### ### ### ##### ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## #### ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ### ### ### ## .---------------------. | Hour 2 | `---------------------' [Fade up on the broadcast table in the ringside enclosure. Steve Roberts is jawing with a fan behind him, while Tim Dross looks up from his notes with a smile:] TD: Welcome back, folks, to the second hour of this incredible Coronation Clash event. The "Sweet Sixteen" round is history, and later in this hour, we'll see the three "Elite Eight" matches that will determine just who will join "Sychosys" Joe Petrow in the "Final Four." On top of that, still to come tonight we have that huge four-way dance featuring Chris Quigley, Billy Shakespeare, Marty Warnett and Simon Lebec, plus our double main event. SR: But you've got a chance to go grab a beer, wash the car, or whatever right now, because it's tag team time. TD: Now, Steve, the tag team division in the IIWF is tremendously competitive, and we are sure to see a tremendous match in just a few moments as Cold Spell make their third title challenge at successive pay-per-views, this time facing the devastating Prophets of Rage. Will the third time be the charm for Icehawk and Fitz, Steve? SR: Who cares, Dross? The only really great thing the Prophets had going for them were those chicks they brought down to ringside, but ol' Dictator Danny soon put a stop to the Soundbite's fun. Bring back Owens, that's what I say. TD: Let's get to the ring. SR: Whoa... what about the banter, Dross? I gots to have my banter, buddy. TD: We're a little pressed for time, Steve. SR: I gots needs, Dross.  Neeeeeedddds! TD: Okay, I have a weight problem... you have a problem with the underage girls.  What the hell, use the bell.  Quigley's a female dog. Who? SR: One more... one more... TD: Best weekend of my life.  Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!  Can we go now? SR: You're my bestest friend, Dross. TD: Let's get to the ring. ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: | ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------- | ## ## #### ## Prophets of Rage [c] vs. Cold Spell | ## ## ## ## | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: JJ [An increasingly familiar bearded IIWF executive slams down his laptop and leaves ringside, uttering an expletive that would make the most hardened of longshoremen blush.] SL: The following contest is for the IIWF Tag Team Championship of the World! Introducing first, the challengers... at a combined weight of 500 pounds they represent Genesis... Icehawk, Edmund Fitzgerald... Cold Spell! [The always timely sounds of Gordon Lightfoot play to a pop from the crowd as Cold Spell arrives at the ring alone, Icehawk still limping noticably from his attack of two weeks ago by Violence Unlimited.] TD: Interesting to note here... the Age of the Rage is in the stands... and Genesis is, of course, here -- but I have been told that we will see no interference whatsoever in this matchup as each team desperately wants to win on its own merits. SR: I have nothing to say. TD: We're not that pressed for time. SR: Yes we are. TD: Yes we are. [Cold Spell readies itself for it's thrid attempt at IIWF gold, Fitz is the picture of focus, while Icehawk nervously jumps up and down, trying not to favor his bad leg in any fashion.] SL: Their opponents... [Big pop as the "Death march" begins and the imposing Rages quickly make their way into the ring...] SL: At a combined weight of 623 pounds, from Halifax, Nova Scotia... Derek Rage... Shadoe Rage... the IIWF World Tag Team Champions... the Prophets of Rage! [Derek and Shadoe hit the ring and immediately look to intimidate the challengers. The monstrous Derek walking quickly to Fitzgerald -- dwarfing even this larger member of Cold Spell.  Edmund does not take a backstep -- and these two men finally are separated leaving the smaller Shadoe and Icehawk to begin.  Ding!  Ding! Ding!] TD: Well, here we go... the two best tag teams in the world -- for the gold at Coronation Clash -- what could be better? SR: Front row seats at the Lillith tour. TD: The Lillith tour? SR: Jewel, Sarah Mclachlan.  Talk about some tag teams, Dross.  Good God! [Shadoe and Icehawk are set, the Rage kicking the Fin clean to the chest and then grabbing a side headlock.  Icehawk reverses into headlock of his own, and the Shadoe runs to the near ropes.  Icehawk drops down as Shadoe returns to the middle and on the next pass the 'Hawk leaps for the frog... but is caught high in the air by Shadoe! Shadoe wraps Icehawk up -- tossing him into the corner and laying into the former gymnast with a series of sharp boots!  Pop!  Shadoe lifts Icehawk to the air again, almost hurling him crossways into the opposite corner where he thuds against the buckle... and into Shadoe's arms again!  Shadoe has Icehawk set up... set up for a powerbomb... but the 'Hawk slides out the back! Icehawk grabs a quick waistlock, struggling to hold on as Shadoe runs to the ropes -- the momentum is too much -- Icehawk flying off... but kipping up and dropping Shadoe with a front enzuigiri as the Rage turned around!  Pop! Shadoe hops to his feet -- and is driven down by a sharp armdrag takeover!  Shadoe is up again... and again is down with an armdrag takeover!] TD: Impressive start by young Icehawk... you may say what you want about Genesis... SR: ...or nothing at all. TD: ...but they are a talented group -- and none more so than Cold Spell. [Icehawk grabs an armbar... but Shadoe is too strong -- powering up and out into an armwringer of his own... Shadoe then driving at Icehawk with consecutive headbutts, and whipping him to the corner... Icehawk makes the tag as he remains in the ring, ducking under a clothesline -- allowing Fitzgerald to rip at Shadoe with a flying shoulderblock!  Pop!  Icehawk now bounds off the backropes... leaping up to Fitzgerald who presslams his partner on top of Shadoe!  POP! Icehawk leaps to his feet... and he and Fitz drive consecutive sharp elbows to the fallen Rage.  One... Two... Three... Four elbowdrops and the crowd roars for Cold Spell as the two men rise -- and then are each dropped with a mighty 360 degree clothesline by the entering Derek Rage!  Big Pop!] TD: That's what the champions will do -- Derek Rage is some 100 pounds bigger that Icehawk -- and they will look to press their power advantage here tonight. [Cold Spell struggles to its feet and it is Shadoe who charges with a clothesline attempt -- duck -- and Shadoe is double crescent kicked to the mat... and to the outside!  POP!  Derek now charges with an immediate follow up clothesline -- duck -- and Fitz drops down, allowing Icehawk to leap from his back... onto Derek's shoulders for a hurricanrana takedown!  Huge Pop! Icehawk leaps from Derek... sees Shadoe attempting to rise on the floor... and he leaps to the tope rope... sets himself -- and then leaps off with an asai moonsault that drives Shadoe back to the guardrail! Big big POP!] TD: What highflying maneuvers by Icehawk!  You have got to be impressed with his raw atheltic ability, Steve Roberts! SR: What a suck ass moonsault.  Who the hell taught him that?! His knees were all wrong -- his back was arched at the wrong angle -- did he tuck his head?  Answer me, Dross -- did he tuck his head? [Derek and Fitz now lock up, the official waving them in as the de facto legal men.  Derek just dwarfs Fitz -- driving him back with a knife edge series..then a boot to the stomach and a tilt a whirl backbreaker that brings a big pop... and then a bigger pop as Rage does not release Fitz... instead bringing him back over his knee again... and again... and again -- with four consecutive tilt-a-whirl backbreakers that seem to stun even the most ferevent of Genesis Generation backers! Derek tries a cover... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Kickout by Fitz! Rage stomps for a moment, then picks Edmund up, whipping him nearside and dropping him hard with a backbody drop -- Derek then running to the Cold Spell corner and laying a big right hand into Icehawk! Fitzgerald charges for the save... but the 7'2" Rage drops into the splits! and Fitzgerald nails his partner with a forearm!  Big Shocked POP!] TD: Fitzgerald just nailed Icehawk!  Fitzgerald just nailed Icehawk! I cannot believe what i just saw!! SR: He did it on purpose!  On purpose! TD: He did not, Steve Roberts.  It was clearly incidental contact. SR: I had some incidental contact once. TD: Good. [Derek pops to his feet as Fitzgerald looks down at his fallen partner -- and Derek comes from behind -- grabbing a full nelson and dropping Fitz with an explosive dragon suplex and the bridge... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  NO! Derek hops to his feet... and swings a heavy clothesline -- duck -- Fitzgerald hops up with a crucifix takedown of his own and a... 1 -- 2 -- Shadoe comes in with a boot and a save! Icehawk has returned to the apron and tries to make his way to his partner -- but is cut off by the official, allowing a Prophets double team.  Derek and Shadoe with the double head butt...and then a double suplex.  Derek then sets Fitz with an inverted atomic drop that he does not release -- keeping him on his knee as Shadoe comes off the mid-rope with a scissors kick to the back that knifes Fitzgerald down to a big pop and Shadoe covers for a... 1 - 2 - NO!  Kickout by Fitzgerald!] TD: What teamwork by the champs, Steve Roberts.  You have to like their approach for this match -- no tasers... no outside interference -- we have four very talented men right here battling for the tag team gold! SR: I wouldn't mind a couple of good stiff chairshots. [Fitzgerald is clearly wobbly as Shadoe tags out.  Derek lifts Fitz into a whip... ducking his head slightly -- and taking a rocker dropper from Fitzgerald!  The crowd roars as Fitz crawls to the corner... reaching out to the stretching hand of his partner Icehawk -- and makes the tag! Icehawk leaps to the top buckle... coming down hard onto Derek with a flying cross-body... And Derek catches him!  Derek catches Icehawk and lifts him high into the air!  Fitz jumps into the ring -- but is cut off by the official... Derek sets Icehawk up... up into an inverted powerbomb -- and Shadoe enters... grabbing 'Hawk's head as Icehawk is being sent down -- ] TD: And hotshotting him over the top rope!  OH MY!  Derek Rage and Shadoe Rage have just hit Icehawk with an inverted powerbomb into a hotshot... and we have a cover... [Derek covers for a... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  NO!!  Icehawk is able to kick out! Icehawk kicks out!  Derek looks stunned... smacking the mat three times and pointing accusingly at the official... Derek then tags out, Shadoe coming in for a powerslam and then a big legdrop... 1 -- 2 -- NO! Shadoe tags out, Derek coming in for a powerslam and an enormous legdrop... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Derek tags out again... but does not leave the ring -- instead taking a big shot at Fitz... infuriating him into an attempt to get in the ring -- blocked by the official -- Shadoe goes to the top rope... coming down with a guillotine legdrop on Icehawk... Big Crowd Pop as Shadoe covers icehawk... 1 -- 2 -- 3!  Three! But there is no count!  The official still tied up with the entering Fitzgerald.  Shadoe is frustrated... running up to the official and spinning him around, telling him that he had the three count -- not being aware that Icehawk was behind him... for a small package!] TD: Icehawk's got the pin!  Icehawk's got the pin! [The official turns and counts... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Kickout by Shadoe!  Shadoe leaps to his feet... and clotheslines Icheawk hard over the top rope and out to the outside!  Derek grabs icehawk on the outside... whipping him hard into the retaining barrier and then begins to choke him out! Fitzgerald sprints over -- but the official leaps to the apron and blocks his interference. Derek taunts Fitz... grabbing 'Hawk up and waving him around... then tossing him like a dart over the top rope... and into the waiting arms of Shadoe -- who piledrives Icehawk right in the middle of the ring... 1 -- 2 -- 3! And the count could just keep on going...] TD: Again!  Again no count by the official!  He's tied up with Fitz! [The official moves back in the ring... diving for the count... 1 -- 2 -- NO! Icehawk is just able to kickout!  Shadoe is very frustrated, scoopslaming Icehawk to the canvas and then moving to the top rope... Shadoe moving to the top rope and diving down for a flying headbutt... Huge POP!] TD: He missed it!  He missed it!!  And Icehawk has _got_ to make the tag! SR: Shadoe's gonna make the tag too, Dross... it's Shadoe to make the tag... which man can make the tag? [The crowd is on its feet... stomping and clapping for their respective favorite -- and it is Derek who tags in... Derek who tags in and makes a dive at Icehawk -- but can't stop him!!] TD: Hot tag!  Hot tag! [Fitzgerald is in the ring, dropping Derek with a huge right hand... then dropping Shadoe with a huge right hand.  Fitzgerald with a whip -- and a powerslam of Shadoe -- and then a whip... and a powerslam of Derek!  Big Cold Spell POP! Fitzgerald roars -- and the crowd roars back... Shadoe rolling out of the ring -- and Fitz stomping away at Derek.  The massive Rage makes his way to his feet, reversing an Irish whip attempt by Fitz -- and dropping him with a huge swinging neckbreaker!  Big Prophet Pop! Derek covers... 1 -- 2 -- NO! Fitz is up and is whipped again -- Derek ducks -- and Fitz goes up and over with a sunset flip -- but he can't get the big man down... Fitz trying to get Derek to his back... but cannot -- each man struggling with the other -- Huge... Huge POP!] TD: It's Icehawk! Icehawk with the spin kick!  Icehawk with the spin kick!  Fitz has the cover... [The official drops... Fitz with Derek on the mat... 1 -- 2 -- Shadoe with a desperation save!  Shadoe with a desperation save! All four men in the ring, Cold Spell with a double dropkick of Shadoe -- knocking him from the ring.  Fitz drops a leg on Derek as Icehawk makes his way to the _top_ rope!  And comes down... Icehawk comes down on Derek... With a shooting star press!  Icehawk with a shooting star press! Icehawk leaps off -- as Fitz makes the cover... 1... ] TD: Here comes Shadoe... Shadoe has got a steel chair!  Shadoe with a chair! [Shadoe to the ring... the crowd popping as Shadoe is set to level Fitzgerald... Shadoe will level Fitzgerald and get the disqualification! Big POP!] TD: Icehawk dropkicks Shadoe Rage!  Icehawk dropkicks Shadoe Rage... and he drops the steel chair! [The official counts two... and... Derek kicks out!  Derek kicks out from the shooting star press!  Big... Big POP! The official sees Icehawk and Shadoe, ordering them out of the ring as Derek tries to regain his bearings... and Fitzgerald... Fitzgerald... Fitzgerald grabs the steel chair!  Fitzgerald blasts the chair over the head of Derek Rage!  Fitzgerald hits Rage with the chair... and covers.. 1 - 2 - 3! Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] SL: Your winners... as a result of a pinfall... and _NEW_ IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS... ICEHAWK... EDMUND FITZGERALD... COLD SPELL! [The crowd goes wild, members of the Genesis Generation hopping to their feet... along with old Cold Spell fans, many of whom chanting "Ice - hawk! Ice - hawk! Ice - hawk!"  Icehawk celebrates wildly as the Prophets slump away from the ring -- angrily pointing toward the official. Requiem and Highwayman rush the ring -- bumping their way past those "old" Cold Spell fans who were chanting for Icehawk -- it is Genesis now who stands in the ring... Genesis celebrating the belts... a huge smile on the faces of the Highwayman and Requiem.] TD: It is over, Steve Roberts.  The Prophets of Rage have been dethroned -- and Genesis tastes IIWF gold.  Is it foreshadowing for later in the evening -- will we see Requiem make it a sweep for Genesis tonight? SR: Only if he's fighting the Rages, Dross.  That was pathetic... an embarrassing performance -- and an embarrassing outcome.  I'd feel sick to my stomach if I actually cared about the tag teams one way or the other. TD: Well, we have new tag team champions of the world in Cold Spell -- and we are now set to take a look at the first of our three Elite Eight matchups, Brody Thunder taking on Tony Starks.  But first we are going to go down to the ring for the introduction of the man who may just have a big advantage now, Joe Petrow. SR: Crazy Joe doesn't have to take a beating if that's what you mean, Dross, but he's got to spend the Elite Eight round listening to the voices in his head -- all calling Gloria and making fun of his Puerto Rican heritage. TD: I don't believe Joe Petrow is from Puerto Rico. SR: Oh, one of his personalities sure is, Dross.  Miguel Petrow, Jr. -- that's the personality with the overly hairy shoulders... hey, Petrow, electrolysis, buddy! TD: Let's get to the ring. [Sparkplug Lee appears to be doing a version of "I'm a Little Teapot" as he takes the mic.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... welcome to the Elite Eight! [Big pop as a volley of fireworks go off around the arena, the lights configured to spell out the words "Elite Eight" on the ceiling.] SL: Advancing from this round -- and on to the Final Four as a result of a bye... "Sychosys" Joe Petrow!! [Big pop as Petrow emerges through the crowd.  Sychosys is laid out on his back, being carried onto the floor and then up into the ring by his Sychopaths.  Petrow reaches the ring and now stands alone... arms at his sides, the picture of tranquiltiy.] TD: This is a man who will take the round off, Steve Roberts, I don't think you can overestimate how much that might help a man to be able to simply sit and rest up while everyone else must go through what is sure to be a war in the "Elite Eight." SR: Maybe some Nair... Hey, Miguel Petrow... Who wears short shorts? Miguel wears short shorts! [Petrow stands in the ring, head raised, facing away from the aisle -- when like a bolt from nowhere... Takezo Musashi appears behind him -- and he's got the ringbell.] TD: It's the Enigma!  It's the Enigma and he's got the bell -- and he is gonna plant that bell between the shoulderblades of Sychosys! Musashi is gonna drop Joe Petrow! SR: No!  No!  This isn't right! TD: Even you see how wrong, how misguided this is, Steve Roberts! SR: Don't hit him between the shoulders... too much hair!  Hit him behind the kneecap, Musashi! Right behind the kneecap! [Musashi stands directly behind Petrow, Sychosys unmoving, unblinking. Petrow seems to even extend his arms a little wider, to be opening himself up a little further -- almost accepting, almost welcoming an attack. Petrow extends... Musashi clearly fighting with himself, clearly trying to come to a final decision... Musashi with the ringbell and he swings! And he pulls up short!  Musashi pulls up short -- dropping the bell!! Musashi drops the bell -- and to a big pop from the crowd, runs from the ring -- disappearing into the aisle. Petrow stands alone in the ring for a moment, a tear now clearly streaking down his face.  Petrow begins shaking, weeping... and needs to be helped from the ring by Majestic Maurice McArthur.] TD: Wow.  That was quite a, quite a scene, Steve Roberts. SR: Nah, you know what was quite a scene, Dennis Hopper and Isabella Rossellini in "Blue Velvet" -- see, Hopper had the nitrous oxide, and Isabella liked it a little rough -- you know, like most broads... TD: Steve Roberts!  I don't know exactly what just happened here -- but the Enigma has departed -- and a very emotional Joe Petrow has been taken from the ring.  I don't know exactly what this will mean -- but we are moving on, folks. Our next match to see who'll advance to the Final Four pits the man many are calling the "uncrowned champion" of the IIWF against a man whose sole purpose lately has been to crown himself, that being Brody Thunder taking on Tony Starks. Now, we have a moment before the match actually... SR: [interrupting] Good, because I have a story to tell. You see, I     didn't always want to be a wrestling personality. I wanted to be a     lumberjack, in the woods of British Columbia, among the mighty pine,     oak, and birch... TD: I think I know where this is going, and it isn't good. SR: It's all good, Dross. You see, I'm happy with myself anyway. And why? Well... [Suddenly, one of the Lil' Soundbiters hits the play button on a ghetto blaster they somehow snuck in, and the music to the infamous "Lumberjack Song" starts up.] SR: [singing] Oh... I'm Steve Roberts and I'm okay.               I sleep all night and I drink all day! [The Soundbiters repeat Steve's verse, replacing the "I"'s with "he"'s.]               I got to work, pick up some sauce,               The flavour's raspberry.               I find a chick to spread it,               It's rubbed all over me! [Soundbiters repeat.]               I work with Dross, he is a fool,               I prove all his points moot.               My fans yell out in tandem,               "Oh please, Shoot, Soundbite, Shoot!" [Soundbiters repeat.] TD: Are you quite done? SR: I had another couple of verses, but I'm saving them for a _really_     big occasion.  TD: Good grief. Let's get up to the ring. ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## "Elite Eight" Tournament Match: | ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------- | ## ## #### ## [GROUP C] | ## ## ## ## "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. Tony Starks | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: JdW [Cut up to the ring, where Sparkplug Lee is shaking his head at the Soundbiters. He's saying something to the affect of "Nothing wrong with wanting to be a lumberjack.". He then switches on his mic, and begins, having run out of creative ways to screw up at the moment.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following Elite Eight match, scheduled for     one fall, has a thirty minute time limit and will determine the Group C winner! [Pop!] Introducing first, at a weight of 269 pounds, hailing from Staten Island, New York, he is Tony Starks! [The Wu Tang Clan's "C.R.E.A.M" starts, and the Staten Island native walks out into the aisle, oblivious as always of the cheering fans. The Dirt Dog is pretty vocal from his seat, as he's finally moved his head away from one of his girls' lap to shout out encouragement to Starks. He also shouts out something unintelligeable about "the man". Starks is just ignoring him, trying to block out all sources of distraction as he gets up to and enters the ring.] TD: Tony Starks may have been considered an underdog against the     Deathbringer, he certainly is here, but that's never stopped him before. He is the only man of the original three Coronation Clash finalists still on the IIWF roster, so experience may play a factor. SR: What about the Outlaw, Drossy? TD: J.W. Hardin is currently in Munich, if I'm not mistaken. SR: Bless you. TD: No, I said _Munich_. SR: _Bless you_. [The theme from "High Plains Drifter" cuts in, and creates the customary pop that's making Sparky hard to hear.] SL: And his opponent, at a weight of 267 pounds, hailing from "The town     too tough to die", Tombstone, Arizona, here is the "Lone Wolf" Brody     Thunder! [The pop intensifies even more as Thunder walks into the aisle, but he's also playing it cool and not acknolwedging the cheers, which he knows may very well not be there for him the next time he wrestles. He's wearing just black trunks and standard black wrestling boots, with none of the usual Thunder paraphenailia, ie cigar, t-shirt... Thunder's making an entrance astonishingly similar to Starks', except that he has no white towel around his head.] SR: You know, I'm still in a singing mood... "Welcome to the Tombstone,     Arizona." TD: Could you be serious, Steve? SR: Okay, Starks is a crippled loser, and Thunder's a drunk. TD: I think he proved against Serge Annis that he's no drunk. [The two barely even wait for the opening bell before taking a beeline for each other. Things start out as a slugfest, with the taller Starks raining in jabs to the face, while Thunder's throwing some stiff body shots.] SR: Hey, this looks like a boxing match. Starks, bite his ear! [Obviously a better brawler, Thunder's shots seemed to be inflicting more damage, and finally Starks started to fall back in face of the onslaught. Thunder quickly seizes the initative, whipping Starks to the ropes as he runs off himself on the other side. Starks ducks a clothesline, but on the second pass Thunder gets a leg up to boot him in the gut, then spins him around for a swinging neckbreaker. Starks starts rolling to the ropes as soon as he hits the mat, and rolls all the way outside the ring to compose himself. He bangs the mat in frustration with his hands, while Thunder just looks on and mockingly invites him to re-enter.] SR: Can I ask you a question, Dross? TD: I think you just did, Steve. SR: Heh. All I want to know is... what the hell does "Ayo" mean? I never could understand these "brothers." [The Dirt Dog, who's doing as he had before by helping out a fellow  African-American, yells out something along the lines of "get back to basics." Of course, he also says "get me some booty!", so Starks will have to take any advice with a grain of salt. He rolls back into the ring, and Thunder charges clumsily at him, allowing Starks to duck down and execute a double-leg takedown. With the ornery cowboy on the mat, Starks is in his element as he reaches for a leg and snaps it to the side, wishboning Brody in a fashion. Starks stays right on the leg, yanking Brody's right knee into a kneelock. Tony was never one to go easy on a hold, and this is no exception as he's yanking back as hard as he can. The Arizonan's shows _his_ trademark, resilency, by pulling his leg back and shoving Starks off by brute force. Tony gets right back on the knee, softening it with punches, but Thunder replies in kind with a chop to the throat that gives him time to get back to his feet. Like a cockroach, Starks pops right back into his face, and whips Thunder off the ropes to try for a...] TD: Dragon Screw Legwhip! He's right back, applying another variation of     the kneelock after an incredible legdrag takedown! SR: Isn't "Dragon Screw Legwhip" one of those Japanese anime movies? You     know, where the guys get their eyes poked out and the chicks are always naked. Those movies scare me... for Japanese chicks, they're     surprisingly caucasian. TD: You never cease to amaze, Steve Roberts. [Thunder again goes to strength as opposed to technique, pushing himself to a kneeling basis that forces Starks to let go. He quickly blocks a Starks punch, and keeps a hold of the arm, throwing him over with an armdrag. The cowboy follows right up, as he drives a short elbow into Starks face. He picks Tony back up and whips him into the corner, following close behind. Starks has other plans, so he plants his foot in the air and waits. Thunder tries to put on the breaks, but he's too late and he takes one right in the mush. Starks runs right out to capitalize, but Thunder catches him off guard and lifts him into the air for a spinebuster that draws an appreciative pop. Thunder makes the first pin attempt: 1 - 2 - shoulder up! Thunder, without hesitation, pulls Starks up by his wrist, and starts dragging him over to the turnbuckle. His intent is revealed when he smashes the wrist down onto the top buckle, and foor good measure he slams it down again. Starks takes a few steps back, clutching at his wrist, so Thunder charges at him only to grab the wrist again and twist it in a, well, I suppose you'd call it a wrist-wringer.] TD: Interesting strategy by both men... Starks is making a concerted     effort to go after the right knee, while Thunder is focusing on damaging Starks' hand, possible breaking the wrist or fingers, so that he can't apply most of his chokehold submissions. SR: I don't mind thinking wrestlers, but these idiots don't understand     more than the most elementary theory. If you're going to focus on     injuring a body part, make it something painful like the back or groin. TD: Groin? Isn't that illegal? SR: Not in Saskatchewan. [Thunder keeps applying pressure to the wrist, at the same time bending back on Starks' fingers. The New Yorker moves to counteract with an eye rake, which official Chuck Sanders sees and chastises him about. No matter, it slows down the cowboy. Starks wrings out his wrist, then quickly goes upstairs, spinning around to clip Thunder's jaw with a savate kick. Knowing Thunder will get right back up, he runs towards the ropes for momentum, and as he's returning leaps into a low altitude trajectory to dropkick that same right knee. With all 267 pounds on a gimpy leg, Thunder collapses and Starks is quick to jump right on him, pinning for: 1 - 2 - Thunder gets his foot on the ropes, and Sanders sees it!] TD: I thought we had a winner there, but Brody Thunder just will not quit! SR: I wish he would. In fact, there's about a dozen guys I'd like to see     hand in their resignation. TD: I didn't mean... SR: [interrupting] Thunder, that idiot Morton, MacBean, Creed... oh yeah, that's taken care of... all of Genesis, most of these shitty new tag teams, Widdle Wonnie... [Thunder knows how to get back into the driver's seat, so he doesn't hesitate to bring his fist up between Starks' legs. Tony falls to the mat in obvious pain, while the crowd show mixed emotion about the transgression. Sanders, for his part, lets it go to allow some leniency.] TD: With a questionnable tactic, Brody Thunder retakes the advantage. SR: ...Danny Dynamite, Sampson, "Piggly Wiggly" Quigley, Pukespeare,     Farty Walnutt... [Thunder stalks in on his opponent, who's somehow managing to back off a bit, but he still can't get up. Thunder helps in that department, as he picks Starks off his feet and whips him like there's no tomorrow to the ropes. He's picked up in powerslam position, but while Starks is in the air, the knee starts to buckle and inevitably collapses. Starks falls into a pin position yet again: 1 - 2 - another close call!] TD: But just like that, the strategy of Starks pays off, as Thunder's     knee was just to damaged to support the extra weight. SR: ...Watkins, "I Ain't Got No Sex Appeal" Luke Steele, Jackson Witt...     oh yeah, they got him too... I think that's everyone. I'll jump in if any other names come to mind. TD: Do you even realize there's a match going on, Steve Roberts? SR: You call that a match?! [Not wanting to keep up the back-and-forth of the previous couple of minutes, Starks grabs the right lag and starts winding it up, crossing over his own leg into... a figure-four! A look of pain shoots over Thunder's face right away, while Starks is trying to get as much initial pressure on the knee as he can. The Dirt Dog screams his approval of the move, and the rest of the crowd shouts out mixed messages; some calling for Starks to tighten his grip and some calling for Thunder to escape. For his part, Starks just keeps applying the pressure, showing no intent to let go, as Brody is still struggling against the pain more than the hold. The official's fully in position to hear a submission, but Thunder just screams out the occasional "Hell no!", before re-gritting his teeth and bearing it.] SR: Why won't this midnight cowboy just submit already? TD: That's not the Lone Wolf's style at all, although he may have to     submit if he wants to avoid serious knee injury. [Slowly, but surely, Thunder starts to strain his body to one side, trying to roll over Starks who knows what's coming and struggles equally as hard to hold back. Like a dam bursting, Thunder is able to roll Starks onto his front for a blessed second, but the wily technician goes with the momentum and just keeps rolling through, holding on to the leglock and a pinfall at the same time. Thunder's shoulders are being counted down for: 1 - 2 - 3! No, not yet! The crowd pops madly as Thunder yet again thrusts a shoulder up in defiance. Thunder tries a new tack, as he struggles against the pain to sit up, reaching out as far as he can to poke his opponent right in the eye. Starks is temporarily blinded, but he still holds the leglock out of instinct, so Thunder smacks his head into Tony's to knock both men away from the other.] TD: Skull-on-skull collision, that has to smart! SR: I had a skull-on-skull collision once. TD: Best weekend of your life, right? SR: Not really, it wasn't a very memorable time at all. [Thunder gets up just a split second ahead of Starks, but when he swings at him, Starks ducks and catches the arm in a half-nelson. Thunder just levels a vicious elbow back into Starks' face, and runs off the ropes to catch him again before he can recover. Starks does recover in time, putting his head down for a back drop, but it seems as if he may have recovered _too_ quickly, as Thunder is still quite a bit off. Indeed, Thunder sees the telegraphed move, and slows down on his way towards Stark. When he's arrived, he takes advantage of the still down Starks with a Cattlebuster DDT! Huge pop! A cover is made for: 1...2...3!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this bout, and headed to the     Final Four, "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! [The theme from "High Plains Drifter" again starts up, and Thunder rolls out of the ring to very loud crowd reaction. He's limping noticeably, favouring his knee as he walks back up the aisle, but he ignores the pain long enough to say "Two ta go, Spreadbury... two ta go." when a cameraman walks by. Meanwhile, back in the ring, Tony Starks is disconsolate about the loss, and he himself seems to be slightly injured, as he's rubbing his wrist. DDUA almost sprints from out of the crowd to the ring, checking on Starks' wrist and helping him leave the ring. Some of the more curious fans begin to buzz about this, as Starks doesn't seem quite as aloof to the Cruiserwight champ as he had been at the start of the match.] TD: This has to lead to speculation, Steve, considering the way the Dirt     Dog's been in Starks' "corner", if you will, all night long makes one wonder if this is another development in the Age of Rage. Maybe     Starks is a new recruit? SR: You know I don't like to speculate, Dross. It makes hair grow on your palms. TD: Quite. Well, the one thing we know for certain is that Brody Thunder     is moving to the Final Four, but he's hurt, and that has to hobble his chances, no pun intended. Now, Steve, I understand you want to do this next segue, so it's all yours. SR: [deadpan] And now for something completely different. TD: Coming up we'll witness two of the IIWF's rising young stars in action, as Ronnie Paris takes on Requiem in the Elite Eight. SR: I think I'll just take a little nap for this one. Wake me up when     Steve Kowalski comes on. TD: I will not, Steve Roberts! Pay attention, you have a match to     announce! ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## "Elite Eight" Tournament Match: | ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------- | ## ## #### ## [GROUP D] | ## ## ## ## Ronnie Paris vs. Requiem | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: RD [The camera cuts to centre ring, where Sparkplug Lee is attempting to do the Fargo strut around the ring, but looks more like a crippled rooster than anything else. With a subdued shake of his head, Sparky raises the mic to his lips.] RA: Ladies and Gentlemen, the following contest is for a berth in the     Coronation Clash Final Four, [mild pop] and is scheduled for one     fall! Introducing first, hailing from El Paso, Texas, and weighing     in at 210 lbs; here is Ronnie Paris! [Respectable pop from the Boston fans as Ronnie Paris makes his way down the aisle, accompanied by "Real Deal" Luke Steele. Paris winces slightly, and there is a bruise swelling on his left cheek - the result of the vicious Genesis assault he weathered earlier in the evening. Paris and Steele slap the hands of a few ringside fans, and Paris's family cheer and wave enthusiastically. Paris takes his position in the ring, Luke Steele standing in his corner on the outside.] TD: There's young Ronnie Paris, folks; a man who after his stunning     upset of Lord Byron in the first round can no longer be considered     the underdog of the tournament. It's interesting to note the     differing path Ronnie Paris has chosen to another young IIWF entrant     and his opponent for this match-up, Requiem; with Ronnie Paris     willing to set long-term goals, work hard, and play fair thus far in     his career; and Requiem taking the quicker, but less honourable     route of assembling a gang of thugs to... Steve? SR: [Steve Roberts is snoring loudly] Wha...?! Are you crazy, Becky? Any more blancmange and this bed is floating right out of the window! TD: Wake up, man! SR: Buh! Wha...!? Huh...!? Where am I, goddammit!? TD: [sigh] Let's get back to Sparkplug Lee for the second introduction. RA: And his opponent, hailing from parts unknown and weighing in at 306lbs; here is Requiem - the "Angel of Destruction!" [Deafening jeers resound through out the arena as Requiem, wrenching dissonant, haunting music from his jet-black guitar, heads down the aisle. He is accompanied by his Genesis stablemate, Highwayman, and together they strike a bizarre and ominous presence. Requiem stares up at Ronnie Paris in the ring, his glance scornful and cold. Ronnie returns the stare, clearly angered at the trouble Requiem has caused him thus far in the evening. Requiem climbs the steps into the ring, and immediately runs to the ropes, his massive frame an intimidating sight as it lurches across the ring. The ref signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! Requiem bounds off the ropes and charges at Paris with his massive arm outstretched, aiming to cut him down with a clothesline; Paris, however, is able to duck under. Requiem bounds off the opposite ropes, unable to reverse his momentum, and Paris meets him in centre ring with a dropkick. The fans pop in shock as Requiem is barely budged from the maneuver! Paris looks up in surprise, gets up to his feet, and gives it another try. Once again, Paris is simply unable to move Requiem with the dropkick, and tumbles down to the canvas.] TD: Oh my goodness! Despite his tremendous athleticism, Ronnie Paris     just might not have the firepower to measure up to a     super-heavyweight like Requiem. Ronnie threw everything he had into     those dropkicks, and Requiem shrugged them off with no trouble at     all! SR: That was a very strange dream I just had, Timbo. I'm still trying     to figure out the significance of seeing Rasputin the Mad Monk     eating a box of Duncan Macbeth's shortbread biscuits. [Requiem gives a faint, evil smile, and with surprising rapidity begins to go to work on Ronnie Paris, not giving him a moment to get up from the dropkick. Requiem brutally stomps on Paris with his over-sized foot, the ferocious force of the blows drawing gasps of horror from the crowd. Paris attempts to crawl over to the neutral corner, but Requiem seizes hold of him by the straps of his tunic, and pulls him up into an atomic drop. Under the force of the maneuver, Paris springs off Requiem's knee and sprawls over the ropes. Requiem extends one massive hand and grips Paris tightly around the back of the neck, lifting him clean into the air! Heel pop! Snarling, Requiem whips around, and slams Paris's head into the top turnbuckle by the scruff of his neck! Massive heel pop! Paris drops down hard to the canvas. Requiem puts one massive foot on rookie's chest for the pin: 1 - 2 - Paris rolls out of it. Requiem picks Paris up once again, only to hurl him bodily back into the turnbuckles, apparently under the impression that he can beat Paris through sheer brute strength.] TD: Requiem is just hurling Ronnie Paris from pillar to post in there! SR: Don't worry, he's used to it from all the beatings Maggie Collins     dishes out to him. "Where's my breakfast, Ronnie!?" - THWACK! - "Throw out the trash, Ronnie!" - BIFF! - "Go get me some biscuits,     Ronnie!" - POW! TD: Will you stop?! [Ronnie Paris leans against the turnbuckles, breathing hard, his arms hooked over the top ropes to retain his balance. Requiem charges in again, renewing his assault with another volley of ferocious big boots to the chest. Switching tactics, Requiem begins to rain down big, heavy-handed fists to the head and mid-section of Paris, pummeling him down onto the mat. The camera cuts to ringside, showing the concerned expressions on the faces of the Paris family. Requiem grabs Paris by the hair, charges across the ring, and bulldogs the rookie into the canvas! Paris' head snaps off the mat, and reflexively he clutches at it in pain. For the second time, Requiem goes for the cover, not even bothering to hook the leg: 1 - 2 - Paris kicks out! The crowd gives a rousing face pop for the brave rookie!] TD: Paris is showing some of the resiliency that has earned him big     victories over opponents of the calibre of Lord Byron and Takezo     Musashi, but the odds are really stacked against him in this     encounter. Paris endured that terrible beating at the hands of     Requiem and his gang of thugs not so long ago, while Requiem's first     round match was right at the beginning of the card. The "Angel of     Destruction" is clearly the fresher man of the two. SR: And I care about as much as I did when Sabin Figaro left the IIWF.     Wake me when Steve Kowalski comes on will you? TD: No, I will not! Pay attention to the match, Steve Roberts! [Requiem gets up to his feet, and goes to grapple Ronnie Paris. The scientific rookie, however, slips out of his grasp, between Requiem's redwood legs, and rolls him into a small package! The crowd pops for Ronnie Paris! The referee puts on the count: 1 - 2 - Requiem escapes within millimeters of the third count! The fans give a disappointed pop. Requiem gets up in a rage and takes a wild swing at Ronnie Paris. Paris, however, slips the blow and winds up directly behind the giant Requiem. Paris pushes his mighty foe to the ropes, and springs him off into a second pin attempt! The fans pop as the ref's hand slaps the mat: 1 - 2 - Requiem escapes! Gasp of disappointment from the fans. The camera cuts to ringside again, closing in on the face of Ronnie Paris's father, the tension of the match markedly straining his face.] TD: Mr. Paris, a former professional wrestler himself, knows well what     his son is going through in this bout. I'm sure the pain of every     blow and every hold Paris' experiences, is being felt by his father     right now. SR: That's only because the idiot put money on Ronnie Paris to win! A     sucker and his money are soon parted. Ha! [Again Requiem springs to his feet with a look of rage in his eyes. He swipes his massive fist at Paris' head, but this time Ronnie is able to block the blow, and takes Requiem down with an armdrag! Paris wrenches the limb painfully with an armwringer, but Requiem powers easily up to his feet. Paris brings him back down with another armdrag, and this time locks on an armbar. Requiem winces with pain, but simply uses his strength to give a mighty heave and slams Paris down to the mat, pinning him beneath his massive limb! Paris shifts his position, and then clamps right down on Requiem's arm with his teeth! The crowd laughs as Requiem howls with pain and leaps away from Paris! Ronnie runs to the ropes in preparation for a follow-up, but suddenly Highwayman reaches under the bottom rope and tries to trip the rookie! Paris whips around and yells at Highwayman to "keep the hell out of my match!" Requiem looms up behind Paris, grabs him by the back of the head, and simply slams him down into the mat! Paris' head snaps off the canvas and he grimaces with pain.] TD: What an injustice! Ronnie Paris was turning the tide of this match     right around, somehow finding the wrestling ability to overcome     Requiem's massive size advantage, and now he's back to square one     thanks to the unscrupulousness of the Highwayman! SR: The "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin is here! Damn... wishful thinking creeping up on me again. TD: [sigh] And you call yourself a broadcast journalist. [Once again, Requiem begins to stomp brutally away on the fallen Paris. Luke Steele, incensed by the Highwayman's disruption of the match, rounds ringside and gives the Genesis member a hefty shove! The fans respond with a huge cheer! Highwayman lunges forward to strike Luke Steele, but the referee is fast on the case and slides under the bottom rope, interjecting himself between the two. Requiem, with no referee to gauge his actions, begins to gouge away at Paris' eyes, who writhes and kicks his legs in agony.] TD: The match is rapidly degenerating into chaos, folks, I... SR: [interrupting] Alright! Degeneration! Now things will finally liven     up around here! [A big pop resounds from the fans as Scott Rogers races down the aisle! He pauses at ringside, gives a big grin, and then pulls a piece of white cloth from his tights.] TD: What the heck is that? He's slipping something over his head. SR: It's a mask! TD: Oh my goodness, folks! That's the same mask worn by the man who     aided Genesis in their beating of Ronnie Paris earlier on in the     evening! I can't believe it!  Has Scott Rogers betrayed his friends     and sided with this pack of wolves known as Genesis? [The positive pop for Scott Rogers dies out as the fans wonder at his motives. The referee is still struggling to keep Highwayman and Luke Steele from laying in to each other. Requiem and Ronnie Paris are trading shots in the ring. Scott Rogers seizes a chair, slips under the bottom ropes...] TD: This is an outrage! SR: Whack that rookie punk, Scott Rogers! Beat the crap out of him in     front of his whole punk-ass family! [Scott swings the chair back, and... smashes it across the back of Ronnie Paris' head, dropping him like a shotgun blast! Immediately, the arena is filled with jeers.] TD: No! I can't believe Scott Rogers has betrayed his friends, his fans,     his integrity; all for a gang of thugs like Genesis! Scott Rogers,     you make me sick! SR: [laughing] Ain't this the greatest! [Laughing, Scott Rogers bails between the ropes to the arena floor. Highwayman turns his back on Luke Steele, prompting the referee to return to the ring. Requiem drops across Ronnie Paris for the pin, and the ref puts on the count: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! The jeers of the fans grow even louder, and paper cups start to fly at the ring.] RA: Here is your winner, advancing to the Final Four as the result of a     pinfall: Requiem! [Requiem raises his fists to the heavens in celebration of his victory. Scott Rogers and Highwayman join him in the ring, and the three rulebreakers share an embrace to the resounding jeers of the fans. Luke Steele tends to his fallen comrade, Ronnie Paris, who is still out cold from the brutal chair shot. Requiem stands apart from his henchmen for a moment, then ominously points down at Paris and Steele. With glee, Rogers and Highwayman acknowledge the signal and charge at the defenseless pair, stomping and kicking away, reducing the fan favourites into a crumpled heap, but still not letting up on the assault. Requiem joins in the fray, bending down to lay in some big axehandles on his enemies.] TD: Is this really necessary? These thugs have already escaped with a     tainted victory; isn't that enough for them? SR: Are you crazy, Dross? They've barely begun! [Suddenly, the lights in the arena flicker and go out. The crowd in attendance collectively gasp as they're plunged into total darkness. Everything is still for a moment, then, the fans are blinded by the brilliance as four searing jets of flame shoot up from each of the four ring posts! A few oohs! and ahhs! emanate from the stands, and the three members of Genesis halt their assault for a moment, looking about them in wonder.] TD: What on earth is going on here? SR: It's that voodoo chick from the temple back in New Orleans! She's     returned to take our souls up to the great Mojo Wojo! Save me, Dross! [Suddenly, a figure races down the aisle like a streak of lightning, the fans craning their necks to get a glimpse of him. The man wears a half-mask over the top of his head, red tights, and boots adorned with eagle feathers. He has dark, shoulder length hair, flowing from the back of his mask, and on his back is tattooed the image of an eagle. Faintly, the image of a Phoenix can be seen burned into his right palm.] TD: Oh my goodness, I believe that's Nightwing, Steve Roberts! SR: What's with all the flashy new ring attire? Did the IIWF increase     its wardrobe budget? Whatever you do, don't alert Becky Larue! TD: This whole look seems reminiscent of the departed "White Phoenix"     Shinja Chow... look at this, he's heading straight for Genesis! SR: Phil Collins is in the audience? TD: Not that Genesis, Steve. Pay attention! [The flames die out and lights flood the arena once again. Requiem and Highwayman look on in shock as their former ally charges down to ringside, climbs up onto the top turnbuckle, and comes flying off with a spectacular Shooting Star Press aimed directly at Requiem! Huge pop from the fans as they look on in awe at this elegant, yet deadly maneuver; Nightwing, if that, indeed, remains his name, twisting and turning through the air, only to hit the standing Requiem with the flying press, flooring him with tremendous impact!] TD: What a maneuver! [Nightwing lands on the ground, rolls on the impact, springs back to his feet, and lands a reverse spinning kick on Highwayman! The fans cheer again as Nightwing's foot belts Highwayman solidly on the jaw, staggering him backwards, flipping him right over the top rope! Scott Rogers comes charging in, but Nightwing catches him with a beel throw, hurling the turn-coat outside of the ring! Requiem rolls beneath the bottom rope, and together the three Genesis members collect themselves while staring up at Nightwing in shock and horror. Rogers and Highwayman make a move to attack, but Requiem ushers them off. Together, the trio of rulebreakers make their way back up the aisle, casting dark looks over their shoulders as they go, clearly shaken up by this turn of events. Nightwing meanwhile, tends to the injured Luke Steele and Ronnie Paris, helping them up to their feet and raising their hands to the air. The fans pop, and Ronnie Paris allows himself a brave smile despite the tough defeat, his family members beaming on with pride from ringside.] TD: So, it will be Requiem who moves on to the Final Four -- and he will take on Brody Thunder later in the evening.  And we know that Joe Petrow has advanced to the Final Four via a bye due to the double countout of Verhoeven and Macbeth in the Sweet Sixteen. That leaves just one more spot. Just one more opening remains and one of these two men are less than thirty minutes away from filling it. SR: No, the Fury is about ten minutes from filling Mad Dog's ass with his boot, Dross.  The Old Dog's been spending too much time with those young no-talent black packers and he just can't get his geritol-riddled bones up to the Fury's speed in this one, Dross. TD: I understand that we can now go backstage to hear from Steve Kowalski himself as he makes his final preparations for this match: [Cut to backstage. The sweaty and bruised form of Steve "The Fury" Kowlaksi stands in his dressing room, emerald green eyes staring forth. He spits before he starts to speak.] SK: Sampson, ya piece o' trash, welcome an' _goodbye_ to the big leagues! This is a place where only the toughest an' meanest bastards dare to tread. A place where the New Jersey Nightmare belongs... a few steps away from the big one! IIWF Championship! Pretty damn funny, since this place has been tryin' to get rid o' me. Fer all ya pricks at home, sit back an' start placin' ya bets on me! Its only an hour now! Tough luck for you, Maddog! Ya been so busy babysittin' that never-will-be Sampson, ya forgot ya had to earn yer paycheck. An' with me, ya gonna earn every red cent! Sit down, plan fer the match then prepare to get broken! The dogcatcher is in the building. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: See, Dross? The Fury's our man, I'm telling ya! Whoo! TD: Okay, Steve, I told you on Tuesday's "Inside the IIWF" that I'd call you on this. You said you could rattle off the three classic forms of Greek architecture, the five consecutive future Hall of Famers that Carl Hubbell struck out in the 1934 All Star Game, the six members of the late 1980s New Jack swing pioneers group New Edition and... and last night after you had knocked back a couple of... SR: Coca-colas. TD: Coca-colas.  Uh-huh.  You said you knew all seven of the primary colors of the color spectrum!  This is going to be embarrassing, Steve Roberts. SR: How 'bout we make it interesting, Dross?  I say that by the end of the Final Four -- I can knock down all four of those lists without breaking a sweat... and if I don't... if I don't, Dross -- I'll give up my segment on "Inside the IIWF" and you can go back to doing your little "Breaks It Down" schtick that set the world on fire last summer.    TD: And if you win? SR: Co-host, baby.  Permanent, full-time... "Can I get you some mineral water, Mr. Roberts?"  "No, baby... but I sure could use a backrub." Co-host!  My own chair... my own dressing room.  An intern named Barbara to do my makeup and act impressed when I show her pictures of me at the Mid-South Coliseum kicking Jackie Fargo's over-rated, strutting ass! "Inside the Double I Double U F'n F", Dross!  Steve "Soundbite"  Roberts! TD: I'll bite, Steve Roberts.  I will bite.  Let's start with the three classic forms of Greek architecture? SR: For those of you with a life... "Inside the IIWF" is the show where I tell off-color jokes until my tongue damn near falls asleep.  And you know the Soundbite ain't no good with a sleepy tongue, Jack!  TD: Three classic forms of Greek architecture? SR: Ionic, doric, corinthian.  Next! TD: Let's get to the ring!  No, hang on -- Larry Morton is apparently backstage with Nightwing. Larry? [Cut backstage to Larry Morton, who frantically grabs The Phoenix as he passes.  Both turn to face the camera.] LM: Guys, I've managed to grab a young man I think we all know... [The Phoenix removes his half-mask and shakes back his long black hair to reveal the wrestler formerly known as Nightwing.  He stares into the camera with confidence, allowing Morton to continue.] LM: ...and someone we thought we would never see in the IIWF again.      Welcome back, Nightwing! [The young Native American seems pained by the words for a brief moment before the look of confidence returns.  He once again brushes the hair from his face and speaks slowly.] TP: Nightwing... is no more.     You were told that Nightwing had left the IIWF and that is true.  He     is now merely a part of that which makes up the Great Phoenix     Spirit... and that which makes up The Phoenix. LM: Did Shinja Chow have some part in this transformation of...? TP: Little did I know at the time that the White Phoenix -- Shinja Chow -- held the key to my redemption.  He was the one truly chosen to provide my spirit guide.  In my brash arrogance, I accepted Requiem as the chosen one and joined Genesis.  Whether the cause of Genesis was originally noble or not, the group has since turned its back on honor.  When I learned that Serge Annis, the man who looks into the fire without understanding, was to join Genesis, I knew then that those men had turned their backs on me. LM: So you were led astray? TP: No... I was led to understanding.  Through Requiem and Genesis, I     learned more about myself and the battle that rages in each of us.      The path I walked with Genesis was a necessary one demanded by the     Great Phoenix Spirit, because only those who rise from their own ashes can truly appreciate the new dawn.     Requiem... I do not know if anger has consumed whatever soul you have.  Perhaps you are beyond help.  But Adam Smith... Highwayman... we have fought together with honor at our side and I hope we will again someday.  I would not fight you last week because the struggle you fight with yourself is already too consuming.  Cold Spell --     especially you, Icehawk -- heed the same warning.     Genesis was my beginning... but it will be your demise. LM: Does this mean you'll challenge Genesis? TP: The Book of Genesis according to the Great Phoenix Spirit reads:      On the first day, Chebucto looked into the darkness and said "Let     there be fire"... [The Phoenix rubs his fingers, releasing a brief flash of flame.]     ...and it was good. [With that, he turns and walks away, leaving Larry Morton shaking his head.] LM: I don't know if that answered my question or not, but that young man's actions in the ring spoke louder than words.  Let's get back out to ringside. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: The Phoenix?! You're kidding me. TD: Well, it appears that Nightwing -- the Phoenix -- is determined to be a force for good here in the IIWF. But we haven't time to discuss this right now, let's get back up to the ring for our next "Elite Eight" match. ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## "Elite Eight" Tournament Match: | ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------- | ## ## #### ## [GROUP A] | ## ## ## ## Steve "the Fury" Kowalski vs. Mad Dog Watkins | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee is seen to mouth the words, "courage is the thing that keeps us free" before taking the mic and beginning his introductions:] SL: The following Coronation Clash Contest is an "Elite Eight" matchup! Introducing first... weighing 269lbs and hailing from the "Motor City" of Detroit, Michigan... the Master of the Iron Man Match -- Mad Dog Watkins! [Big pop as the veteran Watkins makes his way down the aisle as "Paint it Black" plays over the P.A.  The broad shouldered black man walks slowly but intently down the aisle, a white bandage over his right eye offsetting his black tights and boots.  The spartanly attired Dog enters the ring with a minimum of flourish, stretching on the top rope as the ringside "Furies" begin a chant of "Rock - ing Chair! Rock - ing Chair!" directed toward the grizzled Watkins.] TD: This is a matchup that we spoke about on "Inside," Steve Roberts. Mad Dog Watkins is a man of a different era... a man who understands how to fight two, three, even four times in one night.  We saw how impressive he was in that victory over Takezo Musashi... letting the Enigma do the work, carry the pace -- this Mad Dog Watkins is a man who absolutely knows how to win a tournament like this. SR: Yeah, what you mean is -- he's old.  No -- you're old, Dross -- Watkins is freakin' paleolithic. SL: And his opponent... [Enormous pop as the roar of a motorcycle engine is heard over the P.A. along with a gruff male voice that says "S...O...B!", followed by a female who coos, "The next_big_thing".] SL: ...weighing 268 pounds and hailing from Newark, New Jersey... he is the former IIWF Intercontinental Champion... "The Next Big Thing"... Steve "The Fury" Kowalski! ["Don't Fear the Reaper" is barely audible as Kowalski strolls on into the aisle, a smirk on his face as he raises his arms to accept the tumultuous roar.  The Fury's green eyes are ablaze as he dumps his Harley Davidson jacket in the aisle and leaps into the ring.] TD: Here he is, Steve Roberts.  In this case maybe absence really does make the heart grow fonder as these IIWF fans have really welcomed back this Steve Kowalski with great fervor following his suspension. SR: The world's gone weird, Dross.  The two biggest superstars in this sport: me and Kowalski... whaddya gonna do? [The Fury and Watkins go nose-to-nose, thoroughly uninterested in the pre-match instructions of Big Joey Patrick.  Watkins is deadly serious as he sizes up Kowalski, viewing him as if for the first time... while the Fury is, almost despite himself, grinning from ear to ear, yammering away at the stoic Watkins, "You got a nice hospital room picked out for yourself, old timer?"] SR: Hah!  Can I suggest St. Eligious, Watkins? TD: This place can feel the intensity of these two men, Steve Roberts. Two men who are not exactly strangers outside the ring... there are fans who know what I'm talking about when I say that this is a match that some people in the IIWF have been looking forward to for a very, very long time... and here_we_go! [Ding! Ding! Ding! Kowalski and Watkins continue to go face to face, the Fury growing more animated before backing away... and then thrusting forward with a collar and elbow tie up. Watkins quickly locks on a standing side headlock... and is whipped to the ropes by Kowalski who fires back at the stationary Fury with a shoulderblock -- no effect. Kowalski now bounds off the backropes, gathering a head of steam for a shoulderblock of his own -- no effect. The two men now circle each other, sizing each other up and then sharply lock up anew, Watkins goes to another headlock... which Kowalski escapes and hiplocks -- blocked -- and it is Watkins who hiptosses Kowalski to the mat!  Pop! Kowalski pops to his feet... and is then sharply armdragged back to the canvas!  Pop!  Kowalski again rises -- and now takes another armdrag takeover which snaps him back to the canvas on the other side leading to a crowd pop and an armbar by Watkins.] TD: Nice counter maneuvering by Watkins, Steve Roberts.  This is a man who may know Steve Kowalski better than does any other wrestler.  Mad Dog Watkins spent years going up and down the East Coast battling Bruno the Sandman, the legendary father of the Fury -- and he has to be very familiar with all the tricks of this young man. SR: Watkins spent years looking up at the lights of every backwater arena on the East Coast after old Bruno whipped his ass night after night. IIWF fans might not know this, but when this Watkins was young he did more jobs than a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon. [Kowalski attempts one of those "tricks", the ubiquitous thumb to the eye... but the Dog does see it coming, blocking the thumb... and then similarly blocking a forearm blow aimed at his "lower midsection".  The mildly frustrated Kowalski slaps the mat... then grabs out at Watkins' free arm, taking a wristlock and standing up with an armwring, getting to a vertical base and then dropping Watkins to his knees with that arm wring.  Pop! Kowalski maintains the wristlock, yanking Watkins up to his feet -- and then driving him back to the canvas... again and again and again!  Big Pop!] TD: The Fury is really wrenching away at that shoulder, Steve Roberts. So smart... so vicious... he is really looking to wear down the veteran Watkins. SR: And don't forget the knucks, Dross!  He's gonna bring out the knucks at the end of the match... right out of the trunks, baby!  [Watkins stands again, and is whipped nearside by Kowalski, taking an elbowsmash by the Fury when he returns to mid-ring.  Kowalski bounds off the side and leaps high into the air with a drop of a flying fist -- and he misses!  Pop! Watkins dives out of the way, picking up the fallen Fury into a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker that brings out a big Watkins Pop!  Kowalski gets back to his feet quickly and ducks a Mad Dog clothesline, the Fury then grabbing at Watkins and sending him down with a thundering belly-to-belly suplex and a cover... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Kickout by Watkins!] TD: Powerful maneuver by Steve Kowalski!  Perhaps it isn't only MDW who has gone to school on his opponent, Steve Roberts. SR: What, are you implying that I never graduated from high school? That's a damn, dirty lie and if you say it again, I will punch your lights out, Tammy! TD: I said nothing of the sort, Steve Roberts. SR: Well... uh... keep it that way, Tam... Tim... Dross. [The two men get up a little more slowly now, Watkins executes a nice go behind to apply a hammerlock and runs with the Fury as Kowalski reaches the ropes.  The official asks for the break -- and Watkins appears to give it cleanly, raising his arms and taking a backstep... And then driving at the Fury with a huge right hand to the jaw!  Pop! Watkins snaps Kowalski's head back with a series of right hands and then whips him nearside into a sharply twisting swinging neckbreaker... and a cover... But Kowalski kicks Watkins hard in chest as he attempts the lateral press, sending him backward to the corner, the momentum bringing him back into Kowalski's arms for a northern lights suplex and a cover... 1 -- NO! The Fury is back with a right hand and then a whip -- duck under -- and Watkins meets him with a Thesz press that brings a huge roar as Watkins rips into the head of Kowalski with a flurry of lefts and rights and an eye gouge before he stands and kicks the Fury stiffly to the jaw yelling to him, "Your daddy teach you that one, Fury?" Kowalski responds immediately with an upraised crotching forearm and a trunk pulling cradle... 1 -- 2 -- reverse cradle! -- 1 -- 2 -- Kickout by Kowalski!] TD: These two men are really, really taking it to each other, Steve Roberts!  Back and forth they go... neither man able to maintain the advantage for very long! SR: Well, Watkins is an older man, it's tough for men of advancing years to "maintain their advantage" for very long -- if you know what I'm talking about -- and you damn sure know that I don't know what I'm talking about!  TD: Amen to that. SR: Ionic, doric and corinthian, Dross.  Ionic, doric and corinthian. Who's the man?  Who's the man? [The two men rise, a bit more slowly than the last time, Mad Dog's bandage covering his "Sweet Sixteen" wound has ripped clear... but the fresh stitches appear to be holding and the two men lockup fiercely. Kowalski grabs the headlock and Watkins moves him to the ropes. Kowalski throws a wild clothesline -- ducked -- and Watkins is there with... with a three-quarter nelson!!  Watkins with a three-quarter nelson that Kowalski is... is trapped in!  The Fury flails about as he is trapped in the middle of the ring in the powerful arms of the veteran Watkins... the official checks for a submission... and Watkins responds by driving Kowalski backward with a modified dragon suplex into a bridge... 1 -- 2 -- NO! NO!  Steve Kowalski is just able to kick out!  Kowalski staggers backward near the ropes, his neck obviously in pain as he attempts to loosen it, the Fury apparently not seeing the onrushing Watkins -- or does he?!  Kowalski backdropping the charging Mad Dog over the top rope... all the way to the outside!] TD: Well, this is about to get even more contested, Steve Roberts... we are going outside! SR: And the Fury isn't bringing a pic-i-nic basket, Dross.  He's bringing 268 pounds of New Jersey Skullpump to take the Dog out! [Big Furious Pop as Watkins hits the outside with a thud... and is then followed by Kowalski who slingshots himself over the top rope and on top of the Mad Dog!  Big Pop! The Fury tears away at Watkins with right hands and then moves to pull up the floor mats! Joey Patrick eases himself through the ropes, ordering the Fury to leave the protective covering alone... but it is Watkins who stops him, "Nah, ref... kid wants to go old school... we go old school." Watkins turns back to the Fury with a gleam in his veteran eye and then _helps_ Kowalski with the mat, Watkins tossing the protection to the side... as the Fury smirks pointing to a spot on the concrete saying, "Gonna bury yer old bones right there, Dog.  Right there!"] TD: I don't know if this is such a good idea. SR: Oh, no... Oh, no... a whole night of Luke Steele, Billy Shakespeare and Foghat for the morons -- one little spot for your Uncle Soundbite isn't really all that much to ask. [The crowd begins to pop wildly as the two men seem to enjoy the thought of the carnage that is about to result... Watkins looks more alive than at any point in the evening, maybe than at any point of his IIWF tenure as he and the Fury circle each other outside the ring... on the completely bare concrete floor.  The crowd begins to clap in an eighteen thousand strong rhythm as the two men charge with wild, haymaker lefts and rights! Kowalski gets the advantage, able to whip Watkins hard into the base of the apron... then measuring his senior opponent... But for too long... Watkins shocking the Fury by exploding from the apron, grabbing the rushing Fury, turning all of his own momentum against him as he lifts Kowalski high into the air...] TD: OH MY!  Watkins has dropped the Fury on his face with a tiger bite!  Watkins has dropped the Fury on the concrete floor with a tiger bite!  And the Fury is busted wide, wide open! SR: Oh yeah! Oh yeah!  Forget about Genesis, baby... we are talkin' about my generation now! [Watkins drills the Fury to the concrete floor, face first in the dominating tiger bite... Watkins smiles as he stands above the Fury, the blood now flowing freely from the young man's forehead.  Watkins picks up the Fury slowly -- but seriously... and then lifts him clean over his head!  Big, big pop!] TD: Watkins with the military press!  Watkins has the Fury lifted over his head in a military press! [Watkins stands directly in front of the shocked Furies, their hero helplessly perched above the concrete... as Watkins puts his hands behind his head... and drops the Fury from the sky....] SR: OH... OH... OH MY! [Enormous pop as Kowalski grabs Watkins' head while falling to the earth, taking the Mad Dog down with him with a mid-air falling DDT that sends each of them smacking hard, head first into the concrete floor! Big... big POP!] TD: Kowalski with the mid-air DDT!  Kowalski with the mid-air DDT! And now everyone is busted open!  There is red rain all over the Fleet Center!  Boston, Massachusetts is seeing a crimson tide, Steve Roberts! SR: Yeah!  The IIWF goes Old School, Dross! That stain ain't never coming out, baby!  No time, no way... no amount of bleach gonna get Mad Dog's blood out of the Fleet Center! [The two men hear the roar of the crowd, the roar seeming to propel each man to move to his feet.  These two bloodied but unbowed warriors stand on the concrete floor now stained red with the blood of their own very public hell... and they start firing again!! Watkins and Kowalski begin to fire again, each man smacking the other hard with closed fists.  This time it is Watkins who get the advantage... clubbing Kowalski back to the retaining barrier... and then smacking the Fury with devilish openhanded knife edges that bring a loud smaaaack from the Fury's skin and a "Whoooo!" from the crowd! Watkins attempts to choke Kowalski out over the retaining barrier, putting his foot up on the throat of the Fury who is bent back almost completely into the crowd... Kowalski then fires an arm up... and the crowd gasps as Watkins staggers away, a new spurt of blood coming from his road map-like forehead!] TD: Oh my!  What has happened to Watk... Kowalski's got an object, Steve Roberts!  One of those fans has give Kowalski -- it looks like a bottle opener!  It looks like a bottle opener from that Mooselips drinking swine he calls his fans!  Kowalski has sliced Watkins open with a bottle opener!  I thought these men were friends, Steve Roberts! SR: It ain't about friends... it ain't about enemies... this is Coronation Clash, and it's about becoming the next IIWF Heavyweight Champion... and if you can slice another man's carotid artery along the way, well, that's just so much gravy.  Mmmmm, gra-vy. [Kowalski fires a bottle opener aided right hand at Watkins, the crowd squealing as more blood is evident from the veteran's forehead.  The Fury grabs a side headlock, pounding the bottle opener harder and harder into the nearly exposed skull of the Mad Dog. Kowalski continues pounding away at Watkins, now leading the veteran to the adjacent portion of ringside.  Kowalski smiles broadly for the Furies, his own blood now thoroughly obscured by the flowing river that is Mad Dog's face.  Kowalski yells out, "Ready to take a bump. grandpa?" and attempts to lift Watkins into a vertical suplex -- Blocked. Kowalski jams the bottle opener into Watkins again, and again lifts up for a vertical suplex... Blocked. The Fury now rips the bottle opener hard into Watkins, seeming almost to break the metallic object off as he lifts one more time... huge... huge POP!] TD: It's Watkins!  It is Mad Dog Watkins!  Watkins counters with a suplex... and Kowalski is suplexed on top of the steel steps!  I think Watkins may have broken the Fury's back!  Unblelievable! Unbelievable! SR: Get up, Fury! Get up, Fury! Oh, this is not good at all!  Doric, Ionic, Corinthian... Kowalski! [Watkins maneuvers around Kowalski, positioning himself around his legs, and _slingshots_ the Fury over the steps and to the bloodied concrete floor, the Fury gliding across his own juices like he were on a backyard slip and slide in the summertime... but there is no lemonade... no tollhouse cookies... no neighbor named Jenny in a too small one piece bathing suit. There is only the blood... and the timekeeper's table.  Kowalski taking the head first slam into the table which seems to crack open his skull with a sickening thud!  Wild bloodthisty pop!] TD: Well, this has just gotten disturbing, Steve Roberts.  This is a war... a war, pure and simple! SR: It's brother against brother, Dross.  And when the Fury picks his brains up off the concrete, the "brother" is gonna get his ass kicked! [Watkins is completely unable to do anything more than stagger into the ring, slumping through the ropes and collapsing in a heap on the canvas.  Big Joey Patrick looks at the fallen, sickening Watkins -- then out on the crimson concrete floor on which Kowalski lays motionless... and begins a count. 1 - 2 - 3 - Kowalski sits up... but appears to have no comprehension, not only as to where the ring is, but that there is an object called a ring which plays any role at all in his life.] TD: He's not going to make it, Steve Roberts.  He is not going to make it! SR: Come on, Fury!  Come on, Fury! [ - 4 - 5 - 6 - Kowalski is now crawling, crawling in the general direction of the ring... Kowalski seeming not so much to realize that he is headed to break the count... but almost as if pushed by an impossible to quantify need.  A force.  An unspeakable desire.] TD: He is going to make it!  Kowalski is going to make it... he's at the base of the apron... he's climbing up to the apron... NO!  NO! He's fallen back down!  It is Mad Dog Watkins to the Final Four! [Kowalski slumps to the floor, Watkins now on his feet, slumped over, leaning on the ropes as he attempts to blink away the blood which is still flowing from his head... Seven. Eight. Ni -- the Fury reaches his knees... reaches his feet... moving to pull himself into the... Nine. Nine... NO! NO!! NO!!  Big Furious POP!] TD: Kowalski beats the count!  Steve "the Fury" Kowalski has beaten the count!  Unbelievable! SR: Not for this man, Dross!  This is Steve "the Fury" Kowalski and he is here to collect his Championship belt!  What a match! [Watkins drops his head, shaking it slowly as Kowalski enters the ring to the thunderous roar from the fans, the arena-wide "Fu - ry! Fu - ry! Fu - ry!" chants ringing clean. Kowalski slowly crawls to Watkins, the blood now quickly filling the ring. Watkins seems to muster up all of his energy to pick Kowalski to his feet... pick him up... and powerslam him to the mat... 1 -- 2 -- NO! Watkins slowly stands, picking Kowalski up, setting him up for a piledriver... POP! as Kowalski's head is driven into the mat... 1 -- 2 -- NO! Kowalski is now up under his own power, moving slowly to Watkins -- and is then battered back to the mat with a huge, haymaker right hand.  Kowalski is up more quickly now, moving more quickly toward Watkins, the Fury almost seeming to smile at the veteran... who drops him again with a right hand... and Kowalski is up even more quickly!  The Fury is coming straight at Watkins, an almost boyish glint in his blood-filled eye... and Watkins fires out with a blow to the midsection that doubles Kowalski over... Watkins lifting him high into the air... and hurling him to the mat with a brutal powerbomb that nearly cracks the canvas.... And Kowalski pops straight back to his feet, yelling out, "I wanted to no-sell that [BLEEP], old man!" before firing away at Mad Dog with huge right hands... whipping him nearside into... into a brainbuster suplex that splits Watkins' head on the mat for the quick cover... 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: Three... NO!  NO!  It is Mad Dog Watkins who kicks out!  I can't believe what I just saw! [Kowalski and Watkins are to their feet, firing again with the heavy punches at each other, firing away toward the corner... Watkins lifts the Fury clean off his feet and sits him on the mid-buckle... Kowalski continuing to rain punches on the bald, bloodied cranium of the Mad Dog. Watkins reaches the midbuckle, and the two IIWF superstars stand on the ropes... battling for some type of dominance.  Watkins grabs at the Fury, lifting him again in the air, Watkins momentarily standing on the top buckle, his awesome strength evident, as the Fury is helplessly perched above him.] TD: We're gonna see... we're gonna see the drop... we're gonna see the "Every Dog Has... we're gonna... OH MY!  OH MY!! [Watkins loses control of Kowalski, who flips himself... and then Watkins over seemingly in mid-air... and he HOOKS THE ARMS...] TD: It's the Fury... It's the Fury... It is Steve... [Kowalski hears the roar of the crowd through his bloodied head as he leaps down with Watkins to from the midbuckle to the canvas...] TD: SKULLPUMP!  SKULLPUMP! [Kowalski lands atop Watkins and covers as Joey Patrick drops to his knees... 1 -- 2 -- 3!  Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] SL: Your winner... as a result of a pinfall... and on his way to the "Final Four"... STEVE "THE FURY" KOWALSKI! [The crowd explodes in a resounding roar as the bloodied Fury rolls to his back, thoroughly spent from the monumental struggle.  "Don't Fear the Reaper" plays as the "Skull - pump! Skull - pump!" chant echoes throughout the arena. Watkins wipes the blood from his face, slowly shaking his head in amazement as he looks at the wild, frenzied support for the Fury. Watkins steps through the ropes as the Fury looks back at his vanquished opponent.  Watkins gives an amost imperceptible nod, which the Fury returns with a quick tap of three fingers to his chest, and Mad Dog exits the ring.] TD: It is over, Steve Roberts.  It is over.  We will see Steve Kowalski in the "Final Four"... and he will take on, of all people, "Sychosys" Joe Petrow in a rematch of their "Audience Participation" Match from Birthday Bash! SR: Somebody go find Troy... he'll want to be in the house for that one, Dross.  Kowalski wins... I knew it all along! TD: You did not, Steve Roberts.  You did not. SR: I know lots of things, Dross!  I know about the architecture... and I know Ruth, Gehrig, Foxx, Simmons and Cronin -- the five consecutive Hall of Famers that Carl Hubbell struck out in the 1934 All-Star Game! That's two Dross -- I'm half way to Barbara! TD: And Steve Kowalski is halfway to becoming the next IIWF Heavyweight Champion of the World! Well, folks, that brings us to the close of our second hour of action here from the Fleet Center -- we'll be right back at you after these messages from our sponsors with that incredible Four Way Dance brawl between Chris Quigley, Marty Warnett, Simon Lebec and Billy Shakespeare. [The Fury pulls himself to his feet using the ropes, and attempts to wipe the blood from his face before he ducks out of the ring and heads slowly back to the locker room to seek medical attention. 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+