[Cut to footage captioned, "IIWF Coronation Clash, 12 July 1997." The shot fades up on footage of Creed's Loser Leaves Town match against Lord Byron. Creed manages to trap Lord Byron in a rolling cradle. Alfonso slides into position, just as Creed overbalances Byron, pulling him back over into a pin... Byron tries to pull Creed's shoulders back to the canvas with his legs, but Creed leans over him, using his arms and every last ounce of his power to pin Byron's shoulders to the mat... Alfonso counts... 1 - 2 - 3! Silence.  Byron kicks out a fraction of a second too late.] RA: Here is your winner... and _NEW_ IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION... CREEEEEEEED! [Byron falls back onto the canvas, his hands on his face.  Byron looks around at the crowd, at Creed, still shaking his head in disbelief, and at Earl Alfonso, on the outside, taking the IC title from the timekeeper's table. Byron stumbles forward, pushing DeWinter's ministrations away, and rolls to the outside. Byron stumbles up behind Alfonso, who turns in shock -- and Byron snatches away the IC title!  Heel pop!  Alfonso warns him, and gets right in his face, but Byron shakes his head, and still looking at the title, pushes Alfonso onto the floor!  Heel pop! Byron slowly climbs back onto the ring apron, still clutching the IC title, and steps through the ropes. The sight of Byron with the gold seems to stir Creed, who rises to his feet, clenching his fists and stepping forward... Byron stops in front of Creed, squaring up to him.  Creed stares back, unflinchingly.  DeWinter tries to pull Byron away, but he shrugs her off and jabs his finger repeatedly into Creed's chest... the ring microphones start to pick up Byron's words...] BYRON: You finally got what you wanted, Creed. [cough] Payback.  Is that it?  Enjoy it while it lasts, Creed, because listen to me... listen to me, Creed... [cough] this may be the only time you get to enjoy the gold.  Once you get back, everyone's going to be on your back, everyone's going to be demanding their shot. And in that position, Creed, there's only one thing to do. [Byron pauses again, looking around at the popping crowd.] BYRON: You go out.  You defend your title.  And you be the best damned champion you can be. [Byron pushes the title at Creed, to a huge pop.  Byron steps away, Creed watching him all the time.  Byron slowly extends a hand.  The crowd pops anxiously... and Creed accepts! The shot slows to a freeze and is drained to monochrome as the voice over begins:] VO: Coronation Clash -- three new champions crowned on one historic night. The new Intercontinental Champion, the red-gloved rookie Creed, the embodiment of desire, determination and self-reliance. But few have what it takes to tread the lonely, hard path to the top... most look for shortcuts. [The screen explodes with rapid cuts of images from Coronation Clash as a hard, kicking rock track pounds away in the background: a masked Scott Rogers beats on Ronnie Paris; Genesis jumps Luke Steele in the aisle; Cold Spell hit a double-team manoeuvre on the Prophets of Rage; Serge Annis chokeslams Brody Thunder on the concrete floor; Genesis swarm all over Ronnie Paris in the ring... Cut to the closing moments of the tournament final, as Joe Petrow storms the ring, delusionally celebrating his "victory" -- and nailing Steve Kowalski in the head with the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship. Requiem makes the cover, and the three count is replayed from every angle, the smack of the referee's hand on the canvas echoing more and more loudly, like the inexorable approach of the horsemen of the apocalypse. The original soundtrack fades in as Requiem stands and has his arm raised by the official:] TD: Oh my goodness! It is over, Steve Roberts! It is over! We have a new IIWF World Heavyweight Champion! [The crowd explodes into an even louder pop than before, a deafening row over which Sparkplug Lee struggles to be heard:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen... the winner of the Coronation Clash Tournament... and _NEW_ IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... SR: I can't believe it, Dross! RA: ...REQUIEM! [The shot once again freezes as the hordes of Genesis run down the aisle and join their leader in the centre of the ring, Cold Spell, both men wearing their newly-acquired IIWF World Tag Team Championship belts, flanking Requiem, who holds aloft the IIWF World Heavyweight title. The voice over continues:] VO: Suddenly, the man who took the most short-cuts, the man who, in the eyes of many, deserves it the least, is the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, and those who associate with him are made of the same stuff -- not that which dreams are made of... but the stuff of nightmares. [Cut to slow-motion footage of the crowd of IIWF superstars gathered in the aisle as Genesis celebrate in the ring: First to emerge is Brody Thunder... then Mad Dog Watkins and the new Intercontinental Champion, Creed... Casey James comes down the aisle, his hands on his hips, almost unable to believe what he is seeing, closely followed by Tiger Claw... Chris Quigley follows, still in his wrestling attire... Otto Verhoeven steps out into the aisle and towers over most of the others assembled there... Marty Warnett steps out, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair...] VO: Champions. Idolised and worshipped by many. But what do they stand for? The hard way... or the easy way? Tonight, there will be only one way -- scaling a ladder in the middle of the ring to gain not only half a million dollars, but also the respect and acceptance of the world. [Cut to short shots of the three champions in turn: Dirt Dog Unique Allah; Creed; and Requiem.] Three men. One prize. One glory. Tonight, on... [The opening graphics explode onto the screen:] ##### ###### ### ########## ########## ########## #### ## ########## ########## ########## #### # #### ######## ##### ##### #### ## ##### #### #### #### #### ### #### #### #### #### ############# ######### #### #### ########### ######### #### #### #### #### #### ######### ######### ### #### #### ######### ######### ### ## #### ######## ######## ## # #### =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ## =-=-=-= INTERNATIONAL INTERNET WRESTLING FEDERATION =============================================== S + A + T + U + R + D + A + Y N + I + G + H + T ----------------------------------------------- + LiVE! + 26 July 1997 + LiVE! + IIWF Coliseum + Portland, Oregon [The opening graphics fade through to interior shots of the jam-packed IIWF Coliseum, its familiar dimensions immediately apparent. A spectacular pyrotechnic display explodes in the lighting rigging above the ring as the beams of the powerful lights scan over the excited crowd. Tim Dross's voice is heard over these shots:] TD: Welcome back to the IIWF Coliseum! Welcome back to the IIWF! This is IIWF Saturday Night -- this week, a very special "Viewer's Choice" edition! Just listen to this crowd! [The shot cuts to a tracking shot of one of the raked aisles, either side of which fans wave signs and banners of all shapes and sizes, clamouring to get in shot. The shot pans past row upon row of sign-waving, merchandise-wearing fans, swinging wildly over the sea of faces illuminated by the kaleidoscopic colours cast by the beams of the powerful spotlights in the rigging above the squared circle. The shot eventually pans down past the ringside fans to the ring enclosure and the broadcast table, at which stand Tim Dross, dressed in his customary IIWF blazer, and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, who wears his IIWF leather jacket and a "Day 14 - IIWF Under Seige" t-shirt.] TD: Wow, what a reception from this twenty thousand strong hometown crowd! The first IIWF event to be held here in our home arena for some two months -- and this capacity crowd is pleased to have us home. Howdy, folks, I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my tag team partner and broadcast colleague, the inimitable Steve "Soundbite" Roberts, and you are watching the finest two hours of wrestling entertainment to be found anywhere on the planet! SR: Yeah, and this week, we've got all kinds of crazy-ass matches scheduled: a falls count anywhere match; a War Games match; a ten man tag match; a triangle ladder match; a Russian Roulette match... TD: We do not have a Russian Roulette match, Steve Roberts. SR: Damn it, why not, Dross? Why couldn't the winner of the Coronation Clash contest have booked a match like all six members of Genesis standing in the ring with a revolver, with all six of its chambers full. Then, when the bell rings, they simply pass the gun around, shooting themselves. Or perhaps they could shoot each other, Dross. TD: Perhaps not, Steve Roberts. Your suggestion doesn't even bear thinking about -- but the suggestions of the contest winner, Roger Fletton, certainly do bear thinking about. We have seven huge matches coming your way here tonight -- including all four IIWF champions in action. We'll see Cold Spell make their first title defence against the team which earned this shot by beating the Hollywood Bloods at Coronation Clash two weeks ago, the Last Resort. And the IIWF's other three champions -- Cruiserweight champ, Dirt Dog Unique Allah, new Intercontinental Champion, Creed, and new IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Requiem -- will all be in the same ring in tonight's main event, which is a huge, huge triangle ladder match -- the first of its kind -- the winner of which will receive a cheque for a cool half million dollars. Unbelievable. SR: It sure is. Where the hell did the suits suddenly find half a million dollars to put up for grabs in some stupid title match, but when I ask for a beer, women and car allowance of only two thirds of that amount, they refuse point blank? What's up with that, huh, Dross? TD: Beats me, Steve. On top of that, we'll also see what promises to be a truly tremendous match between Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven and Mad Dog Watkins to determine a number one contender to the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship, with the winner going on to our next pay-per-view spectacular, Midsummer Madness, to meet the champion -- whomever he may be. SR: The Butcher -- knocked out in the Sweet Sixteen on a technicality thanks to that musclebound Scottish moron, Duncan Macbeth, and his cousin -- and the Mad Dog -- knocked out in the Elite Eight by Steve "the Fury" Kowalski. So the guys who reached the Final Four -- Petrow, Thunder, and Kowalski -- are just overlooked for a title shot? TD: Admittedly, some have questioned the judgement of the IIWF's officials in not, for example, sanctioning tonight's match to be Brody Thunder versus the Fury... SR: [interrupting] Damned straight, Dross! And I'll tell you this -- Steve Kowalski has been held back long enough around here, and he won't go ignored any longer. The suits had better sleep with guns under their pillows, because the Fury is out for blood. TD: You seem particularly pumped up this evening, Steve Roberts. Did you run out of decaf? SR: Aw, can it, Dross. We're gonna see blood tonight -- bucket-loads of that crimson tide, baby. TD: Well, with a match such as the War Games match between four of the most impressive tag teams in the IIWF -- newcomers the Machines and Licensed for Devastation, along with former tag champs the Prophets of Rage, and the dangerous Violence Unlimited -- all inside a steel cage... who knows what we're going to see here tonight? Throw a six-man tag team falls count anywhere match pitting the lesser minions of Genesis -- Serge Annis, the Highwayman and Scott Rogers -- against the formidable team of Deathbringer, the Phoenix and Luke Steele... SR: [interrupting] Did you just say the name "Oatmeal" Luke Steele and the word "formidable" in the same sentence, Dross? TD: Well, whichever way you look at it, that match is going to be wild with a capital "W." Hang on... we've got company down here. [Big mixed pop as Jaguar and Mutilator, the two members of Violence Unlimited, make their way down the aisle in the ring attire, neither man looking happy.] These two big men making their way down to ringside early on, Steve... and they've gone to sit with the Sychopaths! Jaguar and Mutilator have joined the Sychopaths in the stands. I'm not sure that their arrival has been met with an exactly unanimous welcome from Joe Petrow's troops, but Violence Unlimited are now at ringside. SR: Is this their big announcement? They've been trying to build up to some big announcement all week, and if this is it, then, boy, have they got to learn a thing or two about big announcements. Dross, let's get this straight: telling the world that Emannuelle Beart, sex kitten French starlet with the bee-stung lips, smothered in tutti frutti ice cream in my bathtub would be a big announcement. Hell, even Genesis doing anything remotely interesting would be a big announcement -- but coming to sit at ringside with the guys who outnumber their combined IQs? Please. TD: Steve Roberts, ladies and gentlemen. Okay, let's get straight to the action with tonight's opening match. We were originally scheduled to see Derek Mota and the "Showstopper" Simon Lebec in a Dog Collar Match first up tonight, with the winner earning a shot at the Cruiserweight Champion at Midsummer Madness, but Lebec has truly lived up to his name tonight -- by failing to show up at the Coliseum. SR: Well, after the way Mota was acting earlier this week, who can blame him? Would you get into the ring with a madman if you had the choice, Dross? TD: I call the matches sitting next to one every week, Steve. In any case, officials are said to be very angry with Lebec, and have fined him -- as well as informing him that if he fails to appear for the match this coming Wednesday, he will be suspended indefinitely from the IIWF. And we'll have that match for you as a special live main event on the "War Room." SR: Which is probably the only reason to watch that show at all. TD: That's unfair, Steve Roberts. Larry Morton and Becky LaRue are one of the most well-respected broadcast duos in the world of entertainment. SR: Yeah, right, Dross. TD: In any case, that's going to bring us to our opening match selected by Coronation Clash Contest winner, Roger Fletton. SR: Dross -- what the hell are you doing here? TD: Well, Steve Roberts, this is IIWF Saturday Night, you know -- the wrestling.  We come to this building every week and talk about the men in tights who are rolling around inside that contained area.  Sometimes it's even quite enjoyable. SR: Okay, Dross.  You know how I likes you when you gets all fiesty. No, what I mean is that weren't we supposed to have the week off? TD: You know the motto for the IIWF, Steve. SR: No Love.  No Learnin'.  No Rest For the Weary.  TD: Maybe not for long, Steve Roberts.  Maybe not for long. SR: Aw, Dross, you're bringin' me down, buddy.  You gotta pick it on up for the people... the people expect you to put on the big crazy, happy fun, good time broadcast.  Why don't you do a little dance, make a little love -- get down tonight?      TD: You always know what to say, Steve Roberts. SR: It's a gift, moron. TD: Let's get to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- War Games Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Prophets of Rage vs. The Machines vs. LFD vs. Violence Unlimited ---------------------------------------------------------------- WRITER: JJ [A ringside fan holds up a sign which reads "Kauffman Fears IIWF", prompting a thumbs up from a bearded security agent who yawns dramatically before confiscating the sign and ejecting the man from the building.  Sparkplug Lee was watching -- and now he takes the mic.] SL: The following contest is a very special War Games match. [Pop from the crowd.] SL: Here are your rules.  This is a contest between four tag teams, each of whom is standing -- right now -- in the locker room area.  Two men will begin the contest, and every two minutes thereafter, an additional man will enter. The contest will continue until a representative from three of the four tag teams has been eliminated.  The team which remains -- is your winner! [The finishing touches are put on the raising of the fifteen foot high steel cage and the crowd begins to buzz with excitement.] TD: Well, we are going to have a good chance to take a look at a few of these new IIWF tag teams, Steve Roberts.  Licensed for Devastation, the Machines and Violence Unlimited will all battle with the former tag team champions the Prophets of Rage within the confines of this fifteen foot high steel cage.  Ought to be exciting. SR: The tags?  Not only don't we get the week off -- but we have to watch a tag match?  Somebody get my agent on the phone -- I have to have more stroke than this.  A tag match?  Unbelievable. TD: Well, not just any ordinary tag match, Steve Roberts.  This is a modified War Games match, and we're about to see the first two particpants come down the aisle... we are about to hook it up right now! [Ding! Ding! Ding! "Welcome to the Machine" plays as Paul Wong of the Machines begins his walk to the aisle, Wong has a hydrant build and demonstrates his personable demeanor by slapping the hands of the aisle side fans.] TD: We're gonna get things going with Machine Wong, Steve Roberts.  He and O'Neal really are maybe the most mismatched tag team in the IIWF, outside of perhaps the combinations we will see in that big tag title match later on tonight. SR: They aren't mismatched, Dross.  O'Neal's the tough guy... that makes Wong... TD: Steve Roberts, you insult enough people on "Inside the IIWF." You don't need to continue that here on "Saturday Night." SR: I'm sorry, I want to apologize to the homosexual community for ever comparing them to a loser like Paul Wong. ["The Death March" kicks in to a big pop from the crowd, the flamboyant Shadoe Rage enters the aisle, he is completely decked in a hot pink outfit and yells to Roberts, "am I the gay guy or the tough guy, Soundbite?" as he enters the cage.] SR: Hah!  See, I'm beginning to like these guys, Dross.  They held the belts damn near this whole year -- and now that they've lost them... they ain't crying about it -- they just want to get back.  Hey, Shadoe -- I'll be your homey!  You and me are boyz now, Shadoe! TD: Good grief. [The cage door shuts and official Joey Patrick takes his place between the two superstars, explaining that this is a no-disqualification match and that elimination can only be by pinfall or by submission.] TD: Remember that this is a modifed War Gaems match. Given time constraints, once one man is eliminated -- the team is eliminated -- and as you can clearly see, there is no roof on the top of the cage. However, everyone is legal... meaning that there is the possibility that some twenty minutes from now we will see eight of the finest athletes in the world battling in a steel cage! SR: Nah, it all be about the Prophets.  You go, Shadoe! [Wong offers his hand to Shadoe, who responds with a smirk and a dropkick that sends the Machine to the mat.  Pop!  Wong is up and whipped nearside -- Rage leapfrog -- and on the pass Wong grabs Shadoe for a tilt-a-whirl... but Shadoe drops him to the canvas with a head scissors takeover that brings a huge pop from the crowd. Wong kips up... charging Rage in the corner -- Rage slips, but Wong regains his bearings before crashing into the buckle, instead hopping up to the top buckle -- and bringing his big body backward into a sunset flip that drags Shadoe down into a - 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Kickout by Rage. Rage bounces off the side -- into a quick armdrag takeover by Wong... Rage hops back to his feet -- and into another armdrag by Wong that sends him to the mat and into a clearly painful armbar. Shadoe rolls forward/backward/forward to his feet and up into a wristlock and an armwringer of his own, Shadoe then backs Wong to the ropes with a series of knife edge chops that bring a "Whooo!" both from the crowd and from Shadoe himself as "Down 311" begins and the crowd pops, seeing Jonathon Chaos begin his walk to the ring.] TD: Here comes big Chaos, from Liscensed For Devastation,  Steve Roberts.  And he's bringing a friend... he's bringing a folding table! SR: This is the guy who said he wasn't black, right? TD: No, Steve Roberts, everyone can see that Chaos is African-American, it is his partner, Reggie Starr who is an Anglo.   SR: Aw, come on, Dross, a name like Reggie Starr -- and he ain't down with the brotherhood like me and Shadoe? "Go Shadoe, you're a biscuit, you're a hambone, it's your birthday." TD: Again, we apologize.  [Chaos reaches the cage... but can't seem to get the table to fit through the door -- and sets it up outside.  The big Chaos then enters, measuring the two opponents who remain scrapping in the corner and charging...] TD: Oh my!  Wong and Rage just combined forces to backdrop Chaos over the top rope and into that cage!  Chaos has been backdropped into that cage... and he is under attack! [Shadoe and Wong grab at Chaos and put the boots to him, Shadoe whipping Chaos into a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker by Wong that leaves Chaos over Wong's knee for a somersault legdrop by the top rope bound Rage...] TD: Missed it!  Missed it!  Chaos wrapped himself completely around Wong and pulled him backward, leaving Rage to land hard on that canvas! [It is now Chaos who moves to the top rope... and comes down sharply onto the prone Rage with a frog splash and a cover: 1 - save by Wong!  Wong puts the boots to Chaos, the Machine pounding away at Chaos...and dropping an elbow -- misses!  Chaos then measures for an elbow -- but waves at the fallen Wong with seeming disinterest -- and instead hits the rising Shadoe with an elbowsmash!  Wong rises and attacks Chaos... but Chaos continues to pursue Shadoe, picking him clean off his feet and placing him on the top rope!] TD: It's evident that LFD Chaos is attempting to ignore Paul Wong, almost saying that the Machines are beneath them, not worth their time.  SR: Maybe they aren't, Dross.  I mean, they aren't worth my time.  This is a tag match, after all -- what the hell am I doing here?  When's my tee time? [Chaos continues to smack away at Shadoe, now perched on the top buckle... while Wong lands forearms to the back of a disinterested Chaos... Wong shakes his head... then drops to his knees, clipping at the back of Chaos' knee!  Simultaneously, Shadoe leaps from the top to the neck of Chaos with a hurricanarana that spins him over the lowered back of Wong and into the mat for a cover... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Kickout by Chaos!  "Perfect Strangers" kicks in to a big pop as Jaguar from Violence Unlimited makes his way out of the stands and into the ring.] TD: Here comes Jaguar -- we now have representatives from all four teams, my goodness this is a powerful looking man -- and he is some 150 pounds smaller than his teammate Mutilator. I'll tell you, Steve Roberts, we have never seen tag action like this in the IIWF! SR: What we gonna see is Shadoe go upside they head, "You're a rain-bow... You're a bread-box." [Jaguar enters, and immediately sets onto Shadoe, driving him back to the corner with right hands, and then thrusting his shoulder hard into the midsection of the smaller Rage.  Jaguar snapmares Shadoe out of the corner -- setting him up for a slide kick by Chaos -- and the two men set themself all over Rage with a series of boots.  Wong attempts to enter the fray -- but is rocked back by a big boot to the face by Jaguar.  Jaguar then turns back to Shadoe -- and is hit with a boot to the midsection by Chaos!  Chaos then snaps off a swinging neckbreaker onto the big man and covers for: 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Kickout by Jaguar!] TD: Jaguar hops to his feet!  Jaguar hops to his feet!  How do you keep a big man like this down?! SR: Oh yeah, baby -- you gotta like a no sell like that in a war games match... No sell that bad boy, Jaguar baby. [Jaguar drives Chaos hard to the mat with a clothesline -- then turns back to resume his assault on the exhausted, beaten Shadoe.  Chaos slowly rises -- and is waistlocked by Wong... Chaos waistlocked -- standing switch -- and it is Chaos who German suplexes Wong up and over... But Wong stays on his feet!  Wong stays on his feet and spinkicks toward Chaos -- but the LFD star pushes Jaguar into the way!  Jaguar takes the shot and falls into a Chaos cover... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  NO!  Chaos kicks out!] TD: Here's gonna be the pivotal moment in this match, Steve Roberts. Who will be the next man to enter... which team is about to get to full strength? ["Down 311" begins as Reggie Starr from LFD races to the ring carrying a chain.... And he is blindsided in the aisle by Simon O'Neal from the Machines! O'Neal blasts Starr with a chair to the back of the head and then begins to pummel him mercilessly with lefts and rights!  The crowd pops wildly as they see O'Neal lay into Starr -- and then even louder as Starr rips away with his chain!  Starr wrapped the chain around his fist and jams it into the throat of Simon O' Neal!  O'Neal drops like a shot and is then dragged by the hair down to ringside! In the ring, Shadoe has contined to take the brunt of the punishment, Jaguar and Chaos working him over with repeated legdrops.  Wong attempts again to become involved -- and again is discharged, not by the clearly disinterested Chaos but by a running powerslam by the muscular Jaguar.  Chaos whips the smaller Shadoe into a powerbomb by Jaguar, who covers for a 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: It's Derek Rage!  It's Derek Rage!  Derek Rage is the next man... and he saves his brother from elimination! SR: Yes! Yes!  Yes!  He a bad man, sucka! ["The Death March" belatedly begins as Derek cleans house on the inside, battering everyone down with huge right hands... on the outside, Reggie Starr has Simon O'Neal cut open from the shots by the chain and now has laid out the smaller Machine on the folding table brought out at the top of the match by partner Chaos. Starr smirks and leaps to the apron and then to the side of the cage as O'Neal lays flat out on the table.  Starr points his thumb down and then leaps... Big Pop!] TD: Oh my!  O'Neal rolls out of the way... and it is Starr who plunges through that table!  Reggie Starr is out -- he is _out_! SR: That wouldn't have happened to a brother, Dross.  Ain't no brother dumb enough to take a bump like that.  Jive turkey. TD: Did you just use the phrase "jive turkey"? SR: Dy-no-mite, Dross! [Inside, all three other men have now set themselves onto Derek Rage. Jaguar peels off to continue the assault on Shadoe, who is now clearly cut open as a result of being jammed into the steel by a slingshot from the member of Violence Unlimited.  Chaos and Wong, howevger, remain on Derek, fighting off the big man with every inch that they have -- almost not seeming to comprehend that the man they are fighting alongside is an enemy -- Wong and Chaos simply trying to stay alive in the ring with a danger like Derek Rage.  Wong and Chaos whip Derek farside -- then double backdrop him sharply to the canvas -- Derek is up quickly... but then takes a double dropkick by Chaos and Wong!  Pop!  Derek is up again -- lunging with a double clothesline -- but misses both men... Chaos and Wong double go behind... each grabbing a hammerlock -- and then bring Derek to the mat with a double/double hammerlock suplex and a double bridge! 1 -- 2 -- Chaos sends a kick to Wong!  Chaos lashes a kick at Wong and the Machine collapses... Derek rolls atop, grabbing a handful of tights... 1 -- 2 -- 3!] TD: The Machines are out!  The Machines are out!  Wong and Chaos hit a remarkable double tiger suplex on Derek Rage -- and would have had him eliminated -- but Chaos took the cheap shot at Wong... and it's the Machines who are out of this match! [Simon O' Neal races to the ring, hopping in through the door and begins ripping away at Jonathon Chaos!  Simon O' Neal, the blood still flowing from his forehead, pounds away at Johnathon Chaos as the official tries to eject both Machines from the cage...] TD: Here comes Reggie Starr! [Starr makes his way from the ruins of the table and goes throught the open door -- jumping at O'Neal and now Wong joins in... LFD and the Machines in a wild four way brawl that is spilling out of the cage -- Derek Rage, having saved the beaten Shadoe from the Jaguar onslaught with an inverted DDT, now enters the fray -- grabbing at Simon O'Neal and tossing him headfirst out of the cage!  Big Pop as O'Neal tumbles almost to the retaining barrier... followed closely by Wong who leaves of his own accord to check his partner's condition. Chaos and Starr celebrate as the Machines are eliminated... but the celebration is cut short as Reggie Starr is then picked up in the air by Derek... Derek Rage palming the head of Reggie Starr and lifting him up in the air -- ] TD: Hammer of God!  Derek Rage slams Reggie Starr to the mat with the Hammer of God... Chaos tries the save -- and he is struck down by Jaguar!  Jaguar with the cross-body... and Shadoe's climbing the ropes!  Shadoe with the moonsaault... oh MY! [Big Pop as Shadoe lands the Angel of Death Drop onto the fallen Reggie Starr for the cover... 1 -- 2 -- 3!] TD: Liscensed for Devastation have been eliminated!  They have been eliminated... and here comes the big man!  That big Mutilator is walking down the aisle... we are about to see the Prophets of Rage and Violence Unlimited go at it -- two on two -- inside the confines of a fifteen foot high steel cage! SR: Okay, Dross -- I am wide awake now and ready to roll -- we are really gonna see something now... listen to these people roar! Who are these guys again? [The monstrous Mutilator ambles his way to the ring -- and takes a position alongside his partner Jaguar.  The crowd begins to stomp and clap as the two powerhouse tag teams stand on opposite sides of the ring.  It is Jaguar who attacks first, driving the only small man in the quartet, Shadoe, back with a series of European uppercuts.  Derek lands a boot to Jaguar's back, allowing Shadoe to attempt a cornerwhip -- reverse -- Shadoe goes bouncing hard --] TD: Into Mutilator!  That four hundred pounds plus monster has Shadoe Rage -- in a full nelson! Full Nelson by Mutilator -- and he's lifting Shadoe up into the air!  Swinging full nelson!  Swinging full nelson! [The crowd squeals as one half of the former tag team champions is lifted like a rag doll and tossed around in an elevated full nelson, Jaguar sticks a thumb to the eye of Derek and then moves to aid his partner... charging the helpless Rage... But it is Shadoe, flipping heels over head while still in the nelson -- and exposing the midsection of the massive Mutilator to his charging partner!  The crowd roars as Jaguar nails Mutilator -- but the big monster remains unmoved!  Jaguar drops dead to the mat -- but the only ramification to the gargantuan Mutilator is the dropping of Shadoe behind him.  Rage recovers... moving to the top rope and leaping down at Mutilator with a missle dropkick...] TD: Caught!  Caught!  Mutilator snatches Shadoe Rage clean out of the air... and sends him down with a fallaway slam! [Enormous pop as Jaguar covers... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Save with a boot to the back by Derek Rage!  Derek and Shadoe scoop up Jaguar, hitting him with a double boot to the midsection and then whipping him farside into a huge double backdrop! POP!  The Rages then advance on Mutilator, whipping him nearside and then setting up for the double backdrop... Big Pop!] TD: The Rages drop too soon... and Mutilator rams their heads together with the big double noggin knocker!  The Rages are staggered! SR: I don't like this at all, Dross.  Come on, Prophets... use my boot, "Bow Wow Wow... Yippee Yo Yippee Yay... Soundbiters definitely in the hou-use." [Mutilator then scoops Shadoe high into a military press -- and tosses him atop Derek, dropping both men to the mat!  Pop!] TD: Oh... Oh... the Prophets of Rage are in real trouble... look... look at the cage... it's Simon O'Neal!  Simon O'Neal is climbing the outside of the cage! And he's got the chain! [The crowd pops as the scrappy Machine O'Neal begins making his way up the cage... Mutilator attempts to cover both fallen Rages... 1 -- 2 -- Kickout! Jaguar grabs Shadoe and begins working him over again in the corner... Mutilator puts the boots to Derek -- but the big Rage is fighting back!  Derek Rage is fighting back and the crowd is screaming for the big seven footer... Derek Rage is pounding away at the head, neck, and chest of the moster Mutilator -- and backing him down to the canvas!] TD: Reggie Starr!  Reggie Starr is climbing after Simon O'Neal! O'Neal's at the top of the cage and Reggie is climbing after him!  They are gonna go at it... these two tough as nails sons of guns are gonna go at it on the very top of the cage! SR: Yeah, doctor!  Tough guys, gay guys, black guys, whatever the hell Reggie Starr is -- this is turning out to be a hell of a lot of fun! [Derek and Mutilator are in a wild brawl in one corner, the Rage still with the advantage as he thrashes away at the huge Mutilator... Jaguar continues pounding away at Shadoe, then whips him hard farside... the crowd roars and roars some more as O'Neal and Starr stand at the top of the cage -- each swinging wild right hands at each other -- Starr taking repeated shots with the chain that is now wrapped around the right hand of Simon O'Neal! Derek has Mutilator in the corner, choking him out with the tag rope. Jaguar catches Shadoe up into the air for a powerbomb... but Shadoe reverses again -- and brings him down with a hurricarana roll-up!  Big Pop!  But there's not a count!  Shadoe Rage has the roll up but Big Joey Patrick is out of position... out of position with the big men and not there to make the count!  Another Huge Pop!] TD: It's O'Neal!  Starr pushed O'Neal off the top of that cage! Starr pushed O'Neal off the top of that cage! SR: He hit Rage!  O'Neal fell on Shadoe Rage with that chain! TD: Jaguar's got the cover! [Patrick disengages from the big men and dives for the count... 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Your winners... as a result of a pinfall... Jaguar... Mutilator -- VIOLENCE UNLIMITED! [Big pop as the hand of Jaguar is raised... Derek is points a big finger in the official's face -- and then turns toward VU -- but the victors have left the cage with only laughter in their wake. Derek looks down at the figure of Simon O'Neal and then up at Reggie Starr -- still on the top fo the cage and now celebrating his accomplishment.  Derek Rage points to both men... first at O'Neal and then up at Starr -- and silently draws a thumb across his throat.] TD: Well, a heckuva night and we're only just beginning, Steve Roberts. A huge win for Violence Unlimited that's sure to bring them into title contention  -- and certainly the ire of the Prophets of Rage has been drawn by all three of these teams. SR: Yeah -- and I think LFD and the Machines are gonna have to hook it up, Dross.  Tables, chairs, chains... if it weren't tag team wrestling at the bottom of a card I wasn't even supposed to broadcast, it might actually be interesting.  Jive turkeys. [A ring crew descends on the steel cage, hurriedly dismantling it, as the remaining tag team stragglers head back up the aisle. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: Great.  It's now time for the scientific match of the evening.  Six guys trying to rip each others' heads off anywhere in this building. TD: Definitely a wild one, and with Genesis, you never know what'll happen. SR: Actually, I do.  They're gonna pluck the feathers off that Chicken... TD: Phoenix. SR: Whatever. TD: [sighs]  Before we get to Sparkplug Lee for the announcements, let's go backstage and hear from one of the Phoenix's partners, Luke Steele. [Cut to the locker room where Luke Steele is getting ready for his match.  He laces up his boots and looks at the camera with a serious look on his face.  He dispenses with pleasantries and gets to the heart of the matter, Genesis.] LS: Hello fans, I'll make this short and sweet.  Genesis, you got lucky at Coronation Clash.  Plain and simple.  Requiem was lucky to beat me, he was lucky to beat Ronnie, and he was damn lucky to beat Kowalski in the finals.  Cold Spell, you too got lucky.         But the lucky ones won't be Scott Rogers and Serge Annis, at least not tonight.  I hope you took advantage and had that welcome party as soon as the Clash came to an end, because you two traitors won't be in the partying mood when myself, Deathbringer, and the Pheonix take care of you. Some might say, "Luke, how can you trust anyone, especially Nightwing."  Well, Ronnie Paris is out for a month, and after what that firebreathing Manson-ite Annis did to Deathbringer, I think the only ones who'll have to worry about him is Sergey and the boys.  And the Pheonix has risen from the ashes, to kick Genesis' asses.  Tonight I go into battle with two of the biggest threats to that girl scout troupe of Requiem's. Expect nothing less than a bloodbath.  Falls count anywhere? I wonder if they're allowing crossovers at the border to Vancouver.  Genesis, we may find out tonight. [Fade out on a stern looking Luke Steele.] =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Falls Count Anywhere: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Serge Annis, Scott Rogers & Highwayman vs. Deathbringer, the Phoenix & "Real Deal" Luke Steele --------------------------------------------------- WRITER: RR [The shot cuts to Sparkplug Lee, who is doing his world-renowned "Mime in a Box" impression.  He realizes he's on the air, pops out of his box, and starts to read his cue cards... mercifully, not in charades.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, this next match is scheduled for one fall, but that fall can take place ANYWHERE in this building! All men will be legal at ALL times during this match, and the first pinfall or submission will give the victory to that team!  Introducing first, at a total combined weight of 834 pounds, the team of Deathbringer, The Phoenix, and the "Real Deal" Luke Steele! [Crowd pops as the three make their way out from the locker room and begin walking down the aisle to the ring.  They only get about halfway, however, before Serge Annis, Scott Rogers, and the Highwayman burst out from the curtains, seemingly intent on starting the match right then and there.] TD: Genesis from behind!  This match hasn't even hit the ring yet, and it's already underway! [Highwayman is the first to reach the three, leveling Steele with a running clothesline from behind, then pouncing on him with repeated stiff punches.  Rogers is next, tackling the Phoenix and sending the both of them tumbling into a nearby cameraman.  A loud swear is heard from the control room as one of the screens suddenly fills with white static.] SR: Apparently nobody's been watching our producers with the seven-second delay.  Maybe it's not working? TD: Oh, I'm pretty su... SR: [Interrupting]  [BLEEPBLEEPBLEEPBLEEPBLEEP]  Yep, it works. Damn. [Annis is the last to reach the pack, but Deathbringer has managed to somewhat turn around to see the ambush after his first two comrades fell.  He and Annis lock up, and both topple over the railing into the crowd, and lay there motionless for a moment before trying to get up. In the meantime, the timekeeper has managed to gather his wits enough to ring the bell, and a swarm of referees rush over to see if any pinfall attempts are being tried.  Highwayman, ignoring everything else around him, continues throwing punches, eventually picking Steele up and trying to slam his head into the railing, only to be reversed and sent staggering by a railing shot of Steele's own.  Both men stand up groggily, then charge back at each other, fists flying, causing a referee to scramble out of the way for fear of his life.] SR: Those refs are just getting in the way.  I say we ditch 'em and just let the six of them beat the snot out of each other. TD: The match would never end at that rate, Steve. SR: So?  I could watch mindless violence for an entire night if I had to.  Got any popcorn? [Oblivious to Steele and Highwayman thrashing away at each other, Serge Annis and Deathbringer have locked up... in the middle of the crowd.  Deathbringer, the bigger of the two men, is managing to push Annis back a bit, and fans are scattering like roaches from the light when the two behemoths stumble past.  Finally, after a volley of right hands that look like they could break concrete, Deathbringer manages to rake Annis' eyes, grab a chair, and swing it, much to the chagrin of the person who was, moments before, sitting in that chair.  There is a dull *THUD* as it connects with the top of Annis' head, and Serge topples backwards, landing spread-eagled in the middle of about two dozen Cub Scouts.] TD: Questionable tactics there by Deathbringer, but this is a brawl. SR: Look!  Smurfs! TD: Huh? SR: Little people in blue.  [points at the Cub Scouts]  Smurfs! TD: You've been sniffing the glue again, haven't you? SR: I'm just high on life, Dross. [Phoenix and Rogers, in the meantime, have been brawling up a storm by the fallen cameraman, with both men trading blows.  Rogers finally gets the advantage when he ducks one of Phoenix's chops, and lays him out with a lariat.  He drags the Phoenix over to the ringside area, climbs up onto the apron, and drops off, landing a knee right across his opponent's chest.  He then glances up and charges down the aisle, leaving the fallen Phoenix to clutch at his ribs, and tackles Steele, sending the "Real Deal" to the ground again, but his first follow-up punch is blocked, and he is tossed off, nearly rolling into Highwayman, who is climbing over the railing to get to Deathbringer.] SR: Looks like the Phoenix is grounded, Dross. TD: And so is Serge Annis. SR: Yeah, but at least Annis had the presence of mind to take out a few Cub Scouts before he went down. [As Deathbringer is stooping down to pick up the fallen Annis, Highwayman jumps him from behind, clubbing him over the head with a double axe handle.  He then looks over towards the assembled Cub Scouts, grabs a giant foam kiwi with the words "Joe Petrow - Kiwi at Last!" stenciled onto it, and proceeds to try to stuff the entire thing into Deathbringer's mouth, much to the recovering Annis' amusement, and to the horror of the now crying Scout).  This action is halted by a swift knee to the "lower midsection" of the Highwayman, causing him to double over in pain, and causing the Scoutmaster to begin crying as well, and Deathbringer quickly extracts the foam fruit from his mouth.  Annis, in the meantime, rushes forward, and manages to bring Deathbringer down again, amidst a rain of soda and hot dogs.] SR: Wow, Deathbringer's in rare form today.  Chair shots, nard shots... I may be starting to feel a twinge of respect for the man.  Woulda had MORE respect if he actually ATE the kiwi. [Phoenix has managed to recover on the outside of the ring, and proceeds down the aisle, helping Steele deal with Scott Rogers.  Both men alternate between chops to the head and punches to the gut, with Rogers fighting back as best he can given the two-on-one.  They are soon joined by Highwayman, who has made his way back to the railing, and clubs Steele with a forearm.  Phoenix turns to confront the new attacker, sees who it is, and then EVERYONE goes down as Annis and Deathbringer slam into the railing, squashing Highwayman against it and toppling over it onto everyone and into a big heap in the aisle.] TD: [wincing]  That had to hurt the Highwayman. SR: I can't even SEE the Highwayfreak.  He's buried under close to half a ton of people. [After a few moments, in which everyone tries to catch their breath and extract themselves from the tangle of arms and legs, Annis rises and grabs the Phoenix by the hair, tossing the smaller man easily down the aisle towards the ring.  The others begin to rise as well, albeit very slowly.  Steele is the next man up, and he charges down after Annis, clipping his legs out from behind and sending him back to the floor.  Highwayman and Rogers, however, seem rather content to stand around and beat on Deathbringer, who they're not letting get to his feet. Suddenly, a huge heel pop erupts from the crowd, as Requiem strides out from the back, World Championship belt in tow.] TD: That's Requiem!  What's he doing here? SR: Probably just wants to watch the match from a better vantage point, Dross.  Not like he was able to get ringside seats or anything.  [Annis gets to his feet, ducking the rain of blows coming down from Steele, and throws a few wild punches that don't really seem to connect with anything.  Steele, on the other hand, is measuring Annis, alternating between knife-edge chops and straight punches to the head, all the while dodging and weaving to avoid the bigger man's attacks. Phoenix, meanwhile, has climbed into the ring itself, and is standing dazed against one of the turnbuckles, watching Annis and Steele intently.  Requiem, meanwhile, watches as a brutal knee lift from Rogers drops Deathbringer flat on his back, then motions to the two men standing there with a nod of his head.  Rogers grabs Deathbringer around the knees, motions to Highwayman to get behind him, then falls backwards.] TD: Slingshot by Rogers... [Highwayman crouches down and grabs Deathbringer around the waist as he comes back up, using his momentum to throw HIM backwards as well.] SR: Catch by Highwayman... [Highwayman drops straight back, flinging Deathbringer over him in a stun-gun looking maneuver... but instead of a rope to him, Requiem hauls off and plants the World Title belt directly between Deathbringer's eyes as he is brought over the top!  The speed and the impact both combine to drop Deathbringer like a sack of bricks, and he slumps apparently unconscious in the aisleway, a thin trickle of blood dripping onto the floor.] SR: And a home run by Requiem! TD: Oh, that was disgusting. [Meanwhile, back in the ring, the Phoenix has climbed up to the top turnbuckle, all his concentration focused on Annis and Steele.  He leaps off just as Annis swings a roundhouse punch over a ducking Steele's head, and Steele pushes Annis forward... right into a Phoenix Strike by Annis' airborne opponent!  Both men his the concrete HARD, but Phoenix manages to crawl over and drape an arm over Serge's body as a nearby referee drops and makes the count: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: It's over!  What a spectacular move by the Phoenix! SR: Oh, Dross, you are SO wrong.  It's nowhere NEAR over. [Genesis looks up at the sound of the bell, realizing what's happened.  They rush down the aisle, with Steele tackling Highwayman just before he can get to the pinfall area, and Rogers and Requiem begin utterly working over Phoenix, pummeling him with fists, boots, a chair from the crowd, and a half-eaten snow-cone.  Annis recovers and is starting to help Highwayman with Steele when the JJS rushes the area, pulling Phoenix and Steele out of the fray, and helping a slowly recovering Deathbringer to his feet.  Genesis stands in the ring aisle, taunting the three as they're led away, and soaking in the huge heel pop that surrounds them. Cut back to Tim Dross and Steve Roberts at the broadcaster's table.] TD: What a wild, wild match that was, folks. Unbelievable. Genesis may not have got the mark in the win column, but they look like the winners right now. Well, fans, I should hope that things will be a little less hectic here in this next match. SR: Unfortunately, Dross, you're right. The gimmick matches are taking a break here, as the next match will be a slow, boring, conventional tag match between Cold Streak and Last Gas For 23 Miles. TD: Actually it'll be the IIWF World Tag Team Champions, Cold Spell, squaring off against The Last _Resort_ for the titles. Hot off the heels of dog collars and brawling up the aisle, the conventional tag may be a breath of fresh air. SR: More like a breath of "blah", Dross. These two teams drive me crazy. TD: [smugly] Wouldn't be a long ride. SR: I mean, the Cold Spell. Yawn. What boring champs. I liked the days when the High Plains Drifters were quick to pour Kessler's over their hapless opponents. Now those two were champions. And the Last Resort. Please. One guy has great physical ability but no concept of wrestling, and the other knows what to do but can't get out of his wheelchair to do it! TD: There's no need for that, Steve Roberts. Let's go backstage to get comments from the challengers ahead of this match: [Cut to Mr Friday, El Diablo and the Masked Avenger standing in the locker room getting ready for their match against Cold Spell.] MA: Who would have thought that we would have been challenging for the World Tag Titles? I'm so excited I think I'm going to burst! ED: It was match I was looking forward to -- but now I'm not so sure. MA: Why? MF: Why do you think? Not only are we going to have to go up against Cold Spell and Genesis, now more likely than not we are also going to have to contend with the Holywood Bloods as well, why did you have to go out during there match on Wednesday and hit one of them? MA: Erm... well I just wanted one of them speedballs and it accidentally flew out of my hand and hit him. I didn't mean to do it, honest! ED: It does not matter now -- what is done is done, we just have to go out and give it our best shot. What else can we do? Cold Spell, we are ready for you and we are coming out tonight to do one thing -- and that is take the tag team titles from you! [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: A determined Last Resort there, Steve Roberts. For the introductions in this tag team encounter, let's go to Sparkplug Lee... =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= IIWF World Tag Team Championship Match: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Cold Spell [c] vs. The Last Resort --------------------------------------- WRITER: NN [Cut to Sparkplug Lee in the ring.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest, scheduled for one fall, is tag team action, and for the IIWF World Tag Team Championships! [Pop!] Introducing, first, the challengers... [Lively Mexican music begins to play, and the crowd lets out another amused pop.] RA: First, at 245 pounds, the Masked Avenger! [The Masked Avenger himself, decked out in his black and green mask, steps through the curtain, holding a piece of leather. Members of the crowd extend their hands, which are welcomed by the Avenger's gleeful slapping.] RA: And his tag team partner is from Monterrey, Mexico! At 270 pounds, a great veteran of the ring and legend of Latin America... here is El Diablo! [The crowd cheers again as El Diablo comes through the curtain with Mr. Friday. El Diablo seems to be relying on a stick to help him to the ring, as he is limping slightly.] SR: Ha! The old man got himself hurt without even wrestling! What did he do, slip on the box of Depends? TD: Steve! [The Masked Avenger appears in front of the table, and extends his hand to Steve Roberts. He holds up a pair of leather pants, with the seat cut out of them. The two men sit there in disbelief, and then the Avenger shouts, "you left these at the club last night, Steve. I know they're your favorite pair." The crowd laughs insanely as Steve fumes. Even Sparkplug Lee has a hard time regaining his composure as he continues:] RA: And they make up the team of Last Resort! Their opponents tonight in this encounter are the IIWF World Tag Team Champions... at a total combined weight of an even 500 pounds, Icehawk and Edmund Fitzgerald... Cold Spell! [Fitz steps through first, headed straight to the ring. Icehawk begins bouncing around and showing his belt to all the fans. He walks by the Genesis Generation and looks to play to the "original" Cold Spell fans. He also stops when he spies Jaguar and Mutilator, Violence Unlimited, seated in the crowd, and hoists his shiny belt up for them to see, a grin on his face. Meanwhile, Fitz drops his belt on the corner of the apron and heads into the ring. The bell sounds, and The Masked Avenger starts off against Fitz in the ring.] SR: Hey moron... [referring to Icehawk] they're starting without you! TD: It is to my knowledge that Icehawk was trained by a Mexican wrestler and has heard of what a legend in Mexico that El Diablo really was. SR: Oh, so he was lied to. [Fitz locks up with the Avenger, gaining a quick advantage with a top wrist lock. The Avenger backs his way into the corner, and tags to El Diablo. El Diablo comes in and grabs Fitz, cranking on his arm with a full arm-drag-and-twist. Fitz counters with the same move, and El Diablo drops to one knee. Diablo drops a shoulder into Fitz and flips him over his back, onto the mat. Diablo spins around and applies a chinlock.] TD: Nice exchange there by the two gentlemen, with El Diablo's expertise really shining brightly on that one. SR: Like his bald head. [Icehawk finally makes his way to the ring apron, and immediately begins reaching for the tag. Fitz tries to power his way out of the hold, but cannot. El Diablo, in a show of sportsmanship, relinquishes the hold and lets Fitz back to his feet. The two men lock up again, and El Diablo executes a Mexican arm drag takedown. Fitz is able to gain some leverage and whip El Diablo into the ropes. El Diablo comes off slowly, and ducks under Fitz's clothesline with a crucifix, that he rolls into a sensational sunset flip - 1 - 2 - kickout!] TD: What a great move by El Diablo... he is so cagey in that ring... perhaps the smartest man in all of tag team wrestling, which is very evident when you see all of his different counters. SR: Yep, two great counters come to mind. First, his intelligence counters the fact that his partner is a complete idiot, and second, it counters Diablo's own lack of physical ability. TD: Now, although I will admit that El Diablo is a step or two -- SR: Or eight. TD: -- slower than he used to be, you still can't estimate this tough guy from Monterrey. SR: Home of a great chicken sandwich -- of course you can tell, if you look at El Diablo's belly. [Fitz steps back and surveys his opponent. On the outside, the Masked Avenger works the crowd and gets a hearty pop for El Diablo's efforts. He, however, looks a bit winded, and tags to the Masked Avenger. Big pop!] TD: This crowd seems to be siding with the Last Resort. [The Masked Avenger dashes around Fitz, and charges in with a flying shoulder tackle. Fitz goes down, and is pummeled by the Avenger. Fitz gets back to his feet, and sent into the ropes. The Avenger drops to a knee and punches Fitz in the stomach, then executes a snap suplex. Big pop!] SR: Looks like the ol' Masked Avenger's got a little something extra tonight. [The Avenger bounces off the ropes and launches himself high into the air for a big splash, but Fitzgerald lifts his knees at the last second, giving the Avenger a shot to the midsection. Fitz tags out to Icehawk, who steps in over the ailing Masked Avenger. El Diablo shakes his head in disbelief as he says something to Mr. Friday. Icehawk comes in and snaps the Avenger up by the hair. He drops him with a side backbreaker, and covers - 1 - 2 - kickout. El Diablo and Mr. Friday seem a bit preoccupied with watching the entrance way.] TD: It appears as if the members of the Last Resort are expecting a surprise. SR: Yeah, but from whom? The Hollywood Bloods or Genesis? TD: That's the problem... the Last Resort seems to be stuck in a bad situation. [The Avenger gets back to his feet and begins to slug it out with Icehawk. The smaller man, Icehawk, tries to defend himself, but cannot, so he quickly executes a drop toe hold and slides it up into a reverse chinlock.] TD: I should once again point out that Joe Petrow is _not_ in the crowd for this evening's proceedings. SR: And that brings his streak of 2,131 consecutive IIWF cards of sitting in the crowd to an end. What an Ironman. TD: I can't believe you'd compare Joe Petrow to a class athlete like Cal Ripken, Jr. SR: Who? Oh yeah, the goodie-two-shoes that never calls in sick. TD: I never call in sick. SR: Plaintiff rests, your honor. TD: In any case, Violence Unlimited are once again seated with the Sychopaths at ringside after their huge victory in that War Games match earlier on tonight, and they seem to be watching this match with interest. [Icehawk lets go of the hold and applies an abdominal stretch. On the outside, El Diablo reaches toward the Masked Avenger, hoping for a tag, but cannot reach. The Avenger begins to power out, however, so Icehawk spins him around and executes a quick small package - 1 - 2 - kickout. The Avenger reaches to tag, but Icehawk drags him to his own corner and tags to Fitz. Fitz comes in and lands several kidney punches before Icehawk leaves the ring. Edmund follows up by swinging the Avenger to the ropes. The Avenger tags out and then takes Edmund down with a clothesline. El Diablo comes in, but the Avenger applies a headlock on Fitz. El Diablo wonders what he's doing, and the ref has to grab the Avenger and escort him out of the ring.] SR: Ha! He doesn't even know he tagged! TD: The Masked Avenger doesn't seem to remember tagging his partner... or something. [The referee tries to force the Avenger out, but he argues with the official. In the meantime, Icehawk and Fitz are able to perform a nice double team on El Diablo, beating him down with kicks and punches, as the Avenger continues arguing. El Diablo is held down by Fitz, and Icehawk drops an elbow into Diablo's leg. A big heel pop rings out from the crowd. The referee turns around and drives Icehawk out of the ring. Fitz snaps up El Diablo and swings him to the ropes. Fitz executes a devastating powerslam and covers - 1 - 2 - kickout!] TD: A close call there for the Last Resort. SR: Once again the fault of the Avenger's stupidity. That man doesn't have a clue. [El Diablo gets up, slowly, and is taken down by a short arm clothesline. Fitzgerald drops an elbow and covers - 1 - 2 - another kickout. Fitz swings El Diablo into the buckle and follows up with a forearm to his face. El Diablo crashes to the mat. Fitzgerald hops up to the top rope.] SR: This should be the beginning of the end for the Last Resort. TD: I think it began a while ago. El Diablo doesn't have the cardiovascular necessary to withstand this kind of assailment. [Fitzgerald comes off the top rope with a knee drop, but misses badly as El Diablo rolls out of the way. The Masked Avenger receives the tag, and comes in with great amounts of enthusiasm. The crowd pops as the Avenger begins to pummel Fitz with lefts and rights, dropping him to the canvas. El Diablo lays on the apron, tired and beaten up, as the Avenger takes Fitz down again with a belly-to-belly suplex. The crowd pops as the Avenger bounces all over the place, with his hands raised in the air.] SR: Well, don't celebrate, moron, get on Fitz! TD: He needs to stay on the man if wants to have a chance to win his team the titles. [The Masked Avenger bounces off the ropes and hits a perfectly timed lariat, knocking Fitz off his feet. The Avenger points to the sky and the crowd pops!] SR: He's going to try to end it right here. TD: I've never seen him pull off a successful move from the top. Ever. [The Avenger waits for the stumbling Fitz to get into range, then launches himself with a big cross body block. At the last second, Fitz reaches up and catches the Avenger, finishing it with a powerslam. Fitz tags to Icehawk, who climbs the top rope and executes a beautiful somersault leg drop.] SR: One mistake cost the Avenger. TD: Yep, and that's the Arctic Blast. Forget about it. [Icehawk hooks a leg: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! El Diablo looks up and puts his head back on the canvas in disgust.] RA: Your winners... the IIWF World Tag Team Champions... Cold Spell! [Fitz grabs his belt and heads toward the locker room, while Icehawk remains behind to mount the turnbuckles and show off to the crowd. However, he receives a violent heel reaction, and pretty soon gives up showboating, instead leaving the ring looking down at the title belt cradled in his arms, apparently locked in some kind of internal struggle between his desire to be champion and his desire to please the fans. By this time, El Diablo is attending to the Avenger in the ring.] TD: A good win for the Cold Spell, but it appears that they've fallen out of favor with the fans of the IIWF. SR: If I had to choose between a title and the fans -- I'd pick the title in a heartbeat. What good can fans do you? [A huge heel pop erupts again as two men hop the railing and jump into the ring, nailing El Diablo from behind. The two rip off their shirts and are discovered to be the Hollywood Bloods, Watson and Wayne. With Diablo down on the mat, Wayne heads to the apron to grab the stick that El Diablo brought to ringside prior to the match. However, Mr. Friday slowly heads into the ring, and as Wayne cranks back with the stick, Mr. Friday grabs it from behind. Wayne turns around to see the former powerlifter break the stick across his own head and discard it. Wayne takes a swing at Friday, who blocks it and begins to fire back with fists of his own. He quickly pitches Wayne over the top rope, and Watson flees. Mr. Friday helps up El Diablo and the Avenger to a pop.] SR: Maybe he should be wrestling. Looks like he could grapple the Avenger into a cocked hat on any given day. TD: Well, Mr. Friday still has an impressive physique, to be sure. Not a good night for the embattled Resort, however -- a defeat at the hands of the impressive tag team champions, and an attack from the Hollywood Bloods. SR: And there was I thinking that Violence Unlimited's big surprise would be coming out of the crowd and attacking Cold Spell. Or perhaps their big surprise was that they were at ringside, but they sent the Hollywood Bloods out to do the job for them. TD: I doubt that very much, Steve Roberts. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Let's move on. Folks, up next, we've got an exciting... [The crowd gives a mixed pop, and Dross looks around.] TD: Wait, what's going on here? Oh, no... SR: Who is it? [Looks to the aisle] Oh, yes! It's The Syndicate! TD: And they don't look too pleased, do they? SR: That's when they're at their best, Dross. Hold on, they're getting     into the ring, and Casey's got a microphone. This is a pleasant     surprise. This wasn't scheduled, was it? TD: No, I don't think it was... Hold on, Casey's about to say     something... CJ: Why don't you all just shut up a minute and listen to what I have to     say? [The crowd begins to yell louder as if to spite Casey James. Casey looks to Claw, throws his hands up in the air, and shakes his head.] CJ: Yeah, yeah, funny. I've got a few words to say, so just sit there     and listen for a few minutes. So... You all rested up from     Coronation Clash? [pop] Yeah, whatever. What a crock, huh? Requiem     as champ. You know, the only reason Requiem is champ right now is     because I wasn't there to kick his ass. Requiem... Kid, you aren't     even in a league to look at my boots, let alone lace them up. It's a     sad day in the IIWF when out of a tournament of over thirty people,     Requiem comes out on top. We should _all_ hang our heads in shame     for that one. So what else? Oh, yeah... New Intercontinental     champ... Creed... [looks over to Claw, who shakes his head a bit.]     Nah, I won't even _go_ there. Last, but not least, there's new tag     champs. [Casey lowers the mic as the crowd pops] CJ: Jee-zus... Can you just shut up for _one_ minute? Alright, Cold     Spell are the new champs. Whatever. Just another team for us to     beat. Of course, some may not think so after our loss to the     Disciples at the Free For All. Hey, Pepe... Roll that clip for us,     okay? TD: What's going on? SR: Testify, brother Casey! [Footage of the triangle tag match rolls on the video wall. More specifically, footage of the end of that match is shown. Claw is just about to take a boot to the head when...] CJ: Alright, freeze! Right there! Yeah, that's perfect. Okay, so you all     know what this is... It's your run of the mill boot to the head. Or     is it? Take a look. Take a look at the foot, and take a look at my     partner, here, Tiger Claw. Now, Claw has been here for quite a     while, and so have I. I'm sure everyone here knows that Tiger Claw     can take a kick to the head. That shot right there knocked Claw     unconcsious. A kick to the head knocking my partner out cold? I     don't think so. But that boot put him out. How? I'll tell you how.     It was loaded. [The crowd begins their obligatory heel pop] CJ: That's right. Kane and Wulf knew they couldn't beat us fairly, so     they loaded up a boot to use in the match. I know because I know my     partner, and I've seen some of the beatings he's taken, and there's     not a person in the world that can put him out with a normal kick.     Claw knows it was loaded because he was on the business end of that     foot. But were the Disciples disqualified? Nope. Want to know why?     To put it simply for you morons, it's because the suits here have it     in for us. [heel pop] Oh, you don't think so? Claw? [Tiger Claw walks over and grabs the microphone.] TC: Here's a little bit for you "smarts" out there. The suits want me     gone. Now that Brian Lau is out of the picture, they want to try and     take advantage of me. I have inside information that the guys in the     higher levels here wanted to terminate my contract. Lau, of course,     made sure that my contract was more than secure. So you know what     they wanted to do? They wanted to have me "put on the shelf" as it     were. Several attempts were made to injure me, and a few times, my     matches were interfered in at the orders of the administration by     people who are being paid off by the administration.  I'm sure     you'll remember my match against Lord Byron... [Heel pop] Now,     they taint our debut, one we surely would have won, by allowing a     foreign object to be used against me, costing me _and_ my partner     the match. [Claw looks into the camera]     So to the administration, I say "kiss my ass." [The crowd gives a pop for the word "ass" spoken in that way that only a guy with a shaved head can.] TC: We've had it. We're tired of this crap. Are we going to go away? No.     To go away would be giving in. Instead, we're going to continue to     compete here, and we're going to do well. In fact, we're going to be     targeting the IIWF tag team champs. You could say we're shooting for     the top. First, though, we're going to eliminate the Dark Disciples.     Never before have I seen two more cowardly, talentless, honourless     heathens than the Dark Disciples. Kane and Wulf. Just think about     those names. They're the names of two men who could never get by     somewhere like the IIWF with their talent, so they have to try and     intimidate. Disciples, I'm not afraid of you. Casey is not afraid of     you. If you were men, you'd be down here so we could say it to your     faces. Of course, you're nowhere to be found, are you? You're in the     back, hiding behind your... [Suddenly, druidic chantic blasts over the PA.] TD: Here they come! The Disciples are answering the call! SR: Dross, you'd better put some plastic over that rug of yours...     There's about to be some blood letting. [The Dark Disciples lumber slowly down the aisle, their hulking forms and sinister presence silencing the fans closest at hand, and drawing heat from the fans most distant. Kane and Wulf pause at the foot of the aisle, discard their hooded robes, and climb into the ring; all the while focusing their menacing stares on the Syndicate. Kane takes hold of the mic.] KANE: Casey James... Kitten Paw... I heard a lot of bleating from you       weaklings while I was with the Syndicate, but I've never heard you       cook up a bigger crock of s[BLEEP] than this one! [Big crowd pop!]       A loaded boot, you say? Well, you sure are talking a load of       something. Allow me to correct your deluded fancy, my meek little       friends. When brother Wulf here starts kickin' skulls, he'll plant       his boot square between your shoulder blades, smash the cartilage       in your nostrils, and punt that bald nonce o' yours clean into       the stratosphere! [Crowd pop!]       Wulf already stomps harder than a Nazi skinhead with a bad dose of       drunken rage, my son; he don't need no loaded boot. And Kitten       Paw, that goes double for a spindly, sagging, brittle boned sack       full of crap such as yourself! [Tiger Claw's eyes blaze with fury, and he takes a step forward.] KANE: You say we have no talent, Kitten Paw? Well, we could beat your       asses just as thoroughly using japanese armdrag takedowns, drop       toe holds, burrito nacho sommersault flips and all that crap; but       to tell you the truth... WULF: ...it's just a hell of a lot more fun to smash yer teeth through       the back of yer throats, tear bloody chunks from outta' yer flesh,       bust you open with steel chairs, and spill yer blood n' entrails       all over the mat! [Crowd pop!] KANE: You say we TRY to intimidate people, Casey James? Let me set you       and Kitten Paw straight on this matter. We don't need to TRY to       intimidate people, my ignorant little friends. With a pair of       sick, depraved lunatics such as ourselves, it damn well comes       naturally! Why, we can see your knees knockin' togethor right now!       We can see your lips wobblin' like a couple of little girls! WULF: [cackling maniacally over Kane's comments] Bring it on then,       Syndicate girls! We'll slap ya' down the aisle like the bitches       you are! [Casey James takes the microphone from Tiger Claw, and looks around.] CJ: You want to go, huh? [Big pop from the crowd!] CJ: You want to see if you can do it for real this time? You want to see     if you can beat us again? [Turns to face up the aisle] Get a goddamn     referee out here right now! I want this official! [Turns back to the     Disciples] Well, boys, let's get it on, right here, right now. No     Pain Inc, no loaded boot. Just the four of us in the ring and a     referee to raise the hand of the winner. You dig? Huh? _DO_YOU_DIG?_ [As Dave D'Amato makes his way to the ring, Kane makes some comment about digging, at which point, Claw and James charge both Disciples.] =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Syndicate vs. Dark Disciples -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WRITERS: JV/DS [D'Amato hurriedly signals for the bell, as the four men engage in vicious brawling in the ring, the crowd erupting in a huge pop, smelling impending blood-letting.] TD: And here we go, Steve Roberts, with this unannounced, unplanned match -- and we are under way! SR: And there's nothing under your toupee! TD: Please. They're locking up -- and here we go, it's Casey James for the Syndciate and for the Disciples it's Wulf! SR: Good move by the Disciples... putting in the stronger man first. [Wulf whips Casey into the ropes... Wulf reverses it. Wulf goes for an armdrag takedown, but Casey counters it with a lariat. Casey executes a forearm to the back. Casey nails him with a reverse flying elbowdrop. Casey whips Wulf into the turnbuckle, but Wulf reverses it.] TD: Even matchup thus far... no one is gaining any kind of advantage! SR: I'm surprised that Wulf is just taking that... unless they have a plan, my man! [Casey charges into the corner. Casey throws Wulf out of the ring. Casey goes through the ropes. Casey goes for an armdrag takedown, but Wulf counters it with a lariat. Casey and Wulf pound the snot out of each other as the IIWF fans cheer them on! Huge Pop! Casey executes a short lariat, before picking up the larger member of the Disciples and whipping him into the steel ring steps. Wulf collides head on with a sickening clang, knocking the steps out of position. Big Syndicate pop! Casey, flexing to the crowd, re-enters the ring. Wulf gets back to his feet! Big pop!] TD: Incredible, Steve Roberts! What punishment Wulf has taken -- and yet he is straight back up on his feet! SR: Casey's making a mistake focussing on Wulf's head -- there ain't nothing in there but cream cheese, baby dolls. TD: What are you talking about, Steve? [Wulf climbs back to the apron and follows his opponent back in. Casey goes for a swinging neckbreaker, but Wulf counters it with a side suplex.] SR: Take it back outside! Take it back to the arena floor! Saturday Night's all right for fighting, Dross! TD: Wasn't that a number one hit from 1970s glam rock singer-songwriter Elton John? SR: The man is a winner... someone stuff a waffle in his mouth and shut him up! [Casey goes for a swinging neckbreaker, but Wulf counters it with a side suplex. Wulf tags out to Kane.] SR: Kane's in the house... oh... oh... Kane's in the house! TD: I thought you hated the Dark... SR: I'm being a comedian. So sue me. [Kane whips Casey James into the ropes. Kane hits Casey James with a shoulderblock. Wulf enters the ring to make it two-on-one. Kane and Wulf whip Casey James into the ropes. Tiger Claw is complaining to the ref about the double teaming. They hit Casey James with a double fist to the midsection. Wulf leaves the ring. Kane executes a Chokeslam.  Tiger Claw enters the ring to make it two-on-one. Casey James and Tiger Claw hit Kane with a double rolling kick, but the referee soon forces Claw to leave the ring.] TD: Well, the Dark Disciples doing some double-teaming here. It seems that both teams are more than ready to bend the rules here tonight! SR: Remember Dross, the Dark Disciples were called out! Their honor is on the line here. When a man's honor is on the line... anything goes, Dross! [Casey James drives a boot into Kane's midsection, winding him, before twisting one of Kane's arms behind his head, and preparing for the Blackheart Punch -- but Kane blocks it, kicking Casey in the knee! Kane attempts to whip James into the ropes, but Casey reverses it, and hits a clothesline on Kane -- who stays on his feet! Big pop!] TD: And the irresistable force meets the immovable object! Kane stays on his feet! [Casey James whips Kane into the ropes -- and this time hits him with a spinebuster that lays him out on the canvas! Big Syndicate pop! James tags in Tiger Claw, who immediately climbs to the top rope. Casey drags Kane to his feet, and hoists the huge Disciple up onto his shoulders. He turns and walks towards the corner, Kane groggily perched on his shoulders -- and Claw launches himself with a Golden Tiger Strike from the top turnbuckle, blasting Kane in the face! Cameras flash all over the Coliseum as Kane tumbles from James' shoulders to the mat. Huge pop!] TD: Oh my! What a move! SR: Oh yes, brother Claw! Show 'em, Claw! [A bunch of the Lil' Soundbiters behind Roberts start chanting, "Show em' brother Claw!"] TD: Can you at least be a little impartial, Steve Roberts? SR: No fun, Dross, you are no fun at all. No wonder why you don't get any. [Claw makes the cover on Kane, and hooks the leg -- but Wulf enters the ring and stomps Claw on the back, making the save. Big Disciples pop! Claw rolls to his feet and gets in Wulf's face, egging him to get back into the ring. The referee moves to try and force Wulf back into his corner, while Claw drags Kane to his feet and Casey re-enters the ring.] TD: Could we be about to see one of the Syndicate's tag team specialities right here, Steve Roberts? SR: You bet your life, Dross! [Claw whips Kane into the ropes, and on the rebound he is grabbed by Casey in a hotshot type maneuver. Simultaneously, Claw, who has vaulted over the ropes to the apron, executes a springboard clothesline from the apron, and as the opponent falls backwards, Casey switches the hold into a powerbomb. Huge, huge pop!] TD: Oh my goodness! The Butsumetsu Bomb! Unbelievable! [Wulf finally breaks past the referee and begins brawling with Casey James. The two men, fists flying, fight up against the ropes -- and then topple over to the outside, continuing their brawl on the arena floor! Meanwhile, Tiger Claw drags Kane back to his feet and nails him with a springboard dropkick! Seeing James and Wulf brawling on the outside, Claw jumps over the ropes to the apron and then bounds cat-like to the top turnbuckle. He measures the two men on the outside, and then launches himself with a reverse moonsault to the outside! Casey dodges out of the way at the last moment, and Claw crashes down on top of Wulf! Huge Syndicate pop!] TD: What tag team organisation we are seeing from the Syndicate here, Steve Roberts! Kane is laid out in the ring after that devastating Butsumetsu Bomb, and now Tiger Claw hits an incredible moonsault from the top to the outside! Phenomenal! SR: The Syndicate are a-rocking and a-rolling right now, baby dolls! [Tiger Claw picks himself up and rolls back into the ring, where Kane is beginning to stir. Tiger Claw clinches Kane's head and nails him with his knee fury, a flurry of knee strikes to the torso and body. Claw finally releases the clinch, and Kane staggers backwards. Claw nails him with a single-leg takedown, and then tags out to Casey James. Casey lands a hard elbow drop on the fallen Kane, and then goes for the pin: 1 - 2 - Kane kicks out!] TD: Kane is running on fumes right about now, Steve Roberts. He needs to get out and make the tag! SR: To whom, Dross? Don McQueen is still over there trying to get Wulf to count the number of fingers he's holding up. TD: Can Wulf even count? SR: He'll be there a while, then. [McQueen tries to calm Wulf, who is catatonic with rage, and tells him that he would be best placed on the apron, where Kane can make the tag. Grudgingly, and almost gnawing on his own arm in his fury, Wulf climbs back to the apron and begins roaring at his partner to make the tag. Casey James flips the bird at the furious Wulf, forcing him to try and enter the ring, which distracts the official long enough for Tiger Claw to climb to the top turnbuckle again.] TD: Uh-oh. What have the Syndicate got in store for the Disciples this time? [Casey executes a powerbomb on Kane, and Claw leaps off the top rope, draping his body over the opponent, giving more impact to the manoeuvre. Huge Syndicate pop!] TD: Spike powerbomb! Spike powerbomb! It's over! [Claw rolls out of the ring once more as Casey James makes the cover -- but the referee is still arguing with Wulf!] TD: You could count to a hundred, Steve Roberts! Kane is out! He is out! [Behind the official's back, Don McQueen climbs to the apron and distracts Casey, who gets to his feet and begins jawing with the manager. Then, to the surprise of everybody in the arena, McQueen grabs Casey by the head, and jumps to the arena floor, hotshotting Casey's throat over the top rope! Huge, huge pop! Both Casey and Kane are out on the canvas as the referee turns and lays the count on both men!] TD: Unbelievable! Don McQueen nails Casey James with a hotshot -- and now both men need to make the tag -- but Claw is going after McQueen! [Claw leaps down from the apron and heads around the ring after McQueen, who backs away. McQueen backs around the corner, and Claw charges around after him -- only to be floored by a huge clothesline from Wulf! Huge pop! Wulf hops back up onto the apron as Kane and Casey begin to stir in the ring. Kane crawls towards his partner's outstretched hand, while Casey turns and begins to crawl towards his own corner -- which is empty! Casey pulls himself to his feet using the buckles in his corner, and looks around desperately for his partner, as the crowd erupts with a huge pop as Kane makes the hot tag to Wulf!] TD: Hot tag! Hot tag! And Casey is in big trouble right about now! [Wulf storms across the ring and begins pounding Casey James with kicks and punches, before baring his teeth and sinking them into Casey's forehead, gnawing away, trying to draw blood. Casey lands a desperate forearm in Wulf's groin, and the Disciples staggers backwards as Casey drags himself to his feet.] TD: Oh, that low blow was somewhere south of Mexico City, Steve Roberts! Unbelievable! But still Claw isn't back in the Syndicate corner -- hang on, McQueen -- he's stomping Tiger Claw! Don McQueen is stomping Tiger Claw! [Sure enough, while Casey and Wulf battle to regain their composure in the ring, and Kane recovers on the apron, McQueen lays boots into the prostate Claw. The crowd erupts as both Casey and Wulf bounce off the ropes -- and lay each other out with a huge double clothesline! Huge pop! The referee begins counting both men out, and it is Wulf who is first to move, getting to his feet and then dragging Casey up with him. Wulf whips his opponent into a neutral corner and then charges in with an avalanche splash!] TD: Wow! An avalanche from a three hundred and fifty pound man is going to really take the wind out of you! SR: Hey, Wulf has the cover! [The referee drops to make the count... 1 - 2 - Casey kicks out! Kane charges into the ring and towards Wulf, swatting the official to the mat in the process!] TD: Kane just knocked out the official! Disqualify that man! SR: If the referee's out cold, he's in no position to do any disqualifying! [Kane and Wulf drag Casey to his feet. Wulf climbs to the second turnbuckle and drags Casey up with him -- before chokeslamming him to the canvas! Huge pop as Kane climbs up to the top turnbuckle!] TD: Oh my! That's one half of the Disciples' trademark finisher -- and here comes Kane from the top rope -- oh my, what an elbow drop! That's the Darkmoon Deathdrop! Casey James is out! [Kane makes the cover -- but the referee is still out on the canvas! Wulf slaps the mat for his own partner -- 1 - 2 - 3! Big pop from the crowd! Wulf goes to revive the referee, while Claw finally breaks free of Don McQueen's grip, lays the manager out with a spinning heel kick, and launches himself into the ring!] TD: Claw just nailed McQueen with a spinning heel kick -- and I think McQueen hit his head on the crowd barriers on the way down. This is carnage, Steve Roberts! SR: Just the way I like it, Dross. [Claw nails first Wulf and then Kane with a flurry of martial arts kicks, knocking them both to the canvas. He flies to the top turnbuckle and launches himself with the Golden Tiger Strike, his kneedrop crashing down on Wulf's face! Huge Syndicate pop! Claw rolls Kane from the ring, and rolls Casey on top of Wulf, before trying to revive the official. Claw drags the referee over to where Casey has Wulf pinned -- Kane gets to his feet on the outside, and Claw leaps to the ropes and to the outside, knocking Kane back to the floor with a springboard plancha! Huge pop! The referee makes a slow count... 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: It is over, Steve Roberts! The Syndicate have defeated the Dark Disciples! What a match! SR: Looks like it's not over yet, Dross! [Claw joins Casey in the ring and helps his winded and confused partner to his feet, raising his arms in victory as Sepultura's "Roots" thrashes away over the PA. Wulf rolls from the ring, his nose bloodied by Claw's Golden Tiger Strike, and helps Kane to his feet. The two crazed Disciples look at one another, their eyes staring and furious, and shove one another -- before turning their attention to the ringside furniture!] TD: Oh my -- this looks bad -- and the Syndicate are high-tailing it out of here! [As Claw and Casey retreat up the aisle, the Disciples go nuts, tearing up the matting at ringside, pulling the railings over and threatening the ringside fans, who trigger a near riot in trying to back away from the crazed tag team, tripping over the chairs. Children begin to scream as larger fans fall on top of them.] TD: Oh, this is out of hand, Steve Roberts -- can we cut to commercial? Here comes security -- folks, we apologise for this... oh my, this could be expensive. [A contingent of security officials dash down the aisle and attempt to restrain Kane and Wulf, but they end up being powerbombed for their trouble. Sensing the need for an escape, Kane and Wulf suddenly launch themselves into the stands, showing total disregard for the safety of the fans as they go, and actually deliberately nailing a few of them as they go, security crew in hot pursuit.] TD: Oh my goodness. Kane just nailed that young man -- Wulf just took a chunk out of that fan's arm... this is ugly, very ugly, Steve Roberts. SR: Viewer's Choice, Dross! You gotta love it! This is what I call audience participation! [There are frenzied screams -- mothers yelling for their children, who have been lost in the panicked avalanche of fans retreating from the Disciples, and the security entourage chasing them, fans throwing debris at the Disciples and the security crew, even fights breaking out amongst the fans themselves as accidental blows become the trigger for fist fights.] TD: We have a near-riot on our hands on one side of the IIWF Coliseum, Steve Roberts. This is a very serious incident -- the Dark Disciples could face indefinite suspension for this infraction. We have injured fans, damaged seating, we have injured officials -- this is crazy. Absolutely crazy. [A large ring crew and collection of officials make their way down the aisle to rebuild the ringside area and quell the panic amongst the fans as the Disciples are chased out of the arena through one of the exits high in the stands. Meanwhile, an EMT crew helps the semi-conscious Don McQueen back to the locker room for further medical attention. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside, where Steve Roberts, a huge grin on his face, cranes his neck to get a good view of the distress in the stands.] TD: I dare say that we may have seen the last of the Dark Disciples here tonight, Steve Roberts. The IIWF President is sure to take the most severe action he is able -- indefinite suspension, large fines, possibly even expulsion from the IIWF... SR: Yeah, but it was worth it, Dross! I've not seen so many fans injured since that Kowalski/Petrow aftermath at Birthday Bash! TD: Will you please take that grin off your face? This is a very serious situation. Let's cut away from this and go to our broadcast colleague, Steve Summer, who is backstage with newcomer Timothy N. Turner, who demanded this past Wednesday that Kevin Christiansen should surrender his spot to him in this upcoming ten man tag team match. Steve? [Steve Summer is in the backstage area with Timothy N. Turner. Turner, dressed in his ring attire, has a smug grin on his face.] SS: Thanks, Mr. Dross. Mr. Turner here has asked for some time to talk about the upcoming ten-man match... TNT: That's right, little Summer.  I just wanted to express my confidence that I will get the pinfall in the match and... SS: But... you're not in the match! Are you the mystery partner? TNT: Never... NEVER... _NEVER_ interrupt me!  I do not need to be the mystery wrestler!  I have been given Kevin Christiansen's spot so that he can step down and become my manservent.  Don't you pay attention? [Turner storms out of the frame. Summer turns to the camera.] SS: You heard it here first, folks!  Christiansen has apparently agreed to Turner's demands! Back to you at ringside! [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, that seems highly improbable to me, Steve Roberts. Nonetheless, we're about to find out. I know we have a fantastic main event lined up featuring all three of our singles champions, but even that may not compare to the amount of talent we'll have in one ring as the big names of the IIWF slug it out in a ten man tag match! SR: Wow, a bunch of great names they are too. A drunk cowboy, a crippled     "brother", a 14th century throwback, and a little brother living in the shadow of a talented sibling one on team... heck, even Steve Kowalski can just barely pull that team up to respectable. On the other side we have a fine Canadian whine, a pair of loonie-toons that either hate or love each other depending upon the phase of the moon, and some Scottish idiot that needs work on his thpech impetiment. The "Excellence of Elocution" he ain't. TD: Don't forget the mystery partner, Steve Roberts! SR: Be still my beating heart. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Ten Man Tag Team Match: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Thunder, Starks, Kowalski, Cavalier & Sampson vs. Quigley, Petrow, Enigma, Macbeth & MYSTERY PARTNER -------------------------------------------------- WRITER: JdW [Sparkplug, realizing that it'd take quite a while to introduce each man seperately, and also noting that his mic isn't on yet, following the destruction of electronic equipment at ringside after the preceding match, seems on top of every obstacle as he starts his announcements. Well, except for having a trail of toilet paper hanging from the back of his shoe. But he'll probably catch that soon enough.] SL: Introducing first, at a total combined weight of 1,373 pounds, hailing from a whole mess of different cities, here is team one! Ike Sampson, Kevin "The Cavalier" Christiansen, Tony Starks, Steve "The Fury" Kowalski, and the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! [Thunder's entrance music, that being the theme from "High Plains Drifter", plays for the five. However, Kowalski seems to be taking some offence to this, as he gets right into Thunder's face and points a finger right at his nose. He says simply "I'm the captain. Got it?" Thunder takes his cigar out of his mouth, and blows a puff of smoke in the Fury's general direction, saying "No, you got it." The two look as if they may come to blows, but they aren't given the chance just yet as they're interupted by the arrival of Timothy N. Turner in the aisle.] SR: You know, this guy's initals spell TNT. Isn't that cool? TD: Steve Roberts, a master of the obvious. I'm trying to see what's about to transpire, so would you be quiet? [Turner approaches his would-be squire, pointing all the while at himself and talking lowly to the Cavalier. The mics pick up the word "replace", but that's about it. The intent is clear enough when we see the Cavalier shake his head no, and turn to walk away, only to be jumped from behind and dropped with a clothesline. TNT looks to do more, but Sampson and Starks start quickly in the direction of the disturbance and chase him off. Meanwhile, Thunder and Kowalski are _still_ arguing about who the captain should be, and as all five men make their somewhat slow way to the ring Sparky gets ready to bring out the opposing side.] SR: This Cavalier guy... sure, he puts up an honourable front, but I have a feeling deep down he's crookeder than a Swiss banker. TD: Was that crack really neccesary, Steve? Even for you, that's kind of     a touchy subject matter. SR: Hey, a month ago the suits stopped me from using a great Jacques     Cousteau joke I came up with, so this is just payback. The Soundbite     doesn't forget, baby dolls. [Back to the ring, for some lower-class humour, Sparky still has that toliet paper tailing him. He still doesn't notice.] SL: And four of their opponents, hailing from three different continents, at a total combined weight of 951 pounds, accompanied to the ring by "Majestic" Maurice McArthur, they are Duncan Macbeth, the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi, "Sychosys" Joe Petrow, and "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! [The first three of these men seem alomst like a team, with Quigley leading them out towards the ring and discussing strategy. Macbeth, bearded still, listens in with some interest, while Musashi just has a far-off look in his eye. Petrow, meanwhile, is drawing a huge pop from his Sychopaths by standing at the top of the aisle and posing with his "title". He's running the whole gamut, from flexing to shaking his rear to high-fiving select fans. He also has about five hundred different fireworks going off behind him that are causing the nearby fans to plug their ears. "Abacab", originally by Genesis but now covered by Mr. Petrow himself, plays irritatingly loudly as Joe just continues to display a lack of ability to know when to make a graceful exit. The wrestlers in the ring all wait _very_ impatiently as Petrow slowly continues his histrionics on the way to the ring. Finally, he decides enough is enough just as the crowd are starting to grow restless enough to consider wasting that five bucks and throwing their beer at Petrow.] SR: Oh gag me, who does this idiot think he is? TD: It would seem to me he thinks he's a champion and a role-model for     the fans, and I'm willing to take some minor annoyances if it means a better attitude over all. SR: Dross, do you know what a rhetorical question is? TD: Do _I_ know what a rhetorical question is? [A nervous pause follows. Finally, Sparky gets in position and launches in with the surprise...] SL: And their tag team partner, the special "Mystery Partner", hailing from Albany, New York, at a weight of 565 incredible pounds, accompanied to the ring by Little Louie, he is Tonnage! [The crowd, as well as the assembled wrestlers, let out a shocked pop as a massive man, truly massive and not at all in terrible shape either, begins his walk down the aisle. The man with him, Little Louie, is a short, stocky, yet handsome man who's jacket seems a size or two too big for him. Chris Quigley especially seems shocked at the announcement of the mystery partner, expecting pretty much anyone _but_ this face from the past.] TD: I don't believe it, folks... this certainly was a surprise, and     yet another big name to throw in the mix. Tonnage has been a champ in feds such as WAR!, the TAEWF, and the AWA, and that it was     apparently the prospect of facing Chris Quigley that has brought him     to the IIWF.  In fact, Tonnage has a history with former IIWF     Intercontinental champion Lord Byron in that... SR: [interrupting] I hate to cut in while you're having an orgasm over     this guy, but may I point out that Fatso Rizzo hasn't proven himself     against any of our midnight cowboys yet? If you didn't do it in the      IIWF, you might as well not have done it. TD: You do have a point, sort of. I shouldn't judge Tonnage on past     accomplishments. The past is behind us, as is the start of this match! [Indeed, with so much time wasted the first two wrestlers, Joe Petrow and the Cavalier, decide to get right down to business before the bell. Petrow runs right at the inexperienced Englishman but is easily mowed down in time by a clothesline. Like any good "franchise wrestler", he kips immediately up to his feet, and takes off to the opposite ropes for momentum. Petrow has the speed built up, but Christiansen uses it against him, holding his arms out and catching Petrow in position for a powerslam. Not above nefarious means, Petrow thumbs "Mr. Chivalry" in the eye to force a release. JP tries to stay in control, firing a kick towards Christiansen's face, but when it connects the Cavalier wisely rolls back after falling, and heads right towards his corner. Petrow's making no efforts to stop the tag to Steve Kowalski, instead opting to find one of his own partners. He tags in Macbeth, advising him to "Go get him, champ!" in a rather patronizing tone. Macbeth just glares at him and steps in the ring.] TD: In the early going, we see both teams make a quick tag, which is     essential in this kind of match. SR: God, this one could go all night! Just having Resthold Chrissie in     the match will lengthen it by an hour. TD: Oh, would you stop it?! [With the Scot and the Fury in the ring now, opening lockups started all over again. The two almost identically built men battle to a draw so far, until Kowalski gets a devilish look on his eye and goes for a low kick. Macbeth must have been doing his homework, as he gets his knee up to block, then drives the knee up into Kowalski's gut. The brawny Duncan runs off the ropes while Kowalski is keeled over, and runs him into the ground with a bulldog. He then goes for a cover, but after two slaps o' the hand Kowalski kicks out strongly. Macbeth looks on for a moment in amazement at the call, which is all Kowalski needs to nail a huge right hand to the face, stunning Macbeth. Seeing an opportunity, the Fury bends Macbeth over and underhooks both arms. The Furies start to go insane, seeing a Skullpump on the way, but Macbeth has other plans as he wisely brings his head up into Kowalski's, er, "midsection". Understandably, the Fury falls back in considerable pain, and stumbles towards his corner to somehow make a desperate tag to Brody Thunder.] SR: It warms my heart to see so many of this younger wrestlers picking up the art of a good low blow. As I always say, "If the match looks bad, try a boot to the..." TD: [interrupting hurredly] I'm sure it's a beautiful song, but let's pay attention to the match. [Thunder runs right in to attack, a bit over-anxious, and is easily snagged by a drop toehold. Macbeth tries to shuck up and apply a headlock, but Brody ducks and grabs an arm as Macbeth goes by to lock on an armbar. Duncan is close to his own corner, so he starts pulling himself to inch over for a tag. All the while, Petrow is "cheering" him on as a good captain would. Quigley, as the de facto captain, takes a bit of offense and reaches for the tag, which goes instead to the Enigma. Petrow applauds a bit too loudly at this as Musashi boots Thunder in the gut to get him to let go of the hold. The Enigma stares oddly at his teammate, not sure what to do, and then quickly turns back to his opponent for a hurricarana, neglecting however to cover as Petrow is still giving that odd kind of support that sets him off. More than a little perturbed, he tags out to Chris Quigley, who enters the ring to a huge pop.] TD: Quigley is in, folks! Corner Brook's favourite son is in the match! SR: Have you ever been to Newfoundland, Dross? They're odd people... all     the clocks were off by thirty minutes. TD: Steve? SR: [innocently] Yes? TD: Never mind. [During the time it'd taken for another tag, Thunder had gotten back to his feet and was ready for the Canadian, throwing a mean punch. Quigley as always gives as good as he gets, setting off a mean exchange of fisticuffs. The bigger Thunder finally begins to have his blows tell, and he is able to whip Quigley hard into his own corner, where Kowalski has somehow got the idea to put his boot up. Despite the Cavalier protesting this illegal tactic, it works as planned. Thunder looks for a tag to Tony Starks. The Staten Islander doesn't seem too happy about it, but after some insistence he does tag in. Again, a slow tag gives the opposition time to recover, and this goes double for the resilient Quickstriker -- who snap suplexes Starks into the ring after the tag.] SR: What's up with the "brother"? Don't he want to get in this match? TD: I have a feeling that maybe his alleged affiliation with the Age of     Rage is changing his outlook. SR: You mean colouring his outlook. TD: I'd never use a pun that bad and patently offensive, Steve. That's     what you're around for. [Quigley throws a weak-looking front kick towards Starks that he easily catches, but it seems to be a ruse. That theory holds, as Chris catches Starks completely off guard with an enzuigiri. Quickly he runs off the ropes to capitalize on his offense, but Starks is recuperating faster than expected, so he's able to grab at Quigley as he's passing by and latch on a sleeperhold. Starks as a master of submissions has the hold on very tight, so Quigley's only escape is... to drop down and have Starks' jaw bounce off his head! Starks stumbles back, and is soon being sent to a neutral corner. Quigley rushes in after him, but before he can get there Starks starts bringing his foot up, and the running Newfoundlander is knocked silly. Joe Petorw yells for his teammate to get up, saying something along the lines of "You never sell that move when Troy uses it!", while Starks heads to his corner where Brody Thunder is looking for a tag to put away the opposing captain. Starks is just glaring back at him, before moving over and slapping a surprised Ike Sampson on the shoulder for a tag.] TD: Now we're seeing some dissension in the ranks, as Ike Sampson is     finally tagged into the match over Brody Thunder. One has to wonder just what Starks' agenda is. SR: I don't. TD: Yes, well... Interestingly enough, only the surprise partner Tonnage has yet to enter the match. SR: You're such an idiot... Quigley just did tag him in while you were     blabbing about Tony Starks' itinerary. TD: Agenda. SR: Who cares? [Just for those keeping score at home, it's now Ike Sampson and Tonnage in the ring. On the outside, Starks is pulled off the apron by an angry Thunder, who's demanding to know what the heck is going on. Starks gets right back in the cowboy's face, not afraid of fraying relationships with his partner. Meanwhile, in the ring, Ike has launched right into the task of taking down Tonnage, firing away with body shots that _probably_ aren't the best idea against a man with a 65 inch chest. Tonnage just laughs them off and clips Sampson's jaw with one of his own mammoth hands. Starks and Thunder are still arguing, until finally Starks has had enough. He kicks Thunder's injured knee as hard as he can, then turns and starts back up the aisle to a very mixed reaction. Thunder looks as if he wants to follow, but can't. Well, he could have worse problems. He could be Ike Sampson, who during that time had been whipped to a neutral corner and splashed behind a mountain of man.] TD: Tonnage is using his, well, tonnage to beat Ike Sampson down, and     Sampson is a powerful man. SR: Tonnage doesn't actually weight a ton, does he? TD: Well, the fraction changes depending on whether you use short tons or metric tonnes, but overall it's slightly above a qurter of a ton. SR: I'll never get the hang of that metric system... it's just too nutty. TD: [in a rare moment indeed] Probably because the French invented it. SR: [beaming with pride] Dross, there's hope for you yet! [Tonnage continues to throw his weight around, grasping Sampson around the waist as he pulls him up and over in an incredible belly-to-belly suplex! Sampson is gasping to keep his lungs working and checking to make sure he still has a chest cavity, while Tonnage gets a thumbs up from his manager Little Louie.] SR: Damn, we forgot to talk about Starks leaving the match! No wonder my     headset's going crazy! Starks left the match, folks. It's five on four! TD: I guess I got caught up in... SR: Don't explain Dross, making fun of the French forgives any      transgression. I myself would have mentionned it, but I was busy with a dream. The girls of Baywatch had all got caught in the tide trying to rescue Michelle Pfeiffer, and I had to swim out with a jar of horseradish and... [Roberts' mic is wisely turned down at this point, so we return to the ring where Kowalski has run in to save his partner, trying to clothesline Tonnage from behind. Trying is a good word, as he more just bounces off. Tonnage turns, laughing, and boots the Fury in the gut, following by grabbing his throat in one hand and just hurling him backwards. This distraction, however, has given Sampson the time he needed to tag Kevin Christiansen in. Tonnage is called back to his own corner by Petrow, who says he has advice for the "big fella". When he gets there, Petrow slaps him on the back, constiuting a tag, and jumps in to face the Cavalier. All the while, the Enigma is still fixing him with that odd stare. Finally, the breaking point is reached, and Musashi rushes into the ring towards Petrow, about to strike him down from behind. Sychosys has no idea it's coming, despite his fans yelling "The Enigma's coming!", so Musashi has free reign for a cheap shot. He stops just inches short, however, and turns to walk forlornly away. The crowd isn't sure what to think, and neither are his teammates.] SR: Guys are dropping out of this match like flies! Loonie-toon number     one just tried to attack loonie-toon number two, failed, and left the damn match! TD: I hate to sound gloomy, but this may be the last we see of Takezo     Musashi. SR: Yeah, he might go to France. [snicker] [The Cavalier, having watched this whole scene, isn't sure what to think as Petrow moves to engage him. The two lock up, but Petrow is quick to bring his knee into Christiansen's chest. He moves to whip the knight off the ropes, but the Cavalier is holding his ground and comes up with a reversal. Petrow comes off the ropes and sees too late what he's about to get... the Broadsword spinebuster! He holds onto the bridge into a pinning predicament, and the Fonz goes down to count, but as he reaches two an unscrupulous Little Louie hops onto the apron and blasts the Cavalier, who'd been too close to the ropes anyway, not wanting his man's team to lose in Tonnage's debut. The Cavalier gets up, angry, but decides it wouldn't be chivalrous to attack a manager. Instead, he drags Petrow into the corner and tags out to Kowalski. A greater contrast in styles has never been seen. The two set JP up for a double Russian legsweep, but can't seem to synchronize on when to strike. Petrow makes them pay by grabbing each man's neck and delivering a deadly reverse DDT to both!] TD: Joe Petrow turning the juice on for his fans, comes up with an     incredible move! SR: Joe told me he's turned the juice on for Becks, too, but I don't     believe it. Petrow's probably one of the dozen or so guys in this     nation who've yet to do the nasty with Miss LaRue. TD: The claws are coming out today... SR: Hey LaRue, you wanna see six inches? I'll fold it in half. TD: Oh brother. I'm not sitting between you two at the company picnic     this year. [Christiansen just rolls out of the ring, but Kowalski as the legal man doesn't have that luxury. Instead of going after him while he's down, Petrow starts doing a rather ridicuolus "striptease", toying with the notion of taking his trunks off. Except for his female Sychopaths, the notion has little support. Kowalski makes an executive decision that this show must _not_ go on, so he nails a weird looking kick to the back of Petrow's head, giving him the momentum to fall forward, over the top rope, and land on his feet on the outside. Kowalski, always willing to risk life and limb for a chance to kick ass, got some momentum up then jumped over the top rope in a sloppy looking suicide dive. The move hits Petrow, who was still goofing off, by surprise and knocks both men back to careen off the safety railing. For a safety railing, that thing's never all that safe.] TD: Unbelievable, we have a rematch of sorts from the Audience     participation match, from Coronation Clash, from so many brutal     encounters between Petrow and Kowalski! SR: Look at this, Dross, MacBean is trying to interfere out there, and     the Cavalier goof is stopping him! Oh my god, both teams are lined up like armies out there to protect their man! [None of the other six men make a move, just watching to make sure the other side can't interfere. Kowalski gets up first, so he goes to Sparky's table and grabs a chair, despite Earl Alphonso's warning about using it. Of course, a warning also conveniently breaks the count, giving more time for brawling. Sometimes it seems like this stuff is scripted. Kowalski places the chair not-so-gentily on the floor, and sets up Petrow for his second attempt at a Skullpump of the night. He has only one arm hooked, however, as Petrow starts to fight back, using most of his reserves to pull his back up and backdrop Kowalski well clear of the chair. Fortunately for Steve, he falls back towards his own team who help him into the ring. Petrow's mates, not to be outdone, grab their tired partner and roll him in. The two are lying on the mat, both being counted out, until both spring to life at exactly the same time, and run at each other with arms outstretched. Of course, both men hit at the same time and lay each other out in the middle of the ring with a double clothesline.] TD: Both men need to make a tag badly! [Both men start fighting to get up to their feet, starting the ages old "Race to Tag" (tm). Both get to their knees at the same time... both are pulling themselves slowly forward... it's Petrow... no, Kowalski... too close to call... Kowalski tags in the Cavalier! And Petrow, a second after, tags in Tonnage! Christiansen runs in with a coherent attack plan, as he ducks an attempted leg lariat from the mammoth, and catches him in the back with a dropkick. Little effect, but Tonnage is wobbling a bit as he runs off the ropes to try a clothesline. He's making a bit of headway, so he tries a third time to attack only to be flattened with a shoulderblock. Tonnage then runs, well, jogs over to the ropes and comes back to flatten him with a vertical splash! The Cavalier gets sent to the ropes, and while he's going by his own corner he manages to tag in Thunder, who we guess feels ready to give it a go. Tonnage catches the now illegal man with one arm around the upper torso, and performs a judo type slam that must hurt like hell when a 565 pounder does it. However, the new legal man, Thunder, takes a rare trip to the high, well mid-rent district, coming off the second rope with a flying bulldog that takes the big man down!] TD: Tonnage, who'd been dominant so far in this match, is finally taken     down! Thunder was the first to figure out how to handle him! SR: Now that I've seen the guy in action, I'll admit he has some skill.     He's still kinda green, but I officially give him the Soundbite Seal of Approval. TD: [sarcastically] I'm sure he'll be overjoyed. [Thunder's knee is still obviously bothering him, as he has to take a moment to try and fight off the pain. Tonnage, meanwhile, struggles to get back on a vertical basis while Petrow continues to yell "encouragement" like, "Come on, big guy, you can get up! There's a bag of donuts in it for you!". Thunder goes back to Tonnage just as he's alomst standing, and starts to work over his back with axhandles. Most people would be hammered by such an assault from Thunder, but most people don't have their own time zone, so Tonnage was only being slowed by it. He gets back to his feet, and levels a shoulder right in at Thunder, doubling him over long enough for the big man... BIG MAN to set up a power bomb. He delivered with incredible force, but was tired enough that instead of pinning he tagged in the team captain, Quigley.] TD: It's Chris Quigley and Brody Thunder, arguably the two greatest     talents in this match! SR: Excluding the other eight guys, of course. [Quigley sees what he has to do, so he jumps right into it by kicking at the damaged knee to weaken it, probably to set up the Quickstriker. He then wraps up the left leg, trying to start on a figure-four leglock, but Thunder's leg strength is still enough that he can and does push him off to the corner. Thunder runs in after him with a clothesline, flattening Quigley. He then decides to take another rare trip upstairs, but as he starts it's clear his knee is slowing him down. Thunder does make it to the top rope, but slowly, and as he adjusts his balance a resurgent Quigley starts his way up, throwing a punch in to keep Thunder off balance. Finally, Quigley's gotten all the way to the top himself, where he blocks a shot from Thunder and almost knocks him off with one of his own. Chris hooks Thunder's injured leg, and before you can say "damn that was a nice spot!" Thunder's been pummeled to the mat with a snap superplex. Quigley keeps the leg hooked in a pinning position, while Kowalski looks on, pondering whether to make the save or not. He doesn't, as the count goes for: 1 - 2 - 3!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the match by pinfall is the team of Chris Quigley, Joe Petrow, Takezo Musashi, Duncan Macbeth, and Tonnage! [The winning team mostly file out in an orderly fashion, knowing that they've taken enough time and our sponsors are getting restless, thank you very much. Petrow, however, is handed his US Tag title by 3M, and he climbs to the top turnbuckle with it, as if celebrating a title win. The losing team is a bit more chaotic, as an injured Thunder yells at his partner for not making the save. Steve Kowalski never did respond well to yelling, so he gets right back in the cowboy's face in a replay of the start of the match. Sampson and the Cavalier, however, maintain the peace by physically separating the two.] SR: That had potential to be an okay match, but it was ruined by the     sloppy ending. TD: Chris Quigley picks up another big win here on the Viewer's Choice     show, using one of his backup finishers that he calls the Plexecution. SR: I can hear the TVs shutting off now, Dross. I mean, some of these     matches are okay ideas, but why on earth would the IIWF brass give     booking authority to one of the idiot fans? This would have been     different is I'd decided the card, let me tell you. TD: Well, both teams are now filing off, so you'll only have a minute if     you want to tell us. SR: Okay, quick run down. Marty Warnett vs. Luke Steele in a "Loser gets     run over by a flatbed truck" match, Nurse Heidi and myself in a special "Oil match", Pukespeare and Kick-me in a "Loser admits he's queer" match, and for the main event your hair vs Beck's breasts in a "Which one is more fake?" match. TD: I think it'd be better just to get to the next match rather than     reply to that. And what a match we have coming up, folks -- the number one contender to the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship will be decided right here in just a few minutes as Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven faces Mad Dog Watkins. [The camera cuts backstage, where the imposing as ever Otto Verhoeven awaits in the corridor... waiting for what is perhaps his most important match so far this year - the chance for another shot at the World Heavyweight Championship. Otto is attired in a strikingly different fashion, wearing a sleeveless, dark blue and grey camouflage suit with a black beret covering his bristle cut head. The suit can barely contain Verhoeven's rippling physique, and already, dark patches of sweat stain the fabric - the sweat of nervous anticipation. Nurse Heidi stands at his side with a placating hand on her fiancé's shoulder, her curvaceous physique somewhat muffled by her own camouflage gear.] TD: A rare look backstage here folks, as Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven     awaits the signal for his ring entrance, and we await what is sure     to be a colossal encounter between the "German Juggernaut" and Mad     Dog Watkins. He looks kind of anxious doesn't he, Steve Roberts? SR: He's anxious all right, Dross. Anxious to wrap those meaty hands of     his around Watkins' neck, haul his ancient ass up into the air, and     snap his spine in two with a well-placed Slaughterslam! Verhoeven is     gonna steamroll the Mad Dog here tonight, go on to destroy Requiem     at Midsummer Madness, and win the World Heavyweight title for a     record breaking second time! You heard it all from the "Soundbite"     first, morons! TD: Well that's a somewhat brash asser... Oh my goodness! Duncan     Macbeth is on his way back to the locker rooms! He's headed straight     into the path of the "Butcher"! [The camera shows Duncan Macbeth heading down the backstage corridors, wearily toweling himself down from the prior match. He rounds the corner, and... finds himself standing right in front of the massive form of Otto Verhoeven! Both men start in surprise.] OV: So, there you are, du verdammt Schott!  When next we meet, I will     whip you like the Hundeschwein you are!  The Slaughterhouse is     waiting! DM: Are ye still cryin' o'er th' Clash, ye great blubberin' baby?  Can     ye no' stand th' taste o' yuir own medicine, ye poor wee bairn? [Verhoeven lunges forward aggressively and shoves Duncan Macbeth, who goes reeling into the concrete wall!] TD: Oh my goodness! We're on the verge of a very ugly scene here,     folks; if order is not restored rapidly we may not even have a     match! [Macbeth wears a twinkle in his eye as he lunges back at Verhoeven, belting him right in the mouth! Nurse Heidi looks on in horror as the two foes are immediately embroiled in a chest to chest brawl, both men landing solid blows, but neither willing to back down. The backstage area is soon filled with bodies as the IIWF security team pours forth, extricating the two fighters with considerable difficulty.] OV: Du bist Todesfleisch, Macbeth!  TODESFLEISCH! TD: I don't know what that means, Steve, but it sure sounded menacing! SR: Verhoeven said, "I'll meet you after the card, Macbeth! Biltmore     Hotel, Room 49. Make sure to bring the peanut butter and     blancmange!" TD: I don't think that's what he said at all, Steve. [Verhoeven surges against the grip of the security guards with frightening power, but they are able to hold him back through sheer weight of numbers. Duncan Macbeth is herded back towards the locker room area, and lapsing into some obscure Scottish dialect in his amusement, laughingly insults Verhoeven. Verhoeven is pushed towards the arena entrance, screaming insults over his shoulder at the departing Scotsman.] TD: Sparkplug Lee is in the ring right now and hopefully, despite that     disorderly scene we just witnessed, the match might get underway. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Winner Gets Shot at IIWF World Champ at Midsummer Madness: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Otto Verhoeven vs. Mad Dog Watkins ---------------------------------------------------------- WRITER: RD [The camera cuts back to the ring, where Sparkplug Lee hurriedly begins the announcements.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen; the following contest is scheduled for one     fall, with the winner being granted a World title shot at the IIWF's     next pay-per-view spectacular - Midsummer Madness! [receptive pop     from the crowd.]     Introducing first, hailing from Essen, Germany and weighing in at     340lbs; he is a former heavyweight champion of the world, and is     feared across the globe as the "German Juggernaut" and the "Teutonic     Terror". Please give him a big welcome, here is Otto "the Butcher"     Verhoeven! [Instead of his usual theme music, an orchestral version of the German national anthem accompanies Otto Verhoeven's entrance. The "Butcher" is pushed out into the spotlight by the same squadron of security guards, still yelling in his native German to nobody in particular, whereupon the fans greet him with a deafening level of heel heat. At the prompting of Dennis "Griff" Griffing, the IIWF's veteran head of security, the guards finally release the behemoth. Verhoeven immediately whips around and tries to barge back through the security guards, perhaps in the hope of getting to Duncan Macbeth, but Dennis Griffing blocks his path, gesturing boldly towards the ring, a stern look on his face. Verhoeven makes a move as if to strike the man, but Nurse Heidi is apparently able to convince him that this is not the best course of action to take. Quivering with rage, his eyes bulging out of his head with pure murder, Verhoeven finally begins to makes his way down the aisle.] TD: A brave Dennis Griffing there, in the unenviable position of facing     up to an angry Otto Verhoeven. I wouldn't have liked to be in his     shoes at that moment, I can tell you. SR: Look at how pissed off the "Butcher" is now! Watkins doesn't have a     hope in hell of beating Verhoeven when he's in that kind of mindset!     This is gonna be great! [Otto climbs into the ring and snatches the microphone from the hands of Sparkplug Lee.] OV: Shut up, you American maggots! I dedicate this match to the greatest     wrestler in the history of this sport, to Baron Klaus von Frost.     Tonight an old wrong will righted. [He hesitates for a moment, the grins like a boy.]     Der Schweinehund wird bluten! TD: What was all that about? SR: I think Verhoeven was just confirming to Duncan Macbeth that it     should be extra nutty peanut butter. TD: Will you stop? [The camera cuts backstage again, this time showing the battle scarred veteran, Mad Dog Watkins, awaiting the go ahead for his entrance. Watkins stands utterly motionless with his hands on his hips, wearing an expression of focused intensity, almost chilling in his impassivity.] TD: Mad Dog Watkins knows well the significance of this match. Although     he's wrestling at a higher level than perhaps at any other time in     his career, the clock is slowly ticking, and Watkins' body won't     last forever. Perhaps this is his last chance to win a World     Heavyweight Championship, Steve Roberts. SR: Well, he looks focused, he looks intense, he looks like he could     destroy any wrestler in the world right now. But y'know something,     Tim Dross? Looks 'aint everything, unless you're a broad that is,     and just looking like he can get the job done doesn't alter the     harsh reality of the situation - Watkins is ancient, man! He's an     antique! The "Butcher" will run over this mangy mutt like I run down     poodles on the highway! TD: I sincerely hope you were not being serious with that last comment,     Steve, but you're forgetting that Mad Dog Watkins has more     experience than any other wrestler in the IIWF. That kind of cagey     ring knowledge is hard to overcome, even if Watkins has slowed down     a little. [A nearby technician signals to Mad Dog Watkins, who nods his head briefly and begins the descent down to the ring. Cut back to Sparkplug Lee.] RA: And his opponent! Hailing from Detroit, Michigan, and weighing in at     269 lbs. This man is a true professional, ladies and gentlemen; he's     a fifteen year veteran and has held prestigious championships     all over the wrestling world. Please give him a big welcome, here is     Mad Dog Watkins! ["Paint it Black" by the Rolling Stones blasts out over the loudspeakers as Mad Dog Watkins steps out into the aisle. He is met with a tremendous reception from the fans, but doesn't even seem to acknowledge it, retaining his impassive, bad-ass glare all the way down to the ring.] SR: Why the hell are these morons cheering Mad Dog Watkins? The guy is     just as mean and nasty as Otto Verhoeven, yet they treat him like     he's some kind of crusading angel! TD: Well, Mad Dog Watkins isn't shy about breaking the rules, Steve     Roberts, but he really seems to have earned the respect of the fans.     And you have to consider that he's going up against Verhoeven, who     is arguably the most hated man in wrestling after that violent     assault on his former ally, Lord Byron. I think the fans really want     to see the "Butcher" get some payback, and Mad Dog Watkins might be     the only man tough enough to get the job done. SR: He'll be doing some kind of job, I assure you. TD: Please don't use insider terminology, Steve. You'll alienate     all of the IIWF fans without internet access. [Watkins climbs into the ring, and immediately steps right up to the hulking Otto Verhoeven. The two stand nose to nose, both staring at each other with intensity as the referee advises them of the rules. Watkins seems unperturbed by the three inch height advantage and considerable bulk of the "Butcher", glaring right up into the eyes of his foe. The ref signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! Watkins and Verhoeven continue to stare at each other, just daring the other man to make a move. Suddenly, Mad Dog Watkins' leans backwards, then whips his head forward, slamming it right into the centre of Otto Verhoeven's face! The crowd explodes into cheers as Verhoeven staggers backwards from the punishing headbutt. Watkins charges in, all on fire, battering the "Butcher" with a left hook, an overhand right, and a pair of uppercuts. Verhoeven allows himself to fall back against the ropes, then uses the leverage to bound forward and blast Watkins with a clothesline! Watkins grunts and staggers under the impact, but amazingly remains standing after the punishing maneuver! Cheers from the fans! Snarling with rage, Verhoeven clinches a massive hand around Watkins' throat, heaves him up into the air, and plunges him into the mat with an awe inspiring chokeslam. Verhoeven drops atop Watkins for the cover, but...] TD: Amazing! Watkins rolled out of the way before Verhoeven could even     get into an adequate pinning position! There's some stern stuffing     left in the body of this old dog yet! SR: I don't care if Watkins survived that chokeslam, things are still     looking up, Timbo! Neither of these guys are holding anything back;     you can almost feel the bad intentions behind every blow. Stuff the     somersault planchas and all of that fancy crap; what we're seeing     here is a good ol' fashioned, head bustin' fight, and that's just     the way the "Soundbite" digs it. Whooo! [Watkins springs to his feet, ahead of the lumbering Otto Verhoeven. As the "Butcher" clambers up, Watkins shoves him hard in the chest, sending Otto careening off balance against the ropes! The fans roar with approval for Watkins' show of aggression, and the veteran immediately charges in, landing an uppercut clearly below Otto's belt. Verhoeven doubles up and howls in agony, allowing Watkins to deliver a vicious volley of short, compact punches to the midsection. Stunned and winded, Verhoeven tries to cover himself up, but Watkins clinches his arms around the "Butcher's" head and charges towards the centre of the ring, driving the German's head into the mat with a head wrecking bulldog! The fans are going crazy as Watkins springs to his feet and pumps his fist to the air! He runs to the ropes, bounds off and comes charging towards Verhoeven, who is getting up into a sitting position. Watkins leaps into the air and, propelled forward with the momentum, pastes Verhoeven back down to the mat with a legdrop! The fans give a mighty cheer as Watkins makes the cover: 1 - Verhoeven, with frightening power, heaves Mad Dog bodily out of the pinning position, sending him careening into the ropes on the opposite side of the ring!] TD: Oh my goodness! Did you see that, Steve Roberts?! Mad Dog Watkins     hit the "Butcher" with everything he had and it didn't even seem to     faze him! SR: Ha, Ha! That was great! Otto just threw the Mad Dog's flea-bitten     ass across the ring from underneath a pinning position! That kind     of raging power is just too much for Watkins' old bones to handle! [Verhoeven surges to his feet, a look of pure murder in his eyes. As Watkins struggles to regain his footing, Verhoeven charges forward, driving his boot ferociously into the Mad Dog's chest, sending him straight through the ropes and down to the arena floor! The fans gasp with horror! Verhoeven climbs through the ropes and positions himself on the ring apron, pumping his fist to the air as Watkins' unsteadily rises to his feet. The "Butcher" dives off the apron, clobbering Watkins across the head with a big double axehandle, sending him sprawling on the arena floor once again! Otto drags Watkins up, wraps his massive arm around the veteran's head, and charges towards the ring steps, smashing the Mad Dog's bald dome into the steel with tremendous impact! The sickening crunch of the blow, combined with a dull metal clang, prompts further cries of horror from the fans. Verhoeven has no mercy, however, and drags Watkins up once again. He easily presses Watkins up to shoulder level, carries him over to the crowd barriers, and dumps him into a back breaker over the steel railing! Watkins writhes in agony and clutches at his injured back.] TD: Oh my goodness, what a brutal maneuver from Otto Verhoeven! I can     hardly bear to watch the punishment Mad Dog Watkins is taking at     this point. SR: [snicker] You always were a man of delicate sensibilities, Tim     Dross. Where is Creed to save the old geezer's ass now, huh? He's     running scared cuz' he knows Otto Verhoeven has the number on all of     the "brothers" in the IIWF! TD: Racial issues are a sensitive issue in America, Steve Roberts. Can't     you learn to exercise a little tact? Besides, I expect Creed is     preparing for his upcoming triangle match, and has enough confidence     in Mad Dog Watkins ability to fight his own battles. [Verhoeven hurls a hapless IIWF official out of his seat, folds up the metal chair, and sets it up on the arena floor. He drags Watkins up once again and sets him in position for a suplex.] TD: This is too much! Otto Verhoeven is going to suplex Mad Dog Watkins     right over the steel chair! His back won't be able to stand any     further punishment! SR: Go, Verhoeven! Smash that spine into a million pieces! It's about     time the curtain came down on Mad Dog Watkins' career. [Verhoeven attempts to haul Watkins up in a vertical suplex, but the old dog, his face a mask of agony, digs his heels in and blocks the hold! Verhoeven grunts and heaves at Watkins once again, straining to execute the finishing maneuver... an action that might well prove fatal for Mad Dog Watkins' career. But, Watkins will just not allow Verhoeven to execute the hold! With the fans rallying behind him, Watkins wraps his arms around Verhoeven's midsection, expends a massive surge of effort, his back barely able to withstand the pressure, and lifts Verhoeven up... up into an overhead belly to belly suplex! The fans roar with approval as Watkins brings Verhoeven crashing shoulders first into the arena floor. Both men lie spread-eagled on the protective mats, utterly exhausted, both seemingly unable to move. The referee's count reaches seven.] TD: Unbelievable! Mad Dog Watkins, from the very limits of his     endurance, managed to pull off a suplex reversal and bought himself     a desperate chance to win this match! SR: Ha! You ain't been in the ring, Dross, you know nothin'! Don't you     know how much strain executing a suplex places on your spine? With     all the punishment Watkins has taken, that suplex had to be the     final straw that broke the dog's back! [Verhoeven staggers up to his knees, and tries to pull himself up onto the apron. To the satisfaction of the fans, however, he slips and tumbles back down onto the arena floor. Mad Dog Watkins grabs onto the steel ring steps and struggles to crawl up them and into the ring. The referee's count reaches eight. Nurse Heidi runs over to Otto Verhoeven's side and desperately tries to revive some of his energy, finally resorting to a hard slap in the face to shock the "Butcher" back to his senses! Verhoeven's eyes open wide in surprise, but some of the life returns to his limbs, and he struggles to pull himself up onto the apron, Nurse Heidi lending him a helping hand. Watkins meanwhile, seems to have expended the last of his strength, and is stretched out on the ring steps, seemingly incapable of moving an inch forward. The heat from the fans is tremendous, clearly feeling the tension as the referee's count reaches nine!] TD: The tension is unbelievable here in the IIWF Coliseum, as both     Mad Dog Watkins and Otto Verhoeven struggle to beat the count out! SR: I doubt we'll be seeing a draw here tonight, Tim Dross! Look at the     "Butcher"! He's making steady progress back into the ring, while Mad     Dog Watkins has absolutely nothing left! He can't move a muscle,     Drossy! The old bastard is finished! [The fans give vent to a cry of despair as Otto Verhoeven manages, with the help of Nurse Heidi, to roll his massive bulk underneath the bottom rope and into the ring, where he stretches out exhaustedly! Mad Dog Watkins is still motionless on the ring steps. Reluctantly, the referee is about to make the tenth count. Suddenly, hearing the disappointment of the fans, Mad Dog Watkins lifts up his head. A fire of determination smolders in his eyes. With a desperate lunge, Watkins heaves himself forwards and... gets half of his body under the ropes as the count reaches ten! The fans explode into cheers!] TD: Mad Dog Watkins is still in the match! Unbelievable! And at this     point, it looks like it could go either way! [Both combatants are seemingly in no position to launch an offensive, Otto Verhoeven struggling to get into a sitting position, and Mad Dog Watkins still stretched out motionless, half in the ring, half out of it! The fans begin to cheer rabidly once again as Watkins pulls himself fully into the ring, and gets up to his feet! The Mad Dog seems somewhat unsteady, and he clutches his back, still obviously in pain from the backbreaker over the crowd railings. He staggers over to Otto Verhoeven, and kicks him viciously in the head! Verhoeven's attempts to get back up to his feet are aborted, and Mad Dog Watkins goes to work, laying in repeated kicks and stomps on the fallen "Butcher".] SR: Why that dirty, rotten... It's just like a mangy mutt to kick a man     when he's down! TD: I did say earlier that Watkins' wasn't shy about resorting to     ruthless measures, and at this point, he's doing what he's gotta do     to put the "German Juggernaut" away. [Watkins drops an elbow across the throat of Otto Verhoeven, and goes for the cover: 1 - 2 - kickout by the "Butcher"! Watkins drags Verhoeven up to his feet, and drives a hard knee into the German's midsection, following up with a well executed DDT! Watkins goes for the cover once again: 1 - 2 - Verhoeven kicks out within milimetres of the third count! Watkins slaps the mat in frustration and drags Otto up for a second time, attempting to hook Verhoeven's arms in preparation for a double underhook suplex. The Mad Dog, however, is moving too slow and wearily, and Otto Verhoeven catches him with a nasty looking headbutt, forcing Watkins to release his grip. The "Butcher" immediately wades in with a pair of European uppercuts, further rocking his opponent, and then grabs Watkins by the nape of the neck, snapping him down to the canvas in what would have been a hair-pull takedown, had Watkins any hair to pull. Verhoeven goes for the pin: 1 - 2 - Watkins kicks out to a rousing cheer from the fans!] TD: Both men are going for the pinfall at this point, but despite the     intensity of the match, it seems neither man is willing to give it     all away. SR: There's a shot at the World title on the line, Dross! Any wrestler would willingly put his health on the line to go for the most prestigious championship in all of sports! TD: Unless they have back injuries huh, Steve Roberts? SR: Dross, if only you knew how much money I'm getting NOT to return to     the ring. The suits don't want me showing up all their overpaid     talent with my Asai Moonsault. TD: Oh, please. [This time it is Otto Verhoeven's turn to slap the mat in frustration, seemingly unable to put his foe away. Once again, he drags the old dog to his feet, and hauls him up into a piledriver position. The fans pop in shock as Verhoeven leaps into the air, spins around to increase the velocity, and drives the bald dome of Mad Dog Watkins hard into the canvas! Watkins sprawls out motionless on the mat, and Verhoeven makes another pin attempt: 1 - 2 - 3 NO! The Mad Dog kicks out just as the ref's hand slaps the mat for the third time!] SR: What the hell is going on here?! That count was slower than Larry     Morton's wit! TD: I think you're trying to under value the resiliency of Mad Dog     Watkins, Steve Roberts. By the way, long time, knowledgeable fans of wrestling will recognise the series of maneuvers Otto Verhoeven has just been utilising - they were particular favourites of the "Butcher's" old mentor, Baron Klaus von Frost. SR: Who cares? That's the problem with you so called "respected" ring     announcers, Timbo. You're all wrapped up with past history. It's     over! It's done with! All that matters is the here, the now, the     biscuit supplies, and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts! Whooo! [Verhoeven bellows a curse in German, angry at the resiliency of Mad Dog Watkins. He drags up the veteran for a third time, preparing to whip him into the opposite turnbuckles. Watkins, however, manages to shift Verhoeven's weight against him, reverses the maneuver, and sends the "Butcher" flying hard into the turnbuckles! The ring shudders under the impact and the fans respond with fervor! Verhoeven staggers out of the corner, but Watkins charges right at him, and leaps up into the air, colliding with the "Teutonic Terror" in a flying cross-body block! Verhoeven crashes back into the corner under the impact, sandwiched between Watkins and the turnbuckles. Watkins regains his balance and begins laying in the punches to Otto Verhoeven, digging uppercuts into his liver, and driving hard hooks into his temple. The fans cheer enthusiastically after each blow, and the "Butcher" is pummeled into a state of lethargy, his arms draped over the ropes, helpless. Watkins gives a signal, and begins to drag his foe up onto the turnbuckles, in preparation for...] TD: He's going for the "Every Dog Has its Day" Samoan Drop finisher!     Unbelievable! He's dragging the massive weight of Otto Verhoeven up     onto the turnbuckles, he's getting him up.... No! SR: Yes! Otto is shifting his weight, Mad Dog Watkins is losing his     balance! [Mad Dog Watkins tumbles off the top turnbuckle, Otto Verhoeven poised atop of him, the finishing attempt going drastically wrong. Crash! Watkins plummets into the mat, crushed beneath the bulk of the "Teutonic Terror". All of the life seems to slip from Watkins' body, and he lies motionless as Verhoeven remains atop of him for the cover: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: What a crushing blow for Mad Dog Watkins! He truly gave it his all     against Otto Verhoeven, but on this night, the "Butcher" was just     too much for him. SR: No more, Tim Dross! No more is Otto Verhoeven some glorified     bodyguard for a loser like Lord Byron! The "German Juggernaut" is     back with a vengeance! His famed killer instinct is raging hotter     than it has all year, and this is the man right here... Otto     Verhoeven is the man who's gonna topple Genesis from the seat of     power in the IIWF at Midsummer Madness, and go on to rule the     wrestling world with an iron fist! I can hardly wait! TD: Requiem versus Otto Verhoeven will certainly be one to get excited     about, but I wonder where Mad Dog Watkins will go after this match?     Does he still have a chance to win World championship gold before     his career draws to a close? RA: Here is your winner, as the result of a pinfall: Otto "the Butcher"     Verhoeven! [Otto Verhoeven stands exhaustedly in the centre of the ring, his fists raised to the air. The fans respond with a deafening heel pop, but even that cannot remove the triumphant smirk from the face of the "Butcher". Nurse Heidi claps her hands excitedly and hugs Otto Verhoeven in celebration, before the two climb back through the ropes and head up the aisle. Mad Dog Watkins, meanwhile, wincing painfully, gets up to his feet, clutching at his bruised ribs. The fans give him a supportive cheer, but he shakes his head in disappointment and frustration as he heads back up the aisle. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What a match, Steve Roberts, and it is Otto Verhoeven who will face the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion -- whether that will be Requiem or somebody else remains to be seen -- at Midsummer Madness in just five weeks. Okay, folks, we're heading towards tonight's main event match -- and this one promises to be quite unique. All three of the IIWF's singles champions in the same ring, fighting not only for respect -- but for a cool half million dollars, a cheque suspended above the ring... and the only way to win the match and the money is to climb an eight foot steel ladder, grab that cheque, and hit the canvas. SR: Who put up the money, Dross? Tell me that. Who put up the wa-wa for this match? TD: I really don't know, Steve Roberts, but here comes the IIWF President with that cheque now. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Champions Triangle Ladder Match: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Requiem vs. Creed vs. Dirt Dog Unique Allah ------------------------------------------- WRITER: DS [Cut to a shot of the aisle, where an eight foot steel ladder has been set up. The IIWF President walks down from the locker rooms, and gives a grin as he walks around the ladder. Meanwhile, in the ring, a winch has been lowered from the rafters of the Coliseum, and referee Earl Alfonso and announcer Sparkplug Lee are standing, awaiting the IIWF President. President Dan climbs the ringsteps and steps through the ropes, pulling a large gold envelope out of his inside breast pocket. He holds the envelope up to the crowd, who give an avaricious pop. Sparkplug Lee raises his microphone:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is tonight's main event, and it is a special Champions Triangle Ladder Match -- with the winner receiving a cheque for $500,000. [Big pop from the crowd! The IIWF President hands the envelope to Earl Alfonso, who seems to consider pocketing it and running from the ring, before bending and clipping the envelope to the winch.] SR: Wait here, Dross -- I'm just gonna go get me a little bonus. TD: You stay right there, Steve Roberts. That money is for the winner of this match. [The envelope is winched up some fifteen feet above the ring, a spotlight following its ascent, the gold envelope glittering in the light's beam. The IIWF President walks around the ring once, waving at the fans, before stepping out between the ropes and heading back up the aisle.] TD: Is it just me, or does that man look terribly overworked? SR: Overworked? Give me a break, Dross -- he sits up in his luxury penthouse office all day and makes passes at his secretarial pool. Overworked? Get real! TD: I happen to know that the IIWF President has an intensely punishing work schedule -- and you have to wonder whether the hours he's putting in are taking a toll on President Dan. SR: Aw, can it, Dross. Who needs that useless suit anyhow? We've got the babes, we've got the Soundbite, we've got the biscuits -- what more could a man ask for? TD: Well, the envelope containing that massive cheque is now some fifteen feet above the ring, and the ladder is in the aisle -- we're all set to go on this incredible match. [Sparkplug Lee raises his microphone once more:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the rules of this match are simple: anything goes! [Big pop!] There will be no pinfalls, submissions, disqualifications or countouts -- the only way to win is to scale the ladder in the middle of the ring, grab the envelope, and jump down to the canvas. And now -- introducing the combatants... [Big pop as "Snakes" by Ol' Dirty Bastard kicks in and the lights turn a number of deep shades, swirling over the aisle and the ring -- and a volley of fireworks erupt in the rafters of the IIWF Coliseum!] ...first, hailing from Brooklyn, New York, and weighing in at 238lbs... accompanied to the ring by Medusa Rage... he is the IIWF Cruiserweight Champion... Dirt Dog Unique Allah! [All eyes turn to the aisle -- but the Dirt Dog is nowhere to be seen. The music continues as an intern nervously makes his way down the aisle, apparently bearing some kind of message. He enters the ring and relays his tidings to Sparkplug Lee, who makes the announcement:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, apparently Mr. Allah is not yet in the arena -- but he has been in communication with IIWF officials, and he is on his way from his residence as we speak. As such, the match must begin without him. [Big disappointed pop as the lights rise and the intern ducks back up the aisle, a few unappreciative fans hurling abuse and debris in his direction. However, their jeers quickly turn to cheers as the lights in the arena drop once more, only a bank of blood red spotlights above the squared circle illuminating the ring and the aisle. The familiar voice booms out over the PA: "Anyone... Anywhere... Anytime." -- and then the heraldic strains of Beethoven's "Ode to Joy" kick in to huge cheers!] RA: [straining to be heard over the cheers] Introducing the new Intercontinental Champion -- he hails from Oakland, California, he weighs in at 276lbs... and he is... Creed! [Creed steps out into the red glow, dry ice swirling around his midnight black legs. He wears the gleaming Intercontinental Championship around his waist, and he thrusts his gloved left fist into the air, soaking in the cheers of the crowd. As he does so, red rockets flare up from the entranceway behind him and streak up into the rafters, screaming loudly as they go. Creed begins the walk down to the ring, allowing the keener fans who lean out far enough to touch him and his belt.] TD: Just listen to the reception for the new Intercontinental Champion, Steve Roberts! Creed's first appearance here in the IIWF Coliseum, the scene of all but the most recent of his greatest victories -- and he is determined, Steve Roberts, determined to prove that he is the dominant champion here in the IIWF. SR: The rookie wouldn't know what to do with half a million dollars, Dross. Perhaps I should just tell him to give it to me. [Creed climbs the ringsteps and steps between the ropes into the squared circle. He immediately climbs to the midbuckle and again thrusts his left fist into the air, the crowd picking up the familiar chant of "Creed! Creed! Creed!" as an overhead shot shows the black fist graphic spinning on the canvas, which is illuminated blood red by spotlights. Creed jumps down into the ring and unfastens the IC belt from his waist, handing it to Alfonso without so much as a second glance, before going to a corner opposite the aisle and performing a few warm-ups. The lights rise once more and "Ode to Joy" fades from the PA.] RA: And introducing the new IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... [The crowd erupts in a huge heel pop as the lights in the arena drop completely, save for a single pale blue spotlight illuminating the area just in front of the curtain to the locker rooms.] RA: ...accompanied to the ring by Genesis, hailing from parts unknown, and weighing in at 306lbs... here is... Requiem! [The menacing tones of Requiem's voice echo over the PA:] REQUIEM: From this day forth, until the end of time, there shall be no mercy for the damned! [As the haunting melody of the "Music of the Unknowingly Damned" drifts over the PA, almost drowned by the ferocity of the capacity crowd's heel pop, the members of Genesis step out into the periphery of the spotlight, their features cast in dark shadows. The tallest man, wearing the familiar flaming biker jacket and playing the jet black electric guitar, steps into the spotlight, his head bowed as he appears to pour himself into the music he is making. Eventually, he hands the guitar to an attendant, and makes his way down the aisle, the four members of his entourage following behind, all of them cast in shadows through which it is hard to discern which member is which...] TD: I think the lighting boys must have a glitch in their programming for Requiem, Steve Roberts -- I can barely see who it is coming down to ringside -- but I believe that only five out of the six members of Genesis are coming to the ring. SR: Ooh, Dross, I wonder who's missing! I can barely contain my excitement. TD: Please, Steve Roberts -- Genesis are now at ringside, and it's still too dark to see what's going on... Requiem is climbing the ringsteps and entering the ring -- hang on... what's going on?! [Suddenly, the lights rise -- and there are two Requiems in the ring! The man wearing the flaming biker jacket -- is not Requiem at all! The real Requiem has somehow winded Creed sufficiently to bend him double and has him in position for a gutwrench powerbomb! Huge heel pop!] TD: What the hell is going on here?! Requiem, with Creed -- while -- while Requiem looks on! Who is that imposter? SR: And the rookie goes up -- and down he comes! [Creed is powerbombed to the mat with a huge impact as the referee, now stationed outside the ring, signals for the bell to start the match. The real Requiem approaches the imposter, who removes the jacket and pulls a blonde crew-cut wig cap from his head to reveal -- Serge Annis! Huge heel pop! Annis hi-fives Requiem and leaves the ring, pausing only to land a couple of kicks on Creed, to join his partners on the outside, all of them laughing at their witty little trick.] TD: What despicable tactics by Genesis! The real Requiem snuck up behind Creed while the lights were down and jumped him before the bell. SR: Yeah, as I've been saying for a long time, so when are they going to do something interesting? Hey, there's that English moron, the Highwayfreak. Hey, freak! Over here! TD: Sit down, Steve Roberts. SR: No way, Dross. [Roberts stands and beckons to the Highwayman, who is bedecked in his full attire, complete with long-tailed morning coat and three-pointed hat. Adam Smith turns to face the announcers' booth, and points at Roberts' "Day 14 - IIWF Under Siege" t-shirt with a dismissive grin, before turning back to the ring, where Requiem is dragging Creed to his feet.] SR: Did you see that, Dross?! That moron thinks he can ignore me. Let me tell you something, nobody ignores the Soundbite. Nobody. TD: Remember, Steve, you're out here as a broadcaster, not a wrestler. Let's try and keep things in perspective, okay? Requiem now, dragging Creed to his feet -- and Creed blasts Requiem with a series of those lethal left hands! [Creed fights to his feet, laying into his huge opponent with left hand after left hand, the red glove a streak of crimson as it flies at the torso of Requiem, hitting him now in the ribs, now in the solar plexus, now in the jaw -- and now it is Creed, whipping Requiem into the ropes, and grabbing him by the throat on the rebound! Huge, huge pop as Creed lifts Requiem high into the air with that whirling Crimson Tide chokeslam, driving him at tremendous speed into the mat!] TD: Oh my goodness! And both men pulling out the big guns right from the get go here, Steve Roberts. That Crimson Tide chokeslam nearly put the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion right through the mat. Unbelievable! SR: It's a good move all right, Dross, but it doesn't even begin to compare to my Asai moonsault. TD: Are we ever going to see this vaunted moonsault of yours, Steve? SR: Never say never, Dross. [Creed stands over the winded and shocked Requiem, his left fist held high, the fans chanting, "Creed! Creed! Creed!", much to the annoyance of the Genesis entourage on the outside, who turn to the fans and demand that they shut up.] TD: A real wake-up call for the World Champion from the red-gloved rookie here, Steve Roberts! Requiem is laid out on the canvas, and -- oh my! [Requiem brings up one of his legs sharply, hitting the "lower abdomen" of Creed, who still stands above him. Creed, his face contorted in pain, is bent double and staggers backwards, buying Requiem sufficient time to get to his feet. He barks instructions to his minions outside the ring, and immediately, Scott Rogers and Serge Annis are despatched up the aisle, apparently to fetch the ladder. Requiem backs Creed into the ropes and then whips him across the ring. Creed ducks under a clothesline on the rebound, but as he bounces back off the near ropes, Requiem measures him -- and lands a hard kick to Creed's braced left knee! Big heel pop as Creed crumples to the mat!] TD: Oh my... Requiem targeting Creed's knee here, Steve Roberts. It would appear that Requiem is out to injure the Intercontinental Champion... perhaps to soften him up for a possible match with the Highwayman, a top contender for the IC belt. SR: Yeah? Tell it to somebody who cares, Dross. Where's the Dirt Dog? We need one of them crazy "brothers" out here to liven this match up -- the rookie's far too serious. Doesn't he know that black men are zany, funny guys? Remember Al Jolson? TD: Steve Roberts, will you please stop? [Rogers and Annis fold up the ladder in the aisle and carry it to the ring, sliding it in under the bottom rope. Requiem immediately moves to the ladder, and as Creed attempts to pick himself up off the mat, the World champion rams the end of the ladder into his knee... once... twice... three times! Huge, huge heel pop! Creed drops back to the mat, his face screwed up in pain. Requiem hoists up the ladder, and moves to slam it down on top of Creed's legs -- but Creed raises his boots, and the ladder bounces off, hitting Requiem full in the torso. The ladder clatters to the canvas, and Requiem staggers back against the ropes as Creed picks himself up, testing his left leg by putting his full weight on it -- and it holds! Big pop as Creed approaches Requiem -- and once again begins firing away with rights and lefts, hitting closed fists and knife edges, battering the World champion, before whipping him across the ring -- and blasting a boot into Requiem's midsection!] TD: Creed firing back now, wearing Requiem down with that flurry of blows -- and now he hits the World Champion with a dragon Creedplex! What a manoeuvre! [Creed disentangles himself from the fallen Requiem, and moves to the ladder, picking it up and opening it up in the middle of the ring. The crowd chant, "Creed! Creed! Creed!" as the red-gloved rookie begins to climb the ladder -- as Requiem gets to his feet! Creed looks down at the champion from his vantage point on the ladder -- and then leaps down at Requiem, hitting him with an impressive reverse neckbreaker, driving Requiem back down to the canvas! The force of nearly six hundred pounds of humanity hitting the mat sets the ladder wobbling, teetering -- and falling, crashing down on top of both Creed and Requiem! Big pop!] TD: Oh my -- that is a heavy ladder, Steve Roberts, a steel ladder -- and it just fell right on top of those two men. But what a neckbreaker from Creed -- he may have been able to climb that ladder and grab the cheque, but the red-gloved rookie seems far more interested in proving himself against Requiem. SR: Stupid moron. What a choice: get beat up, or collect a cheque for half a million dollars. Moron. [Creed tosses the ladder aside as both men begin to fight to their feet, each man swinging out with rights and lefts as they rise once more. Requiem catches Creed with a hard right to the jaw, and then clotheslines him to the mat -- no, not the mat, the ladder! Creed falls hard onto the steel ladder! Big heel pop! Requiem pulls the ladder away, and folds it up once more, picking it up and carrying it to one corner of the ring. He lays it carefully across the top turnbuckle, and then turns back to Creed, who is now slowly rising from the canvas. Requiem once again nails Creed with a couple of hard rights and lefts, and then whips him -- whips him into the corner, and the ladder! Creed's sternum hits the steel ladder with force, and the ladder is sent flying to the outside, barely missing the fans in the front row! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my -- once again the fans come under fire here tonight, but what a dirty tactic by Requiem! Creed is sure to find it difficult to breathe right about now -- that collision may have cracked his sternum! [On the outside, Highwayman picks up the ladder, and leans it against the apron midway between two corners on the side of the ring facing the aisle. Requiem drags Creed to his feet, and attempts to whip him towards the ladder -- but Creed reverses, and sends Requiem for the ride! The World champion slams into the ladder and drops to the mat like a sack of potatoes, as the ladder arcs its path down into the aisle with a big crash. Creed drags Requiem back to his feet, performs a quick go-behind -- and locks on a triangle sleeper hold, dragging Requiem towards the centre of the ring.] TD: Oh, we've seen this before, Steve Roberts -- Creed has that sleeper locked in, and he's slowing the bloodstream to Requiem's brain now, impeding Requiem's breathing... Creed waiting for Requiem to flag, putting as much pressure on that sleeper as he can -- and now, hoisting Requiem up in the air! Oh my! What a suplex! What a move! [Creed brings Requiem crashing down in the centre of the ring with his triangle sleeper Creedplex. Huge Creed pop! The chant begins anew, "Creed! Creed! Creed!" as the red-gloved rookie rolls to the outside to pick up the ladder. The Genesis members begin to move in on Creed from both sides -- but back away when the Intercontinental Champion brandishes the eight foot steel ladder he has retrieved from the aisle. He picks up the ladder and carries it perpendicular from his body in front of him back towards the ring. Requiem, having got groggily to his feet, bounces against the far ropes, and then slides out of the ring on the near side, hitting the ladder with his boots and once again sending it crashing into Creed's chest, and knocking the IC champ flying.] TD: Whoa! Baseball slide from Requiem slams that ladder into Creed's sternum again. The rookie could be in trouble here -- and Requiem now, picking up that ladder... Creed doesn't know where he is right now -- oh my! [Requiem slams the ladder down hard on Creed's knee, causing the rookie to try and shuffle away, to roll out of reach. Requiem showboats to the hostile crowd, who now begin to hurl debris at the World Champion as he sets up the ladder at the foot of the aisle.] SR: What's he doing, Dross? What the hell is he doing?! The money's above the ring -- and Creed is in no shape to stop him getting it. TD: I don't think Requiem is in this for the money, Steve. Both of these men are highly sensitive to the fact that Creed is seen in the eyes of many as a worthier champion than Requiem, and I believe the Genesis leader is out to prove that point here tonight. [Requiem climbs the ladder, and measures Creed -- before launching himself with a legdrop from the ladder! Cameras flash all over the arena as Requiem launches himself at the rookie -- who rolls out of the way! Creed avoids the impact at the last second, and Requiem crashes down with tremendous force!] TD: Oh my! Requiem just landed hard on that exposed concrete floor. There's no padding here, folks, and no matter what you might say about wrestlers knowing how to take falls, how do you take an eight foot drop from a ladder onto a concrete floor without getting hurt? Requiem may have very seriously injured his back right there! [Creed drags himself to his feet, absently adjusting his left glove as he moves to knock the ladder down in the aisle. He then walks back to Requiem, and says something to the World champion that the cameras don't pick up, before dragging him to his feet -- and doubling him over, his head between his legs.] TD: Oh, you have to be kidding me -- Creed is going to powerbomb Requiem onto that ladder! SR: Yeah, Dross! This is what it's all about -- senseless violence, money, and the Soundbite! [Creed hoists Requiem up -- and then brings him down with almost improbable force onto the folded steel ladder! Huge, huge pop! Immediately, the other members of Genesis, unable to stand by and watch their leader beaten any longer, lunge at Creed -- and the rookie is soon almost invisible under a barrage of fists and boots. Suddenly, the crowd erupts in a huge mixed pop, as the Age of the Rage dash down the aisle, the Dirt Dog leading the charge, with Derek, Shadoe, Pizzazz and Medusa not far behind. The Dirt Dog immediately grabs the ladder and heads for the ring, while the Prophets and their valets set about Genesis.] SR: What are they doing, Dross?! Why are they trying to help Creed? TD: You can't have forgotten that the Dirt Dog made a plea some weeks ago for the so-called "Black Pack" to join the Age of the Rage. I suppose they're trying to help out a possible future ally. SR: Nah, it's a race thing, Dross. One "brother" can't stand by and watch another "brother" being oppressed by the evil white man, Dross -- and especially not a motley crew like Genesis. TD: Ladies and gentlemen, we once more apologise for the racially insensitive nature of Steve Roberts' comments. SR: Apologise my ass, Dross. How many complaints have the suits received about the Soundbite? TD: At the last count, some three and a half thousand in the past three weeks. SR: That's not good enough. How many morons do I have to offend to jam the IIWF's switchboard? [Dirt Dog slides the ladder into the ring, and then turns to a nearby camera, murmuring something about "stupid muhfuh overslept", and then rolls into the ring himself. He sets up the ladder in the centre of the ring, and begins to climb it, climbing up towards the envelope hanging high above. The crowd begins to get behind the Cruiserweight Champion, chanting, "Dirt Dog! Dirt Dog! Dirt Dog!" as he climbs another step or two up the ladder, blearily rubbing at his eyes as he looks up towards the glittering envelope. He then casts his eyes down at the mass of humanity brawling on the outside -- and takes another step up the ladder towards the cheque. Once again, the Dirt Dog looks down...] TD: Unique Allah appears to be torn here, Steve Roberts -- torn between aiding his stablemates, or grabbing the money... SR: Or perhaps he's just blind drunk as usual, Dross. There's no choice to be made here -- he's only just arrived, and he's got the match won! [The Dirt Dog continues to hesitate -- and suddenly, the ladder topples! Suddenly, the ladder is knocked over, and the Dirt Dog falls all the way from the top to the outside, where he lands on Serge Annis and the Highwayman! Huge, huge pop!] SR: What happened, Dross?! One moment, the Dirt Dog's half a million dollars richer, and the next, he's rubbing noses with those Genesis morons. TD: It was Requiem! Requiem somehow -- he somehow picked himself up from that powerbomb, made it into the ring -- and -- and barged that ladder, sending Allah all the way to the outside! Unbelievable! SR: Where's Creed, Dross? What the hell's going on here?! TD: Creed is pulling himself back into the ring -- the Rages are on the outside battling it out with the Highwayman and Cold Spell -- and Annis and Rogers are rolling the Dirt Dog back into the ring. This is absolute chaos! SR: And it's just about to get more chaotic -- here comes Joe Petrow! [Sure enough, Joe Petrow is making his way down the aisle, carrying a second eight foot ladder, identical to the first. While the crowd give a confused pop, Petrow slides the ladder into the ring, and heads straight back up the aisle from whence he came.] TD: What on earth is Joe Petrow doing, Steve? SR: The guy is a lunatic, Dross. I doubt even he knows what he's doing. [Meanwhile, Creed has folded up the first ladder, and leans it in one corner of the ring. He turns, and is nailed by the Dirt Dog, who then whips him across the ring into the opposite corner. Creed turns to face the charging Dirt Dog -- and darts out of the way! Allah crashes into the corner, and staggers back out -- whereupon he is whipped by Creed back towards the corner of the ring where the ladder now stands. Allah somehow manages to jump up and grab the ladder, and climbs it in the corner as Creed fells Requiem with a big clothesline. Creed dodges out of the way again as Allah jerks backwards, causing the ladder to fall -- and he clings on as the ladder swings down towards the canvas, where it lands hard on Requiem! Big Dirt Dog pop!] TD: A suicidal move there by the Dirt Dog! He brought that ladder crashing down on Requiem, but at what cost to himself? SR: Hey, here comes Petrow again! [Indeed, Joe Petrow is making another journey down the aisle, again carrying a ladder. Creed stands, his hands on his hips, and watches Petrow approach the ring, the ladder tucked under his arm. As Petrow approaches ringside, Rogers yells something at him, and Petrow turns to face him, the ladder swinging round as he does so and hitting Shadoe Rage in the midsection. Petrow immediately drops the ladder, and heads straight back up the aisle, leaving a newly kindled brawl between the Rages and Genesis in his wake.] TD: A third ladder finds its way to ringside courtesy of Joe Petrow. This is rapidly getting out of hand, Steve Roberts. [The Dirt Dog has now crawled out of the wreckage of the ladder and is now busily, albeit groggily, setting it up in the centre of the ring. Creed and Requiem, meanwhile, engage in a slugging match in one corner of the ring. Allah begins to climb once more, with each rung he climbs, looking up at the envelope hanging tantalisingly overhead. Requiem, who has now tied Creed up in the ropes, blasts the rookie with a European uppercut, and then turns to see Allah almost at the summit of the ladder. He hurriedly climbs the ladder himself on the opposite side, his height advantage meaning that he is quickly able to get his hands on the Dirt Dog. The two men begin trading blows at the top of the ladder. Big pop from the crowd!] TD: Oh my -- this is a highly dangerous situation, Steve Roberts. Requiem now -- what a right hand from the World Champion! And the Dirt Dog is hanging on for dear life! [Requiem reaches over the top of the ladder, and hooks one of the Dirt Dog's arms -- before suplexing Allah all the way over the top of the ladder, and to the mat eight feet below! Huge heel pop! Allah hits the canvas with tremendous impact, and the ladder teeters, but Requiem remains perched near the top. Creed, meanwhile, has finally managed to free himself from the ropes, and tries to shake the kinks out of his arms as he makes his way towards the ladder. He, too, begins to climb, as the crowd once more pick up the chant: "Creed! Creed! Creed!" Requiem, nearing reaching distance of the envelope, feels the ladder wobble, and looks down at Creed, his eyes staring up at the World Champion... Creed, beginning to climb the ladder, to meet Requiem at the top...] TD: The Dirt Dog looks like he is out, Steve Roberts -- and the brawl continues on the outside between the Rages and Genesis -- while Creed and Requiem battle for supremacy on that ladder. SR: Dammit, just grab the money, somebody! [A slugfest erupts at the top of the ladder, Creed and Requiem trading blows as cameras flash all over the Coliseum, the fans now on their feet as both men are tantalisingly close to the envelope within their reach -- but both the Intercontinental Champion and the World Champion fix their eyes squarely on each other, and there is a moment of repose as the black eyes of Creed stare into the white eyes of Requiem.] TD: Look at this, Steve Roberts. I believe that neither one of these men is the least bit interested in that money. I believe that these two men are focused solely on each other. SR: Morons. That's half a million dollars just above their heads! Hey, Creed -- if you don't want that money, then grab it for me, "brother"! TD: Please, Steve -- hang on... both men appear to have been sparked into action by something, something passing between these two champions... [Creed and Requiem once again jostle for position on the top of the ladder. Requiem swings high with a right hand, which Creed ducks under -- and blasts the World champ in the gut with a shoulder. Requiem is winded momentarily, and appears to be about to fall -- but Creed grabs hold of his head as he takes a few more steps towards the very summit of the ladder, so that he is now just one step away from the top rung. He bends Requiem double, placing his head between his legs. The crowd senses what it is about to see, and begins to chant, "GFA! GFA! GFA!"] TD: Oh no... Creed is going to hit that flying superbomb from the top of this ladder! Please, no -- this move could kill a man. SR: This is gonna be one for the highlight rolls, baby dolls... TD: Goodnight! [Creed grabs Requiem with a gutwrench -- and then lifts the huge 306lbs "Angel of Destruction," lifts him up over his shoulder -- the ladder teeters...] TD: Farewell! [...and Creed jumps, kicking the ladder out from under himself, jumps with Requiem high at shoulder-level -- and as Creed falls, so he pushes Requiem down, pushes him down, driving him downwards... and the two men hit the canvas with unimaginable force. Huge, huge Creed pop!] TD: Amen! SR: Holy smoke, Dross -- what a move! TD: And Creed -- Creed is _covering_ Requiem! Creed is pinning the World champion! [Almost with one voice, Creed's fans chant out the "pinfall": "One! Two..." but their chant becomes a huge heel pop, as members of Genesis pour into the ring to the aid of their leader, blasting Creed with all manner of offensive manouevres. They drag the red-gloved rookie out of the ring and to the ringside area, where the third ladder is lying. Highwayman clotheslines Creed onto the ladder, and Scott Rogers then drops an elbow on the Intercontinental Champion. Requiem, meanwhile, lies in the ring, his chest heaving. The crowd gives a huge pop as Mad Dog Watkins races down the aisle to the aid of Creed!] TD: Here comes the Mad Dog! This is madness, Steve Roberts -- and what's Derek Rage doing? Derek Rage is in the ring -- the huge seven foot plus Derek Rage is hoisting the Dirt Dog up... SR: He's gonna throw Allah at the cheque, Dross! He's gonna throw him! TD: Unbelievable -- look at the power of this man! Derek Rage has hoisted the Dirt Dog up -- and now he literally throws the Cruiserweight Champion into the air as if he weighs nothing at all! [Huge pop from the crowd as the Dirt Dog grabs the ring to which the clip holding the envelope is attached -- and Allah hangs there, some fifteen feet above the ring, one arm hanging onto the ring for dear life, the other grabbing that glittering gold envelope. On the outside, the carnage continues, the extra ladders brought to ringside by Joe Petrow being used as weapons as the brawl continues... and above it all is the Dirt Dog, hanging above the ring.] TD: What incredible scenes here in the IIWF Coliseum, Steve Roberts! All the Dirt Dog has to do is drop to the canvas, and he will have scored not only a famous victory, but he will be half a million dollars richer to boot! [Huge pop as the Dirt Dog gives a big grin, and drops to the canvas! Ding! Ding! Ding! Immediately, an already chaotic scene becomes one of bedlam -- as security pour down the aisle, various factions break into the ring, and the Dirt Dog is dragged out of the ring by Derek Rage.] TD: Folks, we are right out of time here in the IIWF Coliseum on this special Viewer's Choice edition of IIWF Saturday Night... what an incredible night it's been here -- Dirt Dog now, he's opening that envelope -- and he's tearing the cheque in half! Dirt Dog has torn that cheque in half -- and he's giving one half to Creed! SR: Oh, give me a break, Dross! What good is half a cheque?! [Creed, groggy from the attacks of Genesis, accepts the cheque from the Dirt Dog without so much as a nod of his head -- and also accepts the help of Mad Dog Watkins in heading away from ringside, as the Genesis members flood into the ring to stand at the side of Requiem, who has now dragged himself back to his feet. Security attempt to keep the Rages and Genesis apart. Cut to the broadcast table at ringside. Steve Roberts has buried his head in his hands.] TD: Well, thanks for joining us this week, fans -- the IIWF hotline will not be updated this weekend due to technical difficulties, but you can bet that we'll be back at you on Monday night with more Monday Musings -- and I have a feeling that a lot of IIWF superstars will have a lot to say about all that we've seen here tonight. We're right out of time -- so for Steve Roberts, this is Tim Dross, saying: so long, everybody! [The shot closes in on the forces of Genesis standing in the ring watching Creed and the Mad Dog depart slowly up the aisle. 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+