### ### ### ##### ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## #### ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ## ### ### ### ## .---------------------. | Hour 3 | `---------------------' [Fade up on the familiar sight of Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts seated at the broadcast table in the ringside enclosure. Behind the two announcers, the fans wave excitedly and clamour to get in shot.] TD: Welcome back, folks, to the third hour of this incredible pay-per-view extravaganza. Still to come tonight, we will see the conclusion of the huge tournament to crown a new IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, as the "Final Four" round gets underway later in this hour. Plus, of course, our huge double main event, featuring not only the tournament final, but also that incredible Loser Leaves Town match between Intercontinental Champion Lord Byron and Creed. What a match that is going to be! SR: And we have quite a doozy coming up right now, Dross -- any chance I get to see Chissie Kick-Me pummelled into the dirt is always one to be seized with both hands, taken home to meet my mama, and then... TD: [interrupted] We get the picture, Steve Roberts. SR: Throw in the fact that we'll get to see that witless Welsh wonder, Marty Warnett, and Billy Shakespeare in there too, all beating each others' brains out, and the Soundbite is a happy guy, Dross. TD: Certainly happier than the participants of this match, I would venture. I understand that Simon Lebec is currently in his locker room. [Cut to a split screen: on the right, Tim Dross can be seen at the broadcast table; on the left, Simon Lebec is seen sitting in his locker room, eating popcorn and watching what appears to be a porno movie.] TD: Mr. Lebec? SL: Jesus, Dross!  Get lost!  A man can't even take a dump around here without you asking how it smells!  What do you and loverboy Steve want now? TD: Simon, is that... pornography? SL: Dross, that's art right there, you uncultured simpleton!  I rented a video to relax before the match.  Sue me. TD: Simon, do you have any last-minute thoughts before the match? SL: Yeah.  I wish I had more popcorn! TD: Anything else?  I mean, this is a big match. SL: Yeah, and I'm a big star.  The biggest star, who's gonna walk out of here tonight victorious!  Now get lost!  The facial scene is about to begin! [Lebec throws a towel at the camera, blotting out his image. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, Simon Lebec seems fairly unworried by the prospect of being in the ring with three men who hate everything about him, Steve. SR: You can count on the "Showstopper" to have a grand plan, Dross -- although what sounds like the best plan right now is to go backstage and join Simon in watching that movie. TD: You'll stay right here, Steve Roberts. Four competitors... two referees... SR: And virtually no rules.  Damn... [takes a deep breath and smiles, almost misty-eyed]  Almost makes me proud to be associated with this match. TD: What do you mean "almost," Steve? SR: Two words... Quigley and Warnett.   What could be the brawl of the year if it would have guys like Kowalski, Watkins, Petrow, and James in it is going to be ruined by the pretty boys of the fed.  Can you say "cat fight"?  I knew you could. TD: Let's go up to Sparkplug... ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## Four Way Dance, Falls Count Anywhere Match: | ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------- | ## ## #### ## "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare vs. Marty Warnett | ## ## ## ## vs. Chris Quigley vs. "Showstopper" Simon Lebec | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: JO [Sparkplug Lee stands in the ring, smiling widely as he realizes, for a change, that he is not the shortest, oddest looking man in the ring.  That's because our in-ring referee for this matchup -- the diminutive Hugo Hugo -- has just made his way to ringside and has joined Lee in the ring.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... here is the special referee for our next matchup... a man that really needs no introduction... HUGO HUGO! [The crowd at the Fleet Center errupts in a massive cheer for the Spanish legend, who walks around the ring waving to all sides and nodding his head in appreciation of the warm reception.] SR: Hey!  I thought the pipsqueak disappeared in the lumberjack match? TD: Contrary to Steve Roberts' assertation that Hugo Hugo was consumed by the lumberjacks in the Casey James/Brody Thunder match, it is clear that this legendary man made it out of the Cap Center alive and in one piece. And it is an honor to have him here tonight to referee this matchup. SR: I know what happened.  Those flannel shirts they had on had pockets, right?  I bet one of the guys mistook him for someone's lost pet and put him in their pocket for safe keeping.  How nice of them.  Hugo's owner must have been very pleased. TD: You are deplorable, Steve Roberts. SR: Hey!  Do you know how much a good Mexican runs nowadays?  They don't come cheap you know.  You've got to pay the driver to hide them in the truck, plus the upkeep on the little fellas is amazing.  Can you believe that they demanded fifty cents a day pay and clean water to boot?  And here I paid good money to smuggle them across the border! TD: That's Steve Roberts, folks.  Enjoy him now before the feds come and take him a way for a long, long time. [Steve Roberts' retort is drowned out as the PA system kicks into high gear, blaring out the entrance music of the first participant: "Cold Gin" by KISS...] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... please welcome the first participant in our next match -- a Four Way Dance Grudge match!  He weighs in at 245 pounds and hails from Cardiff, Wales... here is "THE PARTY ANIMAL" MARTY WARNETT! [A big pop rings through the Fleet Center as Marty Warnett appears in the aisle.  Warnett is wearing his usual ring attire, with the exception of the "Mike Tyson 3:16 -- Bite Me!" t-shirt that he wears over it.  The other noticeable difference is that Warnett's fists are taped -- a sure sign of the war that lies ahead.  As Marty hits ringside, he makes his way around the ring, slapping fans' hands until he stops to remove his shades. He surveys the crowd looking for just the right recipient.  He pauses for a moment in front of a young teenage girl who looks like she's about to faint from being so close to the "Party Animal".  Then, with a quick laugh and a giant smirk, Warnett fakes giving her the glasses and instead places them across the face of Majestic Maurice McArthur who sits at ringside! The Sychopaths who surround 3M reach for Warnett, but he is too quick and pulls away to slide into the ring.  As soon as he stands, the pyrotechnics erupt and Warnett hits all four cornerposts, soaking in the crowd response.  As the smoke clears and "Cold Gin" fades, Warnett grabs the microphone from Lee and speaks...] MW: Hey Chris, it's safe to come out now! [Warnett thens hands the microphone back to Lee and takes off his t-shirt, throwing it at the broadcast table and Steve Roberts, who responds by showing Marty that he thinks he's "Number One" with a universal hand gesture.] SR: Punk. [Big pop as "For Those About to Rock" by AC/DC kicks in signaling the entrance of the second man in the matchup...] SL: Coming down the aisle and weighing in at 238 pounds... he hails from Corner Brook, Newfoundland... here is "QUICKSTRIKE" CHRIS QUIGLEY! [The fireworks errupt once more as Quigley appears in the aisle.  But Quigley does not seem to notice, choosing to stare intently at the ring and the man inside... Marty Warnett.  Quigley is dressed in his usual attire as well: black wrestling pants with silver and white graphical lightning over them and "Quickstrike" on the backside.  He walks to ringside with his eyes on Warnett the whole time, stopping only at the feet of the teenage girl Warnett almost gave his glasses to earlier.  He breaks his stare from Warnett, smiles at the girl, and proceeds to give her his authentic "Quickstrike" black leather jacket.  At this point, the girl passes out in hormonal bliss, and is quickly mocked by the Sychopaths sitting next to her.  Quigley rolls into the ring, removing his glasses and tossing them into the crowd in one slick motion.  He and Warnett almost begin the match early, but an energetic Hugo Hugo hops in between the two men before anything more than hostile words can be exchanged.] SR: Doesn't Hugo look so cute in there with those two.  Kind of reminds me of two ugly young girls and their pet chihuahua. TD: Please Steve.  Hugo is a star of unparralled magnitude south of the border.  He is a legend, not a dog. SR: Well, he may be a big star with the help, but that's the only thing big about him. TD: I see that I'm going to have to apologize for you all night long. SR: And I haven't even started in on Walnut and Kick-Me yet.  You think Hugo's gonna try to hump their leg? [As Tim Dross hangs his head in shame, "Little Willie" by the Sweet kicks in and the crowd errupts for the next participant in tonight's "Dance"...] SL: Our third participant hails from Ashland, Oregon and weighs in at 230 pounds... he is the man "Born to Perform"... he is "SPOTLIGHT" BILLY SHAKESPEARE! [Shakespeare emerges from the back wearing his usual ring attire as well: white tights with a gold and silver Comedy/Tragedy mask design on the right leg and white knee boots.  He usual fingerless gloves have been replaced by thicker, rougher looking gloves for this matchup however.  As he makes his way to the ring, he is quite attentive to the crowd and pays little attention to the ring, almost as if he has no interest in getting in the ring.] TD: I had the opportunity to speak with Billy earlier in the week, fans, and he did confide to me that he really is upset at having to participate in this matchup tonight and not in the heavyweight tournament. SR: Nah... I think he's just a chicken.  TD: Regardless, Billy appears to have little interest in getting in the ring, but being the professional that he is, he promised to fufill his contract and show up here tonight -- if only to end this feud once and for all. [Shakespeare begins to get in the ring... then pauses.  He slides back down off the apron, turns around, and heads back down the aisle to the back.] SR: I told you he was chicken, Dross.  Look at him turn tail and run! TD: But he's not going to get far!  That's Francois!  Simon Lebec's bodyguard just emerged from the back and is blocking Shakespeare from walking back to the locker room! [The massive black frame of Francois stands between Shakespeare and the path to the back.  Billy pays him little mind, until the large man strides directly into Shakespeare's path and causes him to stop dead in his tracks.  Francois does nothing more than stare at the smaller Billy, and suddenly head referee Chuck Saunders emerges from the back to separate the two.] TD: Here comes the second official assigned to this matchup out here to prevent any altercation between Lebec's man and Billy.  And here comes Poutine Janois to provide extra security. SR: 'Bout time that old man Saunders showed up.  What's a matter... someone forget to wake him up from his nap on time?  [Janois takes Shakespeare by the arm and slowly Billy returns to ringside. As Shakespeare gets into ring, Simon Lebec appears out of nowhere and hurries into the ring, grabbing the microphone from Sprakplug Lee before he can introduce "The Showstopper".] SL: Listen, we can't start the match just yet. [Lebec whispers something to the referee.]     Can't be done, guys.  I've got these here videos to return to the     rental store, and you know what those people are like!  Back by six     or your ass is grass forever! [Chuck Saunders and Hugo Hugo confer then tell Lebec that he must wrestle -- or at least find a replacement -- or he shall be disqualified from the match before it ever begins.  Big crowd pop!  Lebec keeps his cool and grabs the microphone back...] SL: Okay, okay!  Francois! [Francois comes back out from behind the curtain, this time dressed in wrestling attire instead of his manservant's uniform.] SL: Francois will wrestle! [The crowd begins to boo lustily and the three other combatants begin to shake their heads and voice their disapproval.  Saunders and Hugo look to Poutine Janois for advice, and Lebec is quick to whip out the contract, pointing to Clause XXIV which says that a replacement may be found in the result of an emergency.  Janois begins to talk it over with the referees, all while Lebec shouts "Come on!  Hurry up!  They'll charge me double, dammit!"  Quigley reaches out and shoves Lebec, who slinks behind the big frame of Francois and out of reach.  The three IIWF officials break their conversation and Janois asks for the microphone...] PJ: All right, L'bec.  You no want to wrestle 'ere t'night, you don' have to.  But Francois here... if he lose, de loss is yours.  And might I r'mind you dat he ain't got much experience. SL: Don't worry about it there Frenchie.  Francois can handle it. [Lebec looks at Shakespeare, Quigley, and Warnett.] You guys need anything while I'm out?  Milk, soda? [They shake their heads in disgust.]  Okay, I'll be back! [With that, Lebec is out of the ring as quick as ever, just barely escaping the lunging arm of Marty Warnett who attempts to catch Lebec before he can weasel out of the matchup.  Lebec quickly scampers into the back and disappears.  The crowd rumbles in a mix of disgust and shock at the events which have just transpired, and Sparkplug Lee stands there dumbstruck until Miss Crystal appears from the back with an index card, hands it to Lee, and then follows Lebec's act and scampers off.] SL: Uhmmm... Ladies and gentlemen... the final participant in our "Four Way Dance" tonight... he weighs in at 350 pounds and hails from... "The Showstopper's Beck and Call"?! [shakes his head] Here is FRANCOIS! [The crowd boos lustily as Francois is introduced, but the big black man merely stands there with arms crossed, not moving.  Fans at ringside begin to chuckle as they notice that the back of Francois' black wrestling tights are blazened with "Property of Simon Lebec".] TD: Simon Lebec, folks... Simon Lebec has just managed to weasle his way out of this matchup!  Here he is faced with the three men in the IIWF who hate him the most, and he actually finds a way to avoid participation! SR: Pure brilliance, Dross.  After all, why soil your hands with the dirty work when you can get the hired help to do it for you?  Besides, he's got movies overdue! TD: A paper thin excuse, if I've ever heard of one. SR: By the way, I tried to rent on your account at Blockbuster back in Portland, and they said you owed almost $20 in late fees.  Seems that "Super Sexy Carwash III" was a week over due.  You think you can pay that? TD: Why, I never rented that!  I haven't had time to rent a movie in months. SR: Oh yeah... that was me.  Good flick.  Best weekend of my life.  TD: You think we can get on with this match? SR: Sure.  I just thought I'd tell you that they waived the 50 cent rewinding fee since I left it keyed up to the good part.  TD: I'm overjoyed. SR: Hey, it's the least I could do. [In the ring, Janois and Saunders have finally convinced both Warnett and Quigley that the match will begin, and without Simon Lebec.  As Saunders steps down to be the floor referee, Warnett turns to Shakespeare to see Billy's reaction.  The shock of Lebec's actions has worn off and Billy appears to be neither surprised nor much interested.  As the bell rings, Warnett is attacked from behind by Chris Quigley who figures if he can't get his hands on Lebec, he'll go after Marty.  Shakespeare backs away as Warnett and Quigley brawl wildly on the mat, only to be caught from behind and spun around by Francois.  Francois' big hand squeezes the smaller Shakespeare around the throat and... Chokeslam!  Francois plants Shakespeare hard to the canvas with a chokeslam that is heard throughout the Fleet Center.] SR: Hey... I could get used to watching this.  If Francois is going to do this all match long, I say sign him up.  I'd pay ten bucks to see Francois do that to Pukespeare all night long on pay per view. TD: Steve... Coronation Clash cost $29.95 if bought today. SR: You're kidding me?  And people actually paid to see these ladies wrestle?  Thank goodness Francois stepped in to make it interesting. [In the ring, the action between Warnett and Quigley has grown even more heated... each man stands, refusing to give an inch as they exchange vicious right hands.  Finally, Quigley grows frustrated and rakes the eyes of Warnett, momentarily blinding him and allowing Chris enough time to place a hard boot to Warnett's stomach and hit a beautiful snap suplex. Quigley follows up with an elbow drop, and gets to his knees only to begin to pound Warnett around the head with hard fist shots.  Across the ring, Francois exploits his size advantage on Shakespeare, lifting him high into the air in a military press!  One... two... three... four... five!  The crowd at the Fleet Center counts aloud as Francois not only holds Billy up for an extended period, but actually presses him repeatedly before sending him crashing down to the mat!] SR: Wow.  Where did Lebec find this guy? TD: No one is for sure as to the true origins of this mammoth black man, but rumor has it that Simon Lebec hired this man from Haiti many years back.  According to the legend, Francois survived a fire at the factory he worked at -- which Lebec owned by the way -- by physically breaking down a wall and escaping to safety.  He was the only worker to escape that day, and when Lebec got word of Francois' story, he quickly brought him to the States. SR: Wouldn't you?  He's big and he's dumb, and he's strong to boot. Just like all the women you used to date back in high school, Dross! TD: You're thinking of Hoss Dross, Steve, my brother.  Francois' story has never been confirmed, however, since no one has actually ever heard this man speak in the years he's been with Simon Lebec.  But an interesting sidenote is that Lebec is still under investigation for possible arson charges as a result of the fire. SR: Lebec?  He'd never do anything like that... TD: I'm not so certain of that, Steve. SR: I mean, he _would_ do it... but he wouldn't have had to.  You can get people to do that sort of thing for you. [In the ring, Quigley has whipped Warnett to the corner and follows him in with a clothesline that sends Marty's head snapping back in a painful looking motion.  Chris picks up Marty and sets him in the corner... big chop across the chest!  And another!  A third chop not only illicits several "oohs" and "aahs" from the crowd but turns Warnett's chest bright red.  Quigley grabs Warnett but what little hair he has left and sends him back across the ring to the far corner where Marty hits hard.  Quigley goes for a thrid Irish whip... only to have it reversed, sending Quigley crashing hard into the massive frame of Francois who had just planted his big boot into the face of Billy Shakespeare.  Francois turns around to see Quigley shaking his head, trying to get back to his feet and proceeds to pick the Newfoundlander up - only to drop him back down with a belly to back suplex!] TD: What a suplex by Francois!  This nearly seven foot beast has really taken it to Billy Shakespeare and now Chris Quigley feels his power. SR: Well, Francois' probably got a bit of resentment for Shakespeare after the trashing he got on "The Final Cut" a few weeks ago.  Shakespeare is regretting it now, I'll tell you that.  And nobody needs extra incentive to trash Chrissy -- that's just fun. [The shot of the ring offers a shot that most never thought they would hace seen as the seven foot ebony frame of Francois towers over all three fallen men in the ring.  Warnett is trying to get back to his feet, but is still shaky from the trouncing given by Quigley to start the match. Shakespeare is the first to his feet, offering several shots to the breadbasket area of Francois... which have little effect.  Francois hits Billy with a hard right haymaker which staggers the smaller man, and then follows with an Irish whip to the ropes and a clothesline!  Francois, showing no signs of ring inexperience, picks Shakespeare up by his hair, military presses him once more, and sends him crashing down hard to the floor outside!  Billy's lanky frame hits the pads outside with a sickening thud, and he lies there, chest heaving and body in a broken heap.  Rest is not to come to him however, as Francois steps over the top rope and drops to the floor after him.] TD: This could get ugly... Billy Shakespeare really took an apathetic approach to this matchup, and Francois is making him pay for it. [Francois clubs Billy over the back with several forearms to soften him up... picks up Shakespeare and... bodyslams him onto the timekeepers table! Big hardcore pop!  The Furies at ringside are going crazy!  Billy reacts in pain, grasping his lower back which hit hard.  In the ring, Warnett is taking the fight to Chris Quigley.  A hard right... and another.  A kick to the midsection... caught by Quigley, but turned into an enzuigiri by Warnett!  Warnett picks up Quigley, slapping him across the face and sets him up for and nails a beautiful german suplex with a bridge!  The bridge holds and Hugo Hugo goes for the count: 1 - 2... Kickout by Chris Quigley!  Meanwhile on the outside, second referee Chuck Saunders is berating Francois for his actions and trying to get the big man to stop, but the big Haitian merely ignores him.  Saunder's warnings are drowned out by the growing noise coming from the Furies seated behind the timekeepers' table. The Furies begin a chant of "He's Hardcore!" as Francois climbs up on the table with the fallen Shakespeare and begins to stand up to set Billy up for a piledriver on the table!] TD: That table will never hold Francois' weight!  This cannot be good, folks! SR: What are you talking about?  This is GREAT!  You know what they say about revenge - it's a dish that's best served cold, face first through a wood table! [Back in the ring, Warnett rises to his feet and begins putting the boot to Quigley when he manages to catch the goings-on outside of the ring in his peripheal vision.  Francois slowly raises Billy up, a bit cautious and unsure of his footing. As Billy reaches the pinnacle and the crowd reacts in anticipation... here comes Marty Warnett through the ropes with a suicide dive that knocks the table over, Billy to the floor and Francois into the first row of the crowd!  Big crowd pop!] TD: What a suicidal maneuver by Marty Warnett! SR: And it looks like he might have caught the worst end of it as he landed chest-first on that steel railing outside.  See, Dross... it just goes to prove my point.  You try to do a good deed and you end up paying the price like the chump you are. [The Furies are going crazy yelling at Francois and a few overzealous Furies help him by "accidentally" throwing their cups of beer in the face of Warnett as he climbs over the railing after the fallen Haitian. Warnett swings wildly as the beer stings his eyes, and then slips on the mess of wet floor, empty beer cups, and the massive legs of Francois.  The Furies help Lebec's man get to his feet and then conveniently move their chairs so that Francois has room to operate.  Francois clubs Warnett over the head with several vicious forearm shots, and then he lifts the "Party Animal" high above his head in a choke!  He slams Warnett hard to the floor and then picks him back up to repeat the scenario once more, all to the pleasure of the Furies who encircle the two wrestlers.  Warnett struggles, grasping at his throat, trying to break free from the powerful grip of the black man... only to find himself helpless!  Helpless, that is, until Francois drops like a sack of flies and a sickening thud echoes out from behind the big man!  It's Chris Quigley and he's got the ring bell! DING!  And he clocks the fallen Francois over the back of the head again for good measure!  Warnett looks up from the floor in amazement at Quigley who just saved him, only to see Quigley advance on him with the bell. With no wrestlers in the ring, Hugo Hugo has joined Chuck Saunders on the outside and is jumping up and down frantically, trying to remove the bell from Quigley's hands.] SR: Look at Quigley!  He earns style points for that.  Good use of a ring bell, and then he toys with Hector Hector by holding the bell just out of his reach!  TD: I'm not one to condone the use of a ring bell in any manner in a wrestling match, but thank goodness Chris Quigley did what he did. Francois was choking out Marty Warnett. [Quigley gets in a verbal confrontation with the deminutive Double H, when a pair of hands reach up from behind and grab the ring bell from Chris' hands... hands that belong to Billy Shakespeare!  Shakespeare grabs the ring bell and drives it down hard on the forehead of the fallen Francois! DING!  Marty Warnett has gotten to his feet now and yells at Billy to cover the big man.  Shakespeare drops the ring bell and makes the cover, and Warnett drapes himself across the big legs of the Haitian!  Chuck Saunders sees the cover and begins the count on the floor! One... Hugo Hugo hears the count and he and Quigley stop arguing and turn around to see the double cover.  But as they turn, a chair shot comes from out of nowhere, barely clearing the head of Hugo and blasting Quigley in the side!  Big surprised pop!] TD: It's Simon Lebec!  SR: I knew he'd be back!  I wonder if he rented "The Hunger" for me like I requested? [Saunders hand hits the concrete once more... TWO... his hand raises high once more and starts its descent down.... But the cover is broken up at the last instant as Simon Lebec drives the hair hard into the back of Shakespeare!  Billy recoils in pain and slides off Francois, his back taking more punishment.  Warnett quickly jumps to his feet, only to be met by steel!  Chair shot for Warnett!] SR: Simon does Steel! TD: Here comes Poutine Janois again... Simon Lebec has just reappeared and laid everyone out with the metal folding chair.  Look at the dent in the chair from that last shot to Marty Warnett.  I hope Marty's okay.  He may have suffered a concussion with that shot. [Janois runs back down to ringside, jumps the rail, and stands in front of a chair-weilding Lebec.  Not a smart move by most men, but most men have never taken a "Skullpump" onto a steel chair by Steve Kowalski, so there is little fear on behalf of the IIWF's head of the Special Concerns Committee. Hugo Hugo manages to rip the chair away from Lebec and Janois berates "The Showstopper" for his actions.  Lebec then pulls out a copy of his contract and points to his own name and his own signature on the document and yells... "This is my match, Frenchie!"  Janois shakes his head, but Lebec insists.  Janois and the two referees begin to confer.] TD: You cannot tell me that the officials are seriously considering letting Lebec take his spot back in this matchup!  He's alrady missed fifteen minutes! SR: It's his name on the contract, so why not? TD: He named Francois as his replacement, so that's why not!  SR: But it was a replacement in case of an emergency, and it looks like the emergency has passed. [The officials break their conversation, with Janois shaking his head in disgust.  The camera's microphone manages to pick up the words "I hate doin' di, but..." and "you weel never ween dis match, Lebec" as Janois backs away.  Lebec begins to laugh and taunt Janois as he walks away. Janois pays him little heed, but does stop to have IIWF security pick up Francois who has just regained consciousness and orders them to escort him to the back.  "Have fun, Lebec... but I'm takin' your toy with me!"  Big crowd pop as security forces Francois towards the back!] TD: Nothing much Janois could do in this situation, but he got the last laugh by having Fancois removed from ringside.  And good thing too -- Francois has no business down here if Lebec has taken his place in this "Four Way Dance". SR: Oooh, that little punk.  Where's Kowalski when you need him to beat some sense into that thick French head of his? [Lebec begins protesting Francois removal, leaning over the security railing, taking wild swings at Janois as he leaves.  No of Lebec's shots connect but one of Billy Shakespeares does... and it's a money shot from behind that doubles Lebec over and causes him to moan a few octaves higher!  Big crowd pop mixed with a few male groans!  Lebec falls to Billy's feet and Shakespeare begins to put the boots on him.  Quigley is quick to join him, and soon both men are stomping Lebec into the arena floor on the Fleet Center.] SR: Looks like Pukespeare has gotten tired of being the punching bag in this match. [Marty Warnett, haven been helped to his feet by chuck Saunders, quickly moves in and all three men stomp away at Simon Lebec's body.  Shakespeare tells them to stop, and yells something to both Warnett and Quigley.  Both men nod their head in acknowledgement and Warnett picks up Lebec from the floor and sets him up in a piledriver postion.  Warnett jerks Lebec up... all the way up in a powerbomb postion... and Quigley and Shakespeare help spike Lebec to the concrete floor!  Spike powerbomb!  Big hardcore pop!  Warnett immediately goes for the cover, but Quigley doesn't like that idea and insists that he be the one allowed to make the cover.  He shoves Warnett, only to have Warnett to shove him back, and then Shakespeare jumps in between the two men.  Quigley raises his arm back and cocks his fists, and Shakespeare decks him!  Billy quickly whirls around and Warnett instinctively moves to a defensive position. But Shakespeare puts his fist down and yells at Warnett to cover Lebec.  Warnett jumps on top and grapevines the leg.  Hugo Hugo makes the count.... One.... Two.... THREE!  Warnett jumps up, pumping his fists into the air as Hugo counts out Lebec.] TD: There goes our first competitor.  Simon Lebec has been eliminated by Marty Warnett! SR: Eliminated by all three men is what you mean.  They couldn't beat Lebec singlehandedly, so they had to gang up on him.  Punks. TD: I think what comes around goes around, Steve, and this is Lebec's just reward for his use of chicanery earlier in this match. SR: "Chicanery"... I told you that the women and the whips would be later tonight.  I think the Bondage A-Go-Go Club messed with your mind. [As Warnett celebrates, he is nailed with a big left hand by Billy Shakespeare that catches him completely off guard.  With their mutual enemy gone, it's back to every man for himself and Shakespeare means business.  He nails Warnett with a clothesline that send him over the next row of chairs and into the aisle.  Shakespeare follows Warnett and both men brawl towards the corridor heading to the back.  Not one to be left out, Quigley makes a mad dash after the other two wrestlers and dives head first into the middle of the brawl.  Beverages are spilled as people scatter, and the crowd pops with excitement as all three men bralw wildly to the back of the arena.  Shakespeare goes for a suplex on Warnett on to met with a kick to the midsection by Quigley, and then Warnett repays the favor by leveling Quigley with a clothesline at they approach the tunnel heading to backstage.] TD: What a wild brawl we have got here, folks! SR: All right, let's take it to the back.  There might actually be some incentive for me to stay awake if they go to the back. [Steve Roberts gets his wish as all three men tumble into the back and the cameras follow.  Quigley nails Warnett with a headbutt and a hard right, then throws "The Party Animal" headfirst into a stack of trunks and crates.  Shakespeare levels Quigley form behind with a clothesline and then sends him through the wreckage right after Warnett.  The three brawl wildly using anything and everything they can get their hands on... Trash cans... brooms... mop handles... steel folding chairs... all the while being trailed by both HH and Saunders.  But the referees appear kind of useless since none of the three appear to want to pin anyone... they are merely content to beat each other with anything and everything.] SR: Wow.  This is the best "Four Way Dance" I've ever seen. TD: This is the first one we've ever had here in the IIWF, Steve. SR: Oh.  Well, it's the damn finest match involving these ladies that I've seen in a long time then. TD: This "match" is nothing more than a wild brawl, scattered with foreign objects and senseless violence.  There hasn't been one technical wrestling maneuver used in minutes. SR: I know... ain't it great?  [The brawl has moved into its third corridor and Quigley nails Shakespeare with a kick to the midsection and a nice hangman's neckbreaker.  Warnett catches up to the other two as Quigley gets to his feet, and Warnett brings a mop-handle with him!  He rears back, swings mightly, and shatters the handle across the ribs of Quigley!  Big crowd pop from the fans in the arena watching the action on the Jumbotron!  Quigley reels back in pain and stumbles over the fallen Shakespeare, falling through a door and out of sight.  Warnett discards what's left of the mophandle and immediately follows Chris through the door.  The camera follows the two, stopping only to show us the name on the door... "Becky LaRue"!] SR: Yes!  Maybe we can add a little unexpected flesh to the senseless violence!  Hear the profits soaring! TD: Marty and Chris are heading into Becky's dressing room! SR: Following in the footsteps of many, many, many, many, many men.  [In the dressing room, Warnett picks Quigley up and Irish whips him into the makeup table which sends powder and cosmetics flying into the air and onto the floor.  Warnett begins to pummell the head of Quigley as he lies on the table until Chris grabs a bottle of hairspray and sprays the eyes of Warnett!  For the second time tonight, Warnett is blinded!  He lashes about in pain and confusion, stumbling backwards and into Becky's clothes rack.  Warnett slips and falls, bringing many scantilly outfits down with him.  Quigley shakes the cobwebs out of his head and moves in for the kill when Becky Larue enters from the next room which just happens to be an adjoining shower room!  A towel-clad Becky screams as she sees the mess and confusion...] BL: I hate you!  Out!  Get out of here!  OUT! OUT! OUT! [Becky moves over and grabs a red pump of hers which was strewn across the floor in the melee, and starts beating Quigley with it!  Quigley recoils in pain and heads for the door.] TD: Becky Larue interjecting herself in this matchup -- weilding the most dreaded of all foreign objects! SR: A woman's shoe. TD: How could she do that?  We know there's no love loss between Becky, Marty and Chris, but her actions are deplorable.  What do you think, Steve Roberts? SR: Nice towel. TD: Hang on -- why isn't Becky still on the Hotline? SR: Well, she's more picturesque here... [Referee Saunders helps a blinded Warnett up and out of Larue's dressing room.  As the camera follows the pair out, we see that Quigley was caught in his flight from Becky by Billy Shakespeare who has cuaght his second wind.  Billy nails Quigley with several shots to the breadbasket, then irish whips him across the hall and through the door on the other side!] TD: That's the locker room for the Jobber Justice Squad!  Here we go again! [As Quigley stumbles through the door, the members of the JJS in the locker room run for cover.  The Barnacle Brothers, each sitting and eating a hearty bowl of Boston Clam chowder only moments ago, quickly run out of harm's way, abadoning their meals.  Quigley retaliates with a kick to the midsection, and sends Billy headfirst into the steel lockers!  CLANG! Quigley decides to do it again, but releases his hold on Billy as he sees a still somewhat blinded Warnett come through the locker room door. Quigley runs, jumps up on a steel chair, and hits Warnett with a leaping splash as he comes through the door.  Both men go crashing hard into the conrete wall -- the maneuver taking as much out of Quigley as out of Warnett.  Shakespeare is actually the first man to his feet and picks up Warnett by what's left of Warnett's recently trimmed hair!  He pops Marty in the side, picks him up, and deposits him on the floor with a hard body slam!  Warnett recoils in pain.  Shakespeare then begins to kick Quigley as he gets to his feet... Quigely responds with a rake of the eyes, and then opens a locker and uses it to bash Billy's head!  Billy staggers back and falls face first into one of the bowls of clam chowder left by the Barnacle Brothers!  Big Boston pop!  Warnett is to his feet by this point, but still is blinded from the hairspray attack of earlier.  He begins swinging wildly... and he nails nothing but members of the JJS!  Down goes Scott "The Whine" Bloom who begins to cry even before he hits the floor!  Down goes "Nifty" Ned Norton! Down goes Rotundo #1 (or is it #2 - we can never tell!)... Warnett hits El Super Gecko, who shakes the blow off and kicks Warnett in the stomach!  He then grabs a steel folding chair and wallops Warnett over the head with it!] TD: What is El Super Gecko doing?! SR: You might not be able to hurt the lizard, but it looks like the lizard can sure kick Warnett's ass! TD: Wait a minute!  Gecko's removing his mask!  Mexican wrestlers never remove their masks!  Why is he doing that? SR: Maybe because he's not Mexican!  It's Lebec!  Revenge is served! [Lebec smartly uses his element of surprise and nails Quigley in the ribs with the steel chair as Quigley stands in shock after Lebec's "demasking". Lebec grabs a souvenir "Coronation Clash" t-shirt from one of the lockers and puts it over Quigley's head!  He then peppers Quigley with lefts and rights, then puts him down with an inverted DDT!  Lebec then rolls Quigley over onto Warnett and tells Saunders to make the count.  Chuck Saunders isn't sure if the cover is legal, but Hugo Hugo -- seeing both of Warnett's shoulders resting flat on the floor -- jumps down and makes the count: 1 - 2 - 3! A Big crowd pop echoes through the Jumbotron watching crowd as Warnett is pinned by Quigley!] TD: Oh my!  Simon Lebec has just caused Marty Warnett to be eliminated and we are down to just two men here in this match! [A clam chowder covered Billy Shakepeare gets to his feet and lunges after Lebec, who begins to make his way out of the lockerroom door and down the corridor.  Billy just shakes his head and grabs a towel to clean his face off.  Quigley begins to stir, slowly coming to the realization that he just pinned Marty Warnett, but still not sure as to how he did so. Thanks to Lebec's intervention, the locker room has become flooded with IIWF security who try to get some order back to this match.  The security team checks on the fallen Warnett, while the rest aid Hugo Hugo and Chuck Saunders in moving Shakespeare and Quigley out of the lockeroom and back towards the ring.  A tired and ehausted Chris Quigley and a beaten and batterd Billy Shakespeare brawl back into the arena and down the aisle and are met with a huge crowd ovation!  Big pop!] TD: Listen to this Boston crowd cheering for these competitors for their efforts! [Quigley and Shakepeare both roll back into the ring, and Quigley takes control.  He hits a nice dropkick that sends Billy back to the corner turnbuckle.  Chris immediately nails Billy with several vicious chops that turn his chest bright red and the irish whips him to the far turnbuckle - NO!  It's reversed and it is Quigley who hits hard!  As Quigley stumbles out, Shakespeare catches him and nails him with a hotshot across the top rope!  Quigley's down and Shakespeare goes for the cover!  Hugo Hugo counts: 1 - 2 - NO!   Quigley kicks out!  Quigley kicks out at the last possible instant.  Billy sits up on his knees in amazement and then nails Quigley with a hard left.  Billy gets to his feet and drags Quigley up by his hair, only to plant him down once more with a body slam.  Shakespeare then signals to the crowd and heads for the top rope!  The crowd pops in anticipation!] TD: Shakespeare is going for the "Curtain Call"!  Once he hits it, it's all over. SR: And then Kick-Me can complain tommorrow that he still hasn't been man enough to beat Pukespeare.  What a fitting ending. [Billy climbs to the top as fast as his exhausted body will allow, while Quigley stirs in the ring, trying to get to his feet.  As the crowd goes crazy, Billy stands upright and flies!  He comes crashing down on Quigley just as he turns around, but Quigley rolls through it! He's got Billy's shoulders pinned!  Hugo counts once more: 1 - 2 - 3! The crowd errupts as Hugo's hand hits the mat for a third time, Billy's kickout coming just a moment after the slapping of the canvas.  The pyrotechnics immediately go off as Quigley jumps to his feet!] TD: Quigley has done it!  Chris Quigley has finally pinned Billy Shakespeare. SR: What a good way to ruin a great match.  This sucks. [Quigley jumps to the turnbuckles and soaks in the cheers and adjulation of the crowd as Sparkplug Lee announces the decision to the Fleet Center.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... the winner of this "Four Way Dance"... "QUICKSTRIKE" CHRIISSS QUIIIIGGGLEY! [The crowd cheers as Quigley goes to each turnbuckle in turn, leaving a disappointed Shakespeare standing in the centre of the canvas as he celebrates to the strains of "For Those Who Are About To Rock". Quigley finally leaps down from the buckles and approaches Shakespeare. The two men face one another in the centre of the ring. Quigley outstretches his hand to Shakespeare -- and Billy accepts it, shaking Quigley's hand to a huge pop! Quigley raises Shakespeare's arm in victory, and Billy smiles a dry smile as he leaves the ring to a big pop, while Quigley continues to celebrate on the buckles.] TD: Well, what a refreshing display of sportsmanship from those two fine superstars, Steve Roberts, and what an incredible match. SR: Yeah, it wasn't bad right up until it ended. [Quigley climbs down from the buckles and leaves the ring, slapping the hands of the fans as he goes. After he has disappeared back into the locker room area, the lights drop and a volley of fireworks go off all around the arena, leading to a roar from the crowd and the voice of Sparkplug Lee:] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... welcome to the "Final Four"! [Kenny Loggins' "This Is It" blares over the P.A. as enromous banners unfurl from the upper section of the Fleet Center: each displaying the name of one of the four remaining wrestlers in the tournament:  Brody Thunder, Requiem, Joe Petrow, Steve Kowalski.] TD: Here we are, Steve Roberts.  Here we are in the very first match of the final four -- and what a matchup we are about to witness! SR: Quigley. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn. TD: Yes, Chris Quigley has made a return to prominence here in the IIWF with a victory in that wild Four Way Dance... we saw a surprisingly unsuccessful debut for the Syndicate in the Tag Team Triangle match... and we have brand new World Tag Champions in Cold Spell. SR: And now it's Fury time!  Fury mania running wild! TD: I don't know, Steve Roberts, he is up against a man who just two short months ago defeated him in one of the most memorable encounters in IIWF history, the "Audience Participation" Match at Birthday Bash -- one "Sychosys" Joe Petrow. SR: Aw man, aw man.... God, I love this sport sometimes, Dross.  You know what I'm saying? "Audience Participation"... can we see a little of that action tonight, huh?  Can we?  Can we, huh?  Please?  Pleeeeaaaassseee? TD: Well, it's my understanding that referee Dave D'Amato will be giving a little leeway here tonight, Steve Roberts -- he's the referee for a match like Petrow/Kowalski -- D'Amato understands what the fans came here to see, and he's gonna let them see it. SR: Are he and Alfonso still not speaking? TD: Longtime friends Earl Alfonso and Dave D'Amato did indeed have quite an altercation, each calling a separate finish at the match that started all of this commotion, the lumberjack match on IIWF Saturday Night when Casey James was stripped of the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship.  SR: Hah!  Those two were always too close for my tastes... Dave and Earl, Earl and Dave, you'd think they were twins or something the way they always spent so much time together.  When are we gonna get some ref/ref action, Dross? Or better yet... how bout some girl/girl action?  You know... the Harlequin girls rolling around in my bathtub... TD: I don't think that's liable to happen any time soon, Steve Roberts. SR: You know what will happen soon?  I'm gonna become co-host of "Inside the IIWF."  I got the architecture... I got the ballplayers. Only two more to go. TD: And only two more to go for each of these two men.  In fact, our backstage colleagues, Steve Summer and Larry Morton, have been busily chasing around these four men in the hopes of grabbing some comments before their big "Final Four" matches. Let's go to that tape: [Cut to footage captioned, "Moments Ago." Cut to a shot of Brody Thunder in the locker room. He is leaning on an open locker door. He's looking inside it as the camera tightens in on a close-up. Larry Morton enters the frame:] LM: Mr Thunder... after winning two gruelling matches you're in the Final Four. We'd like your comments on your chances at getting to the Big Dance and the world title match, if you would... [Thunder slams the locker door shut, snaps his head up and stares very menacingly into the camera.] BT: Ya wanna know what I think my chances are? Well, I think my chances are damn good! I done beat two o' this sport's top wrestlers already an' I'm fixin' ta go through two more an' get back _my_ world title belt! LM: Well, you still have two matches to go before you can win the gold, and the competition's only going to get tougher, is it not? [Thunder's expression quickly changes to a sarcastic smile.] BT: Well, Morton... they don't get no tougher'n the man yer lookin' at... plain an' simple. Two matches. Two wins. That's the way this is goin' down an' when that last bell rings, ain't but _one_ man gonna be standin' with his hand raised... an' that's the _real_ world champion... [Thunder hitches a thumb to his chest rather forcefully.]     Brody Thunder. Now get outta my way....! [Thunder puts his hand over the camera and  shoves it out of the way as he storms off, shoving Morton against the lockers as he goes. The screen spins, coming to rest on an image of Requiem standing in a darkened corner backstage. He plays "The Music Of The Unknowingly Damned" upon the night black electric guitar] REQUIEM: It is as I said it would be. The Angel of Destruction once more triumphant, The Herald Of Destruction claiming another lost soul. Once again I strive closer to my goal, the eventual and inevitable beginning of a new age within the IIWF, the Era of Genesis. The Genesis Generation awaits, and Requiem shall not keep them waiting long... [The screen spins again, this time coming to rest on Steve Kowalski seated in his locker room, a bottle of water in his hand. The cut on his forehead sustained during his match with Mad Dog Watkins has been closed with steri-strips, and he pours the water over his head, running his fingers through his hair before speaking, a smirk on his face:] SK: If the Fury isn't hellbent on winnin' it all, then I don't know my     [BLEEP]! I'm a runnaway train... I'm an A-bomb on the drop... I am a     hard-headed, two-fisted, backbreakin', 21 gun-salutin' son of a bitch! The fuse is lit and nobody is gonna stop me now. An' if ya think ya can, Petrow, then show up. I friggin' mean it! Jus' show up fer a lesson in pain. Yer lookin' at the new champ! [The screen spins once more, and this time shows Steve Summer walking gingerly on one of the walkways high in the rafters of the arena, eighteen thousand fans like a sea of humanity a couple of hundred feet below him... and ahead of Summer on the walkway is Joe Petrow, facing away from the camera.] SS: Um, well, Joe, um, you're in the Final Four now, um... I guess you're feeling pretty good? [Petrow turns to look at Summer.  Petrow is crying!  His words come out as angry sobs, and he walks towards Summer, eventually backing him up against the railings of the walkway. Summer turns and looks down at the floor below him, his eyes widening.] JP: Feeling pretty good!?  FEELING PRETTY GOOD!?  Do you know what Triple M might have just done!? SS: But you have a bye! You're only two matches away from winning the IIWF World's Heavyweight Championship, and with a distinct advantage over the other thr... JP: [interrupting] SCREW THE BELT!  This isn't about the belt!  I've held belts before! But I've worked all my life for something more!  I've worked ALL!  MY! LIFE!  For a freaking kiwi!  A kiwi!  The kiwi that will CHANGE THE WORLD!  The kiwi that will take us to the new promised land!  But if I don't do this exactly right, IT AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN!  The IIWF World's Title in empty shell that needs a soul!  If I don't get it... if I don't get it... [Joe's voice trails off in sobs] SS: Um...well, there you have... JP: [interrupting again] Kowalski!  I didn't want it to come to this!  But now I have no choice.  Kowalski, Triple M, and even my Sychopaths, you must all prepare FOR THE APOCALYPSE! [Petrow shoves Summers over, and stalks away. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: That Petrow -- he's a sick puppy, Dross. A sick puppy. TD: Let's get to the ring for the introductions. ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## "Final Four" Tournament Match: | ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------- | ## ## #### ## [GROUPS A/B] | ## ## ## ## Steve Kowalski vs. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee is gleefully examining his airline tickets to Maine, contemplating his coming vacation of lobster, yardwork and talk of small college football, as he takes the mic.] SL: The following contest is a very special Final Four Matchup! Introducing first, weighing 227 pounds and residing in Tokyo, Japan... "Sychosys" Joe Petrow!! [Big Pop as Petrow makes his way from the stands, pushing past the outstretched hands of the fans, and even bowling over a particularly overly ardent Sychopath who stood in his way. "Supper's Ready:  Willow Farm" (Part One) by Genesis is played by a boombox-carrying Sychopath as Petrow reaches the ring.  Sychosys is now stripped to the waist, but is otherwise clad as was he for his opening round victory over Derek Mota.  Petrow hits the ring, clearly agitated but has calmed down a bit from his disturbing interview of just a few moments ago.] TD: Here is Joe Petrow... you could easily refer to him as the real enigma of the IIWF -- I've been around a long time, as have you, Steve Roberts... and I don't think we've ever encountered a figure quite like Joe Petrow. SR: He's a freak, Dross.  He's a freak and a half.  When he goes to the carnival midway, even the goat boy and the bearded lady say, "whoa, check out Petrow."  The guy's an enchilada short of a combination plate if you ask me. TD: That may be, but he is also an accomplished wrestler -- and does hold a pinfall victory over the Fury in the "Audience Participation" Match... can he make it two in a row? [Sparkplug Lee shakes his head sadly at 3M who stands at ringside, bouncing around as if hopped up on a chemical for which there is no antidote.] SL: His opponent... [The crowd roars as the sound of the revving motorcycle is heard as if the gruff male voice, "S.O.B"... followed by the throaty woman: "The next _big_ thing..."] SL: ...weighs 268lbs and hails from Newark New Jersey... he is the former IIWF Intercontinental Champion... "The Next Big Thing"... Steve "The Fury" Kowalski! ["Don't Fear the Reaper" plays as the Fury enters the aisle...Huge Pop!] TD: Steve Kowalski is riding... Steve "The Fury" Kowalski is riding a red tricycle down the aisle, Steve Roberts!  Kowalski's bringing the tricycle from Birthday Bash! SR:  All right!  All right!  I always say the fun doesn't start until someone breaks out the children's toys!  Doesn't matter what they are... a tricycle, a Mr. Potato Head, Barbie's Malibu Beach House, maybe the July 16, 1980 issue of "Tiger Beat" magazine with Andy Gibb on the cover -- hey, Dross -- did you know that I sang "Shadow Dancing" at my second wedding reception?  No... I'm thinking about someone else. [Kowalski hits the ring, tossing the tricycle in the direction of McArthur, who sprints back to the timekeeper's table.  The Fury smirks at Petrow, who hasn't appeared to even notice his arrival.  Kowalski peels off his Harley Davidson jacket, exposing a purple t-shirt on which is pictured the late IIWF personality Bulldog Brown inside a circle with a line running through it.] TD: We are about to see it, Steve Roberts... we are about to see the rematch of Birthday Bash -- and it's anyone's guess who is going to take this one. SR: I know. TD: You do not. SR: I know lots of things, Dross -- I knew the architecture and the ballplayers... and I know the members of New Edition:  Tresvant, Bivens, DeVoe, Bell, Brown and the underrated Johnny Gill!  Who's the man, Dross?  Who's the man? TD: My, my my, Steve Roberts -- you are only one challenge away from thrilling the world with your presence each and every Tuesday. SR: Every week?  As long as I don't have to work Mondays... I'm going to Morton's to watch the reruns of the Chuck Norris show. TD: This place is electric... abuzz... and these two men are ready to go! [Ding! Ding! Ding! It is Kowalski who fires away first, almost catching Petrow unsuspecting with a rapid series of right hands... a corner whip... and then a big backdrop that sends Sychosys high into the air... and then down to the canvas with a huge thud! Petrow is up again, whipped again, backdropped again -- and again goes even higher into the air -- and falls even farther to the canvas with an even more resounding... thud! Huge Fury Pop as Kowalski picks Petrow to his feet one more time, whipping him shortside and charging -- Kowalski clotheslining Petrow over the top rope, over the apron and all the way to the floor! Big Fury Pop!] TD: Steve Kowalski is here... and Steve Kowalski is ready to fight! SR: The Fury is always ready to fight, Dross!  Just like you're always ready to eat macadamia nut fudge, I'm always ready to feel up under-age relatives of politicians and Luke "I No Longer Care Enough To Think Of A Rhyme" Steele is ready to tap out -- Steve Kowalski is ready to fight! [Petrow staggers around outside, less injured than he seems completely baffled by the goings on.  Sychosys leaps over the retaining barrier... taking a front row seat! Petrow grabs a sign from a fan reading "The NLWP: For Over 50 Years The Revolutionary Force In... Doing The Job!" and then yells for a vendor to bring him an ice cream bar!] TD: I think it's all too much for Joe Petrow, Steve Roberts... I believe this man has finally snapped under the pressure! SR: Now he's snapped?  _Now_ he's snapped?  Dross, this is a guy who thinks he's a man trapped in a man's body.  He's nuts, Dross.  He's feta cheese... he's the human albino... he's a livin' breathin' walkin' talkin' Area 57. [Petrow leads the baffled fans in a chant of "You F'd Up"... and looks to be almost excited when the Fury yanks him from his seat and back the the floor. Kowalski leads Petrow over to the announce table, readying his head for a corner shot... but then stops abruptly. The Fury then points to the steel steps, Kowalski taking Petrow over, and then kicking the top step off.  The crowd roars as the Fury nods feverishly and picks Petrow up, setting for a slam into the steps... Kowalski then stops.  Again shaking his head... and now carries Petrow to the apron... Kowalski stands with the helpless, damn near motionless Petrow poised over his head in crucifix powerbomb position.  Kowalski egging on the roar of the crowd as he sets himself to plant Petrow into the retaining barrier with a "Knightmare" of his own... But Kowalski shakes his head, and simply drops Petrow over the ropes and back into the ring, "Ain't time to go hardcore yet... ain't you ever seen the IIWF before?", yells the Fury to the disappointed fans.] TD: The Fury perhaps showing some mercy here towards Joe Petrow, who does not appear to have any interest at all in wrestling this match. SR: Mercy?  Oh no, Dross... Steve Kowalski may know a lot of things... he knows where the best strip clubs are in Hoboken... he knows who to go to when you want to take the Niners and lay sixteen in an exhibition game... and once he watches a tape of Coronation Clash he'll know what the seven primary colors in the color spectrum are -- but Steve Kowalski don't know a damn thing about mercy.  Mercy is for kittens, grandmas, and brief Dan Spivey gimmicks... not for Steve "The Fury" Kowalski! [Kowalski has been hammering Petrow inside the ring, executing a number of sharp running powerslams...and now whips Petrow farside, the Fury bowing his head just a fraction of a second too soon...] TD: Rocker dropper!  Joe Petrow with a rocker dropper and Kowalski hits like a shot!  Oh My! SR: Where the hell did that come from? [Petrow covers the Fury: 1 - easy kickout by Kowalski who is then covered again by Petrow.  This time, D'Amato does not even get to slap the mat before Kowalski kicks out.  Petrow however complains vociferously, slapping his hands together three times and yelling, "One - Two - three!... 1 - 2 - 3!  What's so hard about that, Pablo?" Kowalski charges Petrow with a clothesline attempt to the back of the head, Petrow apparently senses it - and ducks out of the way.  Petrow then leaping at Kowalski with... with what is less a Thesz press than a chest bump.  Kowalski totally unmoving as Petrow then stands in front of him, demanding a knuckle lock up! Kowalski shakes his head and complies, easily forcing Petrow down... however, it is Sychosys who yells for a submssion check!  Petrow yells that D'amato check the Fury for a submission, even as Kowalski has Petrow now writhing in pain on the mat! The official moves to the Fury, asking him if he would like to quit... but before he can answer, Petrow hits him with a low blow, way low -- to the knees, which breaks the hold and backs an irritated Kowalski away.] TD: Maybe there is a method to this Petrow madness, Steve Roberts. Keep in mind, Joe Petrow is the much fresher man here, having had a bye in the previous round... he may be trying to take the Fury completely out of his game. SR: Method?  Well, there's a method to having sex with a grizzly bear too, Dross -- it don't make it a good idea. TD: What would that method be, Steve Roberts? SR: That's awfully personal, Dross.  I don't ask what you do with the wife.  And the American people are grateful. [Kowalski drops Petrow with a right hand -- Petrow slapping the mat as he lies there, yelling out, "three... see... 1 - 2 - 3!  How tough is that?", before being picked up by the Fury and corner-whipped hard, causing Petrow to completely flip over so his feet rest on the top buckle and his head is on the canvas.  Big Fury Pop!] TD: Oh No!  Petrow is hung up... Kowalski has Petrow hung up! SR: That's the tree o' woe!  Tree o' woe!  Clubberin' time if you weeel!  Thaturday Night! TD: Will you stop? SR: God, I sure hope so. Can I go to Maine with Sparkplug? [Kowalski charges with a sliding kick to Petrow's exposed head, his neck snapping, crackling and popping backward.  Kowalski dives underneath the ropes and to the floor, taking Petrow's head and pulling it in an unnatural direction.  The Fury chopping feverishly at the exposed Adam's apple of Sychosys, working the larynx before driving the neck to thecanvas for a huge pop! Petrow slumps to the mat... and Kowalski hops to the apron... and slingshots himself down atop Petrow with a legdrop to the throat and a cover... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Petrow is just able to grab the bottom rope!] TD: Oh, Steve Kowalski has really worked over the neck of Joe Petrow. I would not be surprised to see Dave D'Amato put a stop to this! SR: Yes you would. TD: Yes, I would. [Kowalski picks Petrow to his feet, laying into him with European uppercuts and then picking Petrow up and sitting him atop the very top turnbuckle! Kowalski climbs up, getting no resistance from Sychosys as he lays into him with right hands.  Kowalski locks the face... Kowalski looking to elevate Petrow -- blocked. Kowalski tries again, looking to get Petrow up... but Petrow blocks again -- and Petrow leaps almost majestically to Kowalski's shoulders and turns... Huge Sycho POP!] TD: OH MY!  OH MY!  Petrow with the hurricanrana all the way to the outside!  A top rope flying hurricanrana! SR: I don't know which man took the worst of that shot, Dross! Kowalski is laid out on the floor... but I think Petrow took it to the head.  Bet that ain't the first time someone's said that, Dross. [Kowalski and Petrow slowly stand outside the ring as the Sychopaths pop.  Kowalski levels Petrow with two haymaker right hands... Petrow staggers -- but then snaps the Fury back to the retaining barrier with a front enzuigiri that has his fans roaring!] TD: Sychokick!  Sychokick!  Kowalski is knocked into the guard rail! [Petrow dives underneath the ring, pulling out a folding table!  Petrow has a folding table and now stands facing Kowalski!  Sychosys motions Maurice to give up his chair, placing it in the "glide path"... Petrow grabs the table and runs, sprinting off the chair, from which he and the table fly -- fly toward Kowalski who... ducks... And Petrow and the table plancha over the barrier -- into the crowd, where he smacks dead into a German man holding an enormous sign picturing Lord Byron and Otto Verhoeven, which reads "European Alliance 4-Ever"... the man falls and the sign breaks neatly in half. Big Fury Pop as Petrow attempts to stand amidst the broken table, as Kowalski leaps clean over the barrier into a cross-body block of the debris-covered Sychosys.  Kowalski grabs an enormous freezer from the vendor, filled with IIWF ice cream bars -- slamming it over the head of Petrow!  Huge pop as ice cream now pours out all over the battered Sychosys!] SR: Look at all the ice cream, Dross! VDC, Moondust, Onslaught, "Bodybag" Kinder... damn, Dross -- who's in charge of cleaning that stuff out anyway?  How the hell old does an ice cream bar have to be before we throw it out? TD: I don't know, Steve Roberts... but there sure are a lot of "guys" who are "covering" Petrow right now!  And for a whole lot longer than three seconds! [The huge steel freezer remains on Joe Petrow's head, leaving him totally oblivious to the whereabouts of the Fury. Petrow feverishly grabs for something... anything... his hands finding a big, foam J.P. Steele jackhammer which he swings wildly in the general direction of Kowalski... Big Foam Pop!  Kowalski shakes his head... and then drops Petrow with a standing dropkick to the freezer-covered head of Sychosys!  Fury Pop! Kowalski, with seeming disregard for the obstacle in the way, begins to hammer at the metallic "head" of the fallen Petrow, the Fury yelling, "I don't care if ya got a freezer fer a head, boy... I'm still gonna get ya!" Kowalski gets only bloodied fingers for his troubles... however, he soon adapts, maneuvering to Petrow's feet... and slingshotting "Sychosys" back up and over the retaining barrier -- and out to ringside!  Big Fury Pop!] TD: Kowalski has continued to dominate, Steve Roberts... and Joe Petrow has that portable steel freezer still affixed to his head!! SR: Yeah, but Kowalski couldn't hurt him with blows to the head... I think Petrow even liked getting hit to the head... just like all those Samoans!  Hey, check Petrow's trunks... does he have the word "Thump" written on his ass? [Petrow shakily attempts to stand. The Fury realizes that Sychosys cannot see... and makes a mad, over the guardrail leap for him... as he flies a distinct Sychopathic voice is heard to shout, "Use the force, Sychosys... Use the freakin' force!" Petrow stands as the Fury flies... and Petrow catches Kowalski in a brutal driving spinebuster that spikes Kowalski's back into the retaining barrier and drives Petrow's metal, freezer head into his chest!  Big Petrow Pop!] TD: Oh MY!  A spinebuster... a freezer for a head... guardrail spinebuster! SR: Damn... that's going in the highlight reel, Dross -- hey, Petrow... Petrow, give me back my change and let's call it even!  Whaddya say, Petrow?  You and me... friends forever!  Buddies!  Pals! Like... Like Willie Aames and Scott Baio... but without being complete and total no-talent punk losers.  Whaddya say, Sychosys? TD: Scott Baio. SR: I loved "Charles in Charge"... used to watch it with my second, no, my fifth wife.  No... I'm thinking about something else again. [Petrow rips the cooler from his head, the ice cream still dripping down his chest.  Sychosys grabs a Stud Stetson ice cream bar and gobbles it down saying, "I don't care if he did suck... it's damn good eatin'!" Petrow grabs at Kowalski tossing the fallen Fury back into the ring, a move which draws an audible groan from the fans... including the Soundbite. ] SR: Aw, stay outside, Joe.  Joey.  Boobala. TD: Maybe they had to beat the count. SR: What... before it got to nineteen hundred and seven? [Kowalski attempts to regain his bearings... and the two men lock up. Petrow is able to establish a wristlock, and then wring the arm for a wristlock takedown.  Petrow moves to the armbar -- and again begins yelling at the official for a submission!  Petrow again asking D'Amato to check for a submission.] DD: Do you quit, Fury?  Fury? SK: It's a goddamn armbar?  Whaddo I look like, Kauffman? [Kowalski powers up... laying into Petrow with chops... and now boots to the midsection.  Kowalski goes-behind with a waistlock -- standing switch -- Petrow with a hammerlock... and Petrow with a sharp hammerlock suplex and a cover... 1 -- NO!] TD: The rarely seen hammerlock suplex from Joe Petrow. SR: I taught him that.  We're very close.  [Petrow bounces off the backropes as the Fury rises... and wipes out Kowalski with a dropkick to the knee, taking him hard to the mat. Petrow then stands... pointing with one finger to the sky as the Sychopaths roar.] SR: He's hardcore, Dross!  He's hardcore!! [The Fury slowly rises, Petrow gathering him -- and then whipping him to the corner... Petrow runs to the opposite corner and charges with a spinning back kick that rocks the Fury hard in the corner and brings out another huge SychoPop!  Petrow then dives atop the ropes, springboarding himself from the top into an elbowsmash of the Fury... who falls dead in the middle of the ring! Petrow then rises, only now appearing to understand that he is in some type of competiton, that he is in battle, that he is in a fight with the toughest S.O.B. in the IIWF for a shot at the Heavyweight Championship of the World... Petrow going up -- up -- up to the top rope and leaping down atop Kowalski with a...] TD: Flying head butt!  Flying... wait. SR: He hit him with his neck!  Joe Petrow just hit him with a flying neck butt from the top rope!  What the hell is wrong with this guy?! Didn't you learn anything from our time together, Petrow?  All the training... the vitamins... the... what the hell was that third part, Dross? [Petrow crawls away from the Fury in obvious pain, grasping at his neck... but as Kowalski rises -- Petrow makes a mad dive for him -- neck first! Petrow slams into Kowalski with his own neck, and then butts him over and over, ramming his... his _neck_ into every available part of the Fury.] SR: It's a vampire's wet dream, Dross!  Petrow's giving up his neck for the good of the team!  He's just flat bonkers! [Kowalski is virtually unaffected by the new offensive arsenal, nailing Petrow with a boot to the midesection and lifting him up as if for a vertical suplex... but instead dropping him squarely to the mat... on his neck!] TD: That's a doctor bomb!  Doctor bomb by Steve Kowalski... and Joe Petrow has got to be in phenomenal pain! [Kowalski picks Petrow up again, whipping him to the corner... the Fury charges -- Petrow slips -- and Kowalski rans his shoulder hard into the ringpost!  Big Big POP!  Kowalski falls backward and Petrow moves to the top rope... Petrow goes to the top rope... and the Fury is going out after him!  The Fury is going up to the top rope after Joe Petrow, the Furies screaming as one for their hero as he reaches the top and begins exchanging right hands with Sychosys!  Kowalski is battering at Petrow, each man high above the ring, Kowalski ripping away at Petrow with right hands... Kowalski gaining the advantage... huge, huge roar as Kowalski _underhooks_ the _arms_!] TD: It's a Skullpump!  Kowalski's gonna hit the Skullpump... TO THE OUTSIDE! ["Skull - pump! Skull - pump! Skull - pump!" chant the roaring fans as Kowalski hooks Petrow and leaps.... but Petrow reverses in mid air -- reverses in mid-air! -- and Petrow drives Kowalski's head down through with a flying DDT... through the steel steps!  DDT through the steel steps!  Big Sycho POP!]    TD: OH MY!  The Fury is busted open again, Steve Roberts... that shot he took in the "Elite Eight" matchup with Mad Dog Watkins has re-opened... and Steve Kowalski's forehead is once again a river of blood! SR: Yes!  Yes!  Yes!  Wait... there was something I wanted to say... there was something I meant to say... oh yeah... Yes!  Yes!  Yes! [Each man lies on the floor, Petrow easily up first, as the Fury's head is now oozing with freshly-squeezed juice. Petrow drags Kowalski out away from the ring slightly, out into the bottom of the aisle.  The steel steps are strewn across the area as Petrow lays the Fury out, and then goes back to the apron... climbing back to the top rope...] TD: Petrow's gonna come down... Petrow's gonna... OH MY! [Petrow leaps down with a shooting star press -- but does not hit the Fury as Kowalski WHACKS him across the mouth upon his descent with, of course, the red tricycle.  Big Fury POP!] TD: Kowalski leveled him!  Kowalski... Kowalski's going up for the tricycle moonsault!  Kowalski's going up for a tricycle moonsault to the _outside_! [The Fury grabs the trike, and waves to his fans -- "Moon - sault! Moon - sault! Moon - sault!" -- as he reaches the top rope and turns around... and leaps... Right onto the steel steps!  Big Sycho Pop!] TD: Oh MY!  Petrow pulled the steps in front of Kowalski... and the Fury smacked hard right on that tricycle, that bent, mutilated, spindled red tricycle!! [Kowalski remains seated on the trike, Petrow giving the racked-up Fury a little push, making this now the oddest "victory" lap ever seen in wrestling. The bloodstained Fury pushed along ringside on his tricycle as would be a child just learning to ride. Petrow thrustkicks Kowalski off the tricycle, kicking him off with impunity, and then pushing Kowalski atop one half of those steel steps! Kowalski is laid out on the steel steps, his body spasming with pain as Petrow now grabs the tricycle!  Petrow grabs the tricycle and he is heading for the top buckle!] TD: Good grief... Joe Petrow is headed to the top... he's going... now Joe Petrow is going for this tricycle moonsault! [Petrow shakes his head, almost somberly, toward the Fury as he turns around... and leaps... And smashes into the other half of the steel steps!  Kowalski, too exhausted to move away, grabs at the other half of the steps with a nearly Herculean effort and raises them in the nick of time to protect himself... Petrow crashing down upon the tricycle... upon the steel steps... which then fall upon the Fury... who falls upon the steel steps in a synergistic chain of violence that leaves the two men completely spent, their bodies broken as the crowd, some eighteen thousand strong, musters up a loud... a loud resounding cheer: "IIWF! IIWF! IIWF! IIWF! IIWF!"] TD: Listen to these people... listen to these people cheer these two warriors, Steve Roberts!  This kind of action -- this kind of... depravity can only happen in one place... SR: The Double I... Doube U... F'n F, Dross!  IIWF... IIWF... IIWF! [Big IIWF Pop as Petrow and Kowalski rise, the Fury just beating the... count... and reaching over the top rope to guide Petrow in... guide him in with a suplex back inside! But Petrow stays on his feet!  Petrow stays on his feet as he is suplexed, and grabs a waistlock... and German suplexes Kowalski over... there's the bridge... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  The Fury is able to kick out! Kowalski kicks out and then stands... and then is dropped sharply by a side Russian leg sweep, Petrow moving to his feet, executing a quick stepover toe hold and bending back...] TD: Quickstriker!  Joe Petrow's got the quickstriker on the Fury! Petrow with the Quickstriker! SR: Yes! Yes!  I mean... NO!!  Dammit, Fury, get your ass up!  Get it up!  Get it up!  Hey, Dross, I got it up once... No, dammit... No time for jokes... Get The Hell Up, Kowalski! [The crowd roars en masse, the official now not so flippantly checking for a submission, the blood still rolling down the face of Kowalski, the official checking as Petrow bends back hard... Petrow grabbing the ropes for additional leverage!  Joe Petrow grabbing the ropes as the Fury strains, Kowalski's face a mask of blood... of pain... of... need... of... fear... of... of... Of strength!  Of strength! Steve Kowalski... Steve Kowalski powering his way up from the hold... powering his way up from the Quickstriker... the crowd is roaring the building down as Kowalski is turning the Quickstriker over on Petrow! Kowalski with the Quickstriker!  Kowalski with the Quickstriker and screaming at Petrow to quit, the Fury screaming at Petrow to give it up... as Petrow reaches out for the bottom rope... which is not there... but then it is!  Petrow is able to grab the bottom rope as it was pushed in to him... the bottom rope pushed in to Joe Petrow by... Majestic Maurice McArthur. Huge Sycho Pop as 3M allows Petrow to break the hold, referee D'Amato forcing the Fury to break... the anguish apparent on his face as he stands and yells obscenities at the clearly terrified 3M... Kowalski leaning out over the top rope...] TD: Petrow pulls him down!  Petrow pulls him down!  Petrow's got the count!! [D'amato's hand strikes the mat... almost in slow motion: 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: Thre...NO!  NO!  NO!  The Fury has kicked out! [The Fleet Center roars for the two men, Kowalski and Petrow clearly without an ounce of energy between them as they lie on the canvas.  It is Kowalski who rises first, the Fury who puts the boots to Petrow and then lifts him to his feet -- whipping Sychosys cross-corner... Petrow hitting the corner hard... and again flipping completely over... But this time Petrow is able to land on his feet, land on the apron... and when Kowalski charges the corner, Petrow leaps over top with a sunset flip that brings the Fury down with a... 1 -- 2 -- NO! Kowalski is up and charges at Petrow with a runing clothesline, but Petrow ducks... and backdrops the 268 pound Fury over the top rope... and all the way to the outside!] TD: Petrow's going up... Petrow's going up again!  Joe Petrow is going to leap to the outside one more time! [Kowalski staggers outside, and Petrow hurls himself down with a flying cross-body... that connects!  Petrow connects!  And the Fury is laid out on the outside!  Petrow hits the flying cross-body as the Sychopaths roar... and then the chant begins... "Ass - pump! Ass - pump! Ass - pump!" Petrow picks up the Fury, using everything he has to lift him high in the air... and drop him... NO!  Kowalski nails Petrow on the way down with a stunning jawbreaker that wipes Petrow out!] TD: Jawbreaker!  Jawbreaker! SR: Ain't nobody as cold as The Fury, Dross!  Petrow is out... Petrow is stone out! [The Fury moves to place a thumb over his throat, but then waves it off, too tired even too announce his intent to finish... Kowalski grabs Petrow, tossing him onto the Spanish announce table, "You coke dealers better move," yells the Fury. From behind the timekeeper comes running Majestic Maurice McArthur... 3M running in between Kowalski and the table!  Kowalski, with a big smile affixed on his bloodied, battered, brutally scarred face grabs 3M... kicks him in the stomach... and...] TD: Skullpump!  Skullpump!  Kowalski has just skullpumped Majestic Maurice McArthur! [The Furies roar their loudest of approvals as 3M goes down in a heap... and is then tossed atop the Spanish announce table... atop Joe Petrow!  Kowalski lays them both out... then pauses... pauses as he moves to the apron... and removes his shirt!  Steve Kowalski removes the Bulldog Brown shirt from his back, tossing it atop the pile of bodies and yells, "No-sell this, bitch."] TD: Kowalski's going up, Steve Roberts... Steve Kowalski is going up.... he is going up to... he is going to leap right through that table! SR: Just do it, baby.... just do it one time... one time for me, Fury, one time for the Soundbite... a little wa-wa for the broadcastin' man... not so much to ask, baby... [Kowalski moves to the top rope, points a finger to the sky... and leaps with a somersault legdrop...] TD: HE HIT IT!  HE HIT IT! [Cataclysimic Fury Pop as Kowalski shatters through both McArthur... and Petrow and the Spanish announce table with a thundering top rope to the outside somersault legdrop that brings each and every one of the eighteen thousand fans in attendance to his feet in a thunderous, a deafening roar!] SR: It is over, Dross!  It is over! [The table's debris now litters the entire ringside area, broken monitors have been strewn about, copious announcer notes, gone for the ages... wood, plastic, metal -- all sacrificed to the altar of Kowalski. And it is the Fury who rises, Steve Kowalski who lifts himself out of the rubble, his nearly destroyed body standing above the carnage.  The Fury pulls the hair away from his face... a bloody smile creeping across as the crowd now begins chanting in eighteen thousand nearly simultaneous voices, "Skull - pump! Skull - pump! Skull - pump! Kowalski stands alone for a moment, surveying the scene... and then is tossed an enormous Cuban cigar by one of his Furies.] SR: Hey, Kowalski... need a light? [Soundbite hurls a lighter at the Fury who winks a thank you and then lights up the enormous stogie, the roar now monumental as Kowalski stands, still amidst the carange, blood flowing freely between his eyes -- the Fury smoking a Cuban cigar.] SK: Ain't I a kick in the ass?! [The crowd roars again, resuming the "Skullpump!" chant as the Fury grabs McArthur and tosses him deep into the crowd.  Kowalski then grabs at Petrow, Kowalski pulling him up and then looking deeply into the eyes of his rival, looking in the face of a man who has defeated him previously in the field of battle, a man who now two times has extended him beyond the levels of human endurance... a man who knows the terrain from hell and back... Kowalski looks into the face of that man -- and blows cigar smoke right between his eyes! Big Fury Pop!] TD: I can barely hear myself, Steve Roberts... I can barely hear myself... this place has gone wild for the Fury -- Steve Kowalski is bringing Joe Petrow back to the ring and he is about to finish the job. SR: You say you can't hear?  You say you can't hear?  Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet... did you hear that Dross?  I'm the new co-host!  I'm the new co-host and Steve Kowalski is going to the finals! TD: I can't hear you, Steve Roberts... what did you say? [Kowalski reaches the middle of the ring, the "Skullpump!" chant overwhelming... "Skull - pump!  Skull - pump!" Kowalski dropping his cigar... picking up Petrow and hooking the arms... "Skull - pump!  Skull - pump!" Kowalski moves to lift Petrow in the air -- blocked -- Kowalski moves again to lift Petrow in the air -- blocked -- Kowalski tries again... and Petrow delivers a big right foot low... again... very low... to the knee!  Petrow stands straight up, flipping Kowalski up over onto his back... Kowalski is on Petrtow's back... and Petrow lifts up... Petrow is standing with Kowalski perched high up on his back... High up in the air!  Petrow stands... arms shaking... arms shaking... and... and...] TD: KNIGHTMARE!  KNIGHTMARE! JOE PETROW HAS HIT THE KNIGHTMARE!! [The Sychopaths are apoplectic as Petrow counters the skullpump attempt with a Knightmare... and Kowalski is down!  Steve "the Fury" Kowalski has been sent down and Petrow now moves... Petrow moves to the ropes... Joe Petrow is climbing to the _top_ rope!] TD: Oh my... Oh my... Joe Petrow is climbing up... Joe Petrow is gonna go... Joe Petrow is gonna go for another STARSAULT PRESS! [Petrow stands poised, everything seeming to move in slow motion for him as he takes what for all the world must seem like the first and last truly deep breath of his life.  His entire historic career -- a life of triumph and tragedy -- of glory and devastation -- now must pass before his eyes in the split second that he pauses... in the split second before he leaps down to his destiny... Joe Petrow leaps...] TD: He missed it again!  He missed it again! SR: Now... that was the worst one yet, Dross!  That was maybe the single worst attempt at a maneuver in the history of wrestling!! [The crowd roars as Petrow plants himself headfirst barely a foot from the corner from which he leapt... the Furies now resume the "Skullpump!" chant as Kowalski again rises, walks to Petrow and hooks the arms... and lifts... and drops... SKULLPUMP!  The Fury falls across as D'Amato makes the count... 1 -- 2 -- 3!  Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Your winner... as a result of a pinfall -- and on his way to the finals of the Coronation Clash Tournament... STEVE "THE FURY" KOWALSKI! [The pop is tumultuous as Kowalski's arm is raised in victory.  "Don't Fear the Reaper" begins over the P.A. as the Furies begin a chant, "One to go... One to go... One to go..." Kowalski exits the ring accepting the outstretched hands, the emotional response of his fans. Petrow now stands alone, his Sychopaths eerily quiet, Petrow seeming not as much disappointed as thoroughly not comprehending the events which have just taken place.  Referee D'Amato motions Petrow from the ring, but Sychosys does not move, Petrow staring in abject confusion at the veteran official.  From the stands... or the sky... or someplace from which such things can happen -- an object appears -- an object which appears and with a thud strikes Sychosys squarely in the head!] TD: What the hell was that?  Something just hit Joe Petrow! SR: I think it's a child!  I think people are throwing their babies at Joe Petrow... maybe looking for an autograph or something.  Autographed babies!  We're hardcore!  IIWF... IIWF... IIWF... IIWF! [Petrow is staggered... but then retrieves the object -- which is an ordinary kiwi fruit. The ringside Sychopaths gasp in a collective shock.  Petrow grabs the kiwi, looking at it as if seeing a type of talisman, as if seeing the key to his eternal salvation.  Petrow looks at the fruit quizzically... then a huge smile breaks across his face.  Petrow begins to whoop loudly, cheering for all he is worth, and then sprints like a colt from the ring and up the aisle!  Petrow yelling, "KIWI AT LAST! KIWI AT LAST!"] TD: I don't have any idea what just happened there, Steve Roberts -- but what has happened here is that Steve "the Fury" Kowalski is on his way to the finals where he will take on the winner of the Requiem/Thunder match for the granddaddy of them all: the IIWF Heavyweight Championship of the World! SR: It happened, Dross.  Just like I said it would... just like I predicted.  The Fury is going to the finals -- and I named the architecture, the baseball players, New Edition and the color spectrum... that means that I'm the new co-host of "Inside the IIWF"! TD: I don't have any idea what you're talking about, Steve Roberts. All I know is that the Fury is going on to the finals... and we still have three matches left in what already has been one of the truly great pay-per-view spectaculars of all time! SR: Don't go back on your word, Dross!  I get a parking space... I get a makeup chair... I get Barbara to laugh at all my jokes!  Come on, Dross... Wa-Wa for the Soundbite man!  Wa-Wa for the Soundbite man! [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What a wild, wild match that was, Steve Roberts. You have to wonder whether Steve Kowalski will be in any shape to wrestle the final after the beating he took in that match. SR: But he gives as good as he gets, Dross. The Fury's still on track, baby dolls! TD: And we're about to find out who it is he will face in that final match, as we go to the second of our "Final Four" semi-final matches, pitting the frontman of Genesis, Requiem, against the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder. SR: It's gonna be the "Lone Wolf" and the Fury in the final, Dross! TD: Entirely possible, Steve. Thunder is seen by many as the uncrowned champion, after that match against Casey James four weeks ago, that match that was deemed so inconclusive that the World title was vacated, and it was announced that the new champion would be crowned in this tournament. The "Lone Wolf" has so far made good on his promise that he will be the man to triumph over four others on the same night and take the title back to his wife and daughter in Tombstone, Arizona. SR: No way, Dross. His name ain't Steve Kowalski, so no dice. TD: Well, Thunder is half way, Steve Roberts. He's beaten Serge Annis and Tony Starks already tonight, and now he comes up against the monstrous Requiem. SR: Who? TD: Requiem has beaten Luke Steele and Ronnie Paris in the last two rounds -- although not without a little help from his friends -- and Thunder will be his toughest test thus far in the tournament. Let's get up to the ring. ### ### ### ##### -----------------------------------------------. ## ## ## ## ## ## ## "Final Four" Tournament Match: | ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------- | ## ## #### ## [GROUPS C/D] | ## ## ## ## "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. Requiem | ## ## ## ## ## ## ## --------------------------------------------------' ### ### ### ## WRITER: DS [Cut to Sparkplug Lee in the squared circle. The announcer raises his microphone.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is the "Final Four" tournament encounter for Groups C and D, and it is scheduled for one fall, with a forty-five minute time limit. [Big heel pop as the lights drop, and Requiem's voice booms out over the PA:] REQUIEM: From this day forward, until the end of time, there shall be no mercy for the damned! [A deep blue spotlight casts its beam down towards the head of the aisle, dry ice swirling into its misty light, and Requiem steps out, apparently totally engrossed in playing his jet black electric guitar in the mournful strains of the "Music of the Unknowingly Damned."] RA: Introducing first, at the head of the aisle, representing Genesis, and weighing in at 306lbs, here is... Requiem! [Silently behind him, the rest of Genesis file out into the aisle, standing around Requiem in a semi-circle, just outside the spotlight. The crowd chants, "Bo - ring! Bo - ring! Bo - ring!" at the gang, but Requiem continues to play until he is finished, and he then hands his guitar to an attendant before looking up into the stands for the first time. Without a flicker of emotion crossing his face, Requiem walks down the aisle, the rest of Genesis following behind him.] TD: Well, here they come, Steve Roberts. This group has turned a lot of heads since their formation at Birthday Bash some two months ago. They have long maintained that they are the future of the IIWF, and Cold Spell already have the World tag belts to bear witness to that fact. Can Requiem bring the World Heavyweight Championship to Genesis, too? SR: One word, Dross: Steve "the Fury" Kowalski. TD: That's four words, Steve. SR: So? TD: Never mind. [Requiem climbs the ringsteps and enters the ring, the rest of Genesis taking up station on one side of the ring. Scott Rogers receives a particularly hostile reception. He flexes his muscles for the crowd, and finds himself showered with debris from the stands.] TD: Scott Rogers has really turned the fans against him with his defection to Genesis, Steve. I knew he was untrustworthy, right from the first day he stepped into the IIWF -- but even so, setting up Luke Steele and Ronnie Paris like that is not just vindictive, it's downright malicious. SR: If "White Flight" want to fight amongst themselves, that's fine with the Soundbite, Dross. This troupe of clowns is never going to challenge for anything more than syndication for a cartoon show. Rogers had better pick a fight with someone like "Listen to me Squeal" Luke Steele, because no serious contender will even give him the time of day. TD: That's a little harsh, Steve Roberts. It may be true to say that Genesis still have a few rungs of the ladder left to climb, but they're doing very well for themselves -- albeit through questionable tactics. SR: Anybody can put on a mask and beat up a few losers, Dross. What's the big deal? [Requiem removes his leather jacket and performs a few stretches in one corner of the ring as he awaits his opponent.] RA: And his opponent... [Big mixed pop as the lights in the arena rise once more and the theme from "High Plains Drifter" kicks in over the PA.] ...hailing from "the town too tough to die," Tombstone, Arizona, weighing in at 267lbs, here is... the "Lone Wolf"... Brody Thunder! [The imposing form of Brody Thunder appears at the head of the aisle. Dressed simply in his wrestling attire of black trunks, pads, and boots, a determined-looking Thunder walks directly to the ring without so much as taking his eyes off Requiem. Thunder stops at ringside and looks up at his large opponent, his eyes darkening, and then rolls in under the bottom rope -- and immediately Requiem is on top of him, stomping him before he can get to his feet! Referee Dave D'Amato hurriedly signals for the bell, and the match is underway.] TD: Thunder not even given time to stand before Requiem launches an assault -- and Requiem drags the cowboy to his feet, whips him into the ropes... oh my, what a clothesline! [Thunder is taken off his feet by a huge clothesline from Requiem, who immediately jams his boot against Thunder's throat. Thunder grabs at his windpipe as he thrashes around on the mat, unable to move. D'Amato lays the count on Requiem, who breaks on the count of three, and ignores the official as he gives the big man a warning. Requiem drags Thunder to his feet and snapmares him into a reverse chinlock, extending his opponent's neck as much as possible.] TD: Well, if Requiem follows the strategy we've seen in earlier rounds, he's going to stick with the neck as the focus of his offense, presumably in readiness for that devastating rocker dropper that he has dubbed the Redemption. SR: It's a good move, Dross, but it's no Cattlebuster DDT -- and it's no Asai Moonsault. [Thunder grabs at Requiem's huge left arm, which is locked firmly under his jaw. With his right hand, Thunder reaches up and tries to grab at Requiem's short hair, but he is warned by the referee. Desperate to break the hold, Thunder finally claws wildly with his right hand, and manages to rake Requiem's eyes, forcing the hold to be broken. Thunder gets to his feet as Requiem does, the bigger man disorientated for a moment by the pain in his eye; Thunder whips Requiem into the ropes, and fires back with a clothesline of his own, taking the big man off his feet. Big pop!] TD: And Thunder escapes that chinlock with a gouge to the eye. Let's see if he can take control here. [Thunder helps Requiem to his feet, and wrings his left arm round behind his back with a hammerlock. Requiem swings out with his right arm, trying to grab at Thunder, but the "Lone Wolf" ducks out of the way, and twists to hiptoss the "Angel of Destruction" to the mat, where he again yanks on the left arm, applying an armbar. Requiem tries to slide out of the hold, and Thunder scissors Requiem's head, but the big man is able to unwrap Thunder's legs with his arms. Big heel pop as both men stand once more, Thunder nodding at his opponent.] TD: Impressive strength there from the big man, Steve Roberts. SR: Sorry, what? TD: There is a match going on here, Steve. SR: If that's true, it's sure as hell not in the ring, Dross. Bring out the Fury, that's what I say. [The two men lock up in the centre of the ring, each jockeying for superiority; Thunder shoves Requiem to break the tie-up -- and Requiem responds, shoving Thunder to the mat! Big heel pop! Thunder springs back up and fires out at his big man with a series of European uppercuts and reverse knife-edge chops, backing Requiem into a corner. The crowd really begins to warm to the match as Thunder attempts to whip Requiem across the ring to the opposite corner -- but Requiem reverses, and it's Thunder who is sent for the ride. He hits the opposite buckles with great force, and as he staggers out backwards, winded by the force of the blow, Requiem grabs him with a belly-to-back suplex and dumps Thunder on his head! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! Requiem doing further damage to the neck of Brody Thunder there -- he dropped him right on the base of his skull. We have a cover... [D'Amato drops as Requiem makes a cover: 1 - 2 - Thunder kicks out! Requiem again stomps at Thunder, who rolls to the ropes and to the outside on the side of the ring opposite to the massed Genesis hordes. Thunder attempts to shake off the cobwebs, trying to loosen his neck. Requiem follows his opponent to the outside, stepping through the ropes and onto the apron. The crowd yells to Thunder as Requiem winds up behind him to blast him with a flying double axe-handle -- and as Requiem leaps, Thunder spins around, blasting Requiem in the midsection with a big elbow! Big pop! Thunder drags Requiem to his feet and then proceeds to whip him into the steel ring steps. The big man clatters into the steps, knee first. The referee's count on both men has reached three as Thunder grabs a steel chair from a nearby official and wields it above his head, ready to nail Requiem -- but he is hit from behind by a clip to his knee from Highwayman! Big heel pop!] TD: Oh my! Highwayman just ran clear around the ring and clipped Thunder's knee... the referee is out of the ring, sending Highwayman back -- and Thunder is hurt, Steve Roberts. Both men are down! [Requiem pulls himself to his feet, limping slightly, and grabs the steel chair discarded by Thunder. While the referee sends Highwayman back around to the other side of the ring, Requiem waits for Thunder to pull himself back to his knees -- and blasts him across the side of the head with the steel chair! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my goodness! Requiem may have broken Thunder's jaw, or even his neck, with that shot. Unbelievable! SR: Thunder's out, Dross! He is out! TD: He could well be, Steve... Requiem now, hauling Thunder back into the ring... all he has to do is make the cover. [D'Amato turns his attention back to the match as Requiem rolls the motionless Thunder into the centre of the ring and makes the cover: 1 - 2 - Thunder kicks out! Big pop! Requiem, unfazed by his opponent's guts, drags Thunder to his feet and nails him with a fist to the midsection, bending him double. The "Angel of Destruction" sets Thunder up for a piledriver -- and hits it! Thunder's head is driven hard into the canvas! Requiem rolls clear, then makes the cover again: 1 - 2 - kickout! The big man gets back to his feet, his right knee still apparently a little tender from being whipped into the steel ring steps, and drags Thunder up to a vertical base before sending him across the ring with an Irish whip. Requiem himself bounces off the opposite ropes -- and launches himself with a flying shoulderblock, which takes Thunder off his feet! Again, Requiem makes the cover...] TD: Requiem's got the cover... one... two... No! Thunder just kicks out. The tide of this match has certainly turned in Genesis' favour, Steve Roberts, thanks to the Highwayman. [On the outside, Highwayman and Scott Rogers stand with their hands on the mat, occasionally shouting words of encouragement to their partner, while Fitz and Icehawk stand together near the aisle, conferring. Requiem once more drags Thunder to his feet, and whips him into the ropes, putting his head down for a backdrop -- but he telegraphs the move, giving Thunder the chance to put on the brakes -- and he hits a DDT! Thunder DDTs Requiem to the mat!] TD: Oh my! Out of nowhere, a DDT from Brody Thunder -- I don't think he got all of it, but will it be enough? There's the cover... one... two... No! Requiem gets a shoulder up. [The crowd begins to cheer loudly as Thunder drags the stunned Requiem to his feet, and steels himself as he hoists Requiem up in the air and brings him crashing down with a belly-to-belly suplex! Big pop! Thunder picks himself up and runs against the ropes in preparation for an elbow drop -- but is tripped by Scott Rogers!] TD: Rogers with the trip! I don't think the referee saw it! [Thunder pitches face-first into the mat, and then flies into a rage, sliding out of the ring under the bottom rope and nailing Rogers with a hard right hand, which sends the Utah native down to the floor. Highwayman attacks Thunder from behind with a clubbing blow to the back of the head, slowing the "Lone Wolf" down. Thunder turns, and drives a shoulder into the midsection of the Highwayman before flooring him with a kneelift! Big pop as Highwayman goes down hard, his head striking the steel ring barriers!] TD: Brody Thunder cleaning house! Genesis are falling like skittles out there! Here comes Icehawk! [Icehawk charges at Thunder -- but finds himself backdropped by the cowboy, landing painfully on the steel ring steps at the corner! Big shocked pop from the crowd!] TD: Oh my! And now, here comes Fitz, the big powerful man -- and look at these two men go at it on the outside! Shades of that lumberjack match, Steve Roberts. SR: Thunder's a tough hombre, Dross... certainly a whole lot tougher than this bunch of losers. [The referee continues to count Thunder out as Requiem stirs on the mat. Thunder and Fitz slug it out on the arena floor, while Requiem moves over to the ring apron, breaking the referee's count. Requiem waits for an opening, and then launches himself -- hitting Thunder with a bulldog onto the arena floor! Huge heel pop! Fitz and Requiem put the boots to Thunder while the Highwayman and Scott Rogers pick themselves up to join in the fray. The crowd gives a tremendous heel pop as the referee attempts to interject himself in the fray.] TD: Look at this, Steve Roberts! Look at this, just like a pack of dogs, Genesis is all over Brody Thunder! They're a pack of dogs! [Finally, the referee forces Genesis to back away from Thunder, and Requiem drags the cowboy back to his feet, rolling him into the ring under the bottom rope. Requiem follows his opponent back into the squared circle, and drops an elbow on Thunder's neck before making a cover: 1 - 2 - Thunder kicks out! Big pop! Requiem drags Thunder back to his feet, and blasts him with hard rights and lefts to the torso, backing him into a corner. Requiem then sends Thunder across the ring with a hard Irish whip, Thunder turning before the impact, his back clattering into the buckles in the opposite corner... Requiem charges -- and is met by a big boot to the face from Thunder! Huge pop! Requiem staggers away from the corner -- and is taken down to the mat by a bulldog from Requiem!] TD: Thunder taking back control here, and... oh-oh... just when you thought the odds stacked against Thunder couldn't get any steeper... here comes Serge Annis! SR: Hey, maybe we'll finally get some blood in this match! After that match between the Fury and Petrow, I'm gettin' a little thirsty, if you know what I mean, Dross. [Big mixed pop as Serge Annis appears in the aisle and heads down to ringside.] TD: This is bad, Steve Roberts. Brody Thunder nearly charred Annis with a fireball in their "Sweet Sixteen" match, and used the distraction to hit the "Epitome of Evil" with a Cattle Buster DDT for the pinfall. SR: But from what I remember, Annis isn't exactly best buddies with Genesis either. TD: No, indeed not -- Annis has been carrying around Requiem's smashed guitar with him as some kind of trophy. There's no lost between those two men at all. [Thunder turns and sees Annis approaching the ring. His eyes wander over to the other Genesis members on the outside -- Highwayman and Scott Rogers are also watching Annis with caution, while Fitz is tending to his injured partner. Deciding that Annis presents on immediate threat, Thunder drops an elbow on Requiem, and makes the cover: 1 - 2 - Requiem kicks out!] TD: Thunder wasted too much time there, Steve. He can't afford to get distracted by the presence of Serge Annis out here. [Annis makes his way around to the side of the ring opposite Genesis, who eye him suspiciously from across the floor. Thunder, meanwhile, picks up Requiem, and attempts to whip him into the ropes -- but Requiem reverses, and tosses Thunder towards the ropes with great velocity... Thunder tumbles over the top rope to the arena floor beside Serge Annis as Requiem slumps back to the floor in the ring. Suddenly, Highwayman leaps to the apron, distracting the official.] TD: What's going on here?! This is bad for Thunder -- he's out there with Annis... [Annis wastes no time in dragging Thunder to his feet and peppering him with rights and lefts. Big pop from the crowd! Annis then grabs Thunder by the throat -- and chokeslams him to the arena floor! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my goodness! Serge Annis has just chokeslammed Brody Thunder right onto that concrete floor! Thunder is out! He is out! SR: That meddling idiot! What the hell does he think he's doing out here?! TD: The referee didn't see it! The referee was too busy getting Highwayman down from the apron -- what opportunists these men are, Steve Roberts! Highwayman sensed that Annis was up to no good, and created a diversion for him! Genesis will use anybody and anything to their advantage... This is disgusting! [With the referee's back still turned, Annis hauls Thunder to his feet and rolls him into the ring under the bottom rope. Highwayman finally jumps down from the apron, and the referee turns back to the match to see a recovering Requiem haul Thunder back to his feet... he bends the cowboy double, and drapes a leg across the back of his neck -- then drives him hard face-first into the canvas! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh no! There it is! The Redemption! It's over! [Requiem makes the cover... Dave D'Amato drops to the canvas as Requiem hooks both of Thunder's legs: 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Huge heel pop! The referee raises Requiem's arm in victory as Sparkplug Lee struggles to be heard over the crowd.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match... Requiem! [Highwayman and Scott Rogers leap into the ring and kick the stunned Thunder out of the squared circle under the bottom rope, before each raising one arm of the victorious Requiem, as the lights drop and the ring is bathed in deep blue light, the strains of the "Music of the Unknowingly Damned" drifting over the PA once more. Behind the celebrating Genesis, Serge Annis climbs to the apron, and looks out into the crowd, as if to say, "Shall I jump them?"] TD: This is a travesty, Steve Roberts. Brody Thunder was absolutely devastated by that chokeslam onto the arena floor, and then the Redemption from Requiem -- now look at Serge Annis. What's he up to? [Annis enters the ring behind Genesis -- and taps Highwayman on the shoulder. Adam Smith wheels around to face Annis. The lights rise once more and the music fades as the two men stand face to face, Requiem and Rogers also turning to face the powerful Canadian. There is a tense moment of murmuring from the crowd -- before the fans explode with a huge heel pop as Annis embraces the Highwayman! Serge Annis embraces the Highwayman in the centre of the ring!] TD: Oh no! Oh no! Serge Annis is Genesis, Steve Roberts! Serge Annis has turned his back on Deathbringer, turned his back on the "Unholy Alliance" -- I can't believe it. SR: How dumb can a guy be? Talk about jumping onto a sinking ship! TD: Listen to these fans, Steve! They are outraged, and quite rightly so! First, it's Scott Rogers who defects to Genesis, selling out on Ronnie Paris and Luke Steele, and now it's Serge Annis, breaking the "Unholy Alliance"... Just listen to these fans! [Garbage begins to fly into the ring once more as the fans express their anger at Annis' defection. Scott Rogers catches a cup of soda that is hurled at him, and drinks from it with a grin. Requiem and Annis merely exchange nods, while Highwayman continues to pat Annis on the back, welcoming him to the group.] TD: It's all beginning to make sense now, Steve. Annis and Deathbringer had an argument after Annis was eliminated by Thunder in the "Sweet Sixteen" -- and then Annis inadvertently, or so it seemed, cost Deathbringer his match against Tony Starks... and now, here we are. Annis has joined Genesis. Unbelievable. SR: Aw, get over it, Dross. It's all for nothing, 'cause it's Requiem versus the Fury in the final, and you just know that Kowalski's gonna take home the gold. TD: With Genesis growing stronger by the hour here in the Fleet Center, that's by no means a foregone conclusion. Can _anybody_ stop these men? [Finally, Genesis leave the ring, and head up the aisle, Requiem and Rogers leading the way, Scott Rogers jawing with the fans all the way. Highwayman and Annis follow behind, with Cold Spell bringing up the rear, Fitz assisting his grounded partner, Icehawk, back to the locker room. Meanwhile, Brody Thunder picks himself up outside the ring, shakes his head grimly, and rubs his neck as he slowly makes his way up the aisle to a rousing cheer from the crowd.] TD: And the uncrowned champion isn't going to be crowned here tonight, Steve Roberts. SR: Aw, I don't know, Dross. I think Requiem hit him pretty good with that Redemption. TD: That's as maybe, but had Serge Annis not interfered in that match, we may have been looking at a very different tournament final. Thankfully, Thunder doesn't appear to be badly hurt after that onslaught. [Thunder disappears back to the locker room. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, folks, that brings us to the end of our third hour of action, live here from the Fleet Center. Only our double main event remains. When we come back from this short break, you'll see the match the world has been waiting for: Creed takes on Lord Byron in a Loser Leaves Town match. Don't move a muscle! [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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+