[Fade up to footage captioned, "Earlier Tonight."  Approximately 6:30 P.M. in the VIP underground parking garage adjacent to the Manhattan Center.  A hand-held Super 8 camera catches a small group of hardcore IIWF fans who have arrived early to the venue for IIWF Saturday Night in the hopes of catching a glimpse of a superstar prior to the evening's action. Exiting the lot, duffel bag over his shoulder, is Scott Rogers, shaking hands and signing autographs for the excited fans.  A long, black stretch limousine pulls into the lot, and the fans begin to flock to its side as the winsome Lady DeWinter steps from the back... followed by the IIWF Intercontinental Champion, Lord Byron. Byron sneeringly waves his chauffeur to keep the fans away as he ignores the pleas of the many children for an autograph.] FAN: Mr. Byron... Mr. Byron, please, Mr. Byron... can I get you to sign my book... pleeeease, Mr. Byron... I'm your biggest faaaannnn! [Byron discards the wishes of the young fans with the ease of a man who is thoroughly at ease with the disregarding of others as he slowly moves to the garage's exit.  A scream is heard as the Champion suddenly drops to the pavement, the sound of his head thumping against the gravelly surface assaulting the senses of the passers-by.  As the fans give a wide berth to the fallen Byron, it becomes all too apparent as to the cause of his peril. It is Creed.  The red-gloved rookie has leapt atop Lord Byron and is ripping at his face with right hands, tearing at his hand tailored suit as he drives Byron deeper and deeper into the recesses of the garage.  The Super 8 camera zooms in, showing that Creed is possessed of a kind of homicidal rage not associated with even the most bitter of wrestling feuds as he lifts Byron into the air... and hurls him like a dart into the grill of a midnight blue 1967 Buick Roadmaster! The screams of the fans continue as a handful of NYPD patrol officers enter, all grabbing at the arms of the red-gloved rookie... but Creed's fury cannot be contained -- he swings his way wildly out of the grasp of the policemen, dropping one to the ground and then re-grabbing the lapels of Lord Byron.  The Champion's forehead is badly cut... but as Creed looks to lift him into a Crimson Tide chokeslam, Byron gouges his eye and then jabs him sharply in the throat.  Creed takes a backstep where he is converged upon by a half dozen blue-shirted officers, now with baton sticks raised. The street corner has now filled with onlookers and members of the IIWF roadcrew are seen sprinting from the Manhattan Center in an attempt to prevent further escalation. Creed suddenly breaks away from the police... into a full takedown of Byron and the two men begin rolling around the lot, each swinging, thrashing, biting at each other as the chaotic shot suddenly goes black. The opening graphics explode onto the screen:] ##### ###### ### ########## ########## ########## #### ## ########## ########## ########## #### # #### ######## ##### ##### #### ## ##### #### #### #### #### ### #### #### #### #### ############# ######### #### #### ########### ######### #### #### #### #### #### ######### ######### ### #### #### ######### ######### ### ## #### ######## ######## ## # #### =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ## =-=-=-= INTERNATIONAL INTERNET WRESTLING FEDERATION =============================================== S + A + T + U + R + D + A + Y N + I + G + H + T ----------------------------------------------- + LiVE! + 5 July 1997 + LiVE! + Manhattan Centre, New York [The opening graphics fade through to interior shots of the jam-packed Manhattan Centre, its peculiar theatre-character immediately apparent. A spectacular pyrotechnic display explodes in the lighting rigging above the ring as the beams of the powerful lights scan over the excited crowd. Tim Dross's voice is heard over these shots:] TD: Welcome everybody to the Manhattan Centre! Welcome to the Big Apple, New York City! Welcome to IIWF Saturday Night! [The shot cuts to a tracking shot of the balcony, from which are draped many signs and banners, the excited fans clamouring to get in shot. It pans past row upon row of sign-waving, merchandise-wearing fans, swinging wildly over the sea of faces illuminated by the kaleidoscopic colours cast by the beams of the powerful spotlights in the rigging above the squared circle. The shot eventually pans down past the ringside fans to the ring enclosure and the broadcast table, at which stand Tim Dross, dressed in his customary IIWF blazer, and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, who wears his IIWF leather jacket and a "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!" t-shirt.] TD: Six thousand fans are on hand here tonight in this intimate arena for what promises to be two explosive hours of wrestling entertainment! I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my tag team partner and broadcast colleague, the one and only "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. SR: Damned straight, Dross. TD: Quite. Folks, you saw that violent confrontation between Creed and Lord Byron at the top of the show. Those two men will meet in the squared circle in just seven days at Coronation Clash in the Fleet Center, Boston, Massachusetts, in a Loser Leaves Town match for Byron's Intercontinental Championship. The hatred that exists between these two wrestlers is simply unbelievable, Steve Roberts. SR: Can you believe that rookie, Dross? Jumping Byron in a parking lot! TD: There's no doubt about it, Steve, when these two men are in the same state, let alone parking lot, sparks are going to fly. The New York Police Department, who responded quickly to the threat of injury to the great fans down in the lot, escorted both Creed and Byron downtown -- although both men were released without charge. However, Poutine Janois, head of the IIWF Special Concerns Committee, has demanded that neither man be readmitted to the building or its vicinity here tonight in an effort to prevent either man from seriously injuring the other. SR: Yeah, save the injuries for next Saturday Night, when the morons have to fork out thirty bucks for the privilege of seeing that red-gloved cripple sent back to the slums of Oakland, where he belongs. TD: It's going to be an incredible match, folks, and coming up in just one week at Coronation Clash! Call your local cable operator today! Also on next week's pay-per-view, you'll see two phenomenal tag team matches -- the Dark Disciples are scheduled to meet the Hollywood Bloods, and last Saturday Night, we saw Cold Spell defeat Violence Unlimited to earn a shot at the World Tag Team Champions, the Prophets of Rage; although Derek and Shadoe Rage face a tough challenge right here tonight in the shape of the Harlequins, and it could be Tragedy and Chaos who go into the Fleet Centre next week with the titles. What about it, Steve? SR: What about what, Dross? You think I care about those tag team losers? TD: I would hope that your unerring sense of professionalism would at least allow you to _sound_ enthusiastic about the prospect of two great tag team encounters on next week's show. SR: Those matches are on the card simply so the peons at home can go grab some more beer and popcorn. Maybe get a little something else, if you know what I'm saying. TD: I have no idea what you're talking about. Of course, the main attraction at next week's Coronation Clash spectacular will be the crowning of a new IIWF World Heavyweight Champion in the culmination of the thirty-two man single elimination tournament which we saw begin right here last week, live from the Gund Arena. Tonight, we'll see the second batch of eight first round matches to discover who will be joining last week's winners in the Sweet Sixteen round. There are some incredible matches in prospect tonight, Steve. SR: There sure are. I, for one, can't wait to see Chris Kick-Me Slaughterslammed to his final resting place by the Butcher. TD: Well, that remains to be seen, but what a main event we have tonight. An age-old rivalry between "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley and Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven, the latter a former World Champion, and the former a man who has made it the central goal in his career to wear that very title, will be reignited right here tonight in our main event as these two incredible athletes clash one more time! It's sure to be a classic. SR: And what about those intra-stable matches, Dross? The Syndicate forced to divide and conquer as Casey James takes on Tiger Claw. And the suits try to tell us that this draw isn't rigged. TD: Certainly an unlucky draw from Brian Lau's point of view for his two men -- and we'll see just who the Syndicate's head honcho will side with in just a few moments. Genesis also face a similar dilemma later tonight, as Highwayman and Nightwing are scheduled to face one another in first round action. SR: Who? TD: You can be sure that Requiem, who will also try to secure a berth in the next round when he faces Scott Rogers later tonight, won't be happy about the prospect of turmoil in Genesis. Nightwing has already shown himself to be somewhat reluctant to join in with the heinous acts perpetrated by Genesis in recent weeks -- the brutal attack on Derek Mota just seven days ago, for example -- and we could see a rite of passage for the young Native American right here tonight. And what about the Cruiserweight Champion, the Dirt Dog Unique Allah, going up against Serge Annis, one half of the "Unholy Alliance" with Deathbringer? SR: It's a homecoming for the Dirt Dog, Dross. I have to believe that with these morons behind him, he'll go all the way tonight. TD: Speaking of homecomings, Staten Island's own Tony Starks will also be in Coronation Clash action here tonight as he goes up against old rival Mr. Damage. Starks has been focused on this tournament for a long time now -- but will he be able to remain focused when he gets in the ring with a man who has cost him match after match here in recent weeks? Those incredible matches coming up here tonight over the next two hours! [There is a murmur from the crowd on the aisle.] TD: Hold on... we have some folks coming out here ahead of the first match. It's the Machines! SR: Who? TD: One of the new blood tag teams, Steve Roberts. A most unorthodox partnership, to be sure, but one which was victorious this past Wednesday night in its debut, defeating fellow debutants Licensed for Devastation -- although with an assist from the Nightriders. SR: I guess I should start reading those memos I get sent. I've never heard of any of these idiots. [Paul Wong and Simon O'Neal, aka The Machines, silently walk down the aisle.  Paul slaps the hands of the fans as he walks by.  A few fans reach out to slap Simon's back, who look visibly annoyed.  Simon grabs the microphone, and the two enter the ring.] SO: Hey!  We want those two cheating losers, the Nightriders, to come down here so we can tell them to kiss their... [Paul yanks the microphone from Simon, and the two have a short heated discussion.  The microphone picks up Paul saying, "...let me handle this."  The crowd cheers as the Nightriders walk down the aisle, and stop at ringside, gesturing as if to say, "We're here... so?" to the Machines.] PW: Hold on, fellows.  We just want to clear something up from last week.  We were wrestling Licensed for Devastation when you came down to ringside, and we won the match because of you.  Simon and I just want to say, "Thanks, but no thanks."  We can win matches on our own, and neither one of us need outside help.  Just do us a favor, and don't interfere in our matches, all right? [The Nightriders look on, seemingly in thought. Simon grabs the microphone back from Paul.  As he speaks, Paul rolls his eyes and shrugs his shoulders.] SO: And another thing, boys.  We were on our way to destroying those Baltimore punks, and we can beat you two any time we want.  So, unless you piece of us, I suggest you turn around, tuck your tails between your legs, and run back to the locker room. [He waves his hand dismissively. On the outside, Steele motions for another microphone, which he receives:] JPS: Don't think so, boys. We're not running from anything. As for Liscensed for Devastation, those two boys -- JH: Uh, Jimmy... we got company. [At this point, "Down" by 311 plays over the PA.  Licensed for Devastation enter the arena, to a chorus of boos.  Reggie Starr is garmented in a torn-up white shirt and baggy blue jeans.  Jonathan Chaos is wearing a black shirt that reads "Baltimore Blaster" in blue letters, and also wears baggy blue jeans.  They hit the ring, and Reggie Starr produces a microphone from behind his back.] RS: I've sat back and listened to the rambling of my good friends, Simon and Paul, and I've listened to the rebuttal from J.P. and Jimmy... but I'm here to remind all four of you of what you've got comin' to you! JH: A beatdown! [Huge pop as Reggie Starr suddenly slaps O'Neal, and all hell breaks loose.] TD: [over the headset] Whoa! The fight is on! [Jonathon Chaos and Paul Wong start slugging it out, while J.P. Steele, who slides into the ring along with Jimmy Hawk, and Simon O'Neal grapple by the ropes.  A shot to the throat by O'Neal allows the Machines to double-team Jonathan Chaos, until Chaos is saved by a flying tackle from Steele.  Starr breaks off with Hawk long enough to dropkick Wong, while O'Neal gives a low blow to Jimmy Hawk, staggering him.  J.P. Steele throws Paul Wong out of the ring, then goes toe-to-toe with Chaos.  Paul Wong enters the ring and clotheslines Reggie Starr, and all six men continue to fight until security, along with the Jobber Justice Squad, comes in and break them apart.  Starr still carries his microphone.] RS: I protest!  This is cop on white crime!  I'm not standing for it! [Reggie Starr, who is now outside the ring, reaches under and retrieves a baseball bat.  He starts swinging wildly and all of the security moves back... he enters the ring, and throws the bat to... Jimmy Hawk! Hawk proceeds to clobber Paul and Simon in the heads with the baseball bats! Huge heel pop!] TD: [over the headset] Oh my! It looks as if the Nightriders have sided with Licensed for Devastation! This was a setup all along! SR: [over the headset] Hang on, reality check -- who are these guys again?! TD: [over the headset] Unbelievable! The Nightriders apparently cost LFD their debut match this past Wednesday, but now it turns out that they were stringing along the Machines right from the start! [There is a scuffle as NYPD officers flood down the aisle, enter the ring and handcuff Jimmy Hawk, hauling him off under arrest. The crowd cheers as Hawk is dragged from the ring. Starr looks on with his microphone:] RS: Well damn.  JC: Anyway, that's not a problem, you can post bail, right J.P.? JPS: Sure, no problem, man. [The three men give each other hi-fives, as an EMT crew, who have come down to the ring, begin to remove the Machines on stretchers.] JC: What a bunch of idiots.  Well, guess what?  We, me and Reggie, have a few other friends that we made along the way, ain't that right, Reg? RS: Damn skippy.  J.P. Steele, Jimmy Hawk... the Nightriders... and us... Infinite Superiority. JPS: Let's go get that jailbird. [The three men leave the ring as most of the crowd boos, but others cheer. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, tensions running a little high here in the Manhattan Centre tonight. It looks like the NYPD will be kept busy throughout the proceedings. SR: What the hell was all that about, Dross? Does the IIWF pay those guys? TD: I'll explain everything later, Steve. For now, we're running behind schedule, so let's get up to the ring for our first tournament match of the night. What a contest this promises to be, as former IIWF World Champion, Casey "Blackheart" James, squares off against his stablemate, Tiger Claw! =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Coronation Clash Tournament First Round Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [GROUP A] Casey "Blackheart" James vs. Tiger Claw ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITERS: MF/DS [Just as Sparkplug Lee gets into the ring to make the introductions, the crowd goes into a huge heel pop as Brian Lau saunters down the aisle. Following closely behind is Casey James, dressed in his familiar ring attire and a T-shirt reading "Kiss my big, 340 pound, Blackhearted ass." Behind him is Tiger Claw... A changed Tiger Claw. Claw is dressed in black full length tights with a red martial arts-style belt, black boots, and red shin pads. More importantly, though, is the absence of the long braid at the back of his head. His head is completely shaved.] TD: Tiger Claw shaved his braid off! SR: Yeah, he's got that Yul Brenner look. Kind of suits him... Stylish. TD: Steve, it's not about style. That braid was symbolic of his traditional roots in Muay Thai. To shave that off would be like a cowboy stepping on his own hat. SR: Lighten up, Dross... I still say Claw looks better with the clean look. But look at Casey's shirt... You know, There's no call for that. TD: Huh? SR: Yeah... He usually sends me one as soon as they come out of the screening shop, and I haven't gotten mine yet... [Lau gets into the ring along with the two athletes.] TD: We are going to see a great match here, Steve. But the question remains: who will Lau side with? SR: You're doing it again, Dross... Starting up the rumor mill... [Lau grabs the microphone from Lee, who is then bullied out of the ring by the two imposing figures of Claw and James.] BL: So, you want to see what could very well be the match of the year, huh? [pop] I bet you want to know who of these two men is the better man, right? [mixed pop] No? Maybe you want to see a display of some of the finest techniques known in the world of wrestling? [Mixed pop] No? Oh, I know. You want to know which one is going to put their friendship behind them and pull out all the stops! [pop] Maybe you want to know whether Tiger Claw is going to rip off one of those shin pads and label Casey, or whether Casey will end up using a loaded glove to knock out his former teacher... Is that right? [pop] Or maybe you want to know which one of these guys I'm going to help out by slipping him a foreign object... You want to know who's going to be the good guy! [pop] Well, you know what? You can all take your expectations, your rumors, your little RSPW threads, and you can stick them straight up your stinking, over fed, fast food infested, arrogant, American asses, because this match will _NOT_ take place! [Huge heel pop!] TD: What's he talking about? SR: Attaboy, Brian! Fight the power! BL: We've been set up one too many times for this little plan to work. Everyone knows the IIWF administration has been against me ever since I came here with Tiger Claw, and it's been all up to me to promote my men, book their matches, and keep their contracts up to date. Sure, that's my job, but at the same time I've had to fight the administration every inch of the way. This match is the final straw. Both Casey James and Tiger Claw will express their disdain for this whole sham of a tournament by refusing to compete. TD: What?! SR: Well, there go my bets... BL: However, someone _will_ go on to advance from this match. I give to you... "Dangerous" Danny Dynamite! [Danny Dynamite smugly walks down the aisle, mouthing off to the fans. He enters the ring and high fives James, Claw, and Lau. He then stands on the second turnbuckle with his arms raised in victory.] TD: He wasn't even supposed to be in the tournament! SR: But he is now. What Brian says goes. TD: And he talks about getting walked all over... Sure... BL: Furthermore, Casey James and Tiger Claw have both given up their singles contracts. [Chorus of boos] The Syndicate as a stable is no longer. I give to you a new tag team... The Syndicate! [James and Claw raise their arms to a mixed pop. Danny Dynamite comes down off the ropes and pats the two men on the back.] BL: Casey James and Tiger Claw will now be a tag team and be the only two men to represent any affiliation named the Syndicate. You'll notice that I didn't mention my name in there. Well, considering the bias towards me shown by the IIWF administration, I have made a decision. I choose not to continue to be the albatross around the necks of Casey and Claw... [The group in the ring snicker as if sharing an inside joke.] BL: Therefore, I step down as a manager. [Huge pop!] Casey and Claw will from now on take care of their own affairs in the tag team scene, and Danny Dynamite will hold his own in singles competition. TD: The IIWF without Brian Lau? As much as I dislike him, the notion of an IIWF without him seems almost... Unnatural... SR: No, unnatural's the rat on your head. BL: [Hearing Tim Dross] Hey, bald boy... I never said I was leaving. I just said I'm not going to be a manager. Casey, why don't you tell them what the score is? [hands the mic to Casey] CJ: A tag team? What the hell are we thinking? I'll tell you what the hell we're thinking... Claw and I have done it all in the singles ranks, and to do more would be redundant. I've held the World Title the longest out of anyone, and Claw has held the IC title the most times. So what are we gonna do? We're going to be a team and make the tag ranks in the IIWF sweat just a little more. Look at the tag ranks now. You've got about four teams with no direction, not to mention those losers, The Dark Disciples and Pain Inc... You've got rampant interference, you've got guys with about fifteen different women on the outside with inflatable hammers, and you've got a bunch of comedy troupes in tights. We're going to show the rest of you how the hell you're supposed to be. Claw and I will enter the tag ranks, dominate the lot of you, and we're going to do it _by ourselves._ No valets, no managers, no fiancees... Just the two of us and plenty of pain to dish out. This one goes out to all you couch-pros that sit there and go on about how the two of us would be nowhere without a gang behind us. And to the administration... Janois, you can go ahead and try and keep my friend here down, but we'll just work with it. You morons are looking at the most cohesive unit in the IIWF... And before you start telling everyone that we're underestimating the tag scene in the IIWF, _Dross,_ remember that we've _both_ been here from the start. We know how the competition in the IIWF is. We're both former champs, and there's only one way to go for us. BL: What did I tell you? No less than the best! You've heard it straight from the mastermind's mouth... Danny Dynamite will meet Ike Sampson in the Coronation Clash sweet sixteen bracket. And look for the Syndicate to be the first two men to have held both IIWF singles and tag titles in their careers. So long, folks... [Brian throws down the mic, and the whole group parade around the ring, showboating to the hostile New York fans. Suddenly, there is a big pop as the Dark Disciples, Kane and Wulf, appear in the aisle. Casey and Claw turn to face their former allies, and Casey gamely beckons them to step up to the plate.] TD: This could get ugly in a hurry, folks. The Dark Disciples don't look to be too pleased about this turn of events. [Kane and Wulf slowly make their way to the ring, the two monstrous men keeping their eyes on James, Claw, Dynamite and Lau at all times as they step up onto the apron, between the ropes and into the squared circle. Kane bends and picks up the microphone that had been tossed to the canvas by Lau.] KANE: So you want to play in the tag team ranks, Syndicate boys? You think you can just waltz into _OUR_ territory and become the rulers of _OUR_ kingdom? A couple of lackeys such as yourselves are only fit to serve on Brian Lau, and Brian Lau himself is only fit to wipe the blood from the floor of our torture chamber. [Big pop! Lau looks incensed, but stands his ground. Casey merely gives an arrogant smirk.] Perhaps I should set you straight on a few matters: this is the playground of the Dark Disciples! _WE_ are the kings of the tag team division! _YOU_ are invading our kingdom, and under our jurisdiction, the penalty is execution! [Huge pop as Kane busts Casey James about the head with the microphone, sending a loud thump across the PA system, and a huge brawl erupts in the ring! Wulf charges Tiger Claw, taking him down to the mat with a vicious clothesline, while Kane backs Casey into a corner and begins pummelling him with telling body blows. Lau wisely bails out of the ring, but yells instructions to Danny Dynamite, who launches his diminutive frame and lands on Kane's back! Dynamite forces Kane to stagger backwards as he tries to shake off the "Dangerous" one -- and Kane then simply drops to the mat, slamming Dynamite hard to the canvas! Big pop! However, before Kane can get back to his feet, Casey launches in with a series of big boots to Kane's midsection. Meanwhile, Wulf is gnawing on Claw's forehead with his sharpened teeth, and soon manages to break the skin! Blood begins to run down Claw's face as he attempts to wrest the much larger man from his mounted position. Dynamite gets back to his feet and drives a boot into Wulf's back, forcing him to roll away from Claw, who quickly springs to his feet. He wipes the blood from his face, and seeing it on his hands, he flies into a rage, backing Wulf into a corner, and blasting him first with his knee fury, and then with his punching fury! Huge pop!] TD: This is out of control, folks! Somebody has to restore some order here! SR: I expect the cops are still escorting those nobodies out of the arena. TD: The Dark Disciples and the Syndicate going at it... Claw has Wulf trapped in one corner, Casey has Kane trapped in the other -- and now they're attempting to whip them into the middle of the ring! Collision course! [Claw and Casey both whip their respective opponents towards the middle of the ring -- but both Kane and Wulf reverse the whips, and send the Syndicate for the ride! Casey and Claw collide in the centre of the ring and clash heads with a sickening crunch! Both men drop to the mat like sacks of potatoes. Huge pop! Dynamite looks on in disbelief, and is then galvanised into action by a shout from Brian Lau, and charges at Kane -- who is able to hoist 3D above his head in a press slam! Kane walks around the ring with 3D held high above his head to a huge pop from the six thousand strong crowd -- and then dumps Dynamite out of the ring onto Brian Lau! Huge pop as the manager is flattened by 3D!] TD: Oh my! The Disciples have cleaned house in there... [Suddenly, Dross is cut off by a voice yelling from the top of the aisle, echoing around the arena over the PA.] VOICE: Hey, losers! [The Disciples immediately turn to face the entranceway -- at which stands Mr. Mic, flanked by the chainmail-clad members of Pain Inc., Morningstar and Hellraiser. Huge heel pop!] TD: It's Pain Inc! SR: No kidding, Dross. MR. MIC: Hey, Dork Disciples, listen up! So the ring is your playground, huh? The ring is your _kingdom_, is that right? Well, I've got news for you two chumps -- the rulers of the ring aren't you two circus freaks. No sir. [Wulf moves to leave the ring to attack Pain Inc., but is held back by Kane.] MM: The rulers of the ring, my fine self-mutilated friends, are the two men here standing beside me: the beasts from the Far East, Morningstar and Hellraiser! [Big heel pop!] They rule the ring with an iron fist... they rule the ring... with PAIN! [With that, the crowd explodes into a huge heel pop as Morningstar and Hellraiser charge down the aisle to the ring, sliding in under the bottom rope and immediately brawling with Kane and Wulf. Casey and Claw stagger back to their feet and join the melee, as the crowd yells encouragement and derision.] TD: This is completely out of control! We've got a full-scale war going on in the ring right now! SR: Yeah, ain't it great? [All six men continue brawling in the ring; finally, a security team and a number of officials dash down the aisle to establish order, and eventually, all three teams are separated and dragged back to the locker room one by one. Last to go is the Syndicate, who stop to help Lau and Dynamite back to their feet. Cut to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, Steve, a shocking turn of events there -- the disbanding of the Syndicate, Danny Dynamite receiving a bye into the Sweet Sixteen round of the tournament, where he will face Ike Sampson, and a chaotic brawl between the Dark Disciples, Pain Inc., and Casey and Claw. Absolute chaos. SR: Put those three teams together, Dross, and you're guaranteed carnage. TD: So it would seem. Well, folks, it's time to move on to our second tournament match of the evening -- and who knows, this time we might see some wrestling. Genesis frontman Requiem goes up against Scott Rogers in what promises to be a phenomenal power battle. SR: Who? TD: Come on, Steve. Don't be like that. This match will be featuring two of the biggest men in the IIWF. SR: In other words, it should be a REALLY slow match.  It takes a while for the blood to get to the brains of these guys. TD: Nonsense.  Requiem and Scott Rogers can definitely turn the intensity up a few notches when it comes down to it. SR: If you say so, Dross.  I still think this is going to be as interesting as a cross-country ballroom dancing marathon. TD: A cross-country... what? SR: Never mind.  Let's get to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Coronation Clash Tournament First Round Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [GROUP D] Requiem vs. Scott Rogers ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITER: RR [The shot cuts to the ring, where Sparkplug Lee is standing nervously with the microphone.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this next match is scheduled for one fall, and is another first-round match in the World Championship Tournament!  Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by Ronnie Paris and "The Real Deal" Luke Steele... hailing from Hurricane, Utah, and weighing in at 297lbs... here is... SCOTT ROGERS! [Rogers appears at the top of the aisle, flanked by Steele and Paris. He looks around to the popping crowd, raises his hands straight up in the air in recognition, then strides to the ring.] SR: Hey!  His fists are taped!  Disqualify him, ref!  He's hiding something! TD: Steve, the match hasn't started yet, and taped fists are no cause for a disqualification.  There could be any number of reasons why he has them taped up like that. SR: I know.  Brass knuckles, a roll of quarters, salt... TD: Oh, please.  He may just want to make sure his hands are protected during the match. SR: Nah, that's too far-fetched. [Rogers climbs into the ring, and begins grooming himself with a gold comb.  The ref checks the taped hands out, shrugs in a "there's nothing there" manner, and turns away.] RA: And his opponent, representing Genesis, accompanied to the ring by the Highwayman and Cold Spell... weighing in at 306lbs, here is... REQUIEM! [Highwayman and Cold Spell appear at the backstage curtains, looking around quizically.  Suddenly, the speakers blare with the words, "From this day forth, until the end of time, there shall be no mercy for the damned!" as the lights go out.  A few seconds later a blue spotlight hits the center of the ring, illuminating Requiem, who is wailing away on a pitch black electric guiter as his music plays.  The lights go back on and Genesis hustles to the ringside area, shooting each other a "he's gotta stop doing that" look on the way.] SR: Great.  Requiem thinks he's a ninja now or something. [The bell rings as the ring announcer takes Requiem's guitar, and steps through the ropes with it.  The referee signals for the bell. Ding! Ding! Ding! Rogers and Requiem waste no time in locking up, each man trying to gain the advantage over the other, but ultimately, both failing as they break the hold and look at each other for a moment.] SR: Told you it was going to be slow. TD: Hush. [The two big men lock up again, this time with Requiem managing to push Rogers back into the corner, where the ref steps in and signals for a break.  Requiem takes a step back, holding his hands up in the "clean break" sign, and walks back out to the center of the ring. Rogers follows, and on the next lock up, it's Requiem who is puched into the corner behind him, but as Rogers is told to break, he unloads a forearm across Requiem's chest, stunning Requiem long enough to land two more, and a kick to the gut to boot.  Rogers nods to Steele and Paris at ringside, and pulls Requiem to the center of the ring, where he leaves him standing as he rebounds off the ropes.  The clothesline he delivers can be heard up in the top rows (granted, that's not too far in the Manhattan Centre), but doesn't take Requiem off his feet, only staggering him a bit.  A second attempt is even less successful, as Requiem raises his boot into Rogers' stomach, and doubles him over, then plants him face-first onto the mat with an elbow drop to the back of the head.] TD: A nice counter there by Requiem. SR: [looking up from his crossword puzzle]  Dross, do you know a five-letter word that means "annoyance"? TD: Steve, there's a match going on here!  Do your job! SR: [filling in the blanks] D - R - O - S - S.  Thanks.  Now, what was that about a match? TD: There, in the ring, where they usually happen.  You're supposed to be helping me call it, remember? SR: [looks towards the ring] Oh, still these two?  You're hallucinating, Dross.  There's no match there. [Blissfully ignorant to the ramblings of a certain Soundbite, Requiem grabs Rogers by the hair and pulls him up, locking him in a full nelson.  However, even before the ref can ask about a possible submission, Rogers has managed to get his foot on the ropes, and Requiem breaks the hold, leaving Rogers spent on the mat rubbing his neck.  Requiem takes this opportunity to drop a rather meaty leg across Rogers' chest, hook his leg, and watch as the ref counts to two before Rogers kicks out.  Once again, Rogers is hauled to his feet, and this time is irish Whipped against the opposite ropes.  However, he has the presence of mind to duck a Requiem clothesline attempt, and rebounds off the ropes behind his opponent, flooring Requiem with a flying shoulder block.  Both men are lying on the mat, staring at the ceiling as the ref begins to count.] TD: Great desperation move there by Rogers, although I think it may have hurt him a bit as well. SR: Imagine that, Dross.  A wrestler getting hurt.  This sport's getting way too dangerous.  [snicker] [Both men start to crawl back to their feet, although it is Requiem who manages to reach the vertical base first.  He walks over, grabs a handful of Rogers' hair to pull him to his feet... and is met by a quick upward forearm to the family jewels, shielded from the referee's view by Rogers' body.  Genesis is screaming, Steele and Paris are just sort of looking at each other in confusion, and Steve Roberts is looking around him, having dropped his book of crossword puzzles at the time of the incident.] SR: That... that feeling.  I've felt that feeling before, but not since the start of this match... it was... it was... [looks around, then finally glances at the doubled-over Requiem in the ring, as well as the placement of Rogers' forearm] A GOOD MOVE! TD: [sighing] It would take an illegal maneuver to catch your attention. SR: [yelling to Rogers]  I'M PROUD OF YOU, BOY! [Rogers stands up fully now, and sets Requiem back onto the mat with a kneelift to his head.  He follows that up with a knee drop, grabs Requiem's ankles and drags him to the center of the ring, and grins broadly at Steele and Paris outside.  He then falls straight forward and past Requiem, snapping his leg back so that the knee almost touches his chest, then rolling to his feet a Requiem clutches at the back of his thigh.  Rogers then reaches down and goes to pull requiem up... but is met with much the same maneuver as he has executed earlier, with much the same result.] SR: This is great!  Not only are those two buffoons FINALLY doing some moves worthy of pro wrestling, they're also helping the planet by making sure neither of them will be breeding anytime soon. TD: Oh, please. [Requiem takes this opportunity to grab Rogers in a front head lock, as if setting up for a DDT, but turns him over so that Rogers' chest is facing the ceiling.  He then pulls up as hard as he can, stretching the muscles in Rogers' neck, as Rogers flails his arms about trying to find the ropes... an action he finally manages about ten seconds later with his left foot.  Requiem decides to break the hold a bit rougher this time, simply falling backwards into a reverse-DDT.  Once again, Rogers is picked up, and is on the receiving end of a shot to the head, then another.  The third, however, is blocked, and Rogers fires back, and soon both men are going shot for shot in the center of the ring.  Finally, Requiem swings wild and misses, spinning him around as Rogers ducks under the blow.  Rogers counters with an elbow to the back of Requiem's head causing the Genesis member to stumble forward a few steps and come to a rest with his arms draped over the top rope. Looking over to Steele and Paris, he gives them a weak thumbs up, then grabs Requiem in a waistlock from behind.] TD: He's going for the belly-to-back suplex! SR: No way he's gonna get Requiem up for that, after the beating he's taken. [Rogers cinches in the waistlock, clasps his hands tightly, and pulls back.  Requiem starts to go over, but manages to grab onto the top rope at the last moment, throwing off Rogers' momentum and sending Requiem crashing down on top of him.  Requiem rolls off the winded Rogers, pulls himself to one knee, and shakes his head in a "nice try, kid" sort of way.  He grabs Rogers by the arm, twists it into an armbar, raises a knee into Rogers' stomach which doubles him over, then lays a leg across the back of Rogers' neck, slamming him facefirst into the canvas.] TD: That was the Redemption! SR: Thank God, it's over. [Requiem rolls Rogers onto his back and hooks a leg, using his body to hide the fact that his left foot is braced against the bottom rope for some leverage.  Luke Steele notices this and rushes around the ring to try to get to it and break it up, but is met halfway by Highwayman. The ref counts the three as the two begin to brawl outside the ring. Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: The winner of the match, and advancing into the next round of the tournament... REQUIEM! [Requiem looks down at his Genesis comrades, shaking his head at them, and Cold Spell steps in to separate Highwayman and Steele.  Steele has a few choice words for Requiem as Genesis walks away, then enters the ring to join Paris in tending to Rogers.] TD: Well, Steve, Requiem advances to the tournament, but a valiant effort from Scott Rogers. And uncharacteristically, Genesis have backed off here -- leaving Rogers to be tended to by Luke Steele and Ronnie Paris. [Paris and Steele help the disappointed Rogers to his feet, comiserating with him on the loss. Genesis, meanwhile, head up the aisle without so much as looking back. Rogers shrugs off the assistance of his allies, and kicks the bottom rope in frustration. He rolls out of the ring under the bottom rope and heads groggily up the aisle, a scowl etched on his face. Steele and Paris follow behind, confused at their friend. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Scott Rogers understandably disappointed there, Steve. SR: The kid lost a match. Big deal. TD: But especially upsetting given that both Luke Steele and Ronnie Paris were victorious in their first round matches last week, and had already secured their berths in the Sweet Sixteen round. SR: Two out of three ain't bad, Dross. TD: Well, indeed, but I'm not sure Scott Rogers feels that way at the moment. Now, folks, I hardly need to remind you that later tonight, we will see Chris Quigley face Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven. I understand that Quigley arrived at the arena during that last match, and Steve Summer was backstage to greet him. Let's go to that footage: [Cut to footage captioned, "Moments Ago." The shot cuts to backstage at the entrance of the arena, as Chris Quigley walks through the doors in street clothes carrying an equipment bag over his shoulder and holding a water bottle in his hand.  Steve Summer rushes to meet him...] SS: Chris, tonight is your shot at redemption!  You've got a lot on your mind, I guess!  Not only is Herr Verhoeven a dangerous man, but you've gotta be worried about Lebec or Warnett showing up. [Quigley lowers his shades and gives Summer a "You've got to be joking." look.] CQ: Hey, right now, there's nothing on my mind besides winning.  I've gone over strategies and patterns, I've watched tapes after tapes of Verhoeven, especially the match in which I beat him before.  Verhoeven shouldn't be a huge problem.  As for Lebec and Warnett, if they show up at ringside, _they'll_ be the ones who should be worried, not me. SS: Well, do you...? [Quigley starts walking towards the locker room area, but calls back...] CQ: I don't have time for this, Summer.  I've come in here tonight with a mission, and it's not to be interviewed. [With that, Quigley enters a locker room to his right. Cut back to ringside.] TD: Well, there you have it, folks. Chris Quigley as confdent as ever. SR: He may be confident right now, but I wonder whether the doctors will be confident of a full recovery after Verhoeven's through with him. TD: Stay tuned, folks -- that huge match is coming up later on tonight. Now, it's time for our next tournament match, pitting two other long-time enemies against one another: hometown hero Tony Starks, the Staten Island sensation, goes up against the Antipodean athlete with an attitude, Mr. Damage. Will Starks retain his focus and progress to the Sweet Sixteen -- or will Mr. Damage yet again ruin Starks' chance at success? SR: My money's on Damage. Starks is such a cripple, he couldn't even run with that rookie orphan, Creed. Mind you, put the two of them together and you'd just about have two working legs. TD: Thanks for that, Steve. Okay, let's get up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Coronation Clash Tournament First Round Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [GROUP C] Tony Starks vs. Mr. Damage ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITER: RP [Sparkplug Lee is shaking out a kink in his shoulder as the crowd waits for the next match. A paper airplane launched from the general vicinity of Joe Petrow and the Sychopaths suddenly strikes the hapless announcer. They break into laughter as Lee drops his cue cards and has to frantically put them back into order.] SR: Old Sparkplug, as on the ball as ever. Why does the IIWF keep the guy around, anyway? TD: Many would say the same about you, Steve. SR: Heh, now you're just being stupid, Dross. Where would the IIWF be without the "Soundbite"? TD: Well, we'd have cheaper insurance premiums, for one thing. [Lee gets his cards in order and begins the introductions.] SL: This match is in the first round of the tournament for the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship! Introducing first, hailing from Melbourne, Australia, weighing 245 pounds, this is Mister Damaaaaaage! ["Straight, Hard and Long" by the Beasts of Bourbon fills the air as Mr. Damage comes through the curtain in his usual black tights. Also as usual he is carrying a cellular phone and talking incessantly to the mysterious Silent Partner. He is accompanied by a chorus of boos from the fans.] TD: No one seems to like Mr.Damage. SR: Who cares? He's got his Silent Partner and between the two of them, they'll make short work of the gimp coming to the ring. SL: And his opponent, hailing from Staten Island, New York, weighing in at 269 pounds, here is Tony Staaaaarks! ["C.R.E.A.M." by the Wu Tang Clan plays as Starks makes his way down to the ring. He is walking for slowly, barely making any notice of the screams of the fans. When one fan holds up a sign reading "IIWF Fears Starks" Starks slaps his outstretched palm without even glancing over. He climbs into the ring and glares towards Mr.Damage from under the white towel he wears on his head.] TD: There sure are a lot of those white towels here in Starks' home town. SR: Hasn't this guy ever heard of a hat? Did he just get out of the shower or is that just to wrap his poor aching knee in once he gets whipped? [Damage places his phone on the apron near the corner. Starks removes the towel and tosses it to the ring attendant. The ref calls for the bell and the two men circle each other warily.] SR: Come on! Let's have a match! TD: This just shows how seriously each of these men takes the other. They do have some history, but more importantly, the winner gets to face Deathbringer in the second round of the tournament. SR: I'm not sure I'd consider that a reward. [They finally lock up and Starks is slowly pushed backwards by Damage. He takes a quick glance behind him to find his proximity to the corner and is rewarded by a European uppercut by Damage. He follows with another and then, while staggered, is shoved into the corner. Damage then performs a cross corner whip and runs in after him. Starks catches him coming in with an elbow and Damage staggers back to the middle of the ring.] TD: This match will be very tough to call. Damage is a very talented wrestler but Starks is more determined than I've ever seen him. SR: That's because he knows this is his last hurrah. That knee could give out at any time. [Starks and Damage lock up and the latter quickly takes down the former with a leg sweep. He immediately starts kicking Starks knee before he can react.] SR: That's the way, Damage! Kick the guy when he's down! [Damage drops to the mat, puts his foot into Starks' crotch, and starts pulling on his leg.] SR: The Accelerator! TD: The ref has to put a stop to that! SR: You are such a wet blanket, Dross! Let them fight! [The referee puts the count on Damage and he releases the hold. He then hoists Starks to his feet and slaps on the Rubberneck Sleeper. Before too much damage can be done, Starks works his way over to the ropes and forces the break. Damage hits him with a couple more European uppercuts and drops Starks to the mat. He then slides out of the ring and starts talking into his cellular phone.] TD: Once again Mr.Damage goes back to the phone in the middle of a match! SR: He just needs some last minute pointers, Dross. What's wrong with that? You could probably use a phone like that when you go on dates. What am I saying? You couldn't get a date! TD: Damage better pay attention! [Starks has recovered faster than Damage expected and has slid under the ropes behind him. Starks then grabs Damage's phone and starts yelling into it.] SR: Let's get a mic out there! TD: No, don't! I can hear him and I think we would lose our license. [Starks throws the phone on the concrete and it shatters. He then grabs Damage by the back of the head and slams him into the apron and rolls him back under the ring ropes. Once inside he grabs Damage's leg and locks him in to a kneelock submission.] SR: It looks like Starks wants someone to talk to during physio! TD: Laugh all you want Steve Roberts, but Tony Starks in a master of these types of submission holds. SR: Not to worry. The Aussie can take it. [Starks steps out of the kneelock but only to follow with a Dragon Screw Legwhip. Damage howls in pain and grabs his knee. Starks then does another.] SR: Hey look! Here comes the Outlaw! [Someone in a J.W. Hardin-style get up, with a heavy duster and mask, is heading down to ringside.] TD: That is _not_ J.W.Hardin. I know for a fact that Hardin... SR: [interrupting] Open your eyes, Dross! That's the Outlaw! ["Hardin" gets to ringside and starts taunting Starks, pointing at his knee and laughing. Starks seems unsure how to react back walks slowly towards the ropes.] SR: That's right! It was the Outlaw that did us all a favour and put Starks out of wrestling. [Starks starts to throw out some retorts to "Hardin's" taunting while Damage gets to his feet and shakes off the pain inflicted by Starks. He then fires a full clothesline to the back of Starks' head, sending him face first to the mat. "Hardin" howls with laughter and heads backstage, whooping and hollering the whole way.] TD: Whoever that was... SR: That was Hardin! TD: WHOEVER that was, he sure cost Starks the advantage in this match. [Damage lifts Starks by the hair and then drops him into a backbreaker. He hoists him up again and follows through with another. He then slaps on a figure four leglock and it is Starks' turn to grab at his knee in agony.] SR: Here it is! There is no way that old one-leg can stand up to this kind of pain. TD: You may be right -- but I know how bad Starks' wants to win this tournament. He won't give up, even if it means reinjuring his knee. [Damage holds Starks in the figure four for what seems like an interminably long time. Finally Starks reaches far enough to grab the ropes and the ref breaks the hold. Damage, looking down at Starks with a grin, climbs to the top rope.] SR: Maybe gimpy got out of the figure four, but here comes the Thunderstruck! [Damage takes one last look and leaps with his leg drop onto... but Starks rolls out of the way at the last moment! Starks leaps onto Damage and hooks the leg. The ref counts: 1 - 2 - Damage kicks out! Disappointed pop from the hometown crowd.] TD: It looks like the tide has turned again! SR: Starks is still short one wheel. [Starks steps over Damage's body, favouring his bad knee, and locks him into a Cobra Clutch. Rather than waiting for the submission, he pulls Damage over into a Cobra Suplex.] TD: That's the set-up for the Katha Jime. SR: Come on, Damage! Don't get beat by a cripple! [Starks, still favouring his knee, locks Damage into the Katha Jime and pulls as hard as he can. The ref checks Damage and lifts his arm... once.... twice... three times and he calls for the bell! Ding! Ding! Ding! The crowd erupts in cheers, from no one more so than Starks' friend, Raheeem Coles, who is seated at ringside along with others of Starks' friends from his Staten Island home.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, as the result of a submission: Tony Starks! [Huge pop!] TD: Starks moves on to face Deathbringer! SR: Big deal! Look at him! He can hardly walk! [Starks rolls out of the ring and heads back to the locker rooms, high-fiving Coles and other fans as he goes. He is limping fairly heavily at the beginning but it is pretty much shaken off by the time he gets to the curtain. Damage rolls out and heads back, yelling at the fans all the way. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, a tremendous match there, Steve Roberts. SR: If you say so, Daddy-O. TD: "Daddy-O"?! SR: Get with the "Soundbite," Dross! I'm the best thing going today, ain't that right, morons? [Roberts turns to the fans seated directly behind the broadcast table, who yell excitedly, "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!"] SR: See? TD: Good grief. Let's move on. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Coronation Clash Tournament First Round Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [GROUP A] "Enigma" Takezo Musashi vs. Kevin "Cavalier" Christiansen ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITERS: JO/JJ [The camera cuts to a in-ring shot of Sparkplug Lee, his microphone perched just inches from his lips.  As he sees the red light of the camera come on, he takes a deep breath, sticks out his robust chest in pride, and begins the introductions.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... this next match is part of the Group A bracket in the World Heavyweight Championship Tournament, the winner of which will go on to meet Mad Dog Waktins... [The PA system begins to blare with ethereal and otherworldly sounding Oriental music which is immediately recognizable to diehard IIWF fans (and we know you are) as the ring music of....] SL: Making his way to ringside and weighing in at 211lbs... here is Tokyo's own... "THE ENIGMA" TAKEZO MUSASHI! [Mixed crowd reaction as Musashi appears at the head of the aisle. The crowd sits back for the most part, unsure of what to do as they see their once cheered champion make his way to the ring.  Musashi doesn't seem to mind....he even smirks as the ringside fans begin to heckle and boo him as he gets in the ring.  He is dressed as usual in black pants with silver, blue and black Japanese mystic symbols scrawled across them. His face is painted with silver and blue stars around his eyes.] SL: And his opponent... weighing in at 265 pounds and hailing from London, England... here is KEVIN "THE CAVALIER" CHRISTIANSEN! ["Carmina Burana" replaces the sounds of Musashi's music and the crowd begins to calmmor for a look at the newcomer Christiansen.  Most have no idea what to expect as this is their first look at the young man, but most are quickly impressed at the first impression and rightfully so. Christiansen is quite the sculpted young man, with great upper body development and massive tree trunk-like legs.  And he needs to be since he wears what appears to be a heavy, medieval suit of breastplate armor upon his broad shoulders and chest.  The crowd pops as he makes his way to the ring with many of the younger ringside fans reaching, trying to get a touch of the shield which Christiansen carries with him to the ring.  Once in the ring, he removes his armor and drops his shield, revealing an all-white wrestling ensemble of tights and boots, with the exception of Christiansen's right leg which is emblazened with the image of a longsword.] TD: Quite an impressive look this newcomer to the IIWF has, doesn't he, Steve? SR: Sure, the big guy looks good, but can he wrestle?  TD: I think we will find out tonight as Kevin Christiansen makes his debut on IIWF Saturday Night.  And what a situation to make your Saturday Night debut... not only facing one of the most sucessful and certainly one of the most unpredictable men in the history of the IIWF, but the match just happens to be a first round matchup in the World Heavyweight Championship Tournament. SR: Nah... no pressure.  I mean, who thinks this Camelot-reject will amount to anything anyway?  If he wins, everyone will be surprised and pleased at his success.  If he loses, he'll have taken his first step out of the league and into the "Where are they now?" closet. Speaking of which, has anyone seen Billy Sexton or Alex Rio recently? TD: You're truly loathable, Steve. SR: Thank you. [In the ring, the referee has called for the bell to begin the match and Musashi has quickly moved on the attack.  He catches "The Cavalier" in the stomach and in the chest with a series of quick, sharp kicks that knock the bigger man backwards to the ropes.  Musashi follows, quickly belting the younger man with a series of hard palm thrusts and fist strikes which cause Christiansen to cover his head up in seeking refuge from the attack. The referee calls for the break immediately and Musashi obliges, but not before the count reaches four.  As Musashi breaks, he backs away wearing a wry smile on his face.  Christiansen shakes his head and circles around Musashi, finally coming into a collar-and-elbow tie-up which Musashi quickly slips out of by dropping to the mat and hiptossing the bigger man to the canvas.  Christainsen looks at Musashi carefully as he gets to his feet and the two men hook up once again, this time with Christiansen using his strength advantage to trap Musashi in a standing side headlock.  The Enigma plants a few elbows to the side of Christiansen which have little effect, but do serve to allow him to move around to his side and force Christiansen to the ropes.  He shoots Christiansen to the far ropes, leg frogs him on the first pass, slides under him on the second pass, and fells the big man with a nice dropkick on the next pass.  Musashi is quick on his fallen opponent, landing sharp lefts and rights to the head of The Cavalier which once again catch him offguard and force him to cover up his head with his arms.] TD: The Enigma taking it to Christiansen here tonight.  In his recent bout with Tony Starks, we saw Musashi utilize more of a "shoot-fighting" style and it appears that Mushashi intends to employ the same strategy here tonight. SR: And this young kid doesn't know how to deal with it, so it's a great idea.  TD: Indeed.  It appears that Musashi has disoriented Christiansen by going to this shootfight style instead of the highflying style which he normally employs. [The referee forces Musashi to break his attack as Christiansen rolls to the ropes and Musashi obliges, albeit reluctantly.  Christainsen uses the ropes to get to his feet and shakes his head in confusion.   He waits to attack this time, allowing Musashi to initiate the contact.  He absorbs a palm strike by the Japanese man and another, and fires back with two right hands that stun the Enigma.  Christiansen then Irish whips Musashi to the ropes and hits with a hard clothesline.  He intends to go for a quick cover, but Musashi has now intention of cooperation and slides under the bottom ropes to the outside.] TD: Looks like "The Cavalier" changed his appraoch there and it worked... uh-oh... Takezo just spotted Joe Petrow and Maurice.  He's     walking over toward them and is yelling at Petrow as loud as he can. SR: All right... brawling in the crowd!  Just what we need to liven up the show! TD: Looks like your wish will be denied, Steve, as the referee is quick to slide out and prevent Musashi from encountering Petrow.  [Musashi is livid with the attempts to keep him from Petrow, screaming at both the referee and "Sychosys".  Petrow is eerily nonplussed at the entire ordeal, placing his hand over his heart and nodding his head as if to say "I understand... it's all right." Musashi is seemingly propelled to further anger by Petrow's calm... leaping to attack... but he is stopped by a Christiansen blow to the back. The Cavalier tosses Musashi in the ring and then snapmares the Enigma, leaving him laid out for a perfectly executed elbowdrop to the throat from the midbuckle.  Christiansen applies a reverse chinlock -- but Musashi is able to roll out, catching the Cavalier with a leg lariat and then looking to whip with a dragon screw... that the Cavalier leaps away from, deftly balancing on his backleg while pushing off with his front to land a snapping thrust kick that more shocks Musashi than injures him... but the followup reverse round into a big belly-to-belly gets more than perfunctory attention from this capacity crowd.  The Cavalier covers... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Musashi rises... takes aim at a spin kick -- slipped -- and Christiansen greets his miss with a thundering gutwrench powerbomb and a cover... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Big New Guy Pop!] TD: The flow of this match seems to have abruptly shifted, Steve Roberts -- and this Cavalier is taking a little control. SR: Well, it's that "Crazy" Joe Petrow confusing everyone with his passive resistance, Dross.  He's messing with Musashi's scrambled mind... pouring cheddar cheese all over his cerebellum like Gandhi would have done had he not been lactose intolerant. TD: I believe he was a Hindu. SR: That's the scam the anti-dairy forces want to put over on you, Dross.  Stand up my milk-loving brothers and embrace your white creamy God! [The Cavalier is unaware, apparently, that Soundbite is staking a claim as the biggest nutjob in the IIWF as he has followed his nearfall with another reverse chinlock that he has converted into a camel clutch! The Cavalier presses down against the smaller Musashi, obviously trying to halt his mobility advantage.  The official checks for a submission but Musashi is completely non-responsive... staring straight ahead at Petrow with maniacal intentions. The Cavalier increases pressure as nearly two full minutes have elapsed -- but Musashi appears completely unaffected... remaining locked in on Petrow as the official exasperatedly struggles to come to some type of action.  Christiansen asks the official to stop the match... or to force him to break the hold.  The crowd begins to clap now in an almost reverance for the sheer will of the Enigma, who remains locked in a stare with the now apron locked Petrow, who gives a sympathetic smile and mouths the words, "I feel your pain."] TD: This is going over the edge, Steve Roberts.  The Cavalier has had this camel clutch on Musashi for three minutes... this crowd is getting restless... but the Enigma has shown neither the ability nor the inclination to break the hold or to submit.  It is almost like he is impervious to the pain! SR: Well, we've finally seen it -- an IIWF wrestler has totally freaked out... gone mad... and it ain't even Petrow!   [Christiansen yells up again at the official, who looks around as if baffled by the situation.  The Cavlier shakes his head with a type of noticeable resolution... then stands! Christiansen breaks the hold, the Cavalier walking to the official and saying, "he's not well... he's not right."  A huge surprised pop as the official shakes his head at the Cavalier.   Christiansen insists that Musashi cannot continue... and then is seen to say the word "draw"... "let it be a draw."] SR: What's this moron doing -- if there's a draw, he doesn't move on! Christiansen will be out of the tournament!! TD: Well, that is a tremendous display of sportsmanship by this newcomer... but I don't think the official will buy it. [The Enigma remains in his prone position, as if totally oblivious to the hold having been released.  Petrow has climbed atop the apron now, and reaches his hand in the ring, reaches in as if to welcome the Enigma.  Petrow softly saying to Musashi, "break on through, Enigma... break on through to the other side..." The Cavalier stands away, refusing the official's order to resume fighting Musashi, who is making no attempt to defend himself. Instead Christiansen walks over to Petrow, asking him to get off the apron, asking "Sychosys" to step down.  Christiansen reaches Petrow who smiles, shrugs, leaps down and moves away from the ring... the Cavalier seems molified, then turns... Big Pop!] TD: Superkick!  Musashi hit him with a superkick! Christiansen is down! Musashi's going up to the top rope! SR: Hah!  I love the new Enigma, Dross... look at the way he suckered the Cavalier in! [Petrow begins to clap his hands as he disappears up the aisle... as Musashi readies himself on the top rope... turning... flipping... falling... And landing the Starsault Press for a cover... 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Your winner... as a result of a pinfall... "THE ENIGMA" TAKEZO MUSASHI!! [Big Pop as Musashi rolls away, then sprints up the aisle in an apparent search for Petrow.  The stunned Christiansen slowly begins to make his way from the ring, given a resounding ovation by those New York fans who appreciate his show of compassion for the troubled Enigma.] TD: Well, an odd match here, Steve Roberts. The Cavalier had really just begun to assert some dominance -- Takezo Musashi obviously bothered by Joe Petrow's appearance.  But when the Enigma suddenly appeared unable to coninue this matchup, Kevin Christiansen chose to back away... and it cost him. SR: Let that be a lesson to the new guy, Dross.  This is a kick or be kicked federation. If you can't hunt with the big dogs, you'd better stay on the porch -- and there ain't no dogs bigger than here in the IIWF. TD: That was unusually folksy, Steve. SR: I've just taken off my pants, Dross. TD: Well, we're about to take a break from the Coronation Clash tournament, Steve Roberts, but it isn't a let down in terms of importance. Our next match is a Tag Team title match, with the winners moving on to face Cold Spell at Coronation Clash this July 12th. Order now before the rush hits! SR: Didn't we see this match a few weeks ago? TD: Actually, we did. These two teams, the Harlequins and the Prophets     of Rage, have quite a history -- which means this match should be intense, even for a title match. Steve, do you mind if I get a little philosophical? SR: I swear, Dross, if you ask that damn "Do you ever wonder if we're     just characters in a fictional wrestling federation?" question _one more time_, I'll hit you. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Prophets of Rage [c] vs. The Harlequins ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITER: JdW [While Dross is stammering to make up the question he was "really asking", Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring with a look of enthusiasm on his face. He always loves these title matches. Sparky is accordingly prepared to shine, as he goes right into the introductions like the pro he'd like to believe he is.] SL: Ladies and gentlement, the following tag team contest, scheduled for one fall, is for the IIWF World Tag Team Championships! [Pop!] Introducing first, the challengers, from Sleepy Hollow Illinois, at a combined weight of 545 pounds, Chaos and Tragedy, the Harlequins! [Garbage's "#1 Crush" begins, and the two challengers walk into the aisle as a juxtaposition. Chaos is his usual colourful self, decked out in makeup and his regular uniform, but Tragedy is dressed all in black, wearing sunglasses and no makeup. The twosome make their way to the ring, ignoring the taunts of the Sychopaths who, really, would taunt anyone at this point. Mooselips will do that to you.] TD: What do you think he'd be like? SR: Who? TD: The guy that runs the IIWF... if we were fictional, of course. SR: Would you give it a rest?!!? We have a title match coming up, and     because it's a tag match I'm going to get the pleasure of seeing a     screwy ending. [The Harlequins, in the ring by now, don't look impressed at all when the "Death March" begins. As usually happens when the Prophets' music starts, a loud heel pop starts as well.] SL: And their opponents; from Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada, the IIWF Tag Team champions, at a combined weight of 583 pounds, Derek Rage and Shadoe Rage, the Prophets of Rage! [The Rages look even more confident than usual, if that's possible, as they swagger to the ring, holding up their belts and pointing at the 'Quins. Shadoe says "Take a good look, boys, 'cause you aren't ever gonna have these!", while Derek just looks damn imposing. The 'Quins, meanwhile, make that universal "We're going to take the belts" symbol, and draw a respectable pop from the "Harlequiner" section of the crowd.] TD: Have you ever been to Halifax, Steve? SR: Can't say as I have. Why would I want to go to Halifax? TD: It's a very nice city, actually, some great museums, surprisingly     pristine, but you can't find a decent waffle house there to save your life. SR: I'll tell you about pristine, that's what this match and Becky LaRue     won't be tonight. I expect at least five chairs to be used. TD: Really? The Prophets and Harlequins hate each other that much? SR: No, I was still talking about Becky. [By now, the Rages have made it into the ring, and are being instructed about violating the rules by Dave D'Amato. Satisified he's done his job, Dave backs off and calls for the bell. Derek starts things off for the champs, so Chaos accordingly steps into the ring to neutralize the big man. The two circle for a moment, then lock up, and Derek surprises Chaos by twisting him up in a chicken wing. Chaos rears back to drive an elbow into his face, and Rage dodges out of instinct to leave himself open for a fireman's carry of the amateur variety. Derek gets right back up and starts charging at Chaos, who ducks the oustretched arm, but Derek shows his true intent by locking on a sleeperhold. Chaos is struggling to escape, and starting to fall to his knees, when he drops suddenly, the result being that Derek's jaw bounces off his head. Chaos quickly moves to pick Derek back up, and sets him into position for a Russian legsweep. The camera moves away from the ring to highlight the aisle, where Cold Spell are walking slowly to a good vantage point, but a thud is heard that indicates the move took its toll.] TD: Cold Spell will face the winner of this match at Coronation Clash,     but they may not want to wait. SR: I'm pretty sure they'll get involved somehow. I mean, this is a tag     team match, we're bound to see outside interference. If only we could get Norton Nabob to start putting his foot down. TD: [sigh] If I've told you once, I've told you a million times, it's     _Nathan Novak_! [Tragedy yells out an instruction to his teenaged partner, and Chaos complies by taking a run at Shadoe. Being the hot-head he sometimes is, Shadoe tries to enter the ring to predictable results, those being that D'Amato rushes over to the corner to physically restrain Shadoe from entering. Meanwhile, the 'Quins are completing the oldest trick in the tag team books, viciously double-teaming Derek in the corner. The two whip him to the far side and set up for a double backdrop, but they're practically sending notification by UPS, as Derek sees it coming early. He rushes towards the challengers, and grabs one under each arm, performing a double DDT. Shadoe sees a chance to press the advantage, so he cries out for the tag, and Derek agrees. Shadoe leaps to the top rope upon being tagged in, and legdrops Chaos almost into next week, hanging on for a count that doesn't come.] SR: Why isn't the ref counting this? Did he forget his white cane in the     hotel or something? TD: It would seem to me that he's under the impression that Tragedy is     the legal man, but that's a bad call if it's true. [Shadoe gets up angry, and starts to chastise the official, so he doesn't notice Trag sneaking up behind him. Tragedy uses a schoolboy rollup to snag Shadoe, and holds on tight as D'Amato is diving into position to make the count: 1 - 2 - no! Shadoe just gets up, and is quickly nailed with a double clothesline that knocks him over the top rope. While he's getting up, Cold Spell begin to walk towards the ring area, Icehawk limping quite a bit, but Shadoe spins around to see them, and he really starts laying into them verbally, warning the two not to advance. Huge Sychopop for the repeated use of the word "ass".] TD: Shadoe Rage lays down the law, and the injury-ridden Genesis members     decide not to test him. SR: You know what really ticks me off about that "no managers" tag team     ruling, Dross. If it weren't in effect, I'd be seeing four women     cheering on their men. And bouncing. Pizzazz bounces real good,     Dross. She has, as the French call them, huge bazooms. TD: Bazooms? How old are you, Steve? SR: Old enough to appreciate a nice set of bazooms. TD: What would you say if you ever saw Pizzazz's "bazooms"? SR: I dunno... Thanks for the mammaries? [Shadoe, after re-entering the ring, goes right to his corner to tag Derek back in. The bigger Rage steps in, and Tragedy decides to take a risk by charging right at him with a cross body block. It doesn't work well when you get caught, however, as Tragedy's in the midst of finding out. Derek nails a big powerslam, and while the impact is still reverberating through the Manhattan Center, he picks up Trag to lock him into an abdominal stretch. Of course, being a heel and a member of a tag team, once Dave D'Amato isn't looking he stretches out his hand to take Shadoe's, and the two pull for extra leverage on the hold. The crowd boos... imagine a New York crowd booing. That'd never happen.] SR: Look at the blatant doubleteaming by the Prophets! TD: I must say, I'm shocked, Steve. You're taking a very honest approach     in pointing out who these tactics are wrong. SR: Wrong? No, the reason I said that was so the kids could study the     finer points of cheating... this is a classic manouver. [Of course, the next part of this classic plays out as expected. D'Amato sees the infraction, and kicks the brothers' hands to force a release, to about as loud a pop as a referee ever gets. Derek gets right into the official's face, angry about having been kicked, and again the 'Quins take advantage when Tragedy grabs a full nelson and deftly pulls the co-champion back with a Dragon suplex, pinning again for 2. He runs over to tag in the bigger Chaos, and heads directly to the top rope. Chaos grabs his hands, and the team perform an assisted top rope somersault senton. If you can't figure out what that is, suffice to say Trag flips around once after being hurled towards the prone Rage, and hits a splash of sorts. He then hooks the leg, and D'Amato moves in again to count: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: New champions! New champions! [Sparkplug Lee gets up from his seat to issue the verdict, as the crowd erupts into applause. New Yorkers love a winner. In the ring, the Rages are arguing vehemntly with D'Amato, but that seems beside the point.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of this bout, and NEEEEEEEEEEEW IIWF Tag Team champions, the Harlequins! [The 'Quins start to celebrate, but their music is cut off almost before it can begin, as Poutine Janois appears at the head of the aisle. He walks past the pensive Cold Spell, who are either considering the ramifications of this match or trying to figure out if you need to use a silencer when you shoot a mime. Janois crookes his finger at D'Amato, while the Rages remain adamant about, well, something. We aren't picking up any of their comments, and the only clue is that they keep pointing at Chaos.] TD: What's going on here, Steve Roberts? Surely, the head of the Special     Concerns Committee is just here to congratulate the new champions, right? SR: A better guess would be that he realized Tragedy, who got the pin,     was not the legal man. Good thing someone's paying attention backstage. [Janois breifly confers with D'Amato, then he calls for the mic, which he's quickly given. Somehow, the techies work quicker when an executive with the power to fire them is around.] PJ: La-dez and gentles-men, it is mah offic-el ruling that bec-auz Harle-kwin Trag-e-dee was not the legul man in da ring, the pin fall doz not caunt and the match muzt con-teenu. [With that, D'Amato gets very offended and starts to argue with Janois' decision, although not strongly enough to risk sanction. Meanwhile, the opportunistic as always Prophets see a chance to take an advantage, so Shadoe rolls out of the ring to look for a chair. Meanwhile, Derek and Chaos, the two big men, are trading blow for blow in the middle of the ring. Tragedy decides all's fair in love and tag wrestling, so he _also_ rolls out to look for a chair, on the opposite side of the ring from Shadoe. Neither of the two notice their counterpart as they grab unoccupied folding chairs. D'Amato and Janois notice none of it, as they're too busy debating the call. Icehwak notices and snickers, and Triple M notices but forgets when one of the Sychopaths "accidentally" drops her popcorn in his lap. We're not sure if Sparky noticed.] SR: This could get interesting! In fact, this prompts me to "Soundbite's     Third Collary to the Laws of Wrestling": If you really care, show it     with a chair! [Both chair-weilding wrestlers enter the ring at the about the same time, on opposite sides, and both have their views blocked of the other by the brawl in the center of the ring. Shadoe runs in first and drills Chaos over the head with the chair, but a fraction of a second later Trag brains Derek with _his_ chair. The two then see each other, and both draw back a chair to strike. The loud noise gives D'Amato cause to turn around, and as he does he sees the two men holding the chairs. Not quite sure of what happened, he runs between the two and tries to force them back to their respective corners. They don't really want to, but the presence of Janois helps their decision.] TD: Oh dear, both men are down! SR: The guy that gets up first wins the match for his team, and Derek     Rage has better conditioning, so he'll get up first. TD: I agree partially, whoever stirs first will probably get the pin, but I think it will be Chaos. [D'Amato stands over the two fallen warriors, and begins the dramatic count. 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - of course, no movement yet. The count goes on: 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - D'Amato checks for movement, and then lets out a very uncertain "10".] SR: What the heck? [That's the reaction of pretty much everyone in the building. Sparkplug Lee gets back up, and consults briefly with the timekeeper as to the ruling. He looks uncertain to say the least, but he forges ahead.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the result of this match is an, erm, double countout. Sort of. [Shadoe, upon hearing the decision, enters the ring to drag his partner outside to try and revive him. Tragedy, on the other hand, is too shocked to do much of anything, as Chaos is finally starting to get up.] SR: Geez, when was the last time you saw a match end that way? A double countout in the ring? TD: Truly a rare ruling, but it is on the books. It's a little unorthodox, but the match is a draw and the titles stay with the Prophets of Rage. [Cold Spell soaks in the result for a moment, then leaves to go backstage before the Rages get there. The champs are understandably moving slowly due to Derek's wooziness, and the Harlequins are following about another twenty feet behind. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, in my eyes, the Harlequins have yet again been robbed of the World Tag Team titles. SR: Robbed? Don't they have to win them first before they can be robbed of them? TD: I'm sure that the Harlequins are convinced that the pinfall they scored in that match should have been allowed to count, but sadly, Poutine Janois failed to agree with them. So it's going to be the Prophets of Rage facing Cold Spell at Coronation Clash next Saturday night! Call your local cable operator now to order this spectacular event! SR: Yadda yadda, shell out thirty bucks, blah blah. TD: What a great salesman you make, Steve. SR: Sarcasm doesn't become you, Dross. Besides, if you want me to do some selling, let me remind the people about the special "L'il Soundbiter" kit available on our 1-800 number for just $49.95 plus shipping and handling. It contains... TD: [interrupting] Okay, Steve, thanks very much. Let's move on to our next tournament match, featuring the other half of the Age of the Rage stable, as the Cruiserweight Champion, the Dirt Dog Unique Allah, goes up against Serge Annis. SR: I have to give Serge some grudging respect, Dross. He's a tough hombre, but the odds are stacked against him tonight.  The Dirt Dog is on home turf here in the big apple, he'll have The Prophets with him and Deathbringer will be at ringside.  He doesn't stand a chance. TD: How will Deathbringer being at ringside reduce Serge's chance of winning? SR: Wake up and smell the biscuits, Dross!  The dead man _barely_ scraped past that bush league jerk Black Flagg last week, he got Serge pinned in their tag match the week before against a couple of prelim bums, hell, the fans have started cheering him, what more evidence do you need?  I'm telling you, the man is on the slippery slope down to obscurity and he'll drag Serge down with him. TD: I don't know where to begin to correct you there, Steve... SR: [interrupting] Well, don't try! TD: [sighing] I think we are going to have quite a partisan crowd here tonight, as Dirt Dog was born and bred in Brooklyn. SR: To paraphrase a song, "wherever he lays his cardboard box, that's his home!"  Just because he lived in a box with a Macey's logo on it, doesn't mean he is a New York native.  He can't remember last week, how is he going to remember his place of birth? TD: I think Sparkplug is about ready to give us the introductions. Let's get up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Coronation Clash Tournament First Round Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [GROUP C] Dirt Dog Unique Allah vs. Serge Annis ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITER: MB [Sparkplug Lee takes to the ring once more.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, our next bout is scheduled for one fall and is a Group C eliminator!  [pop!]  Introducing first, from Oakville, Ontario, Canada, and weighing 293 pounds... The "Epitome Of Evil", Serge Annis! ["Some Days It's Dark" by Death Lurks hit the speakers to a nice ovation from the crowd as the large, imposing shape of Serge Annis appears at the top of the aisle, dragging behind him the broken guitar of Requiem behind him.  The arena lights dim, and many fans light their official IIWF Serge Annis zippo lighters to welcome their favourite to New York. Serge produces a rare smile as he takes a step forward to allow the huge Deathbringer to join him at the top of the aisle, and together they make their way purposefully to the ring.  Serge climbs into the ring and stretches against the ropes as Deathbringer takes up position on the far side of the ring, his music fading from the arena.] TD: Serge is really developing quite a fan base since he aligned himself with Deathbringer against Genesis. SR: Who did what to whom? SL: And his opponent... [pop!] weighing 238 pounds... [bigger pop!] hailing from Brooklyn, NEW YORK... [huge pop!] The IIWF Cruiserweight Champion, DIRT DOG UNIQUE ALLAH! [The New York crowd erupts as "Snakes" by Ol' Dirty Bastard blasts out of the PA and Dirt Dog stumbles out of the entrance, held upright by an entourage of beautiful women and flanked by Medusa; carrying his belt, Pizzazz, and a sweat-drenched and tired looking Derek and Shadoe Rage. The harem of girls carry the Dog to the ring to the amusement of the six thousand New York fans.  At ringside, Medusa whispers something into Allah's ear that seems to perk him up and he rolls into the ring as his harem blows kisses to ringside fans as they leave.  The Prophets take up position opposite Deathbringer, near the aisle.] TD: What are those little "boxes" Derek and Shadoe are carrying, Steve? SR: Huh? TD: Sorry, folks, Steve seems a little distracted at the moment. Beautiful women tend to do that to him. [Ding! Ding! Ding!  The ref, having briefly checked the two men for illegal weapons while Sparkplug Lee deftly exited the ring, signals for the bell and the match is underway.  Dirt Dog offers a lock-up which Annis seems all too eager to accept, but at the last instant the Dog slips to the side and shouts to the crowd; "Any muh'fuhin' bros' here from Brooklyn?"  Serge, expecting to meet resistance from the lock-up, is left scrabbling to keep his footing while the crowd roar in appreciation and a forest of hands shoot up in response.  As Serge spins around in a mixture of embarrassment and anger, Dirt Dog slips between the ropes to talk to some of the respondents, much to the chagrin of the ref, who starts a ten-count.] TD: Those things the Prophets brought with them, I think they're tasers! SR: Yes, they are, aren't they? TD: They must... Sorry Steve, are we on the same wavelength here? SR: Don't sound so surprised Dross, I'm agreeing with you, Pizzazz and Medusa are a right pair of teasers, the way they wiggle their booties is a delight to behold! TD: I said "Tasers", Steve.  _Tasers_, little devices that can give electric shocks... er, forget I said anything Steve, I can see where this line of conversation will end, and it isn't pretty! SR: Hey Dross, you're catching on pretty quickly! [The referee's count reaches eight when Dirt Dog turns around and rolls back into the ring.  As he gets back to his feet, he shields his eyes from the lights hanging above the ring and offers a tentative lock-up again, which Serge is only too ready to oblige.  They reach for the collar and elbow, when again, Dirt Dog, slips beneath and goes to the ropes to shout; "Anyone got a spare pair of sunglasses?  These muhfuh lights are hurtin' the Dog's eyes.".  Serge is left scrabbling again as the crowd cheer wildly and three pairs of sunglasses arc their way to the ring, to be snapped out of the air by the Dog who picks a pair of Raybans, puts them on and mutters a quick "thanks" before turning around and...] TD: Serge has just flipped Allah inside out with a tremendous jumping clothesline!  He obviously doesn't appreciate the Cruiserweight's sense of humour! [Serge earns himself a massive heel pop as he stands over a hurt looking Dirt Dog, who incredibly seems to be concentrating more on putting the sunglasses back on than the 6'8" Serge Annis!  Annis looks to the referee with an almost pleading look on his face, before dragging the Dog up to his feet and Press-slamming him down viciously.  Once again, the Unique one seems more concerned with hanging grimly on to his sunglasses than trying to lessen the impact and he literally bounces off the mat with the force of the blow.  Serge steps back to allow the Cruiserweight champion back up, but when he gets to his feet, he staggers to the ropes and shouts; "All a'you good New York Women should get outta yer seats 'n' throw me yer muhfuh shoes!".  Serge looks on, mouth almost agape at the antics of his opponent as various shoes of all sizes, shapes and colours bounce into the ring and the crowd issue an awesome pop!  Dirt Dog takes a moment to look around the variety of shoes laying in the ring, picks up a red high-heel and slumps into a corner to nuzzle it.  The ref runs frantically around the ring, kicking the shoes to ringside as Dirt Dog starts making crooning noises and Serge looks on incredulously.  The crowd shows its approval of its native son by cheering loudly, but Annis, not doing a particularly good job of keeping his temper in check, steps over and drives a kick hard into his face.  Dirt Dog gets dragged up into a suplex but with a twist, he slips free and drops behind him, steps over to the ropes and shouts; "Throw the Doggie a sussie belt!"] TD: Look at Serge -- boy, is he furious! [Serge charges over and throws a big forearm into the back of Allah's head which lifts him up and over the ropes and lands on a surprised Shadoe Rage, who crumples under the impact and accidentally triggers the taser on himself, leaving him shuddering and jerking on the ringside mats in agony.  Serge drops to ringside and picks Dirt Dog up rolls him back into the ring.  Derek, seeing his brother laying on the floor and Serge stood over him, turns to run at him for a taser shot, but is held up short as a huge hand snakes around his shoulder and grasps him around the neck. Pop!  Derek spins around to jab the taser at his captor to find his wrist grabbed and held immobile. He looks up in shock to see the Deathbringer, who lifts him from his feet and chokslams him down viciously onto the mats!  Big Pop!] TD: Deathbringer is so fast for his size -- I didn't even see him move! SR: That is blatant interference. Someone his size shouldn't be allowed at ringside.  TD: Hmm?  "Slippery slope to obscurity", you said.  Can't beat prelim bums but can waste one half of the Prophets of Rage with one move.  I hope Derek and Shadoe don't watch this on video and take issue with your earlier statement Steve. SR: Heh, the "Soundbite" fears no man. Not when I have my Asai moonsault. [Deathbringer walks calmly back to his corner, stepping over Derek and completely ignoring Medusa and Pizzazz.  In the ring, Serge throws a hard punch at Dirt Dog, which shatters his raybans and a nasty DDT leaves him prone on the mat.  Annis drops a lateral press for the pin: - 1 - 2 Kick out.  Pop!  Serge Pulls Dirt Dog back up, but is met with a European uppercut, a short jab to the stomach and a knee-lift that leaves Annis staggering.  The Brooklyn born champion goes right up to Serge and shouts; "Goddamn, you know I'm in my hometown, right, muhfuh?" to a big pop from the crowd, then he drives a shoulder into Serge's midsection, grabs a leg and sweeps the other away to take Serge off his feet for the first time in this match and lays on an ankle lock that has Annis shouting in pain.  Dirt Dog, seemingly focused to the task at hand, turns him over onto his front, changes grip to Serge's arm and places him into a half nelson-surfboard combination, that has the ref dropping to the mat to see if Serge's shouts are an attempt at submitting.] TD: Our Cruiserweight Champion has finally woken up!  Not before time as well. SR: Now we'll see why Serge is hiding at the bottom of the rankings table and Dirt Dog is a Champion. [Outside the ring, Derek and Shadoe find their feet and start glaring daggers at the intimidating figure of Deathbringer and following a few quiet words, they separate and start moving around the ring in opposite directions to converge on the dead man.  In the ring, Annis starts rocking side to side and kicking out with his free leg to get closer to the ropes as the ref continues to asks if he wishes to tap-out.  Serge reaches out for the ropes with agony etched on his face, and with a herculean effort grabs the bottom rope!  The Dog complies with the ref's request to break, but not before kicking him in the ribs and shouting; "c'mon muhfuh, get up.  You forget this dog got teeth?".  As the Canadian pulls himself up using the ropes, Allah jumps up and monkey-flips him into the middle of the ring and begins dropping elbows to the legs, head and arms, and snap-legdrops across the head without resistance or reply and drapes casually across him for a pin: 1 - kick out.  Disappointed Pop!] SR: So, we are going to have Brody Thunder against Dirt Dog in the Sweet Sixteen, which means Dirt Dog goes through to the final of Group C. TD: That is a pretty big assumption Steve.  Dirt Dog gets control of this match, so he will reach the final of group C?  You're ignoring Brody Thunder, too? SR: Best thing to do to him.  Ignore him long enough and maybe he'll go away! [Dirt Dog smiles at Medusa and Pizzazz and notices Derek and Shadoe, edging very slowly towards an immobile Deathbringer.  A realisation crosses the face of the Dog and he approaches Deathbringer at starts to berate him to keep him distracted.  Deathbringer glances up at the Dog, and a grin passes over his face as his right hand shoots out to the side and catches a charging Shadoe by the neck!  Pop!  Shadoe is almost lifted from his feet as the Dog looks on in amazement as Derek also charges in and zaps the 6'10" in the back with his taser.. but it seems to have little affect other than getting him to let go of his partner who also jabs him with a taser!  It takes three more Taser shots to bring the big man to his knees, and another two to leave him motionless on the mat, much to the delight of the Dog and the obvious disapproval of the fans!  Some of the fans started shouting to catch the attention of Dirt Dog, who eventually looked up to see what the fuss was about, to see Serge Annis stood right behind him!  Pop!  A look of surprise passed briefly over his face, followed quickly by a grimace of pain as Annis kicks him sharply in the stomach, then as he doubled up, Serge hooks the head and levels the Champ with a stunning DDT - the set-up for his chokeslam finisher! TD: "The Epitome Of Evil" is set to go through to the Sweet Sixteen! SR: Not if the Prophets have any say in the matter! [Derek Rage jumps up onto the apron as Annis begins to pull a stunned Dirt Dog back to his very shaky feet, but the ref jumps in to intervene.  Medusa and Pizzazz look on with glee, which turns slowly to horror as they see Deathbringer struggle up into a sitting position, and both Derek and Shadoe taking notice of him!  Serge glances at the shouting Medusa as he gets a grip on the throat of the Dog -- and then sees Derek drop back to the mat, arguing with the ref.  Meanwhile, Shadoe has crawled around to another side of the ring and, reaching under the bottom rope, is about to jab Serge in the leg when Deathbringer, who had amazingly reached a standing position, issues an almighty shout that makes Serge start and turn around.  Shadoe, who also jumps at the shout and looks over, doesn't see Dirt Dog change position and noticing the ref turn around to see the in-ring action, jabs out with the taser and drops back to the mat.  Dirt Dog shudders awfully and collapses to the mat as Shadoe suddenly realises he had tagged the Dirt Dog, looks on in dread and drops the taser like an arachnophobic would drop a tarantula!  Serge, completely unaware of what has happened, and seeing Dirt Dog drop to the mat, throws himself high into the air and comes down with a tremendous splash on the still-twitching Dog and hooks a leg... the ref drops and makes the count: 1 - 2 - 3 Ding! Ding! Ding!  Heel pop!] RA: And your winner, by pinfall, SERGE ANNIS! TD: Serge is through to the Sweet Sixteen! What a match that will be, Brody Thunder against Serge Annis! SR: Absolutely diabolical!  Dirt Dog, knocked out in the first round, and I was really looking forward to seeing Medusa and Pizzazz a few more times as well!  Annis is looking out just for himself, not caring about _my_ needs, what _I_ wanted to see, talk about selfish... [Deathbringer rolls quickly into the ring to celebrate alongside his Unholy Alliance partner as the Prophets pull a twitching Dirt Dog from the ring and help him from the arena.  The crowd give their New York native an appreciative round of cheers as he disappears through the entrance, leaving Serge and Deathbringer to soak in a few scattered cheers. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, folks, not the most successful of homecomings for the Cruiserweight Champion. SR: But he sure had some fun out here, didn't he? And hey, it's all about fun, Dross. We gotta have our fun. Pass the biscuits. TD: Okay, Steve. Up next is a match which promises to be anything but fun -- the second of tonight's intra-stable matches, as two members of Genesis square off for the right to proceed to the Sweet Sixteen, where the winner will face Ronnie Paris. SR: Widdle Wonnie? Hey, Dross, now there's a guy who knows how to have fun. We should ask his woman about that, huh, Dross? Hey, Maggie, does Widdle Wonnie know how to have fun? TD: Nobody has any idea what you are talking about, Steve Roberts. SR: Aw, Dross, my momma understands me. TD: Of course. Let's get up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Coronation Clash Tournament First Round Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [GROUP D] Highwayman vs. Nightwing ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITER: DS [Ding! Ding! Ding! With official Chuck Sanders lurking in one corner, Sparkplug Lee stands in the centre of the ring, and prepares to make his announcements. However, he is alerted to the arrival of an unannounced guest at ringside by a heel pop from the fans in the aisle.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen... Requiem! [The six thousand fans in the Manhattan Centre give a big heel pop as Requiem, the huge Angel of Destruction, walking tall at his full near seven foot height, his huge frame outlined by the black outfit in which he is bedecked, his crew-cut short white hair and goatee framing his piercing white eyes, which show no emotion as he makes his way down towards the ring, ignoring the clamour on either side from the rabid New York fans.] TD: And here comes the man who is possibly least pleased about the prospect of seeing two friends forced to lock up in action. We saw him pin Scott Rogers earlier tonight to ensure his own advancement into the Sweet Sixteen, but now he is guaranteed to see one of his stablemates consigned to the sidelines after this match. SR: Dross, remind me who this guy is again? [Requiem slowly walks up the ring steps, steps over the top rope, and approaches Sparkplug Lee, who looks up at the giant man who overshadows him by more than twelve inches, and visibly swallows. Requiem, however, makes no move, and his face still betrays no emotion. The fans begin to settle once more, as Sparkplug finally raises the microphone to his mouth for the introductions, Requiem standing impassively in the ring:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is another first round match in the ongoing Coronation Clash Tournament! [Big pop from the crowd. Requiem turns and looks coldly out into the stands.] Introducing first, representing Genesis and accompanied to the ring by Edmund Fitzgerald of Cold Spell, hailing from Leeds, England, and weighing in at 285lbs, here is Adam Smith... otherwise known as... the Highwayman! [Big heel pop as "Stand and Deliver" kicks in over the PA. Highwayman appears at the head of the aisle, dressed in the usual flamboyant manner, with his white dress shirt, long-tailed jacket and three-pointed hat atop his head. He almost appears anxious, and he fingers his antique flintlock pistols nervily as he steps out into the aisle, his own impressive form almost matched by that of Edmund Fitzgerald, who wears a "Genesis Generation" t-shirt and black jeans.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, you have to believe that this is a very difficult moment for the Highwayman. It's well-known that Highwayman and Nightwing quickly developed a very strong bond of friendship soon after joining the IIWF -- when Nightwing was exiled by the remainder of his tribe, the people for whom Nightwing had vowed to succeed in the IIWF, it was the Highwayman who brought the young Native American back from the brink of total self-destruction. Likewise, Nightwing has been a source of great spiritual comfort and guidance to Adam Smith, something of a lost soul himself. And it was the Highwayman who brought his friend Nightwing into the chilling embrace of Genesis, this almost sinister gang of IIWF superstars. One can't help but feel that the identities of Nightwing and the Highwayman have been somewhat subsumed by the collective consciousness of this group -- who have, at times, acted like a pack of dogs. SR: Perhaps I could persuade them to come over here and shut you up, Dross. TD: No, Steve, this is important. Take a look at the Highwayman in the aisle here. And take a look at that monster of a man, Requiem, in the squared circle. SR: Yeah, so what? So we're not going to be seeing their photos on the front of "Hello!" magazine as the world's most perfect couple, but who cares? You can moan all you like about how this undead English jerk has compromised himself to join this bunch of no-hopers, but the fact remains that the only reason he's hooked up with them is because he's a whining little punk who didn't want to pay his dues. All these so-called "New Generation" guys are the same -- they want the world, and they want it now. [Highwayman appears to steel himself as he looks around at the hostile fans. His face becomes set with determination as he makes his way down to ringside, Fitz in tow. Highwayman climbs into the ring, and disrobes without so much as a word to Requiem. He hands his shirt, jacket, hat and belt to a ring attendant, and then moves to a corner, performing some stretches and testing the ropes. Sparkplug Lee raises his microphone again:] RA: And introducing his opponent... also representing Genesis, and accompanied to the ring by Icehawk of Cold Spell, hailing from Cherokee, North Carolina, and weighing in at 235lbs... here is... Nightwing! [Big mixed pop as the screeching call of an eagle reverberates around the arena, followed by the opening chords of Bryan Adams' "Native Son." All eyes in the arena, including those of Requiem and the Highwayman, turn towards the aisle... which remains empty. A few more seconds pass, and soon the crowd's reaction turns from a mixture of cheers and jeers to a murmur of confusion.] TD: Well, folks, it appears that Nightwing has been held up on his way from the locker room... SR: Rubbish, Dross. He's not going to show. Chickenwing isn't gonna show! [In the ring, Highwayman bends to confer with Fitz, who stands in his corner on the outside. Requiem's face remains set in his cold, impassive expression, no flicker of surprise or concern evident. His cold white eyes continue to stare at the entranceway... which remains empty. "Native Son" fades out, and the arena is left almost in silence.] TD: Don't make assumptions, Steve Roberts. Nightwing is a tremendous competitor -- and he's sure to be here. It was just before Birthday Bash that the great White Phoenix, Shinja Chow, endowed the sacred Phoenix Spirit on this young Native American, and in the past couple of months, Nightwing's behaviour has become somewhat, shall we say, erratic. He has clearly been doing a great deal of soul-searching, and it's probably true to say that his heart has not always been wholly in his endeavours with Genesis in that time. We've seen him perform some truly incredible manoeuvres in the ring, moves which were performed by Shinja Chow himself -- and Nightwing seems to know them without knowing them. He seems almost as surprised after hitting his opponent with one of these spectacular aerial assaults as his opponent is. SR: Well, perhaps this Phoenix Spirit has sent little Chickenwing with a triple somersault senton split-leg body press under a subway train, rather than face the Highwayfreak. TD: While I doubt that Nightwing has leaped under a subway train, Steve Roberts, I wonder whether perhaps there is some truth in what you.... hang on, somebody's coming out here! [The crowd gives a renewed pop as a figure finally emerges from the entranceway and makes his way down the aisle -- it is Icehawk, who is dressed in a white Nightwing t-shirt, and blue jeans. He removes his trademark baseball cap and throws it into the crowd as he walks the aisle, almost completely without acknowledging the fans at all. He vaults over the top rope, and moves to speak with Requiem. The huge Angel of Destruction calls Highwayman over to him, and Fitz also rolls into the ring.] TD: Looks like we have a Genesis conference going on in the ring, Steve Roberts. [The referee confers with Icehawk and Requiem, the former gesticulating wildly, the latter simply speaking in measured tones to the official. The increasingly restless fans begin to chant, "Bo - ring! Bo - ring! Bo - ring!" causing Fitz to turn and cast a glare into the fans, which serves only to encourage the fans. Chuck Sanders appears to be arguing with the massed troops of Genesis, the only member not involving himself being the Highwayman, who steps back and appears to be deep in thought.] TD: Well, we need some kind of decision here -- hang on, now here comes Poutine Janois. [A small ripple of applause runs through the arena as the head of the Special Concerns Committee, the diminutive but stocky Poutine Janois, makes his way down the aisle. He enters the ring and begins speaking with Sanders, and then the two men relay the announcement to a bemused Sparkplug Lee, who has remained in the ring throughout. The fans cheer as Sparkplug raises his microphone once more:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, I have been informed by Mr. Poutine Janois, head of the IIWF Special Concerns Committee, that Nightwing has failed to arrive for competition in the Manhattan Centre tonight. [Big heel pop from the crowd.] Therefore, Mr. Janois has ruled that the Highwayman will _advance_ in the tournament as the result of a forfeit! [Another huge heel pop, and the ring begins to fill with debris hurled by the fans. Janois and Sanders leave the ring, the referee still in discussion with the IIWF official.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, an unpopular decision here by Poutine Janois. SR: Can't we get somebody else out here to kick the Highwayman's butt? We're in New York, right? That festering moron, the Subway Psycho, he's not showed up yet. Are they gonna bring out the Psycho, huh? TD: Steve, the Psycho was put on the shelf for some time by an attack from Genesis. I understand that he is still convalescing following his hospital treatment. SR: Hardin, then. Bring him out! We've seen him once tonight! Bring out the "Outlaw"! TD: Steve, that wasn't the "Outlaw"... SR: [interrupting] Anything -- anybody -- just don't let this masked moron into the Sweet Sixteen without so much as lifting a finger. Unbelievable. TD: I'm going to go up there and see if I can get a word from Requiem and the rest of Genesis. [Dross leaves the broadcast table, trying to dodge the flying sodas, balled-up cups and bits of paper being thrown into the ring, where Genesis remain in conference. Dross climbs the ringsteps, clutching a microphone, and enters the ring. The crowd hushes as he approaches Genesis, who united turn to face him.] TD: Well, gentlemen, the Highwayman has advanced into the Sweet Sixteen here tonight -- but no sign of his opponent. Did you have any idea that Nightwing was not here in the Manhattan Centre? [None of the Genesis members move to speak to Dross, save for Icehawk, but he is held in check by Fitz, who throws a sharp glance in his direction. Dross pauses.] TD: Highwayman, any comments? [Highwayman simply turns his back on Dross and leaves the ring to a huge heel pop, fans still pelting him with debris. Dross struggles to be heard above the jeers.] TD: Fitz... Icehawk... what about it? Where's Nightwing? [Icehawk looks to his partner, who gives the smallest shake of his head. The two men also leave the ring, and join the Highwayman in making their way up the aisle, the fans continuing to throw missiles at the three men. Dross is left alone in the ring with the huge Requiem, who stands and stares at the announcer.] TD: Requiem... is Nightwing still a part of Genesis? [No response.] TD: What does this mean for your group, for your prospects at Coronation Clash next week? [No response.] TD: Requiem, do you think Nightwing has seen the light? Do you think he has finally realised that getting ingratiated in your pack of dogs was a mistake? [Finally, Requiem stirs, his eyes flashing with fury as he grabs Dross by his lapels, quick as a flash. Hauling him off his feet, Requiem stares down wide-eyed at an alarmed Dross, who still clutches the microphone, which picks up just three words, spoken low, halting, the voice almost tangibly shaking with rage:] REQUIEM: Don't... push... me. [Requiem roughly lets Dross drop back to the canvas, and gives him a shove before turning away from the announcer and leaving the ring to a huge heel pop. Dross straightens his blazer and tie, and shakes his head before leaving the ring and returning to the broadcast position. Requiem, meanwhile, heads up the aisle without so much as looking at the hostile fans, who continue to throw objects after him, right up to the point at which he disappears out of sight behind the curtain leading to the locker room area. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts. SR: Hey, Dross, that big kahoona nearly cleaned your clock for you! Brings back fond memories of when that Venusian Death Cell put you in the hospital last summer. Ah, good times. TD: I hope the officials inflict a steep levy on Requiem for laying his hands on an announcer, Steve. I'm just trying to do my job. SR: Perhaps referring to his little gang as a "pack of dogs" wasn't the smartest thing in the world to do, buddy. TD: Requiem is a volatile competitor, Steve Roberts. I'm convinced that he knew perfectly well that Nightwing wasn't going to show up here tonight. This whole fiasco has been a charade -- but to what end? What are Genesis trying to prove? SR: I gave up caring about these guys long before they started throwing their hats at me, Dross. Breathe deep, and let it pass. TD: Well, there'll surely be fallout on this turn of events, folks. Be sure to call the hotline tomorrow night for an update on all of this as it develops. Right now, we must continue with more tournament action -- and what a match this promises to be, as Billy Shakespeare takes on Joe Petrow. These two men may not have a whole lot of history, but Shakespeare's alter ego, Spur, certainly gave Petrow a bit of a headache way back in March at Ring Wars III. SR: Great. Two schizoid nutbars in the same ring. This could be fun. TD: According to an "anonymous tip-off" -- which later turned out to be Spur -- a wrestler was suspected of smuggling controlled medication across the border from the States into Canada, and a full cavity body search was carried out on the suspect -- who was totally exonerated, and who turned out to be one "Sychosys" Joe Petrow. Petrow never got his hands on Spur, but he'll have the next best thing in the ring tonight when he goes up against Billy Shakespeare. What a match this promises to be. SR: Unless one of them doesn't turn up. TD: Let's get up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Coronation Clash Tournament First Round Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [GROUP B] "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare vs. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITERS: MG/JJ [Sparkplug Lee stands in the centre of the centre of the ring, grasping the ring microphone in his hand. He nervously clears his throat and then begins to speak...] SL: This match is scheduled for one fall, with no time limit, and is part of Group B of the IIWF Heavyweight Championship Tournament! Making his way to ringside, and weighing in at 230lbs, here is "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare! [The crowd emits a big pop as "Little Willie" begins to play and Billy Shakespeare makes his way to ringside.] TD: Billy Shakespeare certainly seems focused tonight, Steve Roberts. He's showing none of his usual extrovert behaviour as he makes his way down to the ring. He's down at ringside and -- wait a minute, why is he heading toward the Sychopaths? SR: Who knows why that kook does anything, Dross? Maybe he wants to give them a literacy lesson. Maybe "I come to praise Petrow, not bury him"? TD: Wait a minute, what is that Shakespeare is holding? Can we get a close-up on that? SR: It's Spur's mask! What's that loon playing at? [Billy Shakespeare grasps the Spur mask and hurls it casually at 3M, who catches it and, with a puzzled expression on his face, shows it to Joe Petrow. Petrow simply smiles knowingly, the black and white V-shaped facepaint casting the expression in a strangely sinister light] TD: Well, obviously there's some sort of symbolism at work here as Billy Shakespeare seemingly presenting Majestic Maurice McArthur with the "Spur" mask. SR: Maybe, but who cares? Can we just start this match so I can watch Petrow kick Pukespeare's butt? SL: And his opponent... [The crowd shushes, awaiting word from Sparkplug Lee...] SL: Weighing in at 227lbs and making his residence in Tokyo, Japan... here is "Sychosys" Joe Petrow!! [Petrow stands suddenly, the many buckles and straps on his huge grey trenchcoat jingling. A few Sychopaths take the cover off the huge cooler, revealing a large chunk of dry ice. As Shakespeare and the referee look on puzzledly, more Sychopaths pour their mooselips beer into the ice, creating a huge plume of dense white fog. As the Sychopath with a boombox plays Frankie Goes To Hollywood's "Relax," Petrow steps into the fog, becoming instantly obscured.] SR: Well, this is fun... Can't Petrow hurry up a bit? I wanna see Pukey suffer, and I have this problem with my attention span... [Petrow steps out of the fog, the huge trenchcoat gone, and walks arrogantly to ringside. McArthur accompanies him to ringside dressed in an outfit straight out of the "Godfather".] SR: [In false mobster accent] 'Ey, Pukespeare. You don' no show respect to Mr. Petrow, you're gonna sleep with da fishes, capice? TD: Has this match got underway yet? [Petrow steps into the ring, a smile upon his face, as 3M takes up position by Petrow's corner, the lights glinting off his sunglasses. The bell rings and the match gets underway...] TD: Petrow offering Shakespeare a collar-and-elbow, however Petrow ducks under and grabs Petrow in a waistlock. He's going for a belly-to-belly but Petrow blocks it! Petrow frees himself by hammering a big elbow into Billy's face, and now he's off and running! [As Shakespeare shakes his head to clear the pain Joe Petrow comes rebounding off the ring ropes, levelling Billy Shakespeare with a big knee lift.Shakespeare drops like a stone as Petrow rebounds off the opposing ropes and drops a leg across Shakespeare's throat... But Shakespeare is not there! Shakespeare rolls out of the way, and is quickly up! Big crowd pop! Petrow is quickly back on his feet, just in time for Shakespeare to drop him again with a standing dropkick. Big pop from the crowd, apart from the Sychopaths who are not at all happy] SR: Good move from Shakespeare. Wait... wait, what did I just say? Oh my god, No! Tell me I didn't... I can't believe I said that... [Petrow slides out of the ring, and goes over to converse with 3M. Maurice listens carefully, nodding in agreement] TD: I wonder what deviant plans Joe Petrow is up to this week, Steve Roberts? SR: I don't really care as long as it hurts Shakespear- Dross, why is McArthur staring at me like that? [3M has turned his attention away from the ring to stare fixedly at Steve Roberts, lowering his sunglasses to stare over the rim at Roberts] TD: I have no idea, Steve. Meanwhile, back in the ring Shakespeare is - Oh My Goodness! Shakespeare catapults himself over the ringropes to land solidly on Joe Petrow, knocking him to the floor! [Outside the ring Shakespeare pummels Petrow with a series of lightning quick fists. Petrow grabs Shakespeare, and starts punching back. A brawl ensues on the outside, both men rolling around and throwing blows.] SR: Why is he staring like that? Dross, McArthur is staring at me... TD: Steve, if you could pull your attention back to the match... Petrow is back to his feet, and he's got Petrow in a underarm headlock! JP: Friends, Romans, Shakespeare... Lend me your ears! TD: Joe Petrow is biting Shakespeare! SR: Hey, it's a "Tyson"! He's "tysoning" him! [Petrow tries to bite Shakespeare's ear, but Shakespeare manages to twist, avoiding an ear and headbutting Petrow! Big Pop! The referee was applying a count on the inside, but seeing Petrow's "Tyson" attempt quickly dives outside to try and split the two! JP: Aw, c'mon! I came to bury Shakespeare, not to graze him! SR: Hey! I did that joke! TD: Yes, but Joe Petrow did it so much better, Steve Roberts. [As Petrow is protesting with the referee Billy Shakespeare reaches up, and pushes Petrow into the ringpost! The referee barely gets out of the way as Petrow rushes headfirst into the steel post, rebounding off with a sickening "thwack"! Big pop!] TD: Joe Petrow being introduced to the ringpost at an early stage of the match, Steve Roberts! [Billy Shakespeare is able to easily roll Petrow into the ring, where he covers for the pin. The official counts one, Petrow easily kicking out just before the two count. Shakespeare quickly grabs an arm and applies an armbar, causing Petrow to roar with pain!] SR: Looks like Petrow's in trouble, Dross. I can't believe Punkspeare is givin' Petrow so much trouble. TD: Are you serious, Steve Roberts? Billy Shakespeare is one of the most gifted technical wrestlers in the IIWF, if not the world, today! SR: Maybe, but he's still a punk. [Petrow shifts over and grabs the ropes, forcing Billy Shakespeare to break the hold. Petrow is up instantly, though rubbing his arm to get the circulation back. Billy Shakespeare is on him in an instant, grabbing Petrow and setting him in position..] TD: Billy Shakespeare sets up to suplex Joe Petrow over the top rope, but Petrow blocks - No, Petrow reverses it! Joe Petrow sends Billy Shakespeare over the top rope to the mat outside! Shakespeare looks hurt, Steve Roberts! SR: 'Bout time, Dross. I thought Petrow was losing his touch. [In the ring Joe Petrow drops to one knee, whilst outside Billy Shakespeare seems dazed, clutching his shoulder.] TD: Oh, this is bad Steve Roberts. If Billy Shakespeare has damaged his shoulder he could be practically defenceless against Joe Petrow. SR: Tell it to someone who cares, Dross. [Both men are now back on their feet, Billy Shakespeare grabbing Joe Petrow's boots and yanking him under to the bottom rope to the ring outside. Big surprised pop!] SR: Well, that sure as hell's different for Pukespeare... Dross, McArthur's looking at me. I don't like it. What's he up to? This is Petrow's doing... TD: Don't worry about it, Steve Roberts. Concentrate on providing the play-by-play on this match. [Billy Shakespeare grabs Petrow and drives him head first into the ring steps. Petrow rebounds off and drops to the protective mats, stunned. Shakespeare grabs Petrow and pulls him further back from the ringsteps, before climbing first into the ring, then to the top turnbuckle...] TD: Oh, no! A flying fist all the way from the top rope to the ringside from Billy Shakespeare! Petrow is out! Petrow must be knocked out after a blow like that! [In the ring, the referee begins to lay on a ten count, which reaches five before Shakespeare is able to drag Petrow back into the ring.] SR: Hey, what's this punk doing coming down to ringside? [To the cheers of the crowd, Marty Warnett slowly walks down to ringside, taking a position by the aisle.] TD: I'm sure he's here to offer moral support to Billy Shakespeare, Steve. SR: Yeah, sure. Whatever. You know, a friend of mine offered me some "moral" support once... TD: [sigh] All right, Steve, let's get it over with... SR: Best weekend of my life. TD: You just keep getting stranger and stranger, don't you? I expect you'll be claiming to be the King of Persia next. SR: Nah, that's Lebec. [Shakespeare, who is on his feet, reaches down to pull Petrow off the mat, but Petrow rolls him up! Petrow yells "Now, Triple M!" and McArthur hurls something into the air to land beside Petrow. The official doesn't see it, as he's currently busy with a three count] SR: Hey, nice throwing. Shame it didn't land on Punkspeare's head, but I'd give it a 5.9. [Petrow grabs the object, and targets Shakespeare's head...] SR: Yeah! Smack him with it, Petrow! TD: He's not hitting him with it, Steve Roberts, he's putting it on him! SR: WHAT?! [The official's hand almost hits the mat a third time, but, inexplicably, Petrow releases Shakespeare! BIG puzzled pop from the crowd!] SR: What the hell is Petrow doing? [Shakespeare rolls on the mat, clasping his head between his hands, completely obscuring his face.] TD: Goodness, what on Earth has Petrow done to Shakespeare? What diabolical plan has Petrow come up with? No! It's -- SR: The Spur mask! Petrow has put the Spur mask on Shakespeare! [Shakespeare stands, revealing that he is now wearing the Spur mask. Petrow grins evilly, and advances with a shout, the camera picking up his words:] JP: I've waited four months for this, Spur! TD: What on earth is going on? Surely Joe Petrow cannot possibly believe he's now facing Spur in the ring? SR: Who's to say he isn't! Hey, that was an asspump! That had to hurt Spur, Dross! Oh, hey -- another one! Petrow's really aiming to neutralise one body part, Dross, and that's good wrestling! [In the ring Shakespeare clutches his rear end, as Petrow suddenly drops to all fours on the mat and appears to be...] TD: Good grief! Petrow is biting his... his... SR: His ass? [Shakespeare writhes as Petrow latches on like a bulldog, but that grip is soon broken as Shakespeare stomps on Petrow's hands. Petrow releases the hold and Shakespeare slams a big fist into Petrow's neck. Petrow drops, but lashes out, knocking Shakespeare's feet from under him. Shakespeare lands badly, his head impacting the mat.] TD: Petrow has a stunned Billy Shakespeare on the mat, and has rolled him onto his front... what is Petrow planning? SR: You mean Petrow has _Spur_ on the mat, Dross. TD: No, Steve Roberts! I mean Petrow has _Shakespeare_ on the mat and... Oh my goodness! [In the ring, Petrow has suddenly pulled a latex glove from his wrestling apparel, and has an evil grin on his face as he begins to pull it on] JP: You wanna know what a full body cavity search feels like, punk?! TD: He wouldn't! SR: Yes! Oh, yes! Shoot, Petrow, Shoot! Search that guy for concealed biscuits! [In the ring the referee is arguing with Joe Petrow, applying a ten count. Joe stands to get in the referee's face, arguing heatedly, Petrow's words clearly discernible on the ring mic:] JP: Why the hell not?! There's nothing in the rulebook against it! TD: This is beyond bizarre... this is... this is... SR: Pretty damn funny. Too bad the ref won't let Joe get away with it. [Unbeknownst to Petrow, as he has been arguing with the referee Shakespeare has been slowly getting to his feet behind him. Suddenly he lightly taps Petrow on the back, and as Petrow turns, applies an authoritative low blow with the aid of the knee. Big puzzled pop!] SR: Hey, Dross. Just out of interest, what's Spur's beef with Lebec? TD: None, Steve. It's Billy Shakespeare who has the problems with Sim... I can't believe this! You've got me doing it now. But why do you ask? SR: Because here comes Simon Lebec now... [The crowd booes loudly as Simon Lebec saunters idly down to ringside, a grim smile upon his face. Lebec blows a kiss to Shakespeare as he reaches the ring, "Spotlight" responding with a snapmare into a reverse chinlock of Petrow.  Lebec snarls at the apron -- and is then dropped with a thundering cross-body by Warnett who begins ripping away at the head and shoulders of "the Showstopper".  Warnett firing away to the roar of his fans with a ferocity that the Welshman rarely displays.] TD: The game has just picked up, Steve Roberts -- Marty Warnett is looking for a little "street justice" via the cranium of Simon Lebec... and look at him go! [Shakespeare has flung away the Spur mask, the odd piece of IIWF lore sent into the crowd where it is immediately descended upon by ravenous New Yorkers, who rip, tear and otherwise desecrate the now long-gone mask. Warnett and Lebec are on their feet, Warnett still pounding away at the host of the "Final Cut"... Warnett sends him hard with a whip to the retaining barrier -- and begins choking him out with his boot!  Big pop for Warnett as in the ring, Petrow has broken the hold and taken Shakespeare off his feet with a go-behind and an elevated hammerlock. Spotlight attempts a roll-through but Petrow moves too quickly -- releasing the hold -- bounding off the backropes and catching the unaware Shakespeare with a snapping back suplex into a bridge: 1 - 2 - NO! Kickout by Billy!] TD: Petrow has done his damage on the lower hindquarters, Steve Roberts, and now he's looking to put Shakespeare in a pinning predicament.  There he is again with another sharp snap suplex... and another nearfall.  Say what you want about Joe Petrow... SR: Nuttier than a sperm bank on double deposit day. TD: ...I didn't mean you could actually say anything you want, Steve Roberts.  People will start to take offense at your more, shall we say, "colorful" comments. SR: Oh.  I never looked at it that way before.  You're really turning me around here, Dross.  I'm gonna become a new Soundbite -- a better Soundbite -- a kinder, gentler, well, I'll say it, a more feminine Soundbite.  And I'll start now by throwing quarters at McArthur.  Hey, Petrow -- call someone who cares! [Roberts begins tossing change at the face of 3M, who continues to stare directly at him but is clearly unhappy as quarter after quarter bounces from his temple.  On the outside, Warnett's frenzy has not abated. Lebec is finally able to break free, scampering up the aisle -- but Warnett chases after him, first grabbing the ringbell from the timekeeper's table -- and literally "shotputting" it in the direction of Lebec -- Lebec dodges the blow and the two men disappear over the retaining barrier and into the crowd! Petrow backs Shakespeare to the corner with reverse knife edge chops, the "Sycopaths" now counting out  their approval as Petrow stands on a midbuckle and drives right hands to the face of the former Intercontinental Champion:  "1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 32... 793... 3.14159"] TD: Petrow's fans have maybe an overly unique take on the Arabic numeric system. SR: Should I make my geometry joke now, Dross -- or wait until one of those suck ass Luke Steele matches at the bottom of the card? [Petrow leaps out to the apron... looking to climb to the top rope... and Shakespeare meets him! Shakespeare meets Petrow at the top rope, the two men battling for supremacy, battling to see which man will go on to his chance at the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship... the crowd pops wildly!] TD: And it's Shakespeare!  It's Billy Shakespeare with the superplex! He's got the cover... [Shakespeare hooks a leg as the crowd roars its approval: 1 - 2 - NO! Petrow kicks out! Shakespeare hops away, leaping off the backrope into a flying, driving fist!  Pop and a cover: 1 - 2 - NO!  Petrow again with a kickout!  Shakespeare does not lament the failure, instead moving away, moving to the top rope... Shakespeare setting himself... taking a deep breath... leaping down... Huge face pop!] TD: Shakespeare with a frog splash!  Petrow is not moving at all! Billy's... Billy has got the cover!! [Shakespeare hooks a leg dramatically and the official counts: 1 - 2 - ] TD: NO! Petrow kicks out again! [Now Shakespeare, for the first time in this matchup, Billy Shakespeare looks a little discouraged; he slaps the mat in frustration as he stands, picking Petrow with him and driving him back with consecutive European uppercuts.  Shakespeare whips -- reverse -- Petrow waits as Shakespeare comes off the ropes, "Sychosys" dropping his head a split second too quickly... Shakespeare drops to his knees, looking for the chop to the throat.. But Petrow isn't there!  Petrow leaps over the kneeling Shakespeare's head, bouncing off the hooking Billy with his legs and bending him backward -- into a pinfall attempt! 1 - 2 - NO!  Shakespeare is able to kick out!  Billy scrambles toward Petrow... who backdrops him over the top rope!  Big Pop... but Shakespeare remains on his feet, landing on the apron and hopping to the top rope... and onto Petrow's shoulders for a hurricarana! NO!  NO!] TD: It's Petrow with a powerbomb!  Petrow counters Shakespeare with a powerbomb!  And now it's Petrow who's climbing to the top rope... I think, I think he's going for the starsault press, Steve Roberts! [Petrow's mocking tone is completely unapparent as he readies himself to leap toward the prone Shakespeare... the aisleside crowd pops as Warnett and Lebec reappear, spilling their brawl into the ring... and in front of Shakespeare!  Petrow's going to leap... but he realizes the commotion and pauses, maintaining control of the top rope as the official attempts to gain his own control of the situation... Warnett delivers a right hand that knocks Lebec over top of Shakespeare, Lebec falling onto, and then rolling over "Spotlight" as the official hops into the face of Warnett; Petrow, seizing the opportunity, leaps with a flat but powerul version of the starsault press -- Shakespeare easily spots it coming... but is kept from moving out of the way by Lebec!  Lebec holds Shakespeare in place -- and he takes the brunt of the blow! Lebec dives out of the ring... the official turns and sees the cover... 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Your winner, as a result of a pinfall... "Sychosys" Joe Petrow! [Sychopop from the crowd as Petrow rasies his hand in victory and gathers Maurice from the onslaught of small change with which he has been peppered by Roberts and the "L'il Soundbiters".  Warnett attempts to console Shakespeare -- who slaps his hand away! Big pop!  Shakespeare his risen and is now in Marty Warnett's face, thrusting an accusing finger at him!!] TD: Oh, a terrible disappointment for Billy Shakespeare as Joe Petrow advances to the Sweet Sixteen -- but why is he upset with Marty Warnett? SR: Why was Warnett in the ring to begin with, Dross?  He should have kept his girltalk with Lebon at their pajama party. Hey, Warnett, offer Shakespeare some s'mores. [Warnett is trying to explain that it is Lebec who aided in Billy's elimination -- Simon now giggling as he walks back up the aisle, yelling out, "one more... hey, sports fans, one more!"  Shakespeare is having none of it -- and takes a shove at Warnett!  Warnett responds with a right hand of his own... and the two men now are brawling in the center of the ring!  Marty Warnett and Billy Shakespeare are brawling in the middle of the ring, the officials quickly move to separate the two men and the crowd is roaring at the sight of these two fan favorites going at it.] TD: Well, it is Joe Petrow who will move on to Coronation Clash for a Sweet Sixteen matchup against Derek Mota.  But what will become of this, Steve Roberts?  I don't know if Billy Shakespeare was confused... or perhaps you are correct -- maybe he does blame Marty Warnett for taking the fight into the ring in the first place... maybe Marty Warnett is partially responsible for knocking Simon Lebec atop Shakespeare in the first place. SR: Aw, Dross, who cares.  I just like to see the pretty boys fight. It reminds everyone that the only thing that matters in the IIWF is winning: winning matches, winning titles and winning the souls of your drunken, mildly retarded, t-shirt buying fan base. Ain't that right, fan base? [The L'il Soundbiters yell out, oddly enough "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!" As the debris around the ringside area is cleared, cut back to the broadcast table.] TD: Brace yourself folks, this Saturday's main event is just moments     away, and what a fight we're gonna have on our hands for this one,     Steve Roberts. SR: Y'know, Dross, I'm really looking forward to this match, and I don't     say that too often. Chris Quigley versus Otto Verhoeven, one of the     classic rivalries of the IIWF. It's like Subway Psycho and Tiger     Claw, you always know that somehow, somewhere, they're gonna be     goin' at it for one more time! TD: Well, Chris Quigley and Otto Verhoeven both entered the IIWF at     around the same time, both were big stars even before their IIWF     careers, and there was plenty of pressure on them to establish a     reputation right from the beginning - it was only natural that such     an environment would breed a heated rivalry between the two. Ever     since those early days, Quigley and Verhoeven just kept getting     entwined in each others business. These are guys that just plain don't like each other, folks. SR: And that's why I'm gonna be more satisfied than the time I found     myself trapped in an elevator, with nothing but a case of Mooselips     beer and a dozen amazonian Swedish tourists for company, when     the "Butcher" turns Chris Kick-me into a fine, spreadable paste. TD: Erm... yes. Let's go down to Sparkplug Lee for the introductions. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Coronation Clash Tournament First Round Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [GROUP B] Chris Quigley vs. Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven ------------------------------------------------------------------------ WRITER: RD [The spotlight falls on centre ring, where Sparkplug Lee is treating the fans to his extensive array of biscuit impressions. The fans stare at Sparkplug blankly. He gives an embarassed cough and raises the mic to his lips.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen! The following contest is your main event for     the evening! [crowd pop] It is scheduled for one fall, and the     winner will advance in the Coronation Clash tournament! [crowd pop] [The camera cuts to the frenzied masses at ringside, among which a red-bearded giant of a man is sitting quietly, holding a pen poised on notepad, peering attentively at the ring.] SR: That man looks as if he can hold his liquor. TD: Very perceptive, Steve. RA: Introducing first, hailing from Essen, Germany and weighing in at     324lbs; he is a former IIWF Heavyweight champion of the World!     Feared across the globe as the "German Juggernaut", and the     "Teutonic Terror", give him a big welcome ladies and gentlemen, here     is Otto the "Butcher" Verhoeven! [The capacity crowd gives vent to deafening jeers as Otto Verhoeven appears at the head of the aisle, his sheer size and imposing physical presence silencing the fans closest at hand. Beads of moisture drip from Verhoeven's forehead and his face is strained with a look of extreme concentration, knowing full well the significance and formidable challenge of the bout ahead. Nurse Heidi follows closely in Verhoeven's footsteps as he heads down the aisle, drawing a few wolf whistles from the depths of the heaving masses.] SR: Look at the expression of focus and determination on the face of     Otto Verhoeven, Tim Dross. This man is capable of ending the career     of any wrestler in the world, and tonight that wrestler is Chris     Quigley. TD: He sure is one mean son of a gun, ain't he? But Chris Quigley is     the sort of man who can overcome the most challenging sort of     adversity, and he's withstood potentially career-ending injuries     many times in the past. [Otto climbs into the ring and paces around impatiently, twisting his head from side to side, loosening up the muscles in his neck.] RA: And his opponent! [cheers begin to build in the arena, drowning out     the announcer's voice] Hailing from Newfoundland, Canada and weighing in at 234lbs! He has held prestigious championships all over the wrestling world! He is one of the most popular athletes in sports today, and to wrestling fans he requires no introduction. Please give him a big welcome, here is "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! [Upon the mention of the name, the cheers reach a deafening decibel, drowning out the opening chords of the AC/DC classic "TNT". Chris Quigley heads down the aisle, dressed in his distinctive lightning bolt design attire. He absent-mindedly slaps the hands of a few fans, but mainly he is occupied with staring up at the ring, where lies in wait his nemesis, Otto the "Butcher" Verhoeven. A wary look is on Quigley's face, perhaps fearing some kind of trap, mixing with the nervous, concentrated intensity Quigley is feeling at this point.] SR: Look at his lips wobbling like a little girl, Tim Dross! Quigley is     running scared; the "Butcher" holds his career in the palm of his     hand and "Kickme" knows it! TD: Well, Otto Verhoeven is certainly a very intimidating man, Steve,     but I doubt Quigley is feeling anything more than the usual big bout     jitters. He's a courageous man, Steve Roberts; he's gone up against     huge guys like Tonnage and Deathbringer before without batting an     eyelid. [Quigley steps through the ropes, eyeing Verhoeven warily before climbing up onto the second turnbuckle and saluting the fans. Suddenly, Nurse Heidi scampers up to the ringpost and fiddles around with something attached to them. The fans look on in horror as fireworks shoot up from the ringposts, scattering a solid shower of sparks through the air, and right up into Chris Quigley's face! Quigley yells and topples from the buckles in surprise and pain, clutching at his face. Shocked gasps, mixed with deafening jeers resound from almost every fan in attendance!] TD: Oh my goodness! Did you see that, Steve Roberts? Nurse Heidi     triggered the ringside fireworks, and they exploded right in Chris     Quigley's face! I don't think I've ever seen such a heinous act in     all my years as a wrestling broadcaster! SR: Hey! Quigley shouldn't have been posing up there on the buckles like     a two dollar stipper! It's his own fault if Heidi brought him back     down to earth with a face full of sparks! TD: You have a twisted set of morals, Steve! This match will have to be     stopped immediately; there's no question about it! SR: Ha! You can't stop it before it's even started, Timmy boy! [Quigley staggers up to his feet, his arms outstretched in front of him, his eyes staring wildly, clearly unable to focus properly. A few burn marks besmirch his face. To the disbelief of all, the ref signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Good grief! What can the referee be thinking?! Quigley is clearly     unfit to continue, and Otto should be banned from the Clash tourney     altogethor! SR: Perhaps the ref feels that the fireworks incident occured outside of     his jurisdiction, considering it happened before the match actually     began. TD: But his job is to protect the safety and welfare of the competitors! SR: Rubbish. His job is to make sure we all get to see a fight no     matter what the extenuating circumstances. [Otto Verhoeven immediately makes a lunge for the blindly groping Chris Quigley. He siezes hold of Quigley's throat with one meaty handy, lifting him up into the air with frightening ease. The fans hold their breath. With one sweeping movement, in an awe-inspiring demonstration of raw power, Otto Verhoeven brings Quigley crashing down over his knee with his devestating chokeslam/back-breaker combination!] SR: Slaughterslam! This is it, "Kickme" is finished in the Coronation     Clash! TD: Look at Quigley's limp and lifeless body! What a horrible     miscarriage of justice! [The fans gasp with surprise and horror as Verhoeven makes the cover on the crushed carcass of Chris Quigley! The ref makes the count: 1 - 2 - 3! No! Quigley gets a shoulder up just as the ref's hand strikes the mat for the third time! The fans hold their breath once again. The ref pauses - then signals for the match to continue, perhaps averting a near riot. The fans let out a sigh of relief and then settle in dead silence, stunned both by this quick turn of shocking events, and the resilency of Chris Quigley in kicking out after the Slaughterslam.] TD: Ubelievable, Steve Roberts! Chris Quigley has managed to defy the     odds once again! SR: Save the enthusiasm for later, Dross. Quigley might have escaped the     frying pan, but he's already roasting away in the fire. Verhoeven     will disect "Kickme" with ease in his present condition. [Verhoeven wears a look of surprise on his face over the staying power of Chris Quigley, but he doesn't allow it to faze him greatly, and goes straight to work. He drags Quigley up to his feet, and lays in two meaty shots to the mid-section, knocking the breath out of "Quickstrike". Otto props the staggering Quigley up against the ropes, and begins to lay in shots to the head unopposed. Quigley doesn't even appear to know where the blows are coming from, let alone offer any defence. Otto continues to throw thunderous punches into Quigley's head, utilising his experience as a top contending boxer to simply pummel the smaller man into a pulp. Before long, the crowd begin to jeer Verhoeven's brutal brawling, but he refuses to let up until Quigley is barely hanging onto the second rope, half-way out of the ring and semi-conscious, upon which Verhoeven changes tactics and begins to drive ferocious stomps into Quigley's chest. Quigley loses his grip and falls through the ropes, crumpling into a heap on the arena floor. Verhoeven pumps his fists to the air.] SR: This is great! Verhoeven is just beating the hell out Quigley, and     he's enjoying it! This is the best Saturday night I've had since I     drunk two bottles of Kessler's whiskey, and snuck into Mont Blanc's     Catholic Boarding School For Girls wearing nothing but a pirate hat     and a stuffed parrot stapled to my left shoulder! TD: Never mind that, Chris Quigley is stirring outside the ring - he     just will not call it quits! [Quigley clambers up to his feet painfully, the fans cheering in support, though somewhat subdued, as if they do not really believe in Chris Quigley's chances of recovery. Quigley gropes about, his eye sight obviously not recovered, finally managing to climb back into the ring, Otto looking on in amusement. Quigley lunges straight at the big German, swinging wild punches, but quite unable to focus his vision, and his fists are wide off the mark. Otto Verhoeven guffaws and begins to mimmick Quigley's stumbling about, drawing loud jeers from some members of the audience. Others simply remain silent, concerned about Quigley's apparent helplessness.] TD: This is absolutely disgusting! Such a sick spectacle should not be     permitted to continue any further! Get Steve Owens down here to     bring this match to a conclusion! SR: Come on now, Dross! You don't wanna deprive all the fans who paid     to get in here of their entertainment do ya'? [Otto quits the foolery and charges straight in at Quigley with a clothesline, slamming his big, meaty arm into Quigley's chest and cutting him down to the canvas. Quigley didn't even see it coming. Verhoeven leaps into the air and brings his considerable bulk crashing down on the fallen fan favourite with an elbowdrop. The "Butcher" goes for the cover: 1 - Verhoeven pulls Quigley up for further punishment! He hauls Quigley up, over his head in a gorilla press! Barely straining under the effort, Verhoeven walks around the ring, a sadistic grin on his face, retaining Quigley pressed over head all the while. Finally, Verhoeven gives a mighty heave and hurls Quigley bodilly into the corner! Quigley hits the turnbuckles hard, twisting his back awkwardly, and giving a grimace of pain. Verhoeven snorts like a bull and comes charging into the corner, looking to finish Quigley with a crushing avalanche. Relying more on his instincts than his damaged vision, Quigley drops and rolls out of the corner, Verhoeven charging straight over him and slamming hard into the turnbuckles! The whole ring shudders from the impact! The fans begin to cheer afresh, seeing a desperate glimmer of hope for Chris Quigley!] TD: Unbelievable, folks! Desperation has been the tone of the match for     Chris Quigley until this very movement! His desperation has bought     him a faint chance to turn this match around, and now he must     capitalise on it! Can Chris Quigley do it?! Does he possess that     extra ounce of determination necessary to advance to the second     round of the Coronation Clash?! SR: I don't _think_ so, Timmy boy! He can't see a damn thing! Everything     is just a big blur to Chris Quigley! Otto will crush this punk and     go on to win the heavyweight championship again in front of the     whole world! Whooo! [Quigley staggers up to his feet, blindly groping for Otto Verhoeven - and siezes hold of the referee! The fans pop in shock as Quigley tucks the referee's head under his arm in preperation for a DDT!] TD: Oh my goodness! Quigley has mistaken the referee for Otto Verhoeven!     If he executes this DDT he'll be disqualified for sure! SR: I told you, Timmy boy! I told you Quigley can't see a damn thing!     Maybe he'll be blinded permanently, and we'll never have to watch a     Quigley match ever again! Whooo! [The fans shout warnings to Chris Quigley, and he pauses, dazed from the punishment he has taken, unsure what to do. He grabs the ref's shirt, and feeling that it is obviously not Otto Verhoeven's wrestling attire, pushes the trembling official aside. Otto comes out of the corner in a black rage. Snarling, he clinches his hand around Quigley's throat once again, heaving him up into the air, only to bring him crashing down to the mat in a devestating chokeslam! The fans gasp in shock, but the "Butcher" is not done yet. Still retaining his grip on Quigley's throat, Verhoeven heaves him up once again. The fans look on in horror as Verhoeven brings Quigley crashing down with a second punishing chokeslam! Quigley's body shudders and goes still. Verhoeven gives a sadistic snarl, and lifts Quigley up by the throat for a third time.] TD: Oh my goodness, I can hardly bare to watch! Surely a third chokeslam     is pure overkill! Have some mercy, Otto Verhoeven! SR: Otto doesn't just wanna win this match, he wants to put Quigley out     for good! He represents the views of every damn wrestler, fan and     announcer in the wrestling world - he hates Chris Quigley with a     violent passion and now he's gonna crush him completely and utterly!     Slam Chris Quigley, Otto! Slam the stuffing out of him! [The fans turn away in disgust as Verhoeven slams Quigley into the mat for the third and final time, every bone in the fan favourite's body rattled to the core, completely devoid of life. Even Nurse Heidi looks a little perturbed by the brutality of her fiance at this point. Finally, Otto goes for the cover, a look of triumph smouldering on his face. Reluctantly, the ref puts on the count: 1 - 2 - 3! Quigley slips his foot on the ropes just before the third count! The crowd collectively leap to their feet and give vent to a deafening roar, overcome with excitement and disbelief!] TD: Good grief!... Good grief! I'm simply at a loss for words, Steve     Roberts! Chris Quigley is still in the bout! Three chokeslams and     he's still a living, breathing man! Ab-so-lute-ly unbelievable! SR: I'm speechless, Dross. It's... it's just too much to take! TD: Even the "Soundbite" has been silenced, folks! Even the "Soundbite"! [Otto Verhoeven gets up to his feet, staring down at Chris Quigley in utter disbelief. He is so shocked, so utterly flabbergasted that Quigley has survived the three crushing chokeslams, that he simply gapes with his mouth hanging open. Chris Quigley remains exactly in the same position, utterly motionless, his foot barely balanced over the bottom rope, the only evidence that he is still alive at all. Nurse Heidi yells from ringside, snapping Verhoeven out of his stupor, and rousing him to action. At this point, Duncan Macbeth, barely noticed by the fans, their eyes glued to the ring, walks down the aisle and takes an empty seat next to the big red-bearded man seen earlier, who is scribbling away on his notepad. Otto's expression of surprise is replaced with one of grim resolution, slowly he runs to the ropes, but with accelerating momentum. He bounds off the strands, and comes charging towards Chris Quigley like an army of rhinoceri. He leaps, up into the air, his entire bulk aimed at pasting Chris Quigley to the mat with a big splash! The fans watch breathless as Verhoeven comes crashing down, and... Quigley rolls aside!] TD: [almost drowned out by the cheers of the fans] He got out of the     way! Good Lord! Otto Verhoeven is laid out on the canvas! The     breath has been knocked out of the "Butcher"! SR: Damn and blast! Hey, here comes Marty Warnett! He looks like Robert     DeNiro in "Taxi Driver" with that haircut. Pull out your piece and start peelin' off caps, Marty! [Marty Warnett heads down the aisle and takes a ringside seat, and like Macbeth, he is barely acknowledged by the fans, whose attentions are rivetted to this titanic main event. Otto Verhoeven is face down on the canvas, clutching his mid-section, stunned and winded, unable to get up from the mat. As the fans roar with approval, Chris Quigley slowly makes it up to his knees. He rubs his eyes, and looks down at the fallen behemoth across from him. Some of the focus returns to Quigley's eyes. His expression begins to take on its old colour of determination, and smoulders with an inner fire.] TD: Chris Quigley is starting to get his vision back, Steve Roberts, and     it couldn't have happened at a more opportune moment! Verhoeven is     completely stunned from slamming his gut into the ma! This match is     finally turning around in Quigley's favour! SR: Stuff it all to hell, Tim Dross! Everything is falling apart!     "Kickme's" eyes aren't permanantly damaged at all, and now the     "Butcher" is starting to get all out of breath on me! Damn, damn,     [extended BLEEP!] TD: That'll keep the seven second delay guys on their toes. SR: Well, hell! Those bums have gotta earn their pay somehow, sitting     around for all the big matches, occasionally pressing a button! [Quigley gets to his feet, his vision still a little blurry, but obviously much improved. Verhoeven begins to rise also, and Quigley makes a lunge at him, stunning the crowd by opting to whale at him with his fists! Otto stumbles backwards in surprise, as Quigley drives hard combinations into his head!] TD: Quigley is brawling with the "Butcher"! What a rash and unexpected     strategy! SR: What an idiot! His head must be fuzzy from all the punishment he's     taken! Otto Verhoeven was voted by his peers as the best brawler in the world! There's no way Quigley has the power to trade shots with a guy who almost became boxing's world champion! [Quigley delivers a blow, clearly below the belt, but the ref lets it go. As Verhoeven clutches his groin and groans in agony, Quigley whirls around and belts him on the chin with a well-delivered superkick! Verhoeven falls backwards, but catches his fall on the ropes, almost going over the top, teetering to regain his balance. Quigley runs to the opposite strands, bounds off, and leaps at Verhoeven with a flying clothesline! The fans pop as Quigley's arm collides with Verhoeven's throat, flipping the german right over the top rope, Quigley going with him from the tremendous velocity. Verhoeven lands hard on the arena floor, Quigley on top of him, using his foes body to absorb the impact of his own flight over the ropes. Quigley rights his balance and immediately begins raining in right hands to the head of the "Butcher", much to the approval of the ringside fans! Quigley gets to his feet and makes a grab for a steel chair, shooting Marty Warnett a dirty look. He folds the chair up, and cracks it across the head of Verhoeven as he attempts to get to his feet, knocking the German flat!] SR: What a blatant cheater! At least Otto Verhoeven is a bit more subtle     when he breaks the rules, Chris Quigley does it right in front of     everybody! I can't believe the fans cheer for this man! TD: Chris Quigley is merely fighting fire with fire, Steve. He's had the     odds against him the whole match long, and now he's evening them up     a little. Besides, I think the fans cheer "Quickstrike" because he has some respect for them, unlike the arrogant Otto Verhoeven. [Quigley swings the chair a second time, this time striking Verhoeven across the back with a crack that resounds through-out the arena! Quigley throws the chair aside, and climbs back into the ring, dragging Otto Verhoeven along with him by the hair. Quigley whips Verhoeven to the ropes, and as he rebounds, executes a flawless frankensteiner, snapping Verhoeven's head right off the canvas! The fans cheer loudly for the exciting maneuver! Quigley goes for the cover: 1 - 2 - Verhoeven manages to kick out to a dissapointed gasp from the crowd. Both men spring to their feet. Verhoeven makes a lunge, but Quigley slips behind him and clinches his arms around the big man's midsection, hoisting him up with some effort into a German suplex! Quigley dumps his foe into the canvas and makes the bridge: 1 - 2 - Verhoeven manages to roll out of it!] TD: Quigley is on a roll, he's... SR: [interrupting] But look at the resiliency of Otto Verhoeven, Timbo!     You keep reminding everybody about Chris Quigley's stamina, but the     "Butcher" is lasting the distance himself! TD: It remains to be seen whether Otto Verhoeven can keep up the pace up     for much longer. He's got a lot of weight to carry around, and he     usually likes to go for quick, immensely devestating victories. Chris Quigley can wrestle all night when he wants to, but the "Butcher's" stamina has a big question hanging mark over it. [Both men spring to their feet once again, and Verhoeven is the aggressor with a big right cross. Quigley catches Otto's arm however, and immediately twists it into a fujinami armbar! The fans pop in recognition of the exceptionally painful hold, the one that forced Dan Kauffman to submit in his final IIWF match. Verhoeven's face immediately contorts in agony, but the grapplers are fairly close to the ropes, and with his long reach, Verhoeven is easilly able to extend his arm and grab the top rope with a firm grasp. The ref orders Quigley to release the hold, and he reluctantly agrees. Verhoeven immediately thrusts his open palm into Quigley's face, the big meaty paw palming Quigley's entire visage, and shoves him hard. The impact of the shove causes Quigley to fly roughly into the corner! Verhoeven rashly charges in with a big elbow, but Quigley agiley ducks aside, and Verhoeven jars his elbow painfully on the top buckle. Quigley quickly wraps his arms around Verhoeven's head and bulldogs him right into the canvas! Quigley with the cover: 1 - Otto escapes by heaving the fan favourite bodilly off his chest, sending "Quickstrike" reeling across the ring! Big pop from the crowd!] TD: Quigley is clearly outwrestling Verhoeven at this point, but his     technical expertise seems to be having little lasting impact on the     "German Juggernaut". SR: Otto is simply too big and tough for this little punk to hurt him.     The "Butcher" just demonstrated his phenomenal power once again in     getting out of that pinning predicament, and all it will take is one     more big slam to put Quigley away with the fairies. [Verhoeven gets straight to his feet and closes in on the off-balance Chris Quigley. He clinches his arms around Quigley's mid-section, and blasts him with a thunderous belly-to-belly, sandwiching Quigley between the mat and his own crushing bulk. Otto hooks the leg for the pin: 1 - 2 - Quigley kicks out to a pop from the fans! Verhoeven drags his mortal foe up, and lifts him in preperation for a piledriver. Quigley claps his legs togethor around Verhoeven's head, however, causing the big man to drop him and stagger back.] TD: Look! Simon Lebec is on his way to the ring! SR: What the hell is this? All these free-loading wrestlers should damn     well pay for ringside tickets like everybody else! Who do they     think they are, huh? TD: I don't think Lebec is here to catch the action, Steve, I think he     wants to get _in_ on the action! [Quigley launches himself at Verhoeven and the two begin trading shots, the smaller Quigley getting the worst of the exchange. Suddenly, Billy Shakespeare appears at the head of the aisle, and makes a beeline for Simon Lebec! He rushes up and ambushes the "Showstopper" from behind, clotheslining him down to the arena floor as the fans pop in surprise! Shakespeare drags up Lebec and smashes him face-first into the steel barriers, with a clang that resounds through-out the arena! Marty Warnett notices his rivals rumbling, and immediately wades into the fray with a mean look on his face, a look that is accentuated by his mohawkish haircut. Warnett starts to lay the shots into his hated foe, Simon Lebec, and together Shakespeare and the "Party Maniac" begin to administer a brutal beating to the "Showstopper"!] TD: Chaos has exploded outside the ring, and I wonder if we'll get to     witness a clean result to the match at this point! SR: Damn! I can't keep my eyes on Verhoeven beating up Quigley and the     brawl in the aisle at the same time. The "Soundbite" demands     peripheral vision! TD: I can't give you that, Steve, but I can offer you a biscuit. SR: That'll do nicely thanks, Timbo. [In the ring, Verhoeven has knocked out Quigley with a tremendous right uppercut, and is going for the pin: 1 - 2 - Quigley kicks out to the relief of the fans! In the aisle, Shakespeare is holding Lebec fast from behind, so that Warnett can get a good, solid shot in. Warnett winds up, throws the punch, and Lebec ducks aside! The fans pop in surprise as Warnett misfires and belts Billy Shakespeare hard in the mouth, bloodying his lip! Shaking with rage, the "Spotlight" hauls back and punches Marty Warnett right back! The two are soon embroiled in a wild brawl, and Simon Lebec takes the opportunity to slip away and advance on the ring. He reaches into his trunks and pulls out a bag of nickels n' dimes. Nurse Heidi cottens on to what's going on, and immediately leaps up onto the apron, draping her leg suggestively over the ropes, flashing plenty of thigh to the referee. The official drops his jaw and is momentarilly transfixed by the gorgeous Nurse Heidi. Lebec dives between the ropes, pounds the bag of coins into the back of Chris Quigley's head, and quickly slips out of the ring on the opposite side. Quigley drops face down to the canvas like he took a bullet in the skull.] TD: No! Such a hard-fought match can't end in such a way! I'm disgusted     with the level of outside interference permitted to go unpunished in     this federation! SR: What!? What happened? I was busy watching Billy Shakespeare use     Marty Warnett's head to dent the ring steps into new and interesting     shapes. [Otto Verhoeven rolls Chris Quigley over and covers him, as Nurse Heidi slips nimbly off the apron. The referee turns back to the action, and makes the count: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! The fans erupt with a chorus of disapproval! Otto Verhoeven raises his fists to the air and drinks in the crowd heat, noting the chaos at ringside. He bails from the ring, but remains nearby, watching the colossal brawl with amusement. Billy Shakespeare has caught Simon Lebec with a stray shot as he attempts to slip away from the ring, and the "Showstopper" shoves him hard, mouthing "What the [BLEEP] do ya' think you're doin'?" Warnett takes the opportunity to blast Warnett with an enzuigiri from behind, dropping him to the floor.] TD: What a dissapointment this result will be for this courageous     fighter, Chris Quigley. He overcame the odds and fought with true     grit and spirit, yet it was all for naught through the callous     actions of one Simon Lebec. Quigey's single-minded goal in life is     to reach the pinnacle, to win the IIWF World heavyweight     championship, and once again, that chance has been ripped away from     his grasp. SR: Yeah, pretty funny 'aint it? Who cares about that now though, check     out this chaos at ringside! [Marty Warnett drives a knee into Billy Shakespeare's mid-section, while Simon Lebec uses Warnett's mohawk as a grip as he slams his fist repeatedly into the "Party Maniac's" nose. Suddenly, Duncan Macbeth, his presence at ringside forgotten in all the excitement, leans over the barrier and begins to yell at Otto Verhoeven! "Yer nowt but Byron's nanny, ya' Teutonic tosser!" he taunts. Verhoeven turns and looks at him, half in surprise, half in annoyance. In the ring, Chris Quigley is coming around, and he gets up to his feet, clutching the lump on the back of his head, staring wildly around ringside, not quite sure what has happened. Suddenly, he claps eyes on Warnett, Shakespeare and Lebec brawling with each other, and he knows that at some point, in some way, one of these men has cost him the match. An expression of abject dissapointment crosses Quigley's face, an expression that ia soon transformed to one of black rage. Quigley launches himself over the top rope and dives onto the three brawling men below, sending them all sprawling on the arena floor like bowling pins!] SR: Oh! Chrissie Kickme is all pissed off; scary, scary! TD: Well, he has a good enough reason for it, but I'm wondering just     when in heck the security team is gonna get down here and clear     ringside of these hooligans. [Quigley gets atop Warnett and starts reddening his forehead with repeated right hands! He switches positions and gets atop Simon Lebec, slamming the "Showstopper's" head repeatedly into the arena floor! Billy Shakespeare gets up and drags Quigley off, only to turn him around and send him sprawling with a left hook himself! Duncan Macbeth continues to taunt Verhoeven, "Yer a right nancy boy, Otto Verhoeven, a big girl's blouse!" Verhoeven looks outraged, and siezes hold of Macbeth, dragging the feisty Scot over the crowd barriers! A squadron of security guards begins to rush down the aisle! Immediately, the red-bearded man vaults the barriers and interjects himself between Macbeth and Verhoeven. He grabs a hold of Otto's singlet, and plants a stout headbutt in centre of the german's face! Otto goes reeling backwards. The red-beard grabs ahold of Duncan Macbeth's collar, and shakes him, yelling something that cannot be picked up by the sound mics.] TD: What did he just say? SR: I think he said: "Och I in the noog, ya wee sessanitch!" TD: Thanks for clearing that up for me, Steve. [The red-beard begins to herd Macbeth up the aisle, who seems curiously subdued. Otto Verhoeven lunges after them, but security quickly surround him and block the big german off. Meanwhile, further security men pour into the arena and descend on ringside, working at seperating Chris Quigley, Simon LeBec, Marty Warnett and Billy Shakespeare, who are still locked in a vicious, clawing, kicking, biting four-way brawl.] TD: We've got to get some order restored here... SR: Dang! I wanna sit here a while and watch this brawl. [The camera pans out over the ring, showing a scene of unparalled mayhem. Ringside tables and chairs are scattered everywhere; Otto Verhoeven is tossing security guards aside like ragdolls, although there always seems to be a fresh man there to get in his path, eventually he disappears from sight beneath a pile of white-uniformed security guards. Four seperate teams are keeping Chris Quigley, Simon Lebec, Marty Warnett and Billy Shakespeare apart, who continue to yell furious insults at one another and struggle to break free. A few fanatic Steve Kowalksi fans, enthused by the brawl, attempt to climb the barriers and luanch themselves into the fray, but are pushed back by security. Eventually, the area is cleared. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, another absolutely wild night here in the IIWF.  Chris Quigley is _out_ of the Coronation Clash Tournament -- and you have to know that he is a very disappointed young man right now. SR: Hah!  Cry me a river, Dross.  I've said it before and I will say it again -- Chris Quigley will never be IIWF Champion -- he just ain't good enough! TD: Well, we now have our field set, sixteen men who will hook it up only one week from now, folks... one week from now, so if you have not done so -- call your local cable company today! [There is a commotion in the aisle, and fans who were making their ways to the exit now begin milling back toward their seats as a vaguely familiar figure is walking toward the ring.] TD: Well, this is unexpected, folks -- we're going to ask our affiliates for a little extra time tonight, just a little more time -- because that is IIWF President Daniel Spreadbury!  President Spreadbury who has been, well, completely out of touch in some two months is here in New York, and he apparently has an announcement to make. SR: I think he's gonna quit permanently, Dross.  Turn over the reigns to somebody younger, fresher -- someone who can do an asai moonsault. [Spreadbury stands in the ring and surveys the crowd, now buzzing as they anticipate the announcement from the missing IIWF President.] DS: Good evening, everyone.  I trust you have all enjoyed all the action here tonight -- and during this entire Coronation Clash Crusade Tour! [Pop from the capacity crowd.] DS: On behalf of everyone in the IIWF, we would like to thank all of the great fans across the United States and Mexico for their hospitality. If you will bear with me for just a moment, I have a few announcements that I would like to make. SR: He's gonna quit... he's gone, Dross!  He's gone! DS: First of all, effectively immediately, I am returning to full-time duties as President of the IIWF. [Small pop for the President, who offers a tight smile in response.] SR: Or not... whatever. DS: I would like to thank Steve Owens for ably serving in my stead -- and for his long tenure as IIWF Vice-President.  However, due to circumstances that do not need to be explored in this forum, Mr. Owens will not be continuing on as Vice-President, and is no longer affiliated with the IIWF. [Surprised murmur from the crowd.] TD: Oh my!  Well, this is an interesting turn of events. SR: He's out!  Owens is out, Dross!  Adios, baby... hit the bricks... peddle your papers someplace else, Chester! DS: Yes, well.  All right.  Now, given the events of this evening, there have been some additions to the big Coronation Clash spectacular which will take place at the Fleet Center in Boston next Saturday Night. If you'll look with me to the video wall, I will now read the _complete_ lineup for what we hope is among the finest IIWF pays-per-views in its history. [The houselights dim and the video wall reads:]                IIWF CORONATION CLASH                          JULY 12, 1997                   Boston, Massachusetts  [As President Dan continues, the announced matches appear upon the video wall, accompanied by a brief highlight of the competitors.] DS: First of all, we have signed tonight a Tag Team Triangle Match to take place at the Free For All. Two former World Tag Team Champions, the DARK DISCIPLES and PAIN INC., will meet once more -- and the third team in that matchup will be... Casey James and Tiger Claw:  THE SYNDICATE! [Big pop from the crowd... and a "Black-heart! Black-heart!" chant rises from a number of the fans.] DS: Now, the inclusion of the Dark Disciples in that triangle match necessitates a change in the Coronation Clash card.  Originally, Kane and Wulf were to have met the Hollywood Bloods, with the winners of that match receiving a shot at the World Tag Team titles on July 26, when IIWF Saturday Night returns. However, the Dark Disciples have relinquished that opportunity to participate in the Free For All Matchup.  Replacing them in the matchup against the HOLLYWOOD BLOODS will be the highest ranked available tag team... THE LAST RESORT! [Pop from the crowd... and the sound of a young man screaming, "Yippee!" is clearly heard across the dressing room.] DS: We have signed an additional matchup based on events of recent weeks.  It will be a Falls Count Anywhere Four Way Dance, featuring a number of the most talented superstars in the IIWF:  SIMON LEBEC, MARTY WARNETT, BILLY SHAKESPEARE and CHRIS QUIGLEY! [Big Pop from the crowd!] DS: Of course, we have two previously announced matches -- both of which will be IIWF championship encounters. The IIWF Tag Team Champions, the PROPHETS OF RAGE, will defend their belts against COLD SPELL! And, as the first half of our enormous double main event, the IIWF Intercontinental Championsip will be on the line as LORD BYRON takes on the red-gloved rookie CREED!!  [Huge pop from the crowd, much of which begins chanting "Pay-Back! Pay-Back! Pay-Back!" as the video wall glows crimson:]                 CREED/BYRON III              LOSER. LEAVES. TOWN. [The shot returns to President Dan in the ring:] DS: Finally, we of course have the Coronation Clash Tournament.  What began as thirty-two men in Cleveland has been whittled down to sixteen IIWF superstars who will go on to the Fleet Center next week. One man and one man alone is guaranteed to survive through four brutal matches on that one night and will stand in the ring alone as the IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION!! [Enormous pop as the crowd begins yelling the names of their respective favorites.] DS: Here are all of the matchups for the "Sweet Sixteen": In Group D, REQUIEM will meet LUKE STEELE and RONNIE PARIS will battle the HIGHWAYMAN! In Group C, BRODY THUNDER matches up against SERGE ANNIS and DEATHBRINGER will meet TONY STARKS! In Group B, DUNCAN MACBETH takes on OTTO VERHOEVEN and JOE PETROW meets DEREK MOTA! Finally, in Group A you will see MAD DOG WATKINS take on THE ENIGMA and IKE SAMPSON will meet... [President Spreadbury stops, and then with the hint of a smile crossing hif face continues.] DS: Earlier this evening, Brian Lau announced that the Syndicate was transferring its spot in the Coronation Clash tournament to "Dangerous" Danny Dynamite. Well, we have partially recognized the legitimacy of that transfer, so Danny Dynamite is now _officially_ placed in the field of 32 Coronation Clash entrants.  However, the IIWF is a fighting organization -- and in order for Mr. Dynamite to advance on to the "Sweet Sixteen" -- he will have to go through the process in the same fashion as the other fifteen entrants... he must defeat an IIWF superstar... and he must do so tonight! [Huge pop from the crowd as Danny Dynamite makes his way down the aisle and into the ring, pointing an accusing finger at President Spreadbury and taking the microphone.] 3D: Okay, you want to screw with Danny Dynamite?  Fine.  You go ahead and bring out whoever you got back there... you bring out the Gecko or Nightwing or The Smooth or whatever punk you got hidin' in the back... and I'll show him just how "Dangerous" Danny Dynamite can be! [The hopped up New York crowd now is completely on its feet, each neck craning toward the aisle as they wonder as to who this "mystery entrant" will be, as to which man will make his way to the ring to fight for the right to become IIWF Heavyweight Champion. There is a pause. And then there is a scream. And then "Don't Fear The Reaper" kicks in loudly over the P.A. system!] TD: It's... it's... it's STEVE "THE FURY" KOWALSKI!  STEVE KOWALSKI IS IN THE HOUSE! [The Manhattan Center goes absolutely apoplectic as the familiar Harley Davison jacket is seen in the aisle... and Steve "The Fury" Kowalski begins his way down the aisle.  Kowalski has a three-day growth of nasty stubble and is smoking an enormous Cuban cigar as he steps through the ropes and accepts the applause, tossing his cigar in the face of the completely stupefied Dyamite and then shows him his t-shirt, which has a picture of the Players' Club combination of Dynamite, Michael Reyna and Dan Kauffman and the words "Fury Gonna Kick My Ass!" Dynamite takes a swipe at Kowalski as official Big Joey Patrick hops into the ring, the Fury sits on the midrope, smirking as he allows President Spreadbury leave to depart the ring and head back up the aisle.] TD: I am absolutely shocked, we have not seen this man... not seen Steve Kowalski in some two months since his suspension following the wild "Audience Participation" match against Joe Petrow at Birthday Bash.  And I understand... we are told that this is for real -- folks, hang with us just a little longer tonight because Steve Kowalski is about to fight Danny Dynamite for the right to go to Coronation Clash!  Steve Roberts... Steve Roberts -- get down from the table! [Soundbite has leapt atop the announce table and is leading his L'il Soundbiters in a rousingly drunken rendition of "Don't Fear the Reaper."] SR: Whoooooo!  There you go, baby dolls!  That's the man, right here -- Steve Kowalski!  I'm changin' my pick, Dross... I'm changing my pick -- you are looking at the next IIWF Heavyweight Champion!  You go, Fury! It's your birth-day!  It's your birth-day!  Whoooooooo!! [Ding! Ding! Ding! Patrick waves the two men together and the clearly frustrated Dynamite leaps toward Kowalski, charging at him with a fast series of knife edges and an irish whip -- reverse -- and 3D takes the big boot to the jaw on the pass!  Big Pop!  Kowalski picks Dynamite up, whipping him nearside into a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker that brings his fans to their feet in a roar for the New Jersey boy Kowalski. The Fury is all over Dynamite now, smacking at his face with open palmed shots... then lifting him up into a military press and dropping him with disdain behind his head.  Kowalski recognizes the enormous roar "FU-RY! FU-RY!" that sweeps across the arena and with a grin seeping across his face yells out to the camera, "Ain't I a pistol?"] TD: Steve Kowalski has returned home, Steve Roberts... and his popularity knows no bounds here! SR: Whaddya mean, "here"?  The Fury is one ass kicking son of a gun and he is back... oh thank you, thank you... back with the IIWF -- and he is about to put this punk Dynamite away! [Kowalski walks back over to Dynamite, picking him up slowly -- but 3D is there with a blow to the midsection.  Dynamite fires out with right hands to the head and then whips Kowalski into a swinging neckbreaker for a 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Kickout by Kowalski! The Fury is up and down with a Dynamite dropkick... the Fury is up and again -- down by a Dynamite dropkick!  Dynamite works quickly, climbing to the top rope and leaping with a super spinning heel kick... Big Pop!] TD: Oh -- that was not good... Steve Kowalski catches Danny Dynamite with a shot to the "lower midsection" of the high flyer as he came off those ropes.  This is not good at all, Steve Roberts! [Kowalski smirks, shrugging his shoulders and then pounds sharply at Dynamite... driving him into the canvas before picking him to his feet... whipping him farside and catching him into a powerslam that rattles the mat!  The Fury eschews the cover... pointing to the top rope and yelling out "Anyone seen my trike?"  before he makes his way to the top buckle and turns around!] TD: He's gonna moonsault! Kowalski's going up for this moonsault! [Huge Furious Pop as Kowalski powerfully lands on the attempting to rise Dynamite, knocking him back to the mat -- and then the enormous chants begin, "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" Kowalski picks Dynamite to his feet -- hooks up the arms and yells "This one's for you, Jersey!" before planting 3D hard into the canvas with the Skullpump and the cover... 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Your winner as a result of a pinfall... STEVE "THE FURY" KOWALSKI! ["Don't Fear the Reaper" kicks back in a the crowd roars its approval, Kowalski motioning to the camera and saying "Tear up your brackets -- the Fury's going to Beantown!"] TD: Well -- three weeks, three bombshells, Steve Roberts.  And it will all come to a head next week when sixteen superstars, including Steve Kowalski, head to the Fleet Center in Boston, Massachusetts with the winner becoming IIWF Heavyweight Champion! SR: All right, Dross -- let's get on the damn bus... we are only seven days from watching the Syndicate become the greatest tag team of all time -- Creed from becoming just another spot in the Roll of Honour next to Alex Rio -- and Steve Kowalski from becoming the new IIWF Heavyweight Champion!  Sign me up, Dross -- I'm ready to do it right now! TD: Tune into the Hotline everyone for all the latest news -- and then don't forget to join Steve Roberts and myself live from the Fleet Center on Tuesday for "Inside the IIWF"!  For all of us here at "IIWF Saturday Night" -- we'll see you from Coronation Clash!! [Steve Kowalski remains in the ring, his fans continuing to sing from the Blue Oyster Cult catalogue 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+