[Fade up on aerial footage shot from a helicopter over San Francisco bay, the skyline of the city in a distant haze. Cars swarm across the Golden Gate Bridge as the sun beats down on the water of the Bay, casting glimmers of silver on the surface. The shot, accompanied by fast-paced backing music, continues as a voice over begins:] VO: San Francisco, California... the first stop on the IIWF's "Coronation Clash Crusade Tour". [Cut to shots of the IIWF Express bus pulling up outside the Cow Palace, and Tim Dross, Larry Morton and Jackson Witt descending from the bus, all carrying duffel bags. As they enter the lobby, the shot pans up to show the banner above the entrance advertising tonight's show.] VO: The Cow Palace, home of some of the most intense wrestling battles in history. Tonight, the history books will be rewritten. Tonight, IIWF World Heavyweight Champion Casey James finally faces the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder, the man who has ensured that his title reign has been the longest in IIWF history. Will that reign come to an end tonight? Or will the Syndicate have the last laugh once again? [Mix through to live footage of the banner above the entrance. Pan down to show that it is now evening, and the lights of the city illuminate the scene. The last few straggling fans bustle to enter the arena.] VO: It's here. It's now. It's... [The opening graphics explode onto the screen and the introductory music kicks in:] ##### ###### ### ########## ########## ########## #### ## ########## ########## ########## #### # #### ######## ##### ##### #### ## ##### #### #### #### #### ### #### #### #### #### ############# ######### #### #### ########### ######### #### #### #### #### #### ######### ######### ### #### #### ######### ######### ### ## #### ######## ######## ## # #### =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ## =-=-=-= INTERNATIONAL INTERNET WRESTLING FEDERATION =============================================== S + A + T + U + R + D + A + Y N + I + G + H + T ----------------------------------------------- + LiVE! + 31 May 1997 + LiVE! + + The Cow Palace, San Francisco, California + [The opening graphics fade through to interior shots of the jam-packed Cow Palace. Fireworks explode high in the rafters as the capacity twelve 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 a "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!" t-shirt.] TD: Welcome everybody to San Francisco, California! Welcome everybody to the venerable home of pro wrestling in the Bay, the Cow Palace! Welcome to the "Coronation Clash Crusade Tour"! Welcome to the hottest two hours of wrestling on television anywhere in the world! Welcome to IIWF Saturday Night! SR: Sheesh, enough already, Dross. TD: I'm sorry, Steve. I'm just excited to be here in this historic building. You can practically feel the history dripping off the walls here. SR: The only thing I can see dripping off the walls is the sweat of these red-necked morons, Dross. TD: Folks, welcome to the arena that was the homebase of the legendary Ray "the Crippler" Stevens. I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my broadcast colleague, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. What a night of action we have coming up here tonight, folks. We're in the home state of a number of IIWF superstars -- including the red-gloved rookie, Creed. SR: Yeah, but the rookie won't be wrestling tonight, will he, Dross? Huh? Will he? TD: No, Steve, indeed he won't. Creed, of course, is still out of action with that MCL tear in his right knee, but I know that he is in attendance here tonight, and he may well have a message for the IIWF Intercontinental Champion, Lord Byron, whose cane he stole last week. SR: Strangely appropriate how a cripple would steal a cane, huh, Dross? TD: Other local stars in action here tonight are the Zodiac Connection and the W & W Express, who will have a "King of Hollywood" match right here tonight, the winning team leaving with the honorary title of "King of Hollywood". SR: Whose stupid idea was that, Dross? We're nowhere near Los Angeles. TD: Closer than Oregon, Steve. What a main event we have for you tonight, folks. You saw the challenge last week -- Brody Thunder will tonight face the man whose title he has saved on countless occasions over the past few months, Casey "Blackheart" James. What a match that's going to be. SR: Thunder's an ingrate, Dross. Brian Lau was working on getting Thunder a shot at the IC belt, but that's not enough for that stinking cowboy, is it? Oh no, he's got to have the big belt, the belt that belongs to Casey James. TD: With all due respect, Steve, it appeared to a number of people that Lau has only been looking out for Casey James and Tiger Claw -- after all, it was Claw who got the IC shot last week, and not Thunder, who arguably deserves it more. SR: That's a bunch of crap, and you know it, Dross. TD: Well, in any case, that's going to be quite a main event later on tonight. We'll also see the Intercontinental Championship on the line as Lord Byron defends against the man he attacked last Saturday Night, Tony Starks. And we'll also see the fate of the Cruiserweight Championship decided, as the winners of last week's Four Corners matches, Ronnie Paris and Dirt Dog Unique Allah, square off. Will the IIWF's first third-generation athlete take home the gold, or will it be a clean sweep for the Age of Rage, who captured the World Tag Team championship last weekend? SR: Widdle Wonnie doesn't stand a chance, Dross. The Dirt Dog's hungry for that gold. TD: We'll see. Other great matches coming up tonight include the newest members of Genesis, Cold Spell, taking on the Harlequins. There's a great deal of bad blood between these two teams, and that promises to be an exciting matchup. We'll also see dethroned ex-tag champs, Pain Inc., attempt to take out their frustrations on newcomers Violence Unlimited, and Derek Mota will battle Marty Warnett. All that and much more coming up here tonight! [The camera cuts to the stands at ringside. There is a commotion as "Sychosys" Joe Petrow, dressed in his black "Symply Sychotic" robe and surrounded by his Sychopaths, makes his way to a cordoned-off area of the seating.] SR: Here he comes, Dross. The guy who's turned his back on the IIWF. But he hasn't turned his back on the paychecks, has he? TD: Joe Petrow will face the Subway Psycho in singles competition later tonight. Who knows what to expect from that encounter? [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: But before all that, we're set to see the return of the "Showstopper" Simon Lebec to the IIWF's rings, as he takes on El Super Gecko. I understand we have a link to Mr. Lebec in the locker room area. Simon, are you there? [Cut to a split-screen: on the left, Dross is shown at the broadcast table; on the right, "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec, sitting is his private locker room, swigging from what appears to be a flask of Jack Daniels.] SL: I'm here and... *burp* ...in person, Drossy! Hee! TD: Simon, is that hard liquor I see you drinking? SL: That is... exacitigly... coor... corrr... correct, sir! TD: Simon, you've got a match with El Super Gekko tonight! Are you mad?! SL: No way, Droosy... err... Drossy, my man!  I'm com... comple... completely sane!  I'm going to prove a point right here tonight!  Right here on IIIIIIIIWF Saturday Night!  My point?  Not only can I beat Geek-o into that.... you know.... that thing that we wrestle on. TD: The mat? SL: Yeah, that's it.  Not only can I beat Geek-o into the mat, but I can do so piss-loaded drunk! TD: This is crazy! SL: Nope, if it can be done, it'll be done by "The Shoestooper"! TD: "The Showstopper"? SL: Oh, you know him too? TD: Mr. Lebec, that's you! SL: Shhhhhh! Don't tell anyone.  It'll be our secret.  Where is Francois?  I sent him on a beer run ten minutes ago!  I like trees Timmy! TD: Uh, that's nice, Simon. SL: Why do we cut down our trees, Timmy?  They never hurt anyone. TD: Let's get back to ringside. You... you have a nice night, Simon. SL: You too, Timmy. Tree bark clears out the bowels, you know.  I... I like tree bark... [Cut back to a normal shot of the ringside broadcast table.] TD: I'm just hearing from the producer that there's been a slight change of plan. In order to give Mr. Lebec a chance to sober up, they've rescheduled his match for a little later on tonight. So let's get up to the ring for tonight's opener, pitting the Zodiac Connection against the W & W Express in a match for the coveted... SR: *coughs* Oh yeah, right. TD: [ignoring him] ..."King of Hollywood" title.  The team that emerges from this contest as the victor will be given this honorary coronation. SR: Wonderful.  Just what this place needs, another title floating around that looks like it got pulled out of a Cracker Jacks box. TD: I'll admit, perhaps it doesn't hold as much pull as the World Tag titles... SR: Not hold as much pull?  This is about as needed as a condom machine in the Vatican.  But, since it seems like this match is gonna go on no matter what the Soundbite thinks, let's just hope it goes to the hometown heroes. TD: They're _both_ from Hollywood, Soundbite. SR: So I can't lose. TD: Let's get to ringside for the announcement of the teams. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= KING OF HOLLYWOOD MATCH: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Zodiac Connection vs. W & W Express ----------------------------------- WRITER: RR [The shot cuts to the ring, where Sparkplug Lee, wearing a Golden Gate Bridge baseball cap, raises his microphone:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen... ummm... and everyone else who's here at the *ahem* beautiful Cow Palace... the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall, with the winning team to be crowned as the "Kings of Hollywood"! [Mixed reaction from the crowd, some cheering for the upcoming match, some booing at the mention of that other city down the coast.] RA: Introducing first, from Hollywood, California, and weighing in at a combined total weight of 500 pounds, here are "Late Night" Doug Wayne, Clark "Beach Bum" Watson... the W & W Express! [Guns 'n' Roses' "Paradise City" blasts over the loudspeakers as Watson and Wayne make their way to ringside, stopping occasionally to wave to a scattered celebrity in the crowd.  They climb into the ring, and stand on the turnbuckles facing the aisle, waiting for their opponents.] SR: [stands, shouting at the Express] Kick their... TD: [interrupting] Sit down, Steve. RA: And their opponents, also hailing from Hollywood, California...  [Groans from the crowd.] RA: ...at a combined weight of 575 pounds, here are Scorpio and Taurus, the Zodiac Connection! ["Paradise City" fades into "East 1999" by Bone Thugs and Harmony as Scorpio and Taurus emerge from the locker room.] SR: Where are Gemini? You know what they say about Gemini, Dross: "Double the pleasure, double the fun." TD: You're a lech, Steve. SR: Thank you. TD: As you well know, Steve, all non-wrestling personnel have been banned from ringside for tag team competition, pending a final decision from acting IIWF President Steve Owens. SR: That may take a while, Dross. Last I heard, Owens was gonna write a book. TD: What are you talking about, Steve? [The referee signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: And here's the start of the match, with Watson starting off against Scorpio. [Both men lock up in the center of the ring in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, and finally break when Scorpio executes a nice armdrag to send Watson to the mat in his own corner.  He converses for a moment with his partner, stands up, and strides out to the center of the ring, where the two lock up again.  This time it's Scorpio who gets sent for the ride with an equally impressive armdrag.] TD: And some basic moves traded by both wrestlers. SR: Yawn. [Scorpio gets to his feet and runs at Watson, who sidesteps and Irish whips him into the opposite ropes.  Scorpio ducks the ensuing clothesline attempt, stops short, and flattens Watson with a dropkick that catches him square in the chin.  Scorpio then wrehches the arm and drags his opponent over to his corner, where he tags in Taurus.] TD: The bigger Taurus coming into the ring now, and... OOF!  That had to hurt. [Taurus steps through the ropes, and promptly sends the held Watson to the mat with an axe-handle to the small of the back.  He picks up the prone Watson, body slams him, and drops a meaty leg across his chest.] SR: Watson's gotta move, or else Taurus is gonna eat 'im for lunch. TD: Not often that I agree with you, Steve, but on this case I feel I have to. SR: Don't get used to it. [Taurus whips Watson into the ropes and puts his head down for a back body drop.  Unbeknownst to him, Watson makes the tag to Wayne as he goes into the ropes, and leapfrogs over the ducking Zodiac member on the rebound, causing Taurus to turn around.] TD: I don't think Taurus saw the tag there, and Wayne's coming into the ring behind him! SR: Now _that's_ good teamwork. [Despite the screaming of Gemini, who is nearly drowned out by the crowd, Taurus spins to see Watson grab the ropes to stop himself, and shake his finger at him in a "naughty, naughty" fashion.  This doesn't last long, as Wayne charges off the ropes from behind and clips Taurus' knee out from under him, dropping the big man like a ton of bricks.  The Good Doctor just looks on passively, smiling.  A double-elbow drop later, Taurus is still on the mat, grabbing his knee weakly, the W & W Express are high-fiving each other, Scorpio is shaking his head in disbelief, and Soundbite is giggling like a madman.] SR: Oh, oh that was great.  Guess you can say they BULL-dozed Taurus. TD: Guess I can say you've gone off the deep end again. [Wayne picks Taurus up, deliberately, and sets him up for a DDT, nearly driving the Zodiac member's head through the mat in the process.  He then drags him over to his corner, where he tags in Watson again.  They rest Taurus against the turnbuckle, take a step back, and deliver a double superkick to Taurus' jaw that causes him to slump down weakly against the corner pads.] TD: And some nice double-team action there by the W & W Express. They really seem to have their act together tonight on their Saturday Night debut. SR: Well, look what they're fighting for.  It's the coveted "King of Hollywood" Title. [snicker] Can you blame them? [Watson pulls Taurus to the center of the ring, where he tosses him face-first onto the mat, grins at Scorpio, and applies a Camel Clutch. Ignoring the referee, Scorpio jumps into the ring, slingshots himself off the ropes behind Watson, and leaps over him, spinning in mid-air and catching Watson in a headscissors that flings the W & W Express member off Taurus' back and through the second and third ropes onto the floor.] TD: What a maneuver by Scorpio!  Watson's groggy on the floor, wondering what hit him! SR: Oh, sure.  They distracted the ref and the illegal man steals a potential win from the W & W Express, and it's a "great move".  If anyone else did that, you'd get your panties all in a bunch and cry foul. [Scorpio, seeing Watson dazed outside the ring, runs back to the opposite side, past a confused ref, and off the ropes, back to where his partner Taurus is waiting for him.  Taurus leans against the ropes on one knee, allowing Scorpio to "climb" up him like a small flight of stairs, and springboard straight up into the air off first Taurus' shoulder, then the top rope.] SR: Wow, for a someone named after a wingless animal, he gets some good time up in the air. [Wayne, seeing this, shouts something to his partner, who looks up in time to see Scorpio bearing down on him from about fifteen feet directly above him.  As Scorpio is about to crush him with a cross-body block, Watson catches him in the air, wrapping his arms around Scorpio's waist, and spins him, using Scoprio's downward momentum to execute a devastating stun-gun-like maneuver against the ring canvas. A collective "OOF" goes up from the crowd.] SR: Oh, he's gonna need dentistry work after that little crash landing. TD: It looks like Scorpio's out cold! SR: Well, duh! Watson just dribbled his head against the mat from goodness knows what height. [Taurus turns around, dismayed at what just happened, while Watson looks up at him and chuckles.  Wayne, meanwhile, has gotten into the ring, runs off the ropes, and clips Taurus' leg out from under him AGAIN.] SR: I'm starting to see a running trend here. TD: Well, after that, that's the only thing that's going to be running anywhere anytime soon. SR: [feigning surprise] Hey, you made a funny! I'm so proud of you.  TD: Cut that out. [Watson rolls back into the ring while Wayne struts back to his corner, picks up Taurus, and non-chalantly tags to his partner.  Wayne climbs the turnbuckle, while Watson sets up Taurus for a superplex, and nods to Wayne.] TD: It looks like they're going for the Vegginator!  This could be it! [Grunting audibly, Watson picks up Taurus in a superplex and drops him in the middle of the ring, then quickly rolls out of the way as his partner comes off the other turnbuckle with a leg drop.  Wayne rolls over, and hooks Taurus' leg with one arm, holdint the other one srtaight up inthe air in a sign of victory.  The ref begins the count... 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: It's over!  The W & W Express get the win! RA: Ladies and gentlemen, your winners, and the KINGS OF HOLLYWOOD... The W & W EXPRESS! [Wayne and Watson high-five each other in the middle of the ring, while Scorpio drags Taurus out of the ring and back up the aisle.] SR: Well, at least a respectable team got the not-so-respectable title. [The Express continue to celebrate in the ring to a mixed pop from the San Francisco crowd, and then leave the squared circle, heading back up the aisle to the locker room.] TD: A successful Saturday Night debut for the "dark horse" team of the IIWF, Steve. Up next, I understand we'll get to that match between Simon Lebec and El Super Gecko. Let's hope that Lebec's sobered up a bit. SR: Does it matter, Dross? Lebec could beat Gecko blind drunk with both his hands tied behind his back... hey, mind you, Chris Quigley likes that kind of thing. TD: I don't think we need to go there tonight, Steve. SR: Remember when Lebec kicked Quigley's butt all over the ring, Dross? Remember? Happy days, Timbo. TD: Let's get up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- "Showstopper" Simon Lebec vs. El Super Gecko -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: DS [Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring and raises his microphone as the bizarre hissing of El Super Gecko reverberates around the Cow Palace: "You... can't... hurt... the... lizzzzzard!" Big pop!] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, making his way down the aisle, hailing from Mitsubishi, Japan, and weighing in at 220lbs, here is: El Super Gecko! [A dense green mist begins to seep out of the entranceway, positively luminous as beams cast by intense green spotlights swing down into the aisle, where the Gecko waddles into view, his deep green lizard-skin effect tights and mask glowing like the mist through which he walks. He slaps the hands of fans at ringside, and gives a thumbs up to a "You Can't Hurt Da Lizard!" sign held by one avid supporter. He leaps to the ring apron, and vaults over the ropes, getting his foot caught in the top rope as he leaps, and crashing to the mat. He picks himself up into a martial arts stance, as if he intended to do that. Laughter from the fans.] SR: See what I mean, Dross? This moron can't even stand, let alone wrestle. He's going to be easy pickings for Lebec. TD: Perhaps so. Here comes the "Showstopper" now. [The lights rise once more as the majestic, weighty tones of Lebec's music kick in over the PA.] RA: And his opponent, accompanied to the ring by his valet, Miss Crystal, and his bodyguard, Francois, hailing from Hollywood, California, weighing in at 239lbs, here is... the "Showstopper"... Simon Lebec! [Big heel pop as Lebec staggers out into the aisle, accompanied by his entourage. Every few steps, he has to lean on Francois to prevent himself from falling over. The elegant Miss Crystal, dressed in a sparkly and clinging evening dress, smiles as she walks at Lebec's side. Lebec occasionally leans over the crowd barriers and yells abuse at the hostile fans.] TD: Good grief. SR: Hey, Dross, even the Dirt Dog looks sober compared to this guy. TD: Fans, we apologise for the condition of Simon Lebec. The IIWF in no way condones alcoholism. SR: Sure we do. Anybody got a beer? TD: No, we don't, Steve. This is appalling. [Lebec lurches towards the ring, and again needs the steadying support of Francois as he attempts to climb the ringsteps. Eventually, he is able to enter the ring, where he is greeted by referee Chuck Sanders. Lebec loses his balance, and leans on Sanders, who appears uncertain as to whether or not he should allow Lebec to wrestle.] TD: This is ridiculous. The referee shouldn't even allow this match to get started. [The referee holds up a number of fingers in front of Lebec, who squints myopically at them, trying to narrow down his field of vision from three hands to one. Eventually, he simply pushes past the referee and launches a wild right hand at the Gecko, who dodges out of the way, and Lebec crashes to the mat face first. Big pop! The referee resignedly signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! The Gecko drops an elbow on Lebec. Big pop! Lebec rolls out of the way to the ropes, shielding his head, and yells drunkenly at the referee to get the Gecko away from him. The referee forces the Gecko away as Lebec pulls himself to his feet using the ropes. Lebec moves away from the ropes momentarily, and the Gecko moves in, and Lebec again grabs the ropes, yelling at the referee to get the Gecko away. Big heel pop! The Gecko, losing his patience, moves in, and receives a sharp kick to his "lower abdomen". Big heel pop!] SR: Yeah, Simon! Go for it! TD: This is dreadful. [Lebec lands a clumsy uppercut on the Gecko, straightening him up, and then floors him with a sloppy clothesline. He then poses for the crowd, who jeer him loudly. The jeers, however, turn to cheers, as a figure appears at the head of the aisle, emerging from the entranceway.] TD: It's Chris Quigley! SR: Oh, brother. [The fans near the aisle are on their feet, clamouring to get closer to Chris Quigley, who has emerged from the locker rooms in street clothing. He walks leisurely down to ringside, smiling at fans and slapping the odd hand as he comes down to the bottom of the aisle, where he stops. Lebec turns and notices Quigley. He points at the Canadian athlete and turns -- to receive a dropkick from the Gecko, who has risen to his feet, slingshotted himself against the ropes, and launched himself with a dropkick! Big pop as Lebec goes down! Lebec immediately rolls to the ropes once more, and the referee forces the Gecko away. Miss Crystal strokes Lebec's face from the outside, soothing her man, and he once again pulls himself to his feet, yelling at the official to keep the Gecko away. The official turns to push the Gecko away, and Lebec pops him upside the head with a hard right hand. The Gecko staggers backwards, and Lebec lurches out into the ring after him, kicking him in the midsection and quickly hoisting him into position for a piledriver. Big heel pop as Lebec plants the Gecko into the mat!] TD: Wow... For somebody so much under the influence as Lebec, that was quite a piledriver. SR: What did I tell you, Dross? This guy's the best in the business. [Lebec drags the Gecko to his feet, and pulls off a back suplex, laying the lizard out on the mat. Lebec again points to Quigley, and yells something with a few curse words in it. Big heel pop. Quigley just smiles. Lebec drags the Gecko to his feet again, and attempts to land a kick on the lizard, but the Gecko catches his foot. Pop! However, Lebec leaps, and slams a foot into the back of the Gecko's head with a tremendous enzuigiri!] TD: There it is -- the "Blackball"! It's over! SR: Not yet it's not, Dross. I have a feeling Lebec wants to send a message to Quigley. [Lebec turns to Quigley once more, and draws his thumb across his throat. The "Showstopper" appears more sober and focused as he applies a step-over toe-hold on the Gecko, and then flips him over onto his back to prevent him from escaping.] TD: The "Antagonist"! Ring the bell, referee -- the Gecko's not going anywhere! [The referee drops to the canvas and checks on the Gecko -- and immediately signals for the bell! Ding! Ding! Ding! Lebec refuses to break the hold as his music kicks in over the PA once more. The referee attempts to disentangle Lebec from the Gecko, but the "Showstopper" yells at the official to get away from him. The referee signals for the bell again. Finally, Lebec releases the hold, but gets to his feet and begins stomping away at the Gecko. Huge heel pop! The official is shoved to the mat by Lebec, who continues to stomp away brutally at the Gecko. Finally, Chris Quigley approaches the ring and pulls the Gecko out under the bottom rope. Big pop! Lebec kicks the ropes in frustration as Quigley helps the Gecko away from the ring, pointing back at Lebec.] TD: Thank goodness for Chris Quigley. The Gecko could have been seriously injured in there. SR: Whatever happened to "You can't hurt the lizard," huh, Dross? [Lebec yells at Francois to fetch him a microphone, which the bodyguard duly does, and hands it to his boss. Big heel pop as Lebec raises the microphone to his lips.] SR: [over the headset] He still looks a little wobbly!  I wonder if he'll be sobered up for the Shakespeare interview later on tonight. TD: [over the headset] From the looks of it, I'd doubt he'll be ready. SL: Tonight... tonight is a big night for "The Showstopper"! Not only did I beat that loser Gecko within an inch of his pathetic life, I did it with style! [Lebec begins to urge a little, but continues] As well, I have the hottest talk show in the IIWF today in "The Final Cut", which I'm sure you'll all be tuned into later on tonight when I interview Billy Pukespeare... no pun intended. But I'm here right now because I have this little annoying problem... and it just won't go away.  The problem's name is Chris Quigley.  [Huge pop at the mention of Quigley's name, who now stands alone in the aisle, the official having helped the Gecko back to the locker room. Lebec yells at the crowd to shut up, and Quigley nods to the fans, apparently keen to hear what Lebec has to say.] You all know the history, and you all know what's gone down in the past. Then, last week, what do I see?  I see little Chrissy whining about how he owes the fans an apology.  How he owes this guy and that guy an apology.  You know folks, I think that's what really made me sick to my stomach! So I asked myself... where's _my_ apology, Chrissy?  Where's my apology for all those times you've ducked me in the TAEWF?  My apology for trying to end my IIWF career?  My apolgoy for the fact that you exist?  I didn't hear it.  No sir!  So, that's why I'm here.  I want you Quigley... right here... next week!  You like flapping your gums? Come flap them on "The Final Cut"!  I DARE you!  You say you're a man?  If that's the case, quit ducking me for once in your life! [Lebec throws the mic to the mat and beckons Quigley to come into the squared circle and give his answer. Quigley looks out into the crowd, who cheer wildly as he approaches the ring, grabs the microphone and gives his answer from the floor:] CQ: I'll be here next week for that little interview, just be sure you show up! [Quigley places the microphone back on the mat, and calmly leaves the ringside area to a big pop from the crowd. Lebec climbs down from the ring, and is supported away from ringside by Francois, Miss Crystal bringing up the rear. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, a submission victory for Lebec there, folks, and it looks like his guest for "The Final Cut" next week will be none other than Chris Quigley himself. Let's hope Lebec sobers up sufficiently for this week's segment with Billy Shakespeare. SR: Nah, let's hope he gets more tanked up and cracks a keg over Pukespeare's head. TD: Okay, we must move on. This next match is sure to have our broadcast colleague Steve Summer on the edge of his seat. It's the archetypal match-up between his much-hyped "New Generation" of wrestlers, here represented by Derek Mota, and the much-derided "Old Generation", represented tonight by Marty Warnett. SR: The only thing that will get Summer on the edge of his seat is if I kick him squarely in the... TD: [interrupting] Thanks, Steve, I think th... SR: [interrupting] You think?  I doubt that very much.  Now listen here, Dross. I am getting a little a little sick of hearing about this "New Generation" crap!  It's just a load of smart-mouthed, foul smelling snotlings trying to avoid paying their dues and laying down for the established wrestlers until they pick up a little experience! TD: Subtle to the end, Steve. Let's get down to ringside and Sparkplug Lee: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Derek Mota vs. Marty Warnett -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MB [Lee, hurrying to enter the ring, hasn't noticed that he left his flies undone after a visit to the latrines.  The crowd cheer when they see a glimpse of his flowered boxer-shorts and Lee smiling, thinking he has developed a fan base, swells his chest and starts his announcements. "The Great Southern Trendkill" by Pantera blasts across the PA system.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, hailing from Toronto, Ontario, Canada, weighing in at 222lbs, here is... Derek Mota! [The curtains rustle and out comes Derek Mota. He wears his usual long black wrestling tights with the word "Mota" written down the sides of both legs. He makes his way down the aisle, jawing with the fans as he goes, and enters the ring, climbing to the turnbuckle and posing for the hostile crowd. He jumps down and stands in the corner, waiting impatiently for the arrival of his opponent. "Cold Gin" by Kiss takes control of the speakers as Lee continues:] RA: And introducing his opponent... hailing from Cardiff, Wales, and weighing in at 245lbs, here is... Marty Warnett! [The crowd cheer for the arrival of one of their favourites.  Marty sprints down the aisle, slapping hands with as many of the fans as he can reach, before finally entering the ring, much to the chagrin of Mota, who seems very eager to see this match start. Lee makes his exit and the ref calls for the bell.  Mota contemptuously offers a collar and elbow lock-up to the heavier Warnett, who smiles at the crowd briefly before accepting.  They struggle for supremacy in the middle of the ring before Marty's slight weight and height advantages come to the fore and Derek is forced down onto one knee to the cheers of the capacity crowd.  Amazingly, Derek manages to haul himself back to his feet before planting both feet onto Marty's hips and Monkey-flipping him into the ropes where he lands in a heap. Derek kips up and drags Marty up by his hair to a slight admonishment from the ref.] TD: Marty wants to be careful of Mota.  What he gives up in size, he makes up for more than adequately in his ring-smarts!  Who do you favour for the win in this one, Steve? SR: What? You think I care?  Come on, Dross!  Just wake me when it's over. [Mota drops Marty with a nasty jawbreaker followed by two quick elbow drops and a pin attempt - 1 - 2 - kick-out.  Mota is quick to his feet and waits for Marty to get up, which obligingly he does, although not without a shake of the head to clear the cobwebs.  Mota runs at him for a Thesz press, which has the crowd cheering at the thought of the legendary Lou Thesz, only to be caught by Marty and driven into the mat with a tremendous spinebuster! Huge pop! Marty spends a few precious seconds getting his bearings and, inspired by the crowd who are clearly behind this young Welshman, he pulls Mota up and performs a series of perfectly executed suplexes.  He starts with a side suplex, then a snap suplex, and finishes the series with a particularly vicious Soviet suplex that leaves Mota writhing on the mat clutching his back in agony.  Marty, with the momentum now, locks in a single leg Boston Crab to further aggravate Mota's hurting back as the crowd all stand, to see someone at the head of the aisle.] TD: Oh my!  It's Requiem!  What does he want down here? SR: You heard Mota on Monday, Dross. He threatened to kick Genesis' sorry butts if they got in his way. Maybe Reqiem's come to see if he wants to give it a shot? [Mota, obviously in a lot of pain, starts edging towards the ropes as Requiem, electric guitar draped across his back, strides purposefully down to ringside to take up position to the side of the ringsteps. Marty, trying to put pressure on Mota's back, is distracted by the disturbance in the crowd, and catches a glimpse of the big man watching the ring. Unconsciously he eases up slightly, and Mota, with a herculean effort, just reaches out and grabs the bottom rope to make Marty break the hold.] TD: I'm not so sure you're right there, Steve. It was only last week these two guys were exchanging knowing glances and winks.  I fear for Marty right about now. SR: You mark my words, Dross. Mota has a tick in the loss column at Requiem's hands back in mid-April -- he won't forget that in a hurry. [Marty pulls Derek back from the ropes and drops some knees into the small of his back as Requiem watches on impassively.  He picks Mota up and delivers a quick Atomic Drop before depositing him on the top buckle and climbs up in preparation for his patented Belly to Belly Suplerplex, which he hits perfectly, throwing Mota three quarters of the way across the ring!  A quick cover... 1 - 2 -- Kick-out!] TD: Did you see that move!  Marty's a difficult man to stop when he's on a roll like this. SR: The only thing difficult to stop on him is his mouth. [Driven by the crowd, but distracted by the imposing figure at ringside, Marty locks a front face-lock onto Derek to keep him grounded whilst he thinks through his options when suddenly out of nowhere, Mota hooks him around the waist and flips him into an impressive Northern Lights Suplex -- 1 - 2 -- but his back gives out when he tries to bridge and Marty gets a shoulder up.  Marty jumps to his feet and flies to Derek for a clothesline, but Derek is feeling the adrenalin pound through his body. He ducks the attempt but catches the outstretched arm, flips around him and hooks the other arm and brings Marty down into a crucifix... 1 - 2 - kick out. Pop!] TD: Derek Mota is really showing us his stamina in this match-up. I thought he was finished for sure, Steve... uh, Steve, what are you looking at? SR: [looking up into the rafters] I could swear that every time the crowd blare some dust falls from this ceiling. Either that or your wig has developed dandruff! TD: This is an old building, Steve, but we are assured it's structurally sound. SR: Not like Mota's back, then, huh? Look at him in there! [Mota is up again quickly and starts climbing the buckles slowly as he is clearly in pain.  As Marty gets to his feet Derek launches himself and levels the Cardiff-based wrestler with a great dropkick! Pop! Marty stumbles into the ropes and crashes horrifically to ringside, right at Requiem's feet!  The crowd jump to their feet and start jeering at the prospect of Requiem interfering in what has so far been a clean fight.  The referee nervously issues a warning to the 6'10" monster to step back which is completely ignored as Requiem's pupil-less eyes hold steady at the body slumped within a few feet of him.] TD: Now we're going to find out just what's going on between Mota and Genesis! SR: Hey, shut it, Dross! [glancing at the ceiling] Keep it down, will ya? I'm gonna be on the cellular to Owens right after this show, Dross. I'm gonna start demanding danger money for working in a doss like this. [The referee finishes berating Requiem when he sees he will not move and is about to administer a count on Marty when Mota pushes him clear and climbs the ropes again.  The Sychopaths and Joe Petrow get to their feet, eyes wide in anticipation of a rare glimpse of hardcore action as Derek steadies himself and waits for Marty to get to his feet, then launches himself for a top-rope to ringside Frankensteiner!  Perhaps it was a twinge of pain in his back or the whoops of the Sychopaths, but as he landed on Marty's shoulders, he seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second too long.  Marty caught him and delivered a _huge_ hotshot across the guard-rails!  The crowd nearby scream empathetically as Derek slumps to the mats clutching at his throat and Marty cracks his head on the foot of the rails as he dropped to the floor, leaving a smear of blood on the metal.  The Sychopaths explode like a pack of sharks at the sight of the blood, whooping and yelling around Petrow who breaks into a smile.] SR: Hey Dross!  Can't we shut them up, man?  I'm serious, I don't think this place was designed to hold this many people and it's long past its prime! TD: You're worried they will bring the house down, literally? SR: Hey, I'm paid to make the jokes, Dross. What is it with you tonight? You just carry on mis-calling the match! [The referee begins a count as the two sub-six foot wrestlers lay gulping lungfuls of air as the menacing figure of Requiem, a full head taller than them, both continues to stare daggers.  They both struggle to their feet as the slow count reaches three and begin swapping punches. Marty is evidently dizzy from the nasty crack he took and Mota seems to have difficulty getting the oxygen he desperately needs and they both sink back to their knees and continue trading blows.  Mota dives at Marty and they roll almost under the ring apron as they pound away viciously at each other.  Marty's near thirty pound weight advantage allows him to get on top of the Canadian Mota, and with his knees pinning Mota's arms he starts punching him hard into the face and the side of the head.] TD: Steve, would you quit staring at the ceiling? This building has housed some of the greatest wrestlers and boxers of all time. It's not about to fall down now! SR: And what do we give it?  The Welsh wonder Marty Walnut against a long-haired anorexic called Derek?  I'm surprised it doesn't fall down in shame, Dross! [Mota frees his arms and grabbing Marty by the hair, ploughs some evil-looking forearm into his head until he slips off his chest, at which point Mota pounds the bloody back of his head into the mat repeatedly much to the delight of the Sychopaths and Petrow, while the crowd continues to egg on their respective favourites.  The referee's actions go completely unnoticed as he reaches the count of ten and signals for the bell.  So engrossed is everyone in the brawl, that even the bell ringer doesn't notice the referee immediately.  The ring announcer strives to get himself heard above the crowd to announce the double count-out decision with limited success as the two intense wrestlers battle their way to their feet and back into the ring.] TD: Was that the bell? SR: Was it?  I didn't hear a thing over those mindless idiots shouting! TD: Hang on... Here we go, Requiem's on the move! [The two cruiserweights continue to swap desperate punches, forearms and elbows, oblivious to the ring entrance of Requiem and huge heel pop of the crowd.  The bell continued to ring and to add to the general confusion, the referee was demanding security come down to counter the threat of Requiem and the ring-announcer tried and failed for a second time to announce the decision.  Requiem pushes Mota aside, drives a nasty kick into Warnett's ribs and as he doubles over, he destroys the Welshman with his "Final Lament" rocker drop!] TD: What did I tell you, Steve? Mota is the next member of Genesis! They need security down there sharpish or Marty could suffer a serious injury -- he's already bleeding like a faucet! SR: I'm not so sure, Dross. Look, he just slapped away the outstretched hand of Requiem -- and now he's getting in his face! [Mota, on tip-toes, shouts at Requiem: "What do you think you're doing?".  Requiem glares daggers at Mota as he continues to shout:  "You think I need you or your damn Genesis to help me punk a has-been like Warnett?".  Requiem remains expressionless. "Get out of my business, freak!" Mota, stretching to reach, hits Requiem with a vicious-looking uppercut to the jaw that staggers him. Pop! Mota steps back and eggs him to remove the guitar and get it on with him now!  Big Pop!  Requiem slowly reaches up to his mouth and touches it with his hand to see a drop of blood on his finger-tips.] TD: Oh my!  This is about to get ugly!  Mota has just made himself an enemy of Requiem, and Marty hasn't moved for almost a minute! Where's security?! Where are the officials?! SR: I hate to tell you I told you so, Dross, but I'm going to do it anyway! I told you so! [The crowd are hushed into silence, expectantly waiting for the two men to explode into action, when Requiem tasting the blood on his fingers, breaks into a malevolent smile and turning his back on Mota steps over the ropes back out of the ring!  Mota angrily shouts "Don't you go turning your back on me, freak!", his voice breaking from the intensity of his feelings and the pain from the hotshot earlier, he calls after the retreating figure "Don't you dare walk away from me!  Don't you dare! I'd dye that beard of yours _yellow_, you freak!"] TD: That was one of the most intense matches I think I've ever witnessed. Steve? SR: [yawn] Yeah, whatever you say, Dross.  When they rename this show "Saturday Night Genesis", I'm walking! [Mota yells at the official, who attempts to restrain him from going after Requiem, and pushes him aside, heading up the aisle after the huge Genesis member, while the referee turns his attention to Warnett, who has begun to stir, and is helped to his feet. Huge pop for Warnett, who wipes the blood away from his face and groggily makes his way from ringside. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Marty took a nasty bump there, but he seems to be okay. SR: More's the pity. TD: Well, Genesis has made its first appearance here tonight, but something tells me that it won't be the last. Okay, folks, up next we're going to see former World Tag Team Champions, Pain Inc., take on newcomers Violence Unlimited. I understand that Steve Summer is backstage with the Beasts from the Far East. Steve? [Cut to the backstage area. Steve Summer is seen pacing around, looking nervous.] SS: Mr. Dross, I mean, hey, I get to interview one of the best tag teams in the IIWF, Pain Inc... but they're late... I guess they're allowed... but... [Mr.Mic comes sneaking in behind Summer and hears his comments.] MM: BUT WHAT, YOU LITTLE PUKE?! [Summer jumps and turns to face Mr. Mic, who has a scowl across his face. He starts walking towards Summer and he responds by backing up... right into Morningstar and Hellraiser, who puts his huge hand on Summer's right shoulder. Summer turns around slowly and upon seeing Pain Inc. begins to shake quietly. He looks back and forth at Pain Inc. and Mr. Mic and tries to speak, but fails. Mr. Mic grabs the mic.] MM: Gimme that, you hack reporter. Actually no, c'mon here and ask your questions. I wanna see if you can ask a question without upsetting the Indonesian Nightmares here. [He hands the mic back to Steve.] SS: [sweating profusly, grabs the mic] Well... um, Mr. Mic, your thoughts on last week's match...? MM: [gets nose to nose with Summer] My thoughts?! My thoughts are that we were ripped off. [He turns to the camera] Forget Billy the Kid, the Prophets of Rage pulled off the biggest robbery in the history of God's green earth! They pull some illegal move and get the victory. Where the hell was the ref?! Prophets of Rage, you will soon learn it's a lot easier being the hunter than the hunted. Pain Inc. demands another title shot and we better get one. For your sake! SS: Um... yes...of course, but... uh... MM: Ask your question, pipsqueak. You are trying my patience. [Morningstar places his hand on Summer's neck and starts to press down with what looks like no pressure -- however Steve starts to grimace in pain and manages to squeak out:] SS: What... about... the Dark Disciples? MM: [he turns to the camera with a fake smile] Oh yes, the Dark Disciples, our "stablemates", our "friends". [His smile turns to a look of utter rage] Simply put, you two idiots cost us the titles. Pain Inc. held the belts longer than you two Satan-worshipping freaks and you couldn't handle it, so you tried to attack us at Birthday Bash but to no avail. Finally, last Saturday night you deliberately attack us according to plan. Forget trying to mask this by saying it was a mistake -- I DON'T BUY IT! You morons and Don "Cry me a River" McQueen are backstabbing sore losers who don't deserve to be members of the Syndicate. SS: Mr. Mic... sir... what about Violence Unlimited tonight? MM: Violence Unlimited, I don't know who the hell you think you are but Pain Inc. will dispose of you soon enough. Getting in the ring with my boys in their state is not considered a wise career move. Don't worry -- you two will get Violence, and it will be Unlimited! [Cut back to ringside.] TD: This promises to be a brutal and fiercely contested match, Steve. Pain Inc. certainly look pumped up. SR: This could be a great match. Lots of blood everywhere. TD: After what we've already seen here tonight, I sincerely hope not. Let's get up to the ring: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Violence Unlimited vs. Pain Inc. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: NN [Sparkplug Lee steps into the squared circle and raises his microphone:] RA: The following tag team encounter is scheduled for one fall! SR: Ooh, it's an "encounter" now. TD: Just pay attention, Steve. This is going to be an _excellent_ match, with the former tag champs pitted against a tough young team in Violence Unlimited. SR: I really like those two. I mean, one of 'em is named "Mutilator", for cryin' out loud. Doesn't that just clinch it right there? TD: Maybe for you. [Mr. Mic appears at the head of the aisle to a large heel pop.] RA: Being led down the aisle by Mr. Mic... at a total combined weight of 585 pounds, hailing from Jakarta, Indonesia... here are the former IIWF World Tag Team Champions -- Morningstar, Hellraiser, the team of Pain Incorporated! [The look of bitterness is evident upon the faces of the former tag team champions as they make their way through the curtain. They seem to march, undistracted, to the ring, their eyes focused upon a victory. Both men rip their robes off and drop them in the ring, leaving a ringside attendant to haul them off.] SR: Boy do these two look angry tonight. TD: I don't blame 'em though, Steve Roberts. I mean, World Tag Champs for quite some time, and they lose the belts when their "friends", the Syndicate, floor both men on the outside. I wouldn't be happy at all. RA: And their opponents... ["Violent Mood Swings" by Stabbing Westward starts up.] ... first, hailing from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania... at nearly seven feet tall and 425 pounds, Mutilator! And his tag team partner is from Hagerstown, Maryland. Three hundred three pounds, Jaguar! Ladies and gentlemen... this is Violence Unlimited!!! [The two massive physical specimens come through the curtain. Jaguar is holding up a sign which reads, "COLD SPELL RULES," which has apparently been lifted off a fan earlier. The crowd murmurs in confusion, until Jaguar smashes the sign across the steel railing, and the crowd lets out a huge heel pop. Mutilator then points to the ring, and both men dash into the fray. The bell sounds as Pain, Inc. meets Violence Unlimited at the ring ropes. Morningstar works on Jaguar, and Hellraiser tries to keep Mutilator down. Morningstar continously drives elbows into the back of Jaguar's head and neck, but Jaguar fights back, taking Morningstar down with a clothesline!] TD: Well, it looks as if we're going to have a classic technical donnybrook here... pretty much the theme of IIWF tag team action. SR: I couldn't ask for more. All these huge, hardcore guys in the ring just lookin' to crack a little skull. In a match like this, you can't help but have a good time. [Mutilator and Hellraiser mix it up in the corner, while Jaguar is all over Morningstar on the canvas. The ref looks around in confusion, and just begins counting -- at no one, for no reason -- just to look like he's got a clue. As Morningstar gets back to his feet, Mutilator whips Hellraiser out of the corner, and the two former co-champs collide! Both men crash to the mat!] TD: What a start here by Violence Unlimited! SR: A win on IIWF Saturday Night over Pain, Inc. would _really_ help their careers, Timbo. TD: Yes indeed, Violence Unlimited are two hungry youngsters... and all they need is a win over a high profile team -- such as Pain, Inc. -- to get their careers jumpstarted. SR: It won't be easy, though. [Mutilator springs off the ropes, and misses an elbow drop at Morningstar. Jaguar drags Hellraiser to his feet and whips him into the buckle. The ref guides Mutilator back to the apron, and Jaguar catches an elbow in the mush from Hellraiser. Hellraiser is quick to hit a sharp lariat, felling Jaguar. He covers - 1 - 2 - kickout. Morningstar gets back onto the apron, leaving a one-on-one in the ring. Hellraiser snaps Jaguar back up and delivers a side backbreaker. He covers again - 1 - 2 - kickout.] SR: It didn't take long for the former tag champs to get things back under control, did it? [Mr. Mic barks out orders, and Hellraiser heads toward Mutilator's corner. He slaps him firmly on the face, and Mutilator, outraged, enters the ring. Mr. Mic points at the large Pennsylvanian, and the referee quickly cuts him off. In the meantime, Morningstar sneaks in the other side of the ring and clips the knee of Jaguar. Morningstar quickly gets on the second turnbuckle, and with Hellraiser holding up a stunned Jaguar, leaps off with a clothesline. However, Jaguar moves, and the shot nails Hellraiser! Jaguar covers as the ref turns - 1 - 2 - save by Morningstar. Morningstar leaves the ring, and Jaguar slaps a reverse chinlock on Hellraiser.] TD: We're seeing numerous backhanded tactics from Mr. Mic's crew. SR: He's really taught them well, hasn't he? TD: Taught them what, backhanded tactics? SR: Of course... what else is there to learn? Unless you already know them... [As Hellraiser struggles back to his feet, he presses Jaguar against the corner. The ref calls for a clean break, but... well, what do you think? Hellraiser takes a low blow on Jaguar. Jaguar reels, and Hellraiser performs a Superkick, which sends Jaguar outside to the floor. Mutilator helps him back up to the apron and waltzes into the ring himself.] SR: Where's the tag? TD: Are you going to stop him from coming in? I doubt it. [Hellraiser backs off, sizing up the big man. Mutilator doesn't take much time, though, and takes an off guard Hellraiser down with a body slam. He steps on the chest of the Indonesian, and the referee warns Mutilator. He inquires, "What's wrong with that?" The ref tries to retort, but Mutilator swings Hellraiser to the ropes. Hellraiser gets a tag, and ducks under a Mutilator clothesline. Hellraiser launches himself with a cross body, which is caught by Mutilator, but almost simultaneously, Morningstar clips his knee! The referee counts - 1 - 2 - kickout. Morningstar drops a knee into the lower leg of the big monster, and then slaps on a grapevine. Mutilator powers out, however, and Morningstar runs to tag.] SR: I think, it could be possible, that this man is afraid of Mutilator. But look at him! TD: I know. He's so big... you just cannot do anything to him! While I have time, I'll remind you that we've got Ronnie Paris versus the Dirt Dog for the Cruiserweight Title next... so don't go anywhere! SR: Actually, if you're going to go to the refrigerator for drinks, wait until this match is over, then skip the Cold Spell vs. Harlequins match. That's going to be a yawner for the ages. TD: Tony Starks will challenge Lord Byron for the Intercontinental Title, Brody Thunder and Casey James square off in the main event, it's another action-packed edition of Saturday Night! [Hellraiser slowly approaches Mutilator, and is quickly taken down by a right hand. Mutilator covers - 1 - kickout. Mutilator swings Hellraiser to the ropes and executes a big powerslam! Cover - 1 - 2 - save by Morningstar. Jaguar enters the ring, and is cut off by the referee. Mr. Mic, seizing the opportunity, throws a shiny object into the ring and into the grasp of Morningstar. Morningstar winds up and nails Mutilator in the head! Hellraiser covers, but the ref does not see it. He finally turns around - 1 - 2 - kickout! Mr. Mic is outraged on the outside, and he hops up to the apron to complain. Big heel pop!!!] SR: Why are they all cheering Mr... look! TD: It's the Dark Disciples. AGAIN! [Kane and Wulf slowly make their way to ringside. Upon their arrival, Morningstar jumps off the apron to inquire about their appearance. The Disciples reassure him, however, and so Morningstar gets back up to support his teammate. Hellraiser lays the boot leather to Mutilator, stomping and kicking him in the lower abdominal region. Hellraiser misses a big leg drop, though, and Mutilator creeps toward his corner. The Sychopaths urge him on, and he makes the tag! Jaguar comes in and begins cleaning house, ejecting both Pain Inc. members from the ring!] TD: This is by far the most explosive tag team in the IIWF today. When they're down, they are just an average team. But once they get a chance, they take over... with a bang! [Hellraiser gets up on the outside, and looks up to see a 425 pound plancha! Mutilator takes Hellraiser into the steel... and both men are down!] TD: UNBELIEVABLE! I've never seen such athleticism out of a big man... he just flew right through the second and top rope and nailed Hellraiser! I cannot believe it! SR: What a move by this monster, and Hellraiser could be out! [As Hellraiser lays against the guard rail, Morningstar grabs a chair and rushes at Mutilator. However, the chair shot is ducked, and Morningstar ends up falling a victim of a back body drop. The chair goes flying into the crowd, where one of the Sychopaths catches it and hands it to Joe Petrow. With the Sychopaths chanting, "We Want Blood, We Want Blood!", Petrow tosses the chair into Wulf, who grins devilishly. He sneaks up behind Mutilator, who is brawling with Morningstar and rears back.] SR: Another chair shot by the Dark Disciples! TD: He better not miss or else there are going to be some angry people in that ring... [SMACK! The chair shot hits Mutilator right in the back, and he crumples to the mat.] TD: Hey, I'm impressed. Maybe these two are sticking together after all. SR: The family that plays together stays together. TD: I believe that's _prays_ together, Steve. But never mind. [Mutilator is laid out on his face, and Hellraiser is out near the guard rail. Morningstar and Jaguar are brawling near the ring steps. The Dark Disciples look on in appreciation of the carnage, and Mutilator slowly gets back up. Kane and Wulf back off for a moment as he regains his composure. Morningstar and Jaguar continue to exchange blows on the outside. Wulf grabs Mutilator and tries to push him into the post, but cannot do it alone. Kane hustles over and helps, and together they send the giant toward the steel. However, Jaguar, seeing what's about to happen, quickly shoves Morningstar in the way -- and the Indonesian gets flattened against the post!] TD: A heads up play by Jaguar and now it appears as if we've got trouble brewing for Pain, Inc. again! SR: The Dark Disciples cause another problem for the boys in chain mail! [Jaguar flips Morningstar into the ring. Mutilator begins to climb up the top turnbuckle as Jag delivers a devastating Reverse DDT on Morningstar. The crowd murmurs in anticipation...] TD: If he lands on him... [Mutilator comes off the top rope with a huge big splash! The crowd goes nuts as the referee counts - 1 - Jaguar baseball slide-kicks a recovering Hellraiser - 2 - 3! Huge heel pop!] RA: Your winners... as the result of a pinfall... Violence Unlimited! TD: A great upset win... SR: Yeah, forget that though. We've got trouble again! [Violence Unlimited make their way from the ring, their arms raised in victory, to a hardcore pop from the fans. Hellraiser berates the two Disciples, who begin to get physical with him. Kane and Wulf shove Hellraiser, claiming they meant no harm. Members of the Syndicate sprint out from every direction, getting in between the two entities. Casey James and Tiger Claw seem to side with Hellraiser, as they force Kane and Wulf to back off before helping Morningstar up to his feet. The crowd, amazed, buzzes in inquiry.] TD: I guess that... the Syndicate is siding with Pain, Inc? SR: Apparently the Disciples are out the door. TD: Shocking news indeed... we'll try to get a hold of Brian Lau, who is absent from this excursion, later tonight to get an official word. [The Syndicate force Pain Inc. away from the ring, leaving the Disciples seething in the squared circle. Eventually, they head back to the locker room themselves to a mixed pop.] TD: Okay, up next we're going to see a team which has apparently joined the ranks of Genesis, Cold Spell, in action against the Harlequins. You'll remember that there's a fair amount of bad blood between these teams. Icehawk, the high-flying Finnish acrobat, developed something of a crush on Harlequin Comedy, and she subsequently attacked him with a fireball. Ever since, Cold Spell have been keen to get the 'Quins back in the ring, and it's going to happen tonight. SR: And I'm supposed to care? TD: Please, Steve. So let me get this straight, is Cold Spell part of Genesis or not? SR: Who cares? TD: No, really. I mean, they are new generation, right? SR: I'm really getting sick of this crap, Dross. All these newcomers are just whining because they haven't been around long enough to make a name for themselves... That's all there is to it. TD: But many of these stars already have made a name for themselves... SR: Sure, but they could never beat Hardin, man... Never. It doesn't matter when you got here, or how long you've been here. Kicking ass is kicking ass, and Genesis just can't kick ass. TD: Eloquent as always, Steve. SR: Elo-what? TD: Never mind... I understand we can go backstage to get a few words from the Harlequins now. [Cut to Tragedy and Chaos, in full ring attire, standing in the entrance tunnel.] HT: Are you ready, my brother? HCh: [looks down the tunnel] Yes. HT: Then you know what has to be done. HCh: I think so. HT: Good. [Tragedy puts on his steel mask and walks toward the entranceway.] HCh: Tragedy, why do people have to die? [Tragedy stops, the looks over his shoulder.] HT: Death is necessary to the cycle of life. [Turns back towards the entranceway] Besides, even I am allowed to have some fun. [Cut back to ringside. Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring.] =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Cold Spell vs. Harlequins =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MF [Sparkplug Lee takes to the ring as the lights in the arena dim and "My Lover's Box" by Garbage starts up over the PA.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, this next tag team contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, being led to the ring by Comedy and Melody, here are Tragedy and Chaos, the Harlequins! [Before the Harlequins make it to the ring, however, a mob sprints out from the backstage area. Highwayman, Requiem, Nightwing, Fitzgerald and Icehawk all pounce on Chaos and Tragedy. The two atheletes get knocked down to the floor, and even though they try and fight back, they are no match for the onslaught of Genesis. Comedy looks to be thinking about getting involved, but also seems to think better of it and stands back with a worried look on her face. The crowd gived a mixed pop.] TD: This is mayhem! SR: Nope, this is a punking! [Highwayman and Requiem drag the two Harlequins to their feet and hold them open for the team of Cold Spell. Icehawk hesitates for a moment, looking at his partner. Fitzgerald eggs him on, and finally, Icehawk hits Tragedy with a stiff reverse thrust kick. Edmund applauds the attack, and gives Chaos a big right hand. Tragedy is dragged up again by Icehawk, and dragged to the ringside area. Comedy moves in to stop Icehawk, but is caught by Nightwing, who holds her still facing the ring. Tragedy is thrown into the ring, and Icehawk climbs to the top rope. Icehawk launches off with his Arctic Blast, and connects with authority. Icehawk gets up, plants a foot on Tragedy, and looks to Comedy. He slaps his hands together... 1 - 2 - 3. Comedy is obviously worried for her husband, but is still held back by Nightwing.] TD: This is atrocious... And these are the good guys? SR: I might have been wrong earlier... The Harlequins just got their asses kicked! [Icehawk leaves the ring and walks up the aisle calmly, and suddenly there is a pop as Violence Unlimited storm the aisle.] TD: They're cheering Violence Unlimited! [Violence Unlimited start their attack on Requiem and Highwayman, who still holds Chaos. Jaguar and Mutilator dish out a pair of clotheslines to the backs of the men's heads, and Chaos is released. In a fit of rage, Chaos joins in on the attack, going after anyone who is near him, the closest being Fitzgerald. Icehawk runs in to help his partner, but is quickly stopped with a big elbow from the younger Harlequin. Nightwing, stunned by the turn of events, loosens his grip on Comedy long enough for her to throw a leg backwards and hit him in the groin. Big pop as Nightwing falls to the floor, and Comedy rushes to the ring to check on her husband. The huge brawl in the aisle eventually moves behind the backstage curtain, and all the fans are left with is Comedy and Tragedy in the ring. Comedy checks of Tragedy, and soon Tragedy is sitting up, nodding that he's okay.] TD: That was disgusting. I thought Genesis were a group of guys you could respect. I don't know what this New Generation movement is, but if this kind of lynching is part of it, well, they can take it elsewhere. I prefer the older generation. SR: Like the Syndicate, right? TD: Well, they... No, they do the same thing. SR: It's like I said, Dross, new or old, an ass kicking is still an ass kicking. I have to admit I liked that little display there. Showed some promise... All the whining I could do without, though. TD: Well, it appears that Tragedy is okay, folks. Comedy is helping him down the aisle. He's a bit dazed, but that's understandable. A few minutes to sit down with a drink and he should be fine. SR: We're not all alcoholics like you, Dross. TD: What?! SR: Sit down with a drink... Jeez. Everyone knows that it takes you about four beers to get up to the level of the rest of us who are sober... TD: I... You... I can't believe... Liar! Steve Roberts, you take that back! SR: Make me, Dross. TD: What a wild brawl that was. Before our next match, it's time for "The Final Cut". This week, Simon Lebec interviews Billy Shakespeare. Let's hope Lebec's sobered up a little. [Cut to the interview podium, set some way back from the aisle. The set has the appearance of a filming set.  Film cameras scatter the stage, with various props decorating the background.  The words "The Final Cut" appear overhead, written in hot neon pink. Majestic music begins to play as "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec enters the stage via the left curtain.  A large chorus of boos from the audience accompanies Lebec's entrance.  The noise extremely loud.  Lebec looks at the audience and shrugs them off as he smiles.] SL: Yeah, you people wouldn't know true talent if it came up and bit you on the ass! [boos get even louder]  Well, you want to talk about the old saying "Rags to Riches?"  Not the case with the 'Ol "Showstopper". Last week, I had the honor of interviewing one of the most respected men in wrestling today... "Blackheart" Casey James.  This week, Owens gives me a the bottom of the barrel... the end of the line.  Today, little people, the IIWF's biggest coward is here.  Who?  I give you "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare, also known as Spur, also known as _COWARD_, also known as _JOBBER_! [The Sweet's "Little Willie" begins to play too slow, dirgefully droning like a funeral mass.  The crowd chuckles until they realize that the mistake is intentional.  "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare slowly walks out, one side of his face painted with a comedy mask smile.  He looks about for somewhere to sit, but finds nowhere.  He turns to the crowd, shrugging his shoulders in mock resignation.]   SL: If you'll notice, Billy-Boy, I didn't even bring out a chair for you! You're not worthy of sitting!  I want you to stand there, looking like a jerk!  Looking like a stupid jerk!   BS: "You smile and mock me, as if I meant naughtily," quoth Troilus and Cressida.  Every fool knows that the greatest power resides with the man who stands and not the one who laggarts on his breeches. Perhaps it was best said in King Lear... SL: [interrupting] Good grief, man! Speak English for once in your life! [Crowd starts yelling, "IT IS ENGLISH!"]    I brought you on here tonight and gave you mic time on the hottest talk show in the world today!  The least you could do in learn the language, and quit quoting the ramblings of some limey, dead Brit!   BS: So far thy talk show is as inspired as thy films.  Much talk... no substance.  Indeed, I saw thy remake of "Merchant of Venice" and believe that the bard had a different pound of flesh in mind than the one you used.  I had hoped that when you fled the IIWF with your head shorn it was the last we had seen of thee.  But I wander.  No, I don't need the playwright's script. I am perfectly capable of calling you a fool without cue cards.  SL: And I'm perfectly capable of calling you a moron... without hiding behind a mask! What do you think about that, Shakespeare?  Let's talk about that for a minute, shall we?  Let's talk about the fact that you are too much of a damn coward to stand behind your own actions.  You have to result to wearing a mask and calling yourself "The Spur"!  Let's talk about that, coward!  Tell Simon all about your "other" personality!  What a crock!  You've got multiple personalities... just like I'm a shining example of an equal rights activist! You were too afraid.  Afraid of what these morons in the audience would think of you if you went out and attacked a so-called "good" guy! So, you dressed yourself up and put on a mask.  By the way, I thought the mask was an improvement.  Anything to hide that ugly mug!  HA!  BS: [Takes a moment to regain some composure]  Don't forget that half of Shakespeare's plays were tragedies.  We all have a dark side.  Mine, unfortunately, got out. I won't debate with you the reality of the situation... the doctors explained who and what Spur was.  I stood up for the damage that he did... I gave Ronnie Paris back the victory that Spur took from him.  That dirty job done, I consider us even.  Not equal, but even.  I relish the chance to beat him again.  Nor do I regret the blow against Mr. Damage.  Who am I now?  I'm not sure. Maybe there is still a little Spur still in my heart. Think me a coward?  You know well how such accusations are settled in this fed.  Or do you feel vulnerable without Crystal's skirts to hide behind? SL: Do I look vulnerable, pal? [gets up in Shakespeare's face]  You say you won't debate with me?  Good, because we both know I'd win a debate, a match... anything!  Face it, Shakespeare... you're the old generation here in the IIWF, and your ranking proves that.  On top of your faltering skills, you're crazier than a bag of loonies!  Why not just give it up now?  I mean, where else can you go besides down? BL: Careful Lebec... you don't know how crazy I really am.  I know which way the wind blows... as did Hamlet.  New Generation... Old Generation -- it's all the same to me.  When you're the man in the spotlight a lot of people are looking in.  I had to step on on the heads of a lot of wrestlers to become one of the best, and each and every one of them wants to take me down.  But I haven't seen one even try recently.  Are you the man, Lebec? SL: Am I hearing this correctly?  You're trying to pick a fight with a helpless broadcast journalist?  This makes you a man?  Pal, I've got more man in my sweat than you do in your entire body... you damn bully!  And so does another man I can think of.  They say that every dog has his day, and it appeared that "Dirt Dog" had his day last Saturday night! What about it, Shakespeare?  He cleaned your clock and beat you fairly! It's back to the end of the Cruiser line for you punk! BS: I can take that.  "Dirt Dog" took me out... out of the battle, not out of the war. I vowed that this wasn't over, and it's not.  Dirt Dog better pray that he wins the belt tonight, 'cause the only chance he'll have to beat me again will be with that belt on the line. I wore the cruiserweight strap the first time... I'll wear it again. SL: Yeah, yeah!  You're a winner!  Whatever!  So what if it doesn't work out, Shakespeare?  What if you come to the realization that you can't do it any more?  What then... Shakespeare in the Park?  Or maybe you could follow in my footsteps and become a world-reknowned broadcast journalist.  Of course, you'd have to speak like a normal person then. BS: [his voice lowers in solumn resignation]  I can joke about a lot of things, Lebec, but the end of the show isn't one of them.  I'll admit, the lights of the spotlight are a little dim.  The cheers of the fans aren't as loud.  Is this the end for Shakespeare?   I... Don't... Think... So!  [A small pop from some loyal fans.]  The show isn't over, not in the IIWF, and not even for the evening.  You haven't seen the last of me here tonight.  Your little production, however, Simon, is over.  Your star... is leaving. [A spotlight sweeps the audience, coming to rest on Shakespeare, who makes his trademark grand bow to the fans before slipping backstage.] SL: Well, there goes ten minutes of my life that I'll never get back again. [His music kicks in over the PA once more] However, when I get lemons, I make lemonade!  Come on, ladies!  Let's boogie! [Lebec begins his usual dancing with the aisleside females as the camera cuts back to the broadcast booth.] TD: Another, uh, enlightening interview from Mr. Lebec there, Steve. SR: Whatever. That brunette was kinda cute, though. Hey, Dross, you know who else lives here? TD: Go on. Tell me. SR: Robin Williams. TD: Steve, please.  Robin Williams is a fine actor and an incredibly funny comedian... Steve, just what are you laughing at now? SR: You... you... TD: Folks, coming right up we have what should be an outstanding match between two athletes of somewhat differing styles:  The "People's Champion", the Subway Psycho, takes on the Sychotic one, Joe Petrow -- who is still sat in the audience, I may add.  Watching us.  Right now.  Could someone get me a drink, please? SR: Funny... comedian... Bwahahahahaha... Mork!  Mork! =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Subway Psycho vs. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MP [In the ring, Sparkplug Lee grins and flashes a "Triple M" sign at the assembled ranks of the Sychopaths, who simply glare at him in chilling silence.  Lee's face goes completely white, and as he turns away, a unified chant of "1 - 2 - 3!" is heard, followed by howls of laughter...] RA: *Ahem* The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a fifteen minute time limit.  Introducing first, weighing in at 255lbs and hailing from the subways of New York City... here is the "People's Champion"... the Subwaaaay Pssyyycchooo! [Huge crowd pop as "Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne starts up over the PA system, the arena lights darken and the former World Champion steps out into the aisle!  Camera flashes go off as the Psycho raises his arms to the crowd and slaps a few of the fans' hands before racing towards the ring, rolling in under the bottom rope and leaping up to the second turnbuckles, throwing his hands in the air, drawing another huge pop from the crowd!] TD: The "People's Champion" is in the building, and boy, is he ready for action! SR: Mork... Mork... bwahahahaha... TD: I'll have you know, Steve Roberts, I used to loving watching that wonderful situation comedy. [As Steve Roberts bursts into another fit of hysterics, "Crazy Train" slowly fades out and the lights return to normal...] RA: And his opponent... [Sparkplug Lee glances up cautiously at the Sychopaths... and is interrupted by a sudden commotion in the crowd as Takezo Musashi appears at the head of the aisle. He looks a different picture to the "Enigma" of old as he heads down the aisle, his hair longer and shabbier, and a surly look on his face. Most of the crowd, in response to Takezo's recent attitude, jeer loudly. Surprisingly, a few cheers can be heard from the audience's hardcore contingent.] TD: There goes a very troubled man, Steve. One can only wonder what is going on in the head of the "Enigma" these days, and more importantly, what is he doing at ringside? Musashi doesn't have a match on tonight's card! SR: Who can tell what he's doing out here, Dross? The guy's been acting like a complete nutbar lately, but whatever is up with Takezo, let's hope it doesn't go away in a hurry! TD: Whatever would you wish that for? SR: Haven't you seen how violent the little guy has been getting lately?  How about that Starsault Press through a ringside table? Wow! [Takezo climbs through the ropes and signals to Sparkplug Lee for the microphone. Subway Psycho eyes Musashi warily from across the ring. The "Enigma" stares out over the crowd for long moments until they start to become restless and uncomfortable.] TM: Right at this moment, you are thinking to yourselves: the time has come for the "Enigma" to extend his most heart-felt apologies. Right about now, you are thinking: the time has come for me to humble  myself in front of you all and ask your forgiveness for my recent past. [The crowd begins to pop mildly] You have watched a man descend from the highest pinnacle of honour, to the depths of self-loathing and despair. You have watched me renounce the ancient ways and replace them with barbarism and violence, and you are wondering to yourselves: when will this little act end? When will the old "Enigma" return to us and battle the men of darkness as he always did in the past? Is that what you were wondering? [Confused murmurs from the crowd] Well, now I am standing before you all, and I place my future in your hands. Where does the "Enigma" go from here? Does he continue his downward spiral? Or does he embrace the fans, and his past, once again?   Well? Is that what you desire? [The confused murmuring continues for a few moments and then gradually swells into a big pop. The fans seem to be answering affirmatively] Then I should go back to the old ways? You want me to return as your guardian and protector? [The crowd response builds up further. They cheer loudly, particularly some of the younger fans, looking forward to seeing the return of their hero.] You want me to fight for you once again...? Well, [BLEEP] you all! [The crowd pop abruptly dies down] TD: [over the headset] Oh my goodness! Thank goodness for that seven second delay! SR: [over the headset, laughing] Go for it, Takezo! Stick it to these morons! TM: You think I would fight in the name of a bunch of ungrateful, ignorant peasants such as yourselves for any longer? [Scattered jeers begin to emanate from the audience.] I came to this country to compete for glory in the greatest fighting championships in the world; I came with all of my higher values of honour and courage; I thought I could show your decadent country the way out of its slump; I thought I could make a difference! But you wouldn't listen to me! You didn't care! Who have you chosen for your heroes in my stead? An anti-social, depraved worm such as this man over here? [Gestures towards the Subway Psycho, whose eyes glint with fury at this comment. He makes a lunge forward, but the ref manages to restrain him.] An arrogant, egotistical windbag such as Chris Quigley? An undisciplined alcoholic like Marty Warnett? These are your heroes?  They are the idols of corrupt and decadent human beings! SR: [over the headset] He's right on those last few counts. [The crowd is now giving vent to deafening jeers.] TM: I watched time and time again as _your_ heroes were given title shot after title shot while I sat on the sidelines. I watched time and time again as _your_ heroes sneak attacked other wrestlers, sought to maim their opponents, and exercised their vanity behind closed doors. I watched as they blatantly broke the rules, while professing to be on the side of justice! And you cheered for these men, you despicable scum! All the while, I tried to do what was right. I strove to be the best in my field, and I did so with honour and courage. Where did that get me? You never even noticed! I was always the mid-carder, the second-rate belt holder, the inferior foreigner; the outsider! Well now I'm through with it! I renounce you all! From this moment on there shall be none to uphold the law in the IIWF! There shall be none to fight in the name of honour! Everything will return to the chaos of the jungle! There shall no longer be any right or wrong left! You have reaped what you have sown, and now you shall witness the IIWF's fall into depravity and violence, just as you have seen it in your decadent society. The IIWF is falling, and I shall give it a push as it stands on the brink... [The crowd yell at Musashi to "Get off!" and "Go back to your own country!] Shut up, you imbeciles! I have not yet finished! Right now, I would like to introduce you to a man who represents the finest standards in the IIWF. A man I had the pleasure of beating up, and getting beaten up by just last week. A man who upholds the values you hold so dear to the utmost. A man who shall be your hero and representative, and a man to whom the "Enigma" looks up to and seeks to emulate. Here he is, hailing from the filth that resides in the bottom of all of your minds: "Sychosys" Joe Petrow! TD: [over the headset] Why on earth would Takezo want to associate with a madman like Petrow? [There is a big mixed response from the crowd as Joe Petrow emerges from his seat, shedding his "Symply Sychosys" robe as he stands, handing it to one of his rabid Sychopaths. He makes his way through the rows of seating in front of him, apparently quite amused with the whole affair.  One of his Sychopaths holds a boom box, playing "Tonight Tonight Tonight" by Genesis at maximum volume. As he climbs over the barriers and into the ringside enclosure, Petrow stops over by the announce table, suddenly becoming visibly agitated while looking at Tim Dross, and says:] JP: You think it's funny, Dross?!  You like stealing twelve bucks from my fans, making them wait for news on your hotline that you never tell them!?  You ever do that again, I'm going to take your precious waffles and shove them down your other hole, you balding freak! [Petrow turns away from Dross in disgust and heads to the ringsteps.] TD: [over the headset] Uh, it was technical difficulties that prevented that news item about Joe Petrow from appearing on the Hotline last Sunday, folks. It really wasn't my fault. SR: [over the headset] Besides, it's thirteen bucks a minute, isn't it? TD: [over the headset] Indeed. For the bargain rate of $12.95 per minute, you can catch up with all the latest IIWF news and rumours each and every Sunday. Petrow now, climbing into the ring... [Musashi beckons Petrow to join him in the squared circle.] TM: Step into the ring and stand beside me, "Sychosys". Show these fans what they have become! [Petrow smirks and climbs into the ring, focusing his wild stare on Musashi. He takes a few wary steps towards the "Enigma" and then pauses.] TM: Come on, Petrow, clasp my hand stand beside me; show these peasants that you are my brother in spirit! [Petrow appears even more amused, and looks at Musashi as if he has lost his mind. He turns around and gestures towards the ringside "Sychopaths", as if asking for their advice. Suddenly, Musashi pounces! He bludgeons Petrow hard in the back of the head with the microphone, and the crowd explodes in a big confused pop!] TD: Oh my goodness! SR: That's the spirit! [The ref immediately tries to restrain Musashi, who dispatches him with a judo throw to the outside. The official appears shaken, but otherwise unhurt. Petrow clutches the back of his head and struggles to get up off the canvas.] TM: You don't know how great it feels to see you grovelling on the ground in pain, Petrow; you piece of inhuman scum! [Takezo clutches Petrow by the throat and drags him up to his knees.] TM: How does it feel now, to be on the other end of the violence? How does the pain taste, now that you are its victim? [Takezo poises the microphone to strike once again -- but it is grabbed away from him by the Subway Psycho! Huge pop! The Psycho takes the microphone from Musashi -- and slams it upside the Enigma's head!  Another huge pop! The crowd begins to chant "Psy - cho! Psy - cho!" as Musashi leaps back to his feet and attempts to swing a high roundhouse kick at the subway-dweller's head. The Psycho, however, ducks, and fires back with a clothesline of his own, blasting the Enigma back to the mat.  Both the referee and Petrow drag themselves back to their feet as Musashi rolls out of the ring under the bottom rope and stands at ringside. The crowd jeers loudly.] TD: Don't let him get back in there! Musashi has snapped! He has _snapped!_ SR: I love it, Dross! If it hadn't been for the Stinker, Musashi would have smashed Petrow's skull with that microphone! [Suddenly, there is a commotion at the head of the aisle as the IIWF security team races down to ringside. They grab hold of Musashi and attempt to restrain him. Takezo flails his limbs around in a frenzy, fighting off the security guards, and a demonic look is in his eyes.  Eventually, however, the sheer weight of numbers proves too much and the security team manages to tangle Musashi up. As he is forcibly removed backstage, the "Enigma" yells at the crowd in Japanese.] TD: What a scene of chaos here tonight! Musashi appears to have gone completely off the rails, folks! I'm having trouble absorbing what went down here just now, Steve. Musashi denounced the fans for  supposedly supporting dishonourable men; then he introduced Petrow to the ring for some kind of pact or something, even though Petrow is himself arguably one of those dishonourable men; and then the  "Enigma" goes completely crazy with a brutal assault. Thank goodness for the Subway Psycho... This truly is bizarre! SR: Well, Timmy-boy, it doesn't even seem clear in Musashi's head what he was supposed to achieve tonight. The guy is completely nuts! He's a few currants short of a bun! His elevator doesn't go all the way  up! He... TD: [interrupting] We get the picture, Steve. [Petrow rubs his sore head and nods at the Psycho, as if in a signal of some kind of respect. The Psycho, hands on hips, turns to the official and says something about getting the match started. The official signals to the timekeeper for the bell and the two athletes circle one another.  Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Perhaps these two men have found a new respect for one another here... SR: Uh-oh. I don't think so, Dross, Petrow doesn't look too happy at all... [Inside the ring, Petrow has stepped right into the Subway Psycho's face, staring straight into his eyes unblinkingly.  Huge mixed pop from the crowd!  The Psycho stares back, neither man willing to back down...] TD: Well, it looks like the Sychotic One is calling for a challenge of nerves here with the Psycho... SR: That's right, boys... psyche each other out... just don't take too long about it... [The staredown continues, and it's the Subway Psycho who starts to get agitated first!  He brings his hands up, pushing Petrow hard in the chest, knocking him back a step!  Pop!  Sychosys, without any hesitation whatsoever, steps right back up to the Psycho without breaking eye contact!  Bigger pop!] SR: Erm... now Joe, we aren't taking this a little too far now, are we? [The Psycho starts to shout at Petrow, offering a lockup.  Petrow doesn't move, simply staring at the Pycho again!  The crowd pops expectantly... and the Psycho pushes him back angrily!  And Petrow steps straight back up... into a scoop and a bodyslam!  Pop!  And Petrow springs straight back to his feet, ignoring the Psycho's second call for a lockup, and getting right back in his face!  The Psycho pushes him back again, and another bodyslam!  And Petrow is right back up and in his face again!] TD: Now this is completely out of this world, even for Petrow. SR: Okay, okay, I'll bite... is he trying to bore him into submission? TD: I really have no idea what he's trying to do... SR: 'Cause if he is, he could always tie him to a chair, stick needles around his eyes and force him to watch "Mrs. Doubtfire." TD: I... Steve! SR: Because no one in their right mind would even think about watching that sentimentalist crap anyway.  Not enough guns.  Violence!  Bad language!  Demographics! TD: Okay then, Steve, what about "Good Morning Vietnam"? SR: Yeah.  Great flick.  Or it would have been, if it wasn't for Robbie, he ruined it for me.  They should have sent him home at the start of the film, then got busy with the action. [The staredown continues.  The Psycho puts his hands on his hips, shaking his head and looking around at the popping crowd, completely exasperated.  Petrow continues to glare right at him, to the intense amusement of the Sychopaths...] SR: "Apocalypse Now".  Now there's a film.  And "The Deerstalker".  Or anything by Stanley Kubrick.  Apart from "2001", of course, that was a pile of... TD: [interrupting] Steve... SR: What? All it was was a load of monkeys sitting around and doing nothing!  I watched the first twenty minutes, I fell asleep, I woke up, and it was over and some damn sci-fi trash was on!  Some guy talking to a damn computer for crying out loud!  And not even a damn sign of Darth Vader! TD: That was another part of the film, Steve... SR: Then I must have been asleep for a hell of a lot longer than I thought.  Waste of a damn night.  How the hell did you get me talking this crap, anyway? [Inside the ring, the Psycho is getting visibly irritated.  He paces around, turning back to find Petrow right in his face again, staring right at him.  The Psycho takes a step back, raising his fists... Petrow steps right back in his face!  The Psycho turns away again, and spins back around, connecting with a huge forearm shot to the side of Petrow's head!  Huge crowd pop!  And the Psycho follows up with a flurry of blows, knocking Petrow right back across toward the other side of the ring and towards the ropes...] TD: Well, if Petrow wanted to get the Psycho riled up, he's certainly done just that!  The Psycho is livid! SR: 'Bout damn time we got some action here.  I'm in a right foul mood now. [The Psycho Irish whips Petrow to the opposite side, and attempts a clothesline... ducked by Petrow... who stops dead, turns... and gets straight back into the Psycho's face!  Pop!  The Psycho growls and lashes out, felling Petrow with a big right hand and dropping down onto him, hammering away with a rapid series of right hands...] SR: Petrow... is nuttier than a bag of peanuts. He's nuttier than a whole damn bird feeder, for crying out loud. TD: I really have no idea of what he's trying to do here, but whatever it is, it looks like it's backfired. [The Psycho drags Petrow up to his feet, who doesn't even make a move to defend himself, and knocks him straight back down with a hard headbutt!  The cover... 1  - kickout by Petrow!  The Psycho pulls him up again, backing him into the ropes.. an Irish whip...] TD: Huge running clothesline by the Subway Psycho, and Joe Petrow gets pole-axed by that one! SR: Nuts. That's what the man is... nuts. [The Subway Psycho runs off the ropes, and comes back with a big flying elbowdrop... and he connects!  The cover... 1 - 2 - kickout by Petrow!  The Psycho backs Petrow into the ropes again, and sends him across the ring with another Irish whip...] TD: Petrow catches the ropes, and pulls up short!  And the Psycho charges and clotheslines him over the top! [Petrow manages to keep hold of the top rope, and uses it to pull himself back into the ring, before walking quietly up behind the fuming Subway Psycho, who turns at the crowd pop...] TD: And Petrow's right back in his face again! This guy is insane! SR: Maybe he's trying to hypnotise him... [The Psycho, literally frothing at the mouth now, lays straight back into Petrow with a series of kicks to the midsection, before grabbing his head and sending him spinning to the canvas with a swinging neckbreaker!  Pop!  The Psycho covers... 1 - 2 - kickout by Petrow!  The Psycho covers again, hooking both legs... 1 - kickout again!  He pulls Petrow back to his feet, hooking him up for a back suplex...] TD: And the Psycho drives Petrow straight into the canvas with a high elevation back suplex!  The Psycho comes off the ropes again.... leg drop across the throat!  He covers again... 1 - 2 - and Petrow kicks out! SR: But he's not putting up any offence!  What the hell's he playing at?  Where's the Sychokick, Petrow, huh?  Where's the Knightmare?  Hey, come to think of it, where's the Starsault Press? TD: This is unbelievable... Petrow's dazed, but he's still making no attempt to defend himself... just staring right at the Psycho, and winding him up even further. SR: The man's a loony tune, Dross.  He's making Robin Williams look sane. TD: Just what have you got against Robin Williams, anyway? SR: Hey, look at it this way.  If I wanted to watch someone act like a complete geek, I'd tune in for the Chrissie Kick-Me interview. [The Subway Psycho picks Petrow up once again, subjecting him to a series of high impact European uppercuts, knocking him back into a corner.  The Psycho waits for a second, urging Petrow on, shouting at him to fight back... Petrow staggers out of the corner... only to stare at the Psycho again!] TD: I've seen this man do some crazy things in my time... invade the ladies toilets at the Coliseum.. barricade himself in the PA booth... moonsault off the top rope with a table in tow... but this, this takes the biscuit. SR: Now that you mention it, I am feeling kinda hungry... [One of the L'il Soundbiters behind Roberts throws him a packet of cookies...] SR: Alright!  Don't you just love these morons, Dross?  These caring, thoughtful, fanatical, sometimes kinky weirdos that follow me around out of pure love... I tell ya, this is the life, Dross.  It don't get much better than this. [The Psycho stares back at Petrow, shaking his head in complete disbelief, before throwing him back into the turnbuckles and following up with a series of kneelifts, then an Irish whip into the opposite corner with force... he follows up, connecting with a huge avalanche splash, knocking the wind out of Petrow... Petrow staggers out of the corner, and the Psycho runs out behind him...] TD: And the Subway Psycho with a bulldog! The cover... One! Two! SR: He got him! TD: No!  Kickout at the last second by Petrow!  How much more can this man take? SR: Just what the hell is he trying to do, Dross?  Tire the Psycho out?  Drive him nuts?  He's driving me nuts... [The Psycho pulls Petrow to his feet once more, cinching him up into a front waistlock, before sending him crashing to the canvas with a belly-to-belly suplex... the Psycho breaks quickly, stepping out of the ring and climbing to the top turnbuckle... Petrow slowly starts to push himself up to his feet... the Psycho jumps...] TD: And connects with that devastating double axehandle! Petrow's down, all the Psycho has to do is finish him off! [The Sychopaths in the crowd are eerily silent as the Subway Psycho steps to the outside once again, climbing the turnbuckles a second time... Petrow starts to stir...] TD: The Psycho's giving the signal for the De-Railer -- this could be it... SR: And Petrow's rolled to the outside!  Smart move... possibly the smartest thing he's one all match... [The Subway Psycho drops down to the arena floor, and starts to follow Petrow around the ring as the referee starts to lay on the count...] TD: Petrow's back to his feet. Here comes the Subway Psycho... he pulls Petrow up by the hair... haymaker... Petrow slipped out of the way!  And he locks on a full nelson! [Petrow locks the full nelson on tightly, practically hanging off the Psycho's back as the referee continues to count... 3 - 4 - the Subway Psycho realises the danger as the crowd starts to pop madly, and hoists Petrow up further onto his back, charging backwards and slamming him against the ring apron... Petrow hangs on, a look of frenzied determination his face...] TD: He's trying to get them both counted out.  Petrow is _deliberately_ trying to get them both counted out. SR: "Clockwork Orange".  How does it go again?  "I'm singing in the rain..." Blam! [The Psycho hurls himself back at the ring apron again, and again, trying to dislodge the Sychotic One, who is clinging onto his back like a human limpet... 5 - 6 - ] SR: "Just singing in the rain..." Bam! Bam! [The Psycho staggers forwards again, trying to pry Petrow's hands apart, and Petrow grins maniacally, throwing his weight backwards, sending both men crashing to the mats.] SR: "What a glorious feeling..." [ - 7 - Petrow locks his legs around the struggling Subway Psycho's waist in bodyscissors, - 8 - ] SR: "I'm..." Bam! "Ha-ppy again..." TD: What the hell are you drivelling on about now? SR: Hey, Dross, that ain't nice. Just trying to get with this insane, crazy match... [The referee looks down at the two on the floor below him - 9 - the Subway Psycho makes one last frantic attempt at an escape -- 10!  The referee signals for the bell amid the cheering from the Sychopaths at ringside...] RA: As the result of a double countout, the referee has ruled this match... a draw! [Huge heel pop from the crowd, excluding the Sychopaths, who cheer Sparkplug Lee's comments...] TD: And Sychosys is refusing to let go of the hold! [On the mats outside the ring, the Subway Psycho is still struggling, trapped in Joe Petrow's grip.  Petrow's eyes glaze over, and he laughs insanely, keeping the hold tightly locked in as the bell rings again... Petrow's maniacal laughter begins to quieten the fans closer to him...] JP: The world's champion has fallen, and he can't get up!  I can't win!  I can't lose!  The world is mine!  The kiwi is mine!  THE KIWI IS MINE! SR: [pointing] That man...  That man... is [BLEEP]ing nuts. TD: Yes.  Well. Where's security? I'm not sure whether Petrow is actually hurting the Psycho there, but he's definitely scaring the crowd... JP: It's mine, I tell you!  And what's wrong with that?  Nothing hurts me!  Does it, Psycho? DOES IT, PSYCHO?! SR: Forget security, we need the men in white coats out here.  They'll help you, Joe.  They can help. [Some of the younger fans around ringside start to scream as Petrow continues to laugh hysterically, and the Sychopaths start up a "Go - Joe - floor - the - ho!" chant...] JP: It doesn't matter!  France - Europe - THE WORLD! I'll take you all on! The kiwi doesn't care! It doesn't care! [The Jobber Justice Squad finally hurtle down the aisle, to be greeted by a garbage barrage from the rabid Sychopaths...  Petrow looks around as they approach, and his eyes instantly light up in recognition... he releases the Subway Psycho, and springs to his feet, stepping towards the JJS, who as a man, start to back away... one in particular...] TD: Oh no... don't say he's going to... [Petrow charges, and Majestic Maurice McArthur gives a strangled yelp of fear and runs off back down the aisle... too late!  Petrow tackles him to the floor, and is thrown a pair of handcuffs by one of the Sychopaths...] SR: Madness, Dross, sheer madness.  Petrow's gone to ga-ga land, and by the looks of it, he's taking Triple M with him on the return journey... [McArthur struggles, and Petrow scolds him... "It's for your own good!" McArthur, believing none of it, and his recent experiences with the Sychopaths fresh in his mind, screams like a stuck pig... Petrow hoists him up onto his shoulders, swinging him around to bat El Super Gecko and Jumpin' Jack out of the way, before leaping into the stands, where he is quickly surrounded by his hollering Sychopaths...] SR: Bye-bye, Maurice, so long. Don't forget to write, we'll miss you, you know... TD: We need to get security down here quickly... SR: And do what?  There must be close to five hundred Sychopaths in here tonight. Maurice'll be trussed up and stowed away in one of those Volkswagon buses before he knows what's hit him. [Back in the aisle, the Subway Psycho, more annoyed than hurt, shrugs off the attentions of the official and makes his way back towards the dressing rooms, the crowd recovering from its shock and terror enough to give him a rousing pop. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Fans, I am dumbfounded. I don't think I've ever seen such a bizarre match in my entire life. SR: That was just plain nuts, Dross. TD: After that, I suspect that the Dirt Dog, who's scheduled up next, is going to seem sane. I hope Triple M's alright.  You saw what happened to him last time the Sychopaths got hold of him. SR: I wouldn't worry about him, Dross, he's a big man, he can take care of himself. TD: With his hands cuffed behind his back? SR: You're right.  He's up excrement creek with an alligator.  We're never going to see him again.  Well... not the Maurice we know and love, anyway. TD: It looks like we're ready to start our next match up, the match to decide just who will be the new IIWF World Cruiserweight Champion.  Will it be the talented young technical wrestler, Ronnie Paris, or...? SR: The drunken bum, the Dirt Daaawg. Hey Dross, check this out: famous people from San Francisco: number two of, heh, two: Danny Glover.  He was born here, you know.  Hey... maybe... TD: Don't start again, Steve... please. SR: What?  What? Danny Glover is a great actor!  Much better than that Williams putz.  And you can bet he wouldn't wear a dress, no matter how much you paid him. TD: Steve... can we just...? SR: Anyway, he's about the right age.  What do ya think, Dross?  Danny Glover... as Creed's daddy?  Huh? TD: [sighing]  Let's just go down to ringside, shall we? =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Ronnie Paris vs. Dirt Dog Unique Allah -------------------------------------- WRITER: MP [Sparkplug Lee beams out at the crowd, and raises the microphone to his mouth...] RA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a thirty minute time limit, and is for the IIWF World Cruiserweight Championship! [Big crowd pop!] Introducing first, weighing in at 238lbs and hailing from Brooklyn, New York... accompanied to the ring by his manager Medusa Rage... a member of the Age of Rage... here is the "Dirt Dog" Uniquuuuue Allaaaaaaaah! [Heel pop as "Snakes" by Ol' Dirty Bastard starts up over the PA system, and the Dirt Dog appears at the top of the aisle, swiftly followed by Medusa Rage.  The pair wait by the entrance to the aisle, Unique stumbling into the crowd barriers and taking a swig out of a cheap liquor bottle in his hand... Medusa walks over to see if he is alright...] SR: What a role model, eh, Dross?  Look at this man.  Kids all around the world want to be like this man.  They listen to the Wu Tang Clan, Dross... they want to have what he has.  Do what he does.  TD: Steve... you are making me feel physically sick. SR: Now you know how I feel every time I see that decaying rug on your head.  Do you wash it, or just blast it with flea spray every now and again? [Unique shakes his head, laughing and falling against the railings as Medusa tries to lead him towards the ring..] RA: And his opponent.... [Huge face pop from the crowd] weighing in at 210lbs and hailing from Texas... accompanied to the ring by the lovely Maggie Collins... here is Ronniiiieeee Pariiiiiissssss!! [Huge crowd pop as "We Are The Champions" by Queen starts up, and Ronnie Paris appears in the entrance to the aisle alongside Maggie Collins... he takes a cautious step towards the Dirt Dog... who instantly springs into life, blasting him full in the face with his Deadly Venom spray!  Heel pop!  Maggie Collins backs off in horror as Dirt Dog falls on the stricken Paris, as the entrance curtains burst open again...] TD: It's the Prophets of Rage! Oh no! SR: Yes! The World Tag Champs are about to do a real number on Widdle Wonnie... [Shadoe and Derek Rage rush Paris, hammering away with kicks and punches, before Derek picks Paris to his feet, slamming him straight back down to the concrete with the Hammer of God!  Huge heel pop!  Shadoe starts to climb up onto the guardrail, signalling for the Angel of Death Drop.. and Maggie Collins throws herself across Paris, and Shadoe hesitates!  Medusa moves to pull Paris off, and security swarms out of the entranceway, dragging the Prophets back out of the way...] TD: Thank heavens security got here as fast as they did.  They defused a potentially dangerous situation here... SR: Dangerous?  Look at Paris.  He's out.  Gone.  Already.  The match is over before it's even begun. [Unique stumbles across to Paris, attempting to smooth his wild hair back and muttering to himself, before pulling Paris up to his feet, and locking him in a headlock, pulling him towards the ring...] TD: It looks like the Dirt Dog wants to finish this one off quickly... and it's not looking good for Paris... [Unique starts to build up speed as he nears the ring, breaking into a run with Paris, still trapped in the headlock, in tow...] TD: Oh no... he's not going to... SR: Smash him into the corner post... I love it... [Unique charges towards the corner post, the crowd pops wildly...] TD: And Paris had the presence of mind to slip out at the last second, and Unique hit hard! [Paris and Unique both start to get to their feet, shaking their heads to clear the cobwebs... Paris rolls into the ring, and Unique after whining to Medusa for a second, follows him in... and the lights go out!] SR: Oh... my... where is he?  TD: Where's who? SR: Deathbringer! [Suddenly a single spotlight snaps on, picking up one Billy Shakespeare as he perches from a balcony...] SR: Oh.  It's him.  Just what we need:  another wacko. [Shakespeare, dressed in his gold and white wrestling attire with a comedy and tragedy design on his left cheek, and carrying a microphone, bows to the crowd with a flourish, and proceeds to descend to the ring via. zip line... Ronnie Paris and Unique use the distraction to break into opposite corners.] TD: Wow!  What an entrance by Billy Shakespeare! [Shakespeare drops off the zip line above the ring, landing gracefully in the dead centre and raising the microphone to his mouth, looking around at both the competitors...] BS: There are many little glories:  The roar of the crowd... your name in lights... the pinfall victory.  But there is no greater glory than to be the champion.  The belt's the thing.  Since I christened that belt, the IIWF has endured a comedy of errors by those who held it after me. Regardless of tonight's end, a fool will continue to wear the crown of a king.  But let us forswear the prose, I will speak plainly. Ronnie Paris... Dirt Dog Unique Allah... IIWF officials:  I want the Cruiserweight Title back.  I want the winner of this match in the ring. It is time to right many deeds gone wrong.  Now play out the play. [Shakespeare bows again, to a big crowd pop, and vaults out of the ring.  The spotlight follows his exit, and the lights return to normal...] TD: Billy Shakespeare with a challenge to both men! SR: The arrogant, conceited little jerk... just what gives him the right to pull a stunt like that? TD: The fact that he's one of the top competitors in the IIWF, despite his recent problems! [Unique and Paris finally step out of their corners as Maggie Collins and Medusa Rage take up their positions in the wrestler's corners... both men move for a lock up... and Unique slips!  Unique ducks under Paris's arms, spins, and catches Paris with a standing dropkick that puts him to the mat!  Heel pop!  Paris springs back up, and is sent down by another dropkick from Unique!  Paris springs up again, and another dropkick...] TD: No!  Paris ducked out of the way at the last second, and he latches onto Unique's leg with a drop toehold!  And Unique quickly scrambles to the ropes! [Unique and Paris roll to their feet, circling each other cautiously.. Unique moves for a lockup, and this time it's Paris that slips, taking Unique down with an armdrag as he turns!  Pop!  Unique kicks up to his feet, and Paris takes him down with a lariat, twisting it into a sleeperhold as he does so... Unique quickly fights back to his feet, attempting to drop Paris with a sleeperhold...] TD: Paris breaks at the last second, and catches Unique with another armdrag as he spins around!  And Unique is out of there like a shot!  Furiously fast paced start by both competitors! [Unique rolls back into the ring, and bother men move for a lockup... and Unique catches Paris with a fast European uppercut!  And a second!  Unique backs Paris into the ropes, Irish whip cross-ring... a lariat attempt by Unique is ducked by Paris.. Unique comes back off the ropes, feints and...] TD: Unique catches Paris with a sliding groin kick!  And that stopped Paris dead! SR: Aw, come on, get the ref out of his face! [Unique staggers back against the ropes as the referee issues a stern warning for the low blow, and Paris rolls to his knees, gasping for breath...] SR: Wassa matter Widdle Wonnie?  Squeaky Voice?  Maggie's not going to want you any more now, is she? TD: Steve, please... [Unique staggers back across to Paris... who immediately catches him completely by surprise with a small package!  Pop!  The referee slides into position  - 1 - 2 - Unique reverses the package  - 1 -  Paris kicks out, both men spring to their feet and Unique sends him crashing back to the canvas with a devastating diving lariat... Unique drops over the stunned Ronnie Paris, and starts barking in his face!  Heel pop!  Unique pulls Paris up to his feet again, backs him into the ropes...] TD: Irish whip by Unique... reversed by Paris!  Unique catches hold of the ropes and stops his momentum dead... Paris charges... and a backdrop by the Dirt Dog sends Ronnie Paris flying out over the top! SR: All the way to the floor.  You know what I want do Dross? TD: Go on... SR: Take a vacation.  Get some sun, just relax for a while. TD: You never seem to do anything but. [Unique runs to the ropes as Paris struggles to his feet on the outside, and comes charging back with a baseball slide that sends Paris crashing into the retaining barriers!  Heel pop!] SR: No, I'm serious... I hear Telford's good this time of year.. TD: Where? SR: Telford, England.  The sun is shining hot, there's plenty of them folk pubs around... I can just picture myself, sat outside, a nice cool pint of beer... watching the young English ladies... signing autographs... TD: Careful, Steve, you're drifting... SR: Mmm... what? [Unique comes off the ropes a second time as Paris reaches his feet, this time flying through the ropes in a cross body block right on top of Paris!  Heel pop!  Unique rolls back into the ring, and Paris starts to follow, climbing up to the ring apron...] TD: And a kick through the ropes stuns Paris!  Unique's setting him up for a suplex back into the ring... [Unique facelocks Paris and braces himself, hoisting Paris up into the air... and dropping him down onto the top rope, and slingshotting him back into the ring!  Big heel pop!] TD: Slingshot suplex!  And Unique could capitalise... no, what's he doing? [A strange look comes over Unique's face, and he drops down into a sitting position on the canvas, laughing to himself.  Medusa slaps the canvas, and points across to Paris, but Unique only crawls on all fours across to her...] DDUA: Wha'ma gettin' 'dusa?  You gonna give me as lil summin' summin', 'dusa?  Puh-leaze? [Medusa frowns and points back at Paris, who is slowly getting back to his feet, and tells Unique to finish the man off... Unique continues his begging.] DDUA: Aw, come on 'dusa, whas' in it for the Doggie?  You ain't never treat me right anymore... [Medusa frowns again, then beckons Unique over and whispers something in his ear... Unique whoops with joy and leaps up, grabbing the ropes...] DDUA: Where my doggies at? [The hardcore fanatics in the crowd start barking, and Unique turns back around to face Paris, who is now on his feet...] DDUA: Is you ready yet?  Because I'd like you to meet my newest partner... El Super Gecko! TD: What in the world...? SR: Don't ask me, Dross, I only work here... well, sorta, anyway... [Unique watches Paris for a second, and then falls back into the corner in peals of laughter...] DDUA: Oh puh-leaze... What the hell kind of idea is that? [Unique steps away from the buckles, glaring at Paris, who is watching him cautiously... Unique once again asks him if he's ready... and drops down onto all fours, dashing towards Paris and snatching at his legs!  Paris drops down low as well, catching Unique and looking to hook him up...] SR: What the hell is this?  College wrestling?  Come on guys, where's the violence? [Unique snatches out one of Paris' arms, and Paris responds by slipping behind Unique, hooking him in a half nelson and rolling him over... - 1 - 2 - kickout at the last second by Unique!  Paris quickly goes to the leg, pulling the Dirt Dog up into a half boston.. and Unique quickly scrambles for the ropes!  Heel pop!  Paris backs off, glaring at Unique...] TD: Looks like the Dirt Dog got a bit more than he bargained for on that last exchange, and he may have missed his chance now! [Unique climbs back to his feet, and locks up with Paris again, switching behind him with a hammerlock, Paris reverses, and Unique quickly turns the hammerlock into a overhead wristlock... Paris counters quickly himself with an armwringer... Unique snarls as his arm is stretched out, and Paris drops an elbow across the exposed muscle] DDUA: Lesson 356: Never twist a man's arm who can kick yo ass! [Unique turns away from Paris and leaps up, whipping his leg around...] TD: And Paris ducks the enzuigiri kick!  And a knee to the elbow!  And a second!  And a legdrop across the neck by Paris, and Unique scrambles to the ropes again!  [Unique snarls, running at Paris, who floors him with a quick single leg takedown and quickly pulls the leg up into a knee hammerlock submission, pulling the chin up as well into a chinlock... the referee checks Unique for the submission, and Unique responds by slipping the hold, twisting behind Paris with a hammerlock... Paris pushes up to his knees, and lashes backwards with his elbow, catching Unique a hard blow on the jaw!  Unique staggers backwards, and Paris turns, catching the stunned Dirt Dog with a kick to the midsection, then a Russian legsweep!  Pop!  Paris covers... 1 - 2 - scrambled kick out from the Dirt Dog!  Both men roll up to their feet, and Paris backs Unique up with another kick, then a series of forearm uppercuts, backing Unique into the corner... Paris climbs onto the turnbuckles over Unique, hammering away at his forehead before dropping back down and sending him into the centre of the ring with a hip toss...] TD: Paris now, leaping up to the second turnbuckle... Unique stumbles up to his feet... turns... flying clothesline by Paris!  The cover... One! Two! Kickout!  And Paris has seen red! [Paris pulls Unique to his feet by the hair, backs him into the corner with a kneelift, then Irish whips him into the opposite turnbuckles... Unique leaps up to the second turnbuckle as he reaches them, leaping off backwards, twisting into a...] TD: Cross body block by Unique... and Paris turns it into a powerslam!  What a move on a man heavier than him!  The cover - 1 - 2 - another scrambled kickout by Unique! [Paris pulls Unique back to a vertical base, facelocks him and sends him spinning to the canvas with a Texan neckbreaker... Medusa slams her hands on the canvas in frustration as Paris covers, hooking the leg... 1 - 2 - kickout by Unique!  Paris pulls Unique to his feet again... and receives a thumb to the eye from the Dirt Dog, and then a flurry of forearm and elbow shots, backing him into the ropes... Unique tries the Irish whip... Paris reverses...] TD: Lariat by Paris... missed... both men off the ropes... and Medusa grabs Paris' foot! [Huge heel pop as Paris stumbles... and Unique connects with a terrific spinwheel kick that almost takes his head off!  Heel pop!  Both men are down, and Unique slowly starts to make it to his feet... He measures the reeling Paris, and drops a kneedrop across his forehead, before looking up at the crowd...] DDUA: Who wants to see the bump of the year?! [The "Dirty Doggies" in the crowd start hooting and hollering, and it soon becomes evident that something is being passed towards ringside...] TD: Steve... please tell me that is _not_ what I think it is. SR: Can't help you there, Dross-man.  Methinks that's _exactly_ what you think it is. [Deposited by the Doggies, right outside the ring, is a table.  The top has been painted with pictures of various famous black athletes, and the Doggies in the crowd are hooting and hollering like crazy.] DDUA: I said... Who wants to see the bump of the year? [The hardcore contingent in the crowd, pop like crazy, and Unique pulls Paris up to his feet, headbutting him twice and then lifting him up onto the turnbuckles...] DDUA: Show 'em, 'dusa... [Medusa turns around... and moons the audience!  Huge crowd pop!  Tim Dross looks completely shocked!] DDUA: Did I say bump?  I shoulda said rump.  Fellas, look what a man will do for a big round booty like that! [Unique pulls Paris into a headlock, and leaps off the top..] TD: Oh... my... [Huge heel pop as both Unique and Paris go crashing through the table, Paris being bulldogged into it!  Both men lay sprawled out in the wreckage, neither man moving... the referee starts to make the count...] TD: A practically suicidal move by the Dirt Dog!  He just risked his, and Ronnie Paris' careers with that move! SR: You know, we've got to get him and Petrow another match.  These two are just made for each other. [Medusa runs across to Unique and pulls him up, before rolling him back into the ring.  Paris lays sprawled out in the wreckage of the table... until Maggie Collins walks over!] SR: Hey! What does that wench think she's doing? TD: Fair's fair, Steve... [Medusa Rage starts to storm back around the ring, but Maggie Collins holds her ground... and the referee drops between the two of them, forcing Medusa to back away!  Big crowd pop!  Maggie Collins helps Paris back into the ring, but both men are still down...] TD: The referee's back in now... he's laying the count on both men... [Slowly, painfully, and under extreme pressure from Medusa Rage, Unique rolls over towards the prone Ronnie Paris... lifting his arm.. and dropping it across his chest...] SR: There's the cover!  Count Sanders, you moron, what's he waiting for? TD: Paris has his foot on the ropes!  Incredible! [Unique reaches out, hooking up both of Paris' legs... 1 - 2 - kickout!] TD: Paris kicked out!  Unique cannot believe it! SR: Neither can Medusa, Dross, look at her!  She's beside herself! [Unique slowly rolls up to his knees, picking Paris up with him by the hair... a headbutt... another... he facelocks Paris...] TD: And Paris with a waistlock... SR: No... TD: Northern Light Suplex!  Out of nowhere! He's got it bridged! SR: No.... [The referee slides into position, and starts the count... ] TD: Paris is struggling! [ - 1 - ] TD: He lost the bridge!  Paris's shoulders are down! [ - 2 - ] SR: Unique's got his arm up! [ - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: What's the result? What's the result? TD: I don't know... I really don't know... RA: Here is your winner, via result of a pinfall... and NEW IIWF Cruiserweight Champion... SR: Please... no.... RA: The "Dirt Dog" Uniiiquuuueee Allaaaaaah!! [Huge heel pop from the crowd as Paris rolls to his knees, looking up in disbelief... Medusa Rage leaps into the ring, actually running in and hugging the prone Dirt Dog... Paris looks up at the official, holding up two fingers, but the referee shakes his head...] TD: I don't believe it... I truly thought Paris had it won there... SR: Hey, Dross, lighten up... TD: The Age of Rage collects its third title in less than a week... at the expense of this unlucky man here. [Paris, dejected, rolls out of the ring, leaving the celebrating rages behind, and starts to walk back up the aisle... where he is immediately confronted by the Highwayman and Nightwing, stepping out of the entrance curtain.  Paris comes to a dead halt, and watches as Nightwing approaches...] TD: What business does Genesis have out here?  This isn't the sort of thing Paris needs right now, not after this intensely fought match up... [Nightwing gets in Paris' face, who does his best to ignore him, trying to step around and away from the Native American... Nightwing pushes him back, and Paris shakes his head...] TD: And Paris nails Nightwing! Paris snapped, and he nailed Nightwing! SR: Oh, this is bad news for Widdle Wonnie right here... bad news... [Nightwing swings back, and the pair start to brawl... and the Highwayman joins in, the Genesis duo beating Paris down to the arena floor...] TD: And here comes Scott Rogers! He's out to help Paris! And he nails Highwayman from behind! We've got a brawl going on down here! [Highwayman and Nightwing turn their attentions on Scott Rogers, and the two look to be breaking him down, when another figure dashes out of the entranceway...] TD: It's Ike Sampson! Ike Sampson's taking on Genesis as well! And here comes Luke Steele! [Huge face pop as the Genesis team members quickly back off towards the ring, away from the four faces now in front of them... and then a huge heel pop as Requiem and Cold Spell come barrelling down the aisle into the back of the four!] SR: Now we've got a brawl going on, Dross.  Call security.  Call the National Guard.  We have a riot on our hands... [As if on cue, the Jobber Justice Squad blasts down the aisle, pulling the warring parties apart... while in the midst of this chaos, a large figure rolls out from under the ring, rolling in behind the still celebrating Rages...] TD: More trouble!  It's Harlequin Chaos! [Huge insane crowd pop!  Unique turns around, to be knocked flying by a lariat from the three hundred pounder, who then advances on Medusa...] TD: Chaos has Medusa by the throat! SR: What the hell does that big buffoon think he's doing?! HC: This is for Melody! [Huge crowd pop!] TD: Chaos just chokeslammed Medusa!  He chokeslammed Medusa Rage in the centre of the ring! SR: That man, that man -- has just signed his own death warrant.  The Rages are going to tear him apart! [Chaos rolls back out of the ring, and makes off into the crowd.  Unique slowly helps Medusa back to his feet as the JJS manages to restore some semblance of order in the aisle...] TD: Incredible scenes... The Dirt Dog Unique Allah is the new Cruiserweight champion... the young fan favourites join forces to fight off Genesis' attack on Paris... Chaos chokeslamming Medusa Rage... [Medusa and Unique slowly make their way back down the aisle, Unique cradling the Cruiserweight Title close to his chest. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: Well, there goes one man at least who's gonna get a 'lil summin' summin' tonight... TD: Steve... please. I don't know what will be the result of all of that, Steve Roberts.  Except, of course, for the bottom line that Dirt Dog Unique Allah -- of all people -- is the Cruiserweight Champion of the World.  SR: Why are there three chairs here, Dross? TD: Beg your pardon? SR: Beg all you want, but why the hell are there three chairs out here, are we expecting company, Dross?  Are gonna have a visitor?  Did Steve Owens finally agree to my request for an on air masseuse? TD: As a matter of fact, we will have a guest commentator for this big upcoming Intercontinental Championship match between Lord Byron and Tony Starks.  In fact, it's a friend of yours. SR: Oh, this'll be fun.  Like a game.  See, that's what I like about you, Dross.  Even when I'm bored out of my mind, you make things fun. Like during that one Luke Steele match when I started to fall asleep and your toupee fell off.  Good times.  Okay, I'll play... Is it Marv Albert?  TD: We did this bit last week, Steve. SR: Well, I know it's not Christopher Reeve...the chair's already out here. TD: Does the phrase "beaten into the ground" mean anything to you? SR: Beaten into the ground... you're not bringing Quigley out here, Dross.  We've talked about this before... you keep Quigley away from me or I'll start talking about his rubber suit and Barbra Streisand mask. TD: Will you stop? SR: Man, I hope so.  We've just started this "Coronation Clash Crusade Caravan of Justice Ticket to Ride Chocolicious Heartbreak Express Tour"... and already I'm exhausted.  Do you s'pose Warnett has any of those special green pills he's always popping before the matches? TD: Let's get to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Lord Byron [c] vs. Tony Starks ----------------------------------------- WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee draws a spontaneous round of applause as he enters the ring holding up a "Vote Yes on D and F" sign.] SL: The following contest is set for one fall and is for the IIWF Intercontinental Championship! Introducing first, our special guest commentator... SR: All right, spill it, Dross.  Craig Kilborn?  Janet Reno?  Vallerie Bertinelli?  Sally Jesse Raphael?  Bulldog Brown?  Who the hell is the guest commentator? [The lights in the arena dim... and the buzzing crowd noise now explodes into a cataclysmic roar as the familiar red spotlight shines in the aisle and the sonorous words over the P.A. are said in time to their flashing on the video wall: "Anyone.  Anywhere.  Anytime."]     SL: This _is_ Creed! [The hometown crowd stands and thumps out the familiar chant... "Creed! Creed! Creed!" as "Ode to Joy" soars throughout the arena... and Creed appears -- walking into the aisle!] TD: It's Creed!  And he is on his feet! SR: Wow.  The man can put one foot in front of the other.  Let's just go take the belt away from Byron now -- because that's the only way this punk's ever gonna get it. [Creed gingerly makes his way down to the announce table, the outreached hands of his fans along the way.  Creed's customary all-black look is augmented not only by his blood red left glove, but also the brass topped cane of Lord Byron, which Creed is using to support his weakened knee.] TD: Quite a reception for this young man on his return to his home, the San Francisco Bay Area.  Welcome home, Creed. [Creed takes a headset and sits next to Roberts, the Soundbite shaking his head in obvious displeasure.] SR: How many jobs do you need to have, kid?  You're a broadcaster this week... last week you made the Watkins/Verhoeven match -- the only thing it seems like you don't want to do any more is wrestle.  When do you plan on announcing what everybody with a brain has already figured out... that you quit? Cr: How 'bout you back off, Roberts?  We got a man about to be introduced -- don't wan't nobody to miss it. [Sparkplug Lee struggles to be heard over the still shouting partisan crowd, finally signalling for "C.R.E.A.M." by the Wu Tang Clan to begin, leading to another roar as he retakes the mic...] SL: The challenger... he weighs 269 pounds and hails from Staten Island, New York... Tony Starks! [Good pop from the crowd as Starks appears at the top of the aisle, the big man's white towel draped over his head shields his reaction as the crowd comes alive for "The Staten Island Sensation".  Starks gives a nod of his head to Creed at the announce position as he climbs into the ring.] TD: Tough man here in Tony Starks.  And a big moment for him as he fights for the Intercontinental title. SR: Who cares? Just another guy past his prime.  You know, I don't know what it is abou this guy, every week somebody or other is beating him up -- and every week he keeps comin' back for more.  Hey, you oughta get along with him real well, Creed. [Starks stares dead up the aisle, awaiting the arrival of Byron as Sparkplug continues.] SL: His opponent... accompanied to the ring by Lady DeWinter and the former IIWF Heavyweight Champion, Otto Verhoeven... he weighs 265lbs and currently resides in New Orleans... the IIWF Intercontinental Champion... Lord Byron! ["Intermezzo" from Sibelius' "Karelia" Suite heralds the arrival of the European Alliance, DeWinter leading the way with the Championship belt aloft. The Butcher snarls at the jeering crowd -- whose heel pop is enormous as they see Byron entire the aisle.  The "Pay - Back! Pay - back! Pay - Back!" chant rises throughout the arena as the none-too-happy Champion takes his place in the ring.] TD: Not an easy time to be Lord Byron.  Just this week, he lost not only an unbeaten streak, but his ESWP belt as well, to young Firestarter... and now, just seven short days after his narrow victory over Tiger Claw he's putting the IC belt up again -- and against one of the IIWF's toughest in Tony Starks. Cr: He's a busy man.  Gotta figure a man that busy maybe overlooking a few things. SR: Oh, he's not overlooking you, Creed.  Lord Byron knows all about you after that cheap stunt you pulled last week, stealing his cane. You can't get away with that for long, punk.  The European Alliance won't put up with that kinda crap. [Byron takes his place in the ring, relinquishing the belt and then begins a mocking limp, pointing at Creed and grabbing his right knee in a sneering jab at the injury the European Alliance inflicted upon the rookie.  Ding! Ding! Ding! Each man approaches the other warily, Byron offering a collar and elbow and Starks seeming as if he'll accept... but he feints, dives - and drives through Byron's midsection, knocking the champion to the canvas and then peppering him with a rapid series of right hands. Starks hops to his feet and lays into Byron with sharp boots to the ribs, the crowd hot as Byron frantically rolls around the ring, trying to avoid the almost maniacal Starks, who is now chasing him around the ring... kicking Byron around the ring... booting Byron around the ring until the Champion is able to scramble to the ropes and slide his way to the floor!  Big Pop!] TD: Oh my!  Surprising start for the challenger, Starks shows a little of his nasty side. SR: I showed a little of my nasty side once. TD: Really, how'd that turn out for you, Steve? SR: Best weekend of my life. [Byron stands up now outside the ring, Starks looks to follow but is dissuaded from so doing by the imposing presence of Verhoeven at ringside.  Byron takes a moment to collect himself, whispering briefly with the Butcher and DeWinter - and then moves back into the ring. Starks looks to attack - but is prevented by the official... allowing Byron to cleanly return to the ring. This time, it's Starks who offers the lockup, Byron accepts, quickly moving to a standing side headlock, and then dropping down into a single leg takedown of the challenger.  Byron moves to the arm, establishing an armbar, and then attacking the exposed flesh, the Intercontinental Champion driving two, three, four sharp knees into Starks' upper arm and then measuredly returns to the bar. But now it is Starks, ready with a forward flip counter taking him to his feet and putting him in position for wristlock of his own -- but Lord Byron is remarkably agile, countering the Starks maneuver with a quarter turn into a...] TD: Swinging neckbreaker!  Oh my! Cr: Damn.  That's where that Byron gets it done.  Not just that he so good on the mat... lot of guys can grapple.  Byron can pop a high-impact move and leave you cold. SR: Having flashbacks, kid?  Just stay right here next to Poppa Soundbite and he'll protect you while the menfolk squabble.  [Byron gives a quick look to the announce position, obviously informing the rookie Creed that it could have as easily been he on the receiving end of the snapping neckbreaker - before he drops down to Starks.  Byron applies a reverse chinlock, but interestingly relinquishes it quickly, instead preferring to gouge the challenger's eye and accept the break by the official. Starks is more irritated with the Champion than injured, getting quickly to his feet -- and then returning immediately to the mat as Byron knife's a dropkick to the knee!  Byron stays to his feet, maneuvering around Starks, grabbing a double leg and putting him into position for a...] TD: Slingshot to the buckle!  Byron sends Starks slamming into that top turnbuckle... and I believe that one hurt the challenger. SR: Hell, that one hurt me, Dross.  And I've taken so much of Warnett's demerol that I figure I'm pretty much immune to most human pain right about now.  Hey, rook, why don't you punch me in the stomach? [Byron lands a couple of quick boots, then scoops Starks to his feet... backing him to the corner with deadly reverse knife edge chops... and then Byron crouches down to lift Starks up!  Up to the mid... to the top buckle!  Byron moves to follow... up to the top buckle, latching onto a front facelock...] TD: What's Byron doing? I think Byron's going for that Northern Lights Superplex we saw him use to defeat Tiger Claw last week!  He's going to the top! Cr: Too early. [Byron readies himself for the superplex... but Starks is ready -- grapevining a leg with his own, and grabbing Byron's free leg with an arm... the two men teetering on the tope rope -- and then heading for the canvas!] TD: Oh my!  Starks executes a top rope rolling cradle and he's... got a pinfall attempt... [Pop as the two men smack hard to the canvas...Starks able to maintain a tight hold as Byron is trapped for a - 1... But the momentum from the top is to much for Starks to halt, and the roll continues, and now it is Starks who is underneath for a - 1...] TD: They're still rolling... rolling over... rolling... out of the ring! SR: What the hell was that? Cr: Ain't you guys ever seen a super flying rolling cradle before? [The combatants attempt to extricate themselves from each other out on the floor, Byron seming to have taken the brunt of the fall, but neither man showing a great degree of equilibrium.  Starks jabs a forearm to Byron's throat and then moves to whip him into the retaining barrier -- reverse -- and it's Starks who is sent flying hard into the guardrail!  Heel Pop!  Byron charges toward the barrier -- but Starks is prepared, catching him in a backdrop that sends the Englishman out over the rail... and into the crowd...] TD: He hangs onto Starks!  He takes Starks over with him!  Both men are out into the crowd! SR: Yeah!  Now we're getting hardcore!  You ain't got the guts to be in a match like this, rookie. Cr: You sleepin' during Ring Wars III, Roberts? SR: For part of it, hell, yeah! [Big pop as the two men are in the crowd, standing amidst a collection of young black men clad in "Anyone...Anywhere...Anytime" t-shirts, Byron and Starks stand and begin to brawl wildly, each landing huge haymakers on the other as the young men cheer stridently for Starks, shouting "Pay - Back! Pay - Back! Pay - Back!"  The cheers seems to inspire Starks, as his punches now grow more and more rapid, firing away at the Englishman... Byron is being pounded... pounded down to the...] TD: Oooh, that was low, folks -- Byron hit Starks somewhere around Bakersfield. [Pop as Byron capitalizes by grabbing a front waist and setting up for a belly-to-belly, lifting Starks up particularly high and taking him, taking him over the retaining barrier and back out to the floor!! Big... Big Pop!] TD: Oh my!  What a suplex from Byron... he lifted Starks clean over his head and all the way back to the floor!  Unbelievable power! SR: It's no shame to retire because of an injury, rookie.  A lot of good men had to do it.  Of course, you wouldn't fit into either of those categories. [Byron hops to the top of the guardrail -- leaping down with an elbow that catches -- Starks' boot! Face pop as Byron now staggers away, Starks moving to his feet and each man is able to drag himself underneath the bottom rope and into the ring. Byron and Starks warily regard each other as they return to their feet, finally locking up and it's Byron with a wristlock and then a quick hammerlock that he wrenches on Starks.  The challenger attempts a back elbow that tantalizingly misses its target -- close enough that Byron moves to a waistlock... and is forced to hold on as Starks instinctively runs to the ropes. Byron holds onto Starks.  Starks holds onto the ropes.  Byron drops down looking for a roll up... and Starks maintains his hold on the ropes -- quickly pivoting -- and is Irish whipped hard by Byron into a facelock... and a front layout suplex! Byron executes that patented front layout suplex, sneering to a big pop from the crowd as Byron quickly moves to the legs...] TD: And Starks rolls him up!  There's a one... [...Byron jabs a thumb to the eye and hops to his feet, but is then thumped back to the mat with a dragon screw legwhip by a snarling Starks! Big Pop as Starks lays into the fallen Byron, punching him with closed fists to the knee which has just been taken out by that dragon screw!] TD: We might have a new champion!  We might have a new champion right there! SR: Unfair!  Unfair!  How can a man attack another man's knee like that? Cr: Hard to figure. [Starks responds to the crowd's exhortations by viciously driving elbows into Byron's knee, pounding away... driving away at the Intercontinental Champion, now moving to a step over toe hold and lifting Byron quickly... into the... Big Face Pop!] TD: Texas Clover Leaf!  Texas Clover Leaf! [Byron's down in the clover leaf only briefly as Verhoeven shoves the lower rope for his eager grasp.  Starks breaks the hold -- but then dives back atop Byron and smothers the champ with a flurry of blows... Starks and Byron are tangled in those ropes near Verhoven, Starks drawing a huge crowd pop as he refuses the official's command to break and continues his assault on the Englishman.] TD: I don't know if we've ever seen this type of all out assault by Tony Starks before -- it almost seems as if he's less interested in winning the title than he is in putting Byron out of commission.  Cr: Starks is a dangerous man.  Know a little bit about his past; used to do a little backroom work.  Man like that can be useful. SR: What the hell is your deal with Starks and Watkins -- you guys some junior black panthers or something? Cr: Yeah, that's it, Roberts.  Couple of brothers at the same place at the same time, you think it's some kind of movement. SR: Well, you'd better be moving it on up to that deluxe apartment in the sky, rookie -- there ain't no way you want none of Byron. [The official manages to put himself between the two men, but not before Otto is able to get in a couple of shots on Starks.  Byron is clearly badly hurt, limping, nearly doubled over with pain as he walks away from Starks, who senses his opportunity and attacks... ...and is hit with a righthand to the midsection - then a gutwrench suplex that takes Starks hard to the canvas!  Heel Pop!  Byron drops a leg over the throat of Starks, but does not look to apply a submission maneuver, instead lifting Starks to his feet -- whipping him farside -- and leveling the challenger with a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker that stuns the crowd and leads to Byron's once again taunting the rookie Creed.  Big Pop!] TD: He was playing possum, Steve Roberts.  Byron is hurt -- but not hurt as badly as he was intimating.  And now he is in control once more! Cr: Man is smart.  Man is strong.  Man can go, what can I say?  The man can go. [Byron now looks to establish control, snapping a legdrop over the neck of the fallen Starks as Otto claps his approval and barks some type of suggestion to Byron in German.  The Champion smiles, drops an additional two legs on Starks - and then begins to lift him to his feet while pointing in the direction of Creed.] TD: I don't think Lord Byron much likes you, Creed. Cr: I think he a little obsessed with me. Maybe it keep him up late at night.  Two, three, four in the morning, maybe wondering if I'm the man who should be called the "best wrestler in the world". SR: Hah!  The only reason Lord Byron would be awake at 3 in the morning is if you kept calling his house and asking if he had Prince Albert in a can, rookie. [Byron whips Starks nearside... then lifts him up for a...] TD: Chokeslam!  NO!  Reverse!  [Byron's attempt to chokeslam Starks backfires, as the "Staten Island Sensation" uses the champion's momentum against him to execute a tremendous blockbuster suplex that slams Byron down to the canvas and brings a huge roar from the crowd... "Pay - Back! Pay - Back! Pay - Back!"] TD: The height was amazing.  Tony Starks literally came from nowhere with that high-impact suplex.  Listen to these people! Cr: Credit out to Starks, takes a man to stand in there with Byron. Maybe we gonna get two new champions tonight.  Maybe we get three. SR: Okay, one -- what's with the glove, Michael Jackson went out with the Rubik's cube.  Two -- not only won't we see the title switch here, I guarantee we won't see that ingrate Thunder become IIWF Champion tonight.  This is Syndicate time and we are living in a Syndicate world.  [Starks makes two quick pinfall attempts, but neither one is successful as the challenger continues to seem primarily interested in dishing out punishment.  Starks uses a lateral press to gouge an eye, and hooks a leg in order to shoot a forearm to the "lower midsection."  Starks drops and elbow to the throat - and attempts to lift Byron to his feet - but the Champion is there with a grab of the tights and an inside cradle... 1 -- 2 -- No!  Kickout by Starks. Byron wobbles to his feet as Starks leaps toward him with a clothesline attempt that Byron dodges, and upon Starks' turning around he is hit on the butt of the jaw with a textbook standing drop kick that takes him to the ropes... and over the top as Otto pulls the rope down!  Big Dropkick Pop!] TD: The man has really shown the arsenal tonight, we have talked about the different mindset that Starks is showing -- but what about Byron? Where are the constant submission attempts?  We have seen him put on just a blistering offensive barrage.  And look at the Butcher! [Byron has distracted the official, allowing Verhoeven to really go to work on Starks on the outside, laying into the challenger with big boots before dumping him back into the ring. Byron is methodical now, snapping consecutive suplexes, each with a bridge... and each with a nearfall.  The Champion is clearly through with this man now, through with Starks and through with Creed on the outside -- not even giving his rival a glance as he brings Starks down again, this time with a german suplex and the cover... 1 -- 2 -- No! Byron does not hesitate -- his machine seeming to have kicked in to an extra gear -- as he stands the challenger to his feet, and then hits him with a succession of European uppercuts before whipping him farside -- leapfrog by Starks -- and on the pass Byron attempts a hiptoss -- blocked -- and is sent over with a hiplock takeover by Starks which has Byron flying nearly to the other side of the ring!  Pop!  Byron rises quickly..and is hit with a flying shoulderblock by Starks which takes the champion off his feet again!  Pop!] TD: Starks will not die!  He will not die!  He is summoning energy from this crowd... and he is on fire! [Byron's next two rises are quickly stopped by Starks, who rocks the cool Champion with successive clotheslines and then a whip into a press slam that brings not only the champion, but the house down as well, the "Pay - back!" chant now taking on a double meaning, as it seems Creed is not the only superstar looking to settle a score with the Alliance.  Starks drops as if to cover, but instead viciously lays in a series of kicks to the champion's head and shoulders!  Starks is really looking to inflict punishment on Byron who covers up and attempts to roll away, attempts to roll out to the floor yet again...] TD: But he can't!  No, no Mr. Byron!  This dance ain't over yet! [Starks grabs the champion to his feet and wags an finger in front of his face, Byron attempts a feeble looking right hand... which is blocked by Starks, who counters with five, six, seven rights of his own that drive the champion back to the ropes!  Pop as Starks winds up for the Irish whip -- and comes off the backropes with a clothesline that literally shatters...] TD: Nothing!  Byron slipped the lariat and he's lifting... he is lifting... OH MY! SR: Turn out the lights, baby dolls. [Byron reached down with his slip of the clothesline and lifted Starks into a vertical suplex that he converted into a piledriver and knocked the challenger clean out.] TD: Remarkable display of power by the champion.  What a maneuver. Cr: It's a square driver -- the power's generated through the vector motion.  Impressive as hell. SR: Vector?  The only thing you know about vector is that you've seen your last "vectory" in this sport, rookie.  You are done. [Byron's square driver seems to leave Starks at his mercy, he eschews a cover now, bending over to slap at the challenger's face, smacking away at Starks as he taunts the fallen challenger.  Byron gives one good kick to the ribs and then turns his back on Starks... now looking directly at Creed and making the motion for the belt around his waist. Byron's telling Creed that he'll never be able to wear his belt as he is completely ignoring the popping crowd that indicates that Tony Starks is rising... Tony Starks is getting to his feet... Tony Starks is about to take a shot at the defenseless... Byron nails the incoming Starks with a back elbow!  Then moves behind for a snapping half-nelson and a crucifix armbar... that he is able to turn... Starks turns completely over into a suplex to the mat... and Byron maintains the hold as he tightly locks Starks in... nowhere to go... it's a la magesterial cradle and the official falls to his knees as there's a bridge by Byron... 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Your winner... as a result of a pinfall... and _STILL_ IIWF Intercontinental Champion... LORD BYRON! [Byron hops to his feet with a huge smile, and takes a mock bow at Creed as Otto enters the ring, Lady DeWinter attempting to join... but she is commanded to the back by Byron as he and Verhoeven now circle the fallen Starks.] TD: Byron does it again, he sets the aggressive Starks up -- and then with a remarkable maneuver defeats his ever-so-game opponent. Cr: La magesterial cradle beat anybody.  Almost anybody. [Byron now appears to have a bit of a gleam in his eye as he holds the championship belt aloft, holds it over Starks' head... and then he and Otto begin to put the boots to Starks!  The European Alliance is putting the boots to Starks as the crowd begins to chant incrreasingly more loudly... "Creed! Creed! Creed!"] TD: You just sit here, Creed.  This is bad business... Creed... [The rookie tosses away his headset and begins his limp to the base of the apron, the crowd roaring with his slow movement.] SR: Hah!  They're setting up the kid again, Dross!  They're setting him up -- his knee isn't ready!  Creed's gonna get wiped out one more time! [Creed stands at the base of the apron, his weight upon Byron's brass topped cane as Otto and Byron continue to taunt him from the inside. Byron sneering at the rookie as he stomps Starks again... and again... and again!] SR: He's gutless, Dross!  He's a coward!  The rookie is scared to death of Lord Byron and the European Alliance! [Byron gets set to bring the belt down atop the head of Starks... Otto lifting Starks into the air as Byron winds up... the crowd screaming for the injured Creed to do something... anything... Creed then tosses the brass topped cane high into the air -- over the heads of Byron and Verhoeven... Big Pop!] TD: It's Mad Dog Watkins!  It's Mad Dog Watkins! [Watkins leaps into the ring to a big pop, snatches the cane from mid-air and brings the cane down hard on the backs of Verhoeven and Byron! Big Pop!  Watkins canes the Euros again... snapping the cane clean in half over the back of the Byron and then clotheslining Verhoeven over the tope rope while simultaneously Creed reaches up and pulls Starks free to the floor.  The Cow Palace crowd roars its approval as Starks collects himself and charges at the Butcher, the two men wildly brawling into, and then up the aisle and disappearing into the back. Watkins advances on Byron, putting the boots to him as the Intercontinental champion is still out from the shots via his own cane. Creed hops to the apron and enters the ring, pointing at Watkins and then to the crowd... which begins a roar that belongs entirely to the veteran... "Mad - Dog! Mad - Dog! Mad - Dog!"  Watkins looks about, then points at Creed and raises his hand aloft, yelling out: "Here's the man! Here's the man!"  Watkins then begins laying the boots in on Byron again, motioning for Creed to do the same, motioning for Creed to attack the knee of the fallen champion. The rookie shakes his head, signifying that it's enough, that he and Watkins should go to the back... Creed turns to a huge roar, looking to exit the ring -- and is then clipped from behind by the leaping Byron!] SR: He got him again, Dross!  I knew he'd get him again!  I love it! [Byron clips Creed's knee and rips off a couple of right hands before Watkins is able to pull the champion off, backing him down... and Byron makes his way from the ring, grabbing the Intercontinental belt and holding it aloft as he exits the arena.  Watkins helps Creed to his feet and gets in his face, Watkins clearly upset with the young man, explaining that he shouldn't have turned his back on the champion. Watkins makes a motion as if that Byron needed to be kicked again, needed to be put away.  Creed nods slowly at the veteran, and accepts his help from the ring, the crowd gving their local favorite a standing ovation as he and Watkins exit.] TD: Well, Lord Byron is still Intercontinental Champion -- and maybe he was taught a little lesson in humility by Mad Dog Watkins. SR: The guy who was taught a lesson here was Creed. Watkins told him to finish Byron off -- and the rookie couldn't do it.  Didn't have the stomach for it.  Wouldn't pay the price.   He's getting soft, Dross. Too much time with the kids, too much time in that chair -- he isn't man enough to hang with Watkins, much less Lord Byron. TD: I don't know if that's the case at all. I think Creed's trying to prove to Lord Byron that he isn't some brainless thug. Byron has questioned this man's intelligence -- and it looks to me like it was the rookie who came out on top tonight. SR: Who's got the belt?  Who still hasn't wrestled since Birthday Bash? Enough said. [The crowd in the Cow Palace begins to settle after Watkins and Creed disappear into the locker room. Cut to the broadcast desk at ringside.] TD: Well, folks, here we are at tonight's main event. Many are saying that this will be the Blackheart's last night as champion, as he's facing the man that's pulled him out of trouble numerous times. SR: Oh, please, Dross. Casey is the man, no doubt about it. I'll admit, I thought Thunder was a serious badass, but I never thought he was this stupid. I mean, come on... He's messing with the wrong guys. TD: You have to admit as well that without Thunder's help, James would have lost the title several times over. That's _got_ to anger the big cowboy. SR: Thunder had a job to do, and he's not man enough to swallow his pride and take it. Lord knows that I hate being here beside you week after week, but you don't see me kicking your ass... TD: Gee, thanks, Steve. Well, folks, I'm hearing word that despite title match tradition, James is demanding that he be introduced first. Everyone knows the challenger gets introduced first, Steve. What is going on here? SR: No doubt something really cool... TD: Well, let's wait and see. Let's go to the ring... =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Casey "Blackheart" James [c] vs. "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder ---------------------------------------------------------- WRITER: MF SL: Ladies and gentlemen, this next contest is scheduled for one fall and is for the IIWF _WORLD_ Heavyweight championship! [huge pop] Introducing first, weighing in at 340 pounds and hailing from Washington D.C, The IIWF World Heavyweight champion, Casey "Blackheart" Jaaaaaaaammmmmmesssss! [There is a huge heel pop from the crowd as Foul Taste Of Freedom begins blaring over the PA. First out into the aisle is Hellraiser and Morningstar of Pain Inc, followed by Brian Lau. Brian smirks as he looks at the crowd, and points to the backstage curtain with a flourish. Casey James comes out to the head of the aisle, wearing a black cowboy hat and chomping on a big fat cigar. Casey is accompanied by Danny Dynamite and Tiger Claw. The three of them laugh at some private joke, and seem to ignore the fans.] TD: The Dark Disciples conspicuous by their absence... SR: Can it, Dross... TD: Alright, alright... Anyway, This is one reason I don't like the Syndicate, Steve. The total disdain for the entire fan base of the IIWF is disgusting. SR: But each and every one of them are top-notch atheletes. Thunder had that distinction when he was with them, but now he's going to pay. TD: And what's with the hat? SR: Mind games, Dross... Mind games. TD: Looks good... Maybe I should start wearing one... SR: Start wearing a cowboy hat, Dross, and I'll slap that third chin of yours to the back of your head. [The Syndicate gets to the ring, and all members pile in. Casey recieves some encouraging slaps on the back from Lau.] SL: His opponent, hailing from Tombstone Arizona and weighing in at 267 pounds, "Lone Wolf" Brooooodyyyy Thunnnnnderrrrrr! [The Syndicate bursts out laughing at this point, and the theme from "High Plains Drifter" begins to play. There is a mixed pop, but there is no activity at the head of the aisle. After a minute or two, the crowd calms down, and a confused murmur is heard.] TD: Where's Thunder? SR: He's backed out! He's yella! TD: Thunder is the one man I can be sure of who is not a coward, Steve. What's going on? [The official in the ring looks to Lee, who is distracted by Casey James motioning for the microphone. Sparkplug quickly hands the mic to him.] CJ: So... I guess you all thought this was my last night wearing this belt, huh? You all thought that the man who's been said to have saved my ass all those times was going to beat me tonight, huh? Well, your little cowboy isn't even bothering to show up tonight! [Huge heel pop.] Yeah, complain all you want, but the fact remains that I'm the champ, and I won't be losing it to some lowlife who isn't even going to show up. Thunder, if you're listening, and based on the last time I saw you, you're in no condition to listen, You'll always be second fiddle to me. I let you ride shotgun with me because of a mutual friend, but as soon as you turned on me, it was over. Now you're left on the road, eating my dust. [The crowd begins a chant that seems to rhyme with "dull skit." It is obvious that the San Fransisco fans are feeling ripped off.] Oh, hold on a second. I know all you folks here in the Cow Palace want to see the champ tonight. You _want_ to see the Syndicate in action, right? Well, I know how to please the fans. Tonight, I'll face Tiger Claw in a non-title match, just so you can see two of the best IIWF atheletes compete. What do you say? [The crowd's chant gets louder, and the fans are definately angry. Pain Inc. and Dynamite leave the ring with Lau, and Casey and Claw face off. Casey turns to the ref to ring the bell, but the ref is having none of it. Casey and Claw advance on the ref, who backs into a corner. Claw and James crowd him, and argue to get the bell rung.] TD: This is ludicrous. The fans came here to see Thunder against James tonight! James just pretty much admitted that they lynched Thunder! SR: And they're getting Claw against James! That's worth twice the price! [There is a commotion at the head of the aisle, and the fans cheer as Brody Thunder throws a security guard through the curtain. Thunder is dressed in jeans and cowbow boots. His T-shirt is torn, and his face shows bruises of a recent beating. Thunder walks quickly down to the ring, pulling on an elbow pad, muttering, "sunsabitches stole my hat..."] TD: Oh dear... SR: What? TD: Well, let me just say this... There are things you just don't do. You don't pull on Superman's cape, you don't spit into the wind, and you do not, I repeat do _not_ mess with a man's hat! SR: What is that, some jerkwater redneck code or something? [The crowd pops as Thunder enters the ring behind James and Claw. The outside Syndicate members shout in warning, but Claw and James seem occupied with berating the ref. Thunder steps up behind Claw, scoops his up, and press slams him over the top rope. Claw tumbles down onto the rest of the Syndicate, downing the whole lot of them. James turns, wide eyed, still wearing Thunder's hat, and the ref calls for the bell. James turns to the ref angrily, only to catch a huge padded elbow to the head from Thunder. James drops like a rock!] TD: And we have our title match! SR: No! No! Thunder didn't show! TD: He's right there, Steve! SR: But he... Aw, No! [The crowd pops as Thunder stands over James and grabs the hat from him. Thunder picks James up and locks on a front face lock. He signals for the Cattle Buster DDT, and the crowd goes wild. Thunder drops James down onto the mat, and goes for the cover.] TD: James is out! He's out! SR: NO! [As if on cue, the entire Syndicate storms the ring and breaks the pin. The ref calls for the bell, but the Syndicate doesn't seem to care. Claw drops a knee on the back of Thunder's head then rolls him off of the champion, who doesn't move an inch. Claw drags Thunder up and executes a huge round shin kick that hits Thunder's head with a crack, but Thunder staggers to the ropes to keep from going down. Dynamite runs in with a dropkick, and Thunder is taken to the mat. Pain Inc runs in like a pack of dogs and stomps on the cowboy relentlessly.] TD: Oh, come on, this is just so typical! SR: But it's great! It shows that the Syndicate is unbeatable! Thunder knows now... He knows! [Thunder is dragged up in front of Claw, who looks to be getting ready for a huge kick, and Lau tries to revive the champion. Suddenly, there is a pop from the crowd as Derek Mota sprints down to the ring and onto the apron. Claw happens to notice him, and with a sinister grin, runs toward Mota, leaping over the top rope, and connecting with a sort of Thesz Press on Mota, sending both men onto the floor. Claw gets dropped over the crowd barrier chest first, and Mota hits the floor with one of Claw's knees buried in his chest. Both men lie on the floor, holding their injured areas, not able to capitalize on the moment.] SR: He's hardcore! He's hardcore! TD: Stop it, Steve. That was a nasty bump for both men. But look at what they're doing to Thunder! [Pain Inc. still hold Thunder in place, and Brian finally succeeds in bringing Casey to his feet. Casey looks around and sees Thunder, and his face grows dark. Brian hands him a bulky black glove, and Casey slips it on.] TD: That's a sap glove! It's filled with lead shot! SR: Really? Hit him, Blackheart! Hit him! [Casey slaps Thunder on the face a few times, then turns to the crowd, holding the gloved fist in the air and tapping his chest.] TD: Oh, no... SR: Aw, yeah! [Casey winds up, and hits Thunder with the Blackheart Punch. Thunder goes limp in the arms of Pain Inc, but Casey turns to the crowd again and holds up one finger.] TD: Oh, someone has to stop this! SR: No they don't... Hit him again! [Casey them holds up another finger... Then another... Until all five fingers on one hand are up. He them nods to himself. Casey winds up for another Blackheart Punch, but the lights suddenly drop. Huge confused pop!] TD: What the...?! SR: Someone forgot to pay the electrical bill! Come on, get those lights up! [As if on cue, the lights come on again, and the crowd seems to give a collective gasp. Deathbringer stands in the middle of the ring with Casey James in position for a tombstone piledriver. Deathbringer seems unaffected by the weight of the load he carries as he turns to all four sides of the ring while the Syndicate looks on in awe. Deathbringer drops James straight onto his head to a huge crowd pop! Dynamite seems to be the first to shake off the effects of the spectacle, and rushes Deathbringer, only to run into the outstretched hand of the big man. Dynamite goes up in a chokeslam, and then gets planted into the mat. Pain Inc. rush the former champ, but get a boot to the face each for their troubles. The two men are staggered, and Deathbringer comes off the opposite ropes and launches himself into a flying double clothesline! Both men go down!] TD: It looks like a battlefield in there! All those bodies... SR: Who the hell let him in?! [Lau calls to his fellow members to retreat and runs up the aisle. Slowly, all the atheletes roll out of the ring and stagger up the aisle as well. Claw still lies on the floor, holding his chest, as does Mota. Dynamite rushes over and helps Claw up, and both men follow the rest of the stable. In the ring, Deathbringer looks to the fallen Brody Thunder. Thunder, looking to be only semi-conscious, drags himself to his feet and staggers towards Deathbringer with his fists up. Thunder only gets two steps, though, before he falls flat on the mat. Deathbringer looks down and closes his eyes, when he opens them, however, a sense of respect can be felt. The lights drop once again, and when they come up, Deathbringer is gone, and only Thunder is left in the ring, with Mota nursing his chest on the outside.] TD: My goodness. What a display we just saw here tonight! The Syndicate got laid out by one man: Deathbringer! SR: He surprised him, Dross, and Casey was already Cattle Bustered, and the lights... And, and... TD: And the Syndicate got whooped! SR: No... No... I... No, don't... TD: Fans, we're right out of time here tonight! What a night of action it's been! Absolutely incredible... There must be a rematch between James and Thunder. Don't forget to call the Hotline tomorrow, folks, to get all the latest news on this situation. Next Saturday Night, we'll be coming at you from the Olympic Stadium, in Juarez, Mexico, for a special "Midnight in Mexico" broadcast. Check your local listings for time details. Until then, this is Tim Dross, for "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, saying: so long, everybody! [Cut to a wide-angle shot of the ringside area, the fans cheering on all sides, as Thunder begins to stir. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Jim Jividen | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | brokeback@webtv.net | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+