[A pulsing, military-style rhythm played on a side drum begins as the shot opens on a close-up of the stars and stripes fluttering in the breeze. The shot pulls back to reveal that the flag is flying in front of the Whitehouse. The shot pans and cuts to various landmarks in Washington as a voice over begins:] VO: Landover, Maryland. Just a stone's throw from the heartland of America, Washington D.C. The land of the free, and the home of the brave. [The patriotic drumming fades with the shot; Oriental music begins to waft as the shot fades through to a totally red screen. As the shot pulls back, it becomes apparent that the red area is the rising sun of the Japanese flag, which is borne by the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Casey James, who is seen standing, lit only by overhead spotlights, casting impressive shadows in four directions, in the ring of the deserted US Air Arena. Behind his right shoulder stands Tiger Claw and Brian Lau, while behind his left shoulder stands "Dangerous" Danny Dynamite. The voice over continues:] VO: The Syndicate. Ever since the IIWF began, Brian Lau's troops have represented everything that is deplorable in the sport of professional wrestling. [The scene flash cuts to short two-second clips in monochrome in time with the voice over, accompanied by orchestral stabs:] VO: Sneak attacks... [Cut to the Syndicate beating down Brody Thunder in the centre of the ring.] VO: Corruption... [Cut to Casey James unlocking the locked cage containing Tiger Claw and Don Antonio at Ring Wars II, allowing the Syndicate to enter the ring and attack Don Antonio.] VO: Double-crosses... [Cut to scenes from Ring Wars III: Tiger Claw, his leg encased in plaster, accompanies the Subway Psycho down the aisle for his match with Casey James; later in the match, Claw delivers a devastating kick to the Psycho's head with his cast. Cut back to the Syndicate standing, arms folded, in the ring.] VO: But could the most ruthless, the most decorated, the most dangerous stable in all of professional wrestling be threatened from within? [Cut to rapid-fire flash cuts showing the infighting between the Dark Disciples and Pain Inc., the numerous title defences made by Casey James which end in the Syndicate jumping his opponent, leading to the disqualification of the champ, Brody Thunder turning on Casey James... The shots cut with increasing rapidity as the accompanying music also rises in intensity... and the screen fades to white, before the barrage suddenly ends, and all that remains is the imposing 340lbs form of Casey James standing in the now otherwise empty ring.] VO: Tonight, two tag teams will fight it out for membership of the Syndicate. Tonight, former three-time Intercontinental Champion Tiger Claw battles one of the IIWF's young lions, Derek Mota. Tonight, "Dangerous" Danny Dynamite squares off against newcomer Scott Rogers... ...and tonight, the longest-reigning IIWF World Heavyweight Champion in history, Casey "Blackheart" James, puts it all on the line in a no disqualification lumberjack match against his adversary, the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder. Will the Syndicate's reign of terror end tonight? [The opening graphics explode onto the screen in a cacophony of rock music and dazzling imagery of IIWF action:] ##### ###### ### ########## ########## ########## #### ## ########## ########## ########## #### # #### ######## ##### ##### #### ## ##### #### #### #### #### ### #### #### #### #### ############# ######### #### #### ########### ######### #### #### #### #### #### ######### ######### ### #### #### ######### ######### ### ## #### ######## ######## ## # #### =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ## =-=-=-= INTERNATIONAL INTERNET WRESTLING FEDERATION =============================================== S + A + T + U + R + D + A + Y N + I + G + H + T ----------------------------------------------- + LiVE! + 21 June 1997 + LiVE! + US Air Arena, Landover, Maryland [The opening graphics fade through to interior shots of the jam-packed US Air Arena. A spectacular pyrotechnic display explodes in the rafters as the beams of the powerful lights rigged above the ring scan over the excited crowd. Tim Dross's voice is heard over these shots:] TD: Welcome everybody to the magnificent US Air Arena! Welcome everybody to Landover, Maryland! Welcome to Syndicate Saturday Night! Eighteen thousand fans are on hand here tonight to witness what promises to be the most incredible two hours of wrestling action ever seen! [The shot cuts to a tracking shot inside the arena, panning down the aisle of one side of the 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 his customary IIWF blazer, and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, who wears his IIWF leather jacket and a "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!" t-shirt.] TD: Howdy, folks. I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my broadcast colleague, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. It's great to be here in the US Air Arena, home of the NHL's Washington Capitols and the NBA's Washington Wizards, and very close indeed to the hometown of the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Casey "Blackheart" James, who we will see tonight in the most remarkable World Heavyweight Championship match in IIWF history. SR: Damned right, Dross. And what better place than the very heart of America to see a true American hero, Casey James, kick the living daylights out of that cowpoker, Brody Thunder. TD: Casey James -- a true American hero? You truly have a warped sense of reality, Steve Roberts. SR: Hey, Dross, you know who else comes from Maryland, don't you? TD: Is this some kind of joke, Steve? SR: Not really, Dross. But "Lame Duck" Dan Kauffman also comes from Maryland. D'ya think he'll make another one of his famed surprise appearances and get his butt kicked by "Delightful" Danny Dynamite, like he did at Birthday Bash? TD: Dan Kauffman has numerous other engagements with rival organisations, Steve Roberts. I doubt very much that we'll see him here tonight -- although it's worth mentioning that prior to Casey James' record-breaking title run, Kauffman was the longest-reigning IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, until he lost the title to James this past February. SR: Get your nose out of the statistics book and cut to the chase, Dross. TD: Fans, we have nine incredible matches coming your way this evening, culminating in that huge lumberjack match -- which will see more than twenty-five wrestlers surrounding the ring, and some five referees overseeing the chaos -- and there is a definite Syndicate flavour to the action coming your way over the next two hours. In our opening encounter in just a few moments, we'll see Danny Dynamite battle it out with Scott Rogers. SR: What was with that apology you made to Rogers on Friday, Dross? You going soft on me, buddy? TD: Well, Steve, it's not entirely appropriate to relate the, uh, conversation that Scott Rogers and I had prior to the taping of that interview on Friday, but suffice it to say that I was left with little choice in the matter. SR: Is the little kid gonna punk ya, Dross? About time too. You haven't seen the inside of a hospital for a good few months. TD: Moving on, the Dark Disciples will meet Pain Inc. to determine who goes and who stays in the ranks of the Syndicate. There's a lot of bad blood between these two teams, and everything to fight for in this encounter. Tiger Claw, who was the subject of another controversial ruling by the Special Concerns Committee just yesterday, will also face Derek Mota here tonight. SR: I can't believe that the suits are trying to force Claw to wear those shinpads. How's he gonna break any bones if they wrap the poor guy in foam padding? TD: I think that's precisely the point, Steve. Aside from those Syndicate matches, we're going to see the Intercontinental Championship on the line as Lord Byron faces "Sychosys" Joe Petrow, who is already here in attendance, as usual. [Cut to a ringside shot, showing Joe Petrow and "Majestic" Maurice McArthur, Team Sychosys, present at ringside, surrounded by Sychopaths, Triple M is wearing a sporty Polo shirt and Dockers, relaxing in nouveau style. Petrow is dressed in a simple black robe with no writing. For the moment, he sits quietly in his seat, but occasionally he turns to talk with some of the Sychopaths, making a few obscure gestures with his hands. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: What a fruitcake. TD: In other action, Duncan Macbeth will face Mr. Damage, the red-gloved rookie Creed will face Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven, and we'll see two huge tag matches, the first involving two members of Genesis, Requiem and Highwayman, taking on the "Unholy Alliance" of Deathbringer and Serge Annis, and the second pitting two unlikely partnerships against one another: Simon Lebec teams up with Chris Quigley to face Billy Shakespeare and Marty Warnett. That's sure to be an incredible match. Hey, what's this?! [The familiar strains of Lebec's majestic music ring out as "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec struts down to ringside to a huge heel pop.] TD: Oh, please. Here comes Lebec for his weekly rant.  What does he want now? SR: Give the guy credit, Dross.  At least he's sober this week! [Lebec steps in he ring, oblivious to the heckling of the fans.  He picks up the mic] SL:  Well sonny boy!  Would you believe the luck that I'm having these past couple of weeks?  I find a $10 bill under my car... only to find a $25 parking ticket on the windshield! I find a pretty little chicky down in Mexico... only to find her not-so-pretty little boyfriend not too far behind!  Now, on top of that, the IIWF suits figure that it'll be a damn hoot to team me up with "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley in a match right here tonight! [Big pop at the mention of Quigley's name.] The ticket I can handle.  I got lots of money.  The boyfriend I can handle... 'cause if anything, "The Showstopper" has more numbers in that little black book than Roswell has midget aliens! What I can't handle is the fact that the suits actually have the nerve to team me up with a man who I loathe! Chris Quigley!  I know you're in the building, rummaging around back there like a cellar rat!  I want you out here right now.  Come on, tough guy!  I'm waiting. [Lebec drops the mic and sits on the top rope waiting.] TD: [over the headset] He's calling Quigley out! This could get ugly. [A few moments pass before the heated chords of "For Those About to Rock" start up, and out comes Chris Quigley, dressed in his wrestling gear, with his #19 Yzerman, Detroit Red Wings jersey on over it.  The crowd gives a deafening cheer, as the anticipation builds.  He reaches the ring and is about to roll under the bottom rope like he usually does, but instead thinks better of it with Lebec in the ring, and vaults over the top.  He walks over to the center of the ring, picks up the microphone, and looks over at Lebec.] CQ: If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a guy who talks behind someone's back!  So I'll give you a little bit of credit for _not_ doing that!  You wanted me out here, you got me!  [crowd pop]  As far as our little tag team match goes, we're in there facing Marty Warnett [the girls scream] and Billy Shakespeare! [big pop]  Now, I really don't know what the hell they were thinking when they booked us to team up tonight, but what's done is done!  We're teaming later on, whether you like it or not!  The only question that remains is, can you hold up your half of the team?  I sure as hell know I can!  Hell, I've been a former Tag Team Champion in the past, and I know how it works!  Are you gonna gonna _help_ me punk Marty Warnett, or are you gonna hold me down?! [Big cheers from the crowd as Quigley tosses the microphone to Lebec, who is still sitting on the top turnbuckle] SL: Oh, I'll be there with bells on, BELL HEAD!  But don't you be getting any ideas, Chrissy.  If I see one, and I mean ONE, hint that you'll be packing with the boys on the other side, I'll knock what's left of your rotted, Newfie teeth out!  And then, I'll beat all three of ya! [Lebec throws the mic at Quigley, which clocks him on the noggin. Quigley closes his eyes and seems to mutter something to himself, then gives Lebec an icy stare, before picking up the microphone.] CQ: You've got nothing to worry about, Lebec!  If you think for _one_ second I'd align myself with Marty Warnett, in any way, shape, or form, you don't know me even _half_ as well as you think!  I have no problem with Billy Shakespeare, none at all!  I don't like you, Lebec, but there's one thing I do respect about you, you don't pull any punches, you don't sneak around, you fight me face to face!  Warnett?  Warnett is a glam queen who belongs under a hairnet at the local McDonald's, not here in an IIWF wrestling ring. I don't like you, I never will, but there's no question in my mind, we're going to cross the finish line ahead, even if I have to carry you there myself. [Quigley throws the microphone back to Lebec, tossing it a little high intentionally, so Lebec has to reach up to grab it, and _almost_ loses his balance on the top turnbuckle to the delight of the crowd.  Lebec nods his head slowly, glaring at Quigley...] SL: You don't need to be carrying anything, Chrissy!  I'm ready to go, no matter who my partner is.  "The Showstopper" is back, and if I have to use you to boost myself up in the rankings, then so be it.  I'll see you in the ring shortly.  Don't accidentally get lost on the way out! [Lebec's music begins to play once more as Lebec gives Quigley one final glare, and exits the ring to the jeers of the crowd.  Quigley motions for the music to be stopped, and it fades out...] CQ: We've got a fight to win tonight, Lebec!  But after this is over?  It's business as usual between us! ["For Those About to Rock" starts up as Quigley tosses the microphone over to Sparkplug Lee, who misses it completely as it smacks him in the face. The crowd cheers heavily for Quigley as he walks back down the aisle looking rather intense. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, folks, that certainly promises to be quite a match coming up here later on tonight. Right now, let's get back up to the ring for our opening match, as "Dangerous" Danny Dynamite takes on Scott Rogers! =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= "Dangerous" Danny Dynamite vs. Scott Rogers =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITERS: JV/DS [The cameras switch to the ring, where Sparkplug Lee seems ready, but then notices that his fly is unzipped. Ever the trooper, however, Sparkplug remedies the situation and raises the microphone:] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... welcome to Syndicate Saturday Night! [Huge pop!] Tonight's opening encounter is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by Brian Lau and representing the Syndicate, from the center of every man's nightmare and every woman's deepest desires... weighing 235lbs... please welcome "Dangerous" Danny Dynamite! ["Downtown" by 311 blares over the PA and out comes "Dangerous" Danny Dynamite, wearing his usual wrestling outfit, black trunks and a black duster, along with his silver-trimmed Oakley sunglasses and a full goatee and moustache, accompanied by Brian Lau, as usual dressed in a sharp business suit. A young woman is trying to get through the crowd to reach Dynamite. Security holds her back and Dynamite looks like he missed out on something. He continues to the ring, his face becoming dead serious. He receives a few last minute instructions from Lau before entering the ring and flexing his muscles for the fans, who give a big heel pop.] SL: And his opponent, accompanied to the ring by "Real Deal" Luke Steele and Ronnie Paris, hailing from Hurricane, Utah, and weighing in at 297lbs... Scott Rogers! [The crowd gives a big mixed pop as Scott Rogers' own song plays over the PA! Rogers, wearing dark blue trunks and dark blue boots with red laces, plays to the fans. More women seem attracted to Rogers then to Dynamite. His muscles ripple as one woman leans over the guardrail to get a shot of Rogers' backside. Rogers acknowledges the lady and then makes his way to ringside, Paris and Steele walking behind him, each man slapping the hands of as many fans as they are able to reach. Along the way, Rogers high-fives a fan wearing a Scott Rogers t-shirt. In the ring, Dynamite looks disgusted with the delay and motions to Rogers to "get on with it."  Rogers finally gets in the ring and both men stare each other down.] TD: A real contest here, Roberts. These two are staring at each other, each man trying to psyche the other out. SR: Yeah, whatever. The question tonight will be if Rogers can keep his mind off the skirts. Being smart means knowing when it's time to chase women and when it's time to wrestle. TD: And Rogers is extending his hand, Steve Roberts! [Scott Rogers extends his hand to Danny Dynamite. Dynamite takes it but then slaps Rogers. Rogers, enraged, grabs Dynamite and whips him into the ropes and follows through with a clothesline... but misses.] TD: Rogers with a slight weight advantage, Steve... but Dynamite has the technical advantage and being lighter means he has extra agility. SR: What? TD: That means he's qucker in the ring, Steve. SR: Stop using all those fancy words, Dross. Gives me a headache. TD: Wouldn't want that, now would we. By the way, who's Cindy? SR: What are you talking about, Dross? TD: What do you mean, Steve? She called my room ten times thinking it was your room! SR: Just one of the Lil' Soundbiters, I expect. What can I say, Dross? The ladies go crazy for the Soundbite. Give them a little wa-wa, mama. [Scott Rogers seems more interested in flexing than wrestling and is playing to the crowd, mostly the women. A drunk man shouts, "stop showing off and wrestle, moron!" Rogers doesn't pay him any attention.] SR: Where's the blood, Dross? This match has turned into a flexing contest. TD: Well, Rogers is flexing for some women in the front row and doesn't seem to be paying any attention to Dynamite. [Rogers is paying attention to one particular blonde in the front row, but his reverie is broken when Dynamite taps him on the shoulder. Rogers wheels around -- and is hit by a DDT! Dynamite drags Rogers to his feet, whips him into the ropes... and lands a spinwheel kick! Rogers goes down hard! On the outside, Lau nods, a smug grin on his face, while Steele and Paris slap the mat in encouragement for Rogers.] TD: Brian Lau seems to like what he's seeing here, Steve Roberts. SR: Rogers is out cold, baby dolls. [Sure enough Dynamite is on fire. Once again, he picks Rogers up from the mat and whips him into the ropes, squaring him up for the Attitude Adjuster superkick... but Rogers ducks under the thrust kick and clips Dynamite's leg from behind! Big mixed pop as Dynamite goes down. Rogers rolls back to his feet, attempting to shake out the cobwebs, and yells at Dynamite to get back up. 3D begins to stir, and Rogers grabs him by the hair, helping him to his feet and whipping him into the ropes, hitting him with a big powerslam on the return! Rogers makes the cover - 1 - 2 - kickout by Dynamite!] TD: And Rogers appears to have shaken off Dynamite's early attack. He looks firmly in control now. SR: Rogers is built, Dross, I'll give him that. He's got a lot of weight to throw at Dynamite, and that upper body strength could play a big part in this match. TD: Steve Roberts, you're actually providing us with some sensible commentary for a change. SR: Don't count on it, moron. [Rogers drags Dynamite to his feet -- and hoists him up onto his shoulders for an airplane spin! Round and round Rogers turns, with ever-increasing velocity, and finally dumps Dynamite back on his feet. 3D staggers -- and is taken down to the mat by a big lariat from Rogers. Big pop! Paris and Steele applaud their comrade as he drops to the mat for another cover - 1 - 2 - kickout from Dynamite! Rogers drags Dynamite to his feet once more and whips him into the ropes again, this time going for a spinebuster -- but Dynamite scissors Rogers' head and manages to flip him out of the move with a hurricarana! Big mixed pop! Dynamite mounts Rogers and begins pounding away at his head and upper torso with a flurry of punches, forcing the referee to make the break. Dynamite stands and yells out at the crowd, to which a small portion of the ringside fans respond with a whoop. Rogers rolls to the ropes and pulls himself to his feet. Sensing an opportunity, Dynamite runs to the opposite side of the ring, charges at Rogers, and catches him with an impressive standing dropkick, knocking the top-heavy Rogers over the top rope and to the outside. Big pop!] TD: The tide of this match has turned, Steve Roberts! The speed and agility of Dynamite, the two attributes that make him truly "Dangerous", have been decisive thus far! [Dynamite picks himself up and measures Rogers on the outside, bouncing off the ropes again, then performs a handspring moonsault over the side ropes and onto Rogers on the arena floor! Both men clatter into the steel crowd barriers. Huge pop! Brian Lau begins to stalk around the ring towards the fallen athletes, but is cut off by Paris and Steele, who force him to back off. The referee counts Rogers and Dynamite out as they both lie on the floor, their chests heaving, trying to summon the energy to stand. Dynamite is the first to stir, Rogers having taken the brunt of the impact on the steel barriers. Dynamite drags Rogers to his knees -- and Rogers brings an arm up sharply between Dynamite's legs, crotching him viciously! Dynamite doubles over, and is knocked back to the floor by a hard uppercut from the still-kneeling Rogers, who then gets to his feet and drags 3D back to a vertical base, rolling him back into the ring on the count of seven.] TD: Once again, Scott Rogers turns the tide of this match with a somewhat questionable tactic. [Dynamite groggily rolls to his feet as Rogers climbs to the apron. Dynamite attempts to suplex Rogers into the ring, but Rogers drives a shoulder into Dynamite's midsection, and then performs a sunset flip over the top rope, dragging 3D down with him for a cover - 1 - 2 - Danny just gets a shoulder out! Both men get back to their feet, and begin trading closed fists in the centre of the ring. The crowd start to get behind both men, cheering them on as they jostle for position in the centre of the ring. Soon enough, Dynamite whips Rogers into the ropes, and attempts a clothesline -- ducked -- Rogers fires back with a leaping shoulderblock that knocks Dynamite to the mat! Dynamite goes down hard, and Rogers points to the skies. Big pop!] TD: Rogers is going up, Steve! We are going to see this near 300lbs man go to the top! [Rogers steps through the ropes to the apron and climbs to the top turnbuckle.] TD: He looks a little uncomfortable up there, Steve... He's taking too long, Dynamite's up on his feet... [Dynamite lurches forward and falls onto the top rope, shaking Rogers on the buckles. The crowd gives a gasp as Rogers falls and crotches himself on the top buckle, where he remains perched, his face contorted with pain. Big heel pop as Dynamite drags himself to his feet and climbs the buckles, pulling Rogers to his feet, so that both men are now stood on the top turnbuckle! Cameras flash all over the Arena as both men try to unbalance the other... Dynamite hooks Rogers' arm and grabs a handful of tights, lifting him...] TD: Here comes a superplex from Dynamite! A superplex all the way from the top turnbuckle to the canvas! [Dynamite hoists Rogers into the air. Cameras flash as both men plummet towards the canvas -- but Rogers shifts his weight as they fall! Rogers positions himself over Dynamite as they fall, and crashes down on top of the hapless Syndicate member! Rogers rolls Dynamite up, and grabs a handful of tights outside the referee's field of vision... referee Chuck Sanders drops to the canvas and makes the count -- 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Big pop!] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, as the result of a pinfall... Scott Rogers! TD: He had a handful of tights, Steve! Rogers had a handful of tights! SR: So what, Dross? I've got a garage full of the damned things. TD: Surely there was no need for that illegal tactic, Steve. Rogers squashed Dynamite like a bug from that reversed superplex... Dynamite was out. SR: There's no harm in making sure, Dross. [Dynamite rolls from the ring as Paris and Steele join their companion in the ring. Lau shakes his head at Dynamite and appears to be giving him a stern talking to as the two men leave ringside. Meanwhile, in the ring, the referee raises Rogers' arm in victory, and Rogers in turn raises the arms of both Steele and Paris, a huge smile on his face.] TD: A successful debut here on IIWF Saturday Night for Scott Rogers, Steve Roberts, and he appears to have worked out his differences with Ronnie Paris and Luke Steele. [The three fan favourites continue to celebrate in the ring for a while, and eventually leave the ringside area, slapping the hands of the fans as they head back up the aisle. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What a fast-paced opener here tonight on Syndicate Saturday Night -- but not a result that augurs well for Brian Lau's troops here tonight. SR: Just an aberration, Dross. Besides, "Dead in the water" Danny Dynamite is hardly the same kind of competitor as Tiger Claw or Casey James. Things will pick up, you mark my words. TD: We'll see, Steve Roberts. Okay, up next we will see the brawny Scotsman, Duncan Macbeth, battle the Antipodean athlete with an attitude, Mr. Damage. This promises to be an intriguing match, Steve. SR: "Intriguing" is just another word for "boring," Dross. TD: Let's get back up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Duncan Macbeth vs. Mr. Damage =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: JO [Sparkplug Lee enters the ring so damn cocky.  This is not the usual Sparkplug... this is a man who knows he's money: cocky, confident, and a magnet for all the beautiful ladies in the audience... Then Sparkplug Lee wakes from his daydream, stirred by the sound of the bell being rung repeatedly to get his attention to start the intros for the next match.  He smiles sheepishly and begins...] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, introducing first... he weighs in at 270lbs     and hails from Glenfinnan, Scotland... he is DUNCAN MACBETH! [Cheers echo throught the Cap Center as "Scotland the Brave" booms over the PA.  Macbeth makes his appearance in the aisle and the cheers grow even louder.  He is dressed in his usual ring attire -- blue full-length wrestling tights with a white Cross of St. Andrew on the outer legs and white boots with the claymore design on them. He confidently strides to the ring where he takes off his red Macbeth kilt and slings it to the ring girls outside.] SL: And his opponent, weighing in at 245lbs and hailing from Melbourne, Australia... here is MR. DAMAGE! [The sounds of "Scotland the Brave" fade and are replaced by the harsh shounds of "Straight, Hard, and Long" by the Beasts of Bourbon.  Damage, dressed in simple black tights, makes his way down to ringside amongst the sea of boos which rain down upon him.  He pays the crowd no mind, however, as his sole focus is the cellular phone he has to his ear...] TD: Mr. Damage is making his way to ringside, and he is apparently speaking with his mysterious "Silent Partner" once again. SR: That or calling one of those 976 numbers: "Hi... are you ready for some hot, sweaty fun?" TD: Stop it. SR: Hey, you can't stifle genius, Dross.  Or the raging hormones of a seventeen year old girl. TD: Poor Chelsea... [The ring bells sounds in response to the referee's signal to start the contest, but Mr. Damage is in no hurry to lock up.  Instead, he delays, choosing to finish the conversation he is having on his phone.  Macbeth walks around he ring in disgust, yelling at the official to get Damage off the phone.  The referee's warnings fall on deaf ears, as Damage ignores the ref's insructions.  But Damage can't ignore Macbeth, who decisively ends Damage's conversation with a hard right hand that sends both the Australian and the phone crashing to the mat to a huge crowd pop!  Macbeth grabs a handful of hair, bringing Damage to his feet... only to put him back down again with a huge clothesline!  The fast start is continued as Macbeth is quick on the attack, a hard European uppercut stuns Damage... and another... and an Irish whip to the ropes followed by a tilt-a-whirl suplex which plants Damage to the mat for a two count!] TD: A hot start hear tonight by Duncan Macbeth!  This Scotsman is really making a name for himself here in the IIWF! SR: Yeah, and it's getting on a couple of lists I wouldn't want to be on. Starting with the European Alliance.  A man would have to be crazy to wanna anger Byron and Otto. TD: Macbeth is one of the many wrestlers here in the IIWF who have their sights set on Byron and his Intercontinental gold. SR: Yeah, yeah.  Every young punk is blinded by the sparkle of that belt, but how many of them will ever have the chance to carry it.  That's right... none.  Especially Macbeth.  He couldn't even carry your jockstrap, Dross... TD: Hey! SR: And that's pretty bad... TD: Would you cut it out? [In the ring, Macbeth has locked in an abdominal stretch on the smaller Mr. Damage and is wrenching away on the hold, putting great pressure on the ribs and muscles of the rib cage.  Damage, having been caught completely off guard to start the match, looks both bewildered and in pain.  Slowly, Macbeth looses his lock on the hold, and Damage manages a hiptoss.  Macbeth is quickly on his feet, but is caught by Damage with a boot to the midsection and a rake of the eyes.  That buys him a second or two to regroup, as does the rake of back he follows up with.  Macbeth wrenches in pain and slinks away from Damage, who leans on the ropes, trying to clear his head.  Damage is the first to regroup and plants the Scotsman to the mat with a bodyslam.  He then drops a sharp elbow across Macbeth's throat which suceeds in cutting off the man's airflow.  Damage keeps with the attack by employing a highly illegal, but highly effective, chokehold on Macbeth.  As the referee's count reaches four, Damage breaks the hold, only to reapply it once more to Macbeth's gasping dismay. The referee reapplies his count, quicker and more stern this time, and finally Damage breaks the choke and gets to his feet.  He puts the boots to Macbeth, who still lays flat on the mat trying to catch his breath, and then picks the Scot up with a handful of hair.  An Irish whip and powerslam from the ropes later, and Macbeth barely beats the three count with a kick out!] TD: Damage in complete control here after a rocky begining.  Any ideas as to who Damage's "Silent Partner" is, Steve? SR: Charlie Chaplin? TD: No... SR: Oooh, I know.  How about that Jodie Foster girl?  You ever see "Nell"? TD: Why yes.  It was a fine, quality film about a innocent woman's struggle with the unforgiving and foreign outside world which condemned her for being different.  I personally thought Jodie Foster was stirring in her portrayl of the tormented... SR: And she has big breasts. TD: The genius of Steve Roberts, ladies and gentlemen.  SR: It's a gift, Dross.  Like Monet to painting, Beethoeven to music, Demi Moore to the art of taking one's clothes off... I am to the sport of wrestling.  If my witty commentaries don't get you, then my Asai moonsault will. [Back to action, Damage has continued his dominace of Duncan Macbeth. While Steve Roberts has bragged, Damage has lived up to his name, inflicting pain on Macbeth.  Macbeth reaches frantically for the ropes, trying to escape on of Damage's favorite moves... the figure-four.  Sweat drips down the face of the Scot as his hands strain in the effort to grasp the ring ropes, which remain just out of reach.  But the crowd is slowly and steadily getting behind Macbeth as he inches nearer to freedom. To make matters worse for Damage, Tony Starks has decided to make an appearance and stands in the aisle, which succeeds in exciting the crowd further.] TD: Macbeth is close!  He's giving it all he's got to make it to the ropes to break the excruciating pain of the leglock.  Listen to this crowd cheer him on! SR: What's the cripple doing out here? TD: Maybe... to borrow a phrase from Creed... it's "Payback" time.  Starks cannot be too pleased with the brutal attack he received at the hands of Damage here recently. SR: Here he comes, and he doesn't look happy.  Alright!  Maybe now we'll get to see some senseless brutality!  Wait a minute...what's that joker doing out here?! [As Starks begins to make his way down to ringside, a black male jumps over the security railing and cuts him off.  He grabs Starks around the waist and holds him back from charging the ring.] TD: That's the man we've seen Starks with in recent weeks in his interviews. SR: Oh what?  Is Starks so disappointed that he's not a member of the Black Pack anymore that he went out and got his own posse? TD: I don't think it's like that at all, Steve Roberts.  This man is restraining Starks, not joining in with him. [The shot cuts back to the ring where Macbeth has made it to the ropes and Damage breaks the hold.  As he rises to his feet, he realizes the commotion in the aisle and begins to smile at Starks, almost taunting him, trying to goad the Staten Island native into the ring.  But Starks' friend still restrains the big man, yelling "He's not worth it! Don't pay the fool no attention!  It's all about the belt!  Focus!  Don't pay him no mind... you gotta think about the belt!"  Slowly, the words sink in and Starks realizes that what he friend says is the truth.  He shakes his head and seems to apologize and begins to back off.  Just then, Damage's phone begins to ring and he jumps out of the ring to answer it.  After talking for a moment, he closes the phone and sprints up the aisle after Starks and his friend who had begun making their way to the back.  Damage hits both men hard from behind, knocking both of them to the concrete floor of the Arena.  Damage then sets out to nail Starks, hitting him repeatedly over the back with both fist and phone, all the while ignoring the count being placed on him by the referee.  FIVE... SIX...] TD: Oh my!  Mr. Damage is taking to Starks on the outside! SR: It looks like Damage just reached out and touched someone! TD: And Macbeth is just watching the melee unfold from the safety of the ring! [The referee's count reaches - NINE - TEN! And the bell rings to signify the end of the match!  But Damage doesn't care, instead content with pounding on Starks.  Starks' friend gets to his feet and nails Damage from behind to end the Austrialian's attack.  Damage stares at Starks' friend in disbelief, and decides it's time to head to the back as Starks begins to get to his feet and Macbeth leaves the ring to come and help.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... your winner by result of a countout... DUNCAN MACBETH! [Starks continues backstage with his friend as Macbeth and Damage meet in the aisle and begin trading blows once more. The crowd yells in support of Macbeth as he hoists Damage up in the air and drops him throat-first on the aisle-side steel barriers. Huge pop!] TD: Wow... This match may be over officially, but Damage and Macbeth are still going at it! [The official rushes from the ring in an attempt to separate Macbeth and Damage, who now roll in the aisle, pounding one another with hard rights and lefts. The Jobber Justice Squad dash down the aisle to assist.] TD: This is chaos out here... Hold on... I understand that Larry Morton is backstage with Tony Starks now. Larry? [Cut to Larry Morton standing in a corridor backstage.] LM: Thanks, Tim. I'm here backstage, and Tony Starks, along with his mysterious friend, is headed this way. [Starks and the man in the hooded top turn the corner, and shove Larry out of the way as they walk. The microphone on the camera picks up their conversation.] TS: What the hell was that? MAN: Look here, what have I been tellin you these past weeks, huh? Forget that sucker, he aint got what you want, that IIWF Title, so forget him! TS: [nodding] Word, word... MAN: Starks, if you want to win, you gotta buckle down. I know you got your pride and all but you gotta swallow that, for real. You need to remember what made you come back from all them injuries. TS: That gold... MAN: Word, now let's get down to business, all them cats are gonna eat they words when you win the PPV, that is gonna be your revenge... TS: Word, good lookin' out on all this baby, for real. [The two men walk away, continuing to talk strategy. The camera swings back to Larry, who straightens his tie.] LM: Tony Starks apparently in no mood for an interview. Back to you at ringside. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside. Mr. Damage and Duncan Macbeth have been escorted back to the locker rooms, and the crowd begins to settle.] TD: A very intense Tony Starks there, Steve. Okay, up next, we have this week's instalment of "The Final Cut", and sparks are going to fly in this one. We saw Simon Lebec confront his partner in tonight's tag match, Chris Quigley, at the top of the show, and now he is set to interview one of his opponents in that match later on, the Party Maniac, Marty Warnett. There's a lot of history between these two individuals, so this promises to be a very interesting interview indeed. Over to you, Mr. Lebec. [Cut to the set of "The Final Cut".  The stage is decorated as a film set, with various cameras surrounding the stage.  Film props scatter the background.  "The Final Cut" is written overhead in hot, neon pink.  Lebec's majestic music begins to blare as "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec enters the stage via the left curtain.  The fans boo loudly as he struts out.  Lebec looks at the crowd as smirks.  He picks up the mic:] SL: Ya know, when I took this job, I knew that I'd go head-to-head with guys that I don't necessarily like.  That was part of the job description. I could accept that.  Like the professional that I am, I listened to Billy Shakespeare ramble.  Then from there, I listened while Chris Quigley whined and whined. But today... today, I just don't know if I can do it, folks. Today, I've got one of the most pathetic loudmouths in this sport today. I really hate the guy.  He makes me wanna puke!  Now, there's bad blood between the two of us.  There's no disputing that.  He cut my hair one night.  He disrupted my show a couple of weeks back when Quigley was on. No disputing that either.  In fact, now that I think of it, this punk is just a little shit disturber... which is about the only thing I admire about him... because he reminds me of a younger, yet uglier... ME! However, the bottom line is, he's got a problem with me.  He's got a problem with Quigley.  He appears to have a problem with just about everyone these days.  Now, since I am a professional, I'll contain myself for the interview.  Let's bring this punk out and find out what bug is up his ass this week.  I give you... MARTY WARNETT! [The crowd pops as "Cold Gin" starts up.  Marty peers out from behind the curtain before striding out, arms aloft, as the crowd pop.  He's wearing his hair tied back, a Marilyn Manson T-shirt, ripped jeans and trainers. He looks towards LeBec, then walks off towards the ring, slapping the hands of the fans around ringside, keeping Lebec waiting.  He eventually returns to the interview set.] SL: Nice outfit, Rocker boy!  Are you going to a retro-80's party after the show? MW: Oooooh, so damn catty you are, Simon.  Now, I could respond to that in so many different ways, but I'll take the easy way out and just point out that at least I get invited to parties.  The time you've spent out of this fed, what, South America, guess you've just been partying with Nazis... and, for the record, if you excuse the pun, good music is good music, regardless of its era of origin. SL: I was referring to your no-style wardrobe, not the music, you dumbass!  Ripped jeans went out with Reagan!  Then again, it's probably the latest fad in that backward country that you live in!  And for the record, "Cold Gin" was written in 1970, years before you weren't even your daddy's wet dream!  So don't talk to me about style or music, you little punk!  I'm a trend setter and a music maker.  You... you're just a wannabe.  Nothing more. MW: Trend setter?  More like Red Setter.  Music maker, more like Kula Shaker... here I was thinking you were a model for hairdressers... [crowd pop!] As far as my wardrobe goes, how the hell would you know what it looks like, you ever been in my house?  Let's face it, Simon, you were the first of many people whose ass I've kicked in this fed.  So what do you do, you try to rip into me.  As for "that backward country" I live in, gee, that was a _real_ clever comment.  You think I live in Wales, travelling cross the ocean every day?  I live in the US, and I'm damn proud of my background and heritage.  If I'm a wannabe, you've got to live with the fact that you're just a never-was. SL: First of all, I'd never want to go to the little hubble that you call a home.  The arse end of the earth is a long way from Hollywood and Vine! I'd never lower myself to do so.  And yeah, you beat me once, and if you recall, it took three guys to beat me.  But you got the win, I'll give you that.  As for me being a never-was, I have to laugh.  Kid, I've done more and won more titles worldwide than you have hairs on your ugly little limey face!  Until you really do something, just step back you little flaming mary and show some respect!  You show respect to me!  Hell!  You should even show respect to Quigley, even though I hate the guy!  However, he's done more than you ever will!  And when we get your punk ass in the ring later tonight, we'll show you what respect is all about! [Marty looks away at the crowd, who've gone quiet.  He runs his hand through his hair... and flicks sweat straight into Lebec's eyes, to a big pop.  Lebec flips Warnett the finger as he smirks arrogantly] MW: Simon, you want to find out exactly how much I respect you? You and Chris, the only living example of a charisma bypass, stood here not too long ago bringing your little spat over a piece of metal in some other federation...  man, that made me sick as a tick.  Simon, I didn't build this house, but it sometimes feels like I've taken over vacant possession... when those so-called "loop superstars" poked their noses in, when these Genesis freaks dismiss the efforts of everybody who's bust their ass for this federation, when people brag, or in the case of you and Quigley, forget which federation you're working for that evening... man, am I meant to respect that? Now, Simon, personally, if you want to draw a line in the sand, bring it on, bring Quigley along, [crowd give a mixed pop] and let's get it on... right now, if you like! There are a lot of people in the IIWF I respect.  If anybody else respects me, great, but the only people whose opinion really counts are the people out there, the people who pay our wages, man.  You and Chris, well, this is my respect for you. [Marty spits on Lebec's shoes. Lebec stares down at his shoes, then stares back into Warnett's eyes. Lebec looks at the crowd and smiles.  With the snap of a finger, his bodyguard Francois races from the back.  Francois then begins to polish the spit off of Lebec's shoes with his sleeve, with Lebec laughing at Warnett.  Once Francois has finished, he leaves.] SL: Thanks for the spit-shine, kid.  Next, I'll have you doing my laundry. So, that was your respect for me?  Keep it up brat, and you'll be seeing my respect for you.  And little boy... you don't want to see that, believe me.  And judging from your record these days, you've obviously learned a lot of respect... respect in the fact that you've realized your role in the IIWF as a perennial jobber! HA! [Marty smiles, and shakes his head.] MW: Perennial jobber?  Well, Simon, if you really, really want to admit that a perennial jobber kicked your ass not too long ago, fine, I have no problems with that whatsoever. [Big pop!] My friend, all I have to say in reply is this; how many titles have you, or Chris actually won in this federation, which, for the record, is regarded as one of the finest in the whole wide wrestling world? I could have come out here, Simon, and destroyed your set. [snaps fingers] Just like that.  Why don't I?  For one simple reason, yes, I have a real big problem with you, but I have a bigger problem with Quigley. I've been in dialogue with the suits upstairs for a series with Quigley for months.  Each time it looked like we'd get something on, other events overtook is. Like you, Simon, Quigley needs to learn his talent is not as great as his ego.  I'm actually curious about your role in all this, Simon.  What's your motivation?  Why have you poked your nose into other people's business, surely you know it's the quickest way to get your ass kicked? SL: First of all, little man, you never kicked my ass the first time we wrestled.  Learn how to use a VCR and watch the videotape.  I dominated you, yet you got by with a little help from your friends.  How many titles have I won in the IIWF?  None.  I've always been too distracted with brats like you trying to make a name for himself.  Yeah, I heard you won the Intercontinental Title.  Give yourself an Oreo.  The reign was short though.  I must have farted and missed it, I guess.  Why have I gotten involved?  What's my motivation?  Are you that stupid? First of all, I've got a score to settle with you.  Keep up the talking, and we'll settle it tonight, even though I said last week that I'd act like a professional.  Second of all, numb nuts, it was YOU who came out a couple of weeks back and interrupted myself and Quigley.  What was your motivation, huh?  Nobody interrupts me and my show, espically a pathetic knob like you!  You want any more reasons, Marty?  Fine, I can go all night long!  Finally, you're a pain in the ass.  Not just to me, not just to Quigley, but to everyone in this fed.  I compare you to a lesion on the butt of an AIDS patient... a pain in the ass that won't go away.  And even when it does go away, you KNOW that it'll be back, and more annoying than ever! In fact, I'm getting a headache just looking at your ugly face.  This interview is over.  Get off my set before I vomit! [Marty smirks, walks over to Lebec, nose to nose.  He stares Lebec coolly in the eye.] MW: Care to make me? [Lebec looks down upon the much shorter Warnett with a cold, dark stare. He looks at the crowd, then back at Warnett.  Lebec then spits in Warnett's face.  Warnett jumps back, wiping the saliva out of his eyes] SL: Easy kid.  You don't want what I've got for you. [Marty strides back up to Lebec, the two antagonists nose to nose.] MW: Yeah, I read your phone number on the toilet wall. [Lebec turns his head from Warnett, then surprises him with a quick, sharp headbutt, stunning Warnnet back.] SL: Makes me wonder why you're looking there, faggit! [Warnett takes a swing at Lebec, but still in his disorientated state, misses by a wide margin.  With Warnett hunched over, Lebec delievers a "Blackball" to the back of Warnett's head, dropping him instantly.] TD: [over the headset] No! This is appalling! Get security out here now! SR: [over the headset] Whoo-hoo! This is great, Dross! SL: You little punk!  I tried to be a nice guy, but nice guys finish in the dead last along with Michael Johnson!  You want some of me?  HUH?! [Lebec gets on top of Warnett and begins slugging him fiercely.] SL: YEAH, YOU LITTLE FRUITCAKE!  YOU LIKE THAT DON'T YOU?  YOU LIKE IT ROUGH, DON'T YOU, FAGGIT? [Lebec picks up the mic, with Warnett still out-cold] SL: Warnett, you really must be dumber than you look.  Thinking that you'd be on the show an _I_ wouldn't have something in store for you? Roll the clip! [The video wall at the head of the aisle shows footage of Marty Warnett cutting Lebec's hair at the end of the Hair vs. Hair match at Ring Wars II last October.] SL: Remember that, Marty?  Huh? I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, PUNK! [Lebec lays another kick into Warnett's midsection.] SL: Well, today... today, old friend, is payback.  An eye for an eye... some hair for some hair!  Francois!  Bring me my shears! [Francois runs from the back, carrying barber's shears. He hands them to Lebec.] SL: You know Marty.... for six months... I looked.  I looked for the sharpest shears on God's green earth! I even went to South America and abroad!  And today... today... you're in for a treat! Bacause Marty, not only am I a great actor, a great model, a great wrestler, and a great businessman... I'm also one hell of a hairstylist!  Hold him, big man! [Francois holds down the delusional Warnett as Lebec begins trimming, then scalping, the head of Warnett with the shears.  Lebec laughs the entire way, as the fans boo.  In what seems like a flash, one entire side of Warnett's head is bald.] SL: Well, yippie-di-do-da!  Marty, now you're looking ready for a night on the town!  I shouldn't have done such a damn good job!  The ladies may choose you over me!  I hear the FREAK look is in nowadays!  HA! [Francois and Lebec share a chuckle together.  Lebec delivers a couple of more kicks to Warnett's now-bald head.] SL: Buddy-o-mine!  You are lookin' H-O-T... HOT!  So damn hot even, you know, I think you best be cooling off before you overheat, my friend! [Suddenly there is a huge roar from the crowd as Billy Shakespeare bursts onto the set behind Lebec. Lebec spins around, and Shakespeare grabs the shears from him, whacks him around the side of the head with the handles, and Lebec falls off the stage to the arena floor some ten or fifteen feet below. Huge pop!] TD: [over the headset] Billy Shakespeare is in the house! Shakespeare just knocked Lebec fifteen feet to the arena floor! [Shakespeare turns his attentions to the burly Francois, who stands and slaps the palm of his hand with his fist. He takes a swing at Shakespeare, who ducks underneath. Francois spins around, and is caught by a standing dropkick from Shakespeare, sending him crashing into the film props on the stage. The pink neon sign above the set falls to the stage, smashing in an explosion of sparks. Shakespeare picks up one of the nearby pink collonades, and breaks it over Francois' head. Huge pop!] SR: [over the headset] He's trashing the set, Dross! The little punk! [Shakespeare kneels over Warnett, the crowd going crazy, as security pours out of the entranceway, surrounding the recovering Lebec on the arena floor, and helping Francois out of the wreckage on the stage. Shakespeare assists Warnett to his feet, who appears shaken but unhurt. He puts one hand up to the bald side of his head, and then shakes his head, patting Shakespeare on the shoulder as the two men leave the stage together. Security drag Lebec to the back, yelling and screaming. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, the bad blood between Lebec, Warnett and Shakespeare continues to escalate -- and we'll throw Chris Quigley into the mix later on here tonight when those four men square off in tag team action. Poor Marty -- not the most flattering haircut in the world. SR: It's an improvement if you ask me, Dross. That little moron didn't even begin to get what he had coming to him here tonight. If it hadn't been for Shakespeare, we could have seen Lebec have some real fun out there. TD: Although this next tag match, pitting Requiem and Highwayman against the "Unholy Alliance" of Deathbringer and Serge Annis, may seem a bit out of place on "Syndicate" Saturday Night, it does feature two of the more prominent Genesis members, and many people are calling Genesis the Syndicate of the future. SR: Summer and a couple of loonies in black don't count as "many people," Dross. TD: I don't know, there are some parallels between Genesis and the     Syndicate in the rule-breaking department, and in the ego department. SR: Oh please! Captain Requiem and his Fantastic Four are rank amateurs     at rulebreaking when compared to the pure artistic beauty of a Casey     James chairshot, a Tiger Claw run-in, or a Brian Lau double-cross. They match up best with Chris "Piggly-Wiggly" Quigley in the whining and crying department. TD: Piggly-Wiggly? It gets worse every week... Let's go up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Deathbringer & Serge Annis vs. Requiem & Highwayman =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: JdW [Suddenly, the lights drop and the resultant cheers of the crowd are drowned by the booming voice of Requiem over the public address, as he launches into his trademark phrase:] REQUIEM: From this day forth, until the end of time, there shall be no mercy for the damned. [As soon as he finishes, "Stand and Deliver" kicks in to the delight of the black-clad "Genesis Generation" fans around ringside. A pair of strong lights burst out into the darkened aisle, and the revving of engines is heard, until suddenly Requiem and Highwayman burst out into the aisle on matching Harley-Davidsons. Requiem's is the one he personally reconstructed, while Highwayman's looks new. The two drive them carefully right up to the ring, and dismount to hand them over to two ring attendants who are being very thoroughly instructed on their use.] TD: How about that for an entrance? Regardless of anything else you think of them, Genesis knows how to get attention in a hurry. SR: Shouldn't they have to pay for valet parking like this? I mean, they     are New Gen, so obviously they should get anything they want without     earning it, but shouldn't they at least have to tip the guys? TD: Steve Roberts, a master of subtlety. [Requiem and Highwayman both start a tour around the ring to high-five all the leather jacket-clad, sunglass-wearing Genesis Generation members. The end of the tour leaves them right in front of the announcer's table, so Requiem takes the opportunity to shoot a cold and rather evil looking stare at both Dross and Roberts.] SR: [with mock fear] Oh dear, don't let the big bad cartoon character     hurt me! TD: Steve, I don't think you should take such liberties with... SR: [interrupting] I'll take any liberties I damn well please, because the fans pay to hear my take liberties. [To crowd] What do you idiots want to see me do? [Roberts is met with the expected "Shoot, Soundbite, Shoot!" chant, but there's an interesting side effect. After the chant ends, the Genesis Generation stands in unision, and unzip their jackets to reveal plain black T-shirts with the following outlined in silver: Requiem driving Steve Roberts into the canvas with the "Final Lament" as the Highwayman simultaneously executes the "Daylight Robbery" on Tim Dross. The caption reads: "Shoot, Genesis, Shoot!", which the Generation Members gleefully shout out.] SR: I don't believe it! Those punks! Who the hell do they think they are? [to a Genesis Gen. member] You think you're a big man with that shirt, jerk? I oughta kick your lousy ass all the way back to your freakin' hole of a house, you moth... [Suddenly, the Soundbite's mic is cut. For once, Dross has nothing to say either, so we cut directly to Sparkplug Lee, who'd been caught off guard and missed announcing our first team. A few fans remind him to do his job, but he's so visibly upset at the miff that he just says "To hell with it.", and goes back to dozing in his seat. "Some Days It's Dark" begins, and the fans actually start to pop loudly for the duo of Serge Annis and the Deathbringer. Deathbringer just ignores the fans, while a visibly irate Annis yells at them to "Shut the [BLEEP] up!", continuing to help work on the IIWF record for most FCC violations for foul language in one match. The two partners don't seem to be mad at each other, though, as Serge actually holds the ropes open for Deathbringer.] TD: It's very interesting that this team chose to enter the ring to     Serge's music, that might be a show of solidarity, or it might just     be an uneventful coincidence. I'm reaching for straws here to keep you entertained until Steve Roberts' mic is turned back on. [Just as the two teams are set to get underway, the other three members of Genesis appear at the top of the aisle, and start to walk their way down to ringside. Serge and DB look about as disconcerted as those two ever get, but nothing comes of it yet save for Nightwing and Cold Spell taking posts around the ring, ostensibly to guard from outside interference.] TD: With any luck, we may have a match to show you at some point. [To the assembled wrestlers] This _is_ only a two hour show, you know! [After some last minute strategy sessions by both teams, the match finally begins with Deathbringer and Requiem as the first two contestants. Both look for a knucklelock early, but Requiem quickly brings a knee up into DB's chest, and then whips him into the Genesis corner. He quickly charges in with a clothesline, and it finds the mark. He then tags out to the Highwayman, and the two whip DB off the ropes, looking for a double clothesline. He ducks it, however, and on the way back smashes both men with that same move. Requiem quickly rolls out of the ring as DB smashes an elbow into Adam's face, then whips him hard into the opposite corner. Serge sees a golden opportunity, so he rears back his fist and takes a cheapshot at the Highwayman. DB decides to give him the chance to do it legally, tagging in Serge, and the two proceed to kick and stomp at Highwayman in the corner. They seem to be hoping Requiem would run out to distract the referee, but no such luck as Requiem just taps his head in a show of intelligence.] TD: In the early goings, both teams seem to be working well as a unit,     which is somewhat of surprise. Especially for... never mind. I'm     trying to stay impartial with regards to Genesis here, but it's hard not to be biased with the attitude they take. [Eventually the two use up all their time to double team, so DB leaves the ring to allow Serge to keep pummeling Highwayman. Serge rears back to lay in a succession of big elbows to the face, and each one seems to come in with more force than the one before it. Finally, he brings HWM out of the corner, and pushes him against the ropes for an Irish whip. HWM holds onto the arm, reversing to whip Serge off the ropes, so an attentive Requiem sticks his foot up to catch Serge in the head as he comes by. The ploy works, and Serge goes down hard, allowing HWM to make another quick tag. Requiem comes in, and nods his head to HWM, who jumps into a press slam from Requiem. Requiem isn't dropping him, though, as instead he's positioned over Serge, and then he drops HWM onto the prone Canadian! Huge heel pop. HWM gets up unscathed, and is forced out of the ring as Requiem kneels down to plant one boot into Serge's shoulder and another into his neck. He then grabs Serge's left arm, and pulls for all he's worth as Annis screams, partly in pain and partly in defiance.] TD: Hmmm, that seems to be almost a Wakigatame armbar, would you say? I'm not sure of the technical name for the move. SR: How the hell would I know? I'm just glad they finally turned my mic     back on. I won't let a group of cartoon characters stop me from     voicing my opinion. Washington is the capital of the greatest country in the world, and we got to be great by pissing people off with insulting remarks. TD: In some ways, you're right, but I'm pretty sure there's more to it     than that. [Requiem keeps taking it to Serge with kicks to the ribs, and after having inflicted some damage he smiles, and shoves Serge into the Genesis corner. Another quick tag is made, and HWM comes in to assist with the double-teaming. Both men are just hammering Serge with punches, but Deathbringer shows the tag team know how not to enter the ring. Finally, Requiem is forced to leave by Earl Alphonso, leaving the two legal men in the ring. HWM runs off the ropes, but is grabbed around the throat and prepared for a chokeslam, and the fans begin to pop madly for Serge's finisher. Serge starts bringing HWM up, but before he sweeps out his victim's feet as he usually does, HWM sticks his feet forward, altering the upward momentum a bit, and dropkicks Serge right in the face!] TD: I have to admit, that was an excellent counter. SR: I have to admit nothing... it was fluke. Serge may not be a great     force in the IIWF yet, but he's ten times the man any of these Genesis punks ever will be. [HWM goes for a cover, hoping the shock of his counter would be enough, but Serge easily kicked out. Undaunted, HWM moves over to make yet another quick tag to Requiem. The twosome whip Serge off the ropes, and he's unable to dodge as they nail a double dropkick. Requiem chops Serge right in the throat, but Serge replies in kind, knocking the wind out of Requiem. He struggles to recover his breath, while Serge lunges and makes a much needed tag. DB enters to face a now recuperated Requiem, and is promptly met with a kick to the groin. Requiem then grabs the 'Bringer's hand, and slaps Serge with it, forcing Annis to tag back in! Genesis Generation pop! Serge does lumber back into the ring, but the fresh man is faster, as he drops Serge with an approprietely named drop toehold. Requiem quickly lets go, waiting for Serge as he pushes himself up to his knees. Requiem then runs off the ropes, and catches a keeled over Annis after taking to the air. Annis' head is driven backwards in a deadly reverse flying bulldog, after which Requiem covers for: 1 - 2 - kickout by Serge!] TD: Serge Annis is still in a heap of trouble, and a lot of that is     because of the practice Requiem and Highwayman took as a team. SR: I never said Genesis weren't talented... wait, yes I did. And I meant it. Well, to be nice, they are experts at fine whine. TD: [trying to stiffle a chuckle] Now Steve, that's not fair... [Requiem picks up Serge by his short hair, but is surprised when Annis grabs his left arm. Annis pushes him back a few steps, then flattens Requiem woth a short-arm clothesline that caught everyone off guard! Despite being tired, Annis heads sdlowly to his corner with Requiem crawling behind in the "Race to Tag" (tm). Annis makes one last lunge to bring in DB, who kicks Requiem right in the face as he advances. The crowd pop goes to insane levels, and Highwayman runs in to try and stop the momentum, but DB just clotheslines him right over the top rope to the floor, which gets most of the fans even more excited. He turns around, and is grabbed around the neck by Requiem, who spins around quickly and drops DB on his head and neck.] TD: Swinging neckbreaker! That'd slow an elephant down. SR: Yeah, and these idiot Genesis fans would put him to sleep with their     whining. [In a high-pitched, whiny voice] "Where's my respect? Give me title shots! I want everything without working for it! Wah, wah, wah!" TD: Please, Steve, just call the match. SR: It's a match. Happy now? [On the outside, HWM suddenly starts to clutch at the back of his head, complaining of an injury. Serge rushes into the ring to protest, drawing the attention of Chuck Sanders. Requiem sees the official occupied, so he pulls the still down DB to the ropes, and invites Nightwing to take a free shot. Nightwing looks very hesitant to do so, shaking his head as the fans pop like a "Price is Right" crowd, yelling instructions. Requiem keeps kneedling him, until eventually he gets a resigned look on his face, and blasts DB in the noggin. He winds up to do it again when...] TD: It's Ronnie Paris, and he's moving like he was shot out of a cannon! SR: One can dream, can't one? [Paris makes it to Nightwing just before he swings, and holds back his outstretched fist. The Native American spins around to see who stopped him, and asks Paris to "mind his own business". Paris just shakes his finger, as if to say "You shouldn't be doing this". The two stare each other down for a moment, than finally Nightwing pops Paris in the face! Paris grabs both his legs in a double-leg takedown, and the two start rolling on the mat, each trying to get into position to land mounted punches. Meanwhile, Sanders finally turns back to the action to see DB getting up despite Requiem raining clubbing blows down on his back.] TD: We have two seperate brawls going on here, one legal and one not! SR: Yeah, great brawl too... Injun Joe and Widdle Wonnie rolling around     like girls, trying to slap each other. Bestill my beating heart. TD: It is a shame that those two haven't been seeing eye-to-eye lately. SR: Who cares? Let's talk about Deathbringer. He's turning the tide, and     you're ignoring it. [Indeed, DB was now on his feet, and after no-selling on last punch, he drops Requiem on his rear with a big left hand. Requiem struggles back up, so DB scoops him up into his arms, and turns over to execute a devestating powerslam! Requiem barely has time to even think before DB scoops him up again, this time delivering a nasty Tombstone piledriver. Meanwhile, paris has got the upper hand outside the ring, and is throwing in some uncontested blows. Nightwing can only try to block them all, as he's out of position to get his arms up and make an effective counter attack. The JJS run towards the two en masse, struggling to separate them to some success. Back in the ring, Deathbringer is sensing victory, he moves into a lateral press, but it's only good enough for a near fall and not a win. DB sees Serge in the corner, with a devilish grin on his face, so he tags the Oakvillian in. Serge leaps off the apron, and reaches under the mat to pull out some sort of foreign object... it seems to be...] TD: The remnants of Requiem's guitar! Oh, how ironic would this be! SR: Serge, take that shot! Be the man! He'll get my undivided respect if     he just takes that damn shot! [Serge walks slowly towards the fallen Requiem, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he goes. Requiem for his part staggers up to one knee, and he's really not with it. Easy pickings, as it were. Things have finally calmed down on the outside, as both Nightwing and Paris are being escorted by JJS members backstage, so the fans now give their undivided attention to the ring. What they see is Serge pulling back the battered guitar to strike, but suddenly he's rolled up from behind by Highwayman.] SR: Damn, I was hoping they wouldn't do that. TD: Do what? Oh no, he hooked the tights, and Sanders is counting even though Highwayman's the illegal man. [One...] SR: No one was looking at the time, but Requiem made a tag. Highwayman _is_ the legal man, they suckered Serge in. [Two...] TD: Come on, Serge, kick out! [Three!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of this bout by virtue of a pinfall, Requiem and Highwayman! [The Genesis Generation pop loudly for their heros, who beat a hasty exit. Apparently they're happy with the win, and want to save their energy. They do however high-five all the black leather jacketed fans around ringside. In the ring, Serge and Deathbringer both start arguing with Sanders about the call, but he explains that there was indeed a tag. Annis yells "Tag this!", and shoves Sanders into the corner, before he and his teammate leave to a somewhat depreciated pop for the ref assault. The Sychopaths seem to like it, though.] SR: That just ticks me off... Genesis steals a win on "Syndicate Saturday Night"? Genesis aren't good enough to hold Casey James' jockstrap, although I've heard they want to. TD: I've heard that rumour of a joint membership in the Bobby Lincoln fan club too, but I don't believe it. SR: Anyway, let's just get that ugly incident out of our minds... I'll     change the subject. You know, I saw that Oak guy the other day. TD: Really? Is he still involved with cults? SR: Sort of. He bought a Saturn dealership. TD: You're incorrigible, Steve. SR: Isn't that what you say about cardboard? TD: [sigh] That's corrogated, Steve. SR: Doesn't bother me if someone's corrogated, Methodist, whatever. A     man's religion is his own business. TD: Before we get back up to the ring for our next match here tonight -- the huge tag contest between the two warring Syndicate tag teams -- let's go to some pre-taped comments from Mr. Mic, manager of Pain Inc., and some well-wishers: [Cut to a spinning "Syndicate Saturday Night" graphic: it comes to a halt, and mixes through to Mr. Mic in the locker room:] MM: Tonight, Dark Disciples, get ready for your greatest challenge ever. You may think you know everything about Pain Inc. but you never ever know everything about anyone. You may think you're wrestling Pain Inc. -- but you won't be! [The screen spins once more, this time coming to rest on a shot of the Zodiac Connection, Scorpio and Taurus, standing in the locker room:] TAURUS: One thing is for certain: some of our greatest matches have been against the tag team of Morningstar and Hellraiser.  We may not have always came out on top, but we were always proud of the effort we gave. SCORPIO: And over that period of time, we learned to respect Pain Inc. because they were willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. Now we have an opportunity to do the same, both in the rap business as well as the wrestling ring! TAURUS: Pain, Inc. we wish you luck in tonight's match! [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: The rap business?! Did they say the rap business, Dross?! TD: I believe they did, Steve Roberts, although I have no idea what the Zodiac Connection were referring to. Let's get up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= LOSER LEAVES SYNDICATE MATCH: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Dark Disciples vs. Pain Inc. ----------------------------- WRITERS: SC/RWE [The crowd give a polite pop as Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring and does not trip or goof up. Sparkplug smiles a confident smile. The bell rings.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is set for one fall, and is a special "Loser Leaves Syndicate" match! But first, making their way down the isle,  Tiger Claw and IIWF World Champion, Casey James! ["Foul Taste of Freedom" kicks in over the PA and the crowd give a big heel pop as the two make their way down to the ring looking focused. Both Casey and Tiger Claw decide to stand in one of the neutral corners.] TD: One must wonder if Casey and Tiger Claw will have any effect on this match? SR: Of course they will! They add pressure to both teams to win. TD: Of course. Fans, we’d like to warn you right now... this is going to be a very violent and brutal match. Parental discretion is advised. SR: Man, Jackson Witt knows his stuff. TD: Huh? [Druidic chanting begins to fill the speakers in the US Air Arena.] RA: Making their way down the isle, hailing from parts unknown, weighing in at 615 pounds, accompanied by "Big Bucks" Don McQueen here are Kane... Wulf... The Dark Disciples! [The Disciples make their way out from the back and head to the ring as the crowd soundly boo. Wulf and Kane step into the ring and look bigger and meaner than before. McQueen says a few words to the stoic pair of James and Claw, who simply stand on the outside, their arms folded.] TD: And we are all set to go for what looks to be one spectacular match. SR: Spectacular? That doesn’t describe this match enough. TD: All right... how about one heck of a slobberknocker? SR: All right! Spectacular will do! RA: And their opponents, weighing in at 585 pounds, hailing from Jakarata, Indonesia, led to the ring by Mr. Mic, Morningstar and Hellraiser, Pain Incorporated! ["More Human Than Human" by White Zombie begins to play, signifying the arrival of Pain Inc. They too look bigger and meaner than before. Both Hellraiser and Morningstar step into the ring and get ready to begin the match.] TD: Who’s your pick, Steve? SR: What does it matter? We are going to see one Hell of a match. TD: You mean blood-bath? SR: Yes. [Ding! Ding! Ding! The bell sounds and it is Kane and Morningstar who each start off the match for their respective teams. The two lock up and Morningstar pushes Kane back to the ropes. The referee counts to four and Morningstar gives a clean break. The two lock back up in the center of the ring and Morningstar manages to hit an arm-drag takedown. Kane is instantly back up on his feet, even before Morningstar, and he connects with a clothsline.] TD: Oh my! What impact! SR: So it starts, Dross! It’s only going to get more violent from here! [As if he heard Steve Roberts, Kane pounces on Morningstar and begins to pummel him with fists and elbows. The referee warns Kane and Kane stands up and hits Morningstar with a DDT, before covering with a lateral press: 1 - 2 - kick out! Kane scoops Morningstar up and slams him down hard with a bodyslam. Kane tags in Wulf and the two hammer Morningstar with fists. Hellraiser tries to get into the ring to stop this, but the referee stops him and turns his back to the double teaming.] SR: We are like, what, one minute into the match and already the referee has lost control! TD: This is nothing less than what I expected. [Wulf climbs up to the top turnbuckle as Kane sets up Morningstar for a jacknife powerbomb. Kane lifts up Morningstar and applies the jacknife while Wulf jumps off and connects with an elbowdrop in mid-air. Wulf covers Morningstar with another lateral press and only gets a one count because Hellraiser flies in and delivers a double axe-handle to break the count. Both Mr. Mic and Don McQueen shout out words of encouragement to their team as Casey James and Tiger Claw impassively watch on. Wulf whips Morningstar to the ropes and hits a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker. Wulf follows up by dropping an elbow down on Morningstar, but misses. Morningstar makes a leap to his corner and attempts the tag, but fails to reach as Wulf grabs on to his foot. Wulf drags Morningstar back to The Disciples’ corner, where Kane flies off with a flying elbowdrop on Morningstar’s back.] TD: So far I must say that The Disciples have been successful in cutting the ring off and preventing Morningstar  to make the tag. [Kane stomps away on the kidneys of Morningstar, even though no tag was made. Kane picks up Morningstar and sets up for another D.D.T. This time, however, Morningstar locks on to Kane’s waist and connects with a belly to belly suplex. Both men are down and the ref begins the count: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4... Meanwhile, Wulf walks on the outside of the ring over to Pain Inc’s corner and grabs Hellraiser and pulls down Hellraiser and hammers him with fists.] SR: Here we go! I knew it wouldn’t be long before this happened! [Inside the ring, the ref’s count reaches eight, but Morningstar makes it to his feet first and dives to his corner to make a tag, but there is no partner there. Instead, Morningstar climbs the top turnbuckle, and hits Kane with the moonsault! Morningstar covers Kane, but gets a close two count. On the outside, Wulf attempts to whip Hellraiser into the guard rail, but the fresher Hellraiser reverses it and Wulf is hit between the eyes by the ringpost. In the ring, Morningstar runs to the ropes and hits a spinning heel kick before Hellraiser is in position for a tag. The tag is made and Pain Inc. exact a little revenge by double teaming Kane in the ring as the referee checks on Wulf. Hellraiser whips Kane to the ropes and connects with a big powerslam and Morningstar follows up with a somersault leg-drop. Wulf slowly returns to his feet and rolls into the ring, grabbing Hellraiser in a bear hug. Morningstar comes off the ropes and dropkicks Hellraiser’s back, pushing Wulf into the corner. Morningstar follows up by splashing Wulf in the corner. The referee attempts to regain order and orders Wulf and Morningstar out of the ring. On the other side, Kane drops an unsuspecting Hellraiser with a bulldog. Wulf tags in and the two now begin to legally double team Hellraiser, until the referee reaches the count of four. Wulf rakes Hellraiser’s eyes and places Hellraiser in position for a chokeslam. However, Hellraiser thinks quick and delivers a kick straight to Wulf’s breadbasket. Wulf collapses in pain and Hellraiser piledrives him on the way  down. Hellraiser picks up Wulf and goes for a superkick, but Wulf ducks and the referee is hit with it, and goes out like a light.] TD: Oh no! The referee is out! SR: Now we are going to see some real violence! TD: Get the paramedics ready! SR: Paramedics? Try the national guard! [Wulf then scoops up a shocked Hellraiser and powerslams him to the mat. Kane meanwhile runs back over to Pain Inc’s corner and pulls down Morningstar and smashes him with a chair. Morningstar is then slammed on top of a table conveniently set up by Don McQueen. Kane whistles to Wulf as if signifying something. Wulf seems to understand, picks up Hellraiser, and drags him to the corner by the table.] TD: What is this? SR: I don’t know, but you can be sure it will be painful for Pain Inc. [Wulf scoops Hellraiser up lengthways across his chest. Wulf proceeds to ascend the ropes, while holding Hellraiser. The ref begins to move slightly as Wulf launches himself and Hellraiser over the top rope with a powerslam onto Morningstar, through the table. Incredible pop!] TD: Oh my! [Casey and Tiger Claw just watch on as Wulf picks himself up off the floor. Kane rolls to the outside and rolls in an unconscious Morningstar and covers him. The referee slowly makes the count: 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: What a move by the Dark Disciples! And with a single move they have retained their membership of the Syndicate! SR: And now it’s the Dark Disciples who will be in the Syndicate. Too bad for Pain Inc. though. TD: Oh no, we don’t need this. [Wulf rolls in Hellraiser and begins to stomp away on him. The bell rings again as Kane now stomps away on Morningstar. Wulf sets up Hellraiser and clothslines him over the top rope to the floor. Kane instead just stomps away on Morningstar untill he rolls under the bottom rope and walks up the aisle with Mr. Mic and Hellraiser, shouting many profanities that are thankfully not picked up by the camera microphones.] TD: Not exactly gracious losers, are they? [Mr. Mic and his men continue to back away up the aisle, shaking their heads and yelling obscenities. The Dark Disciples celebrate in the ring with Don McQueen to a rather large heel pop. The crowd reaction changes slightly as Casey James and Tiger Claw enter the ring. James grabs a microphone and looks across the ring to the winners:] CJ: So, you guys did it. You won the chance to stay in the Syndicate,     and Pain Inc. gets to take a hike... How do you feel? [Don McQueen seems to get ready to say something, but Casey cuts him off.] CJ: You know, in the past little while, we've seen a lot of trouble in     the Syndicate. Hell, we've had Thunder turn on us, we've had this     little setback from the Special Concerns Committee. You know,     Brian's been run ragged trying to keep everything together, and to     be honest, you guys haven't really helped a hell of a lot. Yeah, you     won, and that gives you first dibs on the tag slot in the Syndicate.     Let me tell you something, though... Claw and I aren't too happy     with the way you guys handled this situation. [The crowd begins to pop as McQueen starts getting a little antsy.] CJ: You guys were unprofessional. The Syndicate is the most influential     unit in the IIWF... Hell, the most influential unit in the entire     world of wrestling, and for you guys to bring out dirty laundry out     right on camera was a big mistake. You guys whined, you cried, you     even cost us a few matches. The worst part was that some of those     matches weren't your own. You almost cost me a match or two. I'm     going to tell you this one thing, and then I'm through, so you'd     better listen. There's no room in the Syndicate for overgrown     babies. That's why you're _fired._ [Kane, Wulf and McQueen are livid, stamping their feet and shouting at Claw and James to "get Brian out here right now!"] CJ: Hey... You don't need to talk to Brian. You've got the two of us     standing right here! Claw and I are Syndicate. We always have been,     and we always will. We're the only two guys who haven't caused any     problems during this whole thing! If you've got a problem, then take     it up with us! [At that point, Casey drops the microphone, and he and Claw charge forward to attack.] TD: All four men going at it! James just went into his trunks! SR: What's he got? [As Kane preys towards him, James manages to throw a handful of salt into the face of Kane.] TD: Oh my! Salt, that's what! James just blinded Kane with a handful of salt! SR: Yeah, momma, take it home! ["Blackheart" with a clothesline as Kane goes over the top rope! On the outside, Tiger Claw battles Wulf, their fight having spilled out of the ring. James now grabs McQueen, who attempts to escape -- but the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion hoists the manager above his head with a press slam -- and dumps McQueen over the top rope, right on top of Kane! Huge pop!] SR: The fans are eating this up, Dross! TD: Wulf and Tiger Claw are still slugging it out.  Wulf is all alone now as James blindsides him -- and Claw and James are now beating Wulf into the floor! [James bends Wulf double on the outside, and places his head between his legs, preparing for a gutwrench powerbomb. Meanwhile, Tiger Claw hops to the apron and then leaps to the top turnbuckle.] SR: Tiger Claw going airborne! Could we possibly be seeing a spike powerbomb, Dross? TD: James hoisting Wulf up with the powerbomb -- as Claw dives off the top like an eagle onto Wulf! [Huge pop as Wulf is brought crashing down to the floor. The crowd begin pelting the IIWF Champion and Claw with debris as they re-enter the ring, each congratulating the other on the efficiency of their attack.] SR: Wulfie's toast! TD: I can't believe what we've seen here, Steve Roberts. The Dark Disciples defeat Pain Inc. with an impressive performance to ensure their membership of the Syndicate -- and then Casey and Claw kick them out anyway! Unbelievable! Where is their sense of honour? Where is their sense of justice?! SR: Aw, can it, Dross. You know as well as I do that the Syndicate operates under its own special moral code. [Kane and McQueen help Wulf to his feet and assist him from ringside, Kane pointing up at Casey and Claw in the ring in a threatening manner.] TD: This one is far from over, Steve Roberts. Casey James and Tiger Claw may have to deal with two extremely angry tag teams here in the near future. SR: And you gotta love it, Dross. See ya, Dark Disciples, wouldn't wanna be ya! Pucker up, suckers, and kiss yer asses goodbye! TD: Would you please stop? [Casey and Claw exchange a few final words, and leave the ring to a huge heel pop, "Foul Taste of Freedom" kicking in over the PA once more. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Of course, we'll be seeing both Tiger Claw and Casey James in action here later on in two crucial matches. Claw will face off against nemesis Derek Mota, and Casey James will put his title on the line in tonight's incredible main event, just over one hour away. But between now and then, we have more incredible action -- up next is the unlikely tag team encounter between "Quickstrike" Chris     Quigley and "Showstopper" Simon Lebec versus "Spotlight" Billy     Shakespeare and Marty Warnett. SR: Watch me care. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley & "Showstopper" Simon Lebec vs. "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare & Marty Warnett =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: JP [Sparkplug enteres the ring, and promptly lets out a screeching bit of feedback that momentarily deafens the crowd. After a few seconds of recovery time, Lee introduces the match:] SL: Ahem... this next contest is a special tag team challenge scheduled     for one fall!  Introducing first, weighing in at 243 pounds,     "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! ["For Those About To Rock" blares over the public address system, as Quigley makes his way to the ring.  Quigley slaps hands with the fans, and seems to have more support than usual.  However, he briefly embarasses himself when a Sychopath pulls his hand away from a Quigley high five, leaving him slapping nothing but air.  Quigley shows a slight scowl, but immediately recovers and hits the ring.] TD: Chris Quigley seems to be a big hit with the fans in Landover! SR: Watch me care! SL: His tag team partner, weighing in at 239 pounds, the Showstopper     Simon Lebec! [The music changes to Mr. Perfect's theme, as the Showstopper graces the fans with his presence.  Taking his sweet time to bask in the attention, Lebec shows his uncanny ability to make the crowd hate him more and more by the minute, stopping to pose and trade insults with the fans, and he methodically makes his way to ringside.] TD: Quite a different reception for the Showstopper! SR: This guy is the only thing worth caring about in this match!  This     will be very simple, if Kick-Me simply lets Lebec do his thing,     he'll pick up the easiest victory of his career!  Otherwise, wake     me when it's over! [The Showstopper continues to jaw with some fans at ringside, not even bothering to look at Quigley, as Sparkplug continues with the intro.] SL: And their opponents... at a total combined weight of 475 pounds,     "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare and Marty Warnett! SR: Hey Dross, that announced weight must be wrong, now that Warnett's lost a few pounds of hair. ["Cold Gin" by Kiss plays as Shakespeare and the disfigured Warnett head to ringside together.  Both stalk to the ring with a look of determination, each man barely acknowledging the other.  Finally they enter the ring, and engage in a long staredown with Chris Quigley.] TD: I think this might be the first time two former Incontinental     champions have ever been on the same team, Steve, and these guys     look ready! SR: No, Dross, Warnett looks even more like a total moron than usual. That hairstyle is just _so_ passe. You know, I don't think this match will inspire me to come up with a single original thought!  Hell, this one is over before it started! [Noticing all three men in the ring have their attention on one another, the Showstopper abruptly stops his chat with the fans to slide under the ropes and into the ring, and bludgeons Warnett with a double-axe handle to the back, and the referee rings the bell to start the match.  Quigley and Shakespeare move to go at each other, but as the ref determines Lebec and Warnett to be the legal men, breaks them up and orders them to their corners, as Lebec works over the fallen Warnett. TD: As we expected it's breaking down early in this match, with Lebec     getting in a cheap shot to start things off with Marty Warnett! SR: Walnut was caught napping again.  Actually, that's a good idea... [Lebec picks up Warnett, and sends him to the ropes.  Lebec catches Marty with a high elevation back body drop...but Warnett lands on his feet! While Lebec celebrates his apparent success, Warnett makes a quick tag to Billy Shakespeare.  Quigley's attempts at a warning fall on deaf ears, as Lebec turns around expecting to find a fallen Warnett, only to be met by the feet of Billy Shakespeare, knocking Lebec down with a big dropkick!] TD: Lebec's showboating once again gets the best of him, as Shakespeare and Warnett seem to be working well as a team early on! SR: Don't worry about Simon Lebec, he's just getting warmed up.  Sometimes it takes him ten minutes just to break a sweat! [Shakespeare goes for a quick cover, but gets barely a one count.  Billy makes a quick tag back to Warnett, and goes back to Lebec.  Shakespeare picks up Lebec and sends him to the ropes, while Warnett runs off the opposite side.  Shakespeare catches Lebec on the rebound with a drop toe hold, while Warnett comes off the ropes and hits Lebec with an elbow to the back of the head!  Surprised pop from the crowd, as Quigley stands fuming on the apron.] TD: Warnett and Shakespeare almost looking like a career tag team here     tonight! SR: Well, you know a good big man will always beat a good little man. TD: What is that supposed to mean?! SR: I really don't care! [Warnett holds a headlock on the downed Lebec, as the crowd starts to settle down.  Gradually, both men make their way to their feet, Warnett still holding the headlock.  Suddenly, Lebec slips a hand down to his legs, and delivers a surprising back suplex, that stuns the Welshman. Quigley screams for the tag, but Lebec prefers to showboat in the ring, telling the world how great he is.] TD: The Quigley/Lebec team is already breaking apart.  Simon Lebec needs     to make the tag to the fresh man, not parade around the ring! SR: Dross, Lebec knows he's got a worse partner than Triple M in Kick Me, and the only chance he has in this match is to do it all himself!  So the least he can do is have a little fun in the process! [Lebec finally returns to Warnett as he starts to make his way to his feet.  Unfortunately for Simon, Warnett has had more than enough time to recouperate, and seems plenty fired up, as he catches the laxidasical Lebec with a series of punches that back him into the corner.  Warnett reaches down and picks up Lebec, sitting him on the second turnbuckle. Warnett then immediately leaps to the second turnbuckle, grabs Lebec, and bridges back, executing a snap belly-to-belly superplex!  Big pop, as Lebec writhes in agony, and Quigley gets angrier still! TD: What a manuever by Marty Warnett!  If Chris Quigley doesn't get into     this match soon, it could be over in a hurry! SR: But talk about your showboating, look at that idiot Walnut!  Hey     Warty, don't count your chickens before they hatch! TD: I thought you learned your lesson with chickens! [Warnett briefly struts around the ring, mocking the Showstopper's style. Warnett then heads back over to Lebec, and grabs a leg.  In an even more mocking tone, Warnett reaches for Lebec's leg, and shouts, "Now... we go... to school!  WHOOOO!"  With that, Warnett applies a step-over-toe hold, and then...] TD: Marty Warnett's going for the Antagonist! SR: That lousy thief! [Warnett is actually able to turn Lebec over, but Simon is too close to the ropes, and the ref orders Warnett to break the hold.  Warnett holds to four, dangerously close to five, but finally does break the hold.  Content that he's done enough for now, Warnett moves to tag in Shakespeare, while Quigley is absolutely livid in his corner.  Shakespeare comes in and picks up the fallen Lebec, and whips him to the ropes...] TD: And Chris Quigley just nailed his own partner in the back of the head! SR: You see now what lowdown scum this Kick Me is?!  Lebec should sue the IIWF for making him team with this maniac! TD: Quigley hits the ring and goes right after Billy Shakespeare!  Lebec     starting to come to, and the referee is ordering him out!  I guess that blow was considered a tag! SR: Aw hell, I was right the first time.  Who cares? [Quigley is the proverbial "house of fire" in the ring, peppering Shakespeare with punches that move him back into the far corner. Quigley sends Billy across the ring to the opposite corner, and catches Shakespeare on the rebound with a flying elbow.  As Quigley moves in to pick up Shakespeare, Warnett enters to try and break things up.  But Quigley sees him, grabs Warnett by what's left of his hair as well, and delivers a double noggin-knocker to a big crowd pop!  Quigley finishes off Warnett with a big enziguiri that knocks him out of the ring, as the crowd responds further.  Meanwhile, the Showstopper has taken offense to a fan at ringside, and is having a heated conversation with him while standing on the apron.] TD: Chris Quigley seems to be doing it all right now, and the way things     are going with his partner, he's got to try and finish off Shakespeare in a hurry! SR: The only true loser in this match is me, because I have to watch it! [Quigley goes back to Shakespeare, getting behind him and laying him out with a nice Russian Leg Sweep.  Quigley makes the lateral press, but only gets a two count.  Quigley goes to the corner and sits on the second turnbuckle, after which the Sychopaths start chanting "Hitman!  Hitman!" Quigley scowls, then goes up to the top rope!  Quigley goes for it all with a flying legdrop, but Shakespeare moves out the way, as Quigley crashes to the mat!] TD: I'm not sure if that was Quigley's original plan, but it definitely     backfired! SR: You say something? [Warnett is still nursing his wounds on the floor, and Lebec still jaws with the fan from the apron, as several middle fingers are exchanged, among other things.  Both men slowly make their way to their feet at the same time.  Shakespeare appears to have the advantage, and attempts to whip Quigley into the ropes, but Quigley reverses, and catches the returning Shakespeare with a kick to the gut, doubling Billy over. Quigley uses this opportunity to position his opponent...] TD: Chris Quigley going for a piledriver! SR: Who knows what'll happen if we scramble Pukespeare's brains any     further! [Quigley attempts the piledriver, but Shakespeare uses the momentum to flip completely over Quigley, and land on his feet behind him, to a stunned crowd pop!  Quigley stands momentarily in disbelief at this before turning around, but Shakespeare has steadied himself to deliver a surprise dropkick to Quigley.  Shakespeare doesn't quite catch all of Quigley's jaw, so he doesn't get enough on it to floor Quigley, but he does get enough to start Quigley stumbling backwards rapidly out of control.  Quigley backs toward his own corner, which would normally be a good thing, except that his partner Simon Lebec still has his back to the ring, and doesn't see the incoming Quigley.  In an incredible fluke, the back of Quigley's head slams into the back of Lebec's head, sending Simon hurtling to the floor, and Quigley staggering forward, clinching his eyes shut and holding the back of his head in agony.  Sensing the opportunity, Shakespeare catches the incoming Quigley in a small package...] TD: One... two... three!  Unbelievable!  Billy Shakespeare has just pinned Chris Quigley again! SR: Only Kick Me could knock himself out with his own partner's head!     No doubt about it, we had many a loser wrestling in this match,     but Chris Quigley proved himself the king of the crowd! SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners, the team of Billy     Shakespeare and Marty Warnett! [Chris Quigley begins to shake off the cobwebs.  Once he hears the official annoucement, Quigley goes into a complete rage!  He finds Lebec, who has just now gotten up the outside, and runs right at him, diving through the ropes and flattening Lebec with a huge plancha!  Quigley gets on top and starts peppering the fallen Lebec with punches to the forehead.  Meanwhile, Warnett, who had been biding his time by the apron, sees a chance to get his licks in, picking up a nearby chair and clocking the unsuspecting Quigley over the head.] TD: Oh no, the match is over, there's no need for any of this! SR: Hey, watching these idiots beat the crap out of each other is     the best thing that could happen!  Hey, guys, take no prisoners,     either of you! [Marty goes to work on Quigley, kicking and punching him while he's down.  He then goes over and pulls away a nearby piece of pading, exposing the concrete floor underneath.  Warnett picks up Quigley, drags him back to the area, and bodyslams Quigley on the concrete! Warnett stands over Quigley, spreading his arms out to the mixed pop from the crowd, unaware that Simon Lebec has recovered, and has the chair from earlier in his hands, clubbering Warnett in the head, sending him down in a heap.  Lebec immediately moves over to Warnett, turns him over, grabs the leg, and quickly applies the Antagnoist to Warnett on the floor!] TD: Antagonist on Warnett!  Somebody's got to stop this before somebody     gets seriously hurt! SR: Hey, I don't see any blood yet!  It's never serious until we get     some blood!  Maybe I need to get in there and make it serious! [Lebec screams, "That's the way you do it punk!"  while Warnett's face contorts in agony.  All this time, Billy Shakespeare has stood in the ring, taking in the scene around him.  Finally, sensing what needs to be done, Shakespeare himself heads to the floor, picks up the same chair from the other times, and clobbers Lebec in the back, breaking the hold.  Big pop from the crowd!] TD: Shakespeare comes down to his partner's aid!  And finally security     is on its way! SR: Damn, just when it was getting interesting! [The Jobber Justice Squad and other security forces head to ringside, as Quigley has come to and goes after Shakespeare, while Warnett heads back to Lebec.  After a lot of work, the security forces manage to separate the two teams, and attempts to herd Quigley and Lebec back to the dressing room.  Both manage to escape, and another minor skirmish between the two begins before security finally regains control and gets them backstage.  Meanwhile, Warnett and Shakespeare look at each other for a while, before Warnett reaches over, grabs Shakespeare's hand, and lifts it high in the air!  The crowd cheers, as "Little Willy" plays over the sound system, as Warnett and Shakespeare walk back to the dressing room together.] TD: Well, nonetheless a big victory for Billy Shakespeare and Marty Warnett here tonight! SR: Just goes to show that you don't pull on the Lone Ranger's cape, you     don't spit in the wind, and you _never_ team with Chris Quigley! TD: And you never go to Simon Lebec for a haircut. Okay, folks, the action just keeps on coming here tonight. Coming right up we have a match that's sure to be high-impact all the way, with two of the IIWF's premier powerhouses colliding -- Creed takes on Otto Verhoeven. SR: Well, Dross, there is no doubt in my mind that Otto can overpower Creed. The kid might have some fancy moves and big muscles, but Otto has a tremendous size advantage, and he's simply too big to lift up. Creed is gonna have a lot of trouble when he goes for moves like his flying powerbomb, and that's gonna make all the difference in this matchup. TD: We'll soon see. Let's get back up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Creed vs. Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: RD [The spotlight focuses on Sparkplug Lee in center ring, who blinks and stumbles blindly about as his eyes adjust to the illumination.] RA: Ladies and Gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, hailing from Essen, Germany, weighing in at 340 lbs; accompanied to the ring by Nurse Heidi and Lord Byron; here is Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven! [The massive frame of Otto Verhoeven appears in the arena entranceway. Immediately, the fans in attendance react with deafening jeers. Otto lumbers down the aisle, his eyes fixed in fierce focus, ignoring the reaction of the crowd. Nurse Heidi and Lord Byron follow closely behind. Heidi sits on the ring ropes, flashing a bit of thigh for the benefit of the male members of the audience, holding the ropes open for Otto to climb through.] RA: And his opponent! [the crowd already begins to cheer] Hailing from Oakland, California and weighing in at 276 lbs; accompanied to the ring by Mad Dog Watkins and Ike Sampson; here is the man known as Creed! [The lights dim and a red spotlight beams down at the entranceway. Creed steps out into the spotlight, dressed all in jet black, his red glove and knee brace in stark contrast to his tights and skin tone. The face heat from the crowd is tremendous as the powerful rookie heads down the aisle, Ike Sampson and Mad Dog Watkins following closely behind dressed in faded jeans and plain white T-shirts. Creed climbs up the ringsteps and into the squared circle, while Sampson and Watkins retire to his corner. The fans begin a chant of "Creed... Creed... Creed!" and the young man climbs up onto the second turn buckle with his red-gloved fist held high in the air, drinking in the positive crowd response. Otto Verhoeven waits impatiently for the bell, and gives Creed a contemptuous stare from across the ring for his playing to the fans.] TD: The tension is clearly evident between these two camps, Steve Roberts. It all started when Lord Byron engineered that heinous attack on Creed's knee, from which some say he will never recover fully; and since that time events have only elevated. Last week in New Orleans we almost saw a chaotic brawl explode between the European Alliance and the so-called "Black Pack", for want of a better term. One wonders if the two sides will be able to keep their antipathy under control long enough to witness a clean result to the match. I have my doubts. SR: Well, Timbo, there are gonna be a lot of questions answered in this bout, perhaps most interestingly, the problem of Creed's knee. What I'm waiting to see is, will he stand tall and strong and bring the fight to the "Butcher"? Or will his knee finally collapse? Will Creed be heading down to D.C. terminal after the card and start begging for change with the rest of the loser cripples? TD: Well, that's one way to put it, I guess... [The two gladiators limber up and stare at each other across the ring. Ding! Ding! Ding! Upon hearing the bell, Creed immediately places himself in center ring and offers his hands to Otto Verhoeven in a test of power. Verhoeven scoffs with laughter and motions to accept. The two lock knuckles and immdeiately bring all their weight to bear, each striving to force their opponent down, each determined to prove themselves the stronger man. Otto, with his four inch height advantage and greater bulk, appears to be exerting the greater power, but Creed clenches his teeth and digs his heels in.] TD: I don't doubt Creed's courage in forcing a test of strength right at the start of the match, but I do question his wisdom. For all his power, Creed is still by far the smaller man of the two. SR: I thought all the macho posturing was supposed to have been eliminated from professional wrestling! I thought this was the era of talent and skills! There's none of that going on right here! If Otto had pretended to accept the contest and then kicked Creed in the nuts, now that would have been skill! [Otto Verhoeven's eyes are bulging out of his head under the strain as he bears down with all his might on the smaller Creed, who despite the pressure, is managing to keep the power test dead-locked. Suddenly, very subtely, and only just percievable to a keen observor, Creed's braced knee wobbles slightly, as if it were not quite capable of withstanding the pressure. Gradually, Creed is beginning to be inched down. The crowd pops anxiously, hoping to see their hero power back up, but to no avail. Creed drops to one knee. A look of triumph is flaming in Otto Verhoeven's eyes as he looms over the failing Creed, expending a last surge of strength to make him cry uncle. The crowd begins another chant of "Creed... Creed... Creed!" Upon hearing the fans chanting his name, Creed is suddenly imbued with an inner fire. An expression of determined fury colours his face, and he begins to struggle with all of his strength and will.] TD: Just look at the depths of endurance and power Creed possesses, Steve Roberts! He's powering up to his feet! SR: Are you kidding, Dross? Didn't you see his knee buckle? Creed is finished! [The crowd pops heatedly as Creed gradually forces his way back up. Otto Verhoeven's face wears an expression of surprise, with Creed, against all the odds, regaining his footing. Bored with the power game, Otto decides to boot Creed hard in the mid-section, breaking the grip and doubling the young black man over. The fans jeer the "Butcher's" actions, but the behemoth simply delivers a second big boot, this time up high to Creed's head, propelling the rookie backwards. Otto wades in, reigning down blows on the smaller man, hitting him with powerful combinations to the head and body. Creed is forced back against the ropes, but Verhoeven refuses to relent his assault, pummelling the red-gloved rookie until he is forced to cover and crouch. Otto winds up one massive paw, and delivers a tremendous uppercut to the point of Creed's chin, sending him flying through the ropes to the outside! The fans give a shocked pop and Verhoeven pumps his fists to the air.] SR: Otto Verhoeven just kicked Creed's ass Timmy boy! If this was a boxing match the fight would have been stopped right there! TD: But this isn't boxing, Steve. This is wrestling, where the athletes are sturdier, the matches are tougher, and... Look, Creed is getting straight back onto his feet! [Mad Dog Watkins and Ike Sampson had been concernedly helping Creed get to his feet, but the red-gloved rookie shrugs them off, determined to stand by himself and take the fight back to Verhoeven. He climbs through the ropes and glares furiously at the "Butcher". He slams his fist into his chest and yells "C'mon fatboy! Bring it on!" Otto eyes Creed half in surprise, half in bemusement. Creed pounds his chest again. "I said bring it! What you waiting for fatboy!?"] SR: Who's he callin' a fatboy? TD: Well, Otto Verhoeven's physique isn't quite as defined as Creed's, but it seems a bit of a stretch to call him fat. I think Creed just wants to rile him up into doing something clumsy. [Otto suddenly comes charging in at Creed with a running double axehandle, but the rookie ducks aside at the last moment and Otto strikes the corner buckles hard. Creed gets back in the center of the ring and bounces from foot to foot like a boxer. "C'mon fatboy, do it again!" Otto charges in for a second time, but once again Creed agilely steps aside, and Verhoeven has too much momentum to prevent himself from slamming into the opposite turnbuckles. The "Butcher" turns around with a black look of rage on his face, more frustrated than actually hurt. Creed raises his dukes and beckons to Verhoeven to come at him. The "Butcher" wades into the fight, swinging slow but powerful punches. Creed, however, is able to slip most of them or catch them on his arms, taking a defensive posture, occasionally catching Otto with a snaking left jab.] TD: Interesting. Creed seems to be drawing Verhoeven in and then adopting a strong defense. For some reason, he's not going all out. SR: He's choking, Tim Dross! He's choking with fear and he doesn't know what to do about it! TD: I don't think so... Creed appears to know exactly what he's doing, I just don't know what that is... [Otto manages to catch Creed a good left hook on the jaw, and once again starts raining in the blows unopposed. Verhoeven drives his fists into Creed's gut, and a testamount to the German's power, red welts are appearing on Creed's arms and body where the shots have landed. The "Butcher" gets in two thunderous shots to Creed's temple, and once again the rookie falls punch-drunkenly on the ropes. Otto winds up to deliver the finishing blow, but suddenly Creed begins to weave and bob his head from side to side like Muhammed Ali, almost as if he were taunting the "Butcher", psyching him out!] SR: What is all that crap with the head? TD: Hold on a minute, I've figured it out! Creed is using the rope-a-dope on Otto Verhoeven! SR: Now Tim, I don't like Creed at all, but I don't think it's fair to insinuate that he takes drugs. TD: No, Steve, the rope-a-dope! He's using the old Muhammed Ali technique! He's taking all this punishment on purpose; he's allowing Otto to dictate the pace, because he knows a constant offensive will wear the big man out! If Creed can withstand this assault long enough, Verhoeven will begin to falter and Creed will be able to take control with ease. That's how Muhammed Ali beat George Foreman for the World heavyweight championship back in 1984. SR: Oh, now I see what you mean. That's a very dangerous strategy! TD: It certainly is a risky measure, Steve; but it just might work; it just might get the job done! [Otto Verhoeven drives in that last blow, but Creed ducks underneath it and clinches the "Butcher" around the waist. He twists around, musters up his strength, and then executes an overhead belly-to-belly suplex! The crowd pops at this show of power on Creed's part, and Otto comes down heavy on the canvas. Creed immediately slips atop of him for the pin: 1 - 2 - Otto kicks out. Straight away, Creed springs to his feet and backs off, forcing Otto to bring the offensive to him.] TD: We almost had a pin there, and what you might call the first actual wrestling maneuver of the match. Verhoeven seems only too eager to throw conventional wrestling out of the window and just brawl with Creed. SR: Well, that's what the "Butcher" does best, Dross. Remember Otto Verhoeven was recently voted the best brawler in the world in a fan poll, and used to be a contending heavyweight boxer some years ago. Creed can pretend to be Muhammed Ali all he wants to in this bout, but he'll never outpunch Otto Verhoeven! [Otto Verhoeven gets to his feet and lunges at Creed, grabbing him by the throat with his big, meaty hand. Verhoeven holds Creed out at arm's length, his longer reach preventing Creed from striking out at him and breaking free. He tightens his grip, squeezing with all his might, choking the life out of the red-gloved rookie. The ref yells at Otto to break the hold, but Verhoeven just ignores him, intent on wreaking as much damage on Creed's throat as possible. Creed gags and grimaces, scrabbling at his throat to break Verhoeven's grip, but he cannot seem to get free. The ref threatens Verhoeven with a DQ if does not release the chokehold immediately, and with an enraged growl, Otto hauls Creed off his feet by the throat and hurls him across the ring, all with one hand! The crowd gives a chocked pop at this show of strength. Creed thuds into the canvas, and scrambles to get up to his feet again.] SR: This is more like it! Otto is well-versed in the grey areas of the rules, and he took advantage right there to establish some control in the match. There's nothing against that in Steve Roberts' rulebook! TD: That's the rulebook with three hundred blank pages, right? [Otto charges in, not willing to give Creed any chance to recover. He immediately begins to stomp brutally on his fallen opponent, indiscrimantly laying the boot into any part of Creed's body until the rookie is rolling on the mat in agony. Verhoeven hauls Creed up, balances him across his shoulder, and charges across the ring, blasting the red-gloved rookie with a bone-shattering running powerslam!] SR: You've finished that chump now! Go for the pin, Otto! [Otto gets up to his feet, apparently judging that it will take more than that to put away Creed. The "Butcher's" breath is coming quite heavily, the toll of the battle weighing on his shoulders, his constant offensive wearing him down fast. Creed is motionless on the canvas, but Otto drags him up once again. He clinches his big arms around Creed's body, lifting him up, only to bring him crashing down to the mat with a splintering gut-wrench powerbomb! Creed is spreadeagled on the canvas, completely motionless. Mad Dog Watkins and Ike Sampson look on concerned from ringside. Some of the fans in the audience turn their heads away, knowing that Creed's defeat is now inevitable. Otto goes for the cover: 1 - 2 - 3! Huge pop! Before Verhoeven can celebrate, the ref shakes his head and points to Creed's leg, which he had placed across the bottom rope just before the final count. The referee orders the match to continue, and the fans breathe a sigh of relief. Otto looks angry, but knows there is no course for it but to keep going.] TD: Otto Verhoeven must be terribly disappointed. He looked sure for the victory just then, but Creed outfoxed him once again. I have to say, the "Butcher" is starting to look immensely worn down. Maybe Creed's rope-a-dope tactics are starting to work. SR: Ha! Do you think Creed looks like he's in any better condition, Dross? I bet every bone in his body is crying the blues after that gut-wrrench powerbomb! [Otto Verhoeven goes to drag Creed up once again, but his fatigue makes his grip sloppy, and the red gloved rookie slips under his guard and drives a knee hard into the "Butcher's" midsection. Otto grunts and staggers back. Creed stuns him with a pair of straight rights, and the crowd begins to cheer, rallying behind their surging hero! Creed winds up his gloved left fist, and belts Verhoeven hard in the mouth, sending the former World champion back against the ropes! The fans are starting to go wild, as Creed is finally going on the offensive!] SR: Loaded glove! Loaded glove! Stop the bout and check that red glove, referee! TD: Settle down, Steve. Creed is too honourable a guy to resort to such a low tactic as loading his glove. SR: So _you_ say, Tim Dross! Personally, I trust the guy about as much as I trust the "Smooth" to keep his hands off Steve Summer during a power black-out. [Suddenly Mad Dog Watkins appears behind Otto Verhoeven outside the ring, and leaps up and drills a shot into the back of his head! Otto lurches forward in pain and surprise, and then whips around in a fury, taking a swipe at Watkins, who dodges out of harm's way. Immediately, Creed takes hold of Verhoeven's singlet from behind and rolls him up in a small package off the ropes. Surprisingly, the patriotic D.C. crowd cheers these questionable tactics, perhaps believing that anything goes against an alliance of Europeans, and the ref begins to count: 1 - 2 - Otto barely manages to kick out. Immediately the big man is on his feet and complaining to the referee, who apparently has noticed nothing amiss. As the "Butcher" complains, Creed immediately pulls him down from behind and rolls him up for the pin once again! The fans cheer even louder, enjoying the sight of the European Alliance recieving a taste of their own medicine. Lord Byron yells at them to "Shut up you damned ignorant peasants!" The referee's hand begins to slap the mat: 1 - 2 - Otto kicks out just before the third count to a dissapointed gasp from the crowd.] SR: Did you see that, Dross?! The "Black Pack" are nothing but a bunch of blatant cheats and these idiot fans are supporting them! TD: Well, those tactics were slightly questionable, but I suppose the nature of this confict won't have it any other way. This is two opposing factions at war in the IIWF, Steve; and in times of war, anything goes. [Both men get to their feet. Otto Verhoeven comes in swinging, but his offensive has deteriorated from the hard pace of the match. Creed soon has the better of him in the punch-out. He grips his red-glove around Verhoeven's throat, and the fans give a tremendous pop, knowing what to expect next! Creed heaves the massive bulk of Verhoeven into the air, whirls around 180 degrees, and then slams him into the mat with tremendous velocity! The fans go crazy! Creed begins to drag his almost finished opponent to the ropes, ready for his flying powerbomb.] TD: What tremendous power displayed from the man known as Creed! Verhoeven is worn right down to the bone, he just took that spinning chokeslam; the end of this bout must be only moments away! [Lord Byron recognises the desperation necessary to save the match for the European Alliance now, and rushes into the ring wielding his brass topped cane. Mad Dog Watkins, who was wisely watching for just such an event, charges into the ring almost simultaneously. Byron meets him in the center of the ring by cracking him across the head with the cane, which snaps under the impact, and knocks Watkins flat. The official immediately signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: Ha! I knew Creed didn't have what it takes to put Verhoeven away! TD: Well, Steve, it wasn't for Lord Byron's machinations, all the evidence points towards Creed scoring the pinfall victory... no, wait! [As Creed attempts to get Verhoeven up on the buckles, the "Butcher" shifts his weight and comes crashing down on Creed into the mat. The red-gloved rookie is pinned beneath him and Otto begins pummeling away. Ike Sampson heads into the ring hot on the heels of Mad Dog Watkins, and takes the fallen dog's place by pummelling Lord Byron with big looping shots, who is still clutching his broken cane. Verhoeven gets up off Creed and clotheslines big Ike from behind, sending the rookie stumbling. Lord Byron charges back in and rams his broken cane into Ike's midsection.] TD: Well, the match is over, but it looks like the real action has only just begun! SR: All right! Now we get to see the Euro's send the "Black Pack" packing! [Mad Dog Watkins shakes his bald head, trying hard to clear the cobwebs. The European Alliance continue to work over Ike Sampson, much to the jeers of the fans. Watkins finally gets up to his feet and runs in to help out his young protege! The audience roars with approval as Watkins plants a fierce headbutt in the centre of Otto Verhoeven's face! Creed gets up across the ring and charges in, belting Lord Byron with bolo punches! Ike Sampson gets into the fray again, and combines forces with Watkins to double-clothesline Otto Verhoeven from out of the ring! Almost simultaneously, Creed lands a powerful uppercut to the chin of Lord Byron, sending him flipping over the top ropes! The crowd goes crazy as the alliance of black men cleans house! Otto Verhoeven shakes his fist up at the ring and yells in German. Lord Byron, however, puts his hand on his allies shoulder and guides him away from ringside, although he himself looks furiously angry at this turn of events. Ike Sampson, Mad Dog Watkins and Creed exchange handclasps in the ring as the crowd continues to cheer.] RA: [his voice being drowned out from the noise of the crowd.] The result of this bout has been declared a no-contest, due to outside interference from both corners! TD: There you have it folks! The conflict between the European Alliance and the so-called "Black Pack" has only just begun. This time, Creed, Sampson and Watkins were the clear winners of the battle, if not in the record books, at least in the minds of the fans. SR: It's only one battle in the war, Dross; and I know for a fact that Otto Verhoeven and Lord Byron will be taking vows of revenge in the locker rooms even as we speak. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside as the crowd finally begins to settle once more.] TD: What a match that was, and we're going to keep that throttle wide open as we head for the third of tonight's Syndicate matches. This next match should be an interesting mix of styles.  Unlike the last match, which was a knock-down, drag-out brawl, we have a Muay Thai kick-boxer against a high-flying daredevil cruiserweight. SR: I don't know about interesting, but it should be painfully brief! TD: Oh, I wouldn't sell Tiger Claw short, Steve, he is one of... SR: [interrupting] Watch it, Dross!  You know all too well what I meant! TD: Our very own Sparkplug Lee is set to make the announcements, let's get down to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tiger Claw vs. Derek Mota =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: MB [Lee, with a brief smile at the crowd, shuffles his crib cards quickly and brings the mic to his mouth] SL: Ladies and gentlemen...  The following contest is for one fall. Introducing first, at a weight of 220 pounds, from Bangkok, Thailand, representing the Syndicate and accompanied to the ring by Brian Lau, here is "The Thai Terror"... Tiger Claw! [Big heel pop as the Muay Thai Master makes his way down the aisle accompanied by his manager Brian Lau, to the chaotic sounds of traditional Thai music.  A well-tanned man in a suit breaks through the curtains, carrying a set of pads and a pair of boots he rushes past the Synicate duo and enters the ring.  After a brief chat with Sparkplug, Lee makes an announcement..] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the man to my left is Poutine Janois, head of the IIWF's Special Concerns Committee! [Mixed Pop!] As announced by Mr Janois last night in this very building, Tiger Claw will _not_ be allowed to compete unless he wears regulation footwear...  [Pop!] ...and shin guards!  [Bigger Pop!] [Lau throws a look of complete disgust at Janois, enters the ring and begins a heated argument with the Canadian IIWF executive. Claw, however, snatches the items from Janois' grasp and tosses them from the ring after eyeing them with abhorrence!] SR: This is disgusting, Dross! TD: I agree, Steve. Poutine is only looking out for the welfare of the other competitors. Claw should accept the decision with good grace and wear the boots and guards. SR: No, Dross! I mean the way the executives of the IIWF are victimising Claw because of the fighting style. They'll be forcing Verhoeven to wear gloves because he has a boxing background and a hard punch, or forcing me to wear a gag because they don't like what I have to say! TD: Now there's an idea.. SR: Watch it, Dross! [The argument between Lau and Janois obviously does not end amicably, and with some frustration, Janois turns to Lee and speaks with him before turning back to Lau with a smug look on his face...] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, I have been informed by Poutine Janois that unless Tiger Claw returns to the ring and wears the regulation items, as sanctioned by the IIWF Special Concerns Committee in order to protect the other wrestlers of the IIWF, he will be indefinitely suspended from active competition! [Claw looks aghast at Lee, then at Janois, then at Lau and inally at the thrown boots and guards on the mat as the crowd issue a huge pop!  Lau looks set to begin to verbally berate Janois again but thinks better of it and reluctantly begins to help Claw on with the boots!  Poutine Janois oversees the lacing of the boots and strapping on of the pads as Lee prepares his introductions again..] SL: And his opponent... weighing in at 224 pounds... from Toronto, Ontario, Canada... Derek Mota! [A surprisingly loud pop ripples through the crowd as Mota appears at the head of the aisle.  The crowd reaction quickly turns negative when they notice he wears a "Genesis Generation" t-shirt.  With the exception of the Sychopaths, who begin to jump into life at the sight of a long chain attached to his wrists!  He quickly walks down the aisle as the sounds of Pantera's "The Great Southern Trendkill" echoes through the centre before entering the ring, grabbing the mic from Lee and addressing his opponent and Mr Janois with a smirk on his face.. ] DM: Nice boots, Claw!  [Pop, as Claw, with hatred in his eyes, tries to struggle past Lau and Janois, who are still tying his laces.] DM: Now I betcha wondering what I'm doin' with these Chains aren't you?  Well, with you bein' a 'fossil' an all, and havin' to wear them boots for the first time, I don't want you whining about no unfair advantages when I beat you tonight.  So I thought I'd try to balance the scales and slow "Built for Speed" Derek Mota down a little!  If you're not too _yellow_, I say we turn this little dance into a CHAIN MATCH!  [Pop!] TD: Oh my! SR: Little Mota's got spunk, I'll give him that much, Dross. DM: C'mon Claw, you wanna show me your infighting?  You wanna show me you got?  You think you're one of the toughest guys around, then put these around your wrists!  Come on, man, just me and you, I'll take care of the henchmen later. [Janois confers quickly with the referee and Lau as Claw gets to his feet in obvious discomfort.  A quick consensus of opinion is sought by Janois who eventually nods his agreement with the stipulation of the match to the referee and with a final check of the boots and guards, leaves the ring along with Lee and Brian Lau to a sizeable pop.  Mota tosses the mic after Lee who successfully catches it but ends up juggling it like a slippery eel for a second or two with clear embarrassment showing on his face.] TD: A popular decision with the fans.  I'm not so sure Claw should have agreed to this match.  He won't have trained for a chain match and he is in quite some discomfort with those boots and shin guards? SR: What did I tell you?  Janois is trying to damage Claw's career.  He takes away half of his offensive firepower with those guards, then allows Mota to talk him into this impromptu stipulation.  I tell ya, it's looking more and more dirty at the top while ol' Spreadbury is out of the loop, [turning to the crowd] isn't it morons? [The crowd behind him all point at their t-shirts and say in unison: "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!"] TD: Unbeliveable. [The referee takes the other end of the chain and attaches it to the wrist of Tiger Claw, who seems more than a little distracted as he stamps his feet to try to get comfortable in the boots.  With the wristbands attached and secured, the ref signals for the bell.  A still distracted Claw is immediately dragged, by the chain, into a clothesline by Mota which flattens the Bangkok native.  Mota begins to whip the downed Claw around the head with a five-foot length of chain, much to the delight of the Sychopaths and a smile from Joe Petrow.] TD: Ouch!  That has gotta hurt! SR: The master of the understatement, as usual! [Claw rolls onto his front to protect his face, lashes out with a kick to Mota's leg, and pulls on the chain to unbalance him.  As Mota stumbles, Claw sweeps his legs away and climbs to his feet, Mota also quickly gets to his feet and they both begin to tug on the chain, trying to gain an advantage.  Claw begins to wrap the chain around and around his fist, slowly moving closer to his Canadian opponent, when Claw rather slowly flashes a kick into Mota's mid-section which is easily caught, only for Claw to spin around and deliver a crushing spinning heel kick which lifts Mota from his feet and drops him on his behind. Pop!] SR: That was a pretty quick move for a "fossil," Dross! TD: I agree, Mota may live to regret that comment. SR: He _may_, Dross, but by the look in Claw's eyes, I doubt it! [Claw drags Mota up by his long black hair and whips him into a corner where he slumps against the buckles.  Claw follows in, hooking his hands around the back of the Canadian's head and begins to plough hard knees into Derek's ribs, stomach and upper-thighs.  Derek tries to cover up but the blows are heavy and frequent and leave him hurting.  Claw steps back and with a scowl at his hated foe, flies out with a Savatte Kick which...] TD: Misses!  He straddled himself on the top buckle! [Mota uses the moment to side-step the attempted kick and with a pirouette, wraps the chain around Claw's neck and hurdles the top rope to the outside, dragging Claw down across the top rope into a sort of stun-gun manoeuvre!  Pop!  As Tiger collapses across the ropes, looking for a breather, Mota notices Brian Lau right next to him, dives toward him, only to be pulled up short by the chain.  Derek looks up at Claw draped across the ropes and reluctantly climbs back in.  Once back in, Mota hooks Claw and bodyslams him to the mat hard and drops a quick elbow that Claw rolls away from, leaving Mota to crack his elbow hard. Claw gets to his feet and seeing Mota sat nursing his elbow, swings out a tremendous shin-kick to the head of the fallen cruiser-weight which... barely staggers Mota!] TD: The look of shock on Tiger Claw's face says it all, Steve! He fully expected that kick to waste Mota, but as you can see, Mota is almost on his feet already! SR: Utter disgrace. Next they'll be banning the use of the ropes and outlawing chokeholds. TD: Steve, chokeho... never mind. [As Tiger Claw absently shuffles his feet inside the boots and looks incredulously at Mota, the Canadian gets to his feet and with an arrogant smile, punches Tiger in the face, staggering him.  Grabbing the Thai's braided pony-tail, Mota follows up with a couple of nasty-looking forearm smashes and a headbutt that drops Claw to the mat.  Mota sits across Claw's chest and begins to drag the chain across his forehead and eyes viciously!  It only takes a few seconds to turn Claw's shaved head into a bloody mess, which has Lau screaming at the ref to intervene and the Sychopaths screaming "Hardcore Heaven!" repeatedly!  As the blood begins to run freely into Claw's eyes, it seems to break him from his reverie and with a struggle he manages to free an arm and throw some hard punches into the ribs hurt earlier by his knee flurry.  Mota is forced to cover up and escape from the stinging punches, which allows Claw time to get to his feet and, after wiping some of the blood from his eyes with his braid, he goes back on the offensive.  Mota is forced back into a corner by a flurry of sharp shin-kicks to the ribs and upper-thighs, one particular kick catches Mota heavily on the upper leg and leaves him reeling into the corner, limping.] TD: Even with the padding on, those kicks of Tiger Claw's are still very effective, Steve. SR: Not so loud, Dross!  If Janois hears you, he will have Claw wrestle in sponge leggings! TD: Steve, those legs of his are dangerous! SR: So is that rat you pretend is a hairpiece! TD: Don't go there, Steve. SR: I wouldn't dare. Morton told me it bites! [Claw follows Mota in and with a length of chain still wrapped around his fist, lets loose a stunning series of hooks, uppercuts, and crosses to the head and body at a dizzying speed.  The ref, who had been somewhat of a fifth wheel in this match, stepped into this barrage to put a halt to it and very nearly took a shot to the head himself but Claw managed to stop it just in time!  This is all the distraction Mota needed, he reaches over the ref's shoulders and rakes Claw across the face much to the chagrin of the ref.  Pushing him out of the way, Mota whips the chain into his face and uses the distraction to jump at him and lariat the Asian with the chain!  Mota picks him up quickly and with a hook of the head, he drives him to the mat with a vicious DDT!  With Confidence oozing from his very pores now, the Canadian slips out under the bottom rope, pulling Claw towards the corner post, then amazingly, unlocks the chain from his wrist and attaches Claw's other arm to the ringpost with the wrist-buckle! Heel Pop!] TD: No!  This is wrong!  Mota shouldn't be able to slip out of the chain! SR: Should have guessed the arrogant pup would have a second key! [Mota, getting on the apron, begins to hammer the defenceless Thai around the head and neck with an evil barrage of kicks.  The crowd, once slightly behind the Canadian begin to shout their distaste at his nefarious antics as the ref slides under the bottom rope and after a brief hunt for the key alongside an irate Lau, unlocks both wrist buckles freeing the obviously injured Tiger Claw.  Mota continues the tirade until Lau, risking his own safety, grabs the foot to stop him. Derek with some frustration, kicks out at Lau who falls to the ringside mats and rolls clear.  Mota turns to climb back into the ring to be confronted by a very angry looking, and bloody Tiger Claw!  Huge pop as a look of complete shock crosses Mota's face!  Claw swings one of his crippling kicks at Mota through the ropes which catches him in the previously injured ribs and doubles him up, then Claw hooks him for a suplex and...] TD: REVERSAL! SR: Head for the hills! [As Claw lifts Derek to suplex him into the ring, Mota hooks his foot under the bottom rope and drops back to the apron, then before Claw can react, he suplexes Claw over the ropes and right down towards the announcers table!  Tim Dross and Steve Roberts shoot out either side of the table like bullets from a gun as the 220 pound, 6'2" frame of Tiger Claw completes his slow arc and crashes down and through the table! Monitors, papers and biscuits are catapulted up into the air as it collapses in the middle under the impact!] TD: Oh my! That was suicidal! SR: My biscuits, my beautiful biscuits! [The Sychopaths jump to their collective feet and yell their approval as the crowd are stunned into silence.  Lau stands motionless with a look of complete horror on his face as Mota struggles up from under the wreckage holding the back of his head in pain.  With more than a little effort, he finds the completely prone figure of Tiger Claw and with a mighty heave, lifts him onto the apron and rolls him under the ropes. With almost as much effort he climbs in himself and drapes an arm across the chest of the still unmoving Claw as the ref drops to the mat and begins the first and only count of the match: 1 - 2 - 3! Claw kicks out weakly a moment too late! Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: And your winner by pinfall... in 12 minutes and 4 seconds... Derek Mota!  [Heel Pop!] [Mota, with pain etched across his face, pulls himself up with the aid of the ropes and celebrates the decision, while a stunned Lau helps a bloody and very tired Claw to his feet and up the aisle.  Claw stops and rips the shin-guards from his legs and tosses them into the crowd with utter contempt, and leaves, mumbling angrily all the way to the curtain.] TD: What a match! SR: It was an unopened packet as well! TD: Can we have a new table, please? Let's go to a brief word from our sponsors. [A ring crew sets about clearing away the debris in front of Tim Dross and Steve Roberts. Fade through to a very sincere-looking Simon Lebec sitting down, wearing a suit and tie, and an attractive, but flat-chested, woman standing next to him.] SL: Hello.  I'm "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec.  You probably know me from my vast wrestling ability in the FeWS or the IIWF, or from my starring roles in such direct-to-video relaeses as "Get out of my Car, It's not my Baby, Julie Newmar." Like many celebrities, I too donate my spare time to credible causes in exchange for the hefty tax breaks that go with it.  And that's why I'm here today... to talk to you about the "Flat-Chested Women's Foundation".   You know, each year, thousands of women get brest-enlargment surgery in order to please the men of this world.  However, for every one operation, there are twenty-four women out there who cannot afford such a lavish procedure. Thus, they remain flat-chested for the rest of their lives.  Take Lee-Ann here [points to the flat-chested bimbo next to him] for example.  Lee-Ann's a perfectly attractive young female with a slight problem... she is flat as a pancake. Lee-Ann, why are you here today? LEE-ANN: Well, Simon... by the way, I LOVE your movies! SL: I know you do. LEE-ANN: Well, Simon, as you can tell, I've got no boobs. SL: A mole could tell that, dear.  Carry on. LEE-ANN: Well, I work out every day... SL: Good, good... keeping it firm... LEE-ANN: And I'd do anything to please my man... SL: Good, good, no self-esteem... LEE-ANN: I even dropped out of college to save money for a boob job... SL: Good, good, keeping you oppressed... LEE-ANN: But it's still not enough! SL: Well Lee-Ann, it's a good thing you came here today.  We're here to help. Folks, can you imagine how much better Lee-Ann's life would be with a full, juicy set of jahoobees?  And guys, can you imagine how much better YOUR lives would be if Leeann had a stacked, succulent pair of belly-knockers? For the love of humanity... please give generously.  Thank you. [camera fades as Lebec begins "taking measurements" on Lee-Ann and fondling her.  The "Flat-Chested Women's Foundation" slogan "MAKING THE WORLD BETTER, ONE IMPLANT AT A TIME" closes the commercial. Fade back through to Dross and Roberts seated at a new broadcast table.] TD: Simon Lebec simply appalls me, Steve Roberts. SR: For once, Dross, you're right. TD: I am? SR: Sure you are. Why on earth would a chick-magnet like Lebec make a commercial with a flat... TD: [interrupting] Good grief. Batten down the hatches, Steve, because Joe Petrow and title shots go together like salt and peter. SR: My hatches don't batten, Dross... that why I'm the "Soundbite". And stop talkin' about peters. Whooo... hack... hack. 'Scuse me, those biscuits are dry tonight. TD: Yes, well. SR: Got any cheese, Dross? TD: No. As I was saying, Joe Petrow is one of the most unpredictable men in the IIWF. One of the few friends he has been able to make is the... ummm... _unlucky_ Majestic Maurice McArthur, who sparked Petrow's brawl with Takezo Musashi Wednesday night in Washington. SR: Yeah, but he's always got the Sychopaths. They aren't the L'il Soundbiters, but they're loyal. TD: Petrow will need their support tonight because Lord Byron has no equal when it comes to technical wrestling. He's the master of the mat... the squire of the squared circle... the king of... SR: Aw, you got some mustard on your tie. [As Dross looks down, Roberts flicks him in the nose.] TD: Ha! That was better than cheese! Better than cheddar! Better than Monterey... Jack! [A small group of fans behind the broadcast table begins yelling "Shoot, Soundbite, Shoot!"] TD: I never thought I would miss working with Becky. Let's just go up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Lord Byron [c] vs. Joe Petrow ----------------------------------------- WRITER: SO [Sparkplug Lee is casually bouncing against the ring ropes and looking up into the rafters, counting the house lights and looking for any wrestlers with painted faces who may decide to drop into the ring unexpectedly. A Sychopath hurls a brass doorknob at Lee, who turns as it barely misses his head. He sees the camera lights and snaps back to reality.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this match is one fall for the IIWF Intercontinental Championship. [big pop] Introducing first, from Tokyo, Japan, weighing in at 227 pounds, he is the self-proclaimed _uncrowned_ IIWF Cruiserweight Champion, he is... "Syyyyyychosys" Joe Petrow. [The Sychopaths in Section 103 simultaneously shake their cans of Mooselips Beer and pop the tops, release a majestic spray as Petrow calmly rises from his seat in their midst. McArthur also gets up from his seat, drawing the Triple M sign from several Sychopaths, but Petrow waves him back to his seat. Confused, McArthur obediently complies. The Sychopath with the boombox hits the "play" button and Tears for Fears' "Shout" blares out. Petrow casually steps over the steel ring barrier, enters the ring, sheds his robe and slouches down on the bottom turnbuckle.] TD: We seem to be looking at a rather subdued Joe Petrow tonight. He didn't even want Triple M at ringside with him. SR: Yeah, no thanks to Sparky Lee for bringing up that little incident when Owens took the belt away from him. I'm surprised Petrow didn't hit the ring like a 50-pound chunk of havarti cheese. TD: Well that's very... SR: You ever had havarti, Dross? Smooth... buttery... creamy. Reminds me of my date with Queen Elizabeth years ago. Did I ever tell you about that? Shout... shout... let it all out. Lizzie was a screamer. [Dross merely makes a grumbling noise. Back in the ring, Petrow remains slouched on the bottom turnbuckle. He cocks his head and stares at Sparkplug, which makes the veteran ring announcer a bit nervous.] RA: And... uh... ummm... introducing the champion. He's from Lancashire, England, by way of New Orleans, Louisiana, weighing in at 265 pounds and is accompanied tonight by Lady DeWinter and his European Alliance partner, Otto Verhoeven, he is Lorrrrrrrrd Byron! ["Intermezzo" from Karelia Suite plays as the trio make their way into the arena, Lady DeWinter dressed in a stunning white sequined evening gown leading the way. A fan reaches out over the railing, but DeWinter reacts as if a rodent stands in front of her. Verhoeven threatens to slap the fan, who recoils and disappears into the sea of occupied souvenir shirts, while the sneering Byron keeps his attention on the ring, where Petrow sits waiting.] TD: [sarcastically] The European Alliance again practicing fine public relations there. SR: There's no money in public relations, Dross. Everyone knows that. TD: I'd have to disagree. SR: Aw, go write a book. [Byron takes his time at ringside, consulting with Verhoeven and slowly disrobing and handing his brass-topped cane to DeWinter. He points at Petrow slouched in the corner and says something to referee Chuck Sanders about "THAT ruffian wants my belt"? Petrow half-smiles, cups his hand over his left ear and replies, "Huh"? Petrow then begins to laugh, which unsettles Byron. Sanders calls for the ring bell and Byron looks over to his corner for some reassurance. Verhoeven meets his gaze and points down to his knee.] TD: It appears as though the European Alliance has scouted Petrow rather thoroughly and may have found something. SR: Must not have been a cranial x-ray then. Hey Dross, do they sell Mooselips at the concession stand here? TD: I believe that's more of a regional libation. SR: Regional libation? Isn't that what got the Disney people in trouble with the Southern Baptists? [Byron attempts a single-leg takedown, but Petrow nimbly avoids it. Again, Petrow holds his hand to his left ear and yells "What?" before laughing again. In unison, the Sychopaths chant "What?". Byron steps away, but then both men lock up in the middle of the ring. Byron powers Petrow into the corner and Verhoeven takes a quick shot at Joe's right knee from the outside. Petrow turns to kick at Verhoeven, allowing Byron the chance to plant a knee in Joe's back.] TD: Poor tactical move there by "Sychosys". You can't take your eyes off an opponent like Lord Byron. SR: I can't take my eyes off Lady DeWinter. Whoo-hoo! I wants me a DeWinter biscuit with limberger on top. Mmmmmmm.... TD: You're a sick man, Steve. Whoa, Byron with a big European uppercut. [Byron hits Petrow with a second European uppercut, staggering him. He whips Petrow into the ropes and bows down for a backdrop, but Petrow stops short and slaps Byron's left ear with an open hand palm-strike. Byron winces and grabs his ear until doubling over as Petrow kicks him in the stomach. "Sychosys" hits Byron with another palm-strike in the left ear, then cups his hands over Byron's ear, and screams "HEY!" at the top of his lungs. Byron quickly exits the ring, holding the left side of his head. Petrow looks out at his Sychopaths and repeats his earlier motion: "What?" They answer with "Huh?".] TD: Petrow's game plan appears to be to go after Byron's head. He already appears to have done some damage. SR: Of course. Byron is the one who is supposed to do the screaming -- at all of his servants. I'll bet I could make Lady DeWinter scream though. TD: Would you just get off Lady DeWinter for a moment? SR: Oh... to hear _her_ say those words. TD: Would you... hey, look out! [Petrow backs up and attempts a plancha, but Byron sees him coming, catches "Sychosys" and turns it into a hotshot on the outside railing. Chuck Sanders begins the count, but Byron slides back under the bottom rope to break the count, drawing the referee to the opposite side while Verhoeven sneaks around the ring to kick Petrow twice in the knee. As Verhoeven backs away and protests his innocence when Sanders questions him, Byron slides back to the outside. Petrow, however, greets him with a forearm to the groin that staggers Byron, and "Sychosys" adds another open palm shot to the left ear that puts Byron on the outside mat.] TD: I'm not sure Byron wants to get into a battle with Joe Petrow outside the ring. Petrow is a dangerous man out there. SR: Petrow is a dangerous man _inside_ the ring, too. Groin shots and ear slaps... who-hoo! [Petrow shakes off the effects of the hotshot as he slides back into the ring. Lord Byron is slower to recover, and returns to the ring only to have Petrow slap on a headlock and put additional pressure on Byron's ear. However, Byron is able to gain the leverage to lift Petrow and then land an atomic drop. There is a big pop, not for Byron's move, but for Creed who makes his way down to ringside. Creed is greeted by chants of "ignorant slut" from the Sychopaths, but he ignores them and pulls up a chair beside the broadcasting table.] TD: Well, this is an unexpected surprise. SR: Hey Creed, did you know Father's Day was last Sunday? Didja drive around the Bay Area with a gift-wrapped tie on your car's bumper? Trolling for daddies, we like to call it. TD: Steve just stop that! Can we get Creed a headset? What's that? Oh, okay. [Creed glares at Roberts and shakes his head at Dross, indicating that he is merely there to watch the match. Byron has noticed Creed and begins to pick up his attack on Petrow, hitting a neckbreaker and following it up with a snap suplex. Quick cover, but Sanders reaches only a count of one before Petrow kicks out. Byron is quickly to his feet, stomping on Petrow's knee. He grabs Petrow's leg, wrenching it, but suddenly stops as another big pop travels through the arena and Duncan Macbeth strolls down the aisle. As DeWinter runs to the neutral corner, Byron leaps to the second turnbuckle and sneers at Macbeth, yelling something about "lack of culture" and "Scottish buffoon". Macbeth merely glares at Byron, then notices Creed sitting beside Dross. He stops and jumps over the steel railing and into the front row, where an empty seat conveniently awaits.] TD: It appears that Lord Byron is drawing quite a bit of attention here tonight. First Creed and now Duncan Macbeth. SR: More likely it's Byron's belt that is drawing the attention. Belts are nice, but give me a smooth mozzarella any day. TD: Byron is giving it his all tonight and I have to wonder if his attack on Petrow's knee isn't some sort of message to the man sitting to my left, Creed. It isn't often that we see Joe Petrow dominated like he has been so far... whoa, look at this! [Byron, his attention on Macbeth, does not hear Verhoeven yelling for him to pay attention. Petrow grabs Byron and executes a textbook belly-to-back suplex. He jumps on Byron's chest and begins pounding the left side of his lordship's head. Petrow bends over Byron and again screams in his ear before returning to a series of open palm slaps. Petrow stands and grinds his boot into the left side of Byron's head, drawing a protest from Verhoeven, who leaps to the ring apron. As Verhoeven is reprimanded by Chuck Sanders, a Sychopath tosses Petrow a full can of Mooselips beer and he slams it into Byron's left ear before popping the top, taking a swig, and hurling the can at Creed. However, the can ricochets off the broadcasting table.] TD: Hey, watch it! This is a new suit! SR: Where did that can go? I'm thirsty. Aw jeez, that kid got it. TD: What is Petrow doing in the ring? He's only attacking Byron's ear. SR: It's called the "Van Gogh Strategy". It was named after some painter... I can't remember his name. The whole idea is to disorient your opponent by upsetting his equilibrium. Of course, a six-pack of Mooselips will do the same thing. Just ask Triple M. TD: But Petrow has still taken a tremendous amount of punishment and we know that Byron can pull out a win at any time. [In the ring, Petrow has slapped on another headlock and is grinding his arm across Byron's ear. Byron attempts to shrug off Petrow, but "Sychosys" turns it into a sloppy bulldog and maintains the headlock. Petrow finally releases the hold, but resumes his palm strikes and screams directly in Byron's ear. Petrow finally rolls to one corner and leans against the bottom turnbuckle, just as he did before the match. Byron gets slowly to his feet and looks around, attempting to stagger to his corner. But he stumbles like a drunken man and falls to one knee.] TD: I dare say Petrow's strategy has worked. SR: If Byron only had magenta hair and screamed "Shakeemah!" at the top of his lungs, I'd swear that was Dirt Dog Unique Allah in the ring. Heheeeee... hey Creed, what do you think about gouda cheese? Is it gouda nuff for a DeWinter Biscuit? [Roberts is ignored by Creed, who watches Petrow nod toward the Sychopaths and advance toward Byron, who grimaces and holds the left side of his head. Petrow bends over to lift Byron, but is quickly wrapped up in a small package. Sanders hits the mat, but Petrow has enough momentum to carry Byron over and pin his shoulders: 1 - 2 - kickout!] TD: Petrow nearly had Byron there! SR: Byron isn't himself right now. If he knew where he was right now, Petrow never would have reversed that move. Byron is wrestling on instinct, which still makes him better than 90 percent of the hackers back in the locker room. [Petrow hits a forearm smash to Byron's head, then lifts him for a suplex, seemingly holding him inverted for nearly ten seconds as the blood rushes to Byron's head. As he drops Byron to the mat, he covers again: 1 - 2 - Verhoeven puts Byron's foot on the ropes and Sanders halts the count. Petrow kicks at Verhoeven and yells: "You're next, Herr Tonic!" Another pop grows through the crowd as Takezo Musashi heads down the aisle.] TD: Now what is Musashi doing out here? He has no business out here. SR: Oh, like Creed and Duncan Mushmouth _do_? It's obvious that Musashi and Petrow are on a collision course and he wants to get a closer look at "Sychosys". [Petrow yells something at Musashi in Japanese, but the "Enigma" only stares at him. Petrow walks closer: "I said, you like to see people fly?" He pulls Byron to his feet and lifts him onto his shoulders, then begins to spin.] TD: An airplane spin! Good lord, I haven't seen that used in years! SR: It's not up there with Abe Jacobs' kiwi leg roll, but it'll get the job done. The question is where will the landing strip be for Lord Byron? [Lady DeWinter tosses the cane to Verhoeven and jumps to the ring apron to get Sanders' attention. As the referee looks away, Verhoeven nails Petrow in the knee with the cane. As Petrow's knee buckles, Byron is able to slide off his opponent's shoulders and land next to Petrow. Byron has the presence of mind to drape an arm across Petrow.] TD: Byron has him, but Chuck Sanders is still talking to DeWinter! SR: At least there's one intelligent referee in the IIWF. [An angry Verhoeven pulls DeWinter off the ring apron and Sanders turns to see the cover: 1 - 2 - kickout! Byron continues to shake his head, but Verhoeven yells for him to put on the figure four leglock. Byron instead grabs Petrow's leg, but stops and looks at Verhoeven.] TD: Byron is going for the Aristoclutch! SR: Well, he _was_. Then he apparently heard Verhoeven yelling for the figure four. [The delay gives Petrow time to roll over and deliver a kick to Byron's left ear. As the champ is staggered, Petrow gets to his feet, favoring his weakened knee. He takes two small steps back from Byron and the Sychopaths go wild.] TD: He's setting Byron up for a Sycho Kick! In the champion's condition, this could be the telling blow! SR: But here comes the cavalry! [Verhoeven jumps to the ring apron and again draws Sanders' attention while Musashi pulls the chair out from under Sparkplug Lee. Petrow delivers a variation of his Sycho Kick to Byron's left ear, sending the champ quickly to the mat. He is unable to cover, however, as Musashi slides under the bottom rope and hammers Petrow in the back of the head with the steel chair. He adds another shot for good measure, then drags Byron on top of Petrow before exiting the ring. Verhoeven jumps off the apron, Sanders turns to see the cover: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: No! Joe Petrow had the title in front of him only to have it pulled away once again. SR: Hey, all's fair in love and the IIWF. [Huge heel pop from the Sychopaths as Verhoeven and DeWinter help Byron from the ring. The Sychopaths hurl garbage of all varieties, including Chris Quigley souvenirs, at Musashi as he slides from the ring and nods his head with satisfaction. Sparkplug Lee dusts himself off and raises the microphone.] RA: Your winner, and _still_ IIWF Intercontinental Champion, Lord By-- [Sparkplug is cut off as Musashi grabs the microphone. Trash continues to fly past his head as he speaks directly to Joe Petrow, who is slowly reviving in the ring.] TM: Hah! I told you that you would be unable to forget about me, Joe Petrow! I told you that you had no future in this league as long as I was still living and breathing. Look at you now! For one second there, you were on the cusp of glory. In just a few moments, you would have been holding that Intercontinental belt aloft as a champion; and I took it all away from you! I did it deliberately, Joe Petrow! I planned it days in advance; and I loved doing it! I'm laughing inside right now as I say these words. I'm laughing at you, Joe Petrow! You didn't take me anywhere near seriously enough, but now the "Enigma" is making your life a misery! [Musashi throws down the microphone and gives Petrow a one-finger salute. As he turns to leave, he also flips off the Sychopaths who shower him with Mooselips beer. Musashi is halfway up the aisle when Joe Petrow's voice over the ring microphone stops him in his tracks.] TD: What in the world does Petrow have to say to Musashi right now? SR: If you'll shut up, we may find out. TD: I hope our censor is awake. [Petrow speaks for several seconds in Japanese to get Musashi's attention, then a look of pity seems to cross Petrow's face.] JP: It's okay Musashi, I understand. I'm here for you. [Petrow then breaks into an evil grin as Musashi shakes his head and continue his walk to the back. Petrow staggers to the railing and steps over, rejoining the Sychopaths and accepting a can of Mooselips.] TD: Did he just say, "I'm here for you"? SR: Yeah, he did, Dross. I told you, that guy's about five cans short of a six-pack. TD: The relationship between Joe Petrow and the "Enigma" just continues to get stranger and stranger, here tonight in the US Air Arena. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Fans, as if the action here tonight couldn't get any hotter, it's time for our main event! =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP LUMBERJACK MATCH: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Casey "Blackheart" James [c] vs. "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder ---------------------------------------------------------- WRITER: JJ TD: Well, here we go. SR: All right... see, Dross, this is the kind of thing that makes me glad to be the Soundbite. TD: What's that, Steve? A huge Championship match between two bitter rivals who will meet one final time in the field of their own private battle to decide, once and for all, who is the man deserving of the title:  IIWF Heavyweight Champion? SR: Nah, that's not it. TD: Is it the wild and woolly stipulations of this match, that the ring will be surrounded by 28 of the finest athletes in the world, who will incredibly be monitored in their lumberjack duties by a total of five... five referees? SR: Five referees, huh?  Nah... that's not it either, Dross. TD: Well, could it be that this is the final match before we head to Cleveland next week for Round One of the Cornation Clash Crusade Tournament?  The winner to be crowned the number one contender and earn a shot at the title on July 12? SR: Yeah, that's what it is, Dross. I've got this merry little smile on my face because we're getting on a bus and driving to Cleveland.  My life's fondest dream.  Maybe you can throw in one of those super keen Requiem berets to sweeten the deal, Dross. TD: All right, Steve Roberts, I give.  Tell me what it is that you're so looking forward to? SR: The babe, Dross!  The sexed up little piece of talent who's about to walk out here and model one of these shirts, Dross. [Roberts stands up to display an official IIWF lumberjack flannel shirt.] TD: Well, that is true folks, for only $49.95 you can call our 800 number right now and purchase your very own momento of this Championship Match: an IIWF Lumberjack Shirt, available in blue, green, red or orange flannel, just like you will see 28 top superstars wearing tonight. SR: I don't give a damn about seeing Tony Starks in a flannel shirt, Dross.  I know that we're about to bring someone out here to model for the people, and I've seen the way they do this in other promotions. We're gonna have some hardbody come out here and strut for me and all my L'il Soundbiters.  I love this town! TD: Let's get to the ring. [Sparkplug Lee gets an oddly rousing round of applause from the ringside Sychopaths, a few of whom holding a sign which reads "NLWP - Where The Big Sell-Outs Play!"] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... The Smooth! SR: No... no... ah hell, Dross. [The 500 pound Mexican man familiar to viewers of "Inside the IIWF" enters the arena and hits the ring. He is sporting an enormous IIWF red flannel Lumberjack shirt.  The Smooth smiles broadly and waves to the fans who welcome him warmly with the chant, "Smoooooooooth."] SR: Whose idea was this?  I mean, I like old Smooth, but damn, Dross. How many flannels did they have to kill to make that shirt anyway? [The Smooth continues to pose for the people, warming to their applause by motioning with an arm to each side of the ring and then cupping his hand to his ear.] SL: That's right, folks, for the low, low price of $49.95, you too can purchase an official IIWF lumberjack flannel, such as will be worn by each and every IIWF lumberjack here tonight.  They come in small, large, extra large, XXL and Smooth Sized. Pick one up for your favorite IIWF fan today!  [The Smooth has accepted more than his share of applause, and now exits the ring, shaking hands with Sparkplug and his friends Dross and Roberts, before slapping the hand of every fan who is able to stretch across the retaining barrier.] SR: Ah heck, you can't stay mad at the guy. I'll tell you what, Dross, that Smooth's gotta be the nicest damn guy I ever met.  He's so nice that I even like him.  And I don't like anybody.  Ain't that right morons? [The L'il Soundbiters seated behind the announce table stand with a rousing "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!"] TD: Okay, folks, while the crowd readies itself for this match, let's go to a few pre-recorded comments from some of the IIWF superstars who will surround the ring here tonight as lumberjacks. [Cut to a spinning "Syndicate Saturday Night" graphic. It spins through one half rotation, and then fades through to each IIWF superstar in turn as he stands in the locker room:] SIMON LEBEC: It doesn't matter if they kill each other.  It's not like either of them are pretty enough to take any chick away from "The Showstopper" in the first place! [Spin mix.] CHRIS QUIGLEY: Who am I going to be supporting in the Lumberjack Match?  Nobody.  I don't give a damn who wins the thing, but I will say this, which ever one of them falls out on the floor and tries to take even a second's break?  I _will_ be the first one over there and they _will_ go back in the ring, even I've gotta knock them out to throw them back in there!  Stay in the ring where it's safe, guys.  I'll have my eyes on Warnett, Lebec, and Shakespeare as well.  Don't worry about that. [Spin mix.] TONY STARKS: Who am I supporting? To hell wit' both of 'em. I don't care who is champ. After I win the PPV, either of them is gettin they ass kicked by me. [Spin mix.] SCOTT ROGERS: It's gotta be James. He's a class act. Thunder's no champion. If I got anything to do with it, James _will_ win and all. [Spin mix.] SERGE ANNIS: A lumberjack match... I do not know why we are required to be there. Whether Casey James and Brody Thunder are cowards and try to run away, or they are filled with so much hatred that the ring cannot hold them. Makes no difference to me, because if someone comes near me, they will go up in a chokeslam... and that includes other lumberjacks, he he he. [Spin mix.] RONNIE PARIS: I'm not trying to be on anyone's side here, I just want to do what I always want to do, and that's make sure justice is served. The better man _will_ win this match. [Spin mix.] OTTO VERHOEVEN: Casey James, you and Herr Lau can count on me. I will make sure that the cowboy hundesohn will not lay his dirty hands on the belt and anybody who makes the mistake and intends to help him will be another victim of the Butcher! Finish him, Casey! [Spin mix, this time to Joe Petrow and Majestic Maurice McArthur standing in line with the Sychopaths outside the arena.  Triple M and the Sychopaths are pumped, but Petrow is unusually reserved, with a grim look of determination on his face.] 3M: Tonight's the night, baby!  Petrow's taking the I-C belt, and all     eyes will be on me in the main event!  Me!  Triple M!  HAhahaHAAAA! JP: ... [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Okay, let's get back up to the ring, where Sparkplug Lee is just about ready to introduce the officials for this colossal match. [Sparkplug Lee watches as The Smooth finally disappears back into the locker room, and then raises his microphone once more:] SL: Thank you, Smooth.  The following contest is your _Main Event_ of the evening!  Introducing first, the officials for tonight's main event: Chuck Sanders, Earl Alfonso, Big Joey Patrick and Dave D'Amato! [Little fan reaction as the four IIWF officials enter, each taking up a spot on the floor outside one of the sides of the ring.] SL: And your head official this evening... from Brazil... eleven-time Latin American Cruiserweight Champion... Hugo Hugo! [Pop as a dimunitive official with seemingly boundless energy enters the ring, leaping high over the top rope and landing in a split-legged position.  Hugo Hugo is wearing a black striped shirt to contrast with the garb of the remainder of the officiating crew.] TD: Well, this is one of the interesting stipulations to this match. We have five officials, four of whom are familiar to IIWF observers.  They will stand outside the ring to, in effect, watch the watchers; hoping to keep some of these lumberjacks from unnecessarily interfering with this matchup.  SR: And what's with the midget? [Hugo Hugo is speaking to the officiating crew in a broken rapid-fire English, punctuating his syllables with enormously broad waves of his arms.] TD: Well, I wouldn't call him a midget, Steve Roberts.  He's actually 5'2" and a longtime cruiserweight star throughout Latin America.  For the last few years, Hugo Hugo has been officiating and the IIWF thought they'd bring him in for this special lumberjack match.  He may be small but he's certainly not afraid to get right into the face of even the most imposing superstar.  And that's certainly something we need given the stipulations of this match, Steve Roberts. SR: Is it go time, yet?  Bring out the dancing girls and the man eating alligator and let's do this thing. [The fans begin to grow restless, many of them chanting "Black-heart! Black-heart!" as Sparkplug Lee retakes the mic.] SL: Now, it is my pleasure to introduce, making their way to ringside... the lumberjacks!  On the far side of the ring, to be officiated by Earl Alfonso, the blue lumberjacks -- The Enigma, Tony Starks, Chris Quigley, Scott Rogers, Marty Warnett, Luke Steele and Simon Lebec!  [The blue shirted wrestlers make their way to the far side of the floor, the semi-bald Warnett and Quigley jawing as they walk down the aisle, and actually have to be separated by the others before they reach ringside.] SL: To their immediate right, to be officiated by Big Joey Patrick, the red lumberjacks -- Mad Dog Watkins, Otto Verhoeven, Creed, Ike Sampson, Lord Byron, Mr. Damage and Duncan Macbeth! [The red shirted lumberjacks make their way in front of the announce table. Byron trails the field and is conspicuously not wearing his flannel shirt.  Creed returns from ringside and meets him in the aisle, the two men begin shoving each other and then start throwing right hands, Creed and Byron wildly beginning to brawl in the aisle... before being separated by Hugo Hugo, who wedges his tiny body in between the two men, giving a sharp shove to the Interncontinental Champion before sending each man up the aisle and back into the dressing room.] SL: Across the ring from the red lumberjacks, officiated by Chuck Sanders, are the orange lumberjacks -- Requiem, Derek Mota, Ronnie Paris, Nightwing, Highwayman, Serge Annis and Deathbringer! [The oddest collection of orange shirt wearers perhaps ever seen enter the aisle, the Genesis group instantly ripping off their shirts and throwing them into the crowd. Deathbringer and Serge have modified their shirts to read "The Epitome of Unholy".] SL: And finally on the near side, officiated by Dave D'Amato, are the green lumberjacks -- Billy Shakespeare, Danny Dynamite, Tiger Claw, The Harlequins, Edmund Fitzgerald and Joe Petrow! [Pop as the Syndicate names are mentioned... but Tiger Claw is nowhere to be seen.  Also not walking the aisle is Joe Petrow, who has remained with his Sychopaths following his defeat at the hands of Lord Byron. Petrow has been getting a "makeover" at the hand of a rather flamboyant gentleman who appears to be applying a great deal of grey facepaint to Petrow, along with lightning bolt images that seem to emanate from Petrow's head.  Upon seeing that Tiger Claw has no-showed, Petrow waves to Majestic Maurice to grab a green shirt from one of his Sychopaths... he does, a New York Jets #12 jersey... and head on over.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... these are your lumberjacks! TD: Well, folks, it's getting extremely crowded out here at ringside. You can feel the anticipation building all over this arena -- but the man who is perhaps feeling it more than anybody else at this moment is Brody Thunder, who is currently backstage awaiting the introductions. [A live shot of Thunder standing in the lockerroom is shown on the screen. He's dressed in his  wrestling gear, sweat running down over his head, face and shoulders. He stares straight into the camera.] TD: [voice over] Mr Thunder... moments from now you'll face what could be the biggest match of your meteoric career here in the IIWF. Your     opponent Casey James, has said this is it. Your one and only shot at his world title. Your comments? [Thunder cocks his head to one side and smiles an evil grin.] BT: Dross... James can say whatever the hell he wants ta say. It ain't gonna change the fact that his title reign ends here..          ..._tonight_.     I've said all along that I wasn't jus' gonna take his title... I'm gonna take his flamin' career! An'in a few short minnits the entire wrestlin' world is gonna see that Brody Thunder is _exactly_ what he claims ta be.     The best there is in this sport today. Period.     So James... yer time's up, son. Ain't nuthin' left fer me ta do... [The camera gets a tight close-up of Thunder's angered face.]     ..but dust yer ass _once_an'_fer_all_. [Thunder storms off camera as he heads to the ring. Cut back to the ring as the theme from "High Plains Drifter" begins to drift eerily over the fans in the arena.] SL: The following contest is set for one fall... it is a no disqualification lumberjack match, and is for the IIWF Heavyweight Championship! Introducing first... the challenger... he weighs 267 pounds and hails from the "town too tough to die" Tombstone, Arizona... he is the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! [Huge mixed pop as the man clad in black begins his walk to the ring. Thunder is wearing a "Destination: Champion" t-shirt and avoids contact with any of the 27 lumberjacks who surround the ring.  Instead, the "Lone Wolf" leans over the retaining barrier to share a quiet word with his wife and young daughter, giving his bride a quick peck on the cheek, and then miming shoooting a six-gun at his giggling little girl, before entering the ring to another hugely mixed pop.] TD: Well, that's the man, Steve Roberts.  That's the man who broke into the IIWF with such a firestorm of promise last Autumn, quickly staking himself to a 5-0 record and an impossible match against then untouchable champion Dan Kauffman.  And many people felt, including you, Steve Roberts... many people felt that young Thunder was the better man that day -- many people believed that Brody Thunder frankly outclassed the champion Kauffman. SR: Well, it wouldn't take much, Dross.  But somewhere along the way, Brody Thunder got soft.  Look at him with his nubile young wife at ringside, taunting us all with her perky, married bosom. TD: Steve Roberts, you have an unerring ability to say exactly the wrong thing all of the time.    [The "Black-heart!" chant begins anew, roaring now as "Foul Taste of Fear" is heard over the P.A.] SL: And his opponent... weighing 340 pounds and hailing from right here in Washington D.C! He is the IIWF Heavyweight Champion... Casey "Blackheart" James! [Enormous pop as James makes his slow walk to the ring, he and Brian Lau stopping to survey the wild scene as the fans roar their approval of their hometown hero.  James brushes the hair from his face and yells out to the crowd "How ya like me now?!" before entering the ring.  The Champ pulls off his "Hell is Where The 'Heart Is" t-shirt... and tosses it in the face of the impassive Thunder. Hugo Hugo brings the two men together, the crowd beginning to loudly stomp and clap for the match to begin.  Hugo demonstratively gives the pre-match instructions, then grabs at Thunder's elbowpad, ripping it away and tossing it into the crowd!  Huge Pop!] SR: Well it is about time, Dross... about time indeed... that someone took away that loaded elbowpad.  Good for you, Hugo Hugo! [As James smirkingly applauds, Hugo demands that Brian Lau slice the gloves off of the hands of the Champion, Hugo then waving them over his head and then hurling them deep into the crowd.] SR: Who does this guy think he is?  What the hell is going on?  TD: I believe he is attempting to level the playing field. Certainly Hugo Hugo is aware of the rumors about loaded gloves and forearms, and chose to sweep with a broad brush here tonight. [The diminutive Brazillian then loudly whistles -- and wheeling a shopping cart down the aisle is the Cruiserweight Champion, Dirt Dog Unique Allah.  Unique is wearing a hugely oversized hat and a police badge pinned directly to his chest.  Hugo leaps out to the apron, and to the shock of the ringside lumberjacks, the four outside officials begin confiscating all manner of foreign objects from the lumberjacks, collecting brass knucks, cat claws, sapgloves, wrenches, chains, a cellular phone, a typewriter, a blackjack, Steve Kowalski's tricycle and, from Simon Lebec, a pool cue. Unique gathers all of the aforementioned illegal articles in his shopping cart, scolding each of the offenders with a waggle of his forefinger and a "thas jus' so wrong... wha' would your momma think about that muh-fuh.." as he makes his way around each side of the ring, before turning over the cart to an attendant and accepting a sizable cheer from the capacity crowd.] TD: Well, the IIWF superstars certainly do come prepared. SR: Don't worry, Dross.  I've got a screwdriver in my pants if we need to make a quick getaway. [Hugo returns to the ring, and every fan in the building stands as the bell sounds. Ding! Ding! Ding! And the contest is officially underway. The two men finally lock up. It's Thunder who maneuvers into the first advantage... sliding on a standing side headlock that he moves to a top wristlock as James attempts to assert his power.  Thunder attempts to bring the larger Champion to his knees... but James is too strong, and powers up -- and then throws Thunder backward to the canvas.  Pop! As Thunder rises, Dirt Dog Unique Allah sneaks up behind Edmund Fitzgerald on the aisle side, pulling a Coronation Clash Crusade Tour commemmorative brass plate from his trunks... and then bashes Fitz over the head with it!  Pop!  "I'm a bad deputy doggie,"  Unique yells, as Fitz staggers after him up the aisle.] TD: Well, I don't think that was so much necessary. SR: It ain't about necessity, Dross.  It's about fun... don't you know about the fun?  Come on, baby, say it with me... "fuuuunnn." Purse your lips.  Hey, Dross, anyone ever tell you that you got a purty mouth? Fuuuunnn. [Thunder hops to his feet, and the two men lock up again, Thunder again moving to a standing side headlock... and James easily maneuvering into an Irish whip.  Thunder comes off the ropes with a duck under a James clothesline, but isn't quick enough to avoid the James elbowsmash that sends him spinning to the canvas.  James pop!  James delivers a series of quick kicks to the fallen Thunder's ribs, and then drops to his knees, gouging at Thunder's eyes before hopping to his feet and ducking through the ropes in order to avoid the angry, riled up cowboy. But there are no friends through the ropes for the Champion, and as Hugo Hugo pushes Thunder away, James is left to take a shot to the back by the Highwayman, and when he leans over the ropes to retaliate, the Champion catches a high knee by Thunder that sends him out over the top rope.  Pop!] TD: Well, that's what happens in a match like this, and it's why Brody Thunder wanted it.  In every other Syndicate match it is James who has the advantage... here, his power is neutralized. SR: Where the hell is Claw, Dross?  He oughta be down here to help the Champion. [Highwayman moves to toss James back in the ring, but is prevented from doing so by Annis, who puts the boots to him, leading to an arrival from Requiem, smacking hard with open handed chops that rock Serge back. It is Paris and Nightwing, ironically enough, who together toss in the Champion and then share some harsh words themselves. Thunder is ready for James' arrival, putting the boots to him and then whipping him farside -- reverse -- and as Thunder approaches James drops his head -- too quickly! -- and is hit with a swinging neckbreaker that brings Hugo Hugo to a quick count of... 1 - 2 - NO!  Kickout by James!] TD: Very nicely done by Thunder... he is so efficient in the ring, each move setting up the next.  Virtually no wasted movement.  Look here how he picks up James... into a side suplex and another cover.  One... he's got... No. Kickout by James.  But an impressive display by the challenger. SR: Impressive display right in front of us, Dross.  The Black Pack is double teaming the hell out of Macbeth out here.  Watkins and the kid Sampson are just rocking the Scotsman.  Hey, Dross... I ever tell you that I rocked a Scotsman once... [James has returned to his feet, and is being peppered in the corner with sharp boots to the midsection by Thunder.  The Champ staggers away from the corner, clutching at his abdomen, Thunder springboards and attempts a slightly uncharacteristic scissor kick...] TD: Oh... James was playing possum there... and he drives Thunder to the mat with a sweep of the leg.  I believe the moment may have just gotten to the challenger a little bit. SR: He choked like a turkey was just jammed down his gullet, Dross. Thunder's gotta learn there's more life in this champion that just a couple of neckbreakers are gonna take away. [James sits atop Thunder and pounds the challenger into the canvas with rights and lefts to the sides of his head... then James drags Thunder to his feet... whips him nearside -- and drives him to the mat with a powerslam that leads to the cover... 1 - 2 - NO!  Thunder is able to lift his shoulder. James wastes no time, picking up the challenger and Irish whipping again, and again into a powerslam, James leaping high off the ground to add to its force as he drives Thunder into the mat: 1 - 2 - No! Thunder gets a shoulder up. And again, James moves to the whip, sending Thunder hard to the ropes -- Thunder grabs the top and hangs on --  and then backdrops a charging James over the top rope and all the way to the outside where he lands on Simon Lebec!  Big Pop!  Thunder hops to the apron, and then leaps to the outside with a double axe that James slips, and instead connects to the head of Chris Quigley.  Big, Big Pop!] TD: Uh, oh... uh oh... this thing might be set to break down right here.  SR: As long as it breaks down on the head of that punk Quigley.  You all can think of your own Troy reference.  Why does the Soundbite have to do everything? [Quigley takes umbrage to Thunder's shot... and fires back with right hands to the head of the "Lone Wolf".  Thunder then retaliates, and the brawl is on.  James crashes into both men with an axe -- knocking Quigley into Marty Warnett.  Warnett is up and fires away at both Qugley and James... Warnett getting a huge pop as he fires at both men... and then at Tony Starks, who attempted to throw James back in the ring. Starks looks hard at Warnett, who attempts an apology... but then walks away. James now grabs ahold of Thunder, ramming his head hard into the apron, slamming his head repeatedly into the apron and drawing a big pop from the fans.  James turns to smile at the crowd, shooting a bicep to his hometown crowd, and taking a shot to the mouth by Scott Rogers, who then lifts the huge champion into the air, and throws him back into the ring. Luke Steele then finds Thunder, and tosses him into the ring as well. Rogers and Steele then share a high five as the match continues.]   TD: The men on the outside, Steve Roberts, we are seeing something very interesting when looking at the men on the outside... so many groups, stables, cliques have been formed -- and they are holding true to form on the outside.  Look at Genesis battling with the Unholy Alliance... look at Verhoeven and Watkins and Sampson.  How about Quigley, Warnett and Lebec... all firing away.  It might be the man who can ignore the outside commotion who can win this matchup. SR: It might be the man who can land the Blackheart Punch in front of his hometown fans who will win this matchup. [Thunder and James each trade haymaaker right hands, neither seemingly able to get the advantage.  Thunder is there with the Irish whip, catching James on the rebound with a sharp armdrag takeover, and then another armdrag as James goes off the near ropes. Thunder looks for the armbar -- but James is too strong, shoving him away with an open palm to the face and then charging up for a clothesline -- ducked -- Thunder leaps up as if for a crucifix... but carries over the top for an attempt at a DDT...] TD: And he's caught by James!  James has him elevated... with one arm... James has Thunder high above the ring in a modifed vertical suplex... and brings him down into a brainbuster!  James with the brainbuster suplex! [James doesn't move for the cover, instead measuring Thunder for knee drops to the forehead, one, two, three knee drops to Thunder's head... and then he scoops the challenger up, driving him down with a snap suplex. Big Pop! Danny Dynamite, the sole Syndicate wrestler among the 27 lumberjacks, now hops to the apron, clapping in support of the champion.  Mr. Damage, moving around the corner, races in to yank him from the apron with a hard suplex to the floor.  Harlequins Tragedy and Chaos move to Damage, shoving at the Austrialian, and the the 'Quins are felled with a flying double clothesline by the Enigma.  Musashi begins thrashing and stomping at everyone in sight, before turning around into a well-placed dropkick by...] TD: The Enigma's been taken down by Maurice!  3M has dropkicked Musashi.  Oh, this is bad.  This is bad. [Musashi is up and furious, wild with kicks that fell everyone who steps in front of him, Shakespeare, Sampson, and Big Joey Patrick, who takes a reverse crescent kick to the jaw and drops like he's been shot.] TD: Referee down!  Referee down!  SR: Only four to go, Dross.  And I win the prize... I picked four and a half referees down as the over/under at the paramutual window this morning. Come on Enigma, go clock that Hugo squared guy!  [James has pulled Thunder to his feet, driving him to the ropes with european uppercuts and then whipping him cross-corner -- reverse -- James goes in hard to the buckle and is hiptossed to the mat as he attempts to return to the center of the ring.  Pop!   Thunder quickly dives over the top with a crackling necksnap that lays James out as Thunder's momentum carries him into the backropes allowing him to drive down onto James' forehead with a flying fist.  Big Pop as Thunder lifts James to his feet... and drops him with a huge tiger driver that sends Hugo Hugo counting... 1 - 2 - ] TD: It's Verhoeven!  It's Otto Verhoeven!   Verhoeven has just saved James! SR: Oh yeah, you know that Brian Lau promised something to the Butcher for that one.  Yeah, baby.  Show the Butcher the wa-wa.  Good wa-wa for the German man. TD: No one knows what you're talking about, Steve Roberts.  SR: That's what makes me so cool, twinkletoes.  Hey, everybody.  Check out the mouth on Dross!  Look at that bad boy.  Give Dross some wa-wa. [Thunder leaps up after taking the forearm by Otto, and the two men begin throwing wild right hands at each other.  The crowd pops as Thunder and Verhoeven rock each other with wild blows... and Hugo Hugo leaps in between them!  Hugo grabs at the Butcher's flannel and gives him a push that sends him back a couple of steps, and he is pulled over the top rope by Requiem!  Requiem grabs Verhoeven and he is double teamed by Requiem and Highwayman! Thunder moves back to James, kicking him to the midsection and then grabbing the back of James' head and attempting to slam him back into the canvas.  James blocks the attempt, reversing into a backslide attempt... and Thunder blocks, looking for his own backslide... the two men struggling to get each other over... when Derek Mota hops to the apron, taunting James, pointing at the Champion.  James releases the hold and surges forward...] TD: Oh my!  Mota leaps for a head scissors and hotshots James across the top rope!  Head scissors hotshot by Mota!  [The crowd roars as Casey stumbles backward... into a cradle by Thunder and the count... 1 - 2 - NO!  James is up and clotheslines Thunder into a 360 degree revolution that snaps him dead to the mat.  James lets out a yell to his homecrowd "Top of the world, ma! Top of the world!"] [James stomps to the head...and then slowly picks Thunder to his feet...smacking at his former friend...grabbing him by the hair and slapping him repeatedly across the face!  Pop!  James whips Thunder farside -- reverse -- Thunder leaps off the side ropes while James comes in from the back...] TD: Bulldog!  Brody Thunder bulldogs Casey James! [Huge pop as Thunder hits the running bulldog. Brody looks to cover, there is commotion in the back as Nightwing and Paris have now erupted in a full scale brawl that has carried over the retaining barrier -- and the fan reaction causes Hugo Hugo to leap to the apron. As Thunder moves to cover, James is yanked outside by Simon Lebec, and Danny Dynamite leaps into the ring with a sunset flip of Thunder as Hugo turns around for a count... 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! James is quickly back into the ring and Thunder leaps up shocked as the crowd roar is unbelievable when the confused Hugo mobes to lift the arm of...] TD: No!  No!  This is wrong... this is wrong... it was Danny Dynamite! SR: It's over, Dross!  Casey James has retained the belt! [Dynamite attempts to bail out of the ring, but is caught by Mad Dog Watkins, who carries him to Hugo in clear evidence that the wrong man pinned Brody Thunder. To his credit, Hugo clearly realizes his mistake and waves the two men to continue.  Huge Pop!  James raises a hand to protest, but does not, instead shrugging his shoulders and yelling, "Can't blame me for trying!" before lashing out at Thunder with a boot to the midsection and a tilt-a-whirl stomachbreaker that has the fans again roaring for James.] TD: This is a veteran competitor, Steve Roberts... the Syndicate may well have come thoroughly undone tonight... but this is a man who will fight with everything he has. [James scoopslams Thunder three times, then winds up with a huge elbow drop -- misses --  Thunder's able to roll out of the way!  Thunder quickly leaps to a mid-buckle and comes crashing down with an elbow to the throat.  Thunder then drops a series of furious elbows, gathering momentum as he does, many of his fans now making themselves more vocal -- as Thunder attempts to wear down the bigger champion.  Thunder grabs James to his feet, rocking him backward with European uppercuts that send him to the corner.  Thunder lays is some boots as James remains trapped in that corner, Thunder growing more and more steam, getting hotter and hotter as he cross-corner whips the champion hard into the opposite buckle. Thunder charges... and is backdropped by James to the ringpost! Huge Syndicate Pop!] TD: Oh my! Oh... Oh, this isn't good. This isn't good at all.  Thunder's head smacked off that ringpost and he has fallen to the floor! [James collects himself and makes his way to the outside, the lumberjacks are scattered all over the building at this point -- Requiem and Deathbringer taking the opportunity to move their battle into the ring -- and the two huge men have the crowd roaring as they trade blows, James finds the prone Thunder, whipping him hard to the retaining barrier that sits in front of Thunder's wife and children. Thunder crashes hard as his family can barely manage to look on, the terror on their faces a testament to the life of a wrestler's family. And it does not ease, James moving to a choke of Thunder over that retaining barrier, allowing the Champion to yell to Mrs. Thunder, "Hey, Tammy, big party at my place tonight... you bring the whipped cream and I'll take the polaroids." Mrs. Thunder stands and smacks James across the face to a huge pop by the crowd -- although James seems to enjoy it, grabbing Thunder and moving away, yelling, "I like it a little rough, honey," as he moves Thunder closer to the ring.  Highwayman and Serge have joined their compatriots in the ring... Earl Alfonso and Dave D'Amato struggle mightily to keep them apart... and each man is going up... Serge and Highwayman have each picked up an official and...] TD: Oh my... oh my, that's a double chokeslam! Serge Annis and the Highwayman have each chokeslammed officials and this thing is breaking down, Steve Roberts.  This thing is breaking down. SR: Maybe it's one of those conspiracies, Dross.  I think the Fury might have something going with all this... who do you think tells me to rile up the people every week?  Okay, maybe that's a bad example. [Deathbringer and Requiem each clothesline their opposite number out of the ring as Hugo Hugo attempts to clear the canvas of the bodies of his fellow officials.  James continues to batter Thunder on the outside, driving him into the apron until it the camera makes clear the reuslt of Thunder's meeting with the ringpost.] TD: Thunder's busted up, Steve Roberts.  Thunder's forehead is crimson. SR: We've got a real match now, Dross!   Now we're in technicolor! [James slowly pulls Thunder to the ring, the battle having clearly worn away at the big champion, but it is Thunder who has the worst of it now... and James who slugs away with right hands until Irish whipping Thunder into a gutwrench powerbomb that has the crowd roaring its approval and Thunder laid out for a... 1 - 2 - NO! NO!  Thunder is able to kick out! James shakes his head at Thunder, putting some more sharp boots to his head and then moving to lift him for a double underhook piledriver... Thunder grapevines... and rolls James up into an inside cradle! 1 - 2 - NO! James escapes and throws a vicious clothesline -- ducked -- and Thunder hops up for a crucifix takedown of the 340 pound champion!  Another cover... 1 - 2 - NO!  James kicks out again and grabs a front waist on Thunder and flings each of them to the canvas with a mammoth belly-to-belly... that Thunder reverse rolls as they hit the mat -- and Hugo is there! Hugo is there with a... 1 - 2 - NO!  James again lifts a shoulder... and the crowd in the aisle begins a wild, wild pop!] TD: What a remarkable display... it's... it's Petrow!  Petrow's going to the top rope! [Petrow's primping has apparently come to an end as he dons a full length grey trench coat and leaps from the top buckle onto the brawling Warnett and Quigley, taking shots at both of them before climbing to another buckle and leaping atop the Harlequins who had been double teaming Maurice.  Petrow lets out a whoop which is responded in kind by his Sychopaths and then moves back to the apron, from which he is suplexed to the floor by Mad Dog Watkins, who lays into Sychosys with a series of boots before Petrow is able to make his way under the ring. Thunder tries to rebuild his momentum, the two men clearly exhausted, and the ring seeming as if it has taken as much of the fight as have the competitors. The face of Thunder is bathed in red as he fires away at James, peppering him with right hands before whipping him to the ropes into a powerslam that seemed to take too much from the challenger... as he is unable to move even for a lateral press.  Thunder staggers back to his feet and lifts James again, Thunder whipping nearside... James ducks a clothesline, but Thunder goes behind on the pass...] TD: Sleeper hold!  Brody Thunder with the sleeper hold!  [The crowd roars as Thunder locks on the sleeper and James flails away. In the crowd it is Paris and Nightwing, their brawl having led all the way around the concourse and now back, stumbling over the aisle where they collide with Creed and Byron, who have returned from the back, each man's clothes in tatters, and the four men begin to fight each other!  Byron takling some shots at Paris, and Nightwing landing sharp blows to Creed. Thunder retains the sleeper, and Hugo Hugo lifts James' arm to the air and it lightly falls to his side for a count of... 1. Tony Starks has found Mr. Damage... and the two men are now in a three man battle with the Enigma who trades shots with each man -- and then with Rogers and Steele who moved to break up the assault.  Derek Mota and Duncan Macbeth have renewed their rivalry via a ringbell that Mota has struck the Scotsman with... and then accidentally hits Shakespeare, causing the Quigley/Warnett/Lebec battle to spill over into his side of the ring.  James is no longer flailing away at the hold... and Hugo Hugo drops his arm to the mat with ease... 2. Dirt Dog Unique Allah has returned to the ring, where he is immediately attacked by Fitgerald and the Highwayman, the two men double-teaming Unique, who is defended by Ike Sampson.  Their brawl spills over into the rest of the Genesis/Unholy Alliance morass, as now more than half of the lumberjacks are on one side of the ring as Earl Alfonso desperately tries to keep order... Hugo Hugo abandons the action in the ring and leaps to the top buckle... and dives into the fray... and disappears.] TD: Where the heck is Hugo Hugo? SR: They ate him, Dross! The lumberjacks ate Hugo Hugo! [Big pop as Alfonso can't find his way into the ring before the Requiem. Requiem enters to take a shot to the back of Thunder... crumpling the challenger to the mat!  Huge pop as Requiem breaks the sleeper hold with a shot to the back of Thunder and then Alfonso hits the ring as James is able to lean an arm over top of Thunder with a cover!] TD: That's one... that's two... that's... NO! NO! NO!! [Thunder is able to get a shoulder up, his fans hoarse, thoroughly spent from the fight of Thunder's life.  Every singles wrestler in the Federation engaged in a wild brawl at ringside -- Verhoeven has picked up the steel steps and is clocking everyone in sight, Chaos, Sampson, Macbeth -- Referee Dave D'amato is slowly trying to make his way back to his knees, looking for any trace of the diminutive Hugo who appears to have completely vanished, swallowed up by these lumberjacks. Thunder and James are on their feet, each too exhausted to move with any sort of hint at athleticism, each man covered with the blood of the challenger as they fight their way into a corner, the two men fighting to the corner... and then James is able to lift Thunder from his feet and to the mid-buckle.  James fires away as he moves to the buckle, as he climbs to the midrope and locks up with Thunder.  James with a facelock as the two men stand on the mid-buckle and the crowd roars its approval as James brings Thunder crashing to the canvas!] TD: Black Death! There's the Black Death! SR: Yes!  Yes!  It's over!  It's over! [James hits his mid-buckle spinebuster slam and the crowd roars as James, as James pulls Thunder to his feet!  James is pulling Brody Thunder to his feet!] TD: What's he doing...?! He's... James is going for the Blackheart Punch! James is looking to put Thunder away with the Blackheart Punch! [James pauses a moment to look the weary Tnunder in the eye, the blood no longer flowing, but having matted down upon his forehead. James yells out, "This is for Stan!" before firing away at the chest of Thunder... Huge Mixed Pop! Thunder slips the punch, and in one motion leaps to the air, grabs the face of James and drives him down with a Cattlebuster DDT! A Cattlebuster DDT!] TD: Thunder's got him!  He's hooked a leg!  Alfonso's got the count! SR: Grab the ropes, Casey!  Grab the friggin' ropes! [Alfonso drops to the feet of James for the count... 1... Joe Petrow appears on the apron, grabbing James' shoulders and keeping them on the mat... 2... Thunder cinches in... James tries to move... Petrow's got the shoulder! THREE! THREE! Thunder leaps to his feet and Earl Alfonso raises his arm, Dave D'Amato leaps into the ring, yelling "No! No, Earl, No!" while simultaneously James reaches up and grabs Thunder, pulling him to the mat and the momentum throwing Alfonso to the ropes. D'Amato jumps to the mat for the count of James' cover... 1... Petrow grabs Thunder's leg from the outside... 2... Thunder is frozen and D'Amato's hand slaps the mat... THREE! THREE! James gets to his feet and D'Amato raises his hand, Alfonso enters and throws it down, raising Thunder's hand in its place! The crowd is popping like mad as the two referees, Dave D'Amato and Earl Alfonso begin yelling at each other in a heated fashion, each man attempting to make the claim for his called pinfall. James and Thunder each slump to their knees as the lumberjacks all momentarily stop their brawling to look at the scene in the ring.] TD: This is unbelievable!  Thunder had the pinfall on James... and then James had the pinfall on Thunder... and Petrow had the pinfall on both of them! SR: It's James!  It's gotta be James! Tie goes to the champion! Look at Dave and Earl!  Look at Dave and Earl... they're gonna throw down! [The wrestlers then begin to fill the ring, each supporting the case of either James or Thunder... everyone is engaging in demonstrative pushing and shoving as every active singles competitor in the Federation has found his way into the ring, each man protesting one call or the other, each man lined up behind Alfonso and Thunder, or behind James and D'Amato.  The crowd has begun showering the ring with debris as a sound not heard since Birthday Bash fills the arena... It is "Hail to the Chief."] TD: I believe we have some company.  SR: Hey, it's President Steve!  Steve Owens is coming to ringside. [A tanned and obviously rested acting IIWF Presient Steve Owens enters accompanied by his squad of armed security.  The wrestlers in the ring part as Owens takes the microphone and gives a wave to the confused, frustrated and exhausted fans of the IIWF.] SO: Hi, folks.  Hope you're all enjoying tonight's show... and the entire Coronation Clash Crusade Tour.  It has been a doozy, hasn't it? SR: [over the headset] Who won the stinkin' match?  What the hell is going on around here? SO: Well, we have quite a situation here.  Referee Alfonso counted Casey James' shoulders to the mat... however, the ringbell did not sound and referee D'Amato counted Brody Thunder's shoulders to the mat. Further, Joe Petrow seems to have played a role in both of those apparent pinfalls. As tonight's head official, Hugo Hugo, appears to have, well, appears to have left the arena, I, acting well under my authority as IIWF President, have decided that this match will be ruled... A DRAW! A DRAW! [The "boos" from all segments of the crowd now increase, the fans clearly demonstrating their disappointment by resuming the cascade of debris, which stops as if on command as the armed security officials draw their weapons.] SO: So, that means that Brody Thunder did not win this match... and is NOT the Heavyweight Champion of the World. [James then slumps over to President Owens, a smile breaking over his weary face as he slaps a meaty hand on the back of the acting President.] SO: However, given the actions that we have all seen, not just tonight, but over the course of the past few months, it is clear that Casey "Blackheart" James has indeed been defeated... defeated tonight... defeated time and time again.  And therefore... TD: [over the headset] Oh my God. SO: ...Therefore, Casey James is _NO LONGER_ the IIWF Heavyweight Champion. He is stripped of the title... and the IIWF Heavyweight Championship belt is... as of this moment... VACANT! [The crowd explodes into a huge pop, the in-ring wrestlers now begin to realize what must come next, realize the next step that Owens is about to take, and many of whom, many of these men who have been battling all night long, now take on the appearance, almost the appearance of excited schoolboys.] SO: I have also decreed that the IIWF Championship will be awarded... on July 12 at Coronation Clash in Boston, Massachusetts... to the winner of the Coronation Clash Tournament which will begin _next week_ in Cleveland, Ohio! Tournament brackets will be announced by Tim Dross on "Inside the IIWF" this coming Tuesday, so be sure to tune in. And don't forget that official IIWF souvenirs are available in the lobby.  [Owens and the security turn to leave the stunned US Air Arena and ring full of IIWF superstars, then stops briefly and holds up a "one last thing" index finger...] SO: Oh yes, I almost forgot -- as an acquaintance of mine used to say... "Ain't life grand!" [Owens departs and the crowd roars with a combination of excitement for the coming tournament, and abject anger at Casey James' having been stripped of the Championship belt.  The collection of some thirty IIWF superstars in the ring, all who had worked so diligently over the past two months to form various stables, groups and cliques, now clearly appear to be drifting into their own little worlds. The wheels can be seen turning in the faces of all of them, each and every man in the ring clearly possessed with only one thought: "I could be the next IIWF Heavyweight Champion." Each man but one.  Casey James, almost unnoticed in the tumult, does not protest the decision, instead slipping from the ring... and without so much as a glance to anyone, walking up the aisle -- pausing for a moment, as he reaches the entranceway, to survey the scene -- and then disappears from view.] TD: Well, there we have it, folks... a bombshell turn of events here tonight from the Coronation Clash Crusade Tour. Casey James is no longer the IIWF Heavyweight Champion, and the belt will be awarded to the winner of the Coronation Clash Tournament, which begins next week.  The game has changed, folks. So, be sure to call the IIWF hotline tomorrow night for all the late breaking news, and then don't miss what is perhaps the biggest "Inside the IIWF" ever -- when the full 32-man brackets for the Coronation Clash Tournament will be announced, the winner to be crowned the World's Heavyweight Champion! SR: This is the single biggest rip-off in the history of rip-offs. TD: So, for all of us here on "IIWF Saturday Night", this is Tim Dross, saying: good night, everybody! [IIWF superstars are now slowly leaving the ringside area. The fighting has completely stopped, emotions seeming to have been thoroughly drained from the building as each man exits the ring, knowing that he may be only one week away from his road to the Championship of the World. The crowd begins to file out, and soon the only wrestler remaining in the ring is the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder, who stands square in the middle of the canvas, a look of complete and utter astonishment on his bloodied face as the shot fades.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+