slapping hands... in the ring, the Phoenix manages to whip the Dirt Dog into the ropes, and hits him on the rebound with a reverse elbowsmash... a cover... 1 - 2 - kickout by the Dirt Dog.] SR: Go get him, Steve!  Blood!  Ratings!  Demographics!  Kill the muhfuh! TD: Steve, please, calm yourself. [Kowalski glares at the seated Nightwing for a second, who looks to be issuing a warning, and then turns to ring just as the Phoenix catches the Dirt Dog with a belly-to-belly suplex...] SK: Hey! Hey Chow, you gonna play with the man, or pin him? [Chow stops his pin attempt, and limps across to the ropes, glaring down at Kowalski] SK: Rice farmer, ya gonna lose that strap tonight or are ya gonna hold it fer yours truly?! Ya don't have much time left, little man! [The White Phoenix is leans down over the ropes reaching for Kowalski, who stays at a safe distance.  The referee watches the two men carefully as the Dirt Dog rolls back to his corner, reaching for his bottle] SK: Oh no, Ya don't wanna come down here, I'll squeeze yer guts out like a tube of toothpaste! Ya should pay attention to the doggy, punk! I'll catch ya on the rebound! SR: You tell him, Kowalski! [Chow steps away from the ropes, and turns back to the Dirt Dog, who is slumped against the turnbuckles... he reaches down to pick him up... and receives a blast of the Dirt Dog's Deadly Venom spray!  Heel pop!  Kowalski leaps up onto the ring apron and tries to climb into the ring. The referee spots him at the last second, and runs over trying to force him back out...] SR: What's he doing?! The Dirt Dog's got the cover! TD: And Medusa Rage has got Chow's head held down! [The referee turns and sees the pin, but as he moves over, Kowalski tries to get in again, and he turns back to force him out again. There a huge crowd pop from the Sychopaths as Joe Petrow storms the aisle...] TD: This is getting out of hand.  It's situations like this where we need more than one official... SR: It's just Chuck Sanders, incompetent as always... [Petrow hits ringside, grabbing a discarded chair and clocking Kowalski off the ring apron.  Unique finally breaks the pin on Chow, pulling him up and setting him up for an Irish whip... Kowalski and Petrow are practically tearing at each others throats on the outside, and the Jobber Justice Squad runs down to ringside to break them up... Unique whips Chow into the ropes, and drops his head...] TD: Backdrop... no!  Sunset flip by the Phoenix!  Sanders spots it! SR: Oh, come on... [The referee counts as Medusa frantically tries to climb onto the ring apron, only for Nightwing to once again hold her back... 1 - 2 - 3! Unique kicks out a fraction of a second too late! The referee signals for the bell! Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: Here is your winner by a result of pinfall... and still IIWF Cruiserweight Champion... the "White Phoenix" Shiiiiinnnja Chooooooooooooww! TD: What an incredible match... the Phoenix was thrown off his game plan from the start, but manages to come back and pull off the victory, despite all the distractions! [The referee raises the Phoenix's hand as the Dirt Dog rolls out of the ring, and heads back up the aisle with Medusa Rage...] SR: Wow, that match had everything.  Fire, chairshots, Jackie Chan impressions, Kowalski... I want more. TD: And we've got more, Steve. Coming right up is the match between two wrestlers who have been making headlines as of late, the number one contender for the Intercontinental title, Creed, and the always impressive Requiem. SR: The rookie... TD: Let's get this cleared up, Steve, after Creed's recent performances, and his incredible record, I believe the time for calling him rookie is gone.  He is rapidly developing into one of the IIWF's finest superstars. SR: He's got lucky.  I don't care what you say, the man, to me, is still a rookie. [There's a huge heel pop from the aisle...] TD: Uh oh, looks like we're about to get some company up here... [The source of the crowds anger is revealed to be Lord Byron, stood in the entrance to the aisle in an elegant pale grey suit, and sporting both the IIWF Intercontinental and ESWP European titles.  He smirks at the jeering crowd, before making his way across to the commentary booth...] TD: Byron... Byron, what on earth...? You're not due to be out here now... LB: Forgive me for my intrusion, Dross, but I've decided to add some class to this little presentation.  Is there a spare headset there, Mr. Roberts? SR: No problem.  Pull up a chair and sit down. LB: Oh, and Steve, here's a little present from the British Embassy... a box of Rothburn's finest. SR: Joy!  Wrestling, witty conversation, biscuits... what more could a man want? TD: I shudder to think.  If you two are quite settled, let's go to ringside. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Creed vs. Requiem =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MP [Sparkplug Lee raises the microphone as he stands in the glare of the spotlights above the ring.] RA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a fifteen minute time limit.  Introducing first, hailing from Oakland, California, and weighing in at 275lbs, here is... Creeeeeeeeed!! [The lights in the Coliseum dim to a huge crowd pop, and the aisle is lit up by a bank of red lights, giving it a bloodstained glow.  the cheering intensifies as Creed's voice resonates over the PA system... "Anyone... Anytime... Anywhere..." and finally, Creed steps out of the mist in the entranceway and into the aisle to Beethoven's "Ode to Joy", a look of complete intensity on his face. Special light filters cast spinning gloved fists in black silhouette on the aisle as Creed makes his measured way towards the ring.] TD: Well, Byron, I guess this has to be one of the reasons you are here... what are your first thoughts on the man? LB: Very impressive.  The man is building his reputation by the day.  I'll be very interested to see how he handles a wrestler with the abilities of Requiem. TD: You could be looking at the man you will face at Birthday Bash right here, Byron... LB: It's possible, Dross, but first he has to keep that title shot. And to do so, he can't afford to lose here tonight. SR: And I bet you're hoping he does, right? [Byron says nothing.  Creed walks past the announcers' booth, ignoring the presence of the Intercontinental Champion completely, and leaps onto the ring apron, climbing up onto the second turnbuckle and raising his gloved left fist into the air, as the crowd starts chanting... "Creed! Creed! Creed!" Suddenly, a barrage of pyrotechnic explosions high above the ring cast flashes of white light down on Creed. Huge pop!] TD: This man practically exudes intensity.  Byron, you've faced this man before, what advice would you give to Requiem at this moment in time? LB: Stay on the man, don't be intimidated by his presence.  All men are equal on the canvas.  Take him down, and keep him there.  And avoid that left fist. SR: And stick the thumb in his eye wherever possible, right? LB: Exactly so.  But somehow, I can't see Requiem resorting to that tactic. SR: Then he's gonna find himself up excrement avenue. [Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" fades out, and the lights turn back to normal.  Sparkplug Lee adjusts his bow tie, looking nervously across at Creed's imposing figure, and steps into the spotlight...] RA: And his opponent.. [Huge pop!] weighing in at 306lbs, and hailing from parts unknown... accompanied to the ring by his beautiful sister, Gabrielle... here.. is... Requiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeemm!! ["The Music of The Unknowingly Damned" starts to play over the PA system, and the lights dim once again, casting the arena into half-light.  Gabrielle steps into the aisle, clutching Requiem's guitar.  Gabrielle, simply put, looks stunning.  She is wearing a flowing semi-translucent black silk gown with a daring neckline revealing a brightly polished silver ankh around her neck, with her black and white hair worn loose down to her waist.  Something about her, about her presence, looks almost unearthly, and cold...] TD: Gabrielle... but no Requiem. SR: Maybe he's decided against this.  I wouldn't blame him. TD: I doubt that, Steve, Creed may be an imposing figure, but Requiem knows all about that. LB: Indeed.  You don't get much more imposing than Deathbringer, and that is exactly who Requiem has in his sights at Birthday Bash. [Gabrielle slowly walks down the aisle, past the cheering fans and a section of The Chorus, who are holding Requiem Soul candles and are slowly beginning to chant his name... Gabrielle ascends the ring steps, and steps into the ring...] SR: Well?  Is this going to be excuse time? [Gabrielle points the guitar at Creed, and the lights around the arena flicker once or twice, before going completely out, leaving the arena in pitch darkness.  A moment later, the lights flicker back on, revealing Requiem in the ring, silently stood behind Creed...] TD: Another impressive entrance here. What's going to happen when Creed notices him? [Creed slowly turns to face Requiem as Gabrielle exits the ring and the referee signals for the bell... both men stand practically toe-to-toe, staring straight into each others eyes, each waiting for the other to back down... the crowd pops excitedly...] LB: Look at the intense psychological warfare between these two. They are locked in a battle of wills at the moment, and I can't see either man backing down... SR: You're right.  This one could go on all night.  Someone rake the eye! [As if by mutual consent, both men back off, and then fly into a collar and elbow tie up!  Big pop!  Both men fight for the advantage, Requiem bringing his greater size to bear and Creed using technique to try and twist the big man into a more favourable position...] TD: Both men seem evenly matched, each fighting for position... SR: Any biscuits left?  Feel hungry. LB: Feel free. [Requiem's weight advantage slowly lets him take control, and he backs Creed into the turnbuckles.  Chuck Sanders asks for the clean break, Requiem does... and Creed lashes out, reversing their positions and catching Requiem with several hard knee lifts as he's trapped in the turnbuckles, before sending his head snapping back with a stiff European uppercut!  Big pop!  Creed twists Requiem's arm, and Irish whips him cross-corner... ] TD: Requiem hits hard... follow through by Creed, and Requiem dives out of the way! LB: Creed managed to stop himself short though, surprising agility for such a big man... and Requiem with an arm drag! TD: Both Creed and Requiem are surprisingly fast athletes for their size... [Requiem twists an armbar on Creed, who rolls to on knee and then rises to his feet, backing Requiem up to the ropes... Chuck Sanders calls for the break again, Creed does, holding his hands up and starting to back off...] TD: And another knee lift by Creed catches Requiem by surprise again! LB: Another dangerous aspect of Creed, he's not averse to bending the rules.  If Requiem plays this by the book as he usually seems to, he will find himself at a disadvantage at every turn. [Creed pulls Requiem off the ropes, and sends the big man over to the canvas with a hip toss!  Requiem climbs back to his feet, as Creed hits the ropes, coming back with a hard clothesline...] TD: That doesn't even faze the big man!  Incredible!  And now Requiem's asking him to try again! [Creed looks at Requiem for a second, and then hits the ropes, building up momentum... he hits with a shoulderblock, and neither man moves!  Big pop!  Creed goes to the ropes again, this time shifting his momentum, and lashing out with a clothesline... Requiem ducks, comes off the ropes himself and nails Creed with a huge flying shoulderblock as he turns!  Huge crowd pop!  Creed rolls away to a corner, and the referee steps in front of Requiem, forcing him to back off.  Creed wipes his lip and looks for a trace of blood, before rising back to his feet...] LB: Good stalling tactic.  Creed broke off Requiem's momentum before it begun. SR: Hey, Byron, Creed hasn't even glanced your way yet.  Annoyed? LB: Not at all.  Creed hasn't got the title shot yet, and if he doesn't want to lose it, he'll have to stay completely focused on this man. TD: No prizes for guessing why you're here, then... LB: [sneering] Really, Mr. Dross, I don't know what you mean. [Creed steps out of the corner, and locks up with Requiem again, this time taking the advantage himself with an armwringer.  Creed twists the arm through another revolution, doubling Requiem over, and then pounding away on Requiem's locked elbow with his gloved left fist.  Requiem straightens, and tries a reversal, only to receive a kick to the midsection followed by another blow to the arm.  Requiem puts his head down and backs Creed into the ropes, before attempting an Irish whip.] TD: Reversal by Creed... he holds the arm for a powerful short clothesline!  A cover... [The referee counts... 1 - 2 - strong kickout by Requiem. Creed pulls him back up, and headbutts him, before nailing him with a hammerlock scoop slam... Creed quickly hits the ropes, coming back with a flying elbowdrop... and connects!  Big pop!  Requiem sits up, and Creed grabs the arm, pulling him back down and locking on a three-quarter nelson... the referee counts... 1 - kickout!] TD: Creed is showing some excellent mat skills here, keeping Requiem grounded... SR: We need this match to liven up.  Why don't you take a look down ringside, Byron? LB: Steve, please, I'm here to watch. SR: Oh well. Your call. [Creed twists Requiem's arm around again, and Requiem flips over, locking Creed into a headscissors submission.  Creed is too near the ropes, however, and easily takes hold... Both men rise to their feet again, and Creed reacts first, lashing out with a kick to the midsection... and he pulls Requiem's throat across his shoulder, dropping him to the canvas in an inverted neckbreaker!  Big pop!  Creed covers... 1 - 2 - Gabrielle distracts the referee, and breaks the count!] SR: I don't think Requiem will be overly happy with that little stunt... TD: Requiem managed to kick out anyway, but Gabrielle made sure the count didn't last... [Creed glares at Gabrielle as she drops back off the ring apron, and turns -- straight into a shot to the midsection from Requiem!  Pop!  Requiem lashes out again, and a facerake from Creed halts him in his tracks.  Creed pulls him back up, whips him into the ropes... Requiem ducks the clothesline attempt, and both men hit each other on the rebound!  Big pop!] TD: Both men took a hard shot there, and the referee's counting them down... LB: It will take much more than that to keep either of these two down.  Much more. [Creed seems to be recovering first, and hits Requiem as he starts to rise with a heave axehandle blow.  Creed runs to the ropes again... and Gabrielle catches his foot!  Pop!  Creed stumbles, and turns to glare at her again as Requiem rises to his feet... Requiem charges, and hits Creed as he turns with a clothesline that sends him out over the top!  Big crowd pop!] LB: Creed allowed himself to get distracted for a split second, and that was all it took to change the flow of the match. [Byron sneers] Foolish mistake, you should never turn your back on your opponent. TD: Gabrielle did grab his foot... LB: Maybe, but who poses the bigger threat?  Gabrielle, or Requiem? [Requiem follows Creed outside, picking him up... only for Creed to rake his face again!  Creed sends Requiem crashing into the ring steps, and then rolls him back into the ring...] TD: Creed now, on the ring apron and going to the top... Requiem's getting back to his feet... and a flying clothesline by Creed sends him back to the canvas!  Creed covers... - 1 - 2 - kickout by Requiem! [Creed pulls Requiem to his feet again, and switches behind him in a waistlock, before flipping him over into a textbook German suplex... 1 - 2 - kickout!  Creed rolls up, and adjusts his glove, before knocking Requiem back to his knees with a double axehandle as he starts to rise... an Irish whip sends Requiem hard into the corner, and Creed catches him hard with a side slam as he comes back out.. the cover... 1 - 2 - kickout!  Creed pulls Requiem up quickly, and backs him into the ropes, another Irish whip... Requiem ducks the clothesline attempt, and rebounds off the opposite ropes... Creed drops his head... and Requiem nails him with a jumping DDT!  Huge pop!] TD: Requiem's dished out a lot of punishment in the last few minutes, can he capitalise? [Requiem slowly rolls over Creed to make the cover... 1 - 2 - Creed's kickout throws Requiem off!  Big pop!  Requiem pulls Creed back up, and stuns him further with a headbutt... he grapevines the leg, grabs Creed's neck and slams Creed to the canvas with a side Russian leg sweep! Another cover... 1 - 2 - kickout again!  Requiem pulls Creed up for a third time, underhooking his arms as he does so... suddenly, there's a huge heel pop from the crowd in the aisle...] TD: It's.. it's Deathbringer! LB: Well, this should make things slightly more interesting... SR: It's about time... [Deathbringer stalks down to ringside, stopping at the top of the aisle and staring at the pair in the ring.  Requiem completes a double underhook suplex, and moves to make the cover... before noticing Deathbringer.  He moves across to the ropes, and watches as Deathbringer holds up a small gold coin. He turns it around for the camera crew, revealing a portrait of Requiem on one side, and himself on the other. The low, gravelly voice of Deathbringer then reverberates around the Coliseum:] DB: Is _this_ really what you are fighting for, Requiem? [Big mixed pop! Deathbringer flips the coin in Requiem's direction, and he catches it.  Deathbringer turns away, emotionlessly, and stalks back towards the dressing room area...] LB: I do believe that that confrontation is going to be one to watch. TD: Definitely.  Come Birthday Bash... SR: [interrupting] Uh, I hate to break this up, but there's still a match going on here... [During the exchange, Creed rose to one knee, watching Requiem's every move carefully. Now, as Requiem turns back to the ring, Creed charges him with a big clothesline...] TD: No! Requiem with a boot to the midsection!  He grabs the arm, here comes the rocker dropper! SR: And a beautiful low blow by Creed, the best counter we've seen all night! [Requiem staggers backwards, grimacing, and Creed is on him like a cat, catching his head with a facelock and using that immense torque based power to send Requiem crashing to the mat with a swinging neckbreaker... Requiem clutches his head, and Creed covers... 1 - 2 - kickout at the last second!  Pop!  Creed pulls Requiem back to his feet, and whips him into the turnbuckles. Requiem comes flying back out, and both men hit each other with a clothesline for the second time in the match! Big pop!  The referee starts to count both men down...] TD: I think Creed took the most of that impact, but Requiem's still suffering from the neckbreaker... who will make the first move? SR: It's gonna be Creed. [Creed rolls to one knee, breaking the count at five, and slowly pulls Requiem back to his feet. He facelocks him, and sets him for a suplex... Requiem blocks!  the crowd pops, and Creed tries again... Requiem blocks again!  Requiem reverses, hoisting Creed up and dropping him onto the top rope, slingshotting him back into the ring... crowd pop!] SR: Hey! That's the CEO! What's he carrying? TD: A steel chair.  A black steel chair. LB: If he's doing what I think he's doing, he's asking for trouble... [Requiem hits the ropes, nailing Creed with a big leg drop, and the CEO Jack Montgomery leaps onto the ring apron, brandishing Requiem's guitar... Requiem turns... sees him... and sees red!  The CEO jumps off the ring apron at the very last second as Requiem lashes out with a big right hand...] SR: Oh yeah, the guy has got some emotion after all! LB: He should keep his eye on Creed... [Requiem starts to follow the CEO to the outside, but is stopped by the referee, who blocks his exit.  Requiem angrily pushes him out of the way, accidentally knocking him into the turnbuckles, and the CEO throws the chair into the ring.  Requiem drops to the outside, and starts to chase the CEO around the ring... where he gets caught between Gabrielle and Requiem!  The CEO quickly throws the guitar to Gabrielle, and dives into the crowd...] LB: He should be watching Creed... [Requiem checks his guitar carefully, and turns back to the ring... to be caught right on the forehead by a chair shot from Creed, dropping off the ring apron!  Pop!  Creed nails him again, and rolls him back into the ring, following as the referee slowly rises to his feet...] SR: That's done it!  Requiem is _out_! [Creed pulls Requiem to his feet, and sends him spinning back down to the canvas with his patented 180-degree chokeslam, and covers... 1 - Gabrielle puts Requiem's foot on the ropes... - 2 - the referee stops the count! Huge pop!] TD: Gabrielle just saved this match yet again! SR: Huh, so much for Requiem never cheating. [Creed pulls himself to his feet, sweat dripping from his brow, and stares coldly down at Gabrielle, who returns his gaze, apparently unfazed.] TD: I'm not sure Requiem knows about any of Gabrielle's little tricks in this encounter. LB: [sneering] Impressed as I am with Requiem's grit and determination, he's hardly neurosurgeon material. [Creed pulls Requiem to his feet -- and is surprised by a small package! Requiem rolls Creed up tightly, the referee is in position... 1 - 2 - Creed kicks out! The red-gloved rookie springs to his feet, his energy apparently renewed, and stomps away at Requiem with his boots. Requiem rolls to the ropes, and the referee tries to pull Creed away. However, he only succeeds in pulling Creed away long enough for Requiem to get back to his feet, and Creed then charges in with a clothesline, knocking the seven foot tall Requiem over the top rope to the outside. Huge pop! Gabrielle rushes around the ring to help her brother to his feet.] TD: What a clothesline from Creed! You won't want to be on the receiving end of too many blows from arms like that, Byron. LB: Creed is a powerful athlete, Dross, but even the most powerful of athletes have their weaknesses. Once Creed is down on the mat, his power advantage is completely eliminated. [Creed is held back from the referee from following Requiem to the outside, and when he is finally allowed to reach the ropes, Requiem grabs Creed's legs, and pulls them out from under him. Creed crashes to the mat, and Requiem drags him to the outside. Creed lashes out with a hard right hand, staggering Requiem. Gabrielle dashes away as the referee begins the count... Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: Wow, these referees are getting worse. I only saw him count to one, Dross! [Creed rolls back into the ring and questions the official as Requiem shakes off the cobwebs of the hard right hand from his opponent. The official waves away Creed's protests. The crowd buzz as Sparkplug Lee stands to give his announcement:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the time limit in this match has expired! The referee has ruled this match... a draw! A draw! [Big mixed pop. Requiem looks up at Creed in the ring, and is then ushered away from ringside by Gabrielle.] TD: An indecisive end to an incredible match. I'm sure Requiem and Creed will lock up again in the near future. Creed's unbeaten streak is safe, so all indications are that he will face you, Byron, in just two weeks. [Huge pop as Creed climbs to the second turnbuckle, raising his gloved fist in the air, and then pointing across at the commentary booth, and more specifically, Lord Byron... Byron sneers back at him, and shrugs, patting the IC title.] LB: Two more weeks, Creed.  If you think you're ready, come and get it.  Or come and try, at least. TD: Creed's unbeaten run is now _fourteen_ matches long! LB: Two more weeks.  Then we'll see what happens. TD: Well, any way you want to slice it, those two men, Requiem and Creed, represent the future of the IIWF... and our next match features two men who are very prominent in IIWF present. SR: More like IIWF past, Dross -- and even then, it's a very small part, a tiny part -- something I hear Quigley is familiar with. LB: Ever the gossip monger, Mr. Roberts? SR: I hear things. I hear things. LB: Have you been speaking to that young, blond fellow who Chris Quigley has been squiring around the locker room? SR: Hah! See, even Byron knows about Troy. TD: Steve Roberts, don't use the Intercontinental Champion to spread your vicious lies. LB: I'll have you know Lord Byron has never -- will never -- be used by anyone. Everything that I might say is the gospel truth unless I tell you otherwise -- and if I do tell these peasants a moderate prevarication none of them are of sufficient intellectual capability to discern it. SR: Hah! What he said, Dross! TD: Let's get to ringside. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley vs. Subway Psycho =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee fails to notice that a ringside fan has affixed a "Free Leon White!" sign to the back of his jacket as he takes the mic...] SL: The following contest is set for one fall. Introducing first.... [Big Pop as "For Those About To Rock" begins.] SL: ...weighing 243 lbs. and hailing from Corner Brook, Newfoundland, Canada... "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! [Quigley hits the aisle to a big pop by his fans... which then turns to a startled cheer as the fans notice that Quigley's customary look has been radically altered. "Quickstrike" is wearing raggedly faded blue jean shorts with a plaid shirt tied around his waist and a brown unbuttoned leather jacket. He walks directly to the ring, largely ignoring the outstretched hands of his fans before hitting the ring and climbing to the midbuckle.] TD: Well, this certainly is a departure from the Chris Quigley we all know. SR: Hey, Quigley's hardcore! I didn't know Scott Levy was with the promotion. LB: He appears as if dressed by the relief workers. This... town, as you call it, has a chapter of the Salavation Army, yes? TD: It certainly is symbolic of some of the changes this man is going through. I believe that Chris Quigley has recognized that he may never have a better opportunity than right now... than May 10, at Birthday Bash, to capture the one prize that continues to elude him. [Quigley removes his new silver wire rimmed sunglasses, obviously a step up in expense from those which he has previously sported, and he silently stretches along the ropes.] SL: And his opponent... [Big Pop as "Crazy Train" kicks in over the P.A.] SL: ...from the subways of New York City, he weighs 255 lbs. and is a former IIWF Heavyweight Champion of the World... the "People's Champion", the Subway Psycho! [The sound of the roaring subway heralds the arrival of the "People's Champion", the former champ stepping out of the brilliant white light and on into the aisle to a big pop from his fans. The Subway Psycho quickly makes his way into the ring... taking a place in its center as a volley of fireworks go off around him.] TD: The "People's Champion"! Admit it, Lord Byron, just once you would like to know the kind of adulation that comes with such a distinction. LB: I believe I'll remain content with my two real championship belts -- and let the underground dweller have his claim as champion of... these people. [Ding! Ding! Ding! Quigley and the Psycho are face-to-face, neither man communicating at all until the Psycho extends a hand to Quigley... who simply stares at him coldly... and the two men lock up collar and elbow. Quigley aggressively forcing the bigger man into the corner, cuffing him with quick forearms until the official breaks. Quigley gives a clean break -- but is then back at the Psycho with two knee lifts that pound him back into the corner. Quigley cross-corner whips -- reverse by Psycho -- and Quigley hits the corner, but avoids the buckle by hopping deftly to the apron... up to the top rope... and takes the charging Psycho down with a top rope leap into a sunset flip and a quick cover... 1 - 2 - kickout.] TD: Nicely done by Chris Quigley, he shows early on his quickness advantage over the Subway Psycho LB: Another biscuit, Mr. Roberts? SR: I love this guy. Do you know where a man can get some good late night french toast in Portland? [Subway Psycho is up and applies a wristlock... which Quigley reverses and converts into an armwringer, stepping over to increase the pressure on that shoulder of the Subway Psycho. Quigley then goes behind, moving to a hammerlock -- standing switch -- and Quigley takes a step back and with an almost imperceptible swivel takes Subway Psycho to the mat with a drop toe hold. Pop from the more technically-minded members of the crowd. Quigley applies a reverse chinlock and moves to a seated cross arm scissors that has the Psycho completely bottled up... the official looks for a submission but none is forthcoming, Quigley tightening up those scissors in what now is more familiarly known as a modified STF -- and the official again is asking the Subway Psycho for a submission as Quigley methodically wears away at the upper torso of the People's Champion.] TD: You have got to be impressed, even you have got to be impressed, Lord Byron, with the technical expertise of a man like Chris Quigley. LB: I will be the first to recognize another man's abilities. I am not like some of these other so-called superstars who cast a blind eye toward the worth of his peers. Chris Quigley is a sound technician -- I was well tested during my victory over him. SR: What my new buddy is trying to say is that Chrissie Kick-Me couldn't beat him if he brought a bag of rocks to the ring. [Subway Psycho is finally able to grab the ropes -- the official breaks -- and Quigley backs up... but again, just momentarily, as he remains focused on the Subway Psycho, dropping him back to the mat in a double leg takedown, turning him face first and looking to apply...] TD: Oh my! Chris Quigley was just a step from applying that Quickstriker. We would have been out of here early. SR: I could really go for a stack of french toast right about now. Maple syrup. Yeah, that'll work, baby dolls. TD: Lord Byron, it seems to me like Chris Quigley is particularly intent today, I have rarely seen him so focused. LB: I would never deign to delve into the thought processes of someone like Chris Quigley; however, with Birthday Bash on the horizon, he may be sending his version of a message to Casey "Blackheart" James. [Each man is on his feet, Quigley applying a sharp wristlock again that he maneuvers into a standing side headlock -- go behind by the Psycho into a waistlock... and into a big released German suplex that sends Quigley hard to the mat! Pop! The Subway Psycho does not wait, sensing that his opportunities against a man like Quigley may be few and far between. The Psycho takes down Quigley with two quick armdrags, into an armbar which Quigley escapes into a go-behind, running the Psycho into the ropes... but the Psycho hangs on to the top, the momentum taking Quigley back into the center of the ring. Subway Psycho turns and charges with a running lariat... but it's Quigley who is able to lock on with a crucifix that takes the Psycho down into a cover... 1 - 2 - kickout by the Subway Psycho!] TD: It's the precision of Chris Quigley which is most striking tonight, Steve Roberts, week after week we have seen victory seem to slip from his grasp, Chris Quigley is taking no chances in this matchup. SR: Quigley being this close to men like me and Lord Byron is a risk, Dross. The IC champ and the Soundbite just might decide to go postal on both these chumps. LB: I don't know if that will be necessary, Mr. Roberts. The ringside area is about to be a little more occluded. TD: Here comes Casey James! [The champion confidently bgins to make his way down the aise, the big, gold IIWF Championship belt draped lazily over his left shoulder. James seems to soak in the jeers of the big crowd as he moves in an overly languid fashion down to the ringside area.] TD: What does he want here, Steve Roberts? SR: Uh, hell, Dross, maybe he wants a Dani Jarvier ice cream bar. LB: Couple of licks... and it's all gone. [James' ringside appearance momentarily distracts Quigley sufficiently such that Subway Psycho is able to gain the upper hand, delivering a series of rapid fire boots to Quigley's midsection - and snapping him hard to the mat with a tiger driver into a cover... 1 - 2 - kickout by Quigley. The Champ cockily stands at ringside, that IIWF belt still perched on his shoulder, and gives a bit of mock applause as the Psycho drags Quigley to his feet and Irish whips whips him into a high... high... high backdrop that sends Quigley thumping to the canvas! Big Psycho Pop!] TD: Now you see the high impact skills of a man like the Subway Psycho, he will devastate you with his arsenal of maneuvers. SR: He couldn't devastate the Intercontinental Champion, Dross. My man Byron beat both of these bums. Ain't that right, your Lordship? LB: Modesty will not allow me to pursue this line of thought, Mr. Roberts. Suffice it to say that I have had the success that I am due with all of the superstars of the IIWF. TD: All except a certain red-gloved rookie, Lord Byron. LB: His time will come, you can count on that, Creed will understand the difference between athletic ability and true ringsmanship. [The Subway Psycho has locked onto a reverse chin, wrenching away at Quigley's neck as the "Quickstrike" fights his way off the mat. Quigley sending a series of sharp elbows at the Psycho's midsection as the two men return to a vertical base, the roars for the Canadian increase as he is able to Irish whip the Psycho -- Quigley drops his head -- into an inverted neckbreaker by the Subway Psycho that sends Chris Quigley crashing... crashing into the canvas for another cover by the "People's Champion"... 1 - 2 - NO! Kickout by Chris Quigley! Casey James turns to the crowd, yelling "Are you kiddin' me? This guy's gonna take the belt? I don't think so!" The Subway Psycho continues to work Quigley over, dropping a series of methodical legs onto the head and neck area of the Quickstrike, trying once... and then again for a pinfall, but is only able to pick up the two count. The Subway Psycho is now showing some signs of frustration, shaking his head at Quigley as he continues to lie on the mat. James begins to laugh at the People's Champion, starting a minor chant among his fans of "Has-been! Has-been!" -- that causes the Psycho to halt his onslaught and take a swipe at James... who is easily able to move out of the way -- but this is not the case with the Psycho who is takes a high knee from Quigley who then rolls him up into an inside cradle for a one count... ...reverse cradle by the Subway Psycho! 1 - 2 - Quickstrike bridges up... snapping his shoulders into textbook position... arching his back, lifting a shocked Psycho... into a modified surfboard! Quigley's got the surfboard on the Subway Psycho!] TD: Oh my! Oh my! It's not just the number of submission holds that Chris Quigley has demonstrated tonight, Steve Roberts, it is the manner in which he has utilised them, look how he used the Psycho's momentum against him, taking him from the reverse cradle into the surfboard. That's gotta be a message to the champion. SR: Yeah, the message is, "Sure wish you weren't seven feet tall and 340 pounds, Mr. James, or maybe I could put one of my little holds on you too." [The Subway Psycho again, seems trapped by Quigley... the pain perhaps less from the hold than from the frustration -- the inability to free himself from Quigley. The People's Champ tries to force his musculature down on Quigley... and Quigley's shoulders are moving down... down to the mat...] LB: The pitfall of the surboard, Chris Quigley is about to... TD: OH MY! [Quigley's shoulders graze the canvas for a one count, but his rotation never halts, Quickstrike able to completely rotate from underneath the Psycho's girth, his head bumping the mat along the way, into a full flip overtop the Subway Psycho that culminates in both men momentarily seeming... seeming almost to hover above the ring before Quigley drops the Psycho to the mat with a fireman's carry takedown that brings a resounding pop from the capacity crowd!] TD: Unbelievable! SR: What the hell was that? TD: Chris Quigley defies the laws of physics, Steve Roberts, that... that's unbelievable. LB: An astounding maneuver, I will concede to Chris Quigley, I'll need to analyze the film on that one. ["Quickstrike" is clearly dizzy from the acrobatics as well as the shot to the head -- but nevertheless tenaciously grapevines the leg, snapping down on the Psycho with another in the litany of submisson maneuvers. Casey James is now peering underneath the bottom rope, and he is obviously quietly speaking to Chris Quigley, who rests only a few feet away. James is telling Quigley that he isn't good enough... that he'll never be good enough... that deep down inside he knows he'll always be number two... Quigley doesn't look at the Champ, but with each comment, with every syllable which escapes Casey's throat, he tightens the scissor on the Psycho's legs, ratchets it up again and again until The People's Champ resembles a twisted hunk of fried dough that even the most confident of carnival vendors could not pass off as aesthetically acceptible.] TD: I don't know if I have ever seen either man quite like this, the Subway Psycho is obviously not on his game, distracted perhaps by the spectre of Tiger Claw, the man who's seemed to be pulling his strings for so long. And Chris Quigley, look at him in his jean shorts, the... the scowl on his face as he tries to finish the People's Champion -- a man who he saved from a Syndicate attack back at Ring Wars. He needs that IIWF title -- he has to have the IIWF title. [The official repeatedly checks the Psycho for a submission, as well as making three nearfall counts on his dropping shoulders. The fans are now solidly behind the Subway Psycho as he musters up perhaps his last burst of energy, his body beginning to twitch, his fists shaking as he...] TD: He sits straight up! The Subway Psycho has powered out of the double leg grapevine! [James throws his hands up in the air, sneering as the crowd gives a huge face pop to the Subway Psycho, who rips Quigley across the face with two, three, four big right hands to break the hold! Each man is now on his feet, the Subway Psycho whips Quigley nearside and drops him hard to the mat with a running lariat! Pop! Quigley is back to his feet, back to another irish whip and then back down hard with a running lariat that spins "Quickstrike" 360 degrees into the canvas once again! Big Pop! Quigley moves up more slowly now... into the hardest whip yet by the Subway Psycho who picks him up into a monstrous gorilla press than ends with Quigley's being tossed high, so high into the air -- and smashing down face first into the canvas! Big pop!] TD: Oh, that might do it... that might just do it, the Subway Psycho has found his reserve of energy and... he's going up... he's going up the the De-railer! [The Psycho moves to the corner, pointing at James as he goes, the crowd rising as one as he reaches the buckle into his somersault legdrop...] TD: HE MISSED IT! HE MISSED IT! [Quigley is just able to roll free from the drop, staggers to his feet, grabs the legs of the Subway Psycho... steps over... Huge Pop!] TD: QUICKSTRIKER! Quigley's got the Quickstriker on the Subway Psycho! It's over! LB: Note the proximity to the ropes, the Psycho should be able to reach those ropes. [Quigley's got the shock Quickstriker, everyone in the arena on his feet, yelling for their particular favorite. The two men are right near the ropes, just inches... inches from the outstretched fingertips of the Psycho. Quigley now looks Casey James dead in the face... the Champion leaning in just beyond the ropes, that Championship belt perched like a buzzard on his shoulder as the two men could hardly be closer and not in the ring together. But they are not together, the man in the Quickstriker is the Subway Psycho -- and he stretches... stretches... his fingertip dazzlingly close to the ropes -- Quigley does not bend backward, preferring to stare coldly, hardly, firmly in the face of the IIWF Champion... the official checks for a submission as the Psycho lets out a scream... yelling, "NO... NO... HELL, NO!"] TD: He's giving it all he has... the Subway Psycho is giving it everyting he has -- how do you stop men like he and Chris Quigley? LB: I've found a brass-topped cane usually does the trick. [Quigley digs deep with the Quickstriker... Subway Psycho thrusts his arm as far as it is intended to go... Casey James smiles broadly, mouths the word "Showtime!"... and slowly moves to climb the apron... ...the official reaches over to admonish James... ....and Quigley is dropped to the mat with a spinning heel kick to the back of the head from Tiger Claw! Tiger Claw nails Chris Quigley and bails out the back! The official turns... sees the backropes moving and runs to the other side of the ring... allowing Casey James to plant the Subway Psycho over the head with the Championship belt! James steps back... then rolls the prone Psycho atop the prone Quigley! Subway Psycho is on top of Quigley! The official dives down... and...] TD: Quigley reverses! Chris Quigley reverses! He's got one... He's got two... [...as the official is set to count three, Casey James places the Subway Psycho's foot over the bottom rope -- and the official stops the count! Casey James saves the Subway Psycho! Quigley, still in an obvious fog from the Claw kick, realizes that James has cost him the victory... and lunges with a right hand... at exactly the same time the official was leaning through the ropes to again warn Blackheart...] TD: He hit him! Chris Quigley just hit the official! SR: He coldcocked him, Dross! Quigley hit Earl Alfonso! TD: It was unintentional, Steve Roberts... it was obviously unintentional. LB: That's the kind of favoritism I cannot abide, were it I or another so-called "rulebreaker", you would be calling for an immediate suspension. [The official is down, draped under the ropes. And Claw and James now swarm over Quigley, putting a series of boots to him in the middle of the ring. Quigley is desperately trying to fight back, the Subway Psycho still out from the belt shot. The brutal double team continues, James now dropping the belt to the mat -- and pulling Quigley to his feet, setting him up for another spinning heel kick by the Tiger Claw...] TD: This is bad... this is... Quigley slipped it! Tiger Claw just knocked out Casey James!! [Huge pop! Claw puts his hands to his head, clearly distraught at the turn of events, and when he whips his head back... he is floored by a superkick by Quigley that brings another huge pop from the crowd! The official remains down... Subway Psycho remains down... and Chris Quigley spies the IIWF Championship belt on the mat! Big pop! Quigley's fans are urging, pleading with their man to pick up the belt... to take the belt that so rightly belongs to him... Quigley looking almost longingly at that big gold belt that sits lonely on the canvas. James begins to stir... and Quigley abandons his stare of the belt... grabs the legs of the champion... and puts him in the Quickstriker! Quigley has Casey James in the Quickstriker! The crowd roars its approval as the champion is down on the mat...] TD: Nowhere to run! Nowhere to hide! He's got Casey James right in the middle of the ring! Oh no! SR: YES! Brody Thunder! [Thunder charges into the ring, picking up the championship belt and nailing Quigley with a blow to the back of the head! Big Syndicate POP! Quickstrike drops like a shot to the mat... and a hobbling James is now helped to his feet by Thunder. James spits on Quigley and delivers a couple of sharp boots to the ribs, before regaining his big smile and grabbing the Subway Psycho from the canvas. James delivers The People's Champion to a now standing Tiger Claw, as Thunder now fingers the Championship belt, Brody Thunder gently thumping it on his palm, as if checking the heft of the big strap. Claw has returned the Psycho to the mat with two sharply placed roundkicks that leaves the underground dweller next to Quigley on the canvas. James and Claw celebrate and return to Thunder, James extending his hand, asking for the return of his Championship Belt. Brody looks at James... then at the belt... then back at James... and gives the prize back to its rightful possessor. Big Pop! James playfully chucks Thunder's shoulder as the cowboy exits the ring, then the Champion looks at both men laid out on the canvas, takes a coin from his pocket and flips it into the air... shrugs his shoulders... and then places the Psycho atop Quigley -- and awakens the official!] TD: They just flipped a coin to decide who wins... the Syndicate is playing games with these two men... playing games with the entire IIWF -- it is just wrong! It is outrageous! [James and Claw leave to a huge heel pop, debris entering the aisle as James waves that big, gold strap at the "booing" crowd. The official is staggering to his feet, trying to collect his bearings, the Subway Psycho draped atop Chris Quigley...] TD: Quigley reverses again! Quigley rolls up the Subway Psycho! Here comes Earl Alfonso! [The official drops down... and asks for the bell! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: What in the...?! Here's Sparkplug Lee with the decision... [The crowd stands expectantly, Chris Quigley now giving up the cover and woozily swaying on his knees in the middle of the ring.] SL: Your winner... as a result of a disqualification... SUBWAY PSYCHO! [Big Pop as "Crazy Train" begins an Alfonso raises the Psycho's hand. Quigley does not move... not a muscle... instead he continues to stare... stare as if in a trance from which he cannot awaken.] TD: This is a terrible decision! A terrible decision! Subway Psycho fought like a champion -- but he was defeated -- even after all the Syndicate interference, Chris Quigley still won this match! SR: He hit the official, Dross. Quigley hit the official and got disqualified! Stop making excuses for him. LB: Justice would seem to have been served. [The Subway Psycho has left the ring to a good pop... but Quigley continues to stay, now standing, rubbing his chin with a calm seeming to have taken over his body... but his eyes... the eyes show something different... Quigley clearly seen to mouth the words, "Fine...that's just fine." as he exits the ring to a big pop from his sympathetic fans.] TD: Well, I don't know about the battle royal... I don't know about the time limit draws... but I do believe that Chris Quigley has been ripped off here tonight. SR: It's called a show of force, Dross. The Syndicate owns the belt -- that means they own the IIWF. They decide who wins, when they win, and by how much they win. Chris Quigley is never gonna win the IIWF Championship. Never. TD: I wouldn't be too sure, Steve Roberts... I think that we are going to see a Chris Quigley on May 10 unlike we have ever seen before -- a man who will battle each and every member of the Syndicate with every breath in his body. Chris Quigley's back has never been more against the wall than it is right now... and we will finally see just what is really inside that man at Birthday Bash. LB: If you gentlemen would excuse me, I will take my leave. I have a dinner date with Milady, I would invite you, Mr. Roberts, but I know how Dross would miss your company. Ciao. [Byron exits, his two championship belts in tow, to a heel pop from the fans. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: The long awaited clash between Brody Thunder and Mad Dog Watkins is just moments away, folks! This match should be your cup of tea, Steve. SR: It most certainly is. This is the biggie, Dross, the third and deciding match of the feud. There's gonna be hardcore brawling, chairshots, and general wrestling mayhem like only these two roughnecks know how to present! TD: I hope the stretcher teams are ready this evening. These guys are so intense it's conceivable _both_ of their careers could be ended tonight. SR: Enough blathering, let's cut to that gimp Sparkplug Lee for the intros. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. Mad Dog Watkins =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: RD [The spotlight falls on centre ring, where Sparkplug Lee is swigging from a hip flask. Lee notices all eyes are upon him and hurriedly stashes the liqour away before raising the mic to his lips.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen! The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is your main event for Saturday Night! [crowd pop] Introducing first, hailing from Tombstone, Arizona; weighing in at 267 lbs; here is "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! [The theme from "High Plains Drifter" resounds throughout the Coliseum and Brody Thunder appears at the head of the aisle. The fans give him a tremendous response, some cheering and some jeering. Brody puffs on a stogie and surveys the scene with his steely gaze before heading down the aisle to the ring. He climbs between the ropes and paces the ring methodically.] RA: And his opponent, hailing from Detroit, Michigan; weighing in at 269 lbs; here is Mad Dog Watkins! ["Paint it Black" by the Rolling Stones thunders over the loudspeakers and Watkins heads slowly down the aisle. As with Brody Thunder, the crowd explodes with a mixed response in his presence. Watkins wears a stony cold expression on his face and a dangerous gleam is in his eyes.] TD: Mad Dog Watkins has the most intimidating staredown I've ever seen in the IIWF. SR: He'd make Mike Tyson take a step back, Timmy boy. Brody Thunder isn't the sort of man that you can intimidate easily, however. [Mad Dog Watkins climbs between the ropes, not allowing his eyes to flick away from Thunder for even a moment. The two men face up nose to nose in centre ring; staring holes through each other, both perhaps searching for a sign of weakness in the other man's eyes. The ref stands nearby, warning the wrestlers to keep it clean; nobody pays any attention. The ref signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! Neither man makes a move however, both content to continue the staredown. Brody Thunder says something low and menacing, and Mad Dog Watkins responds in kind. A few cries of "Get on with it!" and "Go on, hit 'im one then!" can be heard from the crowd.] TD: Boy, I wish we could hear what they're saying to each other. SR: I bet they're not discussing which pub to have a beer together at after the card. TD: The wisdom of Steve Roberts once again shines above us all. [The two brawlers continue to jaw in each others faces. Watkins says something, and Brody responds by taking a big draw on his stogie and exhaling the smoke in Mad Dog's face. Watkins shakes his head, gives a grim smile, and pops Brody right in the mouth with a right cross! The crowd's brimming anticipation explodes in a big pop! Brody drops his stogie and stumbles back. Watkins follows up by battering the "Lone Wolf" with two uppercuts to the midsection, a straight right and a swinging left hook, staggering the cowboy up against the ropes! Brody grunts, digs his heels in and comes fighting back with a wild haymaker glancing off Watkins' nose. Brody bulls inside the taller Watkins' reach and works away at his midsection with a series of short, stiff jabs. Watkins is winded, and Brody staggers him backwards with a series of swinging haymakers until the Mad Dog is slumped against the opposite ring ropes! Big crowd pop!] TD: Whoa! We're finally underway and both men just battered each other across the length of the ring! SR: This is great! We're not gonna be bored by Japanese arm drags and chicken wing submission holds in this bout. What we're gonna see is an old fashioned fistfight, just the way I like it! [Watkins yells "Is that all you got cowboy?" and springs off the ropes, cracking Thunder's jaw with his elbow. Brody is whipped around by the force of the blow and clutches his face. Watkins seizes him from behind, lifts him up, and brings Thunder down on his knee with a crunching atomic drop. Big pop from the crowd! Thunder howls in pain and doubles up, before taking a few limping steps forward. Mad Dog Watkins charges in from behind and slams the back of Thunder's neck with a running clothesline! Brody is carried forward by the momentum of the blow and goes tumbling over the top rope, landing hard on the arena floor. Gasp from the fans at ringside! In the ring Watkins pumps his fists in the air to a big mixed pop.] TD: Mad Dog Watkins suddenly takes control, dealing Brody Thunder a great deal of punishment. SR: But look, Timmy boy, it doesn't seem to be effecting him, he's getting straight back up! [Brody Thunder winces, but gets to his feet on the arena floor. He beckons to Watkins up in the ring, "Come on, yer lily-livered swine, hit me again!" Watkins scowls and runs to the ropes. Brody braces himself. Watkins bounds off the ropes, charges towards the opposite strands and then dives between the ropes, launching himself at Brody Thunder! The cowboy refuses to shift aside and takes the full brunt of Watkins' weight as the Mad Dog flies into him. Both men go tumbling, but Brody manages to grapple Watkins and smash him side on into the steel crowd barriers as they come down. Brody himself strikes the barriers hard with his shoulder. Awed pop from the crowd!] TD: Did you see that! Mad Dog Watkins flew at Brody Thunder outside the ring with a flying bodypress and Thunder just stood there and took it! SR: These men are tough, Dross! They don't need to move aside for nobody! [Both men just lean against the barrier and catch their breath for a moment, Brody clutching his shoulder and Watkins holding his kidney area and wincing. Brody staggers over to Watkins and rams his knee hard into the Mad Dog's tender kidney area. Watkins lets out a gasp of pain and slumps over the crowd railings. Thunder grabs hold of the Mad Dog and hurls him bodily into the steel ring steps to a resounding clatter! Shocked pop from the crowd! Brody gathers up some cable from the arena floor and approaches Watkins, who is lying prostrate over the ring steps. Brody roughly wraps the cords tight around Watkins' neck. The veteran struggles, but Thunder merely plants his foot on the Mad Dog's chest and yanks hard on the cord! Watkins gags and clutches at his throat as the Coliseum resounds with deafening jeers.] TD: Oh my goodness! Brody Thunder doesn't even care about winning the match, he just wants to damage Watkins as much as possible! SR: That's the essence of the game for the real tough wrestlers, Timmy boy. Winning and losing is only secondary to the amount of punishment they can dish out. I should know, I belong to the ranks of the tough guys myself. TD: In that case you must be the world's first tough guy to step into the ring wearing feather boas. [Thunder repeatedly yanks the cable, causing Watkins to writhe in pain. Ding! Ding! Ding! The bell sounds but Brody doesn't even seem to notice.] RA: Ladies and Gentlemen, both men have been counted out of the ring! Therefore, the result of this contest is a draw! TD: Neither of these guys are going to be satisfied with that result. I have a feeling that this "decider" match hasn't really decided anything at all. SR: Great! That means we get to see these guys beat each other up for a fourth time! TD: Look! Brody hasn't acknowledged the end of the bout yet! He must release Mad Dog Watkins from those cables or risk causing permanent damage! SR: Ha! Watkins' face is turning purple. [Brody drags Watkins to his feet, the cable still wrapped tight around the veteran's throat. The cowboy gets a good bit of slack on the cord and uses it to whip Mad Dog Watkins head first into the steel crowd barriers! The impact registers audibly around the arena and the barriers fly inwards, causing the ringside fans to scatter. Brody drags Watkins up once again with the cord.] SR: [overjoyed] He's gonna do it again! [Thunder swings round in the opposite direction and this time uses the cord to whip Watkins into the steel ring steps! There is a resounding clatter as the veteran's head once again meets the cold, hard steel. Big heel pop from the crowd! Brody drops the cable and goes over to the ringside officials. He throws one of the suits out of their seat and folds up the steel chair. Watkins lies breathless on the arena floor, working to free the cords from his throat. A nasty gash has been opened on his forehead, and blood drips slowly down his face. Thunder approaches the fallen veteran with the chair.] TD: Oh my goodness! Does this man's brutality know no bounds? This carnage must be stopped! SR: Oh hell, here comes the Jobber Justice Squad to break up the fun and games. [The entire Jobber Justice Squad storms ringside to break up the melee. Brody Thunder turns his attention away from Mad Dog Watkins. A dangerous gleam is in his eyes as he yells at the squad  to "Stay the [BLEEP] away from a real man's fight or there'll be hell to pay!" The jobbers approach a bit more warily. Scott "the Whine" Bloom attempts to coax Thunder away from the ring and is met by a chair across the forehead! The jobber goes down. The Barnacle Brothers charge in and they too, are kayoed by the chair-wielding Thunder. Mad Dog Watkins frees himself from the cord and staggers to his feet, trying to get his breath back. Brody charges into the midst of the Jobber Justice Squad, dealing knock-out blows with his chair to Bobby B. Goode and the Rotundos. El Super Gecko approaches Watkins in a dubious looking martial arts stance, but the veteran disposes of him with a running clothesline.] SR: [laughing loudly] The Jobber Justice Squad are getting creamed! This is the greatest! TD: Those poor, under-paid, misunderstood grapplers. SR: Huh? [Mad Dog Watkins seizes up a chair of his own and uses it to blast an incoming "Nifty" Ned Norton. Brody Thunder meanwhile, deposits Jumpin' Jack over the crowd barrier with a mighty blow, and drops Majestic Maurice MacArthur by ramming the chair into his midsection. The entire Jobber Justice Squad are laid out around the ring! All ten men lie in various prone positions, clutching their heads and bemoaning their fate. Brody Thunder and Mad Dog Watkins look around, and see that all have been vanquished except for each other. Once again they approach each other, both armed with a steel chair. Simultaneoulsy, they swing at each others' heads, and the two chairs clash in mid-air. Both men stagger back under the force of the parry. They take a moment to collect themselves, and then swing once again! Again, the two chairs collide, but this time Watkins catches one of Thunder's fingers and the cowboy drops his chair with a yell of pain.] TD: Now it's time for Mad Dog Watkins to exact a little bit of revenge. SR: It's all the same to me. As long as somebody is getting beat up, I'm happy. [Watkins sees a disarmed opponent in front of him and savours the moment. Brody Thunder yells "Yer better make it a good one son!" Watkins smiles and brings the chair crashing down on Thunder's forehead. The cowboy staggers backwards and falls against the crowd barriers. Watkins, still bleeding profusely, rams the chair into Brody's knee, and then again into his mid-section. Thunder looks dazed and winded, but is offered no mercy from the Mad Dog. Watkins' takes a good wind-up, then swings the chair at Thunder once again, catching him a good one across the head and sending the cowboy tumbling over the barrier and into the crowd! Shocked gasp from the fans! Watkins drops the chair and pumps his fists in the air, drawing a mixed response from the crowd. Thunder crawls away from ringside, through the sea of legs; heading for the fan entrance. Watkins notices the escape attempt and vaults the barriers, chasing Brody through the crowd.] TD: I've heard of interaction with the fans before but this is ridiculous. SR: Is there no end to what these guys will go through to tear chunks out of each other? They'd pursue each other to the ends of the earth to throw just one extra punch. Incredible! [Brody gets to his feet and staggers through the crowd, out of the fan entrance and into the concession area. He looks around dazedly, not quite in possession of his faculties after the ringing chair shots. Watkins makes his way through the crowd and follows his foe into the concession area, clotheslining him down from behind! The veteran stomps away on Thunder's ribs and throat, intent on inflicting as much pain as possible. A nearby security guard attempts to restrain Watkins, but the Mad Dog throws him careening into the wall. Thunder is attempting to stagger to his feet, and Watkins helps him along by locking the cowboy in a headlock. Watkins charges and the two go crashing through the double doors and out into the Coliseum lobby!] TD: Unbelievable! The match finished ten, fifteen minutes ago and these guys are still going at it! The rivalry runs deep between Mad Dog Watkins and Brody Thunder. SR: Well, it's a matter of professional pride Timmy boy. Both of these guys are intent on proving just who the toughest man in the IIWF is, and to give one inch is a sign of cowardice from their viewpoint. [Brody Thunder breaks Watkins' grip by ramming an elbow into his midsection, and the two begin trading shots once again. Both men are beaten-up, worn down and punch drunk, and each blow comes slow and wobbly. The fight continues unabated until the combatants find themselves at the IIWF merchandise stand. A scrawny, pimply looking sales assistant standing behind the counter looks on in fear as Brody lifts up Mad Dog Watkins and brings him crashing down onto the countertop. Watkins rolls off and grabs the first piece of merchandise he can find. It turns out to be an Alex Rio "Talking Mirror" which the veteran uses to halt Thunder's advance with a wild swing.] TD: Folks, we're rapidly running out of time here on IIWF Saturday Night. Be sure to call up the IIWF Hotline tomorrow to find out the exclusive run-down of the brawl. SR: What a swiz! You mean we're gonna go off the air during one of the most heated brawls in IIWF history? I demand an extra five minutes! TD: We're already running over, folks -- but there's sure to be another meeting between these two athletes... perhaps at Birthday Bash in two weeks' time! For now, this is -- oh my! -- Tim Dross, saying: so long everybody! [Mad Dog Watkins vaults back over the counter and begins to bludgeon Brody thunder with the Alex Rio mirror as the cameras 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+