[Fade up on footage of the lumberjack match between Casey James and Brody Thunder, captioned "Last Week," accompanied by pulsing rock music. Flash cuts show various incidents from the match, ending with Acting IIWF President Steve Owens taking the microphone in the centre of the ring:] 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! 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! [Huge shocked pop from the crowd. The shot freezes as Owens holds the IIWF title belt aloft as he leaves the ring. Voice over:] VO: The most valued prize in all of professional wrestling. Every athlete knows that the man who wears the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship belt is the man on top of the entire wrestling world. And the next man to wear that title will truly earn it. [Cut to various fragments of video: Chris Quigley locks the Quickstriker leglock on Dan Kauffman.] He will have to win five gruelling matches consecutively, four of them on the same night. [Cut to Creed executing the "Goodnight, Farewell, Amen" flying powerbomb and scoring the pinfall.] He will have to battle the odds. [Cut to Casey James executing the Blackheart Punch on Brody Thunder.] He will have to remain focused. [Cut to Genesis attacking the Subway Psycho like a pack of wolves.] Will he be able to trust his friends? [Cut to the huge four-way brawl between Chris Quigley, Billy Shakespeare, Simon Lebec and Marty Warnett.] Will he be able to trust his enemies? [The cuts come faster and faster, each manoeuvre more high-impact than the last, shots of the faces of IIWF superstars showing them contorted in pain, dripping in sweat, awash with blood... And over this chaotic imagery, the voice over continues:] It's every man for himself. It's the Coronation Clash Tournament. Thirty-two men... One champion. [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! + 28 June 1997 + LiVE! + Gund Arena, Cleveland, Ohio [The opening graphics fade through to interior shots of the jam-packed Gund 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 the explosions of the fireworks and the strains of "Kiss" by Prince:] TD: Welcome everybody to the magnificent Gund Arena here in Cleveland, Ohio! Welcome everybody to IIWF Saturday Night -- and the beginning of the Coronation Clash Tournament! Our first tournament match is about to get underway... let's get straight down to the ring! [Cut to the ring, where Ike Sampson stands in the centre of the canvas, his arms raised to the fans, who applaud him loudly. Sparkplug Lee steps back into the centre of the ring as the lights suddenly drop to almost total darkness, a bank of red spotlights above the ring swinging towards the aisle, while a high-intensity beam is cast into the ring, almost making the mat glow with its luminescence. Dry ice begins to roll out from the entranceway, mist turned red by the bank of lights. The shot focuses in on the video wall above the aisle as red lettering bursts out of the darkness, in time with the booming voice: "Anyone... Anywhere... Anytime..." Huge pop from the crowd as the opening fanfare of Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" drills out over the speakers. Shots of the crowd reveal that all eyes are turned towards the entrance curtain, the fans already united in their chant: "Creed! Creed! Creed!" Ike Sampson simply stands in the ring, his eyes, like everybody else's, focused on the entrance curtain. And then... out steps Creed, his red glove raised to the crowd as red flare after red flare shoot up from either side of the rookie and scream up into the rafters above the ring in a streak of light. Creed fixes his eyes on the ring, drops his fist to his side, and begins the walk down the aisle, his gaze meeting that of his comrade, Sampson. Creed's movement appears completely unimpaired, despite the presence of the sturdy red brace on his right knee. The fans continue to chant: "Creed! Creed! Creed!" as the rookie climbs the ringsteps and enters the ring, mounting the second turnbuckle and thrusting his fist into the air. Huge pop! Cut to an aerial shot of the ring, as Sampson stands watching his comrade, and now opponent, while the familiar clenched fist emblem spins in the centre of the canvas. Cut to Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts seated at the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: Can you believe this kid, Dross? Coming out here and stealing my thunder like that! TD: Howdy, folks! What an explosive start to tonight's broadcast, and to the Coronation Clash Tournament! I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my tag team partner, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. We are now only two weeks away from the crowning of a new IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, and that new champion could conceivably be one of the two men standing in the ring at this very moment as they await the start of this match, the first match of the tournament. SR: You're kidding me, right, Dross? Neither of these two wet-behind-the-ears kids stand a chance of making it past Casey James or Otto Verhoeven in this tournament. TD: Fans, we have got some simply incredible action coming your way over the next one hundred and twenty minutes. In just a moment, we will see Creed battle Ike Sampson in a battle of the so-called "Black Pack" to open things up here tonight, and there will be seven more first round tournament matches coming your way over the course of the evening. We'll see all four of the "outsiders" from the IIWF's affiliate leagues in action, as Duncan Macbeth meets the NLWP's "Cowboy" Ken Curtis, Derek Mota battles the incendiary Firestarter of ESWP, Brody Thunder takes on the NLWP's Kid Ego, and Deathbringer faces the enigmatic Black Flagg, also from ESWP. SR: I'll tell you what, Dross -- regardless of how I may feel about that incomprehensible Scottish moron, Dunkin' Donuts, that Canadian punk Mota, Brody Thunder, and the Deathbringer, they're gonna kick the butts of those bush league nobodies all the way back to the college gyms they came from. TD: All three of the men we're set to see tonight are tremendous competitors, Steve Roberts, and I would not be at all surprised to see any of them advance in the tournament. In other tournament action, we'll see the Intercontinental Champion, Lord Byron, square off against Ronnie Paris, and the "Showstopper" Simon Lebec face Mad Dog Watkins. Right now, though, let's get up to the ring to get this match underway. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Coronation Clash Tournament First Round Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [GROUP A] Creed vs. Ike Sampson ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITER: DS [Cut to the ring as the lights rise once more. Creed and Sampson stand, facing one another across the ring, as Sparkplug Lee raises the microphone to make the introductions:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, tonight's opening contest is scheduled for one fall, and is a first round match in the Coronation Clash tournament! [Big pop!] TD: [over the headset] This crowd is absolutely pumped, Steve Roberts. They can't wait for this one to get underway! RA: Introducing first, on my left, weighing in at 304lbs, here is... Ike Sampson! [The crowd gives an appreciative cheer for Sampson, but Ike doesn't respond, his gaze still fixed on the slightly smaller Creed.] TD: You've got to believe that this is one of the biggest nights in young Ike's career, Steve. Look how these two men match up: Ike is slightly bulkier, slightly taller, and may have the edge in terms of upper-body power, but Creed... Creed is the total package, Steve Roberts. He's built for speed, built for agility, built for leverage, yet he still stands 6'4" and weighs in at not much under three hundred pounds. SR: You seem to forget, Dross, that the poor little orphan rookie is a cripple. That knee of his will never be the same again, Dross, I'm telling you. TD: But you can't question the desire of this young man, Steve. He has declared on more than one occasion that his single career goal is to capture that IIWF World Heavyweight Championship and take it back to Oakland. The promise made by a fatherless eight-year-old boy, Steve Roberts. SR: Aw, come on, Dross, you're gonna make me cry here, buddy. Save the bleeding heart stories for somebody who cares. [Sparkplug Lee raises the microphone once more:] RA: And introducing his opponent... on my right... hailing from Oakland, California, and weighing in at 276lbs, here is... Creed! [Huge pop! The camera cuts to various shots of ringside fans, many waving their fists to the camera, gloved in red leather in a similar fashion to Creed. In the ring, Creed rolls his head to loosen his neck, but still appears to keep his gaze locked on Sampson. Lee exits the ring, and official Dave D'Amato steps inbetween the two combatants, speaking to both men about the match to come... before signalling for the bell! Ding! Ding! Ding! Immediately, both men lunge at one another, locking up collar and elbow in the centre of the ring. Big pop!] TD: We are underway, folks! The tournament is underway! [Creed quickly slips the lock-up, and blasts Sampson with a hard European forearm uppercut, hitting him under the jaw. Sampson reels a little, and is sufficiently stunned for Creed to unleash a barrage of hard rights and lefts into his opponent's torso, forcing Sampson to try and shield his body with his arms. The referee immediately calls for the break, and Creed relents, but only for a moment, and before Sampson can get his breath back, Creed lunges in with a kick to the midsection, followed by a brutal front lay-out suplex. Big pop! Creed is still relentless, picking Sampson up to his feet and executing a belly-to-back suplex, heaving the three hundred pound athlete across the ring. Big pop! Sampson rolls to the outside to collect himself.] TD: What an explosive start to this match by Creed! I don't think Sampson was prepared for the fury exhibited by Creed in this match, Steve Roberts. Creed is on a mission, and he's not going to let anything stand in his way! SR: Sure, the rookie's hit a couple of nice moves, but he can't match power with a guy like Sampson all night. If he tries to keep up this pace, he's gonna get tired, and fast. Then -- boom! One mistake is all it takes. [The referee attempts to prevent Creed from following Sampson to the outside, but the red-gloved rookie pushes D'Amato aside and slides under the bottom rope to the arena floor, where he is met by a resurgent Sampson. Ike gamely hammers away at Creed with hard rights and lefts, attempting to slow down the rookie, and he gradually gets the better of his opponent, weakening him sufficiently to whip him into the steel ring steps! Huge mixed pop as Creed clatters into the hard steps! Sampson rolls back into the ring to break the count, and stands in the centre of the canvas. A few ringside fans jeer his actions, but Sampson merely shrugs.] TD: It appears that Ike Sampson's actions here don't meet with the approval of all the fans here in Cleveland. SR: How many times have I told you, Dross? You can't be concerned with what these redneck morons think. It's all about the win, baby. You have to win to advance -- and if a bit of steel is gonna slow down the orphan, then so be it. You know what I always say, "what the hell, use the steps." TD: You never say that, Steve Roberts. SR: I did once. Best weekend of my life. TD: Of course. [Creed rolls back into the ring under the bottom rope, and Sampson immediately stomps away at his opponent. The referee forces Sampson away for a moment, allowing Creed to get to his feet, and the crowd begins to cheer with gusto as the two men get into a slugfest in the centre of the ring. Sampson fires out with a right hand -- blocked -- Creed fires back with one right hand... and another... and another! And Sampson goes down! Big pop! Sampson almost seems to bounce off the canvas as he immediately springs back to his feet -- and finds himself thrown to the mat once more with a snap suplex. Sampson is a little slower off the mat this time, but charges at Creed once more, who hits a Japanese armdrag, flipping Sampson through the air with great leverage, and sending him crashing into the opposite corner. Big pop!] TD: Great agility from the rookie Creed there, Steve Roberts. That Japanese armdrag is a great leverage move. And once again, Sampson gets back to his feet. This is one tough customer! [Sampson attempts to shake off the cobwebs of the last attack, but gets backed into the corner with a series of reverse knife-edge chops from Creed. As the red-gloved rookie blasts his leather-clad knuckles across Sampson's bare chest, the cracks resound around the Gund Arena, drawing gasps from the ringside fans. Sampson appears to be trapped in the corner -- but with a sudden dodge, he reverses, and flings Creed into the corner. Huge pop!] TD: Sampson has Creed in the corner! And big Ike, unloading now with all he has on Creed! Look at this flurry of rights and lefts -- and a huge haymaker from Sampson practically takes Creed's head off! [Released by Sampson, Creed staggers out into the ring -- and is taken off his feet by a high-impact suplex from Sampson! Big mixed pop! Sampson makes the cover -- 1 - 2 - Creed kicks out with authority! Ike pulls his opponent to his feet, and whips him into the ropes. Creed ducks a clothesline on the return, bounces off the near ropes, and is then floored by a kneelift on the next pass, turning almost a complete somersault as he is bent double by the blow to the midsection. Big pop!] TD: What a kneelift from Sampson! Ike, in full control of this match now, brings Creed to his feet -- and look at this, Steve Roberts! [Cameras flash all over the arena as Sampson hoists the 276lbs Creed up above his head and presses him... not just presses him, but holds him there, above his head, and walks around the ring, his face contorted by the effort of holding this hunk of humanity above his head! He prepares to dump Creed -- but the red-gloved rookie wriggles, shifts his weight, and comes down on his feet behind Sampson. He rushes Sampson into the ropes, pulls him over backwards, and rolls him up for the cover: 1 - 2 - Sampson kicks out! Big pop!] TD: These two men have really turned up the intensity in this match, Steve. Either one of these two tremendous athletes could go all the way in this tournament. SR: Yeah, right, Dross. Everybody knows that this tournament belongs to J.W. Hardin. TD: The "Outlaw" is in Europe, Steve. SR: That's what you think, Dross. I have it on good authority that the first ever IIWF World Heavyweight Champion is here in the Gund Arena tonight, and will be making an appearance later on! TD: Steve Roberts, will you please stop spreading these untruths. SR: Don't doubt the Soundbiter, Dross. Just because I get all the scoops. TD: Hardin is under contract in Europe. I understand he wrestled German champion Gunther "the Grappler" Goethe last night in Stuttgart SR: Believe what you like, Dross. He'll be here. [Both men are back on their feet now, and vying for position in the centre of the ring. Sampson attempts to whip Creed into the ropes, but the effort is reversed, and Sampson goes for the ride. He bounces off the near-ropes... and is driven into the canvas by a huge spinebuster! Big pop! Creed simply places his muscled legs over Sampson's shoulders as Ike lies prostrate on the canvas, and the referee counts: 1 - 2 - Sampson manages to power out, forcing Creed over backwards with his own shoulders on the mat! Sampson quickly repositions, hooking both of Creed's legs and putting all of his 306lbs bulk into the cover: 1 - 2 - Creed powers out, kicking out with his legs, and sending Sampson backwards. The rookie gets to his feet, once again fixing his intense stare on Sampson, and the two men, each them now sweating profusely from the lights and their exertions, prepare to lock up again. They lock up, collar and elbow, and Sampson quickly goes behind Creed -- and slaps on a full nelson! Sampson applies a full nelson on Creed, and wrenches as hard as he can on Creed's shoulders! Big pop!] TD: Good strategy from young Sampson here, Steve Roberts. If he can weaken Creed's upper body, he can force the red-gloved rookie to change his strategy in this match. SR: You're right, for once, Dross. Sampson has been rocked from the start of this match by a power assault from Creed, and we know that Creed's not as mobile as he used to be, thanks to the European Alliance, so he'll find it difficult to fall back on that motion-based assault we used to see from him. TD: Are you feeling alright, Steve? That almost sounded intelligent. SR: Don't put the badmouth on me, Dross. I'll set the "L'il Soundbiters" on you in the parking lot. TD: Heaven forbid. [Creed's face is twisted into a grimace as Sampson continues to increase the pressure on his neck and shoulders, wrenching them as hard as possible. Looking for an escape, the rookie resorts to bringing up one of his boots hard between Sampson's legs, bringing a shocked pop from the crowd! Sampson is bent over double, and Creed staggers free of his opponent's grip, shaking the kinks out of his shoulders.] TD: Creed showing that he will resort to any tactics to win this match here tonight, Steve Roberts. Both of these men want the victory in the worst way, but I have a feeling that Creed may want it just a little bit more. Look at him go to work on Sampson now! [Creed turns his attention back to Sampson, backing him into the ropes once more with a series of Eurpoean uppercuts, and then whips him to the far side. Sampson comes back towards Creed -- and the rookie uses Sampson's momentum against him, hitting a waistlock belly-to-belly suplex that sends Sampson nearly clear out of the ring! Creed makes the cover: 1 - 2 - and Sampson gets his feet in the ropes! Creed stands and turns to referee Dave D'Amato, signalling his displeasure, while Sampson stands once more. Again, Creed whips the groggy Sampson into the ropes, and this time, he puts his head down for a backdrop -- but a little too early! Sampson sees the move coming, and blasts Creed with a boot to the face that fells the rookie! Big pop as Sampson climbs to the second turnbuckle, waiting for Creed to stand once more. Creed gets back to his feet, and turns to see Sampson perched on the second buckle. Sampson launches himself for a flying shoulderblock -- and Creed drops to the canvas! Creed drops out of the way, and Sampson crashes to the mat! Big pop!] TD: A mistake from Ike Sampson right there, Steve! He went for that high-impact shoulderblock, but Creed saw it coming. [Creed stands once more, the chant of "Creed! Creed! Creed!" increasing in volume once more as the rookie adjusts his left glove, approaching Sampson, who is crawling to his feet. Creed grabs Sampson from behind in a cross-face.] TD: Here it comes, Steve Roberts! The move Creed has christened the "Creedplex"... a crossface into a back suplex with bridge... and Creed hoists him up and over... What impact! [Creed executes the Creedplex on the stunned Sampson, but releases the bridge before the referee makes the count. The chant grows louder still: "Creed! Creed! Creed!" as the red-gloved rookie stands in the centre of the ring. Creed drags Sampson to his feet and whips him into the ropes as a figure comes out of the crowd, leaping over the barriers... Creed picks up Sampson for his whirling Crimson Tide chokeslam... and suddenly drops like a rock in the ring! Huge heel pop as a figure wielding a cane nimbly jumps down from the apron.] TD: Did you see that, Steve Roberts?! Did you see that?! SR: You're damned right I saw it, Dross, and I love it! Quick as a flash, Lord Byron came out of the crowd and smashed Creed upside the head with that brass-topped cane! Creed is out cold, Dross! Now that's what I call payback! TD: This is dreadful! Byron now, looking on... I don't think Sampson or the referee know what has gone down here... Creed is out on the canvas... oh, this is just wrong! [Sampson drops onto the motionless form of Creed with a cover. He hooks the leg... D'Amato drops to the mat and makes the count: 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Huge mixed pop from the crowd! Sampson stands and the official raises his arm in victory as "Kiss" starts up over the PA once more. On the outside, Byron smirks, and wipes the brass top of his cane with a handkerchief, polishing it up.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, as the result of a pinfall... Ike Sampson! [Big mixed pop! Sampson climbs to the buckles in each corner in turn, celebrating his victory, while Creed slowly comes round in the ring.] TD: This is awful, Steve Roberts. Creed was surely on his way to beating Ike Sampson here tonight and taking one step closer to that IIWF World title, his holy grail... and he has had that dream snatched out from under his nose yet again by Lord Byron! SR: Ain't it great, Dross? I love it! Look at the loser in the ring. He literally doesn't know what hit him! [Byron, now in the aisle, holds his cane aloft and taunts Creed as he backs away towards the locker room, apparently savouring the sight of Creed, dazed and confused in the ring. Sampson halts his celebrations to try and console Creed, who doesn't so much reject the sympathy as seem completely oblivious of Sampson's presence.] TD: Creed seems to be absolutely numb, Steve Roberts. He just can't believe what has transpired here tonight! Here comes the Mad Dog. [The crowd are on their feet as Mad Dog Watkins, not yet in his ring attire, enters from the locker room area, climbing into the ring and congratulating Ike, who leaves the squared circle and slaps hands with as many fans as possible on his way back to the locker room, revelling in a huge victory. Mad Dog helps Creed to his feet, and out of the ring, talking quietly to him, but receiving no verbal response from the red-gloved rookie whatsoever.] TD: What a match to start off tonight's broadcast, Steve Roberts, but you can't help but feel sorry for Creed here. He has been cost a shot at his dream by the man who has dogged him -- no pun intended -- for so long. SR: Go on, Mad Dog, get that loser out of here! He's never been able to hold a candle to Byron, Dross, and he never will. That's a fact, plain and simple. [Creed is helped back to the locker room by Watkins, and the crowd begins to settle once more. Cut back to Dross and Roberts at the ringside broadcast table.] TD: We're moving right along now to our second match in the Coronation     Clash tourney, and we'll be giving IIWF fans their first proper look     at the NLWP's "Cowboy" Ken Curtis. SR: Ken who? TD: Ken Curtis, Steve. You may not have heard of him, but my early     scouting reports suggest that this cowboy is as tough as they come.     He soundly defeated young Casey C last Wednesday. SR: In that case Duncan Macbeth is well out of his depth. You     think a guy who wears skirts is gonna be a match for an "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin impersonator? Hell, Hardin is such a legend, some of his     greatness rubs off even on his imitators. TD: Erm... yes. I think you're underestimating Duncan Macbeth though,     Steve. This feisty Scotsman is an expert in rough-house wrestling     himself, and we're sure to have a real fight on our hands. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Coronation Clash Tournament First Round Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [GROUP B] Duncan Macbeth vs. "Cowboy" Ken Curtis ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITER: RD [The spotlight falls on centre ring, where Sparkplug Lee is tapping a beat on his leg with the microphone and doing a little dance. Suddenly, Sparky remembers where he is and jumps to attention.] RA: Ladies and Gentlemen! The following contest is scheduled for one     fall, and is a first round match in the Coronation Clash tournament!     [crowd pop] Introducing first, weighing in at 250 lbs: "Cowboy" Ken     Curtis! [Ken Curtis swaggers out from backstage to the rock n' raunch of ZZ Top's "Just got paid". The fans give Curtis a mild pop, not being very familiar with the "Cowboy", although a group of hardcore Brody Thunder fans give him a rousing cheer. Curtis looks like the very definition of a "redneck", and he is carrying a nasty looking bullwhip with him.] TD: Looks like a mean son of a gun, don't he? SR: Sure does, Timbo. Guys like this used to beat you up all the time     down in hillbilly country, huh? RA: And his opponent! Hailing from Glenfinnin, Scotland, and weighing in     at 270 lbs: here is Duncan Macbeth! [The crowd gives a respectable cheer as "Scotland the Brave" blasts out over the loudspeakers. Duncan Macbeth heads down the aisle looking deadly serious, wearing his kilt, leather jacket and a T-shirt that reads "THE FEW - THE PROUD - THE IIWF!" Macbeth heads straight over to the announcing table, pulls out a small tin and hands it to Steve Roberts with a twinkle in his eye.] SR: Alright! "Walker's Pure Butter Shortbread Highlanders"! These are     the best damn brand of biscuits in the world, Tim Dross, and the     "Soundbite" knows his biscuits. TD: You are the recognised biscuit connoisseur, Steve... Oh my goodness,     look at this! [As Macbeth is distracted by the presentation of the biscuits, Ken Curtis comes leaping off the apron and slams the hilt of his whip into the back of Duncan's head. The Scotsmen staggers back against the railings in pain and surprise, and immediately Curtis goes to work, wrapping the lash around Macbeth's throat and choking him out. The ref signals for the bell - Ding! Ding! Ding! - and immediately begins to yell at Curtis to take the fight into the ring. As usual, his pleas go ignored. Macbeth gags and splutters, scrabbling frantically at his throat, but Curtis just gives a nasty laugh and uses the slack on the whip to hurl Macbeth straight into the steel ring steps! This tactic draws a big heel response from the crowd, much to Curtis' apparent satisfaction.] SR: Hey, I could get to like this Gwen Curtains guy! TD: That's Ken Curtis, Steve, and such a flippant disregard for the     rules could quickly earn him the wrath of the IIWF officials. SR: Yeah right! Like, that's really something to worry about. I get the     suits riled up all the time and I'm still the highest paid announcer     in the business! TD: I hate to break this to you Steve, but Becky LaRue... um... let's     just say she was up to her old tricks again, and er... I think she     just got herself a raise. SR: Yeah... yeah... I get the picture: Steve Owens, a jar of peanut     butter, giraffes missing from the local zoo and -- bingo! You can see the dollar signs in her eyes already. [Curtis plants a knee in Macbeth's groin, punches him in the throat, and then rolls the wounded Scotsmen under the bottom ropes by his hair. The crowd jeers as Curtis follows Macbeth into the ring and begins to stomp away on him. Suddenly, Macbeth grabs one of Curtis' stompin' legs and pulls the cowboy straight off of his feet! The back of Curtis' head slams into the mat with a sickening thud and the crowd roars with approval. Macbeth immediately drops atop of his foe and unloads with the lefts and rights, his pub brawling experience serving him well. Macbeth drags Curtis up by the hair and charges into the corner, slamming the cowboy's head into the top buckle with shattering force! Retaining his hold on Curtis' hair, Macbeth tosses him to the ropes, then comes charging in with a spinning leg lariat, the impact of which buffets Curtis straight over the ropes and out of the ring! Macbeth pumps a fist into the air and gives vent to an old Scottish war cry, with the fans responding in kind.] TD: Macbeth threw off that early assault with remarkable ease, and now     he's tossing Curtis around that ring like a Scottish caber! SR: Come on now, Tim. Do you really think a big, bad Scotsmen is gonna     beat a big, bad American in a stand-up fight? TD: Well, I hear in Glasgow they have raised pub brawling to a fine art. [Macbeth runs to the ropes, bounds off, and comes sailing over the opposite strands with a flying cross body aimed directly at Ken Curtis! Curtis, however, is ready for him, and is able to absorb the impact to some extent. He catches hold of Macbeth in mid-air and brings him crashing down into the crowd barriers, although, the "Cowboy" himself goes down hard to the arena floor under the impact. Both men rise, somewhat painfully, and immediately engage in a fistfight. Curtis staggers Macbeth with a right cross, then seizes hold of the Scotsman's long locks, using them to ram his head into the steel ring steps! Macbeth, however, merely shakes his head, grins, and returns the favour, cracking Curtis' forehead across the steps with one swipe of his hand! The fans cheer loudly for the Scot's resilience!] SR: What a stout maneuver for a guy wearing a skirt! Macbeth took that     a headshot on the ringsteps and it did'nt even rattle that thick     skull of his! Then, straight away he dishes out the same treatment     to Ken Curtis. Great stuff! TD: Well, these guys are certainly going at it. They've spent more time     on the outside than actually between the ropes thus far, but they     must remember that tournaments are won in the ring, not on the arena     floor. SR: Imagine if every match ended in a double count-out, and nobody     becomes the IIWF champion, that would be cool. They'd have to award     the belt to me! [Macbeth drags the cowboy back into the ring and whips him to the ropes once again. As Curtis bounds off on the rebound the Scot catches him in a flawless spinning neckbreaker to a big pop from the crowd! Macbeth immediately goes for the cover: 1 - 2 - Curtis manages to kick out to the dissapointment of the fans. Macbeth pulls his foe up, and goes to lock on a sleeper, but Curtis thumbs him right in the eye! Macbeth winces and staggers back, giving Curtis the opportunity to drive a knee hard into the Scot's midsection. As he is doubled up from the blow, Curtis tucks Macbeth's head under his arm and executes a quickfire DDT, snapping the Scot's head off the canvas. Curtis hooks the leg for the pin: 1 - 2 - Macbeth kicks out only just in time.] TD: Macbeth and Curtis seem very evenly matched. Both have scored near     pins, both are really taking the fight to each other. SR: It's the rough and tumble style the IIWF does best, Timmy boy. I'm     surprised that some bum from NATO or whatever it is can keep up the     pace. [Curtis gets up and argues with the ref about the call. Macbeth is red-faced with anger, and shoves him hard from behind to a pop from the fans! Curtis stumbles forward, then whips around in annoyance and belts Macbeth hard in the mouth! Macbeth flies into a rage and launches himself at Curtis with a vengeance, unloading with a furious flurry of blows. Curtis covers up against the ropes, but is able to turn the tide by landing a painful uppercut between Macbeth's legs. Duncan groans and clutches himself after the cheapshot, and Curtis capitalises by cutting him down with a short arm clothesline. Curtis rolls him up for the pin: 1 - 2 - The fans pop loudly as Macbeth reverses the roll up! 1 - 2 - Curtis escapes within a hairs breadth of getting pinned!] TD: This sure is a fast paced encounter. Duncan Macbeth is a pretty     big guy, but pound-for-pound he must be one of the quickest in     the world. SR: Well, he gave me some biscuits, so I'll grant him that. [Macbeth dishes out a little revenge by elbowing Curtis in the groin as the two foes are still prone. Curtis howls in agony, and Macbeth runs to the ropes. He bounds off, comes charging in, and aims a legdrop directly at Curtis' throat! However, Curtis rolls aside at the last moment and Macbeth comes crashing down onto the canvas. Curtis is immediately up and aims a flying headbutt at the prone Macbeth, but this time Macbeth rolls aside and Curtis' head snaps off the mat painfully! Both men lie stretched out on the canvas, out of breath, Macbeth clutching his damaged leg, and Curtis clutching his battered head.] TD: It looks like both men are feeling the pace of the battle, Steve.     They've gone all out to put each other away, but neither seens able     to gain a solid... Wait a minute! Who is this? [The crowd gives a surprised pop as a big, brawny man in a mask heads down the aisle. Some of the long time IIWF fans look on in abject shock, the style of the man's mask and tights appearing very familiar.] SR: I told you so, Dross! It's the Masked Outlaw! One year ago almost to the day, this guy unmasked himself to unveal the greatest damn asskicker the world has ever known: the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin! TD: I'm not so sure... it could be somebody impersonating... SR: [interrupting] Tim Dross, I'm not a religious man, but if I was     I would fall down on my knees right now and praise Jesus! J.W. Hardin has returned to save us all! [The possible "Masked Outlaw" arrives at ringside and surveys the ring, ignoring the taunts and questions of the ringside fans. Macbeth and Curtis barely notice the mysterious invader's presence as they claw up to their feet exhaustedly and begin trading shots again.] TD: Steve, remember that Hardin is a member of the illustrious IIWF Hall     of Fame, and as such is forbidden from competing here again. SR: Nonsense! No damn IIWF official will stop JW Hardin from getting in     on the action whenever he damn well pleases! The "Outlaw" is back, I     tell you! TD: There's no point in arguing with you when you're all excited, Steve.     You become completely irrational. I have reports of Hardin wrestling a match in Europe just yesterday -- this can't be the same guy. [Curtis has just dispatched Macbeth to the canvas with a wicked-looking piledriver, when the "Masked Outlaw" moves into action. He gets up right next to the apron and begins flipping the bird at Ken Curtis! Curtis looks down at the Masked Man in disbelief, mouthing "Who the [BLEEP] are you?" The "Masked Outlaw" grins through his mask and beckons to Curtis to "bring it on."] TD: I'm not sure... that physique looks a lot like Casey James to me.     Casey's build is distinctive, it's pretty unmistakable. We all know     that James was influenced by the wrestling style of J.W. Hardin, he     might be paying a tribute of sorts by donning the Outlaw mask. SR: So what? James and Hardin have similar physiques, Dross. They both     weigh over three hundred pounds. They both stand around 6'7". I tell     ya, the "Outlaw" has come back to win the gold in the Coronation     Clash! TD: All the brackets are filled, Steve. There's no place for Hardin in     the Clash. SR: It doesn't matter! He'll win anyway! TD: Good grief! Listen to reason, man! [The "Masked Outlaw" continues to taunt Curtis, as Duncan Macbeth struggles to get up to his feet in the background. Suddenly Curtis takes a swipe at the masked man over the top rope! The mystery man steps aside and gives a nasty laugh, before pointing behind Curtis and yelling "Look out behind you!" Curtis turns around, only to see the resurgent Duncan Macbeth catch him with his Claymore Frankensteiner! The crowd goes crazy as Macbeth executes the move flawlessly, putting Curtis sread-eagled and motionless on the mat. Macbeth flops atop his foe for the pin, and the ref begins to count: 1 - 2 - 3! The fans explode! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: You have to feel a bit sorry for Ken Curtis, Steve. He was fighting     away from his home turf in the NLWP, he really gave Duncan Macbeth a     fight, and he lost because of the machinations of this "pretender"     Masked Outlaw... most likely Casey James. SR: Hey! That idiot shouldn't have taken a swipe at J.W. Hardin, then he     might still be in the match! TD: [sigh] Whatever you say, Steve. [The mysterious masked man has already made his way backstage, his task done for the night. Duncan Macbeth celebrates his advancing into the second round by slapping the hands of the fans at ringside, while Ken Curtis leaves with a very disappointed look on his face. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: An unfortunate start for the "outsiders" here tonight, Steve, but we are still set to see the other three competitors from the NLWP and ESWP tonight. Curtis may have come out on the losing end in that match, but he has certainly demonstrated that there are some tremendous athletes in his home promotion, the Canadian-based NLWP. SR: Did you say "bush league," Dross? TD: No, Steve Roberts, I did not say "bush league." Both the NLWP and ESWP are highly-respected organisations. SR: Not by me, they're not. TD: Well, it's a representative from ESWP up for action next, as the controversial Firestarter, who holds a victory... SR: [coughing] Screwjob! TD: ...over the IIWF's most in-form athlete, Lord Byron, faces Derek Mota, who, ironically enough, also competes in the NLWP. This should be a very interesting match, Steve. SR: Uh-huh. Wake me when it's over. TD: Let's get up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Coronation Clash Tournament First Round Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [GROUP B] Derek Mota vs. Firestarter ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITERS: DS/MB [Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring and raises his microphone:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following first round Coronation Clash tournament match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, representing the ESWP, hailing from London, England and weighing in at 299lbs, here is... Firestarter! [The intense beats of "Firestarter" by The Prodigy pulsate over the PA system as laser lights cut through the dry ice pouring out of the entranceway. Suddenly, a silhouetted figure emerges into the path of the lasers, sending their beams scattering. The crowd gives a mixed reaction as the huge Firestarter, standing some 6'9", steps out into the aisle, a title belt dangling from each hand. He thrusts his arms into the air as two rockets scream down from the rafters of the arena, missing him by inches, and a huge wall of flame erupts behind him. Big pop from the crowd!] TD: This is an imposing competitor, Steve Roberts. The belts he's carrying are the ESWP European Heavyweight Championship -- a title he wrestled from our very own Lord Byron... SR: [coughing] Screwjob! TD: ...and the ESWP European Tag Team Championship, of which he is co-holder along with stablemate The Fallen Angel. Both men are a part of Death Enterprises, the largest and most dominant stable in ESWP. Firestarter stands at 6'9" and tips the scales at nearly three hundred pounds -- this is one powerful mountain of a man, and in a knock-down, drag-out fight, he's tough to beat. SR: Oh, yeah, Dross, I'm impressed. In he comes with his flashy entrance and his two tin belts, but in the IIWF, that means nothing. TD: I hardly think the championships of the ESWP can be described as "tin belts," Steve. In any case, Firestarter has for some time been feuding with the other man whom has been sent by ESWP to compete in this tournament, the huge Black Flagg, who will meet Deathbringer later on tonight... SR: ...if he shows up. TD: Firestarter is an all-action competitor, Steve Roberts. Derek Mota is going to have his hands full here tonight. SR: You are joking, right?  I have enough trouble staying awake through     some of the matches we put on, never mind wasting my time watching     the bush leagues!  Now, don't get me wrong, these ESPNs and NCWPLs,     or whatever they're called, are great testing grounds for the IIWF     stars of tomorrow, and this Serge Annis wannabe could be big... one     day. But right now, he's just another big guy with pyromaniac tendencies. [Firestarter makes his way down the ring as the flames behind him die down. As he gets halfway to ringside he starts shouting expletives at the crowd, and pointing at his belts, shouts; "These are _real_ belts [BLEEP]-heads, not the [BLEEP]ing pieces of tin you idiots scream for!"] SR: Ingrate! He better cut the language. TD: I must agree. There's no place in our sport for foul-mouthed wrestlers.  We cater for a family audience here in the IIWF. SR: Yeah, if the syndicates push this to a later time slot because of     the bad language, my t-shirt sales will plummet!  You know, there's     a royalty on every one of them, Dross? TD: I almost made the mistake of thinking you had a conscience there,     Steve. SR: Hey! I can have a conscience... if there's money in it. [Firestarter laughs derisively at the hostile reaction and continues to the ring, climbing the ringsteps, stepping between the ropes, and holding his pair of belts aloft, before giving them to a ring attendant. He stands, apparently unmoved by the moment, and fixes his eye on the entranceway, awaiting the presence of his opponent.] RA: And his opponent... [Big pop as "The Great Southern Trendkill" by Pantera starts up over the PA, and the arena lights dim.] RA: ...hailing from Toronto, Ontario, Canada, and weighing in at 224lbs, here is... the self-proclaimed "heatseeker" of the IIWF... Derek Mota! [Mota steps out into the aisle, wearing his usual black tights, and a leather jacket. He brushes his wet shoulder-length black hair out of his face and smiles a confident smile to the fans on either side of the aisle. He makes his way down, slapping the hands of as many members of the crowd as he is able, not making eye contact with Firestarter until he reaches ringside, at which point his demeanour changes. Mota leaps to the apron, and vaults over the ropes into the ring, an icy look of determination fixed on his face.] TD: And here is young Derek Mota, Steve Roberts. In his rookie year, and already making big waves in the IIWF. A big victory over Tiger Claw just last week, and controversy surrounding him concerning his position with regard to Genesis -- is he, or is he not, in league with Requiem and his troops? SR: Who? TD: Steve, you know very well who I'm talking about. [Mota removes his leather jacket and hands it to a ring attendant, never once removing his gaze from Firestarter, who appears confident, almost cocky, on the other side of the ring. As the two men continue to stare at each other across the ring, the "IIWF! IIWF!" chant starts up once more, and Mota, still keeping his eyes fixed on the huge Firestarter, gestures to the crowd to chant louder. Suddenly, Firestarter lunges at Mota, and the match is underway! As Sparkplug Lee dives from the ring with a look of sheer terror on his face, the ref tries with little success to admonish Firestarter.  The big Englishman levels Mota with a vicious short clothesline, and drops a big elbow.  A winded Mota is then dragged to his feet as the ref, still trying to caution him, signals for the bell to officially start the match.  Mota is picked up easily and bodyslammed down hard and a legdrop is followed by the first pin attempt - 1 - 2 - kickout!  Pop of encouragement!] TD: This burly man is really taking it to Derek early in the match, but     it's going to take more than that to put him away. [Undaunted, Firestarter picks him back up and whips him to the corner hard, only for Mota to put the brakes on, jump onto the middle rope and moonsault... clean over Firestarter's head!  Firestarter looked ready to catch the rebounding Mota and seemed momentarily surprised when he just disappeared from his view, while Mota, landing on his feet behind the momentarily confused ESWP Champion, jumps and, hooking both of his feet under his arms, spins through a frankensteiner-type move and succeeds in landing on all fours.  Firestarter is pulled from his feet over the top of Mota to land with his shoulders pinned to the mat... a count: 1 - 2 - Firestarter barely kicks out! Mota scrambles from under him and as Firestarter gets to his feet he is met with a dropkick..] TD: Wow! What an explosive start here by the agile Mota! He's using his quickness to frustrate the big man early on here. SR: I may not like Mota, that little punk, but he's got speed, Dross. Speed could well be a factor in this match. TD: Firestarter getting to his feet... and offering a test of strength to Mota! SR: If Mota accepts this, Dross, he's dumber than he looks. There's no way he can match strength with a guy as big as this Firestarter. [Firestarter raises his hands to the heavens, and nods at Mota, challenging him to accept the test of strength. Mota pushes the hair from his face and looks out into the crowd, who roar their approval, again chanting: "IIWF! IIWF!" Gingerly, he extends one hand up to meet that of the much taller Firestarter -- and the big Englishman blasts Mota in the midsection with a kick! Huge heel pop as Mota is doubled over... and then drilled to the canvas by a gutwrench powerbomb! Firestarter goes for the cover: 1 - 2 - kickout! Mota is dragged to his feet and whipped into the ropes, and then hoisted into the air and brought down hard on Firestarter's knee with a devastating backbreaker on the return. The "IIWF! IIWF!" chant grows louder as Mota is again dragged to his feet and whipped into the ropes, this time hit with a high-torque powerslam on the return. Big pop!] TD: Mota's in trouble right now, Steve Roberts. I've watched tapes of Firestarter in action, and this man is relentless. He'll use that power advantage to weaken the back in preparation for his dreaded "Burning Zone" torture rack finisher. SR: A guy like Mota could be snapped like a twig by a move like that. I don't think raising the ire of the Firestarter was quite what Mota had in mind when he gave himself the moniker of the IIWF's "heatseeker." [Mota rolls to the outside to collect himself, and the referee attempts to prevent Firestarter from following the Canadian out of the ring, but Firestarter simply raises a clenched fist to the official, who backs off in a hurry. Firestarter steps through the ropes and perches on the apron above Mota. The crowd yells a warning to Mota as Firestarter leaps -- and comes crashing down with a double axe-handle into the small of Mota's back! Huge heel pop! Mota goes down face-first, and Firestarter takes the opportunity to exacerbate the damage to the back, stomping on Mota's back a couple of times before walking to the timekeepers' table and pushing an official from his seat, grabbing his steel chair and folding it up as he turns to face Mota once more. The Canadian, however, drives his shoulder into Firestarter's lower abdomen as he brandishes the chair above his head. Huge pop as Firestarter is bent double and drops the chair. Mota grabs the chair and cracks Firestarter hard on the head, sending him down like a ton of bricks! Huge pop!] TD: Derek Mota narrowly escapes certain defeat, Steve! Mota's back must be screaming in agony right about now! SR: I doubt there's exactly a party going on inside Firestarter's head at this moment either, Dross! [Mota rolls back into the ring to break the official's count and then steps back to the outside, perching on the apron. Firestarter begins to stir again, so Mota brings the chair down hard on his huge opponent's back, sending him crashing back to the floor. Mota then throws the chair down on Firestarter's back, climbs to the top turnbuckle -- and then leaps down on top of the chair, sandwiching Firestarter between the concrete floor and the steel chair! Huge, huge pop! Mota rolls off the mangled chair, clearly hurt by the bump.] TD: Wow! Derek Mota just threw himself down on top of that steel chair! What a move! SR: What a moron, more like, Dross! Mota may have just cost himself the match -- he's hurt. [The referee continues to count the athletes out as they both lie on the arena floor, their chests heaving. The crowd's chant of "IIWF! IIWF!" once again picks up in volume as Mota drags himself to his feet, pulling Firestarter up with him. Firestarter lashes out with a fist to Mota's midsection, and attempts to ram his head into the steel ringsteps, but Mota blocks -- and it is Firestarter's head that is smashed into the hard steel! Big pop! Mota rolls into the ring, and struggles to his feet, breathing hard and trying to shake off the cobwebs from his suicidal dive just a minute or so previously. The referee starts a fresh count on Firestarter as the big man slowly drags himself back to his feet. Meanwhile, the aisle-side fans erupt with a big heel pop as the members of Genesis make their way down towards the ring.] TD: Oh-oh. Here comes trouble. SR: Hey, Dross, who's that in the aisle? Are these guys "outsiders" from the bush leagues, too? [Highwayman, Nightwing, Fitz and Icehawk all clutch folding steel chairs, which they set up in the aisle, and take up position, Highwayman jawing with the aisle-side fans, the other three simply watching the match. Requiem, however, continues on to ringside, and attracts the attention of Mota, who walks towards the ropes on the side of the ring facing the aisle, gesticulating for Requiem to get the hell out of there. Requiem, the huge "Angel of Destruction", simply shrugs his shoulders at Mota and then yells for him to look behind him. Mota turns -- and is clubbed to the mat by a huge clothesline from a resurgent Firestarter! Big heel pop as Firestarter stomps away on Mota before dropping an elbow on the Canadian and making a cover: 1 - 2 - Mota kicks out!] TD: Mota is once again in trouble, and all because Requiem came to ringside. Mota has to avoid losing his focus here, or his quest to capture the IIWF World title will come to a sticky end at the hands of this behemoth. [Firestarter drags Mota to his feet and then blasts him with a hard right hand which sends the Canadian straight back to the mat. He showboats to the crowd, who respond with a huge heel pop and a renewed "IIWF! IIWF! IIWF!" chant. Firestarter merely gives a one-fingered salute to one group of vocal ringside fans, drives a boot into Mota's back -- and drops on top of Mota for the cover: 1 - 2 - Requiem reaches in, grabs Mota by the foot and drags him clean out of the ring. Big heel pop!] TD: I knew it was only a matter of time before Requiem physically interjected himself in this match -- but is he trying to help Mota, or to hinder him? [Mota looks at Requiem incredulously, and starts a shoving match with him, shouting, "What the hell do you think you're doing?", to which Requiem calmly responds with "We need to talk".  A look of total disbelief crosses his face as the ref's count reaches - 7 - 8 - Mota slaps Requiem across the face and slides in under the bottom rope on the count of nine before Requiem can respond, then stands to face him and is hoisted up and back down in an awesome back suplex by Firestarter!  The Englishman jumps back to his feet, looks down at the figure of Requiem and shouts "Keep your [BLEEP]ing face out of my matches or I'll smash it so bad your own [BLEEP]ing mother won't recognise it!".  Requiem looks on impassively as Firestarter, satisfied that he heard him, turns around and drives a boot into the back of Mota, who is crawling to his feet, knocking him back to the canvas. Firestarter gestures to the crowd that he intends to snap Mota clean in half -- and applies a Boston crab! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh no! Firestarter has Mota in a Boston crab. With the beating that Mota's back has taken in this match, this may be all she wrote! [Mota reaches out to the ropes, attempting to grab the bottom rope and enforce the break. However, he is inches away, even at full stretch. His face screwed up into a grimace, he attempts to drag himself -- with the full weight of Firestarter on his back, and rendering his legs immobile -- towards the ropes. Firestarter, realising that Mota is trying to break free, sits back further on the crab, causing Mota to yell out in pain. The referee checks for the submission, but finds none forthcoming. Requiem moves to the side of the ring nearest Mota -- and pushes the ropes into his hands! Requiem pushes the bottom rope into Mota's outstretched hand! Huge confused pop from the crowd! The referee sees that Mota has reached the ropes, and calls for the break. Firestarter refuses, and the referee puts the count on the Englishman, who finally breaks at the count of four. Mota slumps to the mat, almost spent, while Firestarter stands and threatens the official once more.] TD: I can't believe what I've just seen... Requiem just helped Derek Mota, Steve Roberts! SR: Who? TD: Does this mean that Mota is indeed a part of Genesis? I don't know what's going on here! [Requiem walks around the ring again, and then jumps up onto the ring apron, attracting the attention of both Firestarter and the official. Mota, meanwhile, slides out of the ring, and picks up the steel chair he had earlier used to batter Firestarter. He tosses it into the ring, where it is picked up by Firestarter himself. The referee, meanwhile, continues to order Requiem to step off the apron. Behind the official's back, Firestarter wields the chair as Mota rolls back into the ring under the bottom rope. The crowd shrieks -- Requiem jumps down to the arena floor -- the referee turns back to the action -- and Firestarter hits Mota across the back with the chair! The official immediately signals for the bell! Ding! Ding! Ding! Huge pop!] TD: Immediate disqualification! Firestarter has been disqualified! [Firestarter threatens the official with the chair, but is warded off by Requiem, who enters the ring and goes nose to nose with the Englishman. The crowd again begins to chant: "IIWF! IIWF! IIWF!"] TD: I can barely hear myself think! The crowd is on its feet here in the Gund Arena... I have to wonder, Steve, whether it's a coincidence that Requiem chose to leap down from the apron at just the moment Firestarter was about to breach the rules with a disqualification offence... and just moments earlier, he assisted Mota to escape the Boston crab. Requiem is _helping_ Derek Mota -- he _must_ be Genesis! SR: Who? [Firestarter backs down, throwing the chair to the canvas and storming out of the ring, heading back up the aisle, shoving past the assembled members of Genesis as he goes.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner as the result of a disqualification: Derek Mota! [Huge cheer from the crowd as Mota, who, battered and exhausted, has once again pulled himself to his feet using the ropes, has his arm raised by the official. Meanwhile, Requiem walks to the corner of the ring and beckons Sparkplug Lee for the microphone. Lee obliges, and Requiem turns back to Mota, clutching a microphone. The crowd begins to jeer as Requiem stares around at the fans in a tacit order for them to be silent.] TD: Looks like we're going to get an explanation here, Steve. REQUIEM: Derek Mota, for weeks on end the IIWF has been buzzing with speculation. Is Derek Mota a member of Genesis? Is he or isn't he? I aim to put an end to that speculation here and now. Derek Mota _IS NOT_ a member of Genesis... TD: [over the headset] Oh yeah? Then explain what we've seen tonight. REQUIEM: But he could be if he wanted to be... Mota, I don't particularly like you, but your talents and skills are nevertheless very impressive. The way you move in the ring, and your attitude, would make you a valuable member of Genesis. I made the same offer to the Subway Psycho, and the man foolish enough to say "No" to a place in the history books is now the man who eats hospital food through a straw. You're smarter than that, Derek Mota. You _know_ that Genesis is the future of the IIWF. Join us, Derek Mota, join Genesis and assist us in bringing the IIWF into the bright future of the Genesis Generation! [Requiem gently throws the microphone to Derek Mota, who catches it, breathing hard but staring at Requiem nonetheless with a burning intensity in his eyes. Requiem stands in the ring expectantly, though confidently. Derek Mota seems to ponder for several moments, and then raise the microphone to his lips...] DM: Requiem, it's kind of you to offer, big man, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to turn you down. It's nothing personal, I know you and me haven't seen eye to eye in the past, it's just that... Well... GENESIS SUCKS! [Huge pop from the crowd! A look of surprise crosses Requiem's face, but it is soon replaced by one of anger. Meanwhile, in the aisle, the other four members of Genesis stand to attention. Mota waits for the pop to die down before continuing:] DM: Look at you, big man! The "Angel Of Destruction"?! What a joke! Do you really think I need the help of a bunch of cartoons in stupid costumes to win title gold? Do you really think I need to wear a jacket with letters that are on fire? Doesn't it get hot in there? Maybe it boils your brains or something... REQUIEM: [visibly trying to restrain his temper] What... did... you... say?! DM: Which bit? The bit about boiling your brains or the cartoons? I had such high hopes for Genesis, I really thought you might be somethin' special, but you're just laughable, you know?! [Requiem is clenching and unclenching his fists, his eyes narrowing almost to mere slits. In the aisle, Highwayman and his comrades take a step closer to the ring, ready to back Requiem up.] TD: [over the headset] Mota has guts, no doubt about it, but if this pack of dogs decides to attack, he doesn't stand a chance. Even if he hadn't just wrestled a gruelling match, the odds of five on one are simply too much for one man! This could get ugly in a hurry! DM: Oh, sure, you can all beat people up when you're together, but what about one on one? Where's the gold, Reqqers? I ain't seen anyone from Genesis take on Byron yet, and not a one of you challenged James. When did your little pals in Cold Spell win the world tag belts? I must have blinked and missed that one! REQUIEM: [yelling] Enough! DM: It sure as hell is! I've given up on you "New Gen" or "Genesis Generation" or whatever you want to call yourselves! I really thought you might make something of the "New Generation"... But no! You're too busy jumping losers like Paris and taking on nobodies like Serge Annis and Deathbringer! Face it, big guy, Genesis could have been something, but now all you are is a joke! And you want _me_ to join your clown stab...ugh! [Huge heel pop as Mota is cut short by Requiem, who grabs the Canadian about the neck and abruptly chokeslams him to the mat. Mota rolls out of the way of the ensuing elbow-drop attempt, and crawls to his feet. Requiem, getting straight back to his feet, backs Mota into the corner, and blasts him with blow after blow to the head and torso. To the roar of the crowd, however, Mota fights back, and nails Requiem with a series of kicks and punches, allowing him to climb to the second turnbuckle and leap -- bringing Requiem crashing down to the mat with a bulldog! Huge pop! Suddenly, Highwayman dashes to the ring, climbs the ring steps and mounts the turnbuckles while Mota, his back turned, drags the stunned Requiem to his feet. Highwayman launches himself at Mota with a big double axe-handle -- but hits Requiem as Mota dodges out of the way! Mota then charges the stunned Highwayman, clotheslining him out of the ring over the top rope! Huge pop!] TD: Wow! Derek Mota is holding his own in there against Genesis... look out! From behind! [Requiem nails Mota from behind, spins him around, bends him double, hooks his leg over Mota's neck -- and drives him into the canvas face-first! Huge heel pop!] TD: No! The Redemption! What a devastating manoeuvre from Requiem! Mota is out! Mota is out! [Requiem continues to put the boots to Mota as Highwayman rolls back into the ring to join the onslaught. Suddenly, there is a huge pop as Deathbringer and Serge Annis, still clutching the remnants of Requiem's jet black guitar, charge down the aisle. Cold Spell and Nightwing rush up the aisle to meet them, but are quickly laid waste by the two huge men who knock them against the steel railings, clothesline them to the arena floor, and Annis uses the guitar against them as a weapon. However, in the ring, Mota has been subjected to not one, but two "Daylight Robbery" neckbreakers, and is laid out on the canvas. Finally, Deathbringer and Annis make it past the Genesis troops in the aisle and dash into the ring. Annis clubs Requiem with the neck of the guitar, knocking the "Angel of Destruction" through the ropes to the outside, while Deathbringer whips the Highwayman into the ropes and knocks him over the top rope to the outside with a huge boot to the jaw! The fans are on their feet as Deathbringer and Annis stand sentry in the ring, Annis taking swipes at any member of Genesis who approaches the ring.] TD: Thank heavens for the "Unholy Alliance"! Deathbringer and Serge Annis clear house here tonight -- and Requiem has decided to call it a day! [Requiem and Highwayman begin to back away up the aisle, beckoning Cold Spell and Nightwing to follow them to the locker room. Annis mounts the turnbuckles of the corner nearest the aisle and holds Requiem's guitar aloft. Requiem shakes his head derisively at Annis as he disappears behind the curtain. The crowd noise, however, begins to die down as it becomes apparent that Derek Mota has still not moved following the second "Daylight Robbery" neckbreaker.] TD: And there's more than a little concern here in the Gund Arena over the condition of Derek Mota... here comes an EMT crew. [A stretcher team hurries down to ringside, and immediately works on tending to the prone Mota, gingerly transferring him onto a stretcher. He appears to be conscious as they carefully wheel him up the aisle, Deathbringer and Annis following behind the crew, the fans remaining hushed as Mota is wheeled out of the arena. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, folks, Derek Mota may be seriously injured here tonight after that brutal assault from Genesis. It wasn't long ago that the "People's Champion" was put into the hospital and on the shelf by Requiem and his pack of dogs, and it could be that Mota has suffered the same fate here tonight, just as he advances into the Sweet Sixteen round of the Coronation Clash tournament. SR: Aw, can it with the sympathy vote, Dross. Let's just get on with the next match. TD: Fans, we'll try to update you on the condition of Derek Mota before we go off the air tonight, but for now, let's continue. This next match will be another of the first-round matches in our Coronation Clash Tournament, to determine the new IIWF champion. SR: We'll also be seeing another one of those guys from some other bush league. TD: Steve, that "guy" is Kid Ego.  He used to be the NLWP World Champion, among other titles to his name. SR: You hit the nail right on the head, Dross. _Used_ to be.  Now he's scrounging for belts in the IIWF.  Lovely. TD: Well, in order for him to advance any further than the first round, he's going to have to manage to beat "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder, the man hailed by many -- including himself -- as the uncrowned champion here in the IIWF.  Let's get to the ring for our announcements. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Coronation Clash Tournament First Round Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [GROUP C] "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. Kid Ego ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITER: RR [Scene fades to the ring, where Sparkplug Lee is standing with a microphone.  Nodding to the camera, he begins to speak.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this next match is another first round match in the IIWF World Championship Tournament!  Introducing first, and hailing from the NLWP... KID EGO! [Kid Ego struts out from the curtains leading to backstage, followed closely by the water-bottle toting Molly.  He shouts into the crowd in response to a few catcalls and wolf-whistles, at one point looking between a rather frumpy woman in ripped jeans and a "Shoot on me, Steve!" T-shirt and Molly, then back at the woman in the audience, pointing and laughing hysterically.  Finally, he manages to make it into the ring, waving Molly off to get some more water for the bottle.] RA: And his opponent... [Kid Ego grabs the microphone, and starts yelling backstage.] KE: Okay, listen up Thunder.  I'm in a pretty good mood today, so I figure I'll cut ya' a deal. TD: [over the headset] What's he talking about? KE: I'm gonna give you a chance to just stay back there and forfeit the match, so you don't have to show the rest of the IIWF how much of a lame duck the Lone Wolf is.  'Cause you see, if you DO decide to drag your butt out here, I'm just gonna have to rack up a few more frequent flyer miles on my Ego Trip, courtesy of your carcass.  Whattaya say, Thunder? SR: [over the headset] Wow, he sure lives up to his name.  I'm starting to like him.  [Brody Thunder appears at the top of the aisle, dressed in his usual attire. His eyes stare out from under the brim of his black cowboy hat, pulled low over his face, and a leather vest is worn over his defined upper body. Striding slowly to the ring, Thunder does not look at all amused.  He climbs between the ropes, walks right up to Ego's face, and grabs the mic.] BT: No deal, hoser. [Sparkplug Lee dives out of the way as Thunder slams a right cross into Ego's jaw, staggering the NLWP veteran and signalling the start of the match. Referee Chuck Sanders hurriedly signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! Ego is met by another one, backing him into the corner turnbuckle, and is promptly whipped across the ring to the opposite corner.  Thunder follows up with a clothesline, grabs Ego, and sends him back across to the other side.] TD: Well, it looks like Ego's strategy may have backfired. SR: Nonsense.  Ego's got Thunder right where Thunder wants him. [Ego hits the opposite turnbuckle, but as Thunder is following up, he grabs the top rope and leaps up, jumping over Thunder and landing behind him.  Ego then grabs Thunder about the waist and rolls him up into a pinning position, with the surprised Thunder kicking out at the two count.] SR: See, Dross?  Told you he was in control. [Thunder rolls to his feet, but is put back down on the mat by a well-placed dropkick by Ego.  Ego then picks him up, props him against the ropes, and runs off the other side, slingshotting himself off the opposite ropes back at Thunder.  Thunder takes a wild swing at Ego as he comes back, but the NLWP star executes a baseball slide between Thunder's legs, grabbing his ankles as he passes and causing him to topple face-first onto the canvas, bouncing his head off the mat.  Ego hops back up onto the apron, vaults over the top rope into a front-flip, and lands in a cannonball position right between Thunder's shoulder blades.] TD: Some excellent speedwork shown by Ego here.  If he can keep away from Thunder, he has a pretty good chance of emerging as the victor in this match. SR: I'd say he has a pretty good chance anyways, Dross. Who's the one face-down on the mat? [Smiling smugly, Ego stands up and points to Thunder, mocking the crowd to the tone of, "So this is the IIWF?"  He picks Thunder up again and whips him into the ropes, knocking him flat on his back with a superkick to the jaw.  Seeing his opponent sprawled out in the center of the ring, Ego points upwards, then climbs to the top turnbuckle.] TD: High risk maneuver by Ego... SR: No it's not.  It's high-risk for people who don't know what they're doing.  It's no risk for this guy. [Ego launches himself off the top rope into a soaring frog splash, taking what seems an eternity to come down again.  Unfortunately, this gives Thunder plenty of time to raise both his knees, and Ego doubles over as his ribs come into full contact with them on impact.] SR: Okay, so maybe there's a little risk. [Thunder pulls himself up, and grabs the writhing Ego by the hair.  He spins around effortlessly, planting Ego on the mat with a neckbreaker, then follows up with an elbow dro pacross the chest.  Hooking the leg, the ref counts one... two... and stops as Ego lifts his shoulder.] TD: And a near fall for Brody Thunder.  Ego took way too long on the top rope, and that might cost him the match. [Grabbing a handful of hair again, and getting duly warned by the referee, Thunder pulls Ego to his feet, squares off, and nearly decapitates the Kid with a clothesline.  Ego, sensing that he's not doing all that great at this point, decides to roll out of the ring and recollect his thoughts.] SR: Good move, Kid.  Hey, here's Molly.  [shouting]  Hey, sweetheart!  Get some water to your man over there, then come up here! TD: You're incorrigible, Steve. [Molly walks back down the ring aisle, carrying a fresh from the cooler bottle of ice.  Thunder, however, has followed Ego out of the ring, and the two are starting to duke it out.  Molly, sensing a chance to help her wrestler out, rears back and tries to club Thunder in the head.  Thunder ducks, and the water bottle slams right into Ego's forehead, knocking him flat on his back.  Thunder looks at Molly, winks slyly, much to her horror, and tosses Ego back into the ring.] SR: No, Molly!  I said GIVE him the water, not HIT him with it! Sheesh, some people just don't listen. [Thunder rolls back into the ring himself, picks up Ego, and grins broadly as he plants him with the Cattlebuster, hooks the leg, and stands back up to have the referee raise his arm in victory.] RA: The winner of this match, advancing in the World Championship Tournament... THE "LONE WOLF" BRODY THUNDER! [Big pop as Thunder climbs to the turnbuckles, making the universally recognised gesture that the World belt will soon be around his waist. Jumping back down into the ring, Thunder approaches a camera, and speaks into its microphone, holding up a single finger: "One down, four ta go." Without any further celebration, Brody Thunder climbs out of the ring and heads back up the aisle, stopping only to retrieve his hat from the ring post upon he had earlier deposited it. Placing it back on his head, he strides back to the locker room, leaving a slowly recovering Ego in the ring, berating Molly for the interference, and totally ignoring her apologies.] TD: An all business performance from Brody Thunder here tonight, Steve Roberts, once again showing us just why the Cattlebuster DDT is one of the most feared and effective finishing manoeuvres in this sport. SR: Well, if you ask me, Dross, it was Ego who deserved the victory in this one. He had that two-bit cowboy wannabe beat until that bimbo clocked him with that bottle of ice. TD: An impressive performance indeed from the arrogant Kid Ego, but as is so often the case, a single mistake cost him dearly, and he joins fellow NLWP athlete Ken Curtis in the list of casualties from this tournament. [Ego rolls from the ring and heads back up the aisle, jawing angrily with the fans and leaving a distressed Molly in his wake. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, folks, we're set to take a break from all this tournament action right now with a special edition of The Final Cut. SR: This is gonna be something else, Dross. I understand that the "Showstopper" Simon Lebec's guest this week will be none other than... himself! TD: Indeed. Without further ado, let's go over to Simon Lebec, who will face Mad Dog Watkins right here tonight in tournament action a little later on, for The Final Cut. [Cut to the interview podium, set up halfway back between the ring and the locker room, on a stage some fifteen feet from the arena floor. The set is decorated in the appearance of a filming set, with various cameras and props surrounding the stage.  The words "THE FINAL CUT" are written overhead in hot, neon pink.  The familiar strains of Lebec's majestic music begins to play as the "Showstopper" enters the stage via the left curtain.  The fans boo as he grabs the mic, oblivious to the crowd.] SL: You know, since I took this job, I've been beaten up, spit on, my set has been destroyed... and you morons don't seem to appreciate the hard work that I do. [Big-time jeer from the crowd.] Aw... Blow me! [Lebec regains his composure]   So tonight, I finally managed to invite a guest on the show who is worthy of being on the show.  You won't see any jerks quoting Shakespeare. You won't see any inbred hick Canadians.  You won't see any ignorant little snot-nosed Party Animals.  What you'll see... is a man with class.  A man with dignity.  I trust this man will be on his best behaviour, and I trust I won't be seeing any violent out-breaks from savages.  I trust this man with my life... because he is my life! Hell!  He's me!  Ladies and gentlemen... I give you... the most under-rated wrestlier in the sport today... "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec! [Lebec takes a bow as the fans look kind of confused.]   Simon, thank you for being on the show.  I know you've got a busy schedule. Well, thank you for having me, Simon.  You're my favorite!  How could I pass down such an opportunity?   Good point!  I am great!   You are.   Now Simon, on to more pressing matters.  Why are you here tonight?  What do you have to say, and I know you've got lots to say.   Well, Simon, after all that went down last Saturday Night, I certainly do have lots to say.   And you say it well, might I add. [While the soundtrack of the interview continues as a voice over, the shot cuts back to brief snippets of footage from last week's "The Final Cut": Lebec and Warnett get into a shoving match; Lebec shaves one side of Warnett's head; Shakespeare makes the save, shoving Lebec from the stage and shoving Francois into the props, bringing half the set down with him. Cut back to live action.]   Well, thank you, Simon.  I learned from watching your show.   Thank you.  You're too kind.  First off, let's talk about the tag team match that you were involved in last week.  The IIWF suits had the nerve to team you up with Chris Quigley of all people... in a match against Marty Warnett and Billy Shakespeare.  Thoughts?   Well, Simon, I thought the match would end in a loss to us.  I tried to stay in the ring as much as possible, since I KNEW that Chris Quigley was about as talented as a legless ballet dancer!  Unfortunately, the twerp managed to get pinned, which is most certainly becomming habitual for him these days.   So you took the loss, with a big-time brawl happening after the match. Your own partner attacked you, for God's sake!   Yeah, are you really surprised, Simon?  Those Newfies are damn savages! A wise man once told me "The only thing worse than a pissed Newfie is a pissed-drunk Newfie."  Now, I really didn't want to say anything, but looking back, I think Quigley was drunk that night.  I could definitely smell alcohol on his breath.  I kept thinking to myself that conduct such as that was so unprofessional.  Perhaps that explained Quigley's poor performance.  I dunno? As for the other two, they certainly have no love for me.  Yet I try!  I really do!  I even gave Warnett a professional-style haircut free of charge.  What does he do?  He attacks me!  Another savage.   Simon, don't you find it odd that the IIWF suits would put you in a match such as this?  I mean, Quigley, Warnett and Shakespeare certainly don't consider you a buddy! Do I find it odd?  Not really, Simon.  It's just the IIWF way, I guess. This is my fate, and I shall never overcome it.  Simon, you're not that blind, are you?  Look at history!  Have I, Simon Lebec ever received a title shot in the IIWF?  Answer: NO!  Hell!  Even Tim Dross figured that much out on the Dross Report!  Of the six guys in the original Coronation Clash... only myself and Tony Starks have yet to taste IIWF gold. Now Starks could probably be explained.  I mean, the cripple missed a lot of time.  And hey, he's not much of a wrestler anyway. But you Simon!  I mean... you're "The Showstopper," baby!  You're the man! Simon, that doesn't matter.  Spreadbury and the suits know that I'm too damn good.  Just because I don't play by their rules, I get penalized for it.  But Simon, there's always a loop around their demonic doings!   You mean the Heavyweight Title Tournament at Coronation Clash?   Gee, you're a smart guy, Simon!  You guessed it!  They don't have to give me a shot!  I'm entered in the tourney, just like every other nimrod in this fed!  Only thing about it is, Simon... I'm going to win it all!   The suits won't be too happy with that, Simon! Stuff 'em!  There won't be much that they can do.  You see, Simon, there are ways around the system!  And I found them!  Come Coronation Clash, you'll see the beginning of a new era!  The beginning... of the rebirth of the IIWF Heavyweight Title!  No more dead men... no more "Flash"es or "Psycho"s! I am talking about a guy who can bring respectability back to the IIWF Title!   And that man is you... uh, I mean... US?   You are a smart man!  And damn cute too!   Right back at ya, Simon! Hold on a moment -- while I'm out here in front of my people, my audience, I have a few things to say about this tournament. Go ahead, Simon. I just find it a little bit odd that a man of my stature in the wrestling world has been subjected to pointless feuds with the likes of has-beens like Shakespeare and Warnett for his entire IIWF career.  But, Warnett made a point last week when he was a... heh... guest on "The Final Cut." And Dross, you yourself made the same damn point on the Dross Report! I've sat back, taking crap from the IIWF... jerks trying to make a name for themselves... and even by YOU, Dross! SR: [over the headset] He's calling you out, Dross! Go and kick his ass! TD: [over the headset] Will you stop?! SL: While I've done the job, I've watched pukes like Shakespeare, Warnett, Brad Kinder, and Joe Petrow all take the spotlight that should be mine!  I never whined like some, demanding title shots.  I never begged, and you know what... where did it get me?  Stuck in a mid-card slot making Warnett look damn good by selling his crappy moves, that's where it got me! No more!  Not one bit!  From now on, you're gonna see a new Simon Lebec... starting tonight when I beat that fleabag Watkins!  And as for "The Final Cut", a show I've worked my ass off for and still got no respect... that's history!  Maybe if I spent more time in the ring and less time making others happy, I'd be going places! No more dancing!  No more womanizing!  No more anything!  I'm focused on one thing and one thing only... and that's winning the IIWF Heavyweight Title!  And whether I have to go through Quigley, James, Thunder, Byron... I'll get there! And as for you two faggits at the broadcast table: if you wanna make a comment about me... then do it to my face!  I've got a VCR!  Don't you think I tape Saturday Night?  Idiots!  I'll be right down to take care of business!  Let's see how manly you act then!  About as manly as Watkins after I kick his balls in, I'd wager! Well, I'd like to thank you for being a guest on "The Final Cut".  I can honestly say that I think this was my best interview yet!   No sweat!  Hey, I'll see you back at the mansion!   Not if I see you there first!  Ladies and gentlemen... "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec! [No crowd reaction.  They are still a little stunned.  Lebec's music begins to play as the "Showstopper" makes his exit. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, Simon Lebec says that he's going to win it all, but we'll see about that a little later on here tonight when he goes toe to toe with the Mad Dog. What a match _that's_ going to be! But right now, it's time for tag team action. There's no love lost between Cold Spell and Violence Unlimited, and tonight, they're finally going to meet head to head in the squared circle. [Cut to footage of the two attacks on Cold Spell perpetrated by Violence Unlimited; then footage of Genesis and Cold Spell jumping Violence Unlimited some weeks later; finally, cut to footage of Icehawk and Fitz brawling into the stands with Jaguar and Mutilator at the Four Corners National Monument. Cut back to ringside.] As if the personal rivalry between these two teams wasn't enough, there's a little added extra spice thrown into this mix. The winner of this match will go on to the Coronation Clash pay-per-view to face the winner of the match scheduled for next Saturday Night between IIWF World Tag Team Champions, the Prophets of Rage, and the Harlequins. So there's everything to fight for. Any comments, Steve? SR: No, Dross. I can't get a word in edgeways around here. TD: Okay then, let's get up to the ring! Hold on to your hats, folks! =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Cold Spell vs. Violence Unlimited -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITER: JV [The camera pauses on Sparkplug Lee. As the ever-present IIWF announcer stares into the crowd yet again, he smiles and puts on a "Cold Spell" button. He speaks into the mic.] SL: Ladies, gentlemen and wrestling fans of all ages... get ready to rumble! The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Please help me welcome first... at a total combined weight of 500lbs... here are Icehawk and Edmund Fitzgerald... they are COLD SPELL! ["The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" blares over the IIWF PA system and Icehawk, Fitzgerald, Nightwing, Highwayman and Requiem, the latter three carrying folding steel chairs, enter to a huge crowd pop! Several of the Genesis fans have Cold Spell signs and are chanting "Cold Spell! Cold Spell! Cold Spell!" Halfway to the ring, the other three members of Genesis seperate from Cold Spell, shake Icehawk's and Fitzgerald's hands and wish them luck. Requiem, Highwayman and Nightwing then sit down in the aisleway.] TD: And Genesis is here in full force tonight, Steve Roberts. Requiem has led his troops to back up Cold Spell and that has to weigh heavy on the minds of Violence Unlimited. SR: All that means, Dross, is more punching bags for Violence Unlimited. TD: You really don't give Genesis much credit, do you? SR: As long as Requiem doesn't start singing "Tonight, Tonight, Tonight" I'll be all right. Violence Unlimited are gonna put the freeze on Cold Spell, Dross! [Sure enough Violence Unlimited makes their entrance and the fans greet them with a mixed reception of cheers and jeers. "Deep Purple" by Perfect Strangers plays and halfway to the ring Violence Unlimited is met by the Genesis trio guarding the aisleway. Other than some glaring and taunting, Violence Unlimited passes by without problems. Jaguar and Mutilator are wearing fake IIWF Championship belts and grab the mic from Sparkplug Lee.] MUTILATOR: Cold Spell, it's just about time, we can see the greed in your eyes telling us that you don't want to fight us... not from fear, but from the fact you want a tag title shot handed to you, and you want the belts as well.  Well... [Violence Unlimited unstrap their fake title belts, and put them behind themselves in the corner.] MUTILATOR: The road to the titles goes through a big brick wall. SR: And my boys are letting Cold Spell know who's in charge! I love it, Dross. TD: Looks like Icehawk to start for Cold Spell and Jaguar for VU. I'm surprised that Mutilator isn't starting so they can try for a quick win. SR: I'm surprised too, Dross. We'll see how Cold Spell deals with the rulebending of Violence Unlimited. [Icehawk locks up with Jaguar and delivers a double axhandle chop right to the throat. Icehawk then sets Jaguar up with a dropkick then picks him up and gets him with a dropkick to the knee! Goes for the quick cover: 1 - kickout.] SR: No way. Too soon, Icejerk. Way too soon. Even Jaguar, the smaller of Violence Unlimited, has to be worn down first. TD: Looks like Icehawk is trying to concentrate on the knee, Steve Roberts. SR: Really? Ya think so, rabbit head? TD: Why are you calling me "rabbit head"? SR: Because you have a receding hair line, Dross! [A group of Lil' Soundbiters start chanting "Shoot, Soundbite, Shoot!" In response the closest group of Genesis' fans all open their black jackets, revealing a new Genesis T-Shirt which features Cold Spell pummeling their two favorite announcers. As Edmund Fitzgerald smashes Tim Dross through the mat with the Shipwreck Slam, Icehawk is in mid-air, about to flatten a cowering Steve Roberts to the arena floor with an... Asai Moonsault. Another Genesis Generation member holds up a black sign emblazoned with flaming letters, reading: "Just $19.95! Call 1-800-GENESIS!"] SR: What a bunch of punks, Dross. If these nobodies are trying to get the Soundbite's attention, they're going about it all wrong. Talk is cheap, and so are those manky t-shirts. TD: I'm not sure I like those shirts, Steve. SR: And I'm not sure I like you, Dross. Shut up and watch the match. [Back in the ring, Icehawk still has control. Icehawk whips Jaguar in to the ropes and as Jaguar is flung back in the direction of Icehawk. Icehawk performs a snap mare and Jaguar is down on the mat.] TD: No offense from Violence Unlimited so far, Icehawk concentrating on his wrestling ability. SR: Uh-oh... look out Icehawk... Mutilator is sneaking up from behind and here comes the Highwayman with a chair! Slam city, Dross! I heard the crack of that chair over here. And Mutilator isn't even dazed! Mutilator isn't even dazed! TD: And Mutilator just hit the Highwayman with a piledriver! Oh my! [Mutilator taunts Requiem and Nightwing to "come and get some" but the other two back off. In the ring the ref comes over to try to admonish Mutilator and Jaguar uses the the break in the ref coverage to recover, and tags out to  Mutilator. Mutilator comes charging in the ring and nails the surprised Icehawk with a superplex! Dazed, Icehawk looks for his partner Fitzgerald but Mutilator sets up Icehawk again and...] TD: Slingshot legdrop, Steve Roberts... the tide has turned for Genesis tonight! SR: And Mutilator is setting Icehawk up for.... TD: The Face Eraser. This is not a good sign for Cold Spell. [Sure enough, Mutilator picks up the dazed Icehawk -- but Icehawk breaks loose! Icehawk starts trying to dodge Mutilator and this makes the big man very angry. Mutilator chases Icehawk around... Icehawk tries to tag out to Fitzgerald... but no dice. Mutilator drags Icehawk up to the ropes... Fitzgerald runs over to where Mutilator is and nails him with a clothesline! Icehawk somehow manages to get up and over to where Fitzgerald is -- and MAKES THE TAG!] SR: Here comes Fitzjerk! Oh, I'm shaking. [Fitzgerald slaps Mutilator once then twice. Icehawk, outside on the apron, starts trashtalking Mutilator, who visibly riled up. Mutilator scoops up Fitzgerald and slams him down to the mat. Mutilator repeats the scoop slam two more times. Mutilator drags Fitzgerald over to the ropes and starts climbing, hitting a quick tag to Jaguar as he goes.] TD: Mutilator just made the tag to Jaguar -- but I don't think the referee saw it! SR: Come on, referee! That tag was as plain as the toupee on Dross's head! [Jaguar signals to the protesting official that he did tag in, and turns his back on the referee, concentrating on double-teaming Fitz. Mutilator hits Fitz with the devastating top-rope inverted powerbomb known as the Face Eraser! Huge pop from the crowd as the three Genesis members in the aisle stand edgily from their chairs, as if ready to make the save. Icehawk yells to his partner to make the tag, but Fitz is laid out on the canvas! Mutilator runs over to Cold Spell's corner and blasts Icehawk with a hard right hand, knocking him from the apron! Huge pop! The referee argues with Mutilator, and pushes him back towards his own corner.] TD: All Violence Unlimited need to do is cover Fitz -- this one is over! But still the referee seems confused about who is the legal man here... SR: Who _is_ the legal man for Violence Unlimited? Both are in the ring! TD: Good question, Steve Roberts! I believe that Jaguar is. [Mutilator leaves the ring, and Jaguar hits a second-rope elbowdrop onto the back of Fitz's head before rolling him over onto his back and making the cover -- 1 - 2 - 3! Huge pop! The referee stands and raises Jaguar's arm -- but suddenly, Requiem rolls into the ring and begins arguing with the official! Huge heel pop from the crowd as the huge "Angel of Destruction" yells at the official that Jaguar was not the legal man!] TD: Requiem here trying to persuade the referee that Jaguar was not the legal man... We saw the tag, Steve Roberts, but the referee himself seemed to be making the call that he didn't see the tag. I guess that means that Mutilator was still recognised as the legal man in the ring. SR: This is ridiculous, Dross! Completely ridiculous! [The ref appears to nod to Requiem. Amidst the jeers of the crowd, he calls Sparkplug Lee up the ring steps and informs him of his decision. Sparkplug makes the announcement:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the official has ruled that Jaguar was _NOT_ the legal man for Violence Unlimited... and therefore, the pinfall has been ruled as _INVALID_! This match must continue! [Huge heel pop! Jaguar and Mutilator yell at the official, but the referee is adamant that the match should continue. Meanwhile, Fitz has recovered sufficiently to groggily cross the ring towards his partner. Jaguar runs over to try to nail Fitzgerald but he lunges and makes the tag to Icehawk, who catapults himself over the top rope with a dropkick which floors Jaguar! Hawk charges Mutilator, who is still arguing with the official, and nails him from behind with a clothesline, narrowly missing the referee. Mutilator rolls out of the ring, and Hawk drags Jaguar to his feet, whipping him into the ropes and hitting him with a hurricarana on the return! Huge pop! Hawk makes the cover - 1 - 2 - kickout! Hawk is immediately back to his feet and again whips Jaguar into the ropes. He runs in the opposite direction, jumps to the midrope, and then leaps backwards with a flying elbowdrop, catching Jaguar in the jaw. Big pop!] TD: Icehawk is on fire out here! Violence Unlimited have had victory snatched away from them, and they could be in real trouble right about now! SR: I can't believe this, Dross! What a bunch of low-lifes! [Icehawk leaps, cat-like, to the top rope, and spins around via a quick hop, springboarding off the top buckle with a somersault splash onto the fallen Jaguar, hitting him with tremendous impact! Huge pop! Mutilator attempts to make the save, but Requiem, crawling on the arena floor to avoid detection by the referee, grabs his foot and prevents him from entering the ring as Hawk makes the cover -- 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Huge heel pop! Mutilator breaks free of Requiem's grip, lashing out with a brutal kick to his face, and rolls into the ring as the referee raises Hawk's arm in victory.] TD: Icehawk securing a controversial victory for his team and for Genesis here tonight, Steve Rob... look out! [Mutilator clatters into Icehawk with a flurry of lefts and rights, blasting the young gymnast. He kicks him in the mid-section, doubling him over, and immediately lifts him with a gutwrench powerbomb, drilling him into the mat! Jaguar, meanwhile, has climbed back to his feet and rolled outside the ring to grab a steel chair in order to keep the rest of Genesis at bay. He blasts a charging Fitz with the chair, cracking him right over the head and knocking him to the arena floor. The crowd is on its feet as Mutilator sets the prone Icehawk up on the top turnbuckle, facing into the ring, as if for a superplex. Requiem, Highwayman and Nightwing, standing in the aisle, appear to be hesitant to approach the furious Jaguar, who still wields the steel chair.] TD: This looks bad for Icehawk, Steve Roberts. Violence Unlimited have lost out on a chance at the IIWF World Tag Team Championships, and they are not at all happy about it. That monster, Mutilator, has Icehawk up there on the top turnbuckle, and I think he's going for a superplex... No! [Mutilator climbs to the top buckle and brings Icehawk to his feet, preparing to hoist him up for a superplex -- but as he lifts Icehawk, he seems to stop as Icehawk is horizontal, and then throws him to the outside! Huge pop as Icehawk crashes through the ringside timekeepers' table!] TD: Oh my! Oh my! Icehawk just went through that timekeepers' table! Unbelievable! SR: I told you, Dross! I told you that Violence Unlimited weren't going to stand for this, Dross! What a miscarriage of justice! TD: The referee's decision is final, Steve. Cold Spell have taken the win... SR: Win, hell, Dross. Jaguar had that wimp Fitzboy with that pin! You saw it, Dross! Violence Unlimited was robbed. And you can quote me on your hotline. TD: And your stand on Genesis now, oh great Soundbite?   SR: Get a life, Dross. Go get some waffles. Quit bugging me. Isn't there a next match we have to move on to or something? Wish they'd put Becky with me on Saturday Night. At least she's better to look at. And I hate Cleveland! TD: Well, that's as maybe, Steve Roberts, but this situation isn't over yet. [Fitz picks himself up off the floor and groggily makes his way around the ring to the wreckage of the table, from which Icehawk is weakly trying to extricate himself. The other members of Genesis, keeping their eyes on Jaguar, who still stands in the ring wielding his chair, follow Fitz around the ring. Mutilator and Jaguar confer in the centre of the canvas, and then Jaguar throws his chair out of the ring at Genesis, hitting Highwayman on the shoulder and staggering the big man. Violence Unlimited make their way from the ring and receive a mixed pop as they head up the aisle.] TD: Violence Unlimited may have lost out in this match, Steve Roberts, but it's early days for them here in the IIWF. They'll get another chance to wrestle for the World titles before too long, I'm sure. SR: But these Cold Spell morons get yet another shot, Dross. They've wrestled for titles at every pay-per-view I can remember. And still they can't get the job done. TD: Well, they got the job done here tonight, Steve, albeit under questionable circumstances, and at career-shortening cost to Icehawk. What a bump he took there. But he appears to be okay, as he's helped from the wreckage by his partner. [Fitz assists the groggy Icehawk away from the ring, the other three members of Genesis following behind, Requiem and Highwayman brandishing their chairs and jawing with the crowd, followed by a sullen Nightwing, who ignores both his partners and the crowd. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: And Genesis make their way back to the locker room, Steve Roberts, with Nightwing following a little way behind. That big match against his stablemate, the Highwayman, scheduled for next week in the Manhattan Centre, must be preying on his mind. SR: Who cares, Dross? Who's the Highwayman? TD: Okay. What a night we've had so far here in the Gund Arena, Steve. SR: Now we get high class versus no class... a man who knows about the night-life against a man who howls at the moon. TD: This should be a classic power versus technique match, though neither man is afraid to throw the book out the window when it suits them. SR: Watkins can read? TD: Yes, well... let's get up to the ring for introductions. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Coronation Clash Tournament First Round Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [GROUP A] "Showstopper" Simon Lebec vs. Mad Dog Watkins ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITER: RP [Sparkplug Lee starts to announce the match and quickly discovers, to his embarrassment, that the mic is not working. As he tries to fix the problem the camera pans the front row of the crowd and stops at a powerful looking tall black man in his late forties, his hair cut short and beginning to grey on the sides. People who watched the Countdown show recognize him as "Buttercup" Ray Jones, Watkins' former tag partner. He is sporting a Mad Dog "OLD SCHOOL" t-shirt and giving autographs for some interested fans.] TD: That's "Buttercup" Ray Jones, here to cheer on Mad Dog and... oh, it looks like Sparkplug is ready. [Lee, looking slightly annoyed, reads of his cue cards to announce the next match.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, this match is a first round bout in the IIWF Coronation Clash Tournament! [big pop] Introducing first, from Detroit, Michigan, weighing in at 269 pounds: Mad... Dog... Watkiiiiiiins! ["Paint It Black" by the Rolling Stones fills the arena as Watkins walks purposefully down the aisle. With no acknowledgment to any of the clamouring fans, he climbs into the ring. As the music fades he can be seen giving a slight nod towards Ray Jones, but never changes the expression on his face.] TD: Mad Dog looks as focused as I've ever seen him. He certainly knows what's at stake here... SR: He would have to be some kind of idiot not to. Of course, none of these matches really matter since Casey James is going to walk out of the tournament with his belt anyway. TD: That remains to be seen. We've got two favourites right here in this match. [In the ring, Watkins has maintained his focus. He is standing on the far side from the walkway, staring intently at the curtain where Lebec will be entering.] SL: And his opponent, from Hollywood, California, weighing in at 239 pounds and accompanied by... oh... here is... the "Showstopper" Simon Lebec! [Lebec comes out from behind the curtain and heads to the ring with the same single-minded determination as Watkins. He is wearing plain red wrestling tights.] TD: Simon has chosen to forego ring music tonight... SR: Not to mention Miss Crystal, damn him. I was hoping to have something to look at during this match. And what's with his tights? TD: Apparently his back-to-basics approach includes dispensing with his showier ring apparel. This looks to be an intense match-up as both men are taking the other very seriously. SR: Looks like the only one with any style out here today is little old Soundbite! [Lebec climbs into the ring and Watkins charges right at him with a lariat. Lebec dodges and Watkins bounces off the ropes, away from Simon. Before he can get turned around Lebec nails him in the back of the head with a drop-kick and Watkins goes over the top rope and onto the floor.] TD: It looks like Mad Dog's aggressiveness cost him there. Simon was ready for him and has taken the quick advantage. SR: The Bad Dog got spanked Dross! [As Watkins gets to his feet he is encouraged by two burly looking guys on the other side of the rail. Watkins appears to recognize them but when he stops as if to say something a yell from Ray Jones stops him short.] TD: I understand that those two men used to play football with Mad Dog in high school. SR: Butterball Jones stopped the reunion though. If Watkins doesn't keep on his toes he'll be taking an early shower here. Assuming Jones and the Smallville High boys keep out of the match. TD: Detroit is hardly... look out, Lebec is coming out of the ring... [Lebec slides out under the bottom ropes and hooks Watkins into a back suplex. Before he can get in locked in, Watkins spins around and hits Lebec right in the face with a right cross. Lebec staggers backwards and Watkins throws him into the ring before the referee can finish his count.] SR: Lebec almost finished Watkins off right there, Dross! TD: Watkins is too tough to go down like that... and now it's Lebec on the attack again! [As Watkins follows Lebec in the ring he is met with a face rake. Lebec then whips him into the ropes and puts him down with another drop-kick. He then grabs Watkins leg but Mad Dog kicks him off with his free leg. Lebec is sent flying against the ropes and uses his momentum to drop a fist onto Watkins.] TD: Mad Dog is lucky there. It looked like Simon was going to put on the Antagonist. SR: You call that lucky, Dross? It looks to me that Watkins is getting his mangy dog butt kicked! TD: Mad Dog Watkins has come back from a lot worse than this! [Lebec picks up Watkins and completes the back suplex he couldn't do out on the floor. He then drops Watkins across his knee in a backbreaker. Still not showing any emotions, he surveys Watkins on the mat, lining up his next move. Big pop from the crowd as a figure approaches ringside.] SR: Hey, what's that punk Warnett doing? [Marty Warnett has come from backstage carrying a chair. He stops about half-way down the aisle, sets up the chair and sits down.] SR: More than that... what's with his hair? TD: It looks like he has shaved all the hair off the sides of his head, but more importantly, he seems content to watch. SR: So far. It looks like Lebec has spotted him. [Lebec steps away from Watkins and stares at Warnett. The expression on his face doesn't change but his concentration changes enough that he doesn't notice Watkins getting up and running to the far ropes. Lebec turns around just in time to get leveled by a lariat.] TD: You just can't turn your back on a man like Mad Dog. That was a devastating move and the tide has turned now. SR: And you were talking about how focused these guys were. Both of them have let a distraction throw them off. [Watkins whips Lebec into the ropes and catches him with a spinebuster. Then, with Lebec down, he starts kicking him severely in the back. He picks him up, and Lebec catches him on the way up with an uppercut to the groin.] SR: Now that's got to hurt! TD: The referee couldn't see it because Mad Dog blocked his view. Both men are moving slower now... SR: Wouldn't you, Dross? On second thought maybe a move like that wouldn't hurt you... [Lebec rolls Watkins out of the ring and follows after him. He whips Watkins at the ringsteps but Mad Dog reverses it at Lebec goes flying into the steel.] TD: Just when one man seems to get the upper hand, the other one turns it around. Mad Dog's got a chair. SR: That's just stupid, Dross. If he gets disqualified he's out of the tournament. [As Watkins comes at him with the chair, Lebec kicks him in the midsection and pushes the chair, right into Mad Dog's face. He then casually rolls into the ring, ignores the admonishments of the referee, walks to the far corner and leans against the turnbuckle.] SR: Now this is smart, Dross. If Watkins gets counted out, Lebec advances. TD: And it looks like that might happen. The referee has started his count and Mad Dog hasn't moved. [Ray Jones is on his feet, very near to where Watkins is laying. The microphone is brought closer so we can hear what he is yelling.] RJ: Is this what you are now? A quitter? You're no Mad Dog! You're just a stray mutt! TD: It seems to be working, Steve. Watkins is stirring. SR: It's too late, Dross. He's going to be counted out. [As the referee gets to eight, with Jones continuing to yell at him, Watkins pulls himself up and rolls into the ring just before the ten count.] SR: I don't believe it! TD: Mad Dog doesn't know how to give up! SR: It's not going to matter, Dross. Lebec hasn't given up either. [Lebec, seeing Watkins roll in, runs across the ring and grabs him. He puts Watkins head between his knees and take shim down with a piledriver.] SR: That's got to be it. Lebec could just pin him now and move on to the second round. No, it looks like he wants to punish him some more! TD: This could be a mistake. If you have the opportunity to pin a man like Mad Dog Watkins, you had better take it because there won't be too many. SR: Have you joined the Mad Dog fan club or something Dross? Or do you have money on this match? TD: I just recognize how tough he really is. SR: You want tough? Try fighting through the line at a Soundbite autograph session! [Lebec lifts Watkins up and places him on the top turnbuckle. He climbs up himself and readies a superplex. Before he can execute it, however, Watkins throws a series of rights and lefts into his head. Taken totally off guard, Lebec starts to fall backwards but Mad Dog grabs him with one hand while still pummeling him with the other.] TD: You can never count out the Mad Dog! SR: It looks like this old dog has some bite left in him yet! [Still holding Lebec, Watkins steps back over the turnbuckle and balances himself on the second rope. Then, in one quick motion, he scoops Lebec onto his shoulders and falls backwards with a Samoan Drop.] TD: Every Dog Has His Day! And it looks like this day belongs to Mad Dog Watkins! [Mad Dog executes the cover as the ref counts: 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Lebec kicks out at about three and a half... too late.] TD: Mad Dog Watkins advances to the second round of the IIWF World Championship tournament, and Lebec is mad! [The referee raises Watkins' hand as Sparkplug Lee makes the official announcement and then Mad Dog rolls out of the ring to accept the congratulations of his old high school buddies. When he does so Lebec starts arguing with the ref about the quickness of the count. As this is going on, Marty Warnett folds up his chair and walks back to the dressing room area, with a hint of a grin on his face.] SR: It looks like Simon isn't too happy with the referee's decision, Dross. TD: If he's not careful he'll... oh! [Lebec, finally reaching his breaking point, hits the referee with an enzuigiri and storms out of the ring, heading backstage.] TD: Simon Lebec has hit Chuck Saunders with the Blackball! If there aren't hefty fines here I'll be awfully surprised! SR: Can we get on with the card before Watkins there starts... too late! [Mad Dog, after receiving congratulations from his old friends, moves to Ray Jones. They look at each other for a moment, and then embrace.] TD: It was the encouragement from "Buttercup" Ray Jones that allowed Watkins to win tonight. SR: I think I'm going to puke. [The crowd cheer as Jones raises Watkins' arm in victory. Watkins cracks a smile for his old partner before heading back up the aisle. Cut back to the broadcast team at ringside.] TD: What a tremendous match that was, Steve Roberts. First Ike Sampson progresses to the Sweet Sixteen round, and now his mentor, Mad Dog Watkins, follows suit. We're keeping the pedal to the metal here tonight, and we've got more tournament action coming straight at you, right after this brief commercial break. [Fade. The shot opens with a video shot of "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec running through a field of fresh flowers.  Voice-over begins:] VO: From this Friday... experience the feel-good movie of the summer. [Camera shot of Lebec taking off his shirt]   Simon Lebec... in the role that made him famous. [Camera shot of Lebec taking off his pants]   A movie of love. [Camera clip of Lebec looking in the mirror] SL: I love me! [Lebec kisses the mirror] VO: A movie.......of PASSION! [Clip of Lebec sitting in a hot tub with an attractive young girl.] SL: That's right.  Touch the monkey, baby.  It won't bite! [Lebec smiles.] VO: From this Friday... come see the picture that was nominated for "Best Picutre Produced Under A $350 Budget."  See the picture... that the members of Norfork County Penetentiary called "The best movie we've seen since ours sentences began." "Simon Lebec is the Al Pacino of our time.  And Al Pacino?  He's just some guy who wants to be Simon Lebec!" says Inmate C47936 in Cellblock D4. "I... I cried when Simon shot that homeless man looking for spare change.  To... to put a poor guy like that out of his misery... *sob* ...THAT'S compassion man!" says the guy who cleans the feaces out of solitary confinement. "I tried to escape," says the inmate lying in the infirmary, riddled with bullet holes. [Clips to another picture of Simon Lebec, taking his socks off.]   This Friday... come see the movie that Ray Charles proclaimed, "Uh huh!  Better than a Diet Pepsi!  Definitely the best of the 'Saskatchewan' flicks I've ever seen.  But then again, I'm blind!  I can't find my house half of the time!"   THIS FRIDAY... take your spouse... take your lover... take the children that are already too messed up to be affected negatively anyway. This Friday... witness... [The movie's title comes up in bold red on a black background]   "SIMON DOES SASKATCHEWAN IV: DEAD, AND LOVING IT!"   Starts this Friday in theatres everywhere. [Commercial ends. Cut back to Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts at the ringside broadcast table.] TD: Welcome back, folks. Let's press on with our next tournament match, as the final of the four "outsiders" from NLWP and ESWP, the Black Flagg, goes up against Deathbringer. SR: I don't hold out much hope for this guy, Dross. He didn't even show up for his prelim match on Wednesday. TD: Indeed not, Steve. The official reason given by his management was that wrestling on a house show card was not sufficiently lucrative for the Black Flagg to bother attending, and that he would rather pay the fine for no-showing a contracted appearance than waste his time turning up. SR: Hey, sounds like my kind of guy, Dross. TD: Sounds an awful lot like your attitude to your broadcasting commitments, Steve Roberts. SR: Come on now, Dross. I come out here every week and carry you for two hours at a time, and I come out with you on Tuesday and carry you through that other two-bit ratings-killer you scratch together. What more do you want? TD: Never mind. Let's get back up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Coronation Clash Tournament First Round Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [GROUP C] Deathbringer vs. Black Flagg ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITER: JO [Sparkplug Lee saunters in to the ring for the introductions for the next matchup in the tournament for the World Heavyweight Title.  He raises his microphone to begin the ring introducation when all of a sudden a huge wrestler comes sliding in under the ropes and scares Lee so much that he jumps several inches back... The wrestler in question is Black Flagg of the ESWP, and he is accompanied tonight by the "Living Legend" Kevin Ka$h and "Real Deal" Dice Morgan, both of whom are dapperly dressed.  Ka$h grabs the microphone from Lee and does the intro himself...] KK: Ladies and gentlemen of the so-called "mighty" IIWF... it is my privilege to present to you one of the meanest men in the sport of professional wrestling today. He was voted 1996's Best Brawler... he stands at an imposing 6'8" and weighs in at 310 pounds... he is the best the ESWP has to offer... he is BLACK FLAGG! [The crowd gathered in the Gund begins to boo lustily at the cocky introductions for his man offered by Ka$h.  Ka$h simply smirks and seems to enjoy the reaction he has brought about from the crowd, and Black Flagg jumps up to the second turnbuckle and stares menacingly into the crowd in sheer defiance of the negative reaction.] TD: Flagg and Ka$h do not seem to intent on making friends here in the IIWF. SR: Would you really want to make friends with most of the inbreds in the audience, Dross?  Besides, I've got a feeling that Flagg won't be around long enough to have to worry about his popularity. [The crowd's boos instantly change to a massive pop as the lights within Gund Arena drop to pitch black and the PA system kicks in with "The Reaper" by Gravedigger.  What little light that illuminates the ring offers a picture of Flagg, who is a bit confused by the whole entrance. His confusion turns to apprehension as the house lights go up and the imposing figure of Deathbringer stands in the ring across from him.  DB looks menacing in his cowl, and even more so as he slides it back to reveal his black mask - eyes offering an errie red glow.  He stands motionless across the ring from Flagg, staring a hole through the new man's chest.  Slowly, he puts his scythe down in the corner and begins to remove his cowl...] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... weighing in at 324 pounds... here is the man from the Dark Side... DEATHBRINGER! [A huge crowd pop is offered up in reply, but is quick surplanted by groans and screams as Flagg attacks Deathbringer from behind as he is finishing removing his cowl.  Flagg wastes no time gettin down to business, bombarding Deathbringer with a series of hard right hands and two European uppercuts in sharp sucession.  As Deathbringer staggers into the corner, Flagg grabs him and sends him to the farside with an Irish whip and follows the big man into the corner with a viscious clothesline. Deathbringer looks as stunned as a masked wrestler possibly can, so Flagg sets him up for a return Irish whip back across the ring.  Halfway across, 'Bringer puts on the brakes and reverses the move, only to have it turned back on him and Flagg sends him back to the corner turnbuckles once again. But as Flagg moves in, 'Bringer reaches up and grasps the somewhat smaller man by the throat and hits a huge chokeslam!] TD: Chokeslam by Deathbringer!  And Flagg rolls to the outside in a hurry! SR: Not that I like the guy too much, but that's exactly why I think Flagg's not going to be around too long.  Boom... outta nowhere with a chokeslam.  Reminds me off this little cutie I used to know who was a great worker in the bedroom...Boom!  Out nowhere with the... TD: [interrupting] Don't say it.  SR: Hey, I'm a classy guy, Dross... you don't think I'd actually say [BLEEP], do you? TD: Thank goodness for the seven-second delay. SR: And she was just as good in the kitchen as in the sack.  Made some damn fine biscuits. TD: [muttering]  Please... spare me.... [In the ring, Flagg has ended his impromptu meeting with Ka$h and Morgan on the outside, and ventures back into the ring.  Deathbringer seems to have recovered from Flagg's intial sneak attack and looks highly prepared to lock up.  Collar and elbow tie-up in the center of the ring, and Deathbringer forces Flagg back into the corner.  Referee Earl Saunders calls for the break, and Deathbringer slowly obliges.  Flagg looks surprised, and both men move into a lockup once again, with the same results.  This time as Deathbringer breaks the hold, Flagg reaches up and pelts the dead man across the face with a hard right hand which quickly brings a warning from the official.  Flagg pays little heed as he proceeds to rake the eyes of 'Bringer and then rake the big man's back, causing him to reel back in pain.  Flagg quickly hits a belly-to-back suplex and scores the first cover of the match which Deathbringer manages to kick out of at the two count.] TD: It's easy to see why Black Flagg was voted the Best Brawler by the fans in the 1996 awards.  He seems to follow a very lenient set of rules. SR: Rules are made to be broken, Dross.  The old Deathbringer knew that.     I think he's gone soft, and picking a wacko like Serge Annis for a     partner goes a long way to prove that.  Where is Mr. Firestarter     anyhow? TD: Serge Annis is conspicous by his absence here tonight folks.  Much has been made of this "Unholy Alliance" between Deathbringer and Annis in the past few weeks.  Two men who seem to be polar opposites drawn together by their one common bond -- their hatred of Genesis. SR: Who? TD: Genesis. SR: I thought you cancelled your subscription? TD: Oh brother. [As Steve Roberts proceeds to rant about the advantages of owning a subscription versus buying over the newstand, Flagg continues his impressive onslught in the ring.  A body slam... an Irish whip followed by a dropkick, and a huge clothesline that sends Deathbringer over the ropes and to the floor.  But Deathbringer lands on his feet, much to the delight of the crowd and to the astonishment of Flagg who is caught from behind by 'Bringer and pulled to the outside by the heels of his feet.  Outside the ESWPer is met with two hard right hands and an irish whip to the steel security railing that sends both fans and refreshments flying with its impact.  Referee Saunders is quick to admonish the dead man, who backs away from Flagg.  As the referee instructs Bringer back into the ring, Flagg catches his breath and manages to pull back out the big man who was sliding back into the ring as requested by the official.  It seems that the visit to the security railing was a fun experience for Flagg, one which he feels Deathbringer out to experience first hand!  A large gasp goes up as Deathbringer hits hard into the steel and is met with a big boot to the face as he slumps down.  Flagg is quickly admonished by Saunders, but laughs the man off and proceeds to pick up Deathbringer by the mask.  He sets for an irish whip and Deathbringer goes headfirst into the steel ring steps with a sickening THUD!] TD: Oh my!  Did you hear the sound of that?  Deathbringer's head hit hard and took the full impact of that blow to the steel steps! SR: Did I hear it?  Yes!  Better question is did I love it!  Yes!  I'm all for senseless violence.  If Flagg keeps this up, I might just  have to root for this guy. TD: Looks like Flagg wants to enlist you in his fan club because he's going to do it again!  [A loud THUD once again rings out, echoing throughout the Gund.]  Oh no.  Deathbringer can't be in good shape following that one. SR: Flagg needs to roll the big lug in the ring and pin him.  I, of     course, would hit him with an Asai moonsault first, but then again,     I've got more style... more flash... TD: More "je ne sais quois"? SR: Bless you.  And cover your mouth next time... it's national television, for crying out loud. [As Flagg kick and stomps away at the fallen Deathbringer, a murmur rises up through the crowd and turns into a full blown cheer as "The epitome of Evil" Serge Annis rushes from the back.  Flagg beats a hasty retreat around the ring and out of Annis' way, as Annis checks on his partner's condition.  Annis is dressed in his black wrestling attire with a black t-shirt that reads "Epitome" on the front in white lettering.  The crowd's cheers continue as Annis helps Deathbringer to his feet and under the ring ropes to break the referee's count before the count out.] SR: I knew Annis couldn't keep his nose out of this. TD: It's a good thing Annis showed up when he did, considering that Flagg looked intent on using the steel steps one more time. SR: Hey, third time's a charm. TD: Indeed.  Flagg is back on the attack, bringing it to Deathbringer. What a long way Flagg has come since his days as Patriot X.  For you     fans out there familiar with the ESWP promotion, Flagg was one of the top faces for quite a while until he was lured in by the fame and fortune offered to him by the "Living Legend" Kevin Ka$h.  Now, Flagg is one of the most vicious men in the fed, and is currently involved in a heated rivalry with the young Firestarter who we saw in action here earlier tonight. SR: [muttering] Ahem...jobber... [In the ring, Flagg hits a remarkable standing suplex, hoisting the big man high above his head and bringing him crashing down hard to the canvas.  But still, Deathbringer manages to kickout at the count of two. Flagg appears to look a bit frustrated, and decides to send Deathbringer to the ropes with an Irish whip... Flagg comes with a clothesline... ducked by Deathbringer... and Flagg is leveled with a flying clothesline by Deathbringer on the return!  After hitting the Scythe, Deathbringer is slow to follow up, and both men lay panting on the canvas.  Flagg is the first to his feet, pulling Deathbringer up by the mask, only to have 'Bringer repay him with a hard kick to the midsection.  Deathbringer slowly pounds the back of Black Flagg's head with a sucession of hard left forearm shots and then proceeds to send Flagg crashing down hard via a big body slam.  The crowd's excitement grows as Deathbringer looks revitalized and sends Flagg to the ropes... and catches him with a military press!  The crowd pops loudly as Deathbringer gives an incredible display of power and strength by keeping the 300 punder up for several seconds before depositing him to the canvas rather harshly.  Deathbringer moves in for the cover... grapevines one leg... only to have Dice Morgan place Flagg's other foot on the bottom rope right before the three count!] TD: Three! No, no... Morgan with a timely intervention on behalf of his man, and Annis doesn't look to pleased at all.  He's over after Morgan who pleads his innocence with Saunders. [Looking past the controversy on the outside, Deathbringer picks Flagg up and sends him to the other side with an Irish whip... only to have it reversed... and Ka$h hooks Deathbringer's leg and he stumbles directly into a piledriver by Flagg!  Annis witnesses the action and hurries to the other side to protest the action.  Meanwhile, Flagg heads to the top rope to attempt to put the finishing touches on Deathbringer when all of a sudden Firestarter emmerges from the back!  As Flagg sets to come off the top, Firestarter sneaks up from behind and fells his rival with a decidely low blow, causing Flagg to slumps down hard on the top turnbuckle in pain. Meanwhile, Saunders has not witnessed any of this as he is busy trying to seperate Annis from Ka$h and Morgan on the other side of the ring.  Deathbringer slowly gets to his feet, and sees Flagg sitting up top in obvious pain.  He looks around to see the cause, but instead decides to capitalize on Flagg's condition.  He goes to the top and...] TD: It's the BURIAL! Deathbringer just nailed that piledriver from the top rope!  Annis is pointing in the ring...Saunders sees the cover... here's the count... One! Two! And... Three! Deathbringer has won it! [Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: Boy, are Ka$h and Morgan furious!  Their boy Flagg had this one in the bank until that punk Firestarter showed up. TD: Ka$h is moving in on Firestarter near the steps... Morgan in coming up from behind!  Oh!  Firestarter caught Morgan with a hard right hand! And he's got Ka$h by the lapel! SR: But here comes Flagg!  Get him! [Seeing his managers in trouble, Flagg relies on the hate in his blood for Firestarter to find the energy to move from the ring and nail Firestarter from behind.  Both men begin to brawl wildly, spilling over the ring steps and to the floor.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... your winner by pinfall... DEATHBRINGER! [A crowd pop goes up from the crowd, but is cut short as Firestarter and Black Flagg almost tumble over the steel security railing and into the crowd.  The two men swing wildly at each other, battling up the aisle in a sweaty, hate-filled brawl as IIWF security and the Jobber Justice Squad emerge from the back to help contain their melee. Meanwhile, Deathbringer and Serge Annis make their way back to the locker room. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What a competitive match that was, Steve! Yet again, one of the "outsiders" takes the fall through no fault of his own. Ken Curtis was knocked out of the tournament thanks to the intervention of, uh, the Masked Outlaw, Firestarter and Kid Ego also fell thanks to outside interference, and now the Black Flagg falls to Deathbringer. But all four of those athletes can be proud of their performances here tonight, and I hope to see more inter-federation co-operation in future. SR: Yeah, right, Dross. What is this? "Suck up to the bush leagues Day," or something? TD: Steve Roberts, please. The IIWF is very appreciative of the co-operative relationship that currently exists with the NLWP and ESWP organisations. SR: Oh, sure. Sure we are. Let's move on to some real action, shall we? Oh, we can't, 'coz it's Warnett and "Squeaky Wheel" Luke Steele up next, isn't it? TD: Indeed it is, Steve Roberts, and I for one am looking forward to this match between two of the IIWF's brightest young stars. Let's get straight up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Coronation Clash Tournament First Round Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [GROUP D] Marty Warnett vs. "Real Deal" Luke Steele ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITER: MG [Sparkplug Lee stands in the centre of the ring, ready to announce the next match. Suddenly one of the Genesis Generation members at ringside looks furtively around and whips off his Beret, to replace it with a "Sparkplug  Generation" baseball cap. Sparkplug spots him and laughs as he raises his microphone to his lips] SL: Wrestling fans, this match is scheduled for one fall, and is part of     Group D of the IIWF Heavyweight Championship Tournament! [BIG pop!]     Making his way down the aisle, he is from Cardiff in Wales, and     weighs in at 245lbs, here is MARTY WARNETT! [Big pop as "Cold Gin" blasts out of the Gund Arena's PA system. Marty Warnett walks down the aisle, his hair cut into a mohican like style, a look of determination upon his face] SR: Hey, Dross, I thought this was a Warnett match, you didn't tell me we had the Last of the Mohicans here to take his place! TD: I somehow expected something more original from you, Steve. SL: And his opponent... [Big pop as Janet Jackson's "Black Cat" begins to play.] SL: Weighing in at 275lbs, he is from Cleveland, Ohio, here is Luke "The     Real Deal" Steele! [The crowd pop grows bigger as Luke Steele enters the arena, wearing an Indians baseball cap and a custom Cavaliers jersey with "STEELE" written across the back. Some distance behind him follows Ronnie Paris and Scott Rogers.] SR: Oh, hey... It's Luke "I know how to make the crowd squeal" Steele! [Steele takes his time getting to ringside as he waves to the crowd and high-fives everyone down both sides of the aisleway. Camera flashes explode all over the arena, Luke Steele stopping to pose at the request of the fans.] TD: Fan reaction to Luke "Real Deal" Steele in Cleveland is overwhelming, Steve! He's certainly got a real hometown advantage here tonight! SR: Yeah, the crowd loves him. So what? [Ronnie Paris and Scott Rogers take ringside seats as Luke Steele finally makes his way into the ring, where he continues to pose as the last bars of his title music die. The crowd heats up even more as Luke removes his jersey and cap and throws them into the crowd.] SR: Oh, ick. I hope whoever catched those washes them first. [Luke Steele extends his hand to Marty Warnett, who eyes it suspiciously for a moment, then slowly extends his hand and shakes with Steele, his eyes never leaving Steele's face.] TD: A sadly rare display of sportsmanship there, Steve. SR: Luke "I'll spin the wheel and make a deal" Steele should have kicked     him there and then, Dross. Sportsmanship? Stupidity, I call it. TD: "I'll spin the...?" that was a bit strained wasn't it? And there is     the bell as Warnett and Steele lock up in the centre of the squared     circle... [A collar-and-elbow soon leaves Warnett with the advantage as he wrenches Steele's arm around and drives an elbow into Steele's own elbow. Steele grimaces in pain, but takes the opportunity to send Warnett flying with an armdrag. Warnett leaps up, and Steele levels him with a powerful clothesline. Huge pop! Steele drags Warnett back up, and sends him flying into the ringropes with an irishwhip. Warnett ducks under a clothesline, and rebounds off the opposing ringropes to knock Steele down with a flying shoulderblock.] TD: An excellent move from Marty Warnett evens the match, Steve... Steve? [Steele slowly makes his way back to his feet as Warnett measures him, dropping him down to the mat again with a standing dropkick. Warnett moves in quickly, quickly grabbing Steele's legs and setting up for...] TD: Oh no! Marty Warnett sets up for "The End" figure-four leglock! So     soon? [Warnett has Steele in his "The End" figure-four leglock and Steele cries out in pain. Warnett looks up in surprise as he receives a heel pop!] TD: Well, it looks like the crowd are all on Steele's side as Marty is     booed mercilessly! How do you think being booed like this will affect Warnett, Steve? ... Steve? SR: Huh? Wazzat? Sorry, Dross... it's just that this match is so boring     it's sending me to sleep! Where's the blood? Where's the gore? Where     are the low blows? For crying out loud, will somebody at least thumb     someone in the eye?! TD: You are not funny, Steve. Not in the least. [In the ring Luke Steele is trying to reverse the figure four, but is unable to as Warnett blocks every attempt. The referee is down by Steele waiting for the submission, but Luke cries out "No!" and begins to make his way slowly to the ropes. A chant begins: "Real Deal! Real Deal!" Little by little Steele gets nearer the ropes, despite Warnett's attempts to keep it in the ring.] TD: Steele using his strength advantage to good effect here, dragging     not only himself but also Warnett over to the ring ropes. SR: Must... stay... awake... must... stay... Zzzzzzz... TD: Go ahead, yuk it up. Warnett suddenly breaks the hold and quickly     drops a leg over Steele's neck! Steele recoils, clutching his neck in pain. Warnett grabs Steele and pulls him to his feet... bridging back suplex! [The referee counts, but Steele kicks out on two, bringing about a huge relieved pop! Steele sits up, shaking his head and sucking in huge lungfuls of air as he tries to get his wind back. Warnett moves in, and catches Steele in a sleeper!] TD: Warnett is really taking in to Steele, who seems to have been caught     unawares by the fire, the sheer ferocity, of Warnett. It looks like     Simon Lebec has awoken a monster, Steve. Steve? Good grief, what is     that? [The camera zooms in on Steve Roberts, who appears to be toying with some kind of keyring, which is emitting little bleeps and whistles. Tim Dross looks at it with ill-concealed distaste.] SR: It's a Tamagotchi. One of those cute little keyring pets from Japan.     This is the newest model, available now from the IIWF merchandising     department. Watch this: [To the Tamagotchi] Hey, moron... Marty     Warnett sucks eggs! What ya got to say about that, huh? [The Tamagotchi seems to think about this for a second, then a tinny digital voice says "Shoot... Soundbite... Shoot!"] SR: Ain't that great? A bargain at only $10! TD: Good grief. A L'il Soundbiter Tamagotchi? Well, dial 1-800-IIWF-325     for the privilege, I guess. Meanwhile, Luke Steele appears to be     fading fast as Warnett keeps that sleeper tightened in solid. The     official is checking Steele now... [The official raises Steele's arm once, and it drops. The "Real Deal! Real Deal!" chant intensifies and loudens. Yet again the arm is raised and then dropped. The official raises Steele's arm once more...] TD: If that arm drops it's all over for Steele! It's dropping! Steele's     arm is going down... Warnett has won - No! Luke Steele's arm is     staying put! [Huge crowd pop as Luke Steele's arm quivers and slowly raises. Steele slowly and surely begins to raise off the mat, beginning to stand] TD: Incredible, I thought it was all over for Luke Steele but he's     powering out of the sleeper! Look at Marty's face - he can't believe     it! [Steele begins to drive hard elbows into Warnett's abdomen, causing Marty to recoil in pain, but Warnett holds on... two elbows, three, four... Warnett breaks the hold and Steele breaks into a run toward the ropes, rebounding off and narrowly avoiding a Warnett kneelift as he leaps into the air with a flying clothesline, which drops Warnett like a stone. Huge pop! Luke Steele drops o his knees, exhausted by the effort] TD: Luke Steele has the advantage, but that figure-four and sleeper have     taken so much out of him he can't capitalise. Steele needs to do     something if he wants to win this one, Steve. [A little tinny voice says "Shoot... Soundbite... Shoot!"] SR: Hehehe, I love this little fella. Sorry, what were you saying? Do     something? Yeah, absolutely. What you said. [Warnett grabs a dazed Steele and whips him into the ringropes. Steele rebounds off the ropes, right where Warnett is waiting for him, head ducked for a backdrop. Steele stops short, grabs Warnett...] TD: Double-underhook piledriver! Steele pulled that out of nowhere, and     Warnett looks to be out cold! SR: Hey, not a bad move from Lukey. Of course, it's no Asai moonsault... [A little tinny voice yells out "Shoot... Soundbite... Shoot!"] SR: Who needs those morons out in the crowd when I've got my l'il buddy     here? [Steele dives on Warnett and the referee makes the count. Disappointed pop as Warnett kicks out on the two mark. Steele pulls Warnett up and locks Marty into a full-nelson! The crowd goes wild as Marty tries desperately to escape the hold, but Steele has it locked on tight and has actually lifted Warnett off his feet!] TD: What amazing strength from Luke "Real Deal" Steele. What can Marty do to get out of this predicament? SR: Give up? [Suddenly Warnett goes limp, raising his arms straight up and sliding straight down through a surprised Luke Steele's mighty arms. Warnett drops to the mat and spins around, sweeping the legs out from under Luke Steele and sending Luke Steele crashing to the mat] TD: I guess that teaches me. Never underestimate Marty Warnett, Steve. SR: Are you for real? [The little tinny voice once more yells "Shoot... Soundbite... Shoot!" Warnett lifts Steele up onto his back, and quickly drops him with a fallaway slam, neutralising the legs with an arm. The surprised official quickly drops to the mat to make the count.. 1... 2... kickout from Steele! Relieved pop from the crowd! A seemingly frustrated Warnett stands, and reaches down to pull Steele back up, but Steele grabs Warnett and rolls him up! The official starts to count, but Warnett easily kicks out at the one count.] TD: Victory slipping out of the hands of Luke Steele in front of a     capacity hometown audience! So close, Steve, so close. SR: Yeah, well... close only counts in horse shoes and saturation     bombing, Dross. Luke "I'm an ex-Navy Seal" Steele will have to do     better than that. TD: Ex-Navy Seal? You are _really_ stretching it now. [Steele is first back to his feet, and makes a break for the ropes, quickly climbing to the top turnbuckle and poising himself in readiness. Warnett slowly climbs to his feet and looks around for Steele, just as Luke launches himself into the air for a dropkick. Warnett sees him and dives to the side, narrowly avoiding Steele who falls to the mat. Warnett rushes to the ropes, rebounding off and launching himself into a somersault splash that leaves Steele gasping for breathe. Heel pop!] TD: This crowd just doesn't seem to like Marty tonight. SR: I always knew that sooner or later these morons would wise up. [The little tinny voice once more yells "Shoot... Soundbite... Shoot!" Warnett covers and the referee dutifully starts to slap the mat, but Steele once more kicks out at the two count. Warnett is up and running, rebounding off the rope and bringing his leg down across Steele's throat, but Steele brings his powerful arms up and catches Warnett's leg inches from his throat. Big pop! Warnett brings his other foot down across Steele's throat, but Steele grabs the other leg! The pop grows louder as Steele powers up, pushing Warnett's legs up and his shoulders down. The official once more drops to the mat, but Warnett kicks out effortlessly before the count can begin. Disappointed pop!] TD: Incredible strength shown by Steele, by Marty was never in any danger there, Steve. SR: Unfortunately. [Steele and Warnett are once more on a vertical base, and both eye each other warily. Warnett makes a break for the ropes, as does Steele, criss-crossing the ropes once, twice, three times, before Steele drops to his back on the mat, catching Warnett on the rebound and monkey flipping him. Warnett flips over and lands on his feet, dropping a big elbow across a surprised Luke Steele. Big heel pop!] TD: That was an incredible move from Marty Warnett, Steve. SR: Yeah, well ... I take the fifth. [Warnett gets to his feet with a handspring, but Steele lashes out with an arm, sweeping Warnett's feet away from him. Warnett lands hard, bumping his head. A tired Steele drapes an arm over Warnett for the pin as the official counts: 1 - 2 - Warnett barely raises a shoulder in time. Disappointed pop!] TD: Luke Steele seems to have the entire crowd on his side, Steve. Marty     has virtually no support out in that crowd tonight. Wait just a     minute - is that who I think it is coming to ringside? [A massive heel pop as Simon Lebec casually saunters down to ringside, the usual insincere smile draped wide across his face. Taking up position by a ringpost he "claps" Warnett on with slow, faked, insincere claps.] SR: Hey, it's my buddy Lebec! You'd never have thought he was a Marty     Warnett supporter, but I guess he can be forgiving. TD: What? [Back in the ring both men are now once more vertical, with Warnett gaining the advantage with a big kneelift. A doubled-over Steele is easy pickings for a stomachbreaker, with the crowd booing mightily. Warnett sees Lebec standing by the ringpost and his eyes narrow, but he pays him no further attention as he makes for the turnbuckle.] TD: This could be it! Are we going to see the Hangover? SR: Only if we're really unlucky. [Warnett launches himself from the top turnbuckle, but Steele is up in time. Warnett is able to save himself and land on his feet, but this leaves him a wide-open target as Steele delivers a big boot to the midsection before hammering Warnett with a double underhook powerbomb! BIG pop from the crowd and Simon Lebec allows himself a big smile] TD: What a move from Luke Steele! We're seeing all out war between these     two athletes here tonight over the chance to become the IIWF     Heavyweight champion of the world! SR: Marty Warnett, IIWF champion? Luke Steele, IIWF champion? Why does     the prospect make me nauseous? [Once again the tinny voice emits a "Shoot... Soundbite... Shoot!"] SR: You know, that little tinny voice does begin to grate after a while,     doesn't it? TD: Yes. Much like the original, in fact. SR: Don't push your luck, Dross. [Luke Steele covers Marty Warnett, but Warnett kicks out at the very last nano-second. A big disappointed pop, as Luke Steele pulls Warnett up by what is left of his hair and whips him towards the ropes. Warnett hangs on, and reverses it so that it is Steele who takes a trip to the ropes. Steel rebounds off, ducking under a clothesline and rebounding off the opposing ropes before launching into a flying spinning leg lariat. Warnett drops as if poleaxed, Steele falling over him and hooking a leg. The referee count reaches two and a half, and yet again Warnett raises a shoulder. Steele pounds the mat once in frustration, then gets up] TD: Marty Warnett is certainly showing his resilience in this match, as     is Luke Steele. SR: Well, he's certainly showing he can get his butt handed to him, and     that's fer damn sure. [Steele drops an elbow, Warnett rolling out of the way just in time to avoid it. Warnett rolls completely out of the ring, dropping to the ringside area.] SR: Smart tactics from Marty Warnett. For once. That's it, take a quick     breather. Forget about my buddy Simon about two feet behind you.     Geez, what an idiot. TD: You're not suggesting that Lebec might interfere, are you? SR: Me? Hell, no. [The referee starts a ten-count against Warnett. Luke Steele Stands, hands on hips, in the centre of the ring, waiting for Warnett to get back in the ring.] TD: I guess Luke Steele must be pretty certain that Warnett will get back in the ring if he's not going after him... SR: Well, Luke "Not too bright a deal" Steele knows Warnett is one of     those dummies with an over-developed sense of fairplay. [Outside the ring Warnett stares at Simon Lebec, who has an undisguised smug look on his face as he spreads his arms wide and then gestures, inviting Warnett back into the ring. Warnett looks on suspiciously, and slowly gets back into the ring, never letting his eyes stray from Simon Lebec. Unfortunately, this gives Luke Steel the opportunity to slingshot Warnett into the ring, which he takes with gusto.] SR: Marty certainly knows how to make an entrance. I wish he'd do that     more often. [The tinny voice, yet again, emits a "Shoot... Soundbite... Shoot!"] SR: You know, this is beginning to sound like too much of a good     thing... [Steele capitalises on Warnett's distraction to grab Warnett and sets him up for the...] TD: Piledriver! An awesome piledriver from Luke Steele just about brought Warnett down to 5'9" instead of 5'11"! SR: Yeah? Hey, if we can get Steele to do that another couple of times     maybe the IIWF could introduce a midget category or something? [Steele covers Warnett, but Warnett manages to drape a foot over the ropes. The official spots it and taps Steele on the shoulder, pointing the foot out to Luke. Disappointed pop!] TD: So close! [Steele drags Warnett up into position for a vertical suplex, lifting him into the air, but Warnett manages to swivel around Steele's shoulders and drops over Steele's back. As Steele turns...] TD: DDT! Warnett drives Steele to the matt with a desperate DDT! [Huge heel pop from the Cleveland crowd as Warnett staggers over to the turnbuckle and begins to climb. As he reaches the top he signals for the Hangover!] TD: My word! Marty Warnett is going for the Hangover! If he nails this     it's all over! Wait - what's Lebec doing? [Unbeknownst to Marty Warnett Simon Lebec has climbed up behind him! Warnett launches himself into the air, but Simon Lebec grabs the foot. Huge mixed pop as Marty Warnett falls flat on his face from the top rope! Simon Lebec smiles widely, and drops down to the floor. Meanwhile, Steele groggily gets to his feet, sees Warnett and executes a big legdrop before covering him. The official counts: 1 - 2 - 3!] SL: Here is your winner... as the result of a pinfall... Cleveland's own Luke "Real Deal" Steele! [The crowd pops big time as Luke groggily gets to his feet and his hand is raised. Scott Rogers & Ronnie Paris enter the ring and congratulate Steele as "Black Cat" begins to play over the sound system] TD: What a travesty! Simon Lebec ruins Marty Warnett's chance to become     IIWF heavyweight champion in truly outrageous fashion. SR: Yeah, he's certainly performed a great service to his fellow man.     You'll notice that there's nobody in the crowd who seem that choked     about it. TD: Well, obviously the crowd are behind their home town favourite, but     even so that was a shocking- what the? [Warnett has slowly gotten to his feet, and sees Simon Lebec, who waves to him cheekily. A terrible rage darkens Warnett's face as he slingshots himself out of the ring right onto Simon Lebec. Big pop!] SR: Hey, what's Warnett doing that for? TD: Are you serious? SR: Warnett's just jumped my pal Lebec for no good reason, Dross! [A tinny voice suddenly yells "Root... Roundrite... Root!"] TD: I guess you've overworked the poor thing, Steve. [Simon Lebec and Marty Warnett continue to brawl around the ring as Luke Steele, Ronnie Paris and Scott Rogers exits, obviously deciding it's none of their business.] TD: Can we get some security down here? SR: Nah, let 'em fight. Warnett getting beaten up _again_ is worth the     price of admission alone! TD: Wait a minute -  here's Quigley! [Chris Quigley, dressed in jeans and a shirt, rushes down the aisle to the ringside area, launching himself into the fray] SR: "Kick me" _and_ Warnett getting beat up? I've died and gone to heaven and I never even realised! Where are all those legions of angelic fans? "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!" [a tinny voice echoes     "Root... Roundrite... Root!"] to angelic choral accompaniment! [The three men battle incessantly outside the ring, using whatever they can get their hands on. Lebec grabs a fire-extinguisher, only to have Quigley dropkick it right out of his hands! The screams of the crowd are deafening!] TD: Where is security? Where is "Nifty" Ned Norton? SR: Get real, Dross. The fans wanna watch this, this is quality enterta... Damn! Well, it _was_ entertaining, but now Billy Shakespeare has to ruin it! [Billy Shakespeare, also dressed in street clothes, sprints down the aisleway, and leaps into the dense crowd of punching, kicking, biting and gouging that is blowing around the ringside area like a tornado, leaving no chair unturned. A few moments later the Jobber Justice Squad stream down the aisleway, embarassment clear across their faces. A few more moments of bitter fighting, and then the four men are broken apart from each other, still kicking...] TD: Well, that was certainly fun. SR: I liked it! [The tinny voice starts to cry "Root... Roundrite...ugh." just as Steve Roberts smacks it with the timekeeper's bell.] SR: They need to iron the bugs out, Dross. [The ringside area is finally cleared of debris both human and otherwise, and the crowd begins to settle. Cut back to Dross and Roberts at ringside.] TD: A remarkable night it has been already, Steve Roberts.  We have seen two very surprising eliminations as Creed and now Marty Warnett are gone in the First Round of the Coronation Clash Crusade Tournament. SR: Are you telling me that "I'll Need Time To Heal" is going to the pay-per-view? TD: Luke Steele will absolutely be part of that huge Coronation Clash pay-per-view on July 12, call your local cable company today, folks. SR: Yeah, that'll send buyrates through the freakin' stratosphere, Dross.  Women, physics professors, the homeless - all scurrying to their phones to plunk down 30 bucks to see "Hit me again... if you weeel" get bounced out of the Sweet Sixteen. TD: I don't know, Steve Roberts, you know the motto here in the IIWF: Everything Will Happen -- and that just might include Luke Steele becoming the next IIWF Heavyweight Champion.  SR: If "Go Ahead - Cop a Feel" can win the Heavyweight Championship, then I am definitely coming out of retirement, Dross. Maybe me and the Smooth will take the US tag belts. TD: We don't have the US belts anymore, Steve Roberts. SR: Well, then it will be easier than I thought. TD: Let's get to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Coronation Clash Tournament First Round Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [GROUP D] Lord Byron vs. Ronnie Paris ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee draws more than a modest amount of applause as he holds up a "Football in '99!" sign before taking the mic.] SL: The following Coronation Clash Crusade Tournament Contest... is your _main event_ of the evening! Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by Luke Steele and Scott Rogers, he weighs 210 pounds and hails from El Paso, Texas... Ronnie Paris! [Face Pop from the crowd as the spartanly attired Paris enters to Queen's "We Are the Champions."  Paris, Rogers and the newly victorious Steele smack the outstretched hands of aisle side fans as they enter the ring. Paris appears perhaps a little nervous, or, at least he is clearly cognizant of the enormity of the task at hand as he carefully stretches with the top rope.] TD: Here might be the biggest match of this man's life, Steve Roberts. He has won some and lost some here in the IIWF, but has never really had that breakthrough, never really been able to secure that win that would launch him into the stratosphere. SR: Yeah, he thought it would be against the Soundbite.  Thought he could take advantage of my injured back... but I kicked his ass, just the same way that Byron's about to defend his title here tonight. TD: Actually, this is a non-title matchup -- as will be Dirt Dog Unique Allah's when he meets Serge Annis next week.  SR: I somehow doubt Byron is too worried if the title is on the line, Dross, the guy's defended against half the Federation since winning the belt. He'll smack Paris into next week. [Paris takes a noticeably deep breath as "Intermezzo" from Sibelius' "Karelia" Suite begins to a resounding heel reaction.] SL: His opponent is accompanied down the aisle by Lady DeWinter and Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven.  He weighs 265 pounds and currently resides in New Orleans... he is the IIWF Intercontinental Champion... Lord Byron! [Entering first is the winsome DeWinter, who carries the IC belt aloft. Then comes the snarling Butcher and the regally attired Byron, his brass topped cane waggingly leading the way as he motions to the camera.] LB: Enjoy your vacation, rookie. [The Champ enters the ring, not giving so much as a glance toward the direction of young Paris, he smirks in the direction of a group of ringside fans who are clad in "Anyone... Anywhere... Anytime" t-shirts and are screaming "Pay - back! Pay - back!" at the Intercontinental Champion.] TD: Well, Lord Byron is here and has certainly made his presence known tonight.  I don't know if I have ever seen anything quite like the look in the face of the red-gloved rookie Creed as he was eliminated from this tournament by Ike Sampson.  This man Lord Byron has caused Creed such an incredible amount of, well, of heartache, that I frankly wonder about his future in this sport. SR: His future is the same as anyone's who is involved with Lord Byron -- brutal and short, Dross.  This man may well be the best wrestler anywhere in the world,and Ronnie Paris is about to get the lesson of his life. [Paris and Byron are left in the ring, along with the official who brings the two men together for final instructions as the bell sounds. Ding! Ding! Ding! Paris offers a collar and elbow, which Byron sneeringly slips and jabs a knee to the Paris midsection.  Byron boxes the young man's ears and then grabs a standing side headlock.  Paris maneuvers out with a wristlock and looks to wring the arm -- but Byron counters with a jab to the eye and a top wristlock which he moves to an armwring of his own. Paris looks to forward roll... but Byron retains hold of the wrist and then lifts Paris into the air with an elevated wristlock... and then to the mat with a takedown -- but it is Paris who counters on the mat with a drag of his own into an armbar that has the crowd cheering the Texan. Discerning Pop!] TD: Nice display of counter-wrestling by young Paris here in the early going, Steve Roberts.  You know, that is exactly the kind of maneuver we have seen successfully executed so many times by Lord Byron, Steve Roberts.  Obviously young Paris has done his homework. SR: Well, Byron's about to beat him up and make him do his homework, Dross.  This is gonna be the easiest match of his career.  [Byron escapes the armbar with a takeover of his own and the two men are quickly to their feet.  They lockup and Byron responds with a thrust and then a crescent kick that backs Paris up and sends him to run to the ropes.  Byron leapfrogs the smaller man - and is then caught by a Paris monkey flip as the cruiser went to his back... but Byron remains on his feet, grabbing a facelock..and sending the young man down with a northern lights suplex and a cover... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Kickout by Paris. The two men lock up again, now each moving a little more aggressively. This time it is Paris who fires out with a boot to the midsection and a wristlock.  Byron moves to a top-lock but Paris rotates out into an attempted backslide.  Byron is too strong, however... and Paris ducks out of the slide, leaping to the sideropes and as Byron moves in for another suplex attempt... Paris leaps with a head scissors takeover that rips Byron to the mat... and causes the Champion to bail out of the ring! Huge Paris Pop!] TD: Oh, you have got to be impressed with the strategy of the young Paris.  He seems to be learning as the match goes on, seems to be countering Byron with his own maneuvers.  Very impressive. SR: Well, Byron's about to do some impressing, Dross.  Impressing Paris' head against the steel steps... impressing Paris' back against the retaining barrier. [Paris moves to the ropes, and Byron drags him to the outside, the champion firing away with sharp European uppercuts... then whipping Paris hard into those steel steps, the young crusier's body crashing into the steel with an almost painful thud.  Lady DeWinter leaps to the apron to distract the official -- allowing Verhoeven and Byron to lay into Paris with boots, then pick the young man into the air...] TD: Oh, that is ugly, Steve Roberts.  They have dropped Ronnie Paris' neck across the apron -- and the rookie is down.  Oh... here... here come Rogers and Steele! [Huge face pop as Luke Steele and Scott Rogers race from the other side of the ring and begin to take on the European Alliance, Steele tossing Byron aside and Rogers trading heavy blows with Verhoeven.  The official finally disengages from DeWinter in time to see Steele and Rogers double teaming the Butcher...] TD: He's ordering them all to leave, Steve Roberts!  Earl Alfonso is ejecting Otto, Steele, Rogers... and _DeWinter_ from ringside! Unbelievable! SR: This is totally uncalled for, Dross.  Okay, toss Rogers and "Listen to Me Squeal" out of the building... even Otto if you want to be fair. But for the love of all that is good and pure in this world, please... _please_, Alfonso, I'm begging you: let DeWinter stay! The Soundbite gots needs, baby.  Needs!  Needs!  NEEDS! TD: You're not well, are you, Steve? SR: NEEEEEEEDS! [The crowd response is enormous as the collection is escorted protestingly from the ring. Byron has tossed Paris back into the ring and is laying into him with a series of boots...then he picks Paris to his feet... to the air... and drops him on this head with a sharp brainbuster suplex that has the crowd gasping and Byron moving for a cover: 1 -- 2 -- NO! Byron picks Paris to his feet again... into an Irish whip which becomes a hook cradle suplex by Byron witha bridge... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Paris slides out and as Byron moves to him again, Paris is there with a sharp armdrag takeover.  Byron rises again... and is dragged back the other way with an armdrag takeover -- and as Byron rises once again he is felled with a picture perfect dropkick that brings a huge face pop from the crowd!] TD: Ronnie Paris is _fighting_ back! [Paris moves to the midrope... coming down with a guillotine legdrop that snaps across the champion's neck and leads to an attempted cover... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Byron kicks out! Paris goes back to the ropes... climbs to the second buckle and drives down with a hard knee drop to Byron's forehead.  Byron attempts to stand... but Paris sweeps the back of his leg and then dives atop Byron with a reverse chinlock that wrenches away at the Champion's head and neck.] TD: Notice what young Paris is doing, Steve Roberts... Ronnie Paris is keeping Lord Byron from a vertical base.  Ronnie Paris has clearly been scouting Lord Byron for quite some time, and he is wrestling a textbook match! [Byron attempts to get to his feet... but Paris fights with every one of his 210 pounds to keep him down.  Byron makes another rush, pushing himself to his feet... but, no.  Ronnie Paris still keeps the chinlock and Byron stays down.  Byron again... again tries to move to his feet... and as Paris tries to force him down, Lord Byron snaps off a jawbreaker that bullets Paris to the mat.  Pop! Byron quickly attacks, driving a forearm to the lower midsection... then getting a double leg and sending a sharp series of elbows to the exposes inner thigh areas of the young Texan.  Byron looks for a step over toe hold... and takes a boot to the rear by Paris.  Byron runs to the ropes... and Paris hops to the top buckle to... to meet Byron with a hurricanrana that sends him to the canvas with a cover: 1 -- 2 -- NO! Kickout by Lord Byron!] TD: What a maneuver by Ronnie Paris!  What a remarkable maneuver by this young Cruiserweight!  SR: He's just toying with him, Dross.  Come on Byron!  Come on, Byron! Put this punk away! [Paris pulls Byron to his feet, whipping him farside -- leapfrog -- Byron off the back ropes -- backfrog by Paris -- Byron attempts a hiplock takeover -- blocked -- Paris sends a thrustkick -- blocked by Byron, who grabs Paris' leg, Ronnie swings his free leg forward looking to strike with an enzuigiri... but Byron slips the blow and drops the cruiser with a side suplex that smacks Paris' head into the canvas. Byron covers: 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Kickout by Paris. Byron winds up for a big elbowdrop..and Paris slips, sending Byron into the mat... Paris then leaps to the ropes, climbing to the midbuckle for a measured elbow drop... missed!  Byron is able to roll out of the way. He lays into Paris with sharp boots, then picks him up and Irish whips him hard... into a big backdrop that takes Paris down hard to the mat.  Byron lifts Paris to his feet, sending him down again with a snap suplex.] TD: No cover from Byron. He is looking to build some momentum and maybe inflict a little bit of punishment here, Steve Roberts. SR: Well, it is about damn time.  Not that I was worried, or anything... but this Paris is starting to irritate the hell out of my L'il Soundbiters.  Ain't that right, morons? [The group of L'il Soundbiters are uncharacteristically quiet. In fact, as Roberts turns around he realizes they have disappeared entirely, save for the Soundbiter with the prosthetic leg who informs Steve that "they all left when DeWinter got kicked out."] SR: See, Dross?  I told you they were smart guys. [Byron picks Paris to his feet slowly rocking him with uppercuts... then putting a boot to the midsection that doubles Paris over, rudely leading to an inverted neckbreaker by Byron that sends Paris to the mat and awakens the heel popping crowd. Byron again eschews the cover... now arrogantly lifting Paris to his feet... turning him again... and again nailing him with an inverted neckbreaker!  Big Heel Pop!] TD: Consecutive neckbreakers by Byron... and still no cover by the Champion!  Still no cover! SR: He's gonna make the punk quit, Dross.  He's gonna make him submit right in the middle of the ring!  I love it!  Okay, I like it.. I'd love it if DeWinter would come back out, maybe dressed like a girl scout. "Would you like some Thin Mints, Mr. Soundbite?"  "Well, yes, I would, little girl... can you break a fifty..."  "Well, no, Mr. Soundbite, I only have change..."  "Well, that's okay, little girl... I think we can work something out.  Do you like gladiator movies?" [The only L'il Soundbiter left makes an unsuccessful attempt to stand while yelling out, "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!"] TD: We're perilously close to cancellation. [Byron has dropped Paris to his neck again with a blockbuster suplex and now slowly moves to execute a butterfly suplex, but as he underhooks an arm, Paris reaches underneath for a shocking cradle and a... 1 -- 2 -- NO! Byron is just able to escape. Byron swings with a wild clothesline; Paris ducks and locks on with a crucifix takedown for a 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Byron escapes again and he staggers away!  The crowd is popping like mad as Paris feverishly follows Byron into the corner... the two men exchanging lefts and rights now... swinging wildly as they reach a corner... and begin climbing the buckles... they are climbing the corner as they fight... all the way to the top rope!] TD: Lord Byron and Ronnie Paris are balanced on the top rope... Paris' back to the ring... and Ronnie Paris is looking to superplex!  Paris is looking to superplex! SR: No... no... no...! Byron's got him!  Byron's gonna bring him down! [Big Pop as Byron wrests control from the smaller Paris, and sends him to the mat with a front layout superplex!  Big pop!  And then bigger as the crowd sees that Paris has unintentionally struck the official as he headed to the mat!  Big pop as both Paris and the referee are down on the mat as Byron remains perched on the top rope!  Byron stands above the ring... giving a mock bow to the crowd... which responds with an enormous... a resounding... a cataclysmic POP!] TD: IT'S CREED!  IT'S CREED!  Creed's climbing the ropes! [Byron smirks at the crowd reaction... and then his expression turns to horror as he suddenly realizes that he is not alone on the top buckle... Creed lifts Byron high into the air... high over his head and then flies down to the mat!] TD: GFA! GFA! Powerbomb by Creed! Creed has powerbombed Byron from the top rope!  Byron is out... The referee is stirring! Ronnie Paris... Ronnie Paris has the cover! [Creed bails out of the ring, the crowd ripping the rook off Gund Arena with their approval as Paris has his arm draped over Bryon and Alfonso counts: 1 -- 2 -- 3!  Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Your winner... as a result of a pinfall... RONNIE PARIS! [The crowd roar increases as Alfonso lifts the arm of the stunned Paris, the Texan beginning to shout, "Yes!  Yes!", as Luke Steele and Scott Rogers quickly hit the ring, the three men celebrating with tremendous vigor as they exit the ring, the crowd chanting "Ron - nie! Ron - nie!" as the wrestlers boisterously leave ringside area. Lord Byron is on his knees, muttering expletives to himself as he spies the red-gloved rookie Creed who remains at ringside.  Byron moves to his feet and motions for Creed to gewt in the ring, motions for Creed to brring it on!] TD: We're gonna see it, Steve Roberts!  These two men's hatred for each other has finally boiled over... and we are gonna see them go at it right now! [From the back, Mad Dog Watkins sprints to the ring to a roar from the crowd. As Creed hits the ring, so does Watkins... and the Dog holds Creed in place, whispering in his ear... as the still clearly furious red-gloved rookie grabs a mic...] CREED: You like that?!  You like that, Byron?  I don't care nothin' 'bout no damn winning streak... don't even care 'bout my knee... but you took my shot, Byron!  You took my shot at the title... you took the only thing that I care about in this world, Byron!  And there ain't no one or nothing that gonna keep me from kicking your ass!  [Creed scrambles toward Byron, who has gotten to his feet and grabbed a microphone of his own. Watkins grabs his young protege, almost superhumanly lifting him off his feet and carrying backward a few paces. Watkins speaks sternly to Creed... then releases the hold as Byron begins to speak.] LB: Your shot at the title, Creed?  Your shot?  You've had your chance, rookie, and it's long gone!  Against Casey James, you threw it away, against my good self, you threw it away!  When will you learn, rookie, you aren't ever going to take the gold home to momma!  [Byron sneers]  You can't even win a match on your own any more!  I was doing you a favour here tonight, rookie... I spared you the pain and embarrasment of being torn apart by any number of much worthier athletes at Coronation Clash!  But you... you cost me the chance of making history here tonight, pup, and that's going to be your doom! CREED: You know something, Byron... I am goddamn sick of your attitude.  I am sick of your act... I am sick of some part-timer walkin' 'round here saying he's the "best wrestler alive"... when everybody in this arena know that I could take your strap any damn time I wanted to! [The Cleveland fans now pop wildly..and an enormous "Pay - Back! Pay - Back! Pay - Back!" chant rises in the arena.] Hey... hey, you know what?  I do want to take your strap.  And I want to take it in two weeks -- at Coronation Clash! LB: [Byron snarls] Part-timer?  PART-TIMER?! I've accomplished more in this federation than you could ever possibly dream of!  You want another shot at this, rookie? [Byron holds up the IC title]  You want me to finish your career for good this time?  You want to take another humiliation from the best technical wrestler alive?  [Byron snorts in disdain]  Get back to the end of the queue with the likes of Duncan Macbeth, rookie.  You've had your chance of glory, and you threw it away.  If you could beat me, you'd have the gold already!  No, rookie, you don't deserve a second more of my time, let alone a shot at the gold! [Byron sneers as Creed is again restrained by Watkins .. and then pauses, brushing his hair back with an arrogant smirk.] LB:  No... no, wait there one second, pup... how bad do you want this shot?  How far are you prepared to go? [Byron sneers again]  Alright, rookie, you've got your shot at Coronation Clash.   Your last shot!  You see, rookie, this time, I'm dictating to you!  And when you lose... when you throw it away again... I don't want to ever have to hear your mongrel whining voice again! [Heel pop as Byron's smirk broadens] That's right, Creed, when I humble you for the second time in front of all of your devoted fans... you will never get another shot at the gold here in the IIWF... of any kind!  Do you understand me, rookie? Do you want to do this?  Have you got the guts to do this? [The crowd buzzes expectantly as MDW whispers something to the red-gloved rookie.] CREED: Tell you what, Champ.  Let's you and me go one better... you wanna play for real stakes, Champ?  You wanna put it all out on the line?  I got three words for you, Lord Byron... I got three words... LOSER LEAVES TOWN!! [The fans go apoplectic... a resounding roar giving way to dead silence as the crowd waits for Byron's response... Byron glares at Creed for a second, then he snaps...] LB: Oh, that suits me just fine, rookie.  That suits me just fine.  If you want to throw your career away, I have no problem with it. [Byron sneers] Come Coronation Clash, rookie, I'm going to shatter three things:  Your dreams, your knee, and finally, your career!  You've just sealed your fate.  You're finished, rookie. Do you understand me? FINISHED! [Creed and Byron drop the microphones and go nose-to-nose... the two men jawing at each other as the volume of the "Pay - Back! Pay - Back!" chant is now literally shaking the support stantions in the Arena.  Watkins grabs Creed and leads him away from the ring, eventually to be followed by Byron as the roar continues.] TD: A stunning... an absolutely stunning turn of events here in Cleveland.  One of the biggest bombshell announcements in the history of the IIWF... it appears that, at Coronation Clash, Creed and Lord Byron will meet for the third time... in a Loser Leaves Town match!  Absolute bombshell SR: Hah!  Hah, Hah!  I love it, Dross!  Forget all the bad things I ever said about Coronation Clash... because on July 12, we are gonna see the greatest wrestler alive retire that overrated punk Creed! What a great night! TD: It is true, folks, we are out of time tonight, but for more information on this historic Loser Leaves Town matchup that will come your way at Coronation Clash, along with all the latest developments in the Coronation Clash Tournament, be sure to call the Hotline tomorrow night... and then tune in for all the latest analysis on Tuesday as "Inside the IIWF" goes to the Big Apple... New York City! For Steve Roberts and all of us here with IIWF Saturday Night, this is Tim Dross in the Gund Arena in Cleveland, Ohio, saying: good night, everybody! [The fans have remained standing, many still roaring "Pay - Back! Pay - Back! Pay - Back!" 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+