[Fade up on clips of "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec pinning "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley. Voice over begins:] VO: Two men... linked together by a common enemy... EACH OTHER! [The shot cuts to clips of TAEWF footage of Lebec glueing Quigley's belt to Quigley's waist as he lays unconscious.] Two men... who have collided in the past! [The shot cuts to footage of Chris Quigley and Simon Lebec duking it out in the locker room.  Lebec's voice is heard in a voice-over saying,"I guess this fed isn't big enough for the two of us.") Two men... who will come face to face tonight. [The shot cuts to footage from last week's IIWF Saturday Night: Lebec invites Chris Quigley onto "The Final Cut".] Can they control their tempers?  We'll find out tonight... right here, on... [The opening graphics, complete with authentic Mexican music, explode onto the screen:] ##### ###### ### ########## ########## ########## #### ## ########## ########## ########## #### # #### ######## ##### ##### #### ## ##### #### #### #### #### ### #### #### #### #### ############# ######### #### #### ########### ######### #### #### #### #### #### ######### ######### ### #### #### ######### ######### ### ## #### ######## ######## ## # #### =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ## =-=-=-= INTERNATIONAL INTERNET WRESTLING FEDERATION =============================================== S + A + T + U + R + D + A + Y N + I + G + H + T ----------------------------------------------- M I D N I G H T I N M E X I C O ----------------------------------------------- + LiVE! + 7 June 1997 + LiVE! + + Olympic Stadium, Juarez, Mexico + [The opening graphics fade through to aerial shots of the jam-packed Olympic Stadium. A spectacular pyrotechnic display illuminates the sky above the open-air arena as searchlights probe the midnight darkness. The IIWF blimp hovers over the arena, its edges occasionally being picked out by the searchlights. Tim Dross's voice is heard over these shots:] TD: Welcome everybody to Juarez, Mexico! Welcome everybody to the Olympic Stadium! Twenty-five thousand fans pack out this magnificent facility -- they'd be hanging from the rafters if there were any! This is IIWF Saturday Night -- Midnight in Mexico! [The shot cuts to a tracking shot inside the huge circular arena. It 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 a poncho and wearing a sombrero, and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, who wears his IIWF leather jacket and a "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!" t-shirt.] SR: Dross, you look like a moron. TD: Just entering into the spirit of this fine country, Steve! Welcome to another incredible edition of IIWF Saturday Night, another stop on the IIWF's "Coronation Clash Crusade Tour", which will take us all the way to the Fleet Centre in Boston, MA, on July 12. It's midnight, local time, and we have, as always, the hottest two hours of television anywhere on the planet coming your way! I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my broadcast colleague, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. SR: And the "L'il Soundbiters" are here in full force, Dross. [Roberts turns to the rabid fans behind the ringside broadcast table and tosses a few pieces of merchandise into the crowd, who cheer and wave.] Morons. And for all you morons at home, grab yourself a pile of tacos and a Mexican beer, and settle back. This is gonna be a wild night. TD: Indeed it is. What a card we have lined up for tonight's show -- we'll see Creed make his return to the squared circle as he faces the Scots powerhouse, Duncan Macbeth. SR: And he'll be put straight back into that wheelchair by the European Alliance, Dross. TD: Indications are that Creed may be as much as ninety percent fit after the debilitating MCL injury to his right knee, and I know that he's been training exceedingly hard in his quest to be ready for his return to the ring tonight. In other main event action, Chris Quigley will face Billy Shakespeare. These two men have faced off once before, in the tournament to crown the first ever IIWF Cruiserweight Champion last fall, and it was Shakespeare who came out on top. Quigley himself has acknowledged that his loss to Shakespeare was the closest he has come to a clean defeat in the IIWF -- can Billy prove again tonight that he is "Born to Perform"? SR: If that's a main event match, Dross, I'll eat your hat. By the way, what's the deal with the hat? Did you lose your wig? TD: Please, Steve. Tonight's lineup also includes the People's Champion, the Subway Psycho, taking on Requiem, in a classic battle of "new" versus "old" generations. We'll also see Derek Mota battle Ronnie Paris in an exciting cruiserweight matchup, and Mad Dog Watkins take on Ike Sampson. SR: A battle of the Black Pack, Dross. TD: Steve, we don't need any more of those comments. SR: What's the matter, Dross? Everybody's jumping on the "Soundbite" bandwagon. Everybody's talking about the Black Pack, buddy. Especially the Age of Rage. TD: Indeed. The new IIWF Cruiserweight Champion, Dirt Dog Unique Allah, has certainly had words for Watkins, Creed and Sampson this past week, and the Prophets of Rage themselves will be in action tonight as they face Team Sychosys. SR: And that loony Petrow's already in the stands, Dross. [Cut to a shot of the ringside area. Joe Petrow sits in the second row, next to "Majestic" Maurice McArthur, with a couple of dozen Sychopaths surrounding the two members of Team Sychosys. Both Petrow and McArthur are wearing sombreros, pulled low over their faces, and have bare upper bodies, their wrestling pants white and over-sized. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Petrow, of course, was attacked last Saturday Night by the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi -- and there's no telling what's going to happen when Team Sychosys makes its return to the squared circle tonight to face the World Tag Team Champions in non-title action. SR: All hell's gonna break loose, Dross. It's gonna be crazy. TD: And speaking of hell breaking loose, first we are going to kick it off with a matchup that should show all of these fine fans exactly what the IIWF is all about. SR: Hey, is it one of those wacky six-man tags where everyone has a colorful costume and performs a daredevil maneuver and nobody tags out ever because, gosh, that would just ruin the choreography that all of these Mexicans seem to go nuts for -- but bore me almost as much as that lame as show that you do on Tuesdays? TD: Well, about a half dozen responses come to mind for that one, Steve Roberts. But I'll just say "no." In fact, we are about to see two of the IIWF's aircraft carriers, two skyscrapers, two of the biggest and baddest in this sport -- Deathbringer and Serge Annis -- hook it on up. SR: Ah heck, Dross.  This might have been good a year ago, but let's face it, these guys are on the down side.  I don't know what the hell happened to the 'Bringer -- sticking his nose in Syndicate business last week.  That's dumb even for a dead guy. TD: Perhaps the Deathbringer had had some type of change of heart. Perhaps an epiphany.  It happens, Steve. SR: Yeah, my epiphany changed in junior high. Sure, I had to carry my books in front of it for a year and a half... particularly in English, when Miss Bishop used to bend over right in front... TD: Let's get to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Deathbringer vs. Serge Annis -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee's walk up to the apron is halted by the ringside appearance of Takezo Musashi. The Enigma leaps into the crowd and points at Joe Petrow who is seated with Majestic Maurice McArthur and the contingent of Sychopaths who were able to make it across the border. Petrow and 3M are wearing puffy white pants and matching sombreros pulled low over their eyes. Musashi continues locked onto his target... thoroughly focused as he points up at Petrow... ignoring the increasing chants of the Sychopaths "Who - are - you? Who - are - you?" As Sparkplug begins the introduction, the Enigma slowly walks back up the aisle, perplexing everyone in attendance.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... welcome to "Midnight in Mexico!" [A small volley of fireworks goes off in the upper deck, leading to an uneccessary round of applause from the crowd.] SL: The following opening contest is set for one fall... introducing first... weighing 293 pounds, and hailing from Oakville, Ontario, Canada... "The Epitiome of Evil" -- Serge Annis! [Heel pop as the big Canadian hits the aisle while "Some Days It's Dark" begins, his blue eyes seeming to glow in the darkness of the open air soccer stadium.  However, as Annis enters the ring, there is no fire, no histrionics; it is a surprisingly calm Serge who we see ready himself for the fight.] TD: Long week for Serge in the IIWF, folks. This would normally be a hotline item, but I'm gonna give you folks a scoop here for free tonight.  Serge Annis almost didn't make it to this match -- there are rumors floating around that "The Epitome of Evil" may well be on his way out of the IIWF.  SR: Yeah, I can't say I'm surprised, Dross.  Annis was supposed to be a big, bad man -- but he's never gotten it going here.  I'd like to see him go out with a little dignity, though.  Maybe kill one or twelve of these moronic Mexican fans.  Ain't that right, moronic Mexican fans? [The fans behind Roberts burst out into applause for the Soundbite, some even singing what could be construed as the Spanish version of "Running with the Devil".] SL: His opponent... [Huge pop as "The Reaper" kicks in -- and the massive Deathbringer appears in the aisle.] SL ...hails from The Dark Side and weighs in at 324 pounds... he is the former IIWF Heavyweight Champion... Deathbringer! [The stadium seems to shake a little bit as the 25,000 plus roar their approval of the man from the darks side - the Deathbringer discards his scythe and steps in between the ropes, walking directly toward Annis - who meets him mid-ring and the two men begin a staredown.] TD: Well, these fans really are showing their appreciation for this man, Steve Roberts.  I wonder if last week may have brought us a new Deathbringer, may have brought us a change in attitude from the man from the dark side.  These fans, many of whom had abandoned the Deathbringer over the past six months or so, have now really warmed to him as he comes into this contest. SR: Yeah, whatever.  Listen, Dross, how many times do I have to tell you people that I'm being wasted on these preliminary matches?  Get Summer out here for the first part -- or Jackson Browne or whatever that new guy's name is -- and wake me up when the belts are on the line.  I need my sleep, Dross.  I gots to gets my sack time, baby.  Sleep, cigarettes and love. That's what makes the Soundbite engine purr. [The two behemoths continue their stare, Serge's ice blue gaze met by the piercing red eyes that lurk behind the mask of the 'Bringer.  The crowd begins to stomp, stomp in anticipation for the opening contest... and the two men finally lock up. But not for long, Deathbringer shoving the massive Annis hard to the mat and getting the huge face pop.  Serge is quickly back to his feet... moving again for a lockup... and again, it is the Deathbringer who slams the Canadian to the mat!  Big pop as Serge again is back on his feet -- and again takes a collar and elbow from the Dead Man.  Deathbringer grabs a standing side headlock... wrenching away at Annis' neck... Serge punches at the Dead Man's head... trying to break the hold with right hands in the direction of the face.  But it is to no avail; Deathbringer keeps hold of the headlock and simply will not let go. Serge punches again, more and more furiously, then mixes his punches up with sharp elbows to the midsection of the Deathbringer.  Again, nothing. The Deathbringer has not backed up as much as an inch... not as much as an inch as Serge... Big Pop!] TD: Oh my!  Tremendous side suplex by Annis.  The power there was extraordinary -- Serge lifted the dead man clean up in a counter from the headlock, and suplexed him hard to the mat. SR: Hey, Dross.  Maybe Serge needs a new approach.  Maybe a white polyester suit.  We can call him "The Epitome of Dance." [Annis quickly stands, adjusting his wristbands and winding up for a big elbowdrop... which connects.  Annis again, winds up and charges down with an elbowdrop -- and again he connects.  Serge winds up again, moving for a third huge drop of his elbow... Serge leaps high into the air and comes down... ..right onto the neck of the Deathbringer! A third time! Annis covers with a lateral press... 1 -- 2 -- No! The 'Bringer is able to kick out strongly.] TD: Almost a quick finish there, Steve Roberts.  Those were some violent elbows that Serge was sending there. SR: I like them - the "Violent Elbows".  # When I go walking / I strut my stuff...# [Annis is apparently oblivious to Soundbite's ringside warbling, and brings the Deathbringer to his feet.  Annis Irish whips the 'Bringer and then drops to the mat as the Dead Man throws a clothesline and then comes off the back side, where he is snatched up by Serge, up into a military press! Big press Pop as Serge presses the 324 pound Deathbringer high over his head, and then pumps the Dead Man... presses Deathbringer up and down... up and down... high up in the air at least a half dozen times before tossing the former champion down to the canvas, dropping him straight to the mat face first!] TD: My gosh, did you see that, Steve Roberts?  The pure raw power of a man like Serge Annis!  Unbelievable! SR: I do like to see the big men, Dross.  Over a quarter ton of beef just hammerin' at each other right in a confined space right in the middle of desolate Mexico.  Reminds me of The Smooth and his mother.  My God, did you see the size of that woman's thighs, Dross?  I thought she was smuggling cruiserweights under that dress. TD: Will you stop? SR: I was half expecting Icehawk to pop out of there and start missing dropkicks. [Annis picks the Dead Man up again, hitting him with two European uppercuts, and then nailing the former champ with an unbelievable standing dropkick and another cover... 1 -- 2 -- No! Another kickout by the Deathbringer. Pop as Serge again picks up Deathbringer, whipping him nearside and greeting his return to the middle of the ring with a huge shoulderblock. The Bringer pops up, takes an Irish whip, and is again shoulderblocked to the mat.  Serge doesn't waste time, running to the ropes himself as the Dead Man rises, Serge springboarding off the backropes and launching himself into the air with a flying forearm...] TD: Oh my!  Deathbringer snatches the nearly 300 pound Annis clean out of the air -- and drives him to the mat with a stadium shattering powerslam!  Have mercy! SR: Ouch.  Hope Serge enjoys retirement. [Deathbringer wastes no time; he grabs an armbar and drives two big knees into the exposed elbowjoint before picking Serge to his feet... and being rolled up into an inside cradle! 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Deathbringer is able to kick out and wallop Serge with a clothesline as each man comes to his feet.  Deathbringer springboards off the backropes... leaping into the air and driving down with a fist to the face of Annis!  Pop as Deathbringer is off the ropes again -- and down with a legrop.] TD: Missed it!  He missed it!  And Serge is to his feet -- he's got the Deathbringer in the air!  He throws him out over the top rope! SR: Now we might see something here, Dross.  It's about time to see a little evil... it's about time for Serge to go off on the dead guy. [Annis moves to the apron, coming off for a double axe... but taking a blow to the midsection for his trouble -- face pop! Deathbringer sends a series of right hands popping Annis' jaw... and whipping him hard -- reverse -- and the 'Bringer is sent crashing into those steel steps!  Serge quickly brings the Deathbringer to his feet, whipping him into a short armed clothesline that brings a big heel pop from the crowd. Serge scoops the dead man up, slamming him into what passes for padding at ringside.  Serge picks up the 'Bringer again... and drives him over his knee with an enormous shoulderbreaker.  Annis is now feeling it... now feeling the possibility that he will defeat the Deathbringer, defeat him for a second time, allowing him to regain the stature, the sense of himself as a pre-eminent wrestler that has been lost in the IIWF.  To a huge heel pop, Annis shoves the timekeeper from his chair, and grabs the chair... and then waffles the Deathbringer with it! The official is obviously giving a great deal of leeway, simply continuing a ten count -- which Serge breaks.  Serge brings the chair again over the back of the 'Bringer, and then waves it in the air -- the imprint of the Deathbringer's body visible to the "booing" crowd.  Serge sneers as he tosses the chair into the crowd, in favor of...] TD: The ringbell! Serge has the ringbell and he is going to plant the Deathbringer with it! SR: You know what I always say, Dross.  You know what I always say. What the hell -- use the bell! TD: You don't say that, Steve Roberts.  Generally you talk about lapdancing and biscuits. SR: Well, I could say it.  I have a lot of things to say... I'm remarkably bright. [The heel pop is tremendous as Serge waggles the ringbell over the slowly rising form of the mighty Deathbringer.  Annis sets himself with the ringbell... and then hesitates...a moment of _something_ is clear in those ice-blue eyes and "The Epitome of Evil"  waits for a split second over the Deathbringer before... before the dead man grabs Serge around the throat!  Before he grabs Serge around the throat... and chokeslams Annis all the way through that thin padding outside the ring!  Wild face pop!] TD: Oh my!  That was a chokeslam and a half!  Unbelievable! SR: Annis blew it -- he had the dead man finished... he had the 'Bringer out of this fight -- and he blew it!  He's done! Get him a plane ticket.. he is _done_! [The roar intensifies as the 'Bringer draws his thumb across his throat and drapes the prone Annis over his shoulder, effortlessly carrying the enormous Canadian up the steps, to the apron, and up to the top rope!] TD: It's a Burial!  We're gonna see the Burial! SR: Get him a bodybag, baby dolls. [The Deathbringer is up for the top rope piledriver... the crowd is on its feet, 25,000 strong as he leaps... and PLANTS Serge Annis dead into the canvas!  Deathbringer crosses the arms of the Canadian and covers as the official counts... 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: Three!  NO!  NO!  Serge Annis kicks out!  Serge Annis kicks out from the Burial!  Oh my! [The stunned crowd is momentarily silenced... now begins a wild roar as Serge begins to stand... Deathbringer is firing away with a massive barrage of lefts and rights... but Annis begins to stand... moving to his feet... seeming to not feel any of the blows of the Deathbringer... And Serge fires away! It is Serge with his own right hands, a rapid volley of haymaker right hands that _rock_ the Deathbringer back, move the Deathbringer back to the ropes... Serge Irish whips -- and misses a clothesline, and the 'Bringer grabs him by the throat. Serge is going up again for a chokeslam...] TD: DDT! DDT! Serge counters the chokeslam attempt by grabbing a facelock as the dead man lifts him up... and driving the Deathbringer to the mat with a DDT! Here's the cover! [Serge hooks a leg and the official counts... 1 -- 2 -- NO! The Deathbringer kicks out! Annis is stunned, as the Deathbringer hops to his feet -- and once more the two big men are face to face, once more they stand toe-to-toe, once more they are nose-to-nose... And then they just start firing, each man with lefts and rights, the crowd roaring its approval at the wild brawl, the two men rocking and rolling each other with closed fists... each man pounding away at the other... Deathbringer Irish whips Annis -- Serge ducks under a clothesline and fires back with a high cross body press... and the Deathbringer rolls it over! The Bringer rolls it over for a cover... 1 - ] TD: Deathbringer with the counter!  He's got the cover!  [ - 2 - ] TD: He's about to... NO!  Serge kicks out! [Big pop as Serge is able to lift a shoulder!  The two men slowly move to their feet, Annis with the Irish whip, Deathbringer ducks under a clothesline -- and is caught with a big boot on the next pass by Serge! Deathbringer goes to the mat...] TD: And here goes Serge to the midrope... Serge to the top rope... Serge is going up to the top rope and he's... Oh my! [Deathbringer stands, catching Serge in mid-air, positioning him up... and blasting him to the mat with a jackknife powerbomb! Big face pop as the Deathbringer covers... 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Your winner... as a result of a pinfall... Deathbringer! [An enormous roar goes up as the Deathbringer momentarily stands over the fallen Annis.  The 'Bringer raises his arm in victory as Serge returns to his feet, slowly shaking his head.  Annis gives the official a small shove and now the two enormous men, two proud warriors, stand face-to-face again, the frustration clearly evident on the face of Serge.  Deathbringer takes a step away, and then grabs a microphone.] DB: Annis... We should not fight each other... For you there are far greater threats in the IIWF than me, and for me there are far greater threats here in the IIWF than you... I think you know exactly what I am talking about as it is the same threat that lies in our minds... Let us not waste our energies by fighting each other... I think we could very well use them otherwise... SL: What the hell does he mean by that, Dross?  What is that all about? Is he asking for help?  Is the Deathbringer asking for some type of help?  TD: It would appear that way, Steve Roberts.  It looks as if this man, this proud champion is actually reaching his hand... reaching his hand out for some type of alliance with this man Serge Annis! [Annis puts his hands on his hips, staring dead into those glowing red eyes of the Deathbringer, Serge staring into those eyes... and Annis turns his back!  Serge turns his back and walks away!  Serge Annis turns his back on the Deathbringer and leaves the ring to a chorus of "boo"s from this partisan crowd.] TD: Well, there is your answer.  Serge Annis has made his own way here in the IIWF -- and will obviously continue to so do.  Even if that means he will make his own way out of the IIWF. SR: Yeah, he's gone.  He'll be tagging with the Hangman at a county fair near you.  And what about the dead man -- yeah, he wins the match... but that's pretty damn embarrassing.  He can't even get a has-been to be his partner.  I can't believe these guys -- Thunder, Deathbringer, they used to be tough guys, hard men -- and now... well, toot, toot, baby dolls. [There is a spectacular lightning effect as Deathbringer stands in the ring, accepting the cheers of the crowd, before heading back up the aisle to a big face pop.] TD: All right, ladies and gentlemen, I think it's time to give the Mexican crowd a hometown boy to cheer for! SR: Or they could just cheer for me. [A group of locals behind Roberts begins a "Shoot, Soundbite, Shoot!" chant. Even in Mexico, it catches like wildfire...] TD: I've never understood what the people see in you, Steve. What I do understand is that the Dark Disciples, former World tag team champions and current angry lunatics, are probably the favourites against the Last Resort, despite the partisan crowd on El Diablo's behalf. SR: _Probably_ the favourites? We're gonna see the old guy and the masked scrub get crippled, and that's a Soundbite guarantee. TD: Unfortunately, that may be the case... let's go to Sparkplug Lee with the official introductions. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Dark Disciples vs. The Last Resort -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: JdW [Sparky, who'd been waiting patiently all this time, is finally able to step into the ring and put the mic to his... wait a minute, he forgot the mic back at his table! Lee sighs, and turns to trudge all the way over, and all the way back. This time, he's remembered everything. Except his cue cards. Lee shrugs his shoulders, and decides to wing it.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, introducing first at a combined weight of five hundred and something pounds, from Monterrey, Mexico... El Diablo, his partner the Masked Avenger, and accompanied by wrestling legend Luis Garcia... they are the Last Resort! [The already pro-Last Resort crowd begins to pop even louder as they see El Diablo, led by his mentor Luis Garcia, waving the Mexican flag. The Masked Avenger walks out immediately after, saluting many of the fans as he walks towards the ring. All three men are moving slowly to soak up the cheers, which are only growing louder as they get closer to the ring.] TD: We're quite privileged to have a man of Luis Garcia's stature on our broadcast... he is a legend down here, and he's taught the quite accomplished El Diablo much of what he knows. SR: Hey, they aren't allowed to have him here, it's against the rules! TD: Since when did you become a stickler for the rules? Besides, he's taking a seat at ringside now, so don't worry. SL: ...and their opponents [some very eerie sounding druidic chanting begins.] at a combined weight of 616, um, make that 615 pounds, former IIWF Tag Team champions, Kane and Wulf, the Dark Disciples! [The loud cheering turns instantly to boos, even though Kane and Wulf have yet to appear through the curtain. They finally do, and are barraged with loud retorts in mostly Spanish. Neither of the two are paying much attention, as Kane is focusing on the Last Resort and Wulf seems to be, well, staring at the moon. And howling a bit on the side. The two monsters roll into the ring, so Diablo and the Avenger wisely move out of their way as the Disciples begin limbering up.] SR: Interesting story about these two... they tried their hand at betting on cockfighting like we did, and after the match Wulf bit one of the roosters' heads off. TD: That's one way of dealing with losing, I suppose. SR: What are you talking about? They didn't lose. [Kane's waiting less than patiently as the Masked Avenger circles him cautiously. He challenges to lock up, and Kane accepts, but as soon as they've touched the Avenger's darting off, running right back to his own corner where he tags in El Diablo. The crowd gets even more entusiastic as Diablo steps into the ring, but Kane's just staring him down, unimpressed.] TD: The early tag was a wise move, it really seems to get this crowd even more behind the Last Resort. SR: Those two punks are going to have an EMT team behind them by the time the Disciples are through tearing them up and spitting them out. It'll be like watching you devour a waffle. TD: Or French toast? SR: Yup... we can get some pancakes with maple syrup, a side of bacon... damn, I miss Portland! TD: I never thought I'd hear you say those words. [Kane charges at the aging Mexican, but he runs right into a forearm shot to the face. Diablo grabs Kane by the shoulderblade, and grasps suddenly at a nerve that's having some affect on the Disciple. He's fighting it, though, and manages enough resistance to drive an elbow back into El Diablo, which forces a release. Before ED has a chance to recuperate at all, Kane whips him across the ring into unfriendly territory. Kane's for some reason picked this time to complain about illegal closed fists to Chuck Sanders, which gives Wulf leeway for a cheap shot. El Diablo, always thinking, sees the ploy coming and ducks just before he's plastered with a clothesline. However, he isn't looking behind as Kane charges and hip checks him over the top rope. ED falls to the floor, and Wulf takes flight with a flying buttdrop. He's seemingly in the air forever, but perhaps the sight of a 340+ pounder dropping his posterior on a 40-year old Mexican is just one of those moments etched in time... in any case, the move hits well enough, much to the Avenger's chagrin.] TD: That was certainly a... unique double team manouver. SR: Wulf must have been watching some taped footage of Marv Albert or something. TD: You'd think after three weeks the guy's lawyer would have somehow stopped you from telling these jokes. He needs better representation, if you ask me. SR: If you ask me, what he needs is a good... TD: [interrupting hurriedly] Steve, nobody asked you. [Wulf rolls El Diablo back into the ring for his partner to dissect some more. Kane picks the luchadore back up and sets him up between his legs for a... piledriver! The move's hit with devestating accuracy, so Kane drapes an arm over Diablo for the first pin attempt of the match. Sanders, who's out of position surprisingly enough, hustles in to make a two count. Kane scrambles up to his feet, and mere seconds later Diablo's up too. The first thing he sees upon rising is Kane grabbing at his head to set up a DDT, so the wily veteran backs off a step and throws Kane in an armdrag takeover into armscissors. Solid pop for the combo. Kane inches himself over towards the ropes, but before he's close enough Diablo drives a knee into the bigger man's back to impede his progress. Kane does make it to the ropes, but he's getting up gingerly. Diablo tries to keep the momentum with a shoulderblock, but when it hits Kane doesn't really feel the affect. Instead, he underhooks both arms and quickly drives ED to the mat in a double underhook DDT! Reluctant, but impressed pop.] TD: The two legal men have been in almost the entire match, so you have to feel they want to carry this thing all the way if they can. [Instead of covering, Kane walks to his own corner and tags in the huge Wulf. Wulf then rushes in towards Diablo, who's struggling to the corner, but arrives just a second after a tag to the Masked Avenger is made.] SR: You were saying, oh wise one? TD: You never get tired of making me look bad, do you? SR: I don't make you look bad. That ferret on your head makes you look bad. The paunch makes you look bad. That jacket makes you look bad. Genetics... TD: We get the point, Steve. [The Avenger quickly looks over his opponent, and seems to be a little intimidated by Wulf's big advantage in size. Wulf smells the inkling of fear, and charges at the Avenger, who dodges to the side. Wulf shakes his head at missing, and charges a second time, with the Avenger again playing matador to the delight of the crowd. This can't go on forever, though, so the masked man tries a standing dropkick that barely moves Wulf. Undaunted, MA runs off the ropes for a shoulderblock, and when the highly resistable force hits the immoveable object, the resulting fall of the Avenger is predicatable. Wulf picks up his opponent by the ear and drags him over into the corner, making a tag to Kane and whipping the Avenger to the opposite ropes. The two smash him with a double clothesline, quickly following up as Wulf slams his partner onto the Avenger.] TD: Ouch! That can't be good for the back... Kane with a cover for one, two... he got him! No, he didn't. The Masked Avenger with a small package for one, two... did he get him? No, not quite. SR: Dross, if you'll notice, I can easily kick you under the table. HARD. Now, will you ever do that again? TD: [Ashamed, with his head bowed] No. [The Avenger's far from out of the woods, but he does gain a reprieve as the Disciples are conducting a brief pow-wow to discuss strategy. How often does that happen? In any event, the Avenger plays possum until he knew the two weren't looking, and then crawls towards his corner. Too late, Kane and Wulf see him make the tag to El Diablo, who enters to a huge pop for the local hero. He runs in quickly and drops Kane with a clothesline, quickly following as he knocks Wulf out over the adjacent set of ropes via another clothesline. The ring is cleared of Dark Disciples for a moment, but before anything else can occur a distraction begins brewing aisleside. Suddenly, a familiar voice is heard over the loudspeaker:] MM: HEY, DUMB DISCIPLES, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST WALK AWAY FROM ATTACKING     THE BEST TAG TEAM IN THE IIWF? IT'S PAYBACK TIME, YOU IDIOTS! [Mr.Mic and Hellraiser are seen marching towards the ringside area.] TD: Uh oh! This could get ugly! SR: Uglier than you, Dross? I don't think so! Besides, this is a tag match, I could have told you at the start someone'd come out here to interfere. [Mr. Mic and Hellraiser march all the way down to within a few feet of ringside, right where Wulf has picked himself up. For a tense moment, the two men stare each other down, but somehow they've been holding their tempers in check. Chuck Sanders dives out of the ring to try and defuse the situation, trying to maintain some semblance of order out there, while Kane is back up on the ring apron. However, he notices Hades standing in the front row, taunting him, and he can't resist hopping the barrier to attack. As soon as he lands, however, he's hit with a right hand belonging to Morningstar. Morningstar quickly wraps his chainmail mask around his fist, and before Kane can recover from the shock he blasts him with the right hand again. Kane drops like he was shot, so Morningstar calmly rolls him back into the ring just when Mr. Mic and Hellraiser decide to start leaving. As if it were co-ordinated to work that way. Freaky. As Pain Inc leaves, they get a big Sychopop for the use of an illegal weapon. Hellraiser's in no mood to be cheered, so he glares at the Sychopaths only to recieve a double one-finger salute from the members of Team Sychosys.] TD: Oh no, this is not fair at all! SR: I know, the Last Resort's gonna win and they've been bombing all night! TD: Well, that's not _exactly_ how I'd put it, but... SR: There's your favouritism again. [El Diablo, who's been around long enough to take the win when he sees one, picks up the limp Kane and nails a Diabolic reverse DDT, covering his lifeless form for an academic three count. Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the winners by virtue of a pinfall, the Last Resort! [Loud face pop despite the less than clean way they won. The Avenger wants to stay behind and play to the crowd, but El Diablo notices that Kane is stirring and Wulf doesn't look happy, so to avoid a fight they leave the ring area in a hurry.] TD: The Last Resort comes up big in Juarez, but as it always seems to be a great tag team match is marred by interference. A little competitive fire is okay, but Nathan Novak really needs to clamp down on these run-ins. SR: Nathan _who_? TD: Don't you read memos, Steve? You don't remember the executive the suits put in charge of the tag team division a few weeks back? SR: Sorry, doesn't ring a bell. TD: You're hopeless, Steve... SR: And speaking of hopeless, Dross, up next, we're going to see Chris Quigley interviewed by the "Showstopper" Simon Lebec. I've been looking forward to this all week. [The Dark Disciples make their way up the aisle, Wulf threatening to thump some of the ringside fans as they go. Cut to the interview podium, set back from the aisle. The stage is decorated as a film set, with many cameras surrounding the set.  Old movie props scatter the set.  The words "The Final Cut" are written above the set in neon pink. There are two chairs in the center of the set. The familiar majestic music begins to play as "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec walks onto the set via the left curtain.  The fans boo as Lebec enters. Lebec does not appear to be as relaxed as usual, as he walks in with an "all-business" look on his face to accompany the attitude.  He grabs the mic:] SL: Guys, get these chairs out of here.  We won't be needing them tonight. [two IIWF employees walk out to remove the chairs as Lebec looks straight into the camera] I want to talk for a moment about a few things that I have to get of my chest.  I want to talk about this realistic world and the role that fantasy has in it.  Call it a "shoot" if you want.    You see people, this... this all isn't real!  I'm not real. [looks at a fan] You there!  Do you think you know Simon Lebec?  No, no you don't.  Me?  I'm an entertainer.  I get paid to entertain you.  If I do a good job, whether you boo me or not, then I get paid more.  Just like any other job.  I could be the most friendly guy in the world outside the ring. You people are left to wonder, I guess.  That, little people, is fantasy. Let's talk about the separation of the two, shall we?  When do you separate what you are in front of a camera with what you are in real life? Well, some people don't have to!  Why?  Because they are the absolute same bloody arrogant pricks in real life as they are when the people in TV land see them. One such case... "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! [Big pop!] Here, you take a guy who honestly demanded Spreadbury that I get booted from the IIWF... or else he'd quit!  So, you're all wondering why Simon Lebec has been absent from the IIWF over the last six months?  Now you know.  And that's the inside dirt that Pro Wrestling Illustrated will never tell the public. Before he comes out, I'll say it to the world... I don't like him. I don't like Chris Quigley the character... I don't like Chris Quigley the human being.  Anybody who thinks he's bigger than the federation he works for is nobody I'd like to associate with.  However, he accepted my request for him to come on "The Final Cut", so I'll honor that, because I such an honorable guy.  I give you... "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! [The familiar chords of "For Those About to Rock" starts up, and the crowd explodes, as Quigley appears from behind the curtain wearing blue jeans and a "Quickstrike Island" black t-shirt.  He slaps the hands of a few fans before looking up at the set and staring directly into Lebec's eyes, and maintaining the glare as he walks the rest of the aisle and onto the set, as his music dies down.  Quigley stands about five feet away from Lebec.  The two stare into each other's eyes with with an intense look of hatred.] SL: Well, you're here. Say what you have to say. [Lebec drops the mic. Quigley stares at the fallen microphone for a moment, then back at Lebec, before bending down cautiously to retrieve it, never taking his eyes off Lebec for a second.  Quigley then takes a few steps forward, leaving just inches between his face and Lebec's face, still holding the staredown that has lasted an eternity.] CQ: First of all, contrary to what you might think, I'm happy to see you back in the IIWF.  You wanna know why?  Because I could not _sleep_ at night, knowing that a talentless piece of garbage like you holds a victory over me!  [Lebec gives an "Oh really?" expression, but Quigley continues on...]  Despite the fact that you know, I know, and everyone else knows it was a tainted victory, it doesn't stop you from bringing it up every chance you get.  I'll make myself perfectly clear, Lebec.  I won't beat around the bush at all.  I don't like you.  I hate you and everything you stand for.  I don't know what you've got planned in that little brain of yours for this interview, but if you get outta line at all, I'll trash you and your pretty little set!  [Crowd pops HUGE as Lebec gives an arrogant smirk, which quickly turns to a bit of a frown when Quigley now drops the mic on the floor. Lebec cautiously picks up the mic, without taking his eyes off of Quigley for a second.  He keeps his smirk as he glares into Quigley's eyes.] SL: More talk, no action.  That's a shock coming from Chris Quigley. Speaking of trash, how's your girlfriend? [Quigley clenches his fists, but keeps his anger in check as Lebec laughs] You know, I've been listening to you whine about this, that, or the other thing for God knows how long! Bottom line Quigley, you're a talker.  If I'm a talentless piece of garbage, then what does that make you?  I've seen you lose to just about every champion here in the IIWF.  On top of that, you've been dodging me in the TAEWF.  But, I don't want to get into that with you right now. Bottom line is, this is the IIWF, where I'm a broadcast journalist and you... well... you're a whining jobber. [Lebec laughs] Step back, little man.  You don't intimidate me in the least.  You never have and you never will.  The bottom line is... I'm a better wrestler and a better strategist than you.  Even you can't dispute that fact. If you want to hit me... go ahead.  If you want to trash my set... go ahead.  You'll see what you have coming to you. [Lebec throws the mic at Quigley, and turns around with his back facing Quigley.  Lebec then throws his arms in the air, showing Quigley that he is defenseless.  Quigley almost gives a look of amusement at Lebec's turned back, before looking around at the crowd, as if asking them if he should ambush Lebec.  Although the crowd response is positive, Quigley refrains.] CQ: You can turn around, because I'm not about to fall into any of your little traps, Lebec.  I'm here for an interview, there's a time and a place for me to finally rip your head off, but this isn't it!  Let's just make one thing simple for you to understand.  You have done _nothing_ to deserve a title shot in the TAEWF, and I'm not about to let you get exactly what you want, thinking you can march into a federation and demand a title shot just by annoying it's champion.  I don't think so!  Secondly, well, I wouldn't exactly call you a broadcast journalist, but you've also wrestled since you've returned here, and it's only a matter of time before we get in that ring again, and this time, there _will_ be no doubt as to why I'm better than you!  You're _not_ a better wrestler than I am!  I've forgotten more about wrestling than you'll ever know!  As far as strategy goes, maybe you're a better con artist and a better ambusher, but that's the kind of lowdown rat you are!  Those things come naturally to you! When you're talking about my strategy in the ring, there's _nobody_ who does it better!  Not Kauffman, not James, not Deathbringer, and especially not _you_! [With that, Quigley tosses the microphone straight up in the air and takes a step back, smiling a bit at the crowd's reaction to his words.  Lebec, meanwhile, catches the mic, and then looks around at the crowd, glaring at them as if trying to turn them to stone.] SL: First of all, I never marched into the TAEWF and did nothing.  I'm the #5 contender for your title.  As well, if you recall, I said I didn't want a title match just yet.  I said that I did in fact want to prove myself to everyone, so when the time comes for me to beat you yet again, there will be no doubt as to who really deserves that belt.  I told you to make a list of the competitiors I'd have to beat in order to warrant a title shot, and by the way, you still haven't gotten back to me on that. Guess that's just another indicator of your fear!  You say that there's nobody better than you in the ring?  I beg to differ.  I've got a win over you, and so does Casey James.  Call the win cheap if you will, but it's still a win. But, I'll agree with you on one thing, Chrissy.  We're definitely not through.  Never will be, as long as there's air in these lungs and hatred in my heart!  But there's a time and place for that, like you said.  You say you're here for an interview?  Well, I'll be damned!  I just happen to be in the mood to conduct one!  Okay, tough guy!  First question.  You just mentioned four individuals... Casey James, Deathbringer, Dan Kauffman, and myself... all of whom have done something that you never have.  You've got three IIWF Heavyweight Champions, Chris, and I could win it if I truly wanted it.  Then, there's you.  A guy who has had countless opportunities at IIWF gold... yet... yet the results have been nil. And you call yourself a winner?  You can't even capitalize on your chances for heaven's sake!  What do you want, Chris? Spreadbury to put a bow around the belt and hand it to you? [Lebec throws the mic at Quigley.  Quigley shakes his head.] CQ: _You_ could win the IIWF World Title?  I don't _think_ so!  At least with Casey James, the belt has _some_ dignity left.  If it ever got into your hands, it'd be meaningless.  Everyone'd just start fighting for the IC title.  But there's no need to worry about that anyway. I'll just help you get your facts straight, Simon.  I've gotten _one_ IIWF World Title shot.  One.  Let's take a look back at some history.  My first opportunity came when Otto Verhoeven was the champion.  Thanks in part to you, I had a serious head injury, but I _still_ wanted to go on, I was dragging Poutine Janois down the damn aisle!  Then they made the announcement that I couldn't wrestle, and Dan Kauffman eventually stabbed me in the back and won the title.  Well, I ended up settling things with Dan, I guess, eh?  And then I took on Casey James, and I had Casey down and _out_ until Brody Thunder stuck his cowboy wannabe ass into the ring and helped Casey win, because he knows he'd never beat me for the title, he has a much better chance of beating James!  And there is your little history lesson, since I know you've been absent for a while. [Quigley is about to drop the mic again, but instead just hands it over to Lebec, and then steps back, running his hands through his hair, seemingly getting a bit frustrated.] SL: Well, thanks for the history lesson, sport-o!  Wanna do my taxes next? So you say that luck hasn't been on your side.  That's life!  Get used to not getting what you want.  The reality of it all is simple.  You had your shot at Birthday Bash, and you blew it.  Whining about how you blew it isn't going to solve anything.  It's the back of the line for you, pal... at the bottom of the barrel with the likes of the Gecko.  Speaking of the bottom of the barrel, it seems that somebody has taken a keen interest in you these days... he's probably heard about your excursions down at the gay bars.  HA!  Now, the guy I'm talking about certainly has no love for me, and I sure as Hell don't want to take him on a picnic either!  You know who I'm talking about... Marty Warnett.  [Big pop!] Now, I'll give a little history lesson of my own.  If you'll recall, it took you and Billy Sexton for Warnett to beat me, but like I said, I don't whine about how I lost. Now, I see your friendship with him has deteriorated, so it looks like we now have a common foe.  That's about the only thing we have in common... besides, of course, a liking to banging the lovely Stephanie!  Give me the lowdown on Warnett. [Lebec passes the mic to Quigley.  Quigley snatches the mic quickly.] CQ: First thing, keep on with the Stephanie remarks.  She can't stop laughing at every one of your pathetic little fantasies.  The only time you get into a woman's pants is when you're wearing them yourself.  [Crowd pop!]  And speaking of cross-dressers, Marty Warnett irritates the hell outta me.  You want to know why?  Because when I first saw him, I saw a kid with a _lot_ of potential, but instead of working to get back the IC title, or to better himself and try for the World Title, he's off doing impersonations of Elvis and trying to be the fantasy subject of every teenager on Earth, male _or_ female.  [Mixed pop at these comments] Warnett had a lot of potential, no doubt about it, but you can see he's sadly lacking when he faces someone like myself or a Lord Byron.  Hell, even _you_ overmatched him, Lebec.  Unless he starts taking himself seriously, he's never going to be anything.  I tried to show him what he was doing wrong by taking the hard approach, the same way Steve Manning showed me, but the arrogant little punk wouldn't listen, and what does he get for it?  He gets beaten!  If that's what he wants?  Fine with me. [Lebec grabs the mic] SL: Yeah, well, maybe the kid doesn't want your help, Quigley?  Ever think of that?  No, of course you didn't.  You walk around this fed thinking that you're the cat's ass, and that your help would be appreciated. Personally, I hope the two of you tear each other apart... and then you'll both fall even further in the rankings. [Quigley leans over the microphone Lebec is still holding...] CQ: The rankings don't mean a damn thing anyway.  They obviously don't indicate who is better than who.  You look at one thing.  I have _never_ lost a match cleanly in the IIWF since I got here.  Not one man has been able to defeat me without a foreign object, or outside interference, or something like that!  I think that says a lot about me, and about just how accurate the rankings system is.  But that makes no difference.  The IIWF officials know the talents of their wrestlers well, and they designate title shots without paying too much attention to the "winning percentage", which is a very good thing, in my opinion. As for Warnett?  That's his problem if he thinks he can do it all as a damn rookie.  When I was that age, I had friends, I had help, and that's helped make me into what I am today.  I get a lot of criticism for not believing in managers or allies nowadays, but that's the thing, those people back then helped me a lot, and they also showed me that some people can't be trusted, so it's better to take no risks and trust _nobody_. SL: Once again, more whining about how people cheat to beat you. You're like a broken record.  But yeah, I'll agree with you about not trusting anyone.  Look at me, Quigley.  People don't like me, whether they are considered fan favorites or rulebreakers.  I go to the dressing rooms after the matches, and I don't know where to turn.  It's not a good feeling, not knowing where to turn.  But, it's the bed that I've made for myself, and I'll lie there.  If I was to tell you that friends are your greatest enemies, I think you'd agree.  Kauffman proved that, Warnett proved that... and so on.  Now I hear that Kauffman may return to the ring.  Is that just one more "friend" that you'll have to worry about? CQ: I don't think so.  I was never really friends with Marty Warnett.  I just didn't like you, so I gave him a hand.  With Dan, it's different. I've only allowed myself to become friends with two wrestlers in my entire career: Mark Engel and Dan Kauffman.  Mark and I are still on good terms, even though we'll meet for his World Title later this summer.  Dan and I are still on good terms, I like to think, and we finally have gained a real respect for one another.  There was a lot of talking, a lot of backstabbing, but in the end, we had one classic, clean finish match that proved to the world that one man was better, but both men were great.  I don't even believe the rumors that Dan would return, but if he did come back, I'd have no problem with it.  None at all. SL: Blah... blah... whatever.  That's right!  I almost forgot. Everybody loves Chris Quigley.  Like I said before, you're the cat's ass. So tell me Mr. Ass, who's next on the great and ever-so-feared "Quigley Hit List?" CQ: Hell, maybe _you_ are.  [crowd pops as Lebec rolls his eyes]  There are a few guys around here that I'm not too fond of.  Marty Warnett is one, you have Deathbringer of course, I don't think we'll _ever_ see eye to eye. Otto Verhoeven and I have a long history, and it'll probably never be totally over between us either.  Right now, I'm out of contention for the World Title, which is where I want to be, so I'll have to score some big victories quick in order to get back up there in the #1 ranking. [Both athletes are suddenly interrupted as the lights go dark.  Red spotlights then shine on both superstars, as the PA system kicks into "Cold Gin".  Suddenly, a spotlight appears in the darkened ring, illuminating Marty Warnett.  He's dressed in a traditional Mexican poncho, complete with a resplendent sombrero.  He points to each turnbuckle in turn, the action prompting fireworks to erupt from the top turnbuckles.] MW: Well, hello there Mexico, land of the Tortilla and Tequila, how the hell are ya? [The predominantly young crowd pop excitedly] You know, I have much respect and love for Speedy Gonzalez -- it's difficult enough to walk in this outfit! Now, I don't know about you all, but looking at those two over there, [points at Quigley and Lebec] are spouting more hot air than a mule after having had multiple Tacos. [To a huge pop, Lebec and Quigley leave the set of "The Final Cut" and head to ringside, while Warnett walks around the ring, working up the crowd and beckoning the two men to come closer. They both enter the ring from opposite sides of the ring to confront Warnett.] TD: [over the headset] Oh no. This could get ugly, and fast. SR: [over the headset] About damned time, Dross. Hand me another taco. MW: What we have here is a failure to communicate, plain and simple.  I, too, in my eternal shame have failed to welcome you, Simon Lebec, back into the playground that is the IIWF.  It's nice to see your hair's grown back, at any rate. [crowd pop] I've also noticed Francois creeping around backstage, and you know, Simon, Missy Chrissy could do with a trim... especially under the arms... Now I see you've taken over LaRue's, *ahem*, slot.  The Lebec adverts are back, and believe me, Simon, you don't need to advertise -- surely your face is the best contraceptive available?  Yet again you're on the airwaves, spouting your rubbish... Simon, you fail to realise that the main point of humour is basically to get people laughing with you, not at you. [Marty starts chuckling]  Oh yeah, Simon, I really liked the way you got hammered last week after a solitary quaff of Duff... And of course, with you tonight, you have the King of Bland, Mister Christopher P. Quigley, the thinking man's interview Mogadon champ. Chris, you fail to realise that wrestling isn't just about pinning somebody's shoulders to the mat for a count of three, but it's also about entertainment. The greatest gift anybody can have in pro wrestling is the ability to fire up the crowd; to have people chanting your name is the ultimate high... slapping people's hands, telling them you love them after having little to do with them isn't a good move, my friend. Tell me this, Chris, when you enter the ring, does anybody care?  When you open your mouth and send people to sleep, does anybody care?  Is anybody awake to care?  Now ultimately, you can't work a mic, and every time you wrestle you use the same moves;  tell me this also, Chris, was that the way you've won titles? Remember your little stunt at the Hall of Fame ceremony, Chris?   Your ego even dictated that you had to wreck somebody's moment of glory, being recognised by their peers and friends, just to state how great you are. Fact is, Chris, that night, a number of IIWF stars were tempted to give you a quick attitude adjustment, but were warned off by the Prez Man Dan.   Now, you call me a pretty boy, a toy boy [teenage girls pop big-time].  Well, I can't help that, I don't spend hours looking into a mirror trying to look good, but then again, Chris, I don't look in a mirror and start crying, either...  and it's better to be a toy boy than a Troy boy, Chris.  Why don't you tell the good people around the world the fact that you went to the IIWF suits and had Troy Patterson fired, to stop Roberts blackening your image? [A sizeable proportion of the crowd are now chanting "Shoot, shoot, shoot!"]   Hey, I know Soundbite had a tour of duty in these parts, never knew most of his wrestling time here was outside the ring... Why are you so unpopular, Chris?  I'll tell you why;  every bout you lose, you whinge and whine like a stuck pig.  You came into this fed, bragging about your titles, let me say this Chris, I've had more female ass than you've had titles. [Crowd pop].  I'd invite you out partying just for the gratification of hearing you moan about _NOT_ being screwed.  Your prima donna attitude, only talking on Saturday nights.  The fact you believe the IIWF owes you something when you haven't worked the way I have, haven't paid the dues here I have.  Chris, every PPV I seem to see you in the main event, or co-main event, and the question is, why?  You act like you're now the man, as you beat Kauffman.  I didn't get to face Kauffman, being busy defending the title that _you've_ never held.  All you won that night was a bout, not the heart and minds of the public, or even the other wrestlers in this fed.  The only mantle you've inherited is that of most yawn inducing interviewee. Now, guys, I'm off, because this is starting to seriously drain my IQ. All I'll leave you with is this simple thought;  if you two guys also had that Ewok-lookalike Morton on stage with you, you could've renamed your segment the Star Bores trilogy. [Warnett climbs the nearest turnbuckle, milking the crowd reaction.  Lebec and Quigley look at each other and nod.  Lebec and Quigley rush over to Warnett, who is still on the turnbuckle.  Each man grabbing an arm of Warneet, Lebec and Quigley deliver a devastating double back suplex off the top rope.  Warnett is laid out as the fans go ballistic!] TD: Oh no! Lebec and Quigley working together to attack Warnett?! [Lebec and Quigley then jump up and look at each other in amazement.  Seconds pass, as the two stare each other down, just before they start slugging it out in the center of the ring.  Warnett comes to his senses and jumps into the mix, trading shots with both Lebec and Quigley.  While Warnett and Quigley are tied up, Lebec delivers a "Blackball" to the back of Quigley's head.  Warnett soon becomes a victim of the same treatment, and Lebec is left as the only man standing.  Lebec picks up the mic:] SL: And how's that for a Hollywood ending, folks?  You two can both kill each other for all I care.  I'll be more than happy to watch it.  Warnett, if you want on the show, be a man and come on the show as a guest.  'Cause pal, the next time you interrupt my show, I'll cut your tongue out! [Lebec leaves to a huge heel pop.  Warnett and Quigley start to come around, and begin brawling once again.  The Jobber Justice Squad rushes to ringside, trying to separate the two.  El Super Gecko tries to calm Quigley down by talking him out of the ring.  Quigley nods, leaving while looking at Warnett and yelling, "Your time is coming!"  Warnett, still being held back, nods at Quigley with a "Bring it on!" type of look on his face.  The camera cuts back to the commentary table as Warnett is escorted backstage via a different exit.] TD: Wow, what a confrontation that was, Steve Roberts. The bad blood between Quigley, Lebec and Warnett just continues to escalate. SR: Like Lebec said, Warnett and Quigley can kill one another for all I care. Okay, Dross, let's get back to the action. All this talking makes me tired. Bring out the clowns! TD: Clowns? I would hardly call Ronnie Paris and Derek Mota clowns, Steve. And the Texan Paris is in front of a near hometown crowd here tonight. You can be sure that he'll be looking to make a good impression in the ring against Mota. SR: And you can also be sure that Mota's fist is gonna make a good impression on widdle Wonnie's face, Dross. TD: [sighs] Let's get back to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Ronnie Paris vs. Derek Mota =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MB [Sparkplug Lee enters the ring and raises the microphone to his mouth and waits for a moment. "The Great Southern Trendkill" by Pantera rises over the speakers to a mixed pop from the crowd and Lee begins his introductions..] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, hailing from Toronto, Canada, weighing 224lbs, here is; Derek Mota! [Derek sauntered to the ring arrogantly, ignoring equally the fans cheering and booing him.  One fan was singled out for a moment to be the recipient of a glare that would make a skull blink, then he continues on before climbing into the ring and perching on top of a ring buckle.] RA: And his opponent... [The 25,000 crowd in attendance exude an excited pop as the strains of "We Are The Champions" kicks in over the PA!] RA: [Lee, smiling continues] ...hailing from El Paso, Texas... [The volume of the fans doubles!] RA: ...[Grinning from ear to ear] ...your very own, RONNNNNNIE PARIS!! [Paris appears at the top of the aisle and the whole capacity crowd erupts!  He stops and looks around at his hometown fans, smiling at the tremendous reception!  He points to the ring as the crowd somehow manages to raise the volume another decibel and charges to the ring to climb the buckle and bathes in the pure adoration of the fans.] TD: The crowd seems a little partisan in this one, Steve. SR: You think Mota cares who the fans are behind, Dross? TD: It has to play a part, though. How can you keep your concentration when the fans are so obviously one-sided? SR: Mark my words, Dross, it will just make Mota's victory all the sweeter. [Lee exits the ring as the ref signals for the bell as the crowd calms slightly, but not much.  Mota climbs down from the buckle and they square off in the centre of the ring.  Paris approaches Mota and can be clearly heard saying "What is with you and this Genesis thing?"  Crowd Pop!  Mota replies "What the hell has it got to do with you?  You don't look like my mother, so don't go lecturing me like her!"] SR: He might not look much like his ma, but she probably wrestles better than Widdle Wonnie can! TD: You are incorrigible. He has a point, though; things have been heating up between Requiem and Mota in the last few weeks, and Paris didn't hold anything back in his comments about Genesis last Monday.  I fully expect Genesis to make its power felt tonight. SR: I look forward to it, at least it will keep me awake... [The two criuserweights circle each other warily.  Mota raises an arm and extends the fingers, Paris understanding the gesture, complies and they interlock hands, Mota immediately steps over the locked hands to break the hold then spins to connect with a crescent kick to the head. Paris, seeing it coming, ducks and attempts a leg sweep, which Mota hops over dextrously.  Mota lands and quickly tries to kick Paris in the midsection as he rises, but Ronnie catches the foot. Pop!]   TD: Phew!  What a start... [Mota attempts an Enzuigiri to the back of Ronnie's head, which is also ducked leaving Mota to land on his face, where Paris drops him into an Ankle lock.  Mota, not wanting to be grounded this early on in the match, flashes out a nasty kick with his free foot which catches the hometown boy in the ribs, a second forces him to relinquish the hold and protect his side.  The Texan gets to his feet slightly quicker than the Canadian and runs at him for a clothesline.  Mota, seeing him coming, drops to his back letting the clothesline miss him by bare inches, then kips up to his feet and catches the returning Paris in a Hiptoss, which Paris tries to turn into a Cradle pin, only for Mota to drop heavily onto Ronnie's arm and lock in a Short-Arm Scissors.] TD: Well, Steve, if you were looking for a match to keep you awake, this has to be it! SR: Where's the blood?  Where's the violence? Come to think of it, where's my biscuits? [Paris not liking being on the end of a submission move, immediately gets to his knees and forces the slightly heavier Mota onto his side. Ronnie regains his vertical base and pushes Derek's shoulders to the mat... 1 - 2 Mota releases the scissors and rolls over to break the count but keeps hold of the arm and jumps back to his feet.  Paris pulls on the arm to free it but Mota has a good grip and sets about twisting and hammering some forearms onto the elbow joint.] TD: Mota has certainly silenced the crowd, and tied Ronnie up in knots. SR: Whoa! Here comes the "The Enema" again.. TD: ...and the last half hour or so doesn't seemed to have eased his temper any! [Musashi walks back down the aisle in a foul temper as the crowd murmurs uncomfortably.  Petrow, noticing the reaction of the crowd, stands and faces The Enigma when he comes alongside him and they begin to conduct a hated argument in Japanese. Meanwhile in the ring, Paris not wanting his arm to suffer any longer and becoming desperate to regain the upper hand, performs a hand-stand cartwheel to untwist his elbow joint, then keeping a tight grip on Mota's arm he moves behind him and twists in a hammer-lock.] TD: I wish I had an idea what they were saying. SR: Let me translate for you Dross...  Petrow is telling Enema he's gonna... TD: Uh, sorry, Steve, but the argument has gotten out of hand. Petrow has just shoved Musashi! [Musashi takes a step back to the guardrail and drives a vicious looking straight fingers to the throat of Petrow and vaults the barriers.  The two men start to brawl amongst a screaming crowd, flailing punches at each other with complete abandon. The action in the ring also intensifies as Mota quickly reverses the hammer lock, only for Paris to grab Mota by the head with his free arm and drop into a tremendous jawbreaker which makes Mota stagger back and fall to his behind holding his chin.  Huge crowd pop!!] SR: Okay, Dross, I begrudgingly agree with you, just this once. Don't let it go to your head. TD: What _are_ you talking about Steve? SR: You said this match would keep me awake and you were right, and just to show there are no hard feelings, have a taco.  Keep off the spicy ones, though. They're mine. TD: Steve, that's a real nice offer but there are people getting hurt out there! SR: Hey, your loss, Dross. [Triple M tried to get as far away as possible from the brawl only to discover that Petrow had handcuffed his ankle to a chair!  Musashi, having seemingly gotten the better of Petrow in the brawl, grabs the chair Maurice is 'cuffed to and tries to hit the temporarily downed Petrow with it, but only succeeds in whipping the Majestic one off his feet!  Petrow uses the distraction to throw an evil-looking punch into Musashi's groin as the curtains at the top of the aisle part to reveal the IIWF security force, the Jobber Justice Squad, who charge down to intercept the raising Petrow.  Back in the ring, both competitors get back to their feet, Mota nursing his chin, Paris shaking the circulation back into his arm and for the first time, notice the disturbance in the crowd.] SR: [spitting taco crumbs everywhere] There's one good thing about Mexico, Dross, and that's the food. TD: Go on Steve, rub it in why don't you. You have a vicious streak, offering me tacos when innocent people are getting hurt?! SR: [quickly swallowing]  Why, Dross, that's the nicest thing you've said to me in weeks! [The JJS drag the kicking and screaming Enigma away and obtain a promise from Petrow that he will behave... and unlock their JJS colleague, Triple M, from the handcuffs!  Petrow laughingly agrees.  In the ring, Paris offers Mota a collar and elbow which Paris quickly ducks under and brings a knee up into Derek's stomach, then capitalises on the doubled-up Canadian with a surprise DDT.  Pop!  Paris tries to go on the offensive by manoeuvring Mota into position for a piledriver but as he tries to deliver it, Mota handstands out of it and roll on top of Paris grabbing and pinning his arms around his own midriff pinning his shoulders to the mat.  The ref drops to the mat quickly and begins a count - 1 - 2 - Paris twists to one side and gets a shoulder up.  Relieved pop from the fans!  Mota, still on top of Ronnie, redistributes his weight and manages to move Paris' shoulders to the mat again, - 1 kickout.] TD: Thankfully it doesn't look like anyone was hurt during that brawl, Steve. The medical team are over there now tending to the casualties. SR: Dross!  You are making that same stupid assumption that I care again!  When are you gonna learn? [Paris manages to get his feet under him and begins to force the two of them to bridge up off the mat.  Mota, surprised that he is being forced into this, struggles to break his grip around his midriff so they fall back to the mat but Paris' grip is too secure.  They both regain their feet and pirouette placing Paris on top, then he quickly manoeuvres Mota into position for a power bomb and lifts to a great cheer from the fans.  At the apex of the move though, Mota locks his legs around Ronnie's head and manages to turn it into a Frankensteiner, but amazingly, Paris seems to roll with the impact, regain his feet quickly and charges at the slowly-standing Mota for a clothesline.  Mota with incredible quickness of mind and reaction catches the outstretched arm, spins and drops Paris into a fugiwara arm-bar on that previously damaged arm!] TD: These athletes must have tremendous cardio-vascular conditioning to keep up this amazing speed at this altitude. Steve? SR: Here we go again, for the fans out there in TV-land who _don't_ possess a degree in human anatomy, Dross means they are pretty fit 'cause there's not much oxygen this high up. [Paris was in extreme pain and it showed across his face as he struggled towards the ropes with the heavier Mota sprawled across his back.  After 30 agonising seconds and seemingly everyone in the crowd pushing him on, Paris makes it to the ropes and somewhat surprisingly, Mota gives him a clean break and Paris slips to the outside to nurse his arm.  Mota, having been guided to the centre of the ring by the ref after breaking, runs at the opposite ropes, bounces back picking up a worrying velocity does a handstand and flips clean over the top rope onto a completely shocked Paris with a stunningly executed Moonsault!  The crowd, reluctantly acknowledges a great move by the Canadian and gives a polite cheer!] TD: They don't call Mota "built for speed" for nothing! SR: They don't call him that at all, Dross. Most everyone I know call him "An egotistical piece of..." TD: [interrupting]  The kids, Steve, remember the kids? SR: What kids are going to be up watching us at midnight, Dross?  As I was saying, "an egotistical piece of [bleep]!" [Mota looks down at the prone Paris and glances over at the chair Sparkplug is sitting on. The question of using it obviously crosses his mind but he seems to think better of it and throws Paris back into the ring and positioned him near the corner.  Mota perhaps enjoying the slight pop of the fans, seems to get a reckless glint in his eyes and begins to climb to the top buckle.  With a brief moment to catch both his balance and breath flew off into a shooting star press!  Gaining tremendous height and speed, he spins through the air with an awe-inspiring grace.  Paris seeing his flight, grabs the ropes and tries to pull himself to safety as Mota completed his flip and starts to descend.  Large sections of the crowd get to their feet seemingly in slow motion to see the impact that will surely seal the fate of one of the combatants.  As gravity increases the momentum of Mota on his descent, Paris wild eyed, desperately tries to pull himself out of the ring and away from the rapidly approaching Mota!  The fans issue an awed pop as Mota completes his drop and impacts upon Paris' legs with one of Ronnie's knees catching him under the chin, knocking his head back horrifically!] TD: Oh my! Did you see that move? SR: Impressive, Dross, impressive! [Paris falls out to the floor holding his knee in pain while Mota collapses unconsciously to the mat.  The ref quickly checks the condition of Mota before he starts a count-out on the hometown boy.  The fans, seeing the danger, start clapping in rhythm to encourage their favourite to his feet -- 1 - 2 - 3 -- it is obvious Paris has hurt his knee badly -- 4 - 5 - 6 -- the fans begin stamping their feet and Paris gets gets to his knees -- 7 -- grabs the bottom rope -- 8 -- hauls himself to his feet -- 9 -- and pulls himself back into the ring to a massive cheer from the crowd!  He drapes an arm over the now semi-conscious Mota - 1 - 2 - kickout barely!] TD: Oh, what courage, what determination these two are showing us tonight! SR: You are _not_ going to get me to say anything nice about widdle Wonnie, Dross, so stop trying! [They both struggle to their feet.  Paris pushes Mota towards the ropes but Mota, still dizzy from the impact, whips Paris to the ropes, and on the return catches him in a snap belly-to-belly suplex that drives the wind out of both of them!  Mota was having trouble breathing now, the lack of oxygen and the pace of the match stripping him of his last vestiges of energy, he pulls an extremely tired Paris to his feet and is met with a European uppercut out of the blue to a great cheer from the crowd!  Paris, wobbling on one leg and gulping huge lungfuls of air, manages a sharp kick to Derek's stomach and pulls him over into a small package.  The ref counts - 1 - 2 - reversal - 1 - 2 - re-reversal - 1 - 2 - 3! The whole stadium rises to their collective feet and explode into massive cheers! RA: And your winner by pinfall... RONNIE PARIS! TD: Wonn.. er, Ronnie Paris has done it! In front of 25,000 hometown fans, Paris has pulled out an amazing victory! SR: I would have loved to see the face on all these degenerate fans in Mota had pinned him! TD: You have to give credit to both these men, Steve. That was one great show of stamina from them both. SR: Whatever, Dross. [Big heel pop!] TD: Oh-oh, here come Genesis! [Mota lays flat on his back, either unwilling or unable or move while Paris, inspired by the crowd, climbs the buckles and soaks in tremendous applause, unaware of the approaching three members of Genesis; Nightwing, Requiem and Highwayman.  The three despised men reach the ring and climb in as the crowd and Paris notices them for the first time.  Paris looks around for the missing tag team, Cold Spell, expecting a sneak attack and when none is visible, he warily backs away from the three men.] TD: We don't need these to spoil the end of this great match! Has someone called security yet? SR: What for, Dross? TD: Are you watching any of this, Steve?  Genesis have just hit the ring! SR: Who? [Mota sees the three men in the ring and warily stands alongside Paris, colleagues in adversity.  Highwayman grabs the microphone from a surprised Sparkplug Lee and gets up in Paris' face while the crowd go silent!] HWM: Paris, you've been running your mouth off, my friend.  You had a      question for us about respect? Chris Quigley?  We have some respect      for him, though not a whole lot. Marty Warnett?  'Fraid not.  Tiger      Claw?  You talk to us about taking the make-up off and using our      real names, I somehow don't think his gray haired mother had him      christened "Tiger Claw", do you?. Quite frankly, Derek Mota and      Genesis may disagree on a whole lot of things, but I think we're      all crystal clear on what we think of Tiger Claw, and, for that      matter, the whole outdated fossil that is the Syndicate.      But Paris, I don't honestly care what you think about me.  You can      believe that I am who I claim to be or not, just like I can choose      to believe you when you claim to be a competent wrestler... SR: [over the headset] Who is that guy?  At least we are agreed on one thing, Paris can't wrestle to save his life! HWM: But there is one thing you can believe in, and it is simply this...      Tell him, big Man... REQUIEM: Ronnie Paris, by your words you have damned your soul, and so I          ask you to believe this: From this day forth, until the end of          time... there will be no mercy for the damned! [Suddenly, Nightwing, Highwayman and Requiem descend upon Paris, driving him to the mat with vicious kicks and punches.  The crowd seemed stunned into silence for a second before screaming their displeasure and throwing cups and flyers at the three men in an effort to distract them.  The security in the crowd seem stretched to keep many of the fans from invading the ring and saving their home-grown hero from this enormous 'punking'.  Paris tries to cover up but is completely unsuccessful as kicks and fists rain in on all directions.  Mota looks on in annoyance, unsure whether to take their complete ignorance of him as an insult or an opportunity to get away.  A moment of thought crossed his face as a half-full cup of coke sloshes onto his boots from a dismayed fan, then he shrugs his shoulders and seems to say; "what the hell, looks like fun!" and dives into the melee to help pound on... Paris!  The severe beating continues for several seconds before the curtains become agitated again and out run Luke Steele and Scott Rogers!] TD: Oh, sweet lord, here comes the cavalry! SR: Sit down, Dross! You're cluttering the place up! [The three partners of Genesis see the approaching fan favourites and slip out of the opposite side of the ring as the athletes slide en masse into the ring to save Ronnie!  Mota slides out under the ropes on a different side and watches both groups of men, looking for an opportunity to either get away or get back in at Paris.  Genesis, laughing with each other and pointing at the three faces that have taken up position around the prone Paris, sidle around to the aisle and leave, laughing, joking and high-fiving each other as the crowd continue pelting them with just about anything they can get their hands on.  Mota waits until Genesis departs before he too makes his way out of the stadium.] TD: At last, we have a team that has the guts to stand against the swelling ranks of Genesis!  And did you hear what they said about The Syndicate being a fossil?  Genesis really are amassing their enemies! SR: What are they called again? [In the ring, Luke helps Ronnie to his feet while Scott keeps a close eye around the stadium for any returning Genesis members. Ronnie manages a painful smile to the capacity crowd as Scott and Luke support him up the aisle between them.  The crowd respond with a truly massive pop! Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: This next match promises to be fairly interesting. Ike and Watkins have a bit of a history here in the IIWF. SR: Whoopie... Watkins is an old fart that should be keeping his mind on the European Alliance, not wasting his time with rookies like Ike Sampson. TD: Steve, you've got to respect the abilities of both men. And Watkins can't be fighting the same guys all the time. SR: Sure, but Watkins is so wrapped up in this Creed business that he can't afford to get sidetracked. He got rooked into a feud with the European Alliance by his "pup," Creed. You know as well as I do that every time Watkins shows his face, Verhoeven and Byron are watching closely, just thinking of ways to take him out. TD: Time will tell whether they are succsessful or not, but right now we're about to see two talented atheletes go at it right here in Juarez, Mexico! Let's get down to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Mad Dog Watkins vs. Ike Sampson =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MF [Sparkplug Lee climbs into the ring once more, his cue cards fluttering in the balmy midnight breeze in the open-air stadium.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, this next bout is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, weighing in at 304 pounds, here is Ike Sampson! ["Kiss" by Prince begins to play over the PA, and the crowd gives a good pop as Ike Sampson comes out to the head of the aisle. He slaps the hands of the fans as he jogs down to the ring.] TD: Sampson has the makings of a great superstar here in the IIWF. He just needs a little... refinement... SR: And he's got to learn the proper use of a chair. He's also got to sew that extra pocket into his tights to hold the roll of quarters. TD: Steve, sometimes you just amaze me. SR: I amaze everyone, Dross. It's the biscuits, man. SL: His opponent, weighing in at 269 pounds and hailing from Detroit, Michigan, here is Mad Dog Watkins! ["Paint it Black" blares over the PA, and Mad Dog Watkins appears at the head of the aisle and stnds with his hands on his hips. He gives the crowd the once over and listens to the mixed pop that contains more cheers than anything else. He walks calmly down the aisle, noticing a young African American male holding a sign reading "Okay, but who's _my_ Daddy?" Watkins chuckles and shakes his head, finally reaching the ring, which he enters.] SR: Look at that nose... I've seen straighter driftwood. TD: Watkins has had a long career in the squared circle, and you can see it in his face, but he's not about to let it end any time soon. This man has a whole lot of fight still in him. SR: You would too if you were that ugly. Oh, wait... You are. Just proved me wrong, Dross, how does it feel? TD: Will you stop? [The referee checks both men and calls for the bell, starting the match. Both men circle each other, then Sampson stops. He looks a moment at Watkins, takes a deep breath, and appears to psyche himself up. Watkins looks at the youngster and waves him forward, egging him on. Ike shakes his head for a second, seemingly breaking a trance, and then comes forward.] SR: Looks like Sampson ate at one of the local restaurants today. TD: No, Steve. Sampson respects Watkins, there's no doubt about that. In fact, it's been said that Watkins was a bit of an inspiration to Sampson in his younger days. SR: Why? TD: Never mind. [The two men lock up, and battle for the upper hand. Watkins backs Sampson into the corner, but Sampson turns it around. Both men struggle with the lock across the ropes into another corner, this time Watkins getting backed in. The crowd buzzes as Dirt Dog Unique Allah staggers down the aisle, shaking his head. In the ring, Watkins is still in the corner, and the ref calls for the break. Sampson obliges, and backs off, allowing Watkins to move out from the corner. Both men notice the CW champ on the outside, who has grabbed a microphone and waves the two over.] DDUA: I can't believe y'alls gonna be scrappin' here like some damn       street corner punks!  Ain't y'all learned nuthin' yet.  I want you       to look at each other.  Ike, look at the Mad Dog.  He ain't heavy,       he's your brother, man.  You gotta support him.  You can't be       scrappin' at each other like crabs in a pot.  What each of you got       that the other wants, huh?  Nuthin' that's what.  The man got all       the gold around here.  The man got all the power.  And you's both       just beatin' each other's heads in instead of taking your due.       That done make me sick!  You hear me!  That done make me sick!       How could ya?  How could you do sumthin' like this?  I want you to       look at the Age of Rage.  Notice, we's the only brothers in this       muhfuh with any kind of success?  Why, because we support each       other.  We look out for each other.  That's what y'all got to do.       That's what the IIWF is all about, right?  I know, you muhfuhs,       don't wanna hear nuthin' bout no race card.  And I ain't gonna say       nuthin' about it.  Cause this ish here ain't no joke.  It ain't no       muhfuhing game.       Y'all already got Steve Roberts callin' y'all the Black Pack on       TV.  Guess what he callin' you when the cameras ain't rollin'.  SR: [over the headset] I call them... TD: [over the headset, interrupting] Thank you very much Steve, that's enough. DDUA: So all I got to say to the two of y'all is think, man.  Think on it real real hard.  Because y'all know the only way to power and       success here goes through Byron, goes through James, goes through       the Prophets and me.  Boys, it's time for y'all to pick a side and       stay on it.  I hope you know which way to go.  United we stand,       divided we go back to the muhfuhin' cotton fields.  And I don't       even wear no cotton underwear.  Y'all no what I mean.  Come on,       bruhs.  Y'all ain't the muhfuhs that you should be beatin' on.       We's Gods on the Earth!  Join the five percent of poor righteous.       Naw, don't be no five per cent.  Just be intelligent.  No more       jungle type livin'.  No more yes massah!  What y'all got to lose?       Only your chains.  Think on it.  I'll let you get back to beaten       on each other like some monkeys in the meanwhile, though.  I'm       out. [With that Unique shambles away into the crowd before bellowing "Where's my nuhs! Yeahhhhhhh!"] TD: Well, that was interesting. SR: About as interesting as watching a retard drool on himself. [Sampson and Watkins watch Allah go back up the aisle. When he's gone, Sampson turns to Watkins and shrugs. Watkins just shakes his head and tells Sampson to "hurry up and get down to business." The two men lock up again, and this time, Watkins gets the upper hand with a twist of Sampson's arm. Sampson bends down to relieve the pressure, at which point Watkins lifts a leg and brings it down over the back of Sampson's head. Sampson falls to the mat, and Watkins follows up with a wind-up elbow drop. Sampson, however, rolls out of the way just in time, and Watkins hits nothing but canvas. Sampson gets to his feet quickly and stomps Watkins in the head, but Watkins gets up anyway. Sampson goes for a clothesline, which is ducked, and Watkins comes back with a clothesline of his own, which connects and brings Sampson to the mat. Watkins locks on a side headlock, but Sampson gets to his feet and backs Watkins into the ropes. He sends Watkins running to the opposite side, and hits a beautiful twisting powerslam on the rebound, going for the quick cover... 1 - Kickout with authority by Watkins.] TD: Some good strength based techniques by both men here. SR: What Sampson has to do here is bite a hole in Watkins' head. That always works. [Sampson seems to hear Steve Roberts, and comes to the side of the ring, shouting, "Shut up, bite-in-the-ass!" Watkins capitalizes on the momentary distraction and locks on a waistlock, and lifts Sampson into the air with a belly to back suplex. Watkins forgoes the bridge to get to his feet and drag Sampson up to his feet again. He throws Sampson into the ropes and executes a sidewalk slam on the return. Sampson is laid out on the mat, and Watkins comes off the ropes and drops a closed fist on him. Sampson holds his head, and Watkins drags him up again. Watkins throws Sampson into the ropes, but Sampson grabs a hold of them. Following closely, Watkins hops over the top rope onto the apron, and grabs Sampson's head. He jumps to the floor, clothelining Sampson on the top rope. Sampson snaps back and falls to the mat, as Watkins looks to the crowd, which gives him a mixed pop. Suddenly, someone from the crowd throws a drink at Watkins hitting him in the head. Enraged, Watkins turns to find the assailant, and Otto Verhoeven leaps over the crowd barriers behind him and executes a lariat to the back of Watkins' head. Watkins falls to the floor, as Byron appears from the area from where the drink came from.] TD: Oh, come on! This was a great match! SR: And now it's going to get even better! [Verhoeven throws Watkins into the ring post, which Watkins hits with a clang. Byron lifts up the padding from the ringside area, and Verhoeven grabs Watkins once more. He gets into the face of the veteran, and the ring microphones pick up his words:] OV: You should have stayed out of this, old man. You should have let     Creed alone. The Alliance has warned you. Now you will have to face     the punishment. [Verhoeven then picks up Watkins in a gutwrench, and powerbombs him on the exposed concrete of the Olympic Stadium. The crowd give a very loud heel pop as Verhoeven and Byron high five each other, and then Verhoeven throws Watkins back into the ring. Ike Sampson just seems to be reviving from the top rope clothesline as the European Alliance heads up the aisle. Ike sees Watkins laid out on the canvas, and drags himself to his feet. Sampson goes over to Watkins and drags him up, and locks on a double underhook.] SR: The Deep Freeze! Alright! Sampson is with the Alliance! TD: No, no... I don't think Sampson is aware of the attack on Watkins by the Alliance. He was laid out the whole time! [Sampson lifts Watkins up in piledriver position and dumps Watkins onto his head, then goes for the cover... 1 - 2 - 3!! Ding! Ding! The Alliance turns when they hear the count, and runs back to the ring. Sampson gets off of Watkins and slumps into the ropes, obviously feeling the effects of the assault from Watkins earlier. Verhoeven and Byron storm the ring and double clothesline Sampson out of the ring, then turn their attentions onto Watkins. Both men rain punches down onto the back of the veteran, and all Watkins can do is try and cover up. Byron drags Watkins up and holds him open for Verhoeven, who taunts Watkins by winding up for what promises to be a devastating punch. The crowd gives a huge pop as Creed, red knee-brace on his right leg, sprints down to the ring and slides under the bottom rope. Creed clotheslines Verhoeven to the mat, and then does the same to Byron. As each man gets to his feet, Creed hammers them back down to the mat. Sampson has now gotten to his feet on the outside and enters the ring, helping Creed battle the Euopean Alliance.] TD: Now the odds are even! SR: No... Verhoeven and Byron are each better than all three of those guys. [Verhoeven and Byron escape from the ring and move quickly up the aisle, pointing fingers at Sampson and Creed, promising revenge. Creed motions for them to come back and try something, but the Alliance is having none of it. Once they are gone, Creed and Sampson tend to Watkins, and try to help him to his feet. Watkins gets to one knee and pushes both men away angrily. Sampson backs off, hands up, but Creed looks a little annoyed at Watkins, and yells "What's your problem?" Watkins uses the ropes to get to his feet, and looks at the two youngsters. He says something to both men, but all the mics can pic up is "_MY_ battle... My battle..." Sampson nods his head and apologizes, but Creed shakes his head and stands in the corner. Watkins takes a long look at Creed, then steps through the ropes and heads up the aisle. He stops, and looks at both men in the ring expectantly, and after a few moments, both men exit the ring and walk up the aisle with him. The crowd pops as the trio leaves the ringside area and through the curtain to the backstage area. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: It's nice to see some fan favourites join together for once! SR: Yeah, right... You know of course, that egos will prevail and next month these guys are going to be at each other's throats. TD: Try to be optimistic, Steve. SR: I am. I'd love to see those three pieces of gutter trash beating the hell out of each other. TD: Next up we have the man who dwells in the darkness against a man who is definitely no stranger to that darkness. The Subway Psycho against Requiem. SR: Two freaks that both stink. TD: They do not! SR: Oh, yes they do. Subway Psycho lives in a sewer and Requiem can't play a note to save his life. They both stink. TD: Come on, Steve. Both men have an incredible amount of talent. SR: You're right. TD: I am? SR: Yeah... Their talent is incredible... As in not credible. TD: I would have thought that the actions of Genesis recently would have won you over, Steve. SR: What, the whining? When have I ever liked whining? TD: No, I mean... Oh, never mind. Sparkplug is ready for the introductions. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Requiem vs. Subway Psycho =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MF [Sparkplug Lee takes to the ring once more.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, this next bout is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, weghing in at 255 pounds and hailing from the subways of New York City, here is The Subway Psycho! [The lights drop save a bright spotlight shining from the backstage area, and "Crazy Train" begins to blare from the PA. The crowd gives a huge pop as the Subway Psycho appears with his arms raised at the head of the aisle, silhouetted in the bright light. Psycho walks down the aisle and into the ring, where he stands on the second turnbuckle of one corner and holds his arms up to his fans. A fairly large block of fans at ringside show no reaction.] TD: That would be the Genesis Generation in that block of seats. SR: Why? Because they're not cheering this vagrant? I hope that doesn't make me part of this generation. TD: No, Steve. These fans are totally behind Requiem and Genesis. That's them with the black jackets and berets. SR: Oh... I thought they were just French. You never know in Mexico. TD: What? SR: They all speak French here, right? TD: No, they speak Spanish! SR: Doesn't matter... I can't understand either language, so it's all the same to me. SL: His opponent, weighing in at 306 pounds and hailing from Parts Unknown... SR: Is that Parts Unknown, Montana? TD: Steve, please. SL: Here is Requiem! [A deep sepulchral voice booms over the PA, "From this day forth, until the end of time, there shall be no mercy for the damned!" Suddenly, the "Music for the Unknowingly Damned" drifts out, and the crowd gives a mixed pop as Requiem stalks out to the aisle, playing his guitar. The Genesis Generation at ringside get to their feet and cheer the big man as the music plays on. Requiem is dressed in his new attire, complete with a black leather jacket with flames on it and the Genesis logo on the back. Requiem reaches the block of seats where the Genesis Generation sits, and the entire group bows their heads in respect. Requiem finishes his music, turns and hangs the guitar from the ringpost. He removes his jacket and enters the ring.] SR: Guy wouldn't know good music if it was sucking his... TD: [interrupting] Enough, Steve! [Both men stare at each other from across the ring as the ref calls for the bell. Psycho starts off quickly, going for a lockup, but Requiem cuts him short with a hard kick to the right knee. Psycho recoils a bit, and Requiem downs him with a clothesline. In the stands, Joe Petrow's little group of Sychopaths entertain themselves by throwing nachos at the Genesis Generation. In the ring, Requiem grapevines Psycho's leg, putting pressure on the knee. Psycho fights up to a vertical base, but Requiem uses his power to force him back down. Requiem drops a leg onto the knee and twists a bit more, causing a look of discomfort to come over the Psycho's face. Requiem lets the hold go and tries to snap the leg back, but Psycho rolls into the maneuver, following through until he's back on his feet, then hops back and slams an elbow into Requiem's face. Requiem staggers back, holding his nose, and Psycho comes off the ropes with a flying cross body block into a pin. The ref counts... 1 - Kickout by Requiem. Psycho gets to his feet quickly and throws a knee into the head of Requiem. Requiem falls to the mat again, and Psycho drops a leg onto the back of Requiem's head.] TD: Both men have picked their targets. Requiem is going to the knee, and the Psycho is going to the... SR: Face? He's taking out Requiem's face? Sure, that might do us all some good, but it won't win you a match. TD: Sure it will, Steve. If you cause enough trauma to the nose, the eyes begin to water, and your opponent can't see. SR: If the Psycho wants Requiem's eyes to water, he just has to lock on a reverse face lock... Bury that nose right into his armpit. That'll put anyone out. [The Psycho allows Requiem to roll over and begins laying stomps onto his face. After a few stomps, Requiem grabs Psycho descending foot and gives it a sharp twist, causing the Psycho to limp away. Requiem gets up, checking for blood from his nose, and charges the Psycho with a chop block. Psycho goes down, holding his knee, but is dragged up again by Requiem. Requiem executes a knee breaker drop, and the Psycho drops to the mat, yelling out in pain. Requiem stops for a moment and looks to the Psycho. Psycho fights back to his feet, favouring his right leg. Requiem offers a lock up, and Psycho moves to accept, but at the last minute lets fly a huge punch square in the nose of Requiem. Requiem staggers back, and blood is visible coming from his nostrils. The Sychopaths stop their nacho-launching long enough to see this, and begin chanting "Juice! Juice!" The Psycho follows up with a dropkick, which staggers the big man even more, and then comes off the ropes with a huge flying clothesline that send Requiem over the top rope! Huge pop for Psycho!] TD: You can never count the People's Champion out! SR: Sure you can... I've done it hundreds of times. [Requiem falls to the floor in a heap, and the Psycho leaps over the top rope to follow. Unfortunately, Psycho's leg gives out and he lands in a heap on the floor as well. The ref lays a count on both men. Both athletes get to their feet slowly, but it is Requiem who is able to take advantage of the situation. He rolls the Psycho into the ring, holding on to the leg, and drags him to the corner. He drapes the right leg of Psycho around the ringpost and looks to the fans. Many fans cheer for the action, but many boo Requiem as well. Requiem finally looks to the Generation, who all have their heads bowed. Requiem lets go of the leg and climbs back into the ring.] SR: You loser! What a dork. This half-assed heel turn just doesn't hold water. You either go all the way or don't bother! TD: Sure thing, Steve. [Requiem grabs both legs of the Psycho and drags him to the center of the ring. He grapevines one leg and drops back, locking on a figure four. The Psycho screams out in pain, but refuses to submit. He swings at Requiem, but doesn't have the reach necessary to connect. Fatuiged from fighting, the Psycho falls back, and the ref counts the fall... 1 - 2 - Psycho sits up again! The Psycho is still unable to break the hold, and continues to try and fight his way out of it. Requiem responds by lifting himself up on his arms to apply more pressure with the leverage, and the Psycho falls back again... 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Requiem immediately releases the hold, and the Psycho appears quite groggy on the mat.] TD: It looks like the pain was just too much, but the Psycho just would not quit! SR: Bonehead... [The Psycho slowly rolls over, holding his knee, and Requiem looks at him. Requiem motions to a ringside announcer for the mic, and the announcer obliges. Requiem then turns back to the Psycho, and speaks:] REQUIEM: Subway Psycho, it is not often I say this, but I... respect...          your ability. Your performance in the ring tonight was          exemplary. Anyone who can give me such a difficult match I          would be proud to stand side by side with. Will you join me,          Psycho? Will you unite with Genesis, thereby helping us to          mould the future of the IIWF? [The crowd gives a mixed pop, and the Psycho nurses his leg, looking sideways at Requiem. Psycho struggles up to his feet with quite a bit of difficulty, using the ropes for support. Once he gets to his feet, he turns to Requiem slowly and raises his hand... Turns it around... And flips Requiem the bird. The Psycho can be seen saying, "Unite with this!" Requiem completely goes off, and savagely kicks Psycho in the knee again. The Psycho goes down, and the crowd boos loudly. The heel pop gets louder as Nightwing and the Highwayman run down to the ring and enter. The three men go wild on the Psycho, stomping him repeatedly.] TD: Another punking? SR: I can't think of a better person to have it happen to. [The Psycho is unable to fight against the assault, and just tries to cover up as best he can. The crowd suddenly starts cheering as Deathbringer runs down to the ring and steps over the top rope. Highwayman sees him, however, and turns around with a big right hand. The rest of the Genesis members notice the new threat, and join in on the attack. Deathbringer tries to fight the trio, but also succumbs to the repeated shots to the head. Requiem gets Nightwing and Highwayman to hold Deathbringer, and goes over to the corner to grab his guitar. Deathbringer struggles, but is unable to break free. Requiem returns with the guitar and uses it to lift Deathbringer's head so he can look into his eyes. Requiem winds up, but there is a buzz as Serge Annis runs down to the ring. He holds his hands up to Requiem, yelling "Hold on, hold on! Let me, _brother!_" Requiem looks to the Generation members.] TD: Annis is part of Genesis! He wants to get another shot at the big man! SR: Anything that results in Deathbringer getting that guitar over his head! [Requiem dramatically hands the guitar over to Annis, who holds it with both hands by the neck. Annis winds up with the guitar, and takes a few practice swings. Finally, he winds up in front of Deathbringer, but suddenly spins and cracks Requiem over the head with the guitar! Huge pop from the crowd! Nightwing and Highwayman drop Deathbringer, holding up their hands in submission. Annis threatens them for a few seconds, then charges in swinging wildly. Both men bail from the ring before they are hit, and Serge Annis invites them back in. Requiem, holding his head, rolls from the ring, and is met by his fellow Genesis members. The three men walk back up the aisle as Serge Annis holds a hand out to Deathbringer. Deathbringer looks suspiciously at the guitar, and Annis notices his concern. Annis rips the strings off of the guitar and throws it out of the ring, holding his arms out to the big man. Deathbringer gets to his feet and holds out a hand to Annis, which Annis firmly shakes. Big pop!] TD: Serge Annis changed his mind! He's going to help Deathbringer! SR: Oh boy... Just what I wanted. A pair of idiots. [The crowd continues to cheer as Deathbringer and Annis leave the ring and make their way to the back, in pursuit of the retreating Genesis. Cut to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, Steve, with Ronnie Paris, Luke Steele and Scott Rogers uniting earlier tonight to face Genesis, and now Deathbringer standing with Serge Annis against Requiem and his men, are we finally seeing the rest of the IIWF take a stand against these men? SR: And, more importantly, does anybody care? TD: This next match should be a brutal one.  We're about to see Team Sychosys face off against the new IIWF World Tag Team Champions, the Prophets of Rage, in what should be a real barnburner. SR: Petrow's a few McNuggets short of a Happy Meal, Dross.  Ya never know what that guy'll try to do. TD: Good point, but it seems he has the support of all his Sychopaths from south of the border.  His "Sychositos", I guess you can call them. SR: His what? TD: Sychositos. SR: Gezhundheit. TD: [sighing] Let's get to the ring for the announcements. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Prophets of Rage vs. Team Sychosys -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: RR [The ring announcer picks up the microphone, sending a huge blast of feedback through the speaker system.  Loud whistles start to come from the audience, as many people grab their ears in pain.] RA: Ahem... excuse me.  This next match will be scheduled for one fall, and is a non-title tag team event.  Introducing first, "Majestic" Maurice McArthur and "Sychosys" Joe Petrow... TEAM SYCHOSYS! [McArthur and Petrow stand up from their seats in the second row, flanked by about two dozen Sychositos, and slap hands with a good deal of them.  One of their fans, a rather tubby man in a sombrero and a T-shirt reading "Viva el Smooth!", hoists a boombox onto his shoulders and presses the play button, filling the air with the melodic chords of Genesis' "Illegal Alien" as the two grapplers jump over the guardrail and into the ring.] RA: And their opponents... at a total combined weight of 573 pounds, and hailing from Halifax, Nova Scotia... the IIWF World Tag Team Champions... Derek and Shadoe Rage... the PROPHETS OF RAGE! [All eyes turn towards the entrance aisle... where nobody appears. Suddenly there is another loud blast of feedback, and more whistles erupt as Sparkplug Lee is pelted with various bits of trash.  He looks up, confused, with an "I didn't do it" appearance on his face. Over the speaker system, the voice of Derek Rage can be heard.] DR: Petrow, isn't it about time for you to quit this federation and sulk?  You say you're not IIWF.  You aren't even a man no more the way I hear it.  Grown ass man runnin' around half-dressed in the woods with a bunch of boys.  Yeah, that's a real man's man. [A microphone flies into the ring from the side where Petrow and McArthur both entered, and before anyone can react, Derek and Shadoe Rage are wading through the crowd of Sychositos, bashing heads, kicking, occasionally chokeslamming, and just generally laying waste to the group of Petrow's followers.  The referee looks on in confusion and shock as Petrow sprints across the ring, leaps onto the top turnbuckle, and dives onto both Prophets, bringing the three of them and about four more Sychopaths crashing to the ground in a tangle of chairs, people, and spilled crappy beer.] TD: Oh my!  The match hasn't even officially started yet, and ALREADY it's out of hand! SR: [laughing]  Great ploy by the Prophets, making Petrow come to them.  They got 'im right where they want him. [Petrow and the Prophets are back on their feet, and Sychosys is trying valiantly to brawl with both men... and beginning to fail. McArthur, still dazed, recovers his senses enough to shout to the referee, who signals for the bell beginning the match to start, and begins to count.  Meanwhile, Shadoe has busted a bottle of Mooselips over Petrow's head, causing him to drop to a knee long enough for Derek to grab the boombox from the Sychopath and club Petrow with it.] REF: ONE! CROWD: UNO! TD: This is sickening. SR: This is wonderful. [Shadoe grabs Petrow by the hair and holds him up, while Derek grabs a folding chair and slams it down on top of his opponent's head, causing a thin trickle of blood to course its way down Petrow's face.  The Sychositos are trying their best to get to the Prophets, but are being held at bay by the flailing chair.] REF: TWO! CROWD: DOS! [Petrow, still being held by Shadoe, looks up groggily as Derek brings the chair down again, and throws all his weight down into a sitting position, dragging Shadoe directly into the path of the weapon.  It bounces off Shadow's back, causing him to lose his grip on Petrow. Derek keeps swinging at Sychosys, who ducks and weaves out of the way, raising a shout of "Ole!" from his fans each time.] REF: THREE! CROWD: TRES! SYCHOS: OLE! SR: He can't duck forever. [Indeed, Roberts' prophecy rings true as Petrow is clipped in the forehead by the chair, sending him sprawling into the arms of his fans.  Shadoe manages to get back to his feet, throwing off a rather small Sychopath who was trying to hold him down and stuff peanuts into his mouth.  Petrow, his face now pretty much covered in blood, lunges forward at Shadoe, executing the Sycho Kick to him and knocking him back into Derek, who pretty much doesn't move.] REF: FOUR! CROWD: CUATRO! [Derek Rage takes this opportunity to stomp on Petrow, grab him by the hair, and execute the Hammer of God on him, smashing him down into a crowd of Sychopaths.  Petrow lies there, bleeding.  The Sychopaths lie there under Petrow, hurting.  Derek stands there over Petrow, laughing.] TD: We're gonna need paramedics down here.  Petrow looks hurt. SR: Hell, we're gonna need a vacuum cleaner to pick up Petrow after this match. REF: FIVE! CROWD: CINCO! [Shadoe Rage, back on his feet now, looks down on Petrow with disdain, then up at his partner.  He steps on a seat, then on the shoulder of an unsuspecting Sychosito, then ultimately stands on the shoulders of the giant Derek... from which he leaps off in an attempt of the Angel of Death Drop.  Petrow, barely conscious, manages to pull a steel chair over, causing Shadoe land on that instead and knock the wind out of himself, but not doing much for Petrow, who was under it.] TD: A valiant last ditch effort there by Petrow, but one has to wonder if he'll make it out of here in one piece. SR: Doubt it. REF: SIX! CROWD: SEIS! [Shadoe pulls himself to the side, where he is mercilessly pelted by fans throwing junk at him.  Derek, however, takes this opportunity to do a cannonball-esque maneuver onto the chair, further flattening Sychosys under it.  Derek stands up, kicks the chair off, and pulls Petrow up again.] SR: Hurt him! TD: You're not stable, you know that? REF: SEVEN! CROWD: SIETE! [The crowd pops suddenly as two more figures come barreling down through the crowd... Chaos and Tragedy of the Harlequins.  Both level Derek rage with a double shoulder tackle, then break off as Chaos stays with Derek Rage and Tragedy hunts down Shadoe Rage.  Petrow slowly pulls himself to his knees, clutching his side, and seems to chuckle at the sight of the newcomers.] SR: Hey!  They have no right being here! TD: Looks like they're trying to soften up their competition for next week, Steve!  They have the title shot against the Prophets! SR: If memory serves, they still have some beef with Petrow too. TD: Yes, they do, but we'll just have to see how that irons out here. REF: EIGHT! CROWD: OCHO! SR: Hey, where's McArthur? [Petrow staggers to his feet and heads over towards where Tragedy and Shadoe are duking it out.  Petrow slams a chair over Shadoe's head, then drops it on the ground.  He looks up at Tragedy, grins, licks some of the blood off his face, then grabs Shadoe in the set up for the Bullet Train to Hell.  The crowd goes wild as Tragedy, leaps straight up, lands on a seat, then dives onto Petrow with a cross body as he lifts Shadoe, essentially spike-Training him onto the chair. Tragedy then stands up and runs over to where Chaos and Derek are brawling.] TD: Looks like both Petrow _and_ Shadoe are out cold after that. SR: [shouting]  Unfair!  Ref!  Stop the count! REF: [not hearing him over the crowd]  NINE! CROWD: NUEVE! [Derek meanwhile has knocked Tragedy flat with a forearm as he ran towards him, but Chaos jumps right back onto him again, and the two end up brawling into the crowd, with Tragedy trailing along after he gets back up.  Petrow and Shadoe are both stirring slightly, and a bunch of Sychositos are over there trying to get Petrow back up and pour some beer down his throat.] REF: [shouting and signalling for the bell]  TEN! [Ding! Ding! Ding!] CROWD: [popping madly] DIEZ! SR: What?! [The referee, now oblivious to all the happenings outside the ring, walks over to McArthur, who has been sitting in the corner the entire time. He shrugs, grabs McArthur's wrist, and raises it in victory.] RA: The winners of ths match, by a result of a count-out... TEAM SYCHOSYS! [Huge confused pop from the crowd! Security pour down the aisle and into the stands, attempting to separate the Prophets, the Harlequins and Petrow, who is still dazed.] TD: Complete chaos here in the Olympic Stadium... and Maurice McArthur has secured victory in this match without even so much as laying a hand on anybody! SR: I can't believe it, Dross! What the hell is going on out here?! [The Jobber Justice Squad, augmented by other IIWF security officials, succeed in dragging the Harlequins away from the Prophets of Rage, while Petrow, along with many of his Sychositos, is forced towards an exit further up in the stands. He yells something at some of his followers, a couple of whom manage to break past security and make it to the ring, where they grab McArthur, dragging him back over the barriers and into the crowd, patting him on the back and congratulating him on the victory. Finally, order is restored, and ring staff work on cordoning off the carnage in the stands, and clearing up the mess. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: A huge victory there for Team Sychosys. I don't know what could possibly follow a wild brawl like that, Steve Roberts, but if anything stands a chance, our next match fits the bill. Coming right up we have what could be an intense technical wrestling confrontation between "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley... [Steve Roberts belches] SR: Oh, don't mind me, Dross.  You go on. TD: ...and the troubled superstar "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare. SR: Or Spur, or Brenda, Lector, Troy and all the other voices running around inside his head.  I wonder who he is today, Dross?  Nachos.  We need more nachos.  They should put a buffet out for us, Dross.  Yeah, that'd be cool, snacks for the Soundbite. TD: It promises to be an exciting match up.  Let's go to ringside for the official word. SR: Don't be like that, Timmy, we'll get you some potato cakes.  You'd like that, wouldn't you? =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Chris Quigley vs. Billy Shakespeare =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MP RA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a thirty minute time limit.  Introducing first, weighing in at 230lbs and hailing from Ashland, Oregon... here is... "Spotlight" Biiiilly Shakespeeaaaaaaaareee!! [Huge crowd pop as "Little Willie" by The Sweet starts up over the PA system... in Spanish!  A spotlight pans around the arena and then focuses in on a point high up on the top of the stadium... and on Billy Shakespeare!  He holds his arm in the air to another big crowd pop, and camera flashes go off all around the arena as he launches himself down to the ring via a zipline, dropping off above the ring and somersaulting to land on his feet!] SR: Show-off. TD: What an entrance by this young superstar! SR: Show-off. [Shakespeare climbs the turnbuckles, his arms in the air, and then points up to the rigging above the ring...from which falls a large banner.] SR: "New Generation just means you've never won a championship title"?  Give me a break, Shakey... TD: Billy with a few words for the newcomers!  Why do I get the feeling we haven't heard the last of this? RA: And his opponent... weighing in at 243lbs and hailing from Corner Brook, Newfoundland... [Huge crowd pop as "For Those about to Rock" by AC/DC starts up over the PA system...] RA: ...accompanied to the ring by "The World's Fastest Man" Donovan Bailey... [The pop increases in magnitude as it becomes apparent this was the surprise Quigley hinted at...] RA: Here is... "Quickstrike" Chriiiiis Quiiiiiiiigleeeey!! [Huge crowd pop as Donovan Bailey appears in the head of the aisle, proudly waving a Canadian flag, and then Quigley himself appears, arms raised to the popping crowd, slapping the fan's hands as he makes his way down towards ringside...] TD: Chris Quigley, walking that aisle with the World's Fastest Man... who would have thought it? SR: Nostradamus, maybe?  Look at this guy.  Is he attention starved or what?  Two... make that three with Speedy Gonzalez there... four if you count Chuck Sanders... four big egos, one small ring... how can I possibly contain myself?  I can't, obviously.  I'm going to go for a dump.  Those tacos go right through you. TD: You stay put, Steve... SR: It's your funeral, Dross.  I tell you, this one is going to be pretty damn messy. TD: Why do you have to be so disgusting? SR: Because I get off on it. [The crowd behind the announcers table starts up a "Shoot, Senor Soundbite! Shoot!" chant as Dross shakes his head sadly. In the ring, Chuck Sanders finishes his instructions to both wrestlers, and the two face up... Shakespeare slowly offers his hand... and Quigley accepts!  Pop!] SR: And you said I was disgusting. [The bell rings, and both men circle quickly, before moving into a grapple... both men struggle for the advantage, Quigley bearing down on the smaller Shakespeare, who makes several abortive switch attempts... neither man gets the advantage, and Quigley backs Shakespeare into the corner.  Sanders steps in, asking for the clean break... and he gets one.] TD: Both men sizing each other up in these early minutes.  There's a lot of history between these two fine athletes... [Steve Roberts belches again, to the delight of his fans and disgust of Tim Dross...] TD: ...and neither man will be underestimating the other.  Steve Roberts, will you stop? SR: Sorry, Dross, don't know what came over me.  Well, I do actually, last night there was this big... TD: Can we please get back to the match? [In the ring, both men lock up again, and pry for the advantage... a quick switch by Shakespeare succeeds this time, going behind Quigley into a waistlock...] SR: Ah, I see, he's Troy tonight, is he? [Quigley reverses the lock, and Shakespeare re-reverses, trying to flip Quigley down to the canvas...  Quigley separates his grip, spinning behind Shakespeare into a hammerlock... Shakespeare counters almost immediately by turning the hold into an overhead wristlock which Quigley powers out of, switching behind Shakespeare with another waistlock, into a waistlock takedown and then into a headlock on the canvas!] TD: Quick series of moves there by these two athletes... and it's Quigley who takes advantage, locking Shakespeare into that headlock... SR: Just like Kick-Me... restholds at the beginning of a ma... TD: [interrupting] And Shakespeare rolls Quigley's shoulders to the mat!  One! Two! No! Quigley kicks out! SR: Don't you ever, _ever_ interrupt me like that again. [Quigley grinds on the headlock as Shakespeare attempts to escape... Quigley forces the shoulders down... 1 - Shakespeare gets his arm up.  Quigley grinds the hold in even tighter, and Shakespeare turns, trying to push himself up to his feet... Quigley is forced to get to one knee as Shakespeare continues to rise to a vertical base... and a lightning-fast headlock takedown sends Billy straight back onto his back!  Pop!  Shakespeare wastes no time, using the momentum to roll Quigley into a pinning position again, hooking the leg down tightly... 1 - 2 - kickout by Quigley!] TD: And Shakespeare getting back to a vertical base a second time... Quigley is grinding that headlock in... waistlock by Shakespeare... forearm to the back... and another... and Quigley flips him to the canvas again! [Shakespeare is becoming visibly irritated with Quigley's use of the headlock to control him, and tries to force Quigley's head back with the palm of his hand... Quigley shakes his head, cinching the hold in... Shakespeare switches to his knees, and pushes up to his feet...] TD: Another takedown... blocked by Shakespeare. Shakespeare waistlocks Quigley... runs him into the ropes... and into a rolling cradle... no!  Quigley halts his momentum! SR: By grabbing the ropes.  Cheap move. [Shakespeare is catapulted back off Quigley by the momentum, and goes into a backward roll to his feet...] TD: And Shakespeare with a beautiful dropkick right on the button as Quigley turns around!  And Quigley's sent over the top!  The crowd liked that one, Steve! SR: Hell, I liked that one, Dross.  At last we've got some action here! [Quigley is relatively unhurt by the fall, and gets back up to the ring apron... where Shakespeare holds the ropes open for him!  The crowd pops as Roberts makes barfing noises, and both men move to lock up again... Shakespeare ducks under Quigley's grapple, and catches him with a fast armdrag as he turns!  Pop!  Quigley springs back up to his feet, and straight into a second armdrag!  Quigley rolls with the fall, and is immediately sent down a third time by another beautiful standing dropkick from Billy Shakespeare!  Shakespeare moves over Quigley, who kicks him off, and both men kick up to their feet, with Shakespeare taking Quigley down again, this time with a hip toss!  The crowd is buzzing as Shakespeare runs to the ropes, Quigley stays down on the first pass, leapfrogs the second...] TD: And catches Shakespeare with that headlock takedown again on the third!  What composure by Chris Quigley! [Shakespeare kicks at the mat in frustration as Quigley applies the pressure, before turning onto his knees... Quigley switches,  into a facelock as Shakespeare rises, and Shakespeare backs him into the corner... Sanders moves in again asking for the clean break, and he gets it.  Both men circle each other, Quigley looking the more confident, Shakespeare the more cautious.] TD: Despite that fast-paced break from Shakespeare, Quigley has more or less dominated the opening minutes... SR: Dominated?  That's a new one to me.  I knew he was into that submissive thang... [Both men move into a lock up again, and Quigley moves into a standing side headlock, twisting Shakespeare's neck... Shakespeare fires a couple of forearm shots into Quigley's back, before bracing himself and hoisting Quigley up for an Atomic Drop...] TD: Quigley shifts his momentum in mid air, and takes Shakespeare to the mat again!  Chris Quigley, Steve Roberts, is utilising that headlock to perfection! SR: You know, I just got a very strange feeling of deja vu when you said that... [Shakespeare rolls to his knees again, quickly regaining his footing and charging Quigley into the ropes, firing him off cross ring.... the two men cross up, and as Quigley rebounds, Shakespeare catches him, hoisting him up...] TD: ...into a hotshot onto the top rope!  And Shakespeare bought himself some time with that one! [Shakespeare signals to the popping crowd and runs to the far ropes, rebounding back to where Quigley is still slumped neck first across the top rope...] TD: And Shakespeare vaults over the top, snapping Quigley's neck down over the top!  What a clothesline! [The crowd pops wildly for the display of athleticism by the young cruiserweight, who picks himself to his feet on the outside, and leaps back up to the ring apron as Quigley slowly rises to his feet, shaking off the cobwebs...] TD: Shakespeare slingshots himself back into the ring... look out!  And straight into a dropkick on Quigley!  Slingshot dropkick, and Shakespeare has the crowd on their feet! [Shakespeare covers Quigley, hooking the leg... 1 - 2 - Quigley kicks out!  Shakespeare pulls him back to a vertical base, hooking Quigley up into a facelock, throwing his arm over his head... and sending Quigley crashing back to the canvas with a fast snap suplex!  He covers again... 1 - 2 - kickout!  Billy pulls Quigley up again, and drops him back to the canvas hard with a bodyslam... he runs to the ropes...] TD: And a flying elbowdrop hits the mark!  Another cover by Shakespeare... One! Two... no!  It takes more than that to put Chris Quigley away, Steve Roberts, much more. SR: And don't I know it.  You knock him down, you hurt him, time and time again, but he keeps on bouncing back for more. [Shakespeare pulls Quigley back to his feet again, and backs him into the ropes... Irish whip... Quigley has the presence of mind to reverse it... and Shakespeare re-reverses, sending Quigley flying face first into the turnbuckles!  Huge crowd pop!  Quigley staggers back out... Shakespeare grabs him in and inverted headlock...] TD: Inverted DDT!  Shakespeare just caught Chris Quigley with an inverted DDT!  Here's a quick cover, the referee's in position... Billy's got the leg hooked... One! Two! SR: Three! He got him! TD: No!  Almost!  Quigley just barely managed to kick out!  Shakespeare pulls Quigley to his feet... Irish whip into the opposite corner.... reversed by Quigley, and Shakespeare hits hard! [Quigley quickly charges in after Shakespeare... who moves out of the way at the last second!  Huge crowd pop!] TD: Shakespeare got out of the way just in time, and Quigley went straight through the turnbuckles! SR: He hit the post, Dross! He hit that steel post!  Dont'cha love it... TD: Quigley looks hurt, Steve, he's clutching his shoulder... And Shakespeare takes immediate advantage, pulling Quigley out and hoisting him up... Shoulderbreaker!  The cover... One! Two! And... Quigley kicks out again!  And Shakespeare slows the pace down now, pulling Quigley into an armbar... [Shakespeare forces pressure on Quigley's shoulder, stretching the ligaments... the referee asks for the submission... none forthcoming.  Quigley starts to move to his knees, and Shakespeare pulls out the arm, forcing him back to the mat with a series of quick legdrops across the shoulder, before twisting the hold into a hammerlock...] TD: And a kneedrop across the exposed muscle.  Shakespeare has stopped the aerial assault in favour of attacking Quigley's arm, possibly a sound strategy, he would have found it hard pressed to keep up an extended aerial attack in this thin air. SR: So what you're saying is that he's using restholds.  Any excuse. [Quigley starts to get to his knees, and Shakespeare twists the arm with an armwringer, before locking Quigley into a half chickenwing submission.  Again, the referee asks for the submission, and again the answer from Quigley is a definite no.  Shakespeare pulls Quigley up....] TD: And drops him straight back down with a shoulderbuster!  Shakespeare knows what a tenacious athlete Quigley is, and he's going to take every advantage he can! [Shakespeare starts to pull Quigley up again, and gets caught up in an inside cradle!  Pop!  The referee gets caught out of position, and quickly slides in to make the count - 1 - 2 - Shakespeare kicks out, and goes straight into an armbar on the struggling Quigley as he starts to get back to his feet... armwringer by Shakespeare... reversed by Quigley... Quigley with a kick to Shakespeare's stomach, he lifts his leg across the back of Shakespeare's neck, using the leverage to somersault out of the armbar...] TD: And straight into a diving clothesline from Shakespeare as he lands!  The cover... One! Two... kickout by Quigley!  Shakespeare pulls him straight back up... and a high back suplex stuns him again!  Another cover... One! Two! And th... No! Kickout by Quigley! [Shakespeare pulls Quigley to his feet again, and backs him into the ropes for an Irish whip... reversal by Quigley... Shakespeare ducks the clothesline attempt and comes back with a cross body block... Quigley catches him and staggers backwards...] TD: Watch out!  Quigley and Shakespeare just fell right out of the ring!  The momentum sent them both out over the top! [Mixed pop from the crowd around the aisle entrance...] SR: Look out, Dross, here comes trouble... TD: Marty Warnett is making his way down to ringside... [Both Shakespeare and Quigley, who seemed to take the brunt of the fall, start to rise on the outside and Shakespeare climbs to the ring apron...] TD: Warnett's watching from the top of the aisle... Quigley gets to his feet... and Shakespeare comes off the ring apron with a Frankensteiner!  He nailed him! [Huge crowd pop for Shakespeare as he rolls back into the ring... Donovan Bailey and Marty Warnett appear to have got into a small argument, and the referee starts to count Quigley out.... 1 - 2 - 3 - ] SR: He ain't gonna make it, Dross... He is out.  What the hell is that Welsh pup doing? [Warnett is laughing off Bailey's warnings to stay out of the way, and sharing a few jokes at his expense with the fans... 4 -  Quigley slowly starts to get to his feet on the outside... 5 - 6 - ] SR: What does it take to put that man down, Dross... TD: You tell me. SR: Better still, I'll knock him out, you drive us out into the desert and I'll show you.. TD: That's called conspiracy to commit murder, Steve... SR: Damn.  I knew there was a down side somewhere... [The referee breaks his count as Shakespeare starts climbing the turnbuckles... Quigley stumbles away from the guardrail on the outside, and turns... straight into a double axe handle from fifteen feet up by Billy Shakespeare!  Huge crowd pop!] TD: And Quigley countered it with a fist to the stomach!  Both men are down on the outside. [The referee starts counting again as Quigley pulls Shakespeare up and rolls him back into the ring headfirst, shaking his arm out to remove the kinks... Shakespeare starts to roll to his knees, and Quigley takes a brief glance at Warnett before leaping up to the ring apron....] TD: And Shakespeare kicks up, and catches Quigley with a forearm on the ring apron!  Shakespeare hooks him up for a suplex... And Quigley flips behind him, pulling him back off the ropes with a rolling cradle!  Incredible! [The referee is caught out of position again - 1 - 2 - kickout by Shakespeare!  Both men roll away from each other and to their feet...] TD: Double clothesline!  Both men are down! [Warnett begins to prowl around the outside of the ring, watched closely by Donovan Bailey... Shakespeare and Quigley slowly begin to rise...  Quigley comes off the ropes...] TD: And Warnett catches his foot!  Warnett deliberately tripped Chris Quigley! [Heel pop from the crowd!  Quigley rises to his feet, and icy look on his face as Chuck Sanders runs over to warn Warnett, who backs off, protesting his innocence... and Shakespeare, oblivious to it all, steps behind Quigley, catching him in a fast schoolboy roll-up...] SR: Quigley's down!  Count, Sanders you incompetent twit! TD: Sanders was busy arguing with Warnett!  He rolls into position... One! Two... kickout by Quigley! SR: Sanders is useless!  Shakespeare had him, and he missed it!  Useless! [Both men roll to their feet, and Quigley catches Shakespeare with a kick to the midsection, quickly stepping around him and yanking him back to the canvas with a fast, snapping Russian legsweep... the cover... 1 - 2 - kickout!  Quigley pulls Shakespeare up again, pulling him back into the corner, locking him in a headlock and running him out...] TD: Bulldog!  Another cover! One! Two... kickout by Shakespeare again! [Quigley hoists Shakespeare up a third time, waistlocking him and lifting him up by his side...] TD: Backbreaker!  What impact!  Quigley's getting into his stride now, and he's going up to the middle rope... [Warnett twists away from the attentions of Bailey, and grabs Quigley's foot before he leaps... Quigley looks around angrily, and steps between the ropes and out of the ring...] SR: I don't know whether to cheer or moan. TD: Quigley's getting distracted away from Shakespeare here... he could be making a mistake... [Warnett again holds his hands up in innocence to a big heel pop, and backs away from the advancing Chris Quigley... inside the ring, Billy Shakespeare starts to get back to his feet... and the crowd around the entrance to the aisle erupt into an instant heel pop...] TD: Simon Lebec!  Simon Lebec's running down to ringside!  We're about to have a brawl breaking out here! [Quigley catches up to Warnett on the outside, and both of them start to go at it... just in time for Lebec to come charging around and blindside Quigley, who starts to fall under the combined blows...] TD: Look out... Here comes Shakespeare! [Huge crowd pop!] TD: Shakespeare with a cross body over the ropes takes down Lebec!  And he's hammering away on the man!  Chuck Sanders looks completely confused! SR: He is confused, Dross, I saw him last night.  Too much Tequila affects a man's judgement. TD: Sanders was drinking? SR: Hell, yeah.  Wouldn't you if you had a wife like his? [There's a four way brawl taking place on the outside, Quigley charges Warnett back into the ringsteps, sending both men flying... Shakespeare and Lebec are going at it hammer and tongs, crashing into the Spanish announcers' table...] TD: There's no love lost here at all... look out!  Shakespeare just sent Lebec into the stands with that last clothesline! SR: And they're right by the Furies!  This one's going to get real ugly, real soon.. [Warnett swings at Quigley with a chair, who dives out of they way, causing Warnett to hit the ringpost... Lebec starts choking Shakespeare over the guardrail... Sanders looks around at the chaos, and signals for the bell....] TD: What's the word?  What's the result? SR: Bulls 23, Knicks... Dammit, I can't get this radio tuned in properly... RA: Due to both participants being counted out of the ring, the referee has rules this bout... a draw! SR: Yeah! TD: What are you cheering for?  That's a preposterous decision! SR: Maybe, but Lebec just ran Shakespeare into the ringpost... [The bell rings again, but the brawl continues... Warnett clubs Quigley down to the floor, and turns around... right into Donovan Bailey, who gets right in his face!  Huge pop!  Warnett holds up his hands, and starts to back off... right into Chris Quigley!  Shakespeare throws Lebec off, and Lebec starts steps away from him.. to be clotheslined to the floor by Quigley!  Huge crowd pop!  Shakespeare, Bailey and Quigley start advancing on the pair, who back away up the aisle, hurling insults back at the superstars... ] TD: Yet another match ends in a violent confrontation... And you can bet that neither Shakespeare or Quigley will be particularly happy at the way the match ended.  Somewhere down the line, these men are going to meet up, and then all hell is going to break loose... [The ringside area is slowly cleared. Cut back to the broadcast table.] TD: Incredible scenes... Warnett, Lebec, Quigley, Shakespeare... SR: The only enjoyable part of a dull match between two dull people. TD: What we saw... before Lebec and Warnett decided to stick there noses in, that is, was a sportsmanlike display of excellent wrestling ability. SR: Now, Dross, if I wanted to see a sportsmanlike display of excellent wrestling ability, I'd join a wrestling federation. TD: No.  No, I'm not going to bite on this one, Steve.  I know what's coming. SR: Aw, shoot, Dross, you never let me have any fun. TD: Our penultimate match this evening concerns one of the our more popular athletes... it's the return of Creed.   And he'll be facing a man who will most definitely give him a stern test: the aggressive newcomer, Duncan Macbeth. SR: Yeah, and we're all saying, here comes the young pup, hungry for more of the same.  "No, please, I'm only a poor lame orphan..." Who's your daddy? TD: Steve... SR: He should take retirement while he can still walk.  I tell you, one of these days were gonna see him, and Christopher Reeves sat right next to each other, if you know what I mean... TD: Steve... SR: Yeah... Superfreak, and 'roid freak, together again... they could get their own daytime TV series... Wheelchair Cops... [Dross shakes his head in dismay as the crowd behind him once again starts up a "Shoot, Senor Soundbite, shoot!" chant... Steve stands up, holding his arms in the air...] TD: Let's just go and get the official word, shall we? =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Duncan Macbeth vs. Creed -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MP [Sparkplug Lee watches in obvious amusement as the crowd continues to chant for Steve Roberts, and holds the microphone up to his mouth...] RA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a... [Sparkplug is instantly cut off by the majestic tones of the "Intermezzo" from "Karelia" Suite... instant wild heel pop!] TD: That's Byron's music! SR: Oh yeah, we've got company coming down... classy company. [The heel pop increases in magnitude tenfold as the Intercontinental champion appears at the head of the aisle, resplendent in a pale grey suit with a waffle shirt and silk tie, complete with the IC belt around his waist.  He smirks around at the jeering crowd, before slowly strutting down to ringside, and the announcers table...] TD: Mr. Byron.  This is an unexpected pleasure. LB: Oh, come now, Mr. Dross.  Surely you didn't believe I would miss the return of a [Byron sneers] friend of mine?  Pass me the spare headset, will you, Mr. Roberts? TD: I guess not. [Sparkplug Lee watches in irritation as Byron takes up position in the commentary booth, before straightening his tie and returning to the introductions...] RA: *ahem*... The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a thirty minute time limit.  Introducing first, hailing from Glennfinnan, Scotland and weighing in at 270lbs, here is... Duncaaaan Macbeeeeeeeettth!! [Huge pop from the crowd as "Scotland the Brave" starts up over the PA system, and Macbeth, dressed in his kilt, appears at the head of the aisle, a look of extreme concentration and focus on his face...] LB: It's always nice to see a countryman in action.  Something about this young man impresses me.  He's very.. how can I put this?  Businesslike.  No nonsense.  I can respect that in an athlete. SR: Oh yeah.  A real professional. [Byron chuckles]  I wonder if I could get him to bring me some of that Scottish shortbread next time he goes home.  What am I saying?  Next time he goes home, I hope he stays there... [Byron looks thoughtfully at the young Scotsman as he quickly climbs into the ring, and begins pacing..] LB: I'm not so sure.  I'm sure this man could have a very bright future ahead of him.  In the right company, of course. TD: Was that an offer I just heard, Byron? LB: Let's just wait and see, shall we? ["Scotland the Brave" slowly fades out, and Sparkplug Lee nervously steps past Macbeth into the centre of the ring...] RA: And his opponent... [Huge crowd pop] weighing in at 275lbs and hailing from Oakland, California... here is... Creeeeeeeeeeed!! [Incredible crowd pop as Beethoven's "Ode To Joy" starts up over the PA system, and a series of blood red lights illuminate the aisle... dry ice pours from the entranceway, and through it... through it steps...] TD: Creed is in the building!  Look at the intensity on this man's face! [Creed, dressed in his all black wrestling attire, with the subtle addition of a blood red kneepad, steps out into the aisle, his glove raised in the air... he looks around at the crowd for a second, hands on hips, and then begins to quickly make his way to the ring, his eyes focused directly on it as the crowd starts up the familiar chant of his name...] SR: His leg seems to be holding up nicely.  I can barely see the limp. LB: The man heals quickly.  I know a lot of people would have taken a lot longer to recover from an MCL injury.  He's a proud man, Mr. Roberts. SR: A stupid one, more like. [Creed pauses at the entrance to the aisle, focusing his gaze on Byron, who rises and offers a small bow of acknowledgement.  Creed turns, and climbs into the ring, leaping up to the second turnbuckle and raising his fist in the air, before bringing it around to point at Byron...] TD: This man is the very definition of intensity. LB: And he will need to be.  An athlete such as Macbeth must command your every attention.  Creed simply cannot allow himself to get distracted... TD: How right you are, Byron. SR: Then if he spots that rug on your head, Dross, he's going to have some definite problems. [The lights return to normal, and Macbeth and Creed step into the centre of the ring, engaging in a staredown as the referee gives them final instructions.  Both men nod their heads, without taking their gazes off each other, and Macbeth extends his hand... and Creed accepts!  A brief handshake, and both men begin to circle...] TD: Look at the intensity on these two men's faces... this match is so important for both of them. It's Creed's return match, and a chance for Macbeth to push himself further up the rankings... I take it you heard Macbeth's recent comments towards you, Byron? LB: I heard them. [Both men move into a grapple, and Creed starts to take the advantage,  powering the slightly smaller Macbeth down... and Macbeth twists, snapping Creed to the canvas with a fast armdrag!  Pop!  Both men back up, and Creed rises to his feet, straightening his glove, before moving back into a lockup again...] LB: As I said, Macbeth has the talent and the attitude to go far, in the right company.  The last thing he wants to do is make enemies of people when he doesn't need to. TD: Macbeth may not feel the same way, Byron.  His comments weren't exactly friendly... LB: Let's concentrate on the match for now, shall we? [Creed forces Macbeth back, and into the ropes.  The referee asks for the clean break, and receives it, both men cagily stepping away from one another.  Creed steps back in for another lock up... and takes a fast kick to the midsection from Macbeth!  Pop!] TD: Creed showing some signs of ring rust, there... you have to wonder how close to full fitness he actually is. [Macbeth quickly runs to the ropes, coming back with a big shoulderblock... the impact is heard around the arena, but neither man moves!  Pop!  Creed and Macbeth have a brief staredown, and Macbeth runs to the ropes again... this time Creed drops quickly to the canvas, catching Macbeth in a single-leg trip takedown, before moving over into a headlock... Macbeth quickly slips the hold, forcing Creed to the canvas with a hammerlock.  Creed switches himself, and Macbeth gives up on the hold, preferring to stay out of range of Creed's power arsenal, both men back up, and start circling again...] TD: Another fast series of moves by both competitors.  Macbeth has looked very promising in recent weeks, Byron, and the rumour is that he is looking for a fast entry into the title scene. LB: I'm sure he is.  Everyone wants success, Mr. Dross.  What they have to also consider is the price it comes with. SR: Something Creed himself found out not too long ago, eh, Byron? [Another lock up, both men once again straining for the advantage over the other, and this time it's Creed who takes control, pulling Macbeth down into a standing side headlock.  Macbeth tries to switch to a hammerlock, but Creed refuses to budge, grinding the hold on tighter on the young Scot.  Macbeth changes tactics, gripping Creed's arm and twisting, lifting the hold and trying to carry it through into an overhead wristlock, becoming inadvertently embroiled in a test of power with the Californian...] TD: Creed's footing's placed him at a disadvantage... we may see Macbeth take the advantage here... LB: Neither men are exactly slouches in the power department, but I'd have to go with Creed on this one... if his injury isn't bothering him too much, that is... [Creed switches his footing, pulling Macbeth back down into the headlock once more, and following through with a brief slap to the face of Macbeth, which the Scot responds to with a series of forearms to the lower back...] TD: Oh my!  Creed working on the volatile temper of the newcomer there... LB: Smart move.  Creed isn't afraid to take it to a psychological battle when the need arises, and Macbeth should be careful he doesn't lose his cool.  He doesn't want to lose track of his game plan. SR: Such as it is... [Macbeth continues to hammer away at Creed's lower back, staggering him before running him backwards into the ropes, attempting to catapult him across the ring... Creed puts the brakes on hard, dropping to one knee and stopping Macbeth's break attempt dead!  Pop!  Creed twists his body, taking Macbeth over his hip and to the canvas, before grinding the hold on tightly... Macbeth flips over, pushing himself back to his feet and forcing Creed into the ropes again...] TD: Another whip attempt by Macbeth and Creed puts on the breaks again!  And Macbeth is complaining to the referee that Creed had a handful of hair. LB: It's always possible.  I've been on the receiving end of a few cheap shots from the man myself. [Either way, Creed vehemently denies the suggestion, cutting short any further protests with another slap to the face and by winding the hold up tighter.  Macbeth lashes out, and Creed changes his focus, using his free arm to quickly lock in a half-nelson and flipping up into a steady bridge... 1 - 2 - kickout by Macbeth, and Creed quickly returns to the headlock!] LB: I'm impressed. TD: Close near-fall there by Creed, and that manoeuvre caught Macbeth by surprise! LB: It also served to cool him down slightly.  He's latched on to Creed's own game plan now... SR: Cool.  It only took him five minutes or so... [Macbeth starts to more cautiously push back up to his feet, this time turning inside Creed, forcing him to switch the hold into a facelock... and this time it's Macbeth who acts fast!] TD: Waistlock into a modified Northern Light's suplex from nowhere! One! Two... Creed kicks out! SR: Where the hell did that come from? [Creed springs to his feet, and is charged back into the ropes by Macbeth Irish whip cross-ring, and Macbeth comes off the ropes himself, hitting Creed with a tremendous flying dropkick that catapults the big man to the canvas!  Pop!  Creed rolls back to his feet, to be sent down by a standing dropkick!  Creed springs back up...] TD: And a hip toss from the Scotsman!  And a lariat takes Creed down again, and this place is on fire! LB: Notice the instant change in pace?  The two athletes have very different game plans for this match, that much is for certain. TD: Even so, I think Creed's controlled tactics rattled Macbeth more than he would care to admit. SR: [awful brogue] Dunna overlook th' wee Macbeth, Dross, he ken go, ye ken what I'm sayin' t' ye? [Macbeth steps towards Creed again, who rolls back into the corner, and the referee steps between them...  Creed wipes his lip, looking for a trace of blood before straightening his glove and stepping back out of the corner again...] TD: More stalling tactics from Creed, who looks for another lockup... slipped by Macbeth!  Creed turns... kick to the midsection by the Scotsman... who takes to the ropes... and a bulldog connects!  The cover... and Creed powers out! LB: Creed still seems to be moving somewhat slowly... maybe the controlled pace wasn't wholly by choice. [Creed rolls to his feet, to be hit again by a rebounding Macbeth, who takes him down with a flying shoulderblock... another cover... 1 - 2 - another powerful kickout!  Macbeth pulls Creed up, backs him up for an Irish whip into the turnbuckles... Creed connects with force and staggers back out... Macbeth puts his head down for a back body drop...] TD: Blocked by Creed... a gut wrench... into a split-legged powerbomb! LB: A Doctor Bomb, and that stopped Macbeth for dead! [Creed covers, hooking the leg up... 1 - 2 - kickout by the Scot!  Creed pulls him up into a facelock, dropping a powerful forearm shot onto the youngster's lower back that knocks him to his knees, and then twisting Macbeth's head back and over, dropping into a very short fallaway neckbreaker... another cover... 1 - 2 - kickout by Macbeth again!] TD: And once again Creed is starting to slow the pace down, very deliberate, very effective.... LB: And very punishing!  Snap side backbreaker, and a second... and into a side suplex!  You feel that Macbeth may be starting to weaken under this steady barrage. [Creed covers again, hooking the leg and applying a half nelson... 1 - 2 - kickout!  Creed continues to maintain the half nelson, using it to turn Macbeth over and pull him up, before twisting Macbeth around again, completing the nelson with Macbeth doubled over...] TD: Nelsoned snap suplex by Creed, into a bridge...  One! Two.. and Macbeth kicks out again!  And you may be right in thinking, that the young athlete is attempting to send out a message to a person not too distant from me at the moment here! LB: [sneering] Mr. Dross, whatever do you mean? [Creed pulls Macbeth up to his feet again, backing him into the ropes and sending him cross ring... before connecting with his devastating belly-to-belly suplex!  Pop!  The cover... 1 - 2 - kickout by Macbeth again, but the series of moves appears to be taking it's toll... Creed pulls Macbeth up again...] TD: Creed now, setting Macbeth up for another Irish whip... Macbeth ducks the clothesline attempt!  Another rebound.. Macbeth with a Lou Thesz press...! LB: But Creed catches into a spinebuster!  That might do it! TD: The cover.. One... Two... and... no!  Macbeth escapes again!  And Creed is starting to pick the pace up somewhat now!  He senses he's got Macbeth in trouble! SR: I've always said there's only two good things to have come out of Scotland:  Shortbread, and Scotch. TD: You've never said that, Steve... SR: Just said it then! [Creed climbs to his feet, and a momentary look of discomfort passes his face, and he adjusts his kneepad before starting to pull the Scot to his feet again... and is pulled into a small package!  Pop!  The referee slides into position... 1 - 2 - Creed reverses... 1 - 2 - Macbeth kicks out!  Both men struggle up to their feet, and Creed charges across with a clothesline... ] TD: No!  Swift kick to the stomach by Macbeth, and a DDT to follow!  And that might just have saved this match for the young Scotsman! SR: Someone needs saving...  it might be Macbeth, or possibly someone pretty close to him at the moment.  Hey Byron, what do you think of Creed's return so far? LB: I think there's room for improvement.  What do you think Mr. Roberts? SR: I think you're being far too kind.  The rookie should have quit while he had the chance.  He ain't never going to be that unstoppable machine again. [Macbeth pauses for a second, catching his breath, before rolling across Creed for the pin... 1 - 2 - kickout!  Macbeth pulls Creed to his feet, and hits an Irish whip into the ropes...] TD: And a scything flying clothesline sends Creed to the canvas once again!  And another cover... but Creed escapes again, and both men are showing signs of wear and tear now! [Macbeth pulls Creed up into a camel clutch, leaning back hard... the referee checks for the submission, but despite the evident strain on Creed's face, he refuses to give in...] LB: You know, Dross, I may have to take a somewhat closer look at this action, if you don't mind. SR: Hey, it works for me, Byron!  Might liven up the atmosphere somewhat, I was beginning to get bored. TD: Byron, don't... ladies and gentlemen, it looks like Lord Byron as left the broadcast booth... I hope this doesn't degenerate into a brawl... SR: Why?  For the love of God, Dross, why? [Macbeth continues to put pressure on the hold as Byron strolls across towards the ring apron, removing the IC title and slinging it across his shoulder as he does so.  In the ring, Creed starts to power out of the camel clutch, pushing himself to his knees... he lifts Macbeth up onto his back.. and Macbeth slides off before he can drop back, catching the turning Creed with a fast clothesline as he turns!  Macbeth moves over the prone Creed... and instantly looks up as he hears Byron's applause!  Heel pop!] TD: And look at Macbeth glaring at Byron!  He looks as though he'd like to throttle him! SR: He's welcome to try... I'd enjoy watching him get pummelled right about now... [Macbeth turns away from Byron... right into an inside cradle from Creed! The cover - 1 - 2 - kickout!  Macbeth scrambles back to his feet and stomps on the back of  Creed's head as he tries to rise... drawing another round of applause from the blueblood!] TD: Byron's attention is doing nothing to improve Macbeth's humour... we now have a definite added factor in this match, ladies and gentlemen. SR: Yup. [Macbeth pulls Creed back to his feet, backs him to the ropes... Irish whip...] TD: Both men off the ropes... Creed ducks Macbeth's lariat... Macbeth on the rebound and Creed catches him... he lifts... elevated backdrop over the top rope!  Oh my! [Huge heel pop!] SR: Oh, now we've got some fun happening here... [Macbeth managed to catch the rope as he fell, and landed practically on his feet in front of Byron.  Macbeth points at Byron and starts advancing... Byron holds his hands up in a gesture of peace... Macbeth shakes his head angrily... Byron points.. Macbeth turns...] TD: And a double axehandle from the ring apron puts Macbeth down!  Creed puts Macbeth down on the outside, and now he and Byron are having a staredown! SR: Keep your eye on Scottie, Creed... [As if taking Robert's advice, Creed switches his attention from Byron, who retreats to a safe distance, and pulls Macbeth up, rolling him back into the ring... with a final glance at Byron, Creed climbs back up to the ring apron... and is met by a kneelift from the rising Macbeth!  Pop!  Macbeth leaps up...  huge crowd pop!] TD: Claymore! Macbeth just brought Creed back into the ring with the Claymore, and the crowd is going wild!  Macbeth covers.... wait a second, Byron just put Creed's arm on the ropes! [Macbeth spot's Byron's action, and breaks the cover, leaning over the ropes to shout at Byron...  Byron shakes his head, holding his palms out again, and Macbeth half steps between the ropes, pointing angrily at Byron!  Pop!  The referee tries to pull him back into the ring, but this only serves to infuriate the Scot even further, and he leaps to the outside...] TD: And Byron catches Macbeth with the IC title belt!  He knocked Macbeth down as he leapt off!  The referee is counting Macbeth out... Byron is causing chaos out here! SR: He's just doing an old friend a favour... Creed should thank him! [Inside the ring, Creed slowly starts to recover from the effects of the Claymore, slowly rolling to his knees... the referee continues his count on Macbeth... - 4 - 5 - 6 - ] TD: Macbeth is getting up dazedly...he spots Byron, and starts advancing again... the referee is trying to stop Creed getting out of the ring... SR: And Byron nails Macbeth with the title again!  He is out! [Byron looks up with a sneer as the referee continues to try and stop Creed from leaving the ring, and pulls Macbeth to his feet, pointing up at the young Californian before hitting Macbeth with a snapping DDT on the cold concrete floor... huge heel pop!  Creed shakes off the referee angrily as Byron backs away from Macbeth, and  the referee resumes his count...] TD: Macbeth's not going to make it... Byron has left him practically out cold... SR: If you ask me, Macbeth brought it all on himself. TD: Excuse me, Steve? SR: He was the one who went after Byron, who let his emotions get the better of him... just what did he think would happen?  Byron would beg for mercy? [The referee continues to count as Macbeth slowly starts to stir on the outside... 7 - 8 - 9 - ] SR: He's gone. [ - 10! The referee signals for the bell, as Macbeth slumps back to the arena floor...] RA: Here is your winner, via a result of a countout... Creeeeeeeeed! [Heel pop, the crowd obviously not appreciating Byron's involvement.  Creed shakes his hand free of the referee's grip as he tries to lift it, and beckons at the laughing Intercontinental champion...] TD: Creed gets the win, although not in the fashion he would have wanted... and he's beckoning to Byron to step into the ring!  We could have a confrontation right here! [Byron nods his head at Creed, slowly beginning to remove his jacket... the referee quickly rolls to the outside, trying to make Byron back off, but Byron pushes him out of the way, handing him the IC title before rolling into the ring and to his feet, going face to face with Creed, who shakes his head, staring grimly into Byron's eyes...] TD: Here comes Mad Dog Watkins!  And Otto Verhoeven follows him!  We've got chaos going down here! SR: Alright!  This is what I've been waiting for!  Rumble! [Byron and Creed start to lash out at each other with a flurry of blows, just as Watkins and Verhoeven roll into the ring on opposite sides and pull their allies away!  Pop!  Byron and Creed strain against their respective partners, Byron pointing across at the youngster and yelling a tirade of abuse in his direction, Creed responding with come-and-get-it gestures... eventually, Verhoeven persuades Byron to exit the ring with him, where he angrily snatches the IC title back ftom the referee before starting to make his way back down the aisle as Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" starts up once again over the PA system...] TD: What animosity, what pure hatred these two athletes have for each other.. whoa! [Out of nowhere, the forgotten Duncan Macbeth bursts into the aisle, tackling Byron to the floor and swinging a series of punches!  Huge crowd pop!  Byron kicks the infuriated Scotsman off, and Verhoeven catches him from behind with an axehandle...] TD: Look out!  The European Alliance are doing a number now on the young Scotsman... and a Slaughterslam by Verhoeven!  And here come Creed and Watkins! SR: Young pup just doesn't learn, does he? [Creed and Watkins race down the aisle as Byron and Verhoeven step away from the fallen Macbeth, backing off up the aisle the two groups trade threats as Creed helps Macbeth back to his feet, and the Alliance eventually leave to a resounding heel pop.] TD: Extraordinary scenes here, Steve Roberts.. and it appears that the European Alliance have gained yet another enemy. [Macbeth shakes Creed's hand off with a gruff gesture, before heading back up the aisle himself.  Creed and Watkins follow, with Watkins remonstrating with Creed all the way.] SR: Fat good it'll do them.  What will it take for these men to learn they simply cannot compete with the likes of the Alliance? TD: Well, they've been getting the better of Byron and Verhoeven in recent weeks... SR: Yeah, right... TD: But tonight, Byron appears to have got what he wanted, and Creed will not be happy at all. Who knows where this rivalry will end, folks? [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Okay, fans, we're ready for tonight's main event. Last week, at the Cow Palace, we saw Brody Thunder beaten up by the entire Syndicate before his title match with Casey James, and still come out here and fight. Tonight, he's facing another member of the Syndicate in Tiger Claw, on the comeback trail towards a title rematch. Let's get straight back up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. Tiger Claw -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MG [The timekeeper elbows Sparkplug Lee, who puts down his copy of Spanish For Dummies, nervously downs a large glass of refreshing lemonade, and rushes to the ring...] SL: Wrestling fans, this next contest is scheduled for one fall with no     time limit and is the MAIN EVENT! [Huge crowd pop] Led down the aisle by Brian Lau and IIWF Heavyweight Champion Casey James, hailing from Thailand and weighing in at an even 220lbs, here is... Tiiigerrr Clawww!!     [The chaotic mixture of bells, drums and horns that is traditional Thai boxing music blares out from the Stadium's PA system as Tiger Claw slowly walks down to ringside, flanked by Brian Lau and Casey James, who wears the IIWF belt across his shoulder. 'Claw fairly gives off intensity, his eyes never leaving the ring as he walks the aisle. Casey James pats him on the back, whispering words of encouragement and, perhaps, strategy.] SR: I'm really looking forward to this match, Dross. Y'know, I've still     got a kind of, I guess you could say, grudging respect for Thunder,     but after what he's said, I think Claw's gonna destroy him.     TD: Well, let's wait and see what transpires shall we? Casey James and     Brian Lau have taken up position outside the ring whilst Tiger Claw     stands in the centre of the ring awaiting the arrival of - Mota? What the... ?!     [On the opposite side of the ring to Casey James and Brian Lau, Derek Mota clears the railing clutching something in his hand. Before anyone can react he hurtles into the ring and clobbers an unsuspecting Tiger Claw across the back of the head, toppling Tiger Claw to the mat like a felled redwood. A camera closeup shows a piece of petrified wood lying next to the unconscious form of Tiger Claw. Casey James yells in surprise and anger and quickly makes his way into the ring, but Mota is too quick and rushes out of the ring, grabbing the microphone from a surprised Sparkplug Lee before backing down the aisleway. Big big heel pop!] DM: Tiger Claw, it was an honour to present you with the prestigious     Fossil Award, and I have to say you earned every bit of it! Since     you're in no shape to give an acceptance speech right now, I'd like     to turn it around here! I'd like to thank YOU, Tiger Claw, for tryin' to hold us back, to keep us in the minor leagues, and in the     undercards, but ya know what? IT DIDN'T WORK! I'd like to thank you     for creatin' a standard for us to follow in a PATHETIC SPORT! Who the hell left this sport in your hands? We've got a lot of work to do, rebuildin' what you guys tore down - and it all started here!     SR: The Fossil Award? Who does that jumped up little freak think he is, Dross? You'll notice that the moron didn't hang around for any of Casey James!     TD: Despicable action from Derek Mota, and we can only hope that Tiger Claw isn't too badly hurt for the match to continue...     [Back in the ring a groggy Tiger Claw is being helped to his feet by Brian Lau and a clearly angry Casey James. Tiger Claw shakes his head to clear the cobwebs and signals to the referee that he's A-OK. The referee signals Sparkplug Lee, who has a replacement microphone ready] SR: Well, at least Mota didn't ruin the beating of Brody Thunder's life! SL: And his opponent... weighing in at 267lbs and hailing from "The Town     Too Tough To Die", Tombstone, Arizona, here is... "Lone Wolf" Brodyyy Thunderrr! [The theme from High Plains Drifter blares from the Stadium PA system as the capacity crowd gives a massive crowd pop to Brody Thunder, who ignores the crowd in favour of staring straight at Thunder Claw in the ring. A sly smile is on his face as he slowly points first to Tiger Claw then to Casey James] TD: A clear signal from Brody Thunder, Steve! First Tiger Claw, and then     the champion himself, Casey James.     SR: Yeah, but he's got to get past Tiger Claw first, Dross. I don't see     Thunder bein' able to do that any time soon!     [Brody Thunder is now in the ring as the referee gives both men final instructions. The bell rings and Thunder advances for the collar-and-elbow, but Tiger Claw ducks under and scores first with a searing kick to the midsection.  Grabbing Thunder, he irishwhips him into the ringropes, and dropkicks Thunder on the rebound. Big heel pop!] SR: Yeah, Thunder's in trouble, Dross. Welcome to Pain City, Brody! Hope     you have a long and unpleasant stay.     TD: It's good to know you can maintain your objectivity, Steve. [Claw moves in for a quick pin, but Thunder kicks out before the referee can even begin a count. Thunder is up quickly, and blocks a kick before retaliating with a short clothesline that slams Claw to the floor. Big pop! Thunder follows up with a legdrop across Claw's throat before moving in for the pin. Claw kicks out with authority at the one count. Disappointed pop!] TD: Both men going for quick pins, Steve. SR: Mistake. I hate ta say it, but you're not gonna catch out Brody     Thunder like that, and you sure as hell ain't gonna catch out Claw     either, Dross!     [Thunder grabs Claw by the braid and helps him up to a standing position, just in time to be thwacked by a big Thunder forearm. Thunder backs Claw to the ropes and irishwhips him into the opposing ropes! Claw bounces off the ropes and careens towards Brody Thunder, who ducks his head at the last moment and...] TD: Back drop over the ropes! That had to hurt, Steve! SR: That's a mistake, Dross. It's safer for Thunder to keep things in the ring. [Tiger Claw lies sprawled across the ringside mats as Brody Thunder quickly makes his way to the ring apron before coming down with a big elbow drop, unfortunately Tiger Claw lifts a leg and clocks Thunder in the mouth with the big boot, sending Thunder hurtling into the ringside steel security barriers! Big heel pop!] SR: Told ya. [Tiger Claw unsteadily makes his way back into the ring as the referee begins a ten count. The referee reaches five before Brian Lau climbs up onto the ring apron and calls Claw over to check on him, forcing the referee to break the count as he tries to get Lau down. Meanwhile, Casey James sneaks around to a stunned Brody Thunder and administers another big boot to the face, sending Thunder crashing back into the barriers. Big heel pop!] TD: That was totally uncalled for. SR: Maybe, but it was certainly fun to watch. [Brian Lau is finally ejected from the ring apron as Brody Thunder slowly begins to climb back into the ring. Tiger Claw runs over to the ropes, dropping and sliding the last couple of metres, kicking Thunder in the chest and knocking him back into the barriers. Claw slides completely out of the ring, and advances on Thunder, pulling a dazed Thunder up and hurtling Thunder toward the ringpost, only for Thunder to reverse it, and it is Tiger Claw who impacts the steel! Big pop! Thunder follows him in, splashing Tiger Claw into the ringpost!] TD: Oh, my goodness! What a devastating move from Brody Thunder, Steve.     That must surely have taken a lot out of Tiger Claw.     SR: Aw, It was an okay move, Dross. Don't oversell it. [Thunder grabs Tiger Claw, who is clutching his shoulder, and drags him back into the ring. 'Claw tries to break free, but his efforts are stopped by a sudden neckbreaker that drives him to the mat. Thunder backs up to a ringpost, and climbs to the second turnbuckle to deliver a big elbowdrop onto Tiger Claw, who spasms as Thunder moves in for the pin. The official begins to count: 1--2-- Claw narrowly gets a shoulder up in time] TD: So close. SR: Hey, Dross, see that Mexican woman over there? She's giving you the     eye, my friend.     TD: Steve, can we keep our eyes on the match, please... What woman? SR: That one over there, you can't miss her. See her? 250lbs and the     handle-bar moustache? She wants you.     TD: [shudders] Let's get back to the match, Steve. It seems that Tiger     Claw currently has the advantage as he sets Brody Thunder up for a     belly-to-back suplex... wait, Brody Thunder slides quickly around and catches Claw by surprise! A Tiger Driver, Steve! What irony on the part of Brody Thunder!     [Brody Thunder drapes himself across Tiger Claw, but the referee is stopped from making the count by Brian Lau, who again is up on the ring apron. The referee moves over to rebuke Lau, giving Casey James time to slide into the ring and deliver a big elbow to Thunder's neck! Big heel pop as the near unconscious Tiger Claw is draped over the near unconscious Brody Thunder before Casey leaves the ring. His job done, Lau drops down and the referee turns to find Tiger Claw pinning Thunder!] SR: Hehehe. Now that's irony, Dross. TD: No! Don't let it end like this! What a despicable move from Casey     James.     SR: You say despicable, I say effective. That's why he's champ and     the syndicate are the best in professional wrestling.     [The Big continuous heel pop as the referee makes the count changes to a surprised pop as Thunder gets a shoulder up at the very last split second. Brian Lau and Casey James pound the mat in frustration] SR: Nuts! [Both men are still groggy as they get to their feet, but Tiger Claw seems to recover first as he moves in and begins a series of rapid punches to Thunder's head, moving in close to Thunder, who tries to cover up...] TD: We've seen this before, Steve! Tiger Claw has trapped Brody Thunder's arms and he moves in for the knee fury.     SR: He taught Van Damme everything he knows, you know. [Brody Thunder seems to wilt under the blazing fury of Tiger Claw's knee fury, an incredibly fast series of knees to the midsection. With his arms trapped, there seems no escape but suddenly, out of nowhere..] TD: Back drop from Brody Thunder, Steve, and that certainly got him out     of a dangerous situation!     SR: Well, Dross, it's like I've said before: Brody Thunder, in the ring,     is an incredibly smart guy, for an Arizonan. Outside the ring?     Turning on the Syndicate like that? Dumb _and_ dumber.     [Brody Thunder, gasping in huge lungfuls of air and holding his side, slowly moves over to Tiger Claw and, once again, lifts him by the braid] TD: It's awfully convenient of Tiger Claw to come with his own carrying     handle, don't you think Steve?     SR: Yeah, that's a pretty good one, Dross. For you. Remind me to tell     that one to Tiger Claw, OK?     [Thunder drops Claw with a huge roundhouse punch as the crowd pops big time. He is about to drop an elbow on the recumbant form of Claw when he sees Casey James on the ring apron. Walking over to him, and standing nose-to-nose the big men start up a heated conversation as Tiger Claw slowly makes his way back to his feet. The referee is by Thunder and James, but the two men pay no attention to him. Tiger Claw bounds off the ropes, charging towards Thunder...] TD: Look out, Thunder! [Tiger Claw launches himself into a dropkick but Thunder, perhaps seeing something in Casey James' eye, ducks at the last moment. Big pop as Tiger Claw accidentally nails Casey James, who flies off into the ringside barriers!] SR: Good grief! What a despicable trick from Brody Thunder! TD: Excuse me? Has the lack of oxygen at this height led to     hallucinations? Thunder didn't do anything, it was Tiger Claw who     sent Casey James flying into a steel barrier.     SR: Thunder knew Tiger Claw would do that, Dross! [A shocked Tiger Claw is an easy target for Brody Thunder as he rolls up Tiger Claw. The referee counts 1-- 2-- but at the last moment Claw kicks out. Big disappointed pop! Thunder shakes his head, and, grabbing Claw by the braid, yanks him up. Tiger Claw is ready, though, and administers a savage thrust to the throat! Big heel pop! Tiger Claw retreats a tad and then..] SR: Cartwheel kick from Tiger Claw! That sends Brody Thunder to the mat,     and it looks like Thunder is hurt! Yeah, he's clutching the back of     his head, maybe he hit the mat badly. Gee, too bad.     TD: We're certainly seeing a fast paced match here as Tiger Claw rebounds off the ropes and launches himself into the air for a big splash, but Thunder has presence of mind to lift the knees and Tiger Claw hits hard! Just like that the match is evened out yet again.     [Both men look hurt as they get back to a vertical position, both men advancing upon one another. Thunder tries a big punch that Tiger Claw blocks with a forearm just as he brings the knee up, but Thunder was expecting it! Quickly jumping back a few paces he avoids the knee and sweeps the leg out from under an off-balance Tiger Claw. The air is knocked out from Claw as he lands, and Thunder manages a jubilant grin as he grabs the legs of Tiger Claw, nodding to the crowd who know what's coming...] SR: A figure four leglock! Tiger Claw is in trouble, Dross! BIG trouble! [Tiger Claw yells in pain as Brody Thunder applies a text book perfect figure four. BIG pop! Thrashing around in the grip of Brody Thunder, Tiger Claw desperately tries to find a way out, but is unable to do so, his attempts to reverse the hold thwarted by Brody Thunder at every turn. However, yet again Brian Lau is up on the ring apron by the ringpost, calling the referee. The referee, who suspects this is a setup, moves over to Lau, but starts to quickly look over his shoulder every second or so. Casey James, who is clutching the back of his head, doesn't dare make a move.] TD: At long last! A referee who can smell a set-up! SR: Hmm. I didn't know that June was officially a month of Sundays! [Brian Lau, who is badmouthing Thunder, suddenly goes quiet as Brody Thunder breaks the hold and rushes over to Brian's position. Lau stammers something as Thunder towers over him, but Tiger Claw once again tries to rush Thunder. Thunder sees it coming and yet again dives out of the way, leaving Claw to hurtle through the air and wrap himself around the ringpost. BIG pop!] SR: Will you look at what that no-good piece of **** Thunder is doing,     Dross?!     TD: Thank goodness for those eight seconds. Thunder isn't doing anything, Steve. Tiger Claw brought that upon himself. Tiger Claw must be hurting all over by now, first the midsection, then the knee, now the shoulder.     [Back in the ring Brody Thunder taps a finger against his head and grins, clearly sending the message that you've got to keep your wits about you. Meanwhile, Tiger Claw has extricated himself from the ringpost and, clutching his shoulder, moves into the centre of the ring. Thunder was waiting for that, and, rebounding off the ropes, levels Claw with a massive running clothesline, followed by a big elbow drop!] TD: I think you'll agree that Tiger Claw is in serious trouble, Steve? SR: He's tough. He's a survivor, Dross. You don't get to be a three time     IC champ without knowin' a thing or two.     TD: Well, I can't argue with that. SR: Damn right. [Back in the ring Thunder administers a perfect neckbreaker, and moves in for the pin. Tiger Claw manages to raise the shoulder at two, but Thunder lifts himself into the air for a big knee to the side, and tries again, Tiger Claw managing to kick out at two] TD: Tiger Claw certainly showing his endurance in this match. [Big pop as Thunder executes a snap suplex, picks up Claw, administers another snap suplex, picks him up  again, and lifts Claw into the air for a vertical suplex] SR: Oh, look, it's suplex time. TD: Thunder not giving Claw time to react as he suplexes him all over the ring, and Thunder's certainly keeping Claw up in the air for a long time! Oh, not again!     [Brian Lau is once again up on the ring apron, and the referee is forced to go over to him. This time, Casey James quickly slides into the ring and delivers a huge punch to the midsection of Brody Thunder. Thunder goes down hard, and Tiger Claw lands on top. James quickly slides out, and Lau drops down to ringside. Turning, the referee sees Claw on top of Thunder, and moves in for the count. Big relieved pop as Thunder raises a shoulder at two. Tiger Claw floats over until he is straddling Brody Thunder...] SR: You gotta admit, Casey James knows how to even things up, Dross. TD: I admit that Casey James is one of the best cheats in this great     sport, Steve.     SR: Same difference. [Claw begins to rain down a savage storm of fists and elbows to Thunder's face. The referee begins the count, Claw stopping mere moments before the five count, and again going for the pin. This time, Thunder kicks out, sending Tiger Claw flying a couple of feet] TD: "Brody Thunder, that was your wake up call!" [Both men are once again vertical, both men seeming full of energy despite their grueling match so far. Tiger Claw offers a collar and elbow tie-up, but Brody Thunder simply shakes his head and instead catches Tiger Claw unaware with a boot to the midsection. 'Claw doubles over, the perfect position for a DDT! Big pop! Thunder hooks the leg as the referee makes the count...] SR: Yeah! The Claw kicks out at two and a bit, and Brody Thunder is in     the referee's face! Don't be a chump, Thunder, that was a fair count.     [Brody Thunder seems to be suggesting that the count was slow, but is so engrossed with the referee that he fails to see Tiger Claw sneaking up behind him. Schoolboy rollup! A Big surprised pop turns into a big pop as Thunder easily kicks out!] TD: The crowd here in Juarez seem solidly behind Brody Thunder, Steve. SR: Just goes to show that the Mexicans have no taste. [Thunder looks mad at himself for being so easily caught, and takes his anger out on Tiger Claw with a big tilt-a-whirl backbreaker, which leaves Tiger Claw clutching his back in agony on the mat. Thunder moves in for the pin, but somehow Tiger Claw manages to kick out. Disappointed pop!] SR: I told ya the Tiger Claw was tough, Dross. TD: I never doubted it, Steve. This is certainly proving a great match so far, although I hope that the Syndicate can stop interfering. What am I saying? That would be like asking you to give up your biscuits, wouldn't it?     SR: Hey, don't bring my biscuits into this! [Back in the ring Brody Thunder grabs Tiger Claw, and pulls him to his feet. However, as he does so Tiger Claw grabs Thunder's head, ducks his head under Thunder's chin and drops! Thunder's chin impacts the top of Claw's head, and Thunder is sent flying! Big heel pop!] SR: That's using your head, Dross! TD: I expected more originality somehow, Steve. [Tiger Claw quickly mounts the top turnbuckle, and leaps high into the air to splash onto Brody Thunder! The impact is so great that Tiger Claw bounces off, and has to move over to pin Thunder. The referee counts 1-- 2-- Thunder weakly raises a shoulder at the very last moment, mere milliseconds before the referee's hand hits the mat] TD: What a devastating move from Tiger Claw, Steve! For a moment it     looked like it was all over for Brody Thunder!     SR: It _still_ looks like it's all over, Dross! Thunder is hurt bad! TD: You're right, Steve. It looks like the referee is going to check on     him, and we could be looking at the referee to stop the match. [In the ring Thunder is grasping his midsection and rolling on the mat, he looks badly hurt and the referee goes to check on him. BIG heel pop as Tiger Claw looks on proudly and raises an arm in victory. The referee looks worried, and starts to call over Sparkplug Lee when Brody Thunder slowly, painfully, stands and shakes his head] TD: Amazing, Steve, truly amazing. With the huge impact of that move, I     felt certain that Thunder would be unable to continue the match.     SR: Brody Thunder's made out of sterner stuff, Dross. Or was it stupider     stuff? I can't remember, but I know it began with "st"     [Tiger Claw laughs as Brody Thunder, clutching his midsection with one hand, beckons Tiger Claw onward. Grinning, he points to his knee, and brings it up fast, miming hitting Thunder in the midsection] TD: Sterner or stupider, Steve? I don't know about that, but in your own     words, Brody Thunder is certainly one mean S.O.B. [Tiger Claw advances on Thunder, and lashes out with a knee to the midsection, but Thunder dodges to the side, grabs Claw and sends him crashing to the mat with a sidewalk slam! Big pop! Wincing, Thunder drops down and pins Claw, hooking the leg. The referee is somewhat out of position, but quickly recovers and dives down to make the count. A disappointed pop as Tiger Claw raises a shoulder at the two count. Both men quickly get up, but Tiger Claw is no longer grinning. A thrust kick drops Thunder, Tiger Claw moving in to rain down elbows on Thunder's unprotected midsection. Big heel pop!] SR: Tiger Claw smells weakness, Dross, and that's bad news for Thunder! [Thunder cries out as Tiger Claw delivers yet another elbow to the midsection, but then, as Tiger Claw's long braid flies around, grabs hold..] SR: Hey, watch the hair! Come on referee! [The referee admonishes Brody Thunder, but the damage is done. Thunder has yanked Tiger Claw's head all the way up to his level, and has applied a sleeper hold. Surprised pop from the crowd as Brody Thunder slowly gets to his feet, all the while maintaining the locked on sleeper hold] TD: And now it's Tiger Claw who's in trouble, Steve. SR: Yeah, but Thunder had to cheat to do it, Dross. TD: And your point is? SR: Just thought I'd mention it. [In the ring Tiger Claw is failing fast, the referee dropping Tiger Claw's arm for the second time..] TD: If his arm drops a third time it's all over and .. Brian Lau on the     ring apron! Why am I not surprised?     [Yet again Brian Lau is on the ring apron, and yet again the referee has to rush over to try and get him down. Casey James takes advantage of the referee's distraction to enter the ring, but this time Brody Thunder is ready for him and, dropping Tiger Claw like a rag doll on to the mat, clobbers Casey James with a big fist straight to the jaw! BIG pop! The blow sends Casey reeling towards the ropes, where he falls over the top rope and back to the floor, hitting his head on a ringside barrier. Meanwhile, Brian Lau still keeps the referee tied up as Thunder covers Tiger Claw...] TD: This is ridiculous! It must be around a ten count by now, and Brian     Lau is still tying the referee up!     [Brody Thunder slowly gets up off Tiger Claw and makes his way towards Brian Lau, who quickly drops to the floor again, but not quickly enough! Thunder catches him in mid drop, and pulls him back up. The crowd pops big as Brody makes a fist, and signals he's going to hit Lau. The crowd seem all for it, but Thunder smirks and simply pushes Lau away, sending him crashing into the ringside barriers. Big pop!] SR: This is dreadful, Dross, dreadful! Thunder has incapacitated both     Casey James and a defenceless Brian Lau! The man's a monster! Where     are the other syndicate members when you need 'em? Tiger Claw's all     alone out there!     TD: Goodness me! You mean we're going to see a wrestling match with just     one man against one man? From a syndicate member? Mercy me, what a     calamity.     SR: I don't think you're at all funny. [Thunder goes back to cover Tiger Claw, but Claw has recovered enough to thrust a blow to the neck as Brody Thunder attempts to cover him, sending Thunder reeling back, clutching his throat. Tiger Claw vaults up, and advances upon Thunder. Tiger Claw sends Thunder to the match with a thunderous standing drop kick, and moves to the turnbuckles, climbing them and setting himself as Thunder slowly gets to his feet again...] TD: A picture perfect moonsault from Tiger Claw, Steve! [Tiger Claw moves in for the pin, hooking both legs and even, behind the referee's back, hooking the trunks. The referee's count almost reaches three, but Thunder still manages to kick out] TD: We're seeing amazing stamina from both men, Steve! I'd hate to be     either of these men in the morning, when the bruising starts showing, and the aches start appearing.     SR: Only 'cos you're a wimp, Dross. [Both men are hurt, but Brody Thunder is still clutching his midsection as Tiger Claw drags him to his feet. Thunder ducks an enzuigiri, and rushes forward to clip Tiger Claw's knee, sending 'Claw to the mat where a wild brawl ensues. Outside the ring Brian Lau is still out, but Casey James is slowly making his way back to his feet, groggily clutching his head. Thunder and Tiger Claw roll around on the mat as the referee futilely tries to break them up, before laying a ten count on them] TD: Both men risking disqualification here, Steve. [Thunder hears the referee hit eight, and pulls away. Tiger Claw starts to follow, but hears the referee count nine, and realises how close he was to disqualification. Both men are back on their feet, though Tiger Claw is first to capitalise with a spinning kick that rocks Brody Thunder but, amazingly, does not knock him down. Thunder retaliates with a big forearm that rocks Tiger Claw. Quickly Thunder whips Claw into the ropes, rebounding Claw off towards Thunder. Thunder launches himself into a flying clothesline that seems to rattle Tiger Claw's teeth, he hits the mat that hard.] SR: Isn't that against the rules? TD: No. SR: Well, it probably ought to be. [Thunder again moves in for a pin, Tiger Claw kicking out with ease at the one count, sending Thunder flying a couple of feet] SR: Now that's what you call a kick out with authority, Dross! [Tiger Claw is up first, and this time it is Brody Thunder that is sent flying towards the ropes, rebounding off to meet a vicious gutbuster from Tiger Claw! BIG heel pop!] TD: My goodness, that must have hurt! SR: Didn't I warn you a couple of weeks back about stating the obvious? [Brody Thunder seems to be hurt badly as Tiger Claw stands, acknowledging the booes of the crowd with a grin. Casey James at ringside gives a big "thumbs up" to Tiger Claw as Claw moves in on the defenceless Brody Thunder..] TD: So close! A kickout at two by Brody Thunder, and Tiger Claw cannot     believe that there is any fight left in Brody Thunder as Thunder     clutches his midsection in pain! We could be looking at internal     injuries here, Steve!     SR: Aah, Brody Thunder's got a gut ache and suddenly it's internal injury time, eh Dross? Thunder knows he's got the match lost, he's just trying to get an excuse going for that daughter of his... I can see it now... "Daddy, why did Tiger Claw whip yore ass?" she'll say and he'll say "'Cos yore daddy had appendixi... apendi... a dodgy tummy" or something.     [Thunder is in trouble as Tiger Claw drops a leg across the throat, but again manages to kick out from another pinning attempt. Thunder gets to his knees, just in time to be kicked by Tiger Claw, but grabs the leg and pulls Claw down, starting to arrange Tiger Claw into position for a Scorpion Death Lock...] SR: Since when has Brody Thunder used the scorpion deathlock, Dross? TD: Thunder has obviously been expanding his repertoire, Steve. [Tiger Claw is set up for the Scorpion, but Thunder has yet to cinch it in as Casey James hops up onto the ring apron. Thunder releases Tiger Claw and moves over to get into Casey James' face. The referee is by both men, ordering Thunder to get back, and telling James' to get off the apron. Unnoticed by Thunder, Tiger Claw signals for the "Golden Tiger Strike" and climbs the turnbuckle...] SR: Thunder had better watch it, Dross! He's got Casey James in his face     right now, and Tiger Claw ready to strike with that amazingly     versatile knee of his!     [Casey James and Brody Thunder appear to be lost to the world as they swap insults, threats and promises. A moment later Thunder takes a swing at James, who simply swerves, and drops back down to ringside with a laugh. Thunder goes back to finish off Claw, but finds nobody home. Looking around he sees Tiger Claw, and his eyes widen in horror as he sees Tiger Claw come flying off the top turnbuckle, but Thunder reacts quickly and...] SR: NO! I can't believe what I'm seeing! TD: Unbelievable! A mid-air Cattlebuster DDT, and Tiger Claw is out!     Tiger Claw has been knocked unconscious from the force of the blow!     [Thunder drops rapidly over the unconscious form of Tiger Claw, and the referee makes the count. 1-- 2-- Casey James rushes the ring to grab the referee but is too late -- 3! The bell rings!] SL: Wrestling fans, here is your winner! "Lone Wolf" Brodyyy Thunderrr! [A massive, truly huge pop as the crowd goes wild! Casey James and Brody Thunder eye up in the ring, with Brody Thunder simply pointing at the unconscious Tiger Claw, and then pointing to Casey James. Eyes never leaving Brody Thunder, Casey begins to pull Tiger Claw from the ring...] TD: What an incredible, amazing, performance from both men, Steve! The     match was truly about even virtually all the way through, only to     have Brody Thunder win with a cattlebuster DDT out of nowhere!     SR: Thunder got lucky, Dross, that's all. The Syndicate won't be easy for him to beat, practically impossible, in fact. Pure and simple,     tonight he was lucky. He won't be so lucky next time. [Brian Lau staggers up the aisle as Casey James helps Tiger Claw back up the aisle, but Casey can't resist hurling some threats back at the "Lone Wolf".] TD: Looks like Brody Thunder's got something to say, Steve. He's asking     Sparkplug Lee for the ringside microphone... [Thunder stands and faces the retreating Syndicate, Casey still gesturing that the belt is around his waist and shouting obscenities at Thunder, and raises the microphone to his lips:] BT: Hey, "champ"... Guess yer time's really runnin' out now, ya lily-livered punk. [Big pop!] I just pinned yer little friend, "champ". I just pinned the greatest Intercontinental Champion of all time. Now what I wanna know is this: when ya gonna step in the ring with the "Lone Wolf" again, huh, "champ"? Do ya got the guts, son? [The Syndicate now stand in the aisle, Casey yelling at the clamouring fans on the other side of the barriers to shut up. He is clearly seething.] I've been lookin' at the tour schedule, "champ". Seems to me that in a couple'a weeks, this here outfit's gonna be pullin' in to Landover, Maryland. That's not far from that white trash hell-hole you call home, Washington D.C. So how's about we get it on in front of your hometown fans, amigo? How about it, "champ"? Ya got the guts to get that ass of yours in the ring with me one more time, "champ"? [Big pop from Thunder's hometown crowd. Casey appears to be taking counsel from Brian Lau as the trio stand in the aisle.] Hear me out, hear me out. Don'tcha go runnin' back to those limos you got waitin' in the parkin' lot until you've heard me out, "champ". Now, I know that the only way yer gonna agree to fight me is if all yer little friends are allowed to be at ringside. Yer gonna want Claw, yer gonna want Dynamite, yer gonna want them monster freaks, the Disciples. But I'll tell ya what, "champ". Yer gonna need 'em. Yer gonna need a god-damned army to stop me takin' that strap from ya waist! [Big pop! Casey appears to be getting more agitated. Thunder, dripping with sweat, nods to the crowd, before continuing:] So here's what I'm offerin' ya, "champ". You an' me in the ring, your buddies on the outside, and I'll bring some friends of my own. Let's make it a lumberjack match, amigo. A lumberjack match for that pretty little belt o' yours. Whaddya say, "champ"? Whaddya say? No, no, that's okay, I figure ya gotta go plan out yer next move with yer boss, gotta give ya a chance to think about it. Wouldn't wantcha ta rush into somethin' ya ain't happy with. So you give me yer answer next Saturday Night. You come down here next Saturday Night and tell me, tell the people: have ya got the guts, champ? Have ya? [Huge pop as Thunder drops the microphone and beckons James into the ring. Lau and Claw hold Casey back in the aisle and force him back towards the locker room area. Thunder gestures that the belt will soon be around his waist. Cut to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, folks, there's the challenge, issued by Brody Thunder to the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, and we'll hear the answer right here on IIWF Saturday Night, live next weekend, when the "Coronation Clash Crusade Tour" swings through New Orleans, and we'll be coming at you live from the campus of the University there. More details on IIWF programming throughout the coming week, but for now, we're right out of time here from the Olympic Stadium. What a night it's been! Don't forget to call the IIWF Hotline tomorrow night for the inside scoops on the latest happenings in the wrestling world... Until then, this is Tim Dross, for "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, saying: so long, everybody! [Cut to a wide-angle shot of the Syndicate backing away up the aisle as Thunder stands in the ring. Pan up to the night sky above the open air stadium, where the crescent moon begins to sink, and the IIWF blimp continues to hover. 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+