[Fade up on stop-motion photography showing the IIWF's technical crew setting up the Fleet Center for the pay-per-view in prospect. Finally, the shot fades through to a static shot of the ring, illuminated by overhead brilliant white spotlights, the rest of the empty arena in almost complete darkness. Above a low, pulsing bass rhythm, a voice over begins in tones of grandeur and anticipation:] VO: The squared circle: scene of the greatest triumphs, the most heartbreaking defeats, the most thrilling risks, the most heinous deeds of jealousy and betrayal. It is the arena of champions, the battleground of those who would be king. [Cut to digitally enhanced monochrome footage of a wild brawl between Chris Quigley, Simon Lebec, Marty Warnett and Billy Shakespeare.] For some, the path to the throne is fraught with obstacles and distractions. For some, the battle for honour and integrity is as important as any title. [Cut to Creed and Lord Byron standing nose to nose in the ring, the intense hatred between them almost visible.] For others, another goal beckons: payback; revenge; a passion so all-consuming that it can lead a man to put his livelihood at stake simply to savour that dish best served cold. [Cut to footage of the wrestlers who have successfully reached the "Sweet Sixteen" round of the tournament: Luke Steele covers Marty Warnett for the pinfall; Steve Kowalski Skullpumps Danny Dynamite; Tony Starks forces Mr. Damage to submit; Joe Petrow "asspumps" Billy Shakespeare; Requiem hits the Redemption on Scott Rogers; Mad Dog Watkins stands in the ring, arms raised aloft in victory... The voice over continues:] But for the chosen few, those gladiators who have jumped the first hurdle, a treacherous road remains. The man who will eventually stand in the battleground, the remnants of a war around him, his head high, will have battled no less than four opponents in the same night -- and this man shall be called "champion." [Cut back to the initial shot of the empty ring, illuminated by overhead spotlights.] Desire. Endurance. Ruthlessness. Focus. All are attributes that the man who will eventually triumph must possess in abundance. He must fight with the heart of a warrior; he must hope that fortune rides with him; and he must be ready... for anything. [The opening graphics explode onto the screen, as the introductory music kicks in:] ##### ###### ### ########## ########## ########## #### ## ########## ########## ########## #### # #### ######## ##### ##### #### ## ##### #### #### #### #### ### #### #### #### #### ############# ######### #### #### ########### ######### #### #### #### #### #### ######### ######### ### #### #### ######### ######### ### ## #### ######## ######## ## # #### ## ### ### #### ### #### ### ###### ## ### #### ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## #### ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ### ### ## ## ### ## ## ## ## ## ## ### ## ## ######## ### ####### ####### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ######### ####### ######### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ######## ####### ### ### ####### ### ### .----------------------------------------------------------------------. | LiVE + Fleet Center, Boston, Massachusetts + Saturday 12 July 1997 | `----------------------------------------------------------------------' [Fade through to interior shots of the jam-packed Fleet Center. Shots from the IIWF's indoor blimp, which is plastered with "Slim Slam" logos, show the beams of the high-powered lights in the rigging above the ring playing over the sea of faces far below on the arena floor. Four rockets shoot down from the rafters of the arena, one towards each ringpost, all apparently igniting flamepots on the posts simultaneously. Flames shoot up from each corner of the ring, and more colourful explosions erupt high above the ring, eliciting an excited cheer from the crowd. Over these scenes comes the voice of Tim Dross:] TD: Welcome everybody to Boston, Massachusetts! Welcome everybody to the magnificent Fleet Center! Welcome to the grand-daddy of them all -- welcome to IIWF Coronation Clash! [The rapid cuts continue, panning down the aisle of one section of raked seating, the aisleside fans clamouring to get in shot, waving their signs; the shot pans down the entranceway aisle, fans leaning over the steel crowd barriers and waving wildly at the camera; cut to an overhead shot of the ring, on the canvas of which spins the IIWF logo, cast by one of the lights above. Eventually, the shot cuts to Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, both dressed in smart black dinner suits, at the broadcast table in the ringside enclosure. While Dross looks fairly sombre and understated, Roberts has donned a gaudy bow tie with matching cummerbund. He grabs a sign reading, "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!" from one of the fans behind him and holds it towards the camera with a grin before tossing it to the floor, prompting the fan behind him to scowl and offer a one-fingered salute behind the announcer's back.] TD: Howdy, folks, and welcome to the biggest wrestling spectacular of the year! I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my broadcast colleague and tag team partner, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. What a night we have in store, Steve! SR: Yeah, and to make it even better, there's no Becky LaRue out here at ringside! TD: Indeed not. Becky is missing her first pay-per-view broadcast since she joined the team ahead of the first Ring Wars, back in June of last year, so it's just you and me -- the dynamic duo that called all the action at the IIWF's very first pay-per-view event, the inaugural Coronation Clash, some fourteen months ago. SR: "Dynamic," Dross? The only thing dynamic about you is your toupee, and that's only because it's not dead yet. If you're talking dynamic, buddy, you're talking about the "Soundbite." Ain't that right, morons? [Roberts turns to the fans behind him, who immediately launch into a frenzied cheer and chant of "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!"] SR: See? TD: Well, it's good to see you brought your extended family with you to Boston, Steve. How many of those kids are yours? SR: Now, now, don't go getting catty, Dross, old buddy. We got a whole night out here together, just you, me, the "L'il Soundbiters," and Steve "the Fury" Kowalski. What could be better? TD: Well, quite. Folks, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you for inviting the IIWF into your home on this fine evening -- and I guarantee that you will not be disappointed with the action you will see over the next four hours. In just a few moments, we'll get the "Sweet Sixteen" round of the Coronation Clash tournament kicked off, but quite apart from the crowning of a new IIWF World Champion right here tonight as that tournament reaches its conclusion, we have plenty of other action. SR: That's not what it says in my notes, Dross. It says in my notes that we've got two tag team matches, a four-way brawl, a match in which that crippled rookie gets his butt kicked out of the IIWF, and about a dozen tournament matches which don't have the Fury in them. TD: Well, that sounds to me like an incredible lineup, Steve Roberts. The Hollywood Bloods and The Last Resort will mix it up a little later on here tonight, and in our other tag team match, Cold Spell will make their third successive PPV appearance in a championship match, this time facing the Prophets of Rage, against whom they wrestled for the now-defunct US titles back at Birthday Bash. This time, it's the World Tag belts on the line -- and with the forces of Genesis behind them, we could well see Icehawk and Fitz take the titles. SR: Yeah, sure, Dross, and Christopher Reeve is gonna come down from the rafters with a baseball bat in the last match of the evening. TD: Please, can't we just go one pay-per-view without you mentioning poor Christopher Reeve? SR: Why should I give the lawyers a break? Hey, do you see the relationship betwen Genesis and ol' superfreak? TD: [sighs] How do you mean, Steve? SR: They're diametric opposites, Dross. Superfreak is devoid of all sense from the neck down -- and Genesis are devoid of all sense from the neck up. TD: I'm not sure that's true, Steve Roberts. Their gang tactics have brought two of their number into the "Sweet Sixteen" round of the tournament, and Cold Spell have looked dangerous in tag team competition. In other non-tournament action, we'll see four of the IIWF's most high-profile superstars -- Marty Warnett, Chris Quigley, Billy Shakespeare and Simon Lebec -- battle it out in a four way dance elimination match, in which falls can count anywhere in the Fleet Center! That one's going to be wild! SR: Gee, I can hardly wait, Dross. The only guy in that bunch with even a modicum of intelligence, style or panache is Lebec -- he's gonna walk all over those other three putzes. TD: I doubt that very much, Steve Roberts. All four were responsible in part for each others' elimination from the World title tournament, and they've been at each others' throats seemingly for an eternity. Perhaps we'll finally see the score settled between these four men. SR: Yeah, sure, Dross, and Christopher Reeve... TD: [interrupting] You've done that gag already, Steve. SR: Yeah? Damn, it's gonna be a long night. Bring out the Fury! Bring out the biscuits! Bring out the lapdancers! TD: And of course, we have our tremendous double main event, folks. Along with the final match in the Coronation Clash tournament, we will see one of the most eagerly-awaited rematches of recent months here in the IIWF... SR: [interrupting] Bulldog Brown's table against Steve Kowalski's tricycle? TD: No, Steve. I'm talking about the third -- and final -- meeting of the red-gloved rookie, Creed, and the Intercontinental Champion, Lord Byron, in a Loser Leaves Town match. What an awesome, incredible encounter that promises to be. SR: And don't forget the "Soundbite Challenge," baby dolls! Dross, buddy, you know what I'm talking about. TD: I do indeed, Steve. Folks at home will remember that this past Tuesday on "Inside the IIWF," you wagered that you would be able to endow us with all manner of exciting trivial information. SR: And I will, Dross. I will. Like I always say, if the "Soundbite" says it, you can take it to the bank. TD: You never say that, Steve Roberts. But let me guess... you did once? And it was the best weekend of your life? SR: Wrong, Dross. I'm never going near a fertility clinic again as long as I live. What a rip-off. TD: I don't think I want to know any more about that. Okay, folks, we're just about ready to kick off our tournament action for the evening, with our first "Sweet Sixteen" match in Group A, pitting Mad Dog Watkins, who defeated Simon Lebec two weeks ago to advance here tonight, against the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi, who defeated IIWF newcomer Kevin Christiansen last week in New York to secure his position in the Sweet Sixteen. Let's go up to the ring. ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## "Sweet Sixteen" Tournament Match: | ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------- | ## ## #### ## [GROUP A] | ## ## ## ## Mad Dog Watkins vs. "Enigma" Takezo Musashi | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: RP [Sparkplug Lee glances quickly back towards the entry way and back to his cue cards. He ponders for a moment to ensure that he is announcing the correct match before launching into the introductions.] SL: The next match is part of the "Sweet Sixteen" round of the IIWF World Championship Tournament in Group A and has a fifteen minute time limit. Introducing first, from Detroit, Michigan and weighing in at 269 pounds, Mad Dog Waaaaaaaatkiiiiiiiiins! ["Paint It Black" by the Rolling Stones starts up and the Mad Dog walks purposefully out from behind the curtain. At first sight of him, Dirt Dog Unique Allah, surrounded by his usual harem of lovelies, jumps to his feet and starts hollering for old Mad Dog.] TD: There are sure a lot of notables in the audience tonight. Joe Petrow as usual, Dirt Dog, the whole Paris clan, and of course, the man that Watkins just acknowledged before sliding in the ring, Ray "Buttercup" Jones. SR: How's that for a match, Dross? Petrow and Allah against Paris' brood? TD: Actually, Ronnie Paris' brothers are accomplished wrestlers... SR: They're not IIWF wrestlers and that makes them nothing. Just ask those scrubs from the first round. [Watkins slowly bounces off the ropes, waiting for Sparkplug Lee to announce the other wrestler.] SL: And his opponent, from Tokyo Japan and weighing in at 211 pounds, the "Enigma" Takezo Muuuuushashiiii! [Musashi moves quickly down the aisle, accompanied by his odd-sounding theme music. When he passes the general vicinity of Joe Petrow he stops, looks over, notices that Petrow isn't paying any attention to him or the ring, so he continues into the ring.] TD: We've got quite a contrast of styles here, Steve Roberts. SR: Ain't that the truth! First you've got one incredible bad ass who would be my favourite if it wasn't for the Fury. Then you've got this nutty jumping bean that doesn't know when to give up! TD: Musashi's performance against the Cavalier was nothing short of incredible... but here's the bell. [The Enigma vaults over the top rope and into the ring, where he fixes Watkins with a glare, his eyes staring out from behind the ornate paint that covers one side of his face, silver stars dancing around his right eye. Referee Joey Patrick calls the two men into the centre of the ring, gives them a few last minute instructions, and then signals for the bell. Ding! Ding! Ding! Watkins and Musashi lock up and Watkins immediately uses his strength advantage to push Takezo back into the ropes and follow in with a lariat. However, when Musashi hits the ropes he jumps onto the second rope and turns it into a sunset flip. Mad Dog kicks out before referee Joey Patrick can even start to count.] TD: It looks like the Enigma wants a fast-paced bout. Will the Mad Dog be able to keep up? SR: He doesn't need to, Dross. One good punch and he'll slow him down. [Watkins grabs Musashi and whips him into the ropes. He catches him coming off and slams him down to the mat. He follows with an elbow drop but Takezo has already moved. Mad Dog gets up, only to be caught in the mid-section by a reverse Savate kick.] TD: Musashi sure knocked the wind out of him that time! SR: One little kick can't knock the wind out of Mad Dog's sails. What the...! Now this is getting interesting! [Roberts is reacting to the sight of Musashi raining a series of blows to the face and head of Mad Dog. Almost immediately Watkins has a nasty cut above his right eye and blood is streaming down his face.] TD: There's something wrong here, Steve Roberts! Those strikes shouldn't have been able to do that! SR: Who cares? As long as there some good blood and violence, Soundbite is happy! TD: Musashi must have something in his hand -- some kind of blade, or sharp object -- there's no way that simple closed-hand blows like that should be able to open up a cut that deep. [Watkins is attempting to see through the blood streaming into his eyes but is ending up just swinging wildly. Musashi is dancing around, never staying in one place more than a second, just long enough to score with a kick or a palm strike. As Watkins moves into the general vicinity of the corner, still trying to clear the blood from his eyes, Musashi comes across the ring with a handspring a clocks Mad Dog in the back of the head with an elbow shot.] SR: I hate to ever admit an error but it looks like the Dog is going to have to slink out with his tail between his legs! TD: It looks like you're right. Enigma is in complete control of this match, possibly through some underhanded means. SR: No Dross, he hit him straight on! [Musashi is still toying with Watkins, hitting him from all angles in order to keep him from getting his bearings. He moves in and nails him with a snap suplex but as he tries to rise Watkins grabs him by the throat.] TD: Musashi got too close that time! SR: It's what I said before, Dross. Mad Dog mat get hit ten times but he only has to connect once. [Watkins puts him into the DDT position but when he drops down, Musashi slips out and remains standing. He then darts off across the ring. Watkins quickly gets to his feet and catches Musashi with a lariat against the ropes. With the Enigma staggered, Watkins hoists him into a vertical suplex but then turns it into a front layout suplex.] TD: Watkins has shifted the momentum in his favour. SR: I always said that you can't count the dog out! TD: Actually, you said... SR: Shut up and watch the match, Dross! [Mad Dog puts the boots to Musashi while he is on the mat and then reaches down to bring him back to his feet. Using Watkins own body to shield from Joey Patrick, but in full view of the camera, Musashi does a full palm strike blow directly into Watkins' groin.] SR: It looks like that Dog's been neutered! He's going to talk like you now, Dross! TD: Musashi is going to any lengths to win this match. [Watkins is doubled up on the mat. He manages to pull himself to his feet only to be caught in a Frankensteiner by the explosive Musashi. Takezo quickly mounts the top rope.] TD: I think this is it for this match, Steve Roberts! SR: Watkins doesn't even know where he is after that blow to the lower abdominal region. [Musashi comes off the top ropes with an impressive Starsault Press. He performs a triple-somersault and lands directly onto... the raised knees of Mad Dog Watkins!] SR: It looks like there's still some fight left in that old Dog after all, Dross! TD: That's for sure! Musashi can't even breathe after a blow like that! Watkins is rolling him onto his back... he's hooked the leg... Joey Patrick is counting... [Patrick drops to the canvas and makes the count - 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Your winner, advancing to the next round of the IIWF World Championship Tournament, Mad... Dog... Waaaaaaatkiiiiins! [Big mixed pop as the referee raises Mad Dog's arm, the wrestler's other hand moving to his forehead, where he attempts to stem the flow of blood into his eyes.] TD: That's what happens when you rely on such high risk moves. SR: No, Dross. That's what happens when you stand between a dog and his bone. TD: In this case that bone is the World Championship belt. [Watkins rolls out of the ring, grabs a towel from a ringside attendant and heads back to the locker room, trying to staunch the flow of blood.] TD: He has advanced, but at what cost? Will he be able to move on with a nasty injury like that one? That looks like at least ten stitches! SR: The Dog's a smart guy... for a "brother." TD: Please, Steve, we can do without those racially insensitive comments. SR: Bite me, Dross. As I was saying, Watkins knew that as soon as Musashi sliced him open, he'd have to end the match as quickly as possible. TD: Indeed. That counter against the Starsault Press was certainly effective. Musashi's strategy ended up backfiring on him -- and the Enigma doesn't look at all happy about it. [Musashi, finally able to breathe sufficiently to stand, rises to his feet in the ring and is met by a mixed pop from the capacity crowd as he kicks the bottom rope in frustration. He vaults over the top rope to the floor, and immediately moves over to the section of ringside seating in which Joe Petrow and the Sychopaths are sitting. The Sychopaths stand around their leader and point the finger at Musashi, jeering at him. Petrow simply looks up at the Enigma, a resigned smile on his face.] TD: This situation has the potential to get very ugly indeed, Steve Roberts. [Joey Patrick jumps from the ring and heads over to Musashi, trying to push him away from the crowd barriers. Musashi gives little resistance, but points at Petrow and shouts something in Japanese. Petrow simply responds with a nod as Musashi slaps the official's hand away from him and begins to make his way up the aisle back to the locker rooms.] TD: I have a feeling that we may not have seen the last of the "Enigma" here tonight, Steve. SR: Doesn't bother me, Dross. If he comes out here and stops anybody getting into the next round, so much the better -- because you know that he's not gonna get close to the Fury, even if he tries. TD: You're particularly keen that Steve Kowalski should win the World title here tonight, Steve... almost as if you had money on it. SR: And maybe I do, Dross. Would it surprise you if I told you that I had an accumulator on Byron putting the rookie out to pasture for good, and the Fury Skullpumping his way through a field of fifteen other men to strap that big gold belt around his waist by the end of the night? TD: Not in the least. SR: Gotta gets my wa-wa, Dross. Oh yeah. TD: Well, Steve Roberts, next we have our first Group D "Sweet Sixteen" match between "Real Deal" Luke Steele, and the brains behind Genesis, Requiem! SR: And I'm really looking forward to this match, Dross! TD: I can't believe I heard that from you, Steve! SR: Hell yeah!  We get this piece of trite out of the way, we're one step closer to watching the Fury Skullpump his way to the IIWF World's Title!  We're gonna be swimming in biscuits tonight! TD: Well, one of these two men may ultimately have a say in that prediction.  I saw Luke Steele working out earlier today, and I've never seen him look better, but you can never count out the combined forces of Genesis! SR: You see Ray Wilson yet? TD: Who? SR: The new lead singer of Genesis!  I don't see him around anywhere, so     they ain't operating on all cylinders!  Personally, I hope they both     trip over the lighting cables, knock themselves out, take the quick     double countout, and put me out of my misery! TD: [rolls his eyes, giving up on having a serious discussion] Let's go     to the ring! ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## "Sweet Sixteen" Tournament Match: | ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------- | ## ## #### ## [GROUP D] | ## ## ## ## "Real Deal" Luke Steele vs. Requiem | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: JP [Cut to Sparkplug Lee in the ring.  The microphone picks up the soft murmurs of Lee singing, "# You're no son, you're no son of mi - ine! #", before being startled to attention.] SL: Ahem! This next contest is a Group D "Sweet Sixteen" Tournament Match!  Introducing first... [Suddenly, the lights go out!  An eerie blue light illuminates the entrance ramp, as a voice is heard over the PA that is not Sparkplug's:] VO: From this day forward, until the end of time, there shall be no mercy for the damned! [A figure steps into the blue light, revealing himself to be Requiem. Requiem plucks the chilling tones of "The Music of the Unknowingly Damned", as even Joe Petrow stops his internal conversation to witness the spectacle.] TD: Requiem with a spectacular entrance tonight! SR: And he's coming out alone!  Requiem has gone solo.  Good for him!     It worked for Peter and Phil! TD: If I were Luke Steele, I would be more concerned with NOT seeing     the rest of Genesis around.  Who knows where they can be? SR: The rafters, Dross!  Never forget the rafters! [Requiem finally steps into the ring, and the lights come back on.  A dazed Sparkplug snaps back to attention:] SL: Um... that was REQUIEM! [Belated pop from the crowd] SL: And his opponent... [Janet Jackson's delicious "Black Cat" blares out, as Luke Steele makes his appearance at the front of the aisle, accompanied by a pair of white rockets shooting up from either side of the entrance way into the rafters of the Fleet Center.] SL: Here is... THE "REEEEEEAL DEAL" LUUUUUUKE STEELE! [An obviously excited Luke Steele flexes for the crowd, taking in the moment] SR: Well, the other Real Deal is missing part of an ear now, but I'm     guessing this punk will be missing more than that before the night     is over, especially if he makes it to fight the Fury! TD: Steele also coming to the ring alone.  When I talked with him     earlier today, he said he made Ronnie Paris and Scott Rogers     promise to stay in the locker room for this match, because he     wants to prove himself tonight, by himself! SR: I know Widdle Wonnie isn't gonna be a factor now, after that masked man got through with him a bit earlier! TD: Steve Roberts... oh no, we've got a problem here now too! [Attention turns back to the aisle, as Luke Steele has been ambushed by the Highwayman and Cold Spell!] SR: All right!  A good old fashioning blatant punking!  Maybe this match can hold my interest after all! [The three men bludgeon the Cleveland native from behind, pummeling Steele face down on the concrete.] TD: Now Requiem's going out to join the carnage! SR: Yes!  YES!  Hurt him!  Hurt him bad!  Hurt anybody! TD: Highwayman with the Daylight Robbery on the concrete floor! Requiem's coming... we gotta get some help out here now! SR: Like he said, Dross, no mercy for the damned!  Mercy is for the weak!  We do not train to be merciful in the IIWF! TD: Steve, that's the last Karate Kid reference I want to hear from you!  Wait a minute, Steve, you can't... OH NO!  Requiem has got a hold of Luke Steele by the hair, he drops the leg over... no... NO!  REDEMPTION ON THE CONCRETE FLOOR! [Cold Spell and Highwayman back off to admire Requiem's handywork. Luke Steele lies face down on the floor, a small trickle of red seeping out from the right side of his head.] SR: AND WE'VE GOT BLOOD, DROSS!  THIS IS THE SLEEPER MATCH OF THE     NIGHT! TD: Somebody has to... finally, here comes Scott Rogers! [Scott Rogers runs out from the back, shoving the rest of Genesis aside, shoving Requiem back a couple of steps, and moving in to cover the prone Steele.  Extra security forces move to separate the fighting factions.  Cold Spell and Highwayman, satisfied that their work has been done, head to the back, while Requiem walks back to the ring.  A doctor rushes to check on Luke Steele, as blood pours down the right side of his face.] SR: Now _this_ is wrestling, Dross!  _This_ is the IIWF! TD: This is a travesty!  Luke Steele never had a chance, and I don't see that there's any way he can wrestle after what just happened! SR: Luke Steele should be thrilled!  Now he has an excuse to tell his grandchildren why he never won the IIWF World's title, when he knows damn well it would have never happened anyway! TD: Matches in the IIWF should be settled in the ring, Steve Roberts!  Something like this should... wait a minute! [Luke Steele, gaining some control of his senses, pushes Rogers and the doctor aside, and scrambles to his feet!  Rogers yells to the doctor "You get the hell out of my way!", then to Rogers, "You stay in the back like you promised!"  Rogers holds up his hands as if to say, "Have it your way," as Luke Steele, holding his hand to his bloody head, walks to the ring, a look of anger and determination never before seen in his eyes.] TD: Incredible!  After that attack that would have rendered an ordinary man unconscious, Luke Steele wants to get it on! SR: Hey, anything that leads to him bleeding more is fine by me! [Steele enteres the ring, and tells referee Joey Patrick to ring the bell, and he obliges.  A momentarily surprised Requiem regains his senses, and rushes to attack Luke Steele, who in his weakened state is in no condition to avoid this second surprise attack.] TD: Requiem on the scene in a heartbeat, laying into Steele with a series of punches and forearms to head!  Steele is slumping in the corner... the referee should stop this right now for that young man's sake! SR: Dross, this is a new era here!  We're hardcore style now, there's only two things we need to concern ourselves with now:  where's the tables, and where's the biscuits! [Requiem stops his attack to pick up the helpless Steele.  He whips him hard into the far turnbuckle, and charges in fast behind.  But Steele jumps on the second turnbuckle, flips around to face the onrushing Requiem...] TD: HURRICARANA!  Luke Steele from the second rope spins around and nails a huge hurricanrana that sends Requiem all the way to the floor!  And Steele going back on top again! [Luke Steele, his face increasingly covered in a gory crimson mask, running only on large quantities of adrenalin and rage, gets up and runs up to the top turnbuckle.  As Requiem rises, Luke Steele dives, and nails him with a devastating Tomahawk Chop, that sends Requiem crashing hard to ther mat.  Huge pop!] TD: TKO FROM THE TOP ROPE TO THE FLOOR!  Where is Luke Steele getting this energy? SR: He's gone berserk, Dross!  He'd better finish him off quick -- there's no way he can keep this up for long! TD: Steele back in the ring, calling to the fans, he's... he's calling for the Real Steele Press to the floor! SR: Even Luke Steele's going extreme tonight! [Luke Steele, looking just a little bit weaker than a minute earlier, climbs the top rope... suddenly, Cold Spell and the Highwayman reappear in the aisleway!  Luke Steele sees them out of the corner of his eye, and turns his attention to them to engage in a one-way shouting contest.] TD: Now what more can Genesis do to this man tonight? SR: How about buy Requiem some time? [Indeed, while Luke Steele has been distracted, Requiem has made his way to his feet.  Seizing the opportunity, Requiem rushes over and shakes the top rope.  Steele fights to maintain his balance, but eventually loses the battle, and crotches himself on the top rope!  The crowd cringes, while the Sychopaths give out a non-sympathetic "Whooooo!" chant, as the rest of Genesis returns to the back.] TD: Luke Steele had things going his way, but he made the cardinal mistake of turning his back on his opponent, and now he is at mercy of Requiem! SR: No mercy for the damned! [Requiem has climbed the top, and locks in on Luke Steele. Standing on the top rope, Requiem hoists his 275 pound opponent up like a Cruiserweight, and brings him down... down... down...] TD: Final Lament by Requiem!  What a devastating manoeuvre that flying powerbomb is... We have a cover... one... two... three! Poor Luke     Steele never had a chance! SR: Luke Steele never had a chance the day he signed that IIWF contract!  Maybe Genesis can ease the pain of the passing of the Syndicate stable after all! [Having no use for his vanquished opponent any longer, Requiem stands up and leaves the ring, as Sparkplug Lee makes the announcement.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, and advancing to the "Elite Eight"... REQUIEM! [Requiem walks back down the aisle, not even acknowleding the barrage of boos given by the fans.  Scott Rogers makes his way to the ring, running past Requiem without so much as eye contact, as he rushes to attend to Luke Steele.] TD: Rogers coming back to help his friend.  It's too bad he couldn't have stopped that initial onslaught in the first place! SR: Hey, at least Rogers had the guts to show his face out here! Where was Widdle Wonnie, putting another band aid on his boo-boo? [Some doctors have made their way to the ring, trying to insist that Steele lie still and wait for the gurney.  But both Steele and Rogers insist that he'll leave under his own power.  Slowly, Rogers rolls his friend to the apron, and then helps him to his feet.  With his arm around Rogers shoulders for support, Steele slowly, painfully makes his way back to the ring.  Suddenly, the crowd rises, and sees Luke Steele off with a standing ovation!] TD: Well, Luke Steele may have lost this match tonight, but has gained the immense respect of this capacity crowd in the Fleet Center! SR: And once again, I've stopped caring!  Where's the Fury?! [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: You really shouldn't sleep in that tuxedo, Steve. They crease all too easily, you know! SR: C'mon, Dross.  Even you have to admit that Group D is a snoozefest. It just shows the state of the competition in the IIWF that one of those bums will end up reaching the Final Four. TD: Well this next match should perk you up a little, Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven against Duncan Macbeth, my guess is that you favour Otto to advance to the Elite Eight? SR: Damn right, Dross!  This tournament is gonna be a great success for the European Alliance!  Next up we will see Otto take the first step to the Final Four, and later tonight we get to witness Creed retired at the hands of the greatest technical wrestler in the world, Lord Byron! TD: That is going to be a great match for sure, coming up in our fourth hour of action, but for now, let's get down to the ring, Lee is about to make the introductions. ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## "Sweet Sixteen" Tournament Match: | ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------- | ## ## #### ## [GROUP B] | ## ## ## ## Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven vs. Duncan Macbeth | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: MB [An immaculately presented Sparkplug Lee enters the ring again, and with a smile and a deep breath, he begins his announcement:] RA: Ladies and Gentlemen, our next match is scheduled for one fall, has a time limit of 15 minutes and is the first eliminator for Group B! [pop!]  Introducing first... [John Carpenter's eerie Theme to "Halloween" sweeps over the arena's PA system to the obvious distaste of the crowd, who issue a terrible heel pop.  The Teutonic Terror, Otto Verhoeven, steps into the aisle accompanied by his beautiful valet "Nurse" Heidi.] RA: ...weighing 340 pounds and hailing from Essen, Germany... [Otto punches the air with both fists before making his way to ringside, looking intensely focused.  Heidi, dressed in her extremely revealing crimson nurses outfit, follows behind her fiance respectfully.] RA: ...Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven! TD: Listen to this crowd, Steve. They are really growing to hate this man.  His beating of Creed last Wednesday had Byron and the fans frothing at the mouth, for completely different reasons. SR: Otto doesn't need the fans behind him to take a wet-behind-the-ears kid like Macbeth to school. [Otto steps into the ring and leans over the ropes to converse with Heidi in German while his music fades from the sound system to be replaced by the sounds of bagpipes.  Pop!] RA: And his opponent... weighing 270 pounds and hailing from Glenfinnan, Scotland... Duncan Macbeth! [The lights in the arena drop slightly as the ring is bathed in blue and white lights, illuminating a St. Andrew's Cross right across the ring. After the initial wail of the bagpipes, "Scotland The Brave" takes over the speakers as a large red-headed man dressed in black trousers and sleeveless shirt broke through the curtains.  The aisle is illuminated with multi-coloured lights, displaying the traditional Macbeth tartan as Duncan Macbeth follows the large man into the aisle, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings, eyes downcast in concentration.] TD: That is Andrew Macbeth, Duncan's cousin.  He's a pretty big specimen isn't he? SR: He might be big, Dross, but he can't be much of a wrestler. He couldn't even afford the sleeves for his shirt! TD: That is a very expensive shirt he's wearing there Steve, it looks like an Armani ensemble from here. SR: So that's Armani's new marketing tool is it?  More money for less material?  Ever heard of the story of the "Emperor's new clothes," Dross? TD: You reckon the will be selling birthday suits week... Whoa!  Otto has left the ring!  He's landed a forearm on Andrew! SR: Obviously doesn't like these light-show shenanigans. [Andrew, unaware of Otto as they reached ringside, is bowled into the guard-rail from the impact, whereas Duncan barely got time to look up before Otto caught him flush on the jaw with a nice haymaker which staggered the young Scot.  Sparkplug Lee leaves the ring like a hare with its rear on fire as Joey Patrick, the assigned referee, signals for the bell before leaping from the ring to stop the rising Andrew Macbeth from getting involved in the ringside brawl.  Otto grabs a handful of jacket and pulls it up over his head before throwing some heavy punches at Duncan's exposed ribs, before dragging him over and with a military press, drops Duncan into the ring through the middle and top rope. Verhoeven climbs into the ring again to a round of jeers from the crowd, and the lights in the arena rise back up to their original luminosity. Duncan manages to extract himself from the jacket, whips off his kilt, and throws it at the entering Verhoeven, but it is easily swiped aside. The following dropkick cannot be ignored though, as it catches the big German in the side of the head and deposits him back to ringside with a bump.  Pop!] TD: The ref really has his hands full with Andrew!  He is like a man possessed, and boy does he wants a piece of Otto! SR: Personally, I think I would rather have a piece of Heidi, though I don't think that red dress goes with her blonde hair, do you? TD: I'm not employed as a fashion critic, Steve. We are supposed to be calling this match. SR: Go ahead and knock yourself out, Dross! [Otto pulls himself up with the ring curtain, only for Duncan to come flying off the apron with an amazing bulldog onto the ring mats that wastes the Teutonic Terror!  Pop!  Duncan pulls a stunned Otto back to his feet and is about to roll him in when Heidi, who has quietly made her way around the ring, claws at Duncan's face, drawing a trickle of blood and leaving a few angry red welts down his right cheek.] SR: Strike One for Heidi! [Duncan stops and looks at her incredulously, cocks a fist back to scare her away and realising that it wasn't enough of a threat, takes a step towards her before getting levelled by a side-on clothesline from a still-groggy Verhoeven!  Heel Pop!  Otto takes a moment to collect his bearings, before pulling him up and rolling him back into the ring. Meanwhile the ref, Joey Partick, had calmed Andrew down to the point where he could re-enter the ring, just in time to see Otto cover Duncan -- 1 -- 2 kickout!  Pop!  Otto pulls Duncan back to his feet to throw him into a crushing full nelson.] TD: A smart move by Otto, his four inch height advantage gives him a lot of leverage to pile onto Duncan's neck. SR: Softening him up for the Slaughterslam. TD: Do you suppose he has forgotten his defeat at Duncan's hands? SR: Come on Dross!  Look at the way he's trying to cripple the little Scottie, what do you think? [Partick tries a second time to see if Duncan is ready to submit, but it is obvious by the fire in his green eyes that a submission is not on the agenda.  Andrew starts shouting at Duncan in a thick brogue accent and the crowd begins to stamp their feet in enthusiasm to urge Duncan on, both of which seem to have the desired effect! Duncan struggles against the much larger and stronger man, slowly forcing his head back and his arms down.  Against all the odds, Otto's interlocked fingers are being pulled apart by the sheer determination in this young Celt! Otto looks to Heidi, betraying a hint of surprise and confusion at this fight-back and the volume of the crowd increases significantly. Suddenly, Duncan throws his arms straight into the air and drops down to the mat, freeing himself from the full nelson completely!  Huge Pop! Macbeth rolls onto his front quickly, and fires a shoulder into Verhoeven's stomach to double him up, followed by a second, a third -- then he grabs him around the waist and, showing great strength and flexibility, takes the larger man over into a Northern Lights suplex and pin! -- 1 -- 2 -- kick out just!  Pop!] TD: What a move! But Duncan may have hurt his neck slightly in that suplex -- look, Steve, he's got a kink in his neck, and he's wincing a little. SR: My heart bleeds, Dross. All the better for that Meat Hook chokeslam. String him up, Otto! [Andrew shouts for Macbeth to leave the ring to catch his breath, but Duncan appears to feel that he is on top for the first time, and wants to capitalise on it.  As Otto gets to his feet, Macbeth hooks him and whips him up and over in a wonderfully executed tilt-a-whirl suplex which seems to surprise rather than hurt the black-haired German.  Unperturbed, Duncan grabs Otto by the head and rakes his boot-laces down across his face, to a smile from Andrew and a lecture from Patrick.] SR: Now we are seeing what Andrew really taught Duncan! TD: You may be right, Steve.  He tried to make out that Andrew taught him a plethora of Japanese aerial style moves, but what would a 6'8", 330 pound monster like him know about aerial moves? [Duncan, ignoring the protests of Joey Patrick, throws two sharp headbutts into the face of his opponent, and drives him back to the mat with a vicious-looking bulldog and while he is face down, locks in a camel clutch.  Otto cries out in pain as Duncan sits back, piling the pressure on to his neck and back -- and this time it is Heidi who shouts out her encouragements, while Andrew continues to smile.  The ref is on his knees in front of Otto, checking for a submission, while Duncan slips some hard palm-strikes into the side of the German's head. Otto, showing tremendous resilience, manages to get his knees under him to ease the pressure after a lengthy struggle! Duncan, seeing that he is on a losing battle against the stronger man, settles for pummelling some evil-looking forearms into the back of Otto's head that drop him back to the mat. Macbeth begins to stamp at his head and neck area until Joey Patrick steps in and Heidi jumps to the apron to hurl abuse at the young Scot.  Duncan's temper gets the better of him and he approaches the ropes, going toe-to-toe with Heidi, yelling his distaste at her. Andrew's face clouds over with barely restrained anger and he too walks around the ring to join the discussion, but the recipient of his anger is Duncan, not Heidi! Andrew shouts at him to concentrate on the match at hand!  Behind him, Otto is already on his feet and, after checking his ear for a trace of blood after Duncan's stamping and finding none, he walks up behind him, hooks him around the waist -- and totally destroys him with an awesome back suplex!  Big heel pop!] SR: Strike Two for Heidi! [Duncan is seemingly out cold, as Andrew drags the beautiful blonde Heidi from the apron and Otto goes ballistic!  The big German dives through the ropes and pulls his fianceé out of the grasp of the big Scot, and after checking if she is hurt, spins on his opponent's cousin and both begin a pushing match.  Joey Patrick is throwing threats of disqualification and count-out on the two equal-sized men to stop them warring and it has the right effect, as Andrew clearly doesn't want Duncan disqualified. Otto, desperately wanting to advance in the tournament, turns back to the match. As Joey Patrick's count reaches seven, he looks reluctantly from the ring to Andrew and back to the ring again before rolling back in after a brief warning to him about touching his future wife, which is met with a smirk.  Duncan is only just starting to stir when Otto drops across him and hooks the leg for the pin: 1 -- kickout!  Pop!] SR: Hey!  Who is fighting this match anyway, Duncan or his Neanderthal cousin? [Otto is back on the offensive, and it shows, as he goes back to basics to punish Duncan, first with a piledriver, then a crushing powerbomb that leaves Macbeth motionless again, and ripe for the pin: 1 -- 2 -- ] SR: Three!  He's got it! TD: No!  The ref is showing two fingers!  Boy, was that close! [Otto picks the Glenfinnan native back up to his feet and drops him viciously back to the mat with a jumping DDT!  Big Heel Pop!  A quick cover: 1 -- 2 - Kick - 3 - Out!] SR: YES! TD: NO!  Another two count! SR: No way!  He hit the mat three times, I saw him! [Otto looks up at Joey Patrick to verify whether he had won and when he saw the apologetic look on his face, he slaps the mat in frustration. Heidi jumps to the apron again to complain that the win is theirs, but again Andrew pulls her back down, which infuriates Otto!  Heidi, not a girl who is used to being man-handled, smiles sweetly at the big Scot before driving a quick and hard knee into his groin!  Heel Pop!] SR: Strike Three, you're out! [Andrew drops to the mat with pain etched across his face as Otto laughs a loud belly-laugh at the stricken Scot and the crowd expresses its displeasure with a big heel pop!  Duncan somehow makes it back to his feet, and is leaning against the ropes for support, gulping lungfulls of air, when Otto turns to see him and charges, intending to clothesline the young lion-hearted fan favourite over the top rope.  Duncan, playing possum, sees him coming and, although still weak from the battering he has sustained, steps forward to meet him -- and lifts the 340 pound German up and over in a powerslam... but the momentum, the weight and his condition is just too much of a hurdle for him to leap, and the two of them tumble through the ropes to land horribly at ringside!  On the opposite side of the ring, Andrew gets to his feet and glares daggers at Heidi, who looks around for an escape route and ran!  Pop!  The ref begins a reluctant count as the two wrestlers lie unmoving at ringside.  Heidi reaches their side of the ring and stops to slap her fiancé into consciousness, when a stumbling Andrew turns the corner and forces her to run off around the ring again!  Pop!] SR: Just like his cousin, the only person he stands a chance at beating is _another _ woman!  Big girl's blouse! TD: Look, I think our two resilient competitors are moving! [Another full circuit of the ring is conducted by the two valet/managers as Joey Patrick reluctantly continues the count: 4 - 5 - as Heidi again leans over to help the big German to his feet.  Andrew, still stumbling from the groin shot earlier, turns the corner to be confronted with 6'8" of angry German!  Heel Pop!  Andrew painfully pulls himself to his full height and looks the Essen born man straight in the eyes! The count continues as Duncan claws his way up to his knees and looks to be trying to get back in the ring as the count continues: 6 - 7... Duncan is half way under the bottom rope when Heidi notices him and shows phenomenal strength to pull him clean out again to the dismay of the crowd -- and Andrew, who pushes the German out of the way to get at the interfering valet.  Otto allows him past, then brings a knee up into his stomach to double him up, followed by an axe-handle to the small of his back, which drops him to all-fours!  The count slips past - 8 - onto - 9 - as Heidi struggles to keep a rising Duncan pinned to the floor, eventually wrapping herself around both his legs!  Heel Pop!  Otto looks up to see the ref raise his arm for the last time and tries to slip under the bottom rope but Andrew grabs one of his legs and refuses to allow him to move!  Pop!  The ref looks reluctantly at both men seeing both men struggling and a look of horror cross Otto's face as he drops his hand - 10 -  Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] SR: No!  No!  No!  It can't end like this! TD: What an awful shame!  Neither man will continue in this tourney, which means that either Derek Mota or Joe Petrow will get a bye through to the Final Four! RA: Ladies and Gentlemen!  The result of this bout.. is a DOUBLE COUNTOUT! [Otto is almost maniacal when he hears the result amd drops to the floor to pound closed fists into the head of Andrew as Duncan finally manages to extract himself from Heidi and he dives at Otto in a fury of his own!  The three men are a blinding mass of fists and feet as Heidi tries to drag Duncan off her lover by his hair!  The fists continue to fly with Otto somehow managing to hold his own against the two Scots, when a mass of bodies begins to pile down the aisle; the Jobber Justice Squad to break up the altercation!] SR: They can't do this, Dross!  Otto deserves to go through, he dominated the little Scottish punk even if he didn't get the win!  Petrow or Mota is going fresh into the Final Four when they should be getting six shades of snot kicked outta them by Otto!  It's a conspiracy I tell ya! A conspiracy! TD: It certainly is a shame, I agree.  The winnner of the next Group B match will have a huge advantage in the Final Four. [The JJS manage to pull the warring factions apart and lead them back down the aisle with little additional trouble. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: If it wasn't for the fact that the Fury's still in this tournament, I'd head off right now, Dross. TD: No you would not, Steve Roberts. You're paid to call all four hours of action right here from ringside. SR: I'd much rather call the action down at the bar, Dross. TD: No can do, Steve. I dare say that we haven't seen the last of the confrontation between the Macbeth clan and Otto Verhoeven -- certainly a disappointment for both men here tonight, as they are eliminated from the tournament. Okay, folks, let's move on to our next match, which pits the man regarded by many as the uncrowned champion... SR: [interrupting] Kowalski's up next? Oh boy! TD: No, Steve, Brody Thunder is regarded by many as the uncrowned champion here in the IIWF after that controversial match against Casey James just three weeks ago which saw the championship vacated. He's scheduled to face Serge Annis, one half of the "Unholy Alliance", along with Deathbringer -- who will be in action against Tony Starks later in this hour in a real battle of IIWF veterans -- so let's go up to the ring for the introductions. ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## "Sweet Sixteen" Tournament Match: | ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------- | ## ## #### ## [GROUP C] | ## ## ## ## "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. Serge Annis | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: GO [Sparkplug steps into the spotlight, adjusts his tie, brushes lint from his suit and reads from his fight card.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following encounter is scheduled for one fall, and it is a "Sweet Sixteen" tournament match in Group C. Coming to the ring... from Flushing, New York:  I.P. Freely! [The crowd laughs. It takes Sparkplug a moment to get the joke.  Furiously he shuffles his cards.] SR: [laughing uncontrollably]  Never fails!  Never fails! TD: Steve, that was a juvenile trick to play. SR: Juvenile?  That was vintage Steve Roberts.  Mr. Producer, cue that up for Thursday... another IIWF Classic courtesy of the "Soundbite". [Sparkplug gets the right card and begins again.] RA: Coming to the ring, from Oakville, Ontario, Canada... weighing 293     pounds... the "Epitome of Evil":  Serge Annis! [Death Lurk's "Some Days it's Dark" shakes the Center and there is a belch of fire from the entry portal.  Serge Annis emerges from the inferno, he holds up a lighter which produces a foot high tongue of flame.] SR: Yes!  Fire! TD: I want to remind the young viewers that fire is a dangerous thing.     It's not a toy. SR: Aw, lighten up, Dross.  It's all part of growing up.  What boy didn't light up a few matches, or swipe a couple hubcaps, or put a gerbil in the microwave, or try on his mother's underwear, or... TD: [interrupting]  What's this? [Annis holds up Requiem's smashed guitar as a "good luck" charm.  As he does, from behind him enters the imposing figure of Deathbringer who follows Annis to ringside.  Sparkplug lifts the microphone.] RA: His opponent, at 6'2", 267 pounds, from the "Town too tough to die,"     Tombstone, Arizona: "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! [The theme to "High Plains Drifter" begins, but Thunder is nowhere to be seen.  The crowd pop turns to mutters of confusion.  The music stops.] TD: Where is Thunder?  Could we send a camera to the back? SR: Can it Timbo, here he comes... and he's staggering... he's drunk! [Thunder brushes aside the curtain as his music is cued again.  He leans against the guard rail.  He wears his wrestling gear, his hat, but lacks the familiar t-shirt and cigar.  He swaggers ringside, taking his time and getting into a brief arguement with a Mad Dog Watkins fan.  At the ring he tips up a bottle of Kessler's Whiskey, takes a big swig and winces.  He puts the bottle on the floor and crawls under the ropes.] SR: He's stinko, blotto, trashed, tanked, pickled... TD: Please, Steve. SR: Call Betty Ford.  Tell Man of Steel he's getting a new room-mate. [At the bell the two circle, Thunder spending his attention on watching his own feet, Annis sniffing the air and peering at Thunder.  Finally Annis attacks, snapping Thunder's arm up behind his back, yanking on it. Thunder goes for the ropes, Annis pulls him away, tripping him but still applying pressure to the arm.  Brody seems none the worse affected despite Serge's vicious pressure.  Annis drags Thunder to his feet, quickly dropping the "Lone Wolf" with a hip toss.  Brody rises to his knee but no further.] SR: Thunder is so drunk he can't even feel pain. TD: I'm not so sure about your first assessment, Steve, but the second seems to be accurate. SR: When I want your opinion, Dross, I'll ask for it.  You just do the     promos and give yours truly room to do the talking. [Gingerly, the "Epitome of Evil" approaches Thunder, attempting a head lock.  Cat-quick Thunder delivers a back elbow blow then follows with a series of fists to the midsection.  He Irish whips Annis to the opposite corner but doesn't follow up as both wrestlers slouch in their corners. Annis emerges first, slamming a shoulder to the gut, spinning his opponent around before downing him with a waistlock takeover.  A weak cover - 1 - Thunder lifts his shoulder.  Annis goes back to work on the arm, twisting on an armbar, then punctuating it with a dropped elbow to the shoulder. Thunder staggers away.  Annis tosses him to the ropes, misses with a clothesline, but armtosses him on the second try.  Serge pulls Brody to his feet, both men grab tights, Thunder wins and vertically suplexes Annis to the canvas.] SR: Boring, Dross.  Even "Dinner with the Don" was more exciting. TD: Y'know Steve, every now and again I find you annoying. SR: Ain't I great? TD: No. SR: Whoa!  Sounds like Timbo strapped on a new set of biscuits.  I'm the     [BLEEP]ing franchise, and don't you forget it.  You think the "L'il     Soundbiters" pay $12.95 a minute to hear _your_ voice on that hotline? [Annis slows the match again, trapping the smaller man in an abdominal stretch.  He holds the move for a long moment before short clotheslining Thunder.  Brody accepts the blow, shaking his head.  Thunder whips Annis to the ropes, flipping him on the return with a back toss.  Again Brody slumps against the ropes, allowing Annis to gain his feet.  The two lock up collar and elbow, Annis takes the advantage, shifting to a headlock then throwing Thunder hard into the corner.  He lifts a knee into the cowboy then steps up a rope, delivering shots to the head.  Thunder rakes his attacker's eyes and Annis falls away.   Thunder presses his advantage with a flying drop kick to his kneeling opponent.  The crowd pops as both wrestlers fall to the canvas.] SR: Ah, what's that?  That ain't wrestling.  Thunder may have become a     lush, but at least he used to know how to be a wrestler.  That's what happens when you book him against a pretty boy like Billy     Shakespeare... it wears off on him, makes him sissified. TD: This from a man who wrestled in a feather boa. SR: That from a man with a merkin on his head. TD: Excuse me, a what? SR: Look it up, Timbo.  I ain't got time to educate you _and_ all the     viewers at home.  Man's got to have his priorities. TD: And yours are? SR: Women, women, and biscuits.  Not necessarily in that order.  In the     winter I like 'em sandwiched one way... in the summer I sandwich 'em     the other way around. [Abandoning his technical tactics, Annis launches, headbutting Thunder, throwing him into the turnbuckle, following up with a jumping elbow drop. Thunder misses with a forearm but hits with his padded elbow which staggers Annis back.] TD: That really doesn't look like the reflexes of a drunk man. SR: He's potted, or my name isn't "Soundbite." [Thunder rushes but Annis catches him in a bearhug, lifting Thunder into the air, Brody desperate for breath but not surrendering.  Finally, Annis drops, slamming the two of them onto the mat.  Thunder rolls out from under the ring ropes, dropping to the outside where he grabs up his bottle of Kessler's.  He pops the top and gulps a mouthful.] SR: See, Thunder can't work without the sauce, Mama Roberts didn't raise     no fool. [Sensing the advantage, Annis jumps to the outside.  Brody goes to his trunks, pulling out an item.] TD: Thunder has pulled an object out of his trunks.  I don't think the     referee saw him do it. SR: Whatever it is, it isn't very big. TD: That was a Becky LaRue kind of comment. SR: Cool!  It's a lighter. [Serge confronts Thunder.  With a deliberate look, Thunder faces his foe. He flicks the lighter, the flame spurts as Thunder spits his mouthful of Kessler's at Serge Annis.  The "Pure Drinkin' Whiskey" ignites, sending a fireball Annis's way.  The "Epitome of Evil" barely ducks the pyrotechnic assault, his hands covering his eyes, momentarily blinded by the white hot blaze.  Seizing the moment, Brody Thunder springs, quickly dropping the Cattle Buster DDT on Serge Annis, laying him out.] TD: He's not drunk, he's deliberate.  I don't condone this kind of     wrestling, but one must admire Thunder's pre-planning. SR: C'mon Annis... get up.  A little flame can't hurt you. [With a quick look at Deathbringer, who does nothing to stop him, Thunder rolls Annis into the ring and covers.  The ref counts - 1 - 2 - 3!  Ding! Ding! Ding! The crowd pops.  Thunder quickly rolls out of the ring and confidently strides backstage.] TD: Brody Thunder gets the win and advances to the next round. SR: It's rigged.  Get Spreadbury on the phone.  Back on the job for a     week and already the fed is messed up. [Deathbringer climbs into the ring, offering to help the other half of the "Unholy Alliance" to his feet.  Annis denies his partner's help, rising to his feet and exchanging harsh words with Deathbringer, pointing at his eyes and to where Deathbringer stood outside during the match.  Unamused at the accusations, 'Bringer exits and heads up the aisle.  Annis waits a moment then speeds backstage, ignoring Deathbringer as he passes. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, folks, a disappointed Serge Annis appears to point the finger at Deathbringer for his loss, but it's not in Deathbringer's character to interfere in other peoples' matches. SR: What the hell's the point of having him out at ringside, then, huh, Dross? Is he just supposed to be some kind of hatstand, or something? TD: Deathbringer is undoubtedly an intimidating and imposing presence to have at ringside, Steve Roberts -- and he did, at least, appear to stave off the threat of interference from Genesis. Let's move on. We'll divert our attention from the singles tournament for a while and take a look at two good tag teams here in the IIWF. In just a few moments, we'll see the Hollywood Bloods go up against the Last Resort. Let's go backstage to get comments from Doug Wayne and Clark Watson as they make their last-minute preparations: [Cut to the Hollywood Bloods in their locker room.  Clark Watson is sitting patiently on a stool while Doug Wayne paces back and forth.] DW: [takes a deep breath] Moments away from the big match. Take those pictures from Mars and throw them in the garbage because the whole world is about to see how big and bad the Bloods are.  Make sure the VCR is set because you ain't gonna see anything like this. CW: Last Resort this may be your "Last" match because the only way you guys are getting out of Boston is in a doggy bag. Nothing is being held back tonight. We are going to pull out all the stops. DW: We've been waiting months to get our shot on PPV. The whole PPV community will finally get their money's worth on an event. This match is going to be an earbiter. [Looks at Watson and laughs] CW: You burrito-breaths are going to wish that all we do is give you a bite on the ear. Unlike Evander Holyfield you won't be that lucky.  Forget plastic surgery for you guys.  The doctors are going to have to start from scratch after we're done with you. DW: [Makes a big smile]  So make sure the popcorn is hot, the beer cold and the VCR set because this is going to be a war. See ya in the ring, boys. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: The Last Resort has been hot as hot can be since defeating the High Plains Drifters back in August, though I just cannot see how they do it. That old fat guy, El Diablo, and that freak, the Masked Avenger, don't seem to have a multitude of talent, but they do win. TD: And the "Hollywood Bloods", new names to old faces. Clark Watson and Doug Wayne, formerly the W & W Express, have recently changed their attitudes a bit, and have become, well, really nasty. SR: I like the new moves. The W and W was nothing more than a waste of time. Now these two have a mean streak going for them. TD: Let's see which team has more going for them as we go up to Sparkplug Lee for the introductions. ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## | ## ## ## ## ## Hollywood Bloods vs. The Last Resort | ## ## #### ## | ## ## ## ## [Winners face World Tag Champs on July 26] | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: NN [Sparkplug Lee enters the ring once more, and raises his microphone:] RA: The following tag team encounter is set for one fall! Introducing first, being led to the ring by Mr. Friday... [A spotlight hits a stage off to the side, where a mariachi band begins playing Mexican tunes. Big pop!] ...at a total combined weight of 515 pounds... El Diablo, The Masked Avenger, the team of The Last Resort! [The two men make their way down the aisle. El Diablo is about 6'2", and obviously aging and overweight. The Masked Avenger, donning his black and green mask, is also about 6'2". The men hit the ringside area, and begin passing out merchandise and slapping hands.] TD: Here is my pick to win the match, Steve. What do you think? SR: I think the new attitude of the Bloods will help them to a victory -- but what the hell is this new music all about? TD: I kinda like it. [El Diablo straddles one turnbuckle and plays to the crowd, while the masked man bounces from rope to rope. The crowd laughs as El Diablo loses his balance and almost falls off the buckle. Sparkplug, chuckling, continues:] RA: And their opponents... from Hollywood, California... ["Paradise City" by Guns 'n' Roses begins. Soon after, however, El Diablo points at the mariachi band, which begins playing more music. The Bloods look incredibly annoyed, and they sprint to the ring!] TD: Sparkplug's gettin' out of there... he doesn't want to be caught in that! [Doug Wayne begins working in on El Diablo as The Masked Avenger cuts off Watson. Wayne moves in with karate kicks on El Diablo, doubling him over. A quick DDT flattens him on the mat. Watson sends The Masked Avenger in for the ride, and gives him a Superkick. The Avenger and El Diablo roll out of the ring to the floor, with some help from the boots of the Bloods. The Bloods stand in the ring alone, and gesture to the crowd to a series of boos and jeers.] SR: Sure looks like the Bloods have it going for them in the early going. TD: Indeed, the Resort hasn't done very well yet. [El Diablo whispers something in The Avenger's ear, then hops into the ring. The referee orders that one man leave the ring for the Bloods, and Watson obliges. El Diablo offers a handshake to Wayne, who extends his hand as well. El Diablo, ever the opportunist, kicks Wayne in the gut to a huge pop! Watson, outraged, steps through the ropes, but El Diablo shows the ref. The official cuts him off, and El Diablo waves the Avenger through the ropes. With a double team behind the ref's back, El Diablo sends Wayne into the ropes. The Avenger drops down and punches him in the stomach, and Diablo delivers a bulldog! Diablo covers - but the ref sees the Avenger in the ring, jumping in glee. There is no count. Diablo, frustrated, tags to the Avenger.] SR: There we saw the weakness of this team. Diablo is slow and obviously over the hill, but he's smart in the ring -- I have to give him that much. Now Avenger has some athletic ability, but he's a basketcase. He has no clue as to what's going on in the ring. There Diablo set 'em up, but Avenger cost them a pinfall. TD: Good point. SR: I know. Heh. Ain't I the bomb, Dross? TD: I have no idea what you're talking about. [Doug Wayne moves in and catches the Avenger off guard with a fist to the nose. Avenger reels, and is taken down by a headlock takeover. Avenger's shoulders are down - 1 - 2 - kickout. The Avenger gets back to his feet, and sends Wayne into the ropes. Wayne tags to Watson, and grasps the ropes. The Avenger tries a dropkick, but misses completely. Wayne laughs as Watson steps in and drops an elbow. He covers - 1 - 2 - save by El Diablo! Pop! Wayne charges across the ring at El Diablo, who begs off. Wayne gets closer, and El Diablo tosses him over the top rope to the floor! Big pop!] TD: These antics by El Diablo sure are entertaining, aren't they? SR: I guess. [In the ring, Watson snaps up the Avenger and executes a suplex. He covers again - 1 - 2 - kickout. From the floor, Doug Wayne grabs El Diablo by the ankle and pulls him to the outside. Wayne strikes El Diablo in the head with a forearm, and then sends him into the safety rail. El Diablo holds himself up against it, and Wayne charges in, but Diablo ducks. Wayne flies over the rail into the crowd!!! Big pop as Diablo yells something in Spanish. The mariachi band plays again, and The Masked Avenger seems to get a second wind, getting to his feet and overpowering Clark Watson. Watson goes down, and the Avenger tags! Big pop!] TD: The crowd is really taking to El Diablo here in Boston! SR: Doug D'Amato has completely lost control of this match. There's people on the inside, there's fighting on the outside, there's never a legal tag... TD: It's _Dave_ D'Amato, Steve. SR: Oh, well, I thought it was Doug _El Sucko_ from the looks of this match. TD: What about El Super Gecko? SR: Don't even get me started, Dross. [El Diablo comes into the ring and is all over the tiring Watson, with punches and elbow drops. Doug Wayne is still trying to work his way out of the crowd, but it seems that fans are holding him by the ankle and he's literally _fighting_ his way back to the ring. El Diablo catches Watson with an inverted atomic drop, and then a clothesline. The Avenger hops to the floor to attack Doug Wayne again, beating him down to the ground. Diablo drags Clark up one more time, and delivers his patented shoulderbreaker. El Diablo looks to the crowd and yells "let's finish it!" in a form of broken English. The crowd pops in anxiety and the mariachi band speeds up.] TD: El Diablo has said, "The hell with this." He's ready to pin Clark Watson. SR: Well, anything to end this match and get us to Kowalski putting the hurt on Ike Sampson. Now that'll be entertaining. [El Diablo walks to his corner, and extends his hand. When he turns to look, The Masked Avenger is brawling on the floor. El Diablo yells for his partner, who returns to the apron, just as Watson rolls El Diablo up - 1 - 2 - kickout! El Diablo tags to the Avenger, and has a few choice words for him.] TD: He really cost them a chance at delivering the Downward Spiral there. [Doug Wayne finally gets back to the apron, after a good eight minutes on the floor. Watson tries to tag, but is cut off by The Avenger. Watson, however, gouges the eye of the youngster, and tags in Doug Wayne. Wayne takes the ring by storm, overwhelming the Masked Avenger and taking him to the ground. He covers - 1 - kickout. Wayne suplexes The Masked Avenger and covers again - 1 - 2 - kickout. Wayne gets onto one knee and applies a reverse headlock.] TD: A rest hold here by Doug Wayne, and I can't blame him. He was fighting everyone -- El Diablo, The Masked Avenger, the fans -- out there on the floor for quite some time. SR: He's gotta be a little winded, but he's so physically tough that I can't imagine keeping him down for long. [Wayne holds on to the headlock as long as he can, and then tags out to Clark Watson, who kicks the helpless Avenger in the gut. Watson covers - 1 - 2 - kickout. Watson sends The Avenger in to the ropes, and kicks him in the stomach. He follows up with a big neckbreaker! He covers - 1 - 2 - save by El Diablo. The referee escorts El Diablo out of the ring, and Doug Wayne comes in with a quick leg drop across the chest of The Avenger. Another cover, but the ref is slow to see it - 1 - 2 - weak kickout.] SR: You know, this match has been kinda boring. TD: Well, I guess that's just a matter of opinion, Steve. SR: We still have some great action up next, though. [Watson drags the Avenger back up to his feet and sets him on the bottom rope, choking him across it. The ref administers a count - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - Watson steps back.] TD: Yes indeed, Deathbringer will face Tony Starks in a little while, and we know that will be one heck of a battle. SR: I hope Starks gets his back broken. TD: Again? SR: Yeah. [Watson heads to the other side. El Diablo, standing on the apron, slaps his hurt partner's hand, making the tag, which the referee calls, but which Watson seems not to notice. Watson leaps and lands on The Masked Avenger's back, slamming his throat into the rope.] TD: Joe Petrow will face Derek Mota... [Watson grabs the Avenger by the hair, but doesn't notice El Diablo behind him. Diablo rolls Clark up - 1 - 2 - 3! Wayne rolls into the ring too late... Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: Like I said Steve Kowalski will kill Ike Sampson... TD: Wait a minute! He got him! RA: Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners, as the result of a pinfall... The Last Resort! [Huge pop! The mariachi band plays a gleeful tune as El Diablo grabs the hurt Masked Avenger and makes a quick getaway, Mr. Friday congratulating his men as they flee the ring. Wayne helps Watson to his feet, and opens his arms wide, as if to say, "What the hell happened?" Watson kicks the bottom ropes in frustration, and yells something at his partner. The two men immediately take off after the Resort, who glance behind them and see the Bloods in hot pursuit. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, Steve, out of nowhere, it's the Last Resort who once again show why they really are one of the most dangerous tag teams in the IIWF -- for an entire match, they can look like they've barely wrestled as partners, and then in a flash, El Diablo and the Masked Avenger turn on the teamwork, and wham! SR: They're just a couple of prelim bums who got lucky, Dross. When they go up against the Prophets of Rage in a couple of weeks, their luck won't be so good. TD: You're rather presuming that the Prophets will still be tag team champions in two weeks' time, Steve. Don't forget that they will be facing Cold Spell a little later on tonight, at the conclusion of the "Sweet Sixteen" tournament matches. SR: I didn't forget, Dross. There's no way those two clowns are going to take the titles from the Prophets. They're brutal, they're talented, they're powerful... and they're "brothers." TD: Please, Steve, can we have less of the insensitive comments? SR: Why change the habits of a lifetime, fatso? TD: [sighs] Okay, let's move on to our next tournament match. Who would have believed a few shorts weeks ago that Steve Kowalski would have secured a spot in this tournament? SR: Hell, Dross, _I_ told everyone that the Fury would be back. You just don't listen to the Soundbite, baby. It's the way to the top: Slap a lawsuit on my personal gravy train Steve Owens and watch the suits buckle under the pressure. TD: There is no denying that Steve Kowalski certainly has changed the complexion of Coronation Clash -- not least by administering the Skullpump on the aforementioned Mr. Owens earlier tonight. SR: Coronation Kowalski! Ha! I love it! TD: He put an exclamation point on his first-round match, Skullpumping "Dangerous" Danny Dynamite, who we thought would receive an easy bye into the second round. SR: Instead, it was bye-bye Danny Dud. TD: Kowalski can't look past his opponent tonight, however. Young Ike Sampson may be a decided underdog against the Fury, but he's proven that he has the skills to advance well into this tournament and possible even win it. He even got past Creed in the first round. SR: He's not only an underdog... he's under a dog. A mad dog. I'm tellin' you, Watkins is holding this kid back. Sampson is part of the new generation... the future of the IIWF... the next... TD: You're baiting me, aren't you? SR: Well, it ain't any fun when you see it coming. TD: Let's just go up to the ring for our introductions. ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## "Sweet Sixteen" Tournament Match: | ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------- | ## ## #### ## [GROUP A] | ## ## ## ## Steve "the Fury" Kowalski vs. Ike Sampson | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: SO [The spotlight falls on Sparkplug Lee, who winks at 93-year-old Esther Osterhout, former IIWF Fan of the Week. Esther seems to be asleep, which doesn't deter Sparky until a wadded cup smacks him in the head. "Kiss" begins to blare over the PA system.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, this contest is scheduled for one fall with a 15 minute time limit. A competitor must win to advance in the tournament. Introducing first, hailing from Winston-Salem, North Carolina, weighing in at 304 pounds and accompanied to the ring by Mad Dog Watkins, he is... IIIIIIke Sampsonnnnn! [Big pop as Sampson and Watkins stroll slowly into the Coliseum, a single spotlight following them down the aisle. Both men appear very confident and slap a few fans' hands without even looking at them. Sampson grins at one fan's homemade poster: "THE MAD DOG AND THE BIG DOG GONNA _POUND_ KOWALSKI". Watkins can be heard to say something about "Dirt Dog" and pointing at the IIWF Cruiserweight Champion in the crowd as the two enter the ring laughing. The music quickly changes to "Don't Fear the Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult, sending the crowd into a frenzy.] SL: And his opponent, about to make his way to the ring, hails from Newark, New Jersey. Weighing in at 268 pounds, he is the man known as the New Jersey Nightmare, he is... Steve "The Fury" Kowallllllski! [The huge pop continues as the lights drop and Kowalski enters the Coliseum. A small group of fans wearing matching black "Better Dead Than Owens" t-shirts begin a "Skull-Pump... Skull-Pump " chant. Kowalski, still with a heavy beard, stands in the entry and soaks up the applause before heading down the aisle. He spots the homemade poster intended for Watkins and says something about "Doggy [BLEEP]in' Yo Momma! As he strolls toward the ring, Kowalski spots "Sychosys" Joe Petrow in the crowd and adds, "Speaking of doggy [BLEEP]s!"] TD: I don't know what it is about Steve Kowalski that turns on these fans. SR: He's got that animal magnetism... just like the Soundbite. The ladies love us! TD: It must be that "Sparkplug" aftershave, huh? SR: Maybe Sparky will be doggy [BLEEP]in' old Esther Osterhout after the show. [yelling toward the ring] Tell her to take her teeth out, Sparky! [Sparkplug looks confused as he exits the ring. Referee Dave D'Amato issues instructions to both competitors, making sure they understand that either man must win to advance in the tournament, as Watkins leaves the ring. Kowalski ignores D'Amato, opting to stare out at Joe Petrow and the Sychopaths in the crowd, but Sampson nods his understanding.] TD: Referee Dave D'Amato is making sure that both men realize that he's in charge here. SR: Maybe that works with Sampson because he's used to having Big Brother put him in his place, but Kowalski doesn't respect authority. TD: It's that discipline that may be Ike Sampson's secret weapon in this match. SR: If "Thunderbolt" Jack Sampson wrestled this match for him, Ikey boy may have a shot, but the kid is on his own tonight. TD: That's how Ike Sampson wants it. It's common knowledge that he wants to make his own mark here in the IIWF and escape the shadow of his brother. But he isn't exactly on his own because Mad Dog Watkins is in his corner. SR: Yeah, and Kowalski really looks impressed by that. [For the first time, Kowalski's acknowledges Sampson's presence. He looks at Ike's massive frame and grins. The ring mic picks up his comment: "Big dog? Ya look like a little _bitch_ to me!" Sampson just stares back at Kowalski as D'Amato calls for the bell. Kowalski charges Sampson and knocks him into the corner, delivering closed right-hand blows to the midsection.] TD: No secret here. Steve Kowalski is taking the fight right to Sampson here in an effort to turn the match into a brawl. SR: You don't walk away from a brawl with the Fury, Dross. TD: But you can't easily push around a man the size of... wow, Ike Sampson... look at this! [Sampson wraps his meaty hands around Kowalski's neck and lifts him off the mat, then tosses him back toward the opposite corner. Kowalski quickly gets to one knee and scowls at Sampson, then retorts, "You sure ain't no Thunderbolt, kid!" The comment sends Sampson into a rage and he charges Kowalski, only to meet a boot to the midsection. The Fury then throws Sampson through the ropes to the arena floor to a big heel pop.] TD: Ooh, Sampson let Kowalski get into his head right there. He's going to have to keep his cool if he hopes to have his hand raised in this match. SR: But now it's time for the kid to go to school because Professor Kowalski just entered the classroom. TD: Don't forget that Sampson had precious little time to prepare for this match. He expected to be facing either Tiger Claw or Casey James, but both men unexpectedly withdrew from the tournament in favor of tag team competition. SR: Aw jeez, don't get me started on that! [Kowalski rolls to the arena floor and begins stomping on Sampson, then drags him to his feet. Big heel pop as Kowalski puts Sampson's head between his legs and prepares for a piledriver, but Sampson powers out of the hold and backdrops Kowalski onto the arena floor. Big face pop. Sampson rolls under the bottom rope to break Referee Earl Alfonso's count, then rolls back out to the Fleet Center floor. He appears ready to ram Kowalski's head into the ring post when he spots Watkins and hesitates. Sampson then opts for a body slam before rolling back into the ring to the encouragement of Mad Dog Watkins.] TD: You don't often see Steve Kowalski manhandled outside the ring, but Ike Sampson took the fight right to him. SR: Why didn't he finish Kowalski off, though? That's a weakness! [D'Amato's count reaches seven before Kowalski rolls back into the ring. Sampson is there to meet him and stomps on the Fury's neck before applying a headlock. Kowalski is finally able to shake off Ike into the ropes and ducks a clothesline attempt on the return, but is able to hook Sampson's leg and brings the big man down. He quickly applies a falcon leglock as Sampson grunts in pain. The Furies in the crowd begin to get behind their man with a "FU-RY... FU-RY!" chant. D'Amato drops to the mat and asks Sampson if he wants to submit, but Ike shakes his head. Kowalski screams: "Woof woof! I'm gonna send yer ass downtown to the pound!"] TD: Steve Kowalski didn't have much success taking the fight to young Ike Sampson outside the ring, but ironically he's the one who has turned this back into a wrestling match. SR: Hey Dross, wanna hear a good lawyer joke? TD: What? SR: Too bad... there's no such thing as a good lawyer. [Sampson slowly makes his way to the ropes, forcing Kowalski to break the hold. The Fury adds a quick kick to Sampson's leg before Ike is able to get to his feet. Sampson seems to be favoring his leg, which is like blood to a shark. Kowalski dives at the leg, again knocking Sampson off his feet. He presses his boot against Sampson's knee, using the top rope for extra leverage. Watkins objects outside the ring, making Kowalski break the hold and turn his attention on Mad Dog: "You want some of this next, old man?" Kowalski grins as he adds one final kick to Sampson's knee.] TD: Sampson is taking quite a beating here and now Kowalski is turning his fury on Watkins. SR: That's what I love about Kowalski -- he's an equal opportunity offender. Living in New Jersey makes you a bitter man... a bitter, bitter man. [Kowalski pulls Sampson to his feet, only to floor him again with a short-arm clothesline. He throws up his arms and roars at the crowd, only to be met with a rain of "boos" from the Sampson fans. The Fury climbs the turnbuckles and makes an obscene gesture to the crowd from the top rope, then leaps toward Sampson. His splash attempt fails as Ike rolls out of the way and Kowalski hits nothing but canvas.] TD: Kowalski spent too much time egging on the fans right there. He gave Ike Sampson time to catch his breath. SR: Thank you for that insight, Mr. Cliche. [Sampson is slow to get to his feet, but is still the first man up. He runs Kowalski hard into the corner and begins to pepper him with hard forearm blows. He pulls the Fury into the middle of the ring and applies a bearhug that seems to drive the breath right out of Kowalski, who winces in pain. The cheers from the crowd are mixed with yells from Sampson fans and chants from Kowalski fans.] TD: Ike Sampson got the opening he was looking for. This isn't his finishing move, but he's so strong that opponents have been forced to surrender to this bearhug. SR: Other opponents aren't Steve Kowalski, though. This is one of the toughest men in the IIWF. Even the smell of Sampson probably won't be enough to force the Fury to submit. [After nearly a minute, D'Amato lifts Kowalski's right arm into the air and it falls quickly. He lifts the arm again, but this time Kowalski makes a fist and drives it into Sampson's ear. The big man is staggered but does not release the bearhug. Kowalski again hits Sampson with an illegal punch, finally breaking the hold. The Fury runs to the ropes and attempts to hit Sampson with a cross-body block, but Ike catches him and turns it into a powerslam and a cover: 1 - 2 - KICKOUT!] TD: A near fall there. Ike Sampson has been very impressive here against Steve Kowalski. SR: Have we been watching the same match? Hey Dross, go get me 13 ears of corn from the concession stand. TD: Wha...?! I don't even want to know what that's about! [Sampson pulls Kowalski to his feet and whips him into the ropes, lifting the Fury and pressing him over his head to a huge face pop. But Sampson's knee suddenly buckles and Kowalski lands on top of him for the cover: 1 - 2 - KICKOUT! Kowalski is slowly to his feet, then climbs to the second rope and drops an elbow on Sampson's knee. He pulls the big man up and rubs his face along the ropes. Big heel pop. Kowalski smiles and yells something at Mad Dog about "Watkins is my German Shepherd... I shall not want". Kowalski hits Sampson with a headbutt that sends Sampson to the mat, then jumps off the bottom rope and lands with a knee across the big man's throat. Outside the ring, Watkins merely shakes his head as Kowalski goes for the cover: 1 - 2 - KICKOUT!] TD: Steve Kowalski senses the kill in this match and Mad Dog Watkins seems to feel the same way. How difficult it must be for Watkins to watch this match and not interfere! SR: That's why Sampson should have found a mentor like Brian Lau -- someone who is always there when you need him. Dammit, where is my corn, man? [The Furies begin a deafening "SKULL-PUMP" chant as Kowalski whips Sampson into the ropes and nearly takes his head off with a big clothesline. He cups his hand over his ear and picks up the crowd's chant as the evil grin appears once again across his face. Kowalski merely nods as he approaches Sampson.] TD: The Furies want the Skullpump and it appears that Kowalski is going to give it to them right now. SR: You mean he's going to give it to Sampson. TD: I mean he's going to... oh my, Sampson with the big right hand! [Ike doubles over Kowalski with a strong punch to the midsection and rolls Kowalski into a small package: 1 - 2 - KICKOUT! As both men get to their feet, Sampson hits a belly-to-belly suplex and covers again: 1 - 2 - KICKOUT! Sampson's fans again come to life and Mad Dog Watkins begins pounding on the ring apron. Watkins' body literally shakes with intensity and a small pocket of Sampson fans begins a "DEEP FREEZE... DEEP FREEZE" chant to counter the Furies.] TD: And now it's Ike Sampson with the momentum in this back and forth match. He could pull out the upset victory in this battle of double underhook piledrivers! SR: Who told those people they could cheer... and why don't I have any corn here yet? TD: He's got him! Sampson has Kowalski! [Sampson shakes his head rapidly as he grabs Kowalski's arms and prepares for the piledriver. D'Amato, standing behind Ike, does not see Kowalski frantically drive the top of his head into Sampson's crotch. Ike releases the hold, allowing Kowalski to lock Sampson's arms and execute the Skullpump to a huge pop. Quick cover: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Kowalski reversed it, but I don't think you can say that was very sporting! SR: Leave it to Kowalski to use his head in a tight situation! Ha! TD: Kowalski apparently will advance, but Ike Sampson won't be very happy about the way he did it -- and neither is Mad Dog Watkins. SR: Sore losers. [Watkins jumps to the ring apron and points at Kowalski, complaining to D'Amato. The referee merely holds his arms up and shakes his head, while Kowalski flicks some sweat at Watkins and exits the far side of the ring. Sampson rolls over and pounds the mat in his anger.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner of this match is Steve "The Fury" Kowalski! [On his way back up the aisle, Kowalski accepts the congratulations of the Furies, including a shower of Molson Golden. Watkins slaps Sampson on the back as Ike exits the ring and they talk quietly in the corner. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: So Steve Kowalski, to no one's surprise, advances to the Elite Eight here at Coronation Clash. SR: Certainly not to my surprise. I told you all that the Fury is back and he's back with a vengeance -- a vengeance that will end with him holding the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship belt at the end of the night. TD: In this next match, we'll have the massive Deathbringer squaring off against Tony Starks in a definite contrast of styles.  One has to wonder if Starks' submission style will work against his much larger opponent. SR: He's got to stick and move in order to beat him, Dross.  Stick a pipe in Deadhead's head, then move so the ref don't see it. TD: What a wonderful display of sportmanship, Steve.  Let's get to the ring for the introductions. ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## "Sweet Sixteen" Tournament Match: | ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------- | ## ## #### ## [GROUP C] | ## ## ## ## Deathbringer vs. Tony Starks | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: RR [Scene cuts to the ring area, where Sparkplug Lee is tying his shoe. He looks up, startled at the technician's warning, and stands up blushing.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this next match is scheduled for one fall, and has a fifteen minute time limit.  It is a "Sweet Sixteen" round match in the World Championship tournament!  So introducing first, weighing in at 269 pounds and hailing from Staten Island, New York... TONY STARKS! [Wu Tang Clan's "C.R.E.A.M." begins to blare over the speaker system, and Starks emerges from the locker room, a white towel draped around his head, his eyes staring out from underneath, focused and determined.  He makes his way deliberately to ringside, stopping only to acknowledge a cheering Dirt Dog Unique Allah in the crowd, nestled among a plethora of attractive women.] RA: And his opponent, standing 6'10", and weighing in at 324 pounds, I give you... DEATHBRINGER! [Starks' music fades into Grave Digger's "The Reaper" as Deathbringer strides out from the back and down the aisle.  Following closely behind him is Serge Annis, and the pair make their way to the ring together.  Deathbringer climbs into the ring and stares intently at Starks, as Annis just circles the ring on the outside. Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: And they're off! TD: They're not horses, you know. SR: Take a whiff of Starks, and then try telling me that with a straight face. [Both men lock up, with Deathbringer using his huge size to take an early advantage.  He backs Starks into the corner turnbuckle, where two forearms to Starks' chest stun him long enough for Deathbringer to plant a boot into his gut, doubling him over.  Deathbringer then scoops him up and slams him to the mat easily, following this up with an elbow drop to the chest area.  He reaches over and hooks the leg for a quick pin attempt, but only receives a count of one for his efforts before Starks kicks out.] TD: A fast start here by Deathbringer. SR: Do you think he's ever killed anyone? TD: Who, Deathbringer? SR: Yeah... I mean, shouldn't his name be "Painbringer" or "Severe Concussion Bringer" or something like that?  It'd be a shame to be sued for false advertising. [Deathbringer stands up again, pulling Starks up with him, and backs him into the ropes with another pair of forearms.  He then Irish Whips Starks to the other side, and sets up for a Gorilla Press, but Starks slips out of Deathbringer's grasp, and continues off the other ropes. Deathbringer tries to bring up a boot to Starks' head, but Starks notices just in time, catching the boot and leg-dragging Deathbringer to the mat, who promptly rolls out of the ring.  Starks follows, but is caught by Deathbringer, who slams Starks' head into the ring apron and tosses him back inside.] TD: A nice try by Starks, but it looks like Deathbringer just out-masses him. SR: Dross, that man out-masses some small moons. [Deathbringer continues his assault in the ring, battering Starks with a series of forearms and knees to the gut, then planting Starks about two inches into the mat canvas with a chokeslam that evokes a smile from Annis, a groan from the crowd, and a barely intelligible string of profanities from the Dirt Dog in the audience.  Deathbringer picks Starks up again, but is met with a desperation jawbreaker by the Staten Island native, leaving Deathbringer stumbling around in the ring holding his mouth, and Starks on his knees in the middle trying to catch his wind.  He looks up, however, when a collective groan from the audience catches his ears, gazing groggily down the aisle in time to witness the arrival of...] SR: It's the Outlaw!  We're saved! TD: Steve, for the last time... SR: Oh, shut up Dross.  You wouldn't know a good thing if it jumped up and bit you on the buttcheek, and dammit man, THAT is a good thing! [The masked man makes his way closer to the ring, where Deathbringer has grabbed Starks by the back of the head and headbutted him.  He picks Starks up, but is met in turn by a quick thrust kick to the inside of his knee, causing him to stagger and lose his grip on Starks.  Starks turns around and runs off the opposite ropes, ducking a clothesline attempt by Deathbringer, and sliding baseball-style under the bottom rope, where he lands on his feet outside the ring next to the Outlaw.  He winds up and slugs the masked man, slams his head into the railing, and tears his mask off his head, revealing...] TD: That's Casey James under the mask! SR: What?  No... no it CAN'T be!  That's the Outlaw, I tell you! TD: See for yourself, Steve!  That's James! SR: [sobbing]  No... it can't be true... TD: [triumphantly]  You owe me dinner, Steve. [Starks prepares to slam James' head into the railing again, but gets a fist to the gut instead.  Starks is then shoved back against the ringpost, where he battered by body blows, with James finally winding up for the Blackheart Punch... and connecting with nothing but steel ringpost as Starks dodges out of the way at the last moment!  James recoils, holding his hand in pain as the referee motions to James to leave the area or face heavy fines. James shows the referee a middle-finger salute, and backs away from the ring, motioning that he doesn't care anyway, departing to the boos of the crowd.  Deathbringer, in the meantime, has recovered enough to come out after Starks, and clubs him from behind, rolling him back into the ring afterwards.] TD: An interesting turn of events here in this match... SR: [still sobbing]  I want my Outlaw back. [Deathbringer picks Starks up and hoists him over his head in a more successful military press this time, holding him there for close to ten seconds before finally dropping him like a bad habit in the center of the ring.  He drops a leg across Starks' chest, stands up, and drops another one, this time rolling over and hooking the leg, holding Starks down for the two and a half this time before he manages to kick out.  He picks Starks up one more time, and hoists him up for a tombstone piledriver, but Starks slips out and behind Deathbringer, grabbing him in a quick Cobra Clutch and falling backwards into a brutal back suplex that drops Deathbringer right on the back of his head.  Both men lay winded on the mat, and both begin to stir at about the 6-count by the referee.] TD: A great desperation move by Starks!  I have no idea how he got Deathbringer up for that... any ideas, Steve? SR: Leave me alone.  I'm sulking. TD: If you insist. [Starks reaches his feet a split-second before Deathbringer does, and takes that opportunity to drive a boot into the side of his opponent's skull.  He stands up, shakes his head as if to clear the cobwebs out of it, and grabs Deathbringer about the waist and falls back again, this time into a Northern Lights Suplex that nets him his first two-count of the match.  Rolling to his feet, he spies Allah in the crowd and nods, grabbing the bigger man in the preparation for the Katha Jime submission hold... but is tossed off and through the second and top ropes by Deathbringer.  He follows Starks out, where the two men begin going shot for shot on the conctere floor.  Serge Annis, realizing he's a bit too close to the action, stands up from where he's sitting, folds up the chair... and winds up with it, pulling it back behind his head like a baseball bat.] TD: Look out, Tony! SR: Club him, Serge! [Annis swings the chair forward, but Starks catches a glimpse of is out of the corner of his eye and drops down, grabbing the front of Deathbringer's tights and slingshotting him forward, face-first, into the chair with the leverage move.  Deathbringer falls straight backwards after the impact, and Starks stands up, jumping into the air with a dropkick that hits the chair, which, in turn, hits Annis, and knocks both Serge and the seat to the floor.] TD: Annis just accidentally hit Deathbringer with the chair! SR: Accident, shmaccident.  That was on purpose.  He's still surly about before. [Starks picks up the prone Deathbringer and tosses him back into the ring, where he follows with a cover, bracing his feet on the bottom rope for leverage out of sight of the ref as the three-count is made: 1 - 2 - 3! Deathbringer weakly kicks out a moment too late. Ding! Ding! Ding! Big pop from the crowd!] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, as the result of a pinfall: Tony Starks! [Starks rolls out of the ring, holding his hands up in the air in victory, as Deathbringer dazedly rolls to his feet, staring heatedly at Annis.] TD: Oh my! Starks takes the victory! What an upset, Steve Roberts! Deathbringer has been eliminated from the Coronation Clash tournament! SR: Aw well, Dross. Can't get too cut up about it. [Annis protests his innocence as Deathbringer stares at him, but when the big man in black turns his back, Annis gives his partner a single fingered salute. Big pop from the crowd!] TD: Did you see that, Steve Roberts? Did you see that? SR: Yeah, Annis was seeing which way the wind blows. TD: No, he was not. [Deathbringer leaves the ring and makes his way up the aisle to the cheers of the crowd, Annis following silently behind. Cut back to the broadcast desk at ringside.] TD: This next match should be an interesting one to watch. SR: No, Dross.  Cindy Crawford in a g-string dancing on the table in front of me is interesting to watch.  Dirt Dog's bevy of women is interesting to watch.  This, however, is going to be scary to watch.  Kind of like Roseanne dancing in a g-string... TD: Steve, I just ate a little while ago.  Do you mind? SR: Not at all.  Roseanne dancing in a g-string, finally making her way over to you and then... TD: No, Steve. No more.  Let's get to ringside before I become violently ill. ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## "Sweet Sixteen" Tournament Match: | ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------- | ## ## #### ## [GROUP B] | ## ## ## ## "Sychosys" Joe Petrow vs. Derek Mota | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: RR [Scene cuts to the ring, where Sparkplug Lee is winking lecherously at a rather attractive lady in the front row.  His cue to start the announcements comes at about the same time he is pelted in the head with a Twinkie, and so he starts doing his job, sponge-cake stain and all.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this next match is scheduled for one fall, and is another match in the Coronation Clash World Championship Tournament!  Introducing first, standing 6'3" tall and weighing in at 227 pounds... "SYCHOSYS" JOE PETROW! [Amidst a huge pop from the Sychopaths, Petrow stands up as the Sychopath with the Boombox blares Genesis' "Supper's Ready: Lover's Leap" epic.  Petrow drops his robe, revealing an all white bodysuit and white boots, then turns to the standing McArthur and mouths the words, "You'll just get in the way", placing a hand on his shoulder and gently lowering him back into his seat.  He hops over the railing and calmly slides under the bottom rope... then goes totally berserk, bouncing from side to side in the ring, and running laps at full speed, totally disorienting Sparkplug Lee.] RA: And his appointment... er, opponent... standing at 10'5"... I mean... oh... DEREK MOTA! [The crowd turns their head to find Mota, who has stood up in the audience on the OTHER side of the ring, a mirror image of Petrow's usual entrance.  A small group of "Motapaths" have congregated around him, and are cheering him on and mocking Petrow.  Petrow sees this and, without missing a step, runs up the turnbuckle and launches himself into the air at Mota, slamming into him headfirst and sending the both of them sprawling onto the floor outside the ring.  The timekeeper rings the bell, and the match officially starts with both men lying stunned outside the ring.] TD: Oh my... this could get ugly. SR: I thought you didn't want to talk about the Roseanne thing anymore? [Both men shakily get to their feet, Mota with a "How the hell did you do that?" look on his face, Petrow with a "How the hell did _I_ do that?" look on his.  Both roll back into the ring, but it is Petrow who is running full tilt at the other ropes, slingshotting back and lauching himself into the air with a cross body block.  His aim is a bit off, however, and succeeds only in slamming his knees into Mota's chest and dropping himself to the mat harder than his opponent.  He is quickly grabbed by Mota, who recovered first, and caught in a waistlock from behind.  Petrow tries to shake him off, but Mota hangs on doggedly, finally driving Petrow to the mat and spinning around on top of him, laying all his weight on the back of Petrow's head.] TD: Some nice basic mat moves there by Mota, following some interesting aerial maneuvers by Petrow. SR: This is too weird.  They're copying each other, and not even doing a pretty good job of it.  And believe me, I'm a master of faking it. TD: So I've heard. SR: At least I get the chance to, Dross. [While the two lovers squabble back in the booth, Mota has spun around again and rolled over, pinning the thrashing Petrow's shoulders against the mat for a two count before the move is kicked out of. Petrow gets up, looking rather incensed that he had to slow down for that long, and promptly kicks Mota square in the gut.  Mota doubles over, the wind temporarily knocked out of him, and Petrow goes off the ropes behind him again, essentially jumping feet first onto Mota's back then straight up into the air.  On the way down Petrow crunches up into a "cannonball" potision, landing with all his weight directly between Mota's shoulderblades and driving Mota's face into the canvas.  Petrow bounds to his feet again, and climbs up to the top turnbuckle, posing for a second before launching himself off into what looks like a swan dive... if the swan was 80 years old, blind in one eye, and recently shot full of buckshot.  In other words, Petrow misses Mota by a good five feet and bounces off the mat as his opponent looks on with a chuckle.] TD: Both men trying the other's repertoire might not be such a good idea... they should probably stick to what they're good at. SR: How the hell did YOU get this job, Dross?  YOU'RE not good at it. [Mota gets up as Petrow is staggering to his feet, yells something to the effect of "LOOK!  It's the Outlaw!" and, as the referee looks around to find the source of the alarm, Mota slips his shoe off and clubs Petrow in the head with it, wryly quipping, "You're right, kicking these shoes off WAS a good idea!"  He slides his foot back into it as the referee turns back around, picking his dazed opponent up and slamming Petrow's head back into the mat with a leaping DDT. Soon Petrow is propped up in the corner, courtesy of Mota, and is being battered with shots to the ribs and head and, as Petrow stumbles out from the corner, Mota grins broadly and nails Petrow with a rather nicely executed Sycho Kick to the face, dropping Petrow like a ton of bricks.] TD: That was the Sychokick!  That's Petrow's move! SR: [Tapping Dross on the shoulder]  Ummm... Timmy-boy?  You seem to be missing the point here. TD: Don't call me that.  My first grade teacher called me that, and I still have nightmares about it. SR: [scribbling furiously in a note pad] Call...  him...  Timmy... boy.  Thanks, Dross. [Petrow tries staggering to his feet, but is caught by Mota, who snap suplexes him over quickly, then rolls back for the cover.  Petrow manages to kick out on two, however, but Mota is right back on top of him, locking in a full nelson and grinding Petrow's face against the mat.  The referee's check for a submission results only in a sharp laugh from Petrow, who pulls himself up to one knee and rolls forward, tossing Mota off his back.  Petrow reaches up and touches his forehead gingerly, a small trickle of blood streaming down over his eye from where it was groudn against the canvas.  The sight of the blood seems to stir something in Petrow, and he smiles a feral smile at Mota, then charges straight at him.  Mota sidesteps and turns the charge into an Irish whip, but makes the age-old mistake of putting his head down. Petrow comes off the ropes and stops short, grabbing Mota's arms and locking them behind his back, then falling backwards into a much more familiar move...] TD: He's locked the Sychopractic on Mota!  This could be it! [The Sychopaths go wild as Petrow throws all his weight into the move, garnering a scream of pain from Mota.  However, as the referee dives to the mat to check for a submission, Petrow lets go, allowing Mota to slump to the ground clutching at his shoulders and back.] SR: That dolt just broke the hold?  What drugs is he on? TD: I don't know, but he's apparently looking for them in a higher place.  [Petrow climbs to the top rope slowly, wiping the blood from his face and saluting his Sychopaths.  Mota, however, has recovered somewhat and shakes the top rope, causing Petrow to crotch himself on the buckle which he himself climbs up and starts pounding on Petrow's already cut-open head.  Petrow stands up again as well, and begins firing right hands back, until both men are standing precariously on the top rope trying to pummel each other.  Finally Mota's right hand gets blocked and a fist to the jaw stuns him enough for Petrow to wave to the Sychopaths again, point at Mota, and guarantee himself a spot on the highlight films for weeks to come.] TD: ASSPUMP FROM THE TOP ROPE!  THE CROWD IS GOING BALLISTIC! SR: Oh, someone call a paramedic. [Indeed, the Sychopaths are in seventh heaven now, starting a small version of the wave in their area.  Petrow rolls Mota over on the mat, climbs up to the top again and takes flight, finally coming down hard with a spinning legdrop that plants Mota about an inch deeper into the canvas.  He rolls over, grabs a leg, and holds his other arm up in the air as the ref counts: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] RA: The winner of the match, advancing in the tournament... "SYCHOSYS" JOE PETROW! [The Sychopath with the Boom Box cranks it up again, and Genesis' "Supper's Ready: The Guaranteed Eternal Sanctuary Man" blares out, but Petrow stands motionless in the ring, a look of worry crossing his face.  He climbs out after a little while, winded, muttering something about "something should have happened."  The Sychopaths toss a tarp over Petrow's head, and one is seen handing a robe in, much to the delight of a few ladies in the area.] TD: Well, Joe Petrow advances in the tournament -- what a strange match that was. Derek Mota getting to his feet now, and he looks understandably disappointed. [Mota rises in the ring, and attempts to shake off the cobwebs of Petrow's high-impact assault. He rolls over the top rope to the floor, and absently accepts the hands of the fans as he leaves the arena to a big pop. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What a night so far at the Fleet Center! This Coronation Clash is going to go down in the history books as one of the greatest pay-per-views of all time! SR: Too bad we have to mar it with this stupid match. A cartoon character versus Widdle Wonnie, if he even makes it to the ring after that masked guy put a beating on him earlier. TD: I have to believe that no attack would be sufficient to stop Ronnie Paris coming out here for this match, Steve Roberts. Referee Joey Patrick and Sparkplug Lee are in the ring... let's go up for the introductions. ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## "Sweet Sixteen" Tournament Match: | ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------- | ## ## #### ## [GROUP D] | ## ## ## ## Highwayman vs. Ronnie Paris | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: RP SL: This match is in the "Sweet Sixteen" round of the IIWF World Championship Tournament, and has a fifteen minute time limit. Introducing first, representing Genesis, and accompanied to the ring by Requiem, hailing from Leeds, England and weighing in at 285 pounds... here is... the Highwaaaaaaymaaaaan! ["Stand And Deliver" by Adam and the Ants comes through the P.A. as the Highwayman, accompanied by Requiem, comes down the aisle.] TD: Only two members of Genesis coming down, but an impressive two, Steve Roberts. SR: Hmmm, what? TD: What are you doing? Are you playing solitaire? SR: Tell me when the Prophets come out. TD: Steve Roberts is referring to the upcoming World Tag Title match which features the other members of Genesis... the _only_ other members, I might add, since Nightwing announced his departure from the IIWF. [The Highwayman stands ready in the ring, a look of determination on his face. Requiem stands outside the ring, impassively, ignoring the jeering fans behind him. In one ringside area, the Genesis Generation, the black-clad gang of fans, all stand and pay their respects to the Highwayman and Requiem.] SL: And introducing his opponent, hailing from the great state of Texas, weighing in at 210 pounds, here is Ronnie Paaaaariiiiiis! [Queen's "We Are The Champions" replaces "Stand And Deliver" and all eyes turn towards the aisle. The crowd's cheers drop to a murmur as Paris fails to appear.] SR: Widdle Wonnie's pulling a Chickenwing, Dross! [A few moments pass, and then the curtain is swept aside as Ronnie Paris limps out into the aisle, his face blackened by bruising from his earlier attack. His right eye is puffy, and his movement seems slightly impeded by muscular discomfort, but nonetheless he looks determined as he walks down the aisle.] TD: This is a young man with tremendous heart and courage, Steve Roberts. [When he reaches ringside, Paris goes over to where his family is sitting and starts conversing with his brothers, Daniel and Dave, seemingly about ring strategy.] TD: Paris is getting some last minute advice from his brothers and encouragement from his parents. Surprisingly, Highwayman is still waiting in the ring, unperturbed by this delay. [Finally, after an annoyed glance at his little sister's "I Love Marty" sign, Ronnie rolls into the ring. Joey Patrick calls for the bell and the match is under way. Paris moves in warily but Highwayman charges at him with a shoulder block. Paris dodges that quickly, but it is clear that he isn't reacting as quickly as normal.] TD: Ronnie Paris is still feeling the effects of that attack during the Free For All. SR: Good. Maybe this match will be short. [Paris moves in for a single leg takedown, but the Highwayman brings a double axe-handle thundering into his back. He then hauls off and nails Paris with a huge right hand.] TD: I think Highwayman wants to prove himself here tonight. He advanced into the tournament via a forfeit by former Genesis partner, Nightwing, and now he wants to prove he deserves the spot by destroying Ronnie Paris. [After a few more punches, Highwayman puts Paris' head between his own knees and pulls him up into a gutwrench powerbomb. Patrick counts: 1 - 2 - kickout! He immediately drags Paris back to his feet, and hits a piledriver on the Texan, before making another cover: 1 - 2 - again, Paris slips a shoulder up. Highwayman drags his opponent back up to a vertical base again, and backs him into a corner with a series of punches, chops and uppercuts. Once in the corner, Highwayman whips Paris across the ring towards the opposite buckles. Paris goes careening across the ring, and seems to trip forward, flipping over the buckles upside-down, and landing on the apron on the outside. Big pop! Paris grabs the ropes to steady himself -- but finds himself knocked to the floor by a barge from the Highwayman! Heel pop!] TD: The referee warning Highwayman here, Steve Roberts -- and Paris could be in big trouble on the outside. [Highwayman does his best to keep the official occupied, while Requiem stalks around to the side of the ring where Paris fell to the floor. The "Angel of Destruction" immediately puts the boots to the Texan, causing the crowd to erupt in a heel pop. Not a moment too soon, Requiem backs off, and the referee turns, casting a suspicious glare in the big man's direction. Requiem simply stares back at the official. Meanwhile, the Highwayman goes to the outside and rolls Paris back into the ring, before following him in himself.] TD: I don't know how much more Ronnie Paris can take. SR: Would you keep it down, Dross? I'm trying to sleep. [Highwayman picks Paris back up and puts him back down with a gutwrench suplex. Patrick drops to the canvas and makes the count: 1 - 2 - kickout! Highwayman jumps up and starts kicking Paris in the back and ribs. He picks Paris up again, runs against the ropes, and levels him with a Russian sickle.] TD: That _has_ to be it. [Patrick counts: 1 - 2 - kickout! Highwayman, looking a little frustrated, picks Paris up again and drops him with another clothesline, before bringing him back to his feet and slapping on a bear hug.] TD: I don't see how Paris can have anything left. He may not give up but he might pass out from the beating he's received. [Joey Patrick lifts Ronnie Paris' arm and it falls once. The fans begin to chant, "Ron - nie! Ron - nie!" as Patrick lifts the arm for the second time. Again it drops, and the crowd now begin to stamp their feet in time with their chant. Patrick lifts Paris' arm for the third and final time... and Paris manages to keep it up just long enough for Patrick to call off the count before it drops. However, Paris is unable to break the hold. Highwayman increases the pressure further still, and Paris begins to flag. The crowd continues to chant as Patrick lifts Ronnie's arm once again -- and it does not drop! Huge pop!] TD: This is an amazing display of fortitude by Ronnie Paris! After that beating from whoever it was during the Free For All, I'm amazed he's survived this long! [Patrick moves in to count and Requiem can be seen at the far side of the ring, taunting the Paris family. What he is saying can't be heard but it is clear that he is predicting a quick win for the Highwayman. Just as Patrick raises Paris' hand for the second time, Highwayman turns the bear hug into a belly-to-belly suplex.] TD: That's the Stand And Deliver, a devastating move -- but Patrick was too close and he was knocked to the mat by the force of the blow. SR: Referee down! Referee down! [The crowd gives a huge pop as referee Joey Patrick is knocked to the canvas, Ronnie Paris lying nearby, his chest heaving, trying, desperately, to breathe. The Highwayman, however, is quickly back to his feet, and he turns to face Requiem, not noticing a figure slipping out of the crowd behind him...] TD: Who's that coming out of the crowd? It's Derek Mota! SR: Is it over yet? [Mota rolls into the ring, while Requiem is still jawing to the Paris family on the other side, and slaps the Highwayman's own finisher, the Daylight Robbery neckbreaker, on the Englishman! He then pulls Paris onto the prone man and rolls back out of the ring! Huge pop from the crowd, who begin yelling for the referee to be revived.] TD: Mota is heading back out through the crowd, laughing all the way. Requiem has no idea what just happened, and neither does Joey Patrick but he is noticing the pin... [Patrick rolls over and counts: 1 - 2 - Requiem turns and sees his partner in trouble... he leaps into the ring -- but he's too late! 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: The winner, advancing to the next round in the IIWF World Championship Tournament, Ronnie Paaaariiiiiis! TD: What an amazing finish, Steve Roberts! SR: Oh, it's over? Bring on the Prophets! TD: But wait... [Requiem has climbed into the ring and is kicking the beaten body of Ronnie Paris. The assault continues as the Highwayman regains his feet and joins in. Highwayman performs the Daylight Robbery on Paris before Luke Steele and Scott Rogers storm down the aisle. Huge pop!] TD: This is going to turn ugly, Steve Roberts! SR: Then you'll fit right in! [Before more than a handful of blows can be traded, "Nifty" Ned Norton and the Jobber Justice Squad fill the ring and Genesis is sent back to the locker room.] TD: I know that there is a contest to pick the winners of this tournament and I bet that no one expected Ronnie Paris to get this far! What a display of fortitude! SR: Paris didn't win that match. Mota won that match. TD: Nevertheless, Genesis is now down to only one member in the tournament, and that brings us to the end of our first hour. Don't go away, folks, because we'll be right back after these short messages from our sponsors with the first championship match of the evening, as the Prophets of Rage put the tag belts on the line against Genesis members, Cold Spell. Plus, of course, the tournament continues. We'll be right back! [Steele and Rogers help Ronnie Paris to his feet, and assist the bruised Texan from the ring. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Jim Jividen | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | brokeback@webtv.net | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+