[Fade up on footage subtitled "IIWF Saturday Night: Last Week". Tiger Claw, Otto Verhoeven, Deathbringer, Casey James and Dan Kauffman all stand in the ring.  Claw claps his hands, pointing out to the crowd as the roar of "Old Gen! Old Gen! Old Gen" shake the very foundations of the IIWF Coliseum. Kauffman shakes hands with Tiger Claw! Then Otto Verhoeven!  Then Deathbringer!] VO: He's back! Dan Kauffman has returned to the IIWF! Some call him... "The Man." Others... A legend. To some... the greatest IIWF Champion of all time. [Close up on the ring, showing Casey James.] VO: Casey James... the man who took Kauffman's title away back in February of this year. The man who leads the attack against the ruthless and evil force that threaten the IIWF. Casey James and Dan Kauffman. Bitter enemies? [Kauffman and James stand face to face. Kauffman extending a hand toward the man who took his IIWF title away from him back in February... Dan Kauffman extending a hand to Casey "Blackheart" James. Tim Dross's voice echoes over the footage:] TD: And he accepts!  James accepts!  James shakes Kauffman's hand -- and shakes his head... Casey James almost can't believe it himself as all five of these men, arguably five of the most important figures in the history of the IIWF... raise arms and accept the enormous roars of this capacity crowd!  What an anniversary, Steve Roberts. [The soundtrack fades as the voice over cuts in once more:] VO: Dan Kauffman. Casey James. Otto Verhoeven. Deathbringer. All former great IIWF world champions. Tiger Claw, the only three time Intercontinental champion in IIWF history. [Steve Roberts' voice echoes over the footage:] SR: I cannot... I cannot believe what I am seeing in this ring.  Dan Kauffman and Casey James.  Dan Kauffman and Otto Verhoeven.  Dan Kauffman and the Deathbringer.  Dan Kauffman and Tiger Claw... and listen to these people, Dross!  Listen to the people roar! [Again comes the voice over:] VO: Five IIWF greats, an impossible alliance united against the forces of Genesis. Can even Requiem and his evil thugs stand against the might of the greatest names in IIWF history? We'll find out... tonight! [The opening graphics explode onto the screen:] ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour one...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon August 23 1997 [Fade through to interior shots of the jam-packed IIWF Coliseum. Twenty thousand fans line the stands, many decked out in IIWF merchandise or as lookalikes of their favourite superstar, and many more waving home-made signs. The shot pans down past row upon row of cheering faces, the excitement almost palpable as suddenly a huge volley of fireworks erupts above the ring, rockets shooting down to the four corner posts and apparently triggering four huge explosions of sparks from the posts, almost completely obscuring the ring in their brilliant light. Huge, huge pop! Over these scenes comes the voice of veteran announcer Tim Dross:] TD: Welcome everybody to the IIWF Coliseum! Welcome everybody to another incendiary edition of IIWF Saturday Night, the hottest two hours of live action anywhere in the world! [The shot continues to swing wildly over the excited audience, who are illuminated by various spinning light filters in a myriad colours, many in the shape of the number 50. The shot eventually comes to rest on the broadcast table at ringside, at which are seated Tim Dross, wearing his customary IIWF blazer and tie, and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, who is decked out in his black leather jacket, over a now familiar t-shirt which reads "Day 42: IIWF Under Siege."] TD: Howdy, folks. I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my broadcast colleague and tag team partner, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. Steve, we are now just two weeks away from our next pay-per-view extravaganza, Midsummer Madness, and later on tonight, in our second hour, the IIWF President will be announcing the complete lineup! SR: Just fourteen days away from the Butcher taking back the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship, baby dolls! TD: Well, certainly Otto Verhoeven has a tremendous chance to regain the title he wore last autumn in just a matter of days at Midsummer Madness, and we will see the Teutonic Terror and the ringleader of Genesis, the current IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Requiem, in the very same ring here tonight as they sign the official contract for that title match at Midsummer Madness. That's sure to be a highly volatile situation. SR: I'd be surprised if Verhoeven can resist taking a few chunks out of Boy Rectum right here tonight, Dross. TD: Indeed, and Verhoeven will also be in action tonight in our main event, as he squares off against Genesis representative, Serge Annis -- sure to be a true power struggle, right here tonight! On top of that, we'll also be hearing from the man whose return last Saturday Night rocked the world. Dan Kauffman will be here tonight, and he has a lot to say! [Roberts reaches under the table and retrieves a pillow, the slip of which is emblazoned with the words: "Anti-Kauffman Cushion".] SR: And I'm prepared, baby dolls! TD: Will you please put that away, Steve Roberts? SR: Man, it's ages since I've had the opportunity for a good sleep during a broadcast. TD: You will not be sleeping during Dan Kauffman's interview, Steve Roberts. SR: Watch me. TD: In any case, we also have some tremendous wrestling action coming your way over the next one hundred and twenty minutes -- including two championship matches. World Tag Team Champions, Cold Spell, will face the Harlequins -- and there seems to have been more than a little internal dispute amongst Genesis concerning the allegiance of Icehawk, Steve Roberts. SR: Yeah, the gay guy doesn't like what the rest of the Culture Club are getting up to -- and I can't say I blame him, Dross. TD: Certainly Icehawk has shied away from the gang tactics we have seen week in and week out from Genesis -- and I understand that his stablemates have told him that tonight he must put up or shut up. In our other championship match, the Cruiserweight Champion, Dirt Dog Unique Allah, will square off against the plucky Canadian, Derek Mota, just fourteen days before the Dirt Dog is scheduled to face the "Showstopper" Simon Lebec at Midsummer Madness. SR: You gotta love Mota, Dross. The guy's clinically insane, sure, and he's sustained some pretty heavy brain damage from all those attacks by Genesis over the past few weeks, but you gotta admire his guts. You just can't keep him down! TD: Indeed not. And Derek Mota has been attempting to put the cat amongst the pigeons himself, insinuating that the Dirt Dog has sided with Genesis, and is set to turn on his Age of Rage stablemates tonight! It's going to be an explosive encounter, that much is certain. On top of those title matches, we'll see probably the most on-form IIWF superstar at present, Chris Quigley, in action against the impressive newcomer, Timothy N. Turner. SR: Turner's another guy you just can't hate, Dross. He's got class, he's got talent -- and tonight, he's gonna have Quigley's head on a silver plate. TD: A victory for Timothy N. Turner in a match against Quigley would certainly be a feather in his cap -- but Chris has been completely rejuvenated in the past few weeks, and you bet against him at your peril. [Suddenly, there is a big heel pop and the fans in the Coliseum rise to their feet. The shot cuts to show Genesis heading down the aisle, led by Requiem, the gold of the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship glittering around his waist, Gabrielle by his side, and the rest of the gang following behind: Serge Annis and Scott Rogers, jawing with the aisleside fans, who are already pelting them with debris, the Highwayman, threateningly pointing one of his flintlock pistols at fans in the front rows, and Cold Spell bringing up the rear, Fitz carrying his World Tag Team Championship over his shoulder, and Icehawk wearing it around his waist.] TD: Looks like we've got company here, Steve Roberts. SR: Looks like my pillow will come in handy earlier than I thought, Dross. [One by one, the members of Genesis file into the ring, and proceed to showboat to the crowd for a few moments, the fans continuing to pelt them with garbage, which is greeted only with amusement. Scott Rogers leans over the top rope in the corner nearest the timekeeper's table and demands the microphone from Sparkplug Lee, who obliges cautiously. Rogers feigns giving Lee a slap around the face, and the ring announcer scuttles back to his seat as the Utah native turns back to the ring and tosses the microphone to Requiem, who looks around at the fans with a contemptuous sneer on his face before speaking:] RQ: [mocking the show's opening] "Can even Requiem and his evil thugs stand against the might of the greatest names in IIWF history?" [There is a pause as the fans jeer the IIWF Champion.] RQ: [shouting] YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT WE CAN! [The jumbotron suddenly goes black, and the blazing words "GENESIS" appear in giant letters of flame. Huge heel pop! The sinister tones of Vangelis' "Conquest Of Paradise" play over the arena's sound system as Requiem continues to speak into a radio microphone:] RQ: Kauffman, you should not have returned to the IIWF! Where once your memory was revered, now it shall be obliterated from the face of the earth as Genesis exacts terrible vengeance against you. The Angel of Destruction has never before destroyed a legend -- I'm looking forward to it. For you, Dan Kauffman, there can be... no mercy! [Huge heel pop, aside from the Genesis Generation who cheer loudly and let off loud air horns. Requiem looks up at the crowd, an ill-concealed sneer upon his normally impassive face:] RQ: Hoping to have this "Casey James gang" save you from the big bad Genesis bullies, eh? Well, forget it! You've seen what we are capable of, and tonight we're gonna do it all over again! Tonight, Otto Verhoeven will be "butchered" by the Epitome of Evil himself, Serge Annis! Tell 'em, big guy! [Annis reaches for the mic from Requiem and brings it to his mouth. The camera pans in to Annis' face which exhibits no emotion. Annis then casts a mean scowl and begins to speak as the Genesis Generation all cheer and applaud.] SA: Butcher... tonight, prepare yourself to be the newest victim of the "Epitomizer." Oh wait, you were last Saturday, weren't you? Otto Verohoeven, consider the blood that poured from your skull... the pain from the Epitomizer onto that steel chair... consider all the stitches you received to patch up... consider it all an epiphany of what is to come tonight! I have a special surprise in store for you tonight, Butcher. And let me say this... this surprise of mine is something that will knock you out, one way or another! Are you ready for me, Otto? I don't quite think so. Tonight... you'll be butchered by the one, true "Epitome of Evil"! [The Genesis Generation pop loudly, setting off their air horns loudly as Annis stares intensely into the camera with a cold, menacing stare as Requiem takes back the microphone.] RQ: When the Genesis Epoch begain we promised you people excitement, and we're sticking to our promise! Tonight the Mannequins, sorry -- The Harlequins, take on the greatest tag team in the IIWF today, Cold Spell! It'll be an exciting match, but the outcome will never be in doubt. Tell 'em, Kid! [Icehawk, who has spent the entire time adjusting the strap on his tag belt, continues to do so for a long second before coldly looking at Requiem.] HAWK: Whatever you say, Oh Great God of the Wrestling Ring. [He then flips the mic back to Requiem, and goes back to playing with his title belt, while Edmund Fitzgerald whispers angrily into his ear.] RQ: Ladies and gentlemen, last week you saw the formation of a band of five people, five people who hope to defeat Genesis. Won't happen.  Not tonight. Not at Midsummer Madness. Not _ever_! But they're not the only people we have issues with. Mad Dog Watkins has something that my colleague, Mr Smith here, would like. Take it away, Adam... [Highwayman pauses with the mic in his hands, he throws a vicious glance at Steve Roberts, before addressing the crowd:] HWM: OLD Dog!  Did the batteries die in your hearing aid on Saturday? Is your eyesight failing so badly that you didn't see me in the ring with you?  I'll try not to confuse you too much in your pending retirement, OLD Dog, so I'll say this in in words of one syllable: I. Want. Your. Belt! [Heel Pop!] HWM: You can throw your head in the sand and hope that if you can't see me, I can't see you.  You can run crying to Buttercup and the other old farts in the Wrestling Retirement Home, or wherever it is that you live.  You can even laugh out loud, and run about, shouting, "The Gimmick is after me, The Gimmick is after me!"  BUT... [A look of unbridled fury crosses his face.] HWM: BUT... When I get you in the ring, OLD Dog...  When that precious belt of yours is on the line... you can't run to Buttercup, you certainly can't hide, and laughing will be the furthest thing from your mind! [He pauses and looks around at the fans, who jeer him heavily.] HWM: Save yourself the pain and anguish and just _give_ me the belt now, OLD Dog!  Be smart and just forfeit it now!  I don't want to hurt you, you are an old man and when I hit you with my "Daylight Robbery," it may cripple you for the remainder of your life!  It has almost ended the career of a far tougher man than you in Derek Mota -- so what do you think it will do to your fragile neck?  You can't stop evolution, OLD Dog, and whether you like it or not, that belt is coming to Genesis! RQ: And that's all we've got time for right now... [Scott Rogers looks bluntly at Requiem and taps him on the shoulder. Minor pop. Requiem looks back and an apparent tense staredown ensues.  The expectant pop increases in volume. However, much to the dismay of the fans, both men grin at each other at the same time. Requiem hands the microphone to Rogers.] SR: Hey, don't forget about me, champ! Yeah, I'm not in action tonight but like you heard me say last night, and I know I said I had nothin' to say but I couldn't let these people see me and not _hear_ me. I owe 'em that much! [Big heel pop.] SR: Hey, quieten down a bit out there! Ya know I love each and every one of ya! I'm just givin' ya the chance to hear me speak! What's up, for heaven's sake?! [A soda carton comes flying out of the crowd and it hits the microphone. It drops to the floor. Rogers just starts laughing at the irate fan and then poses for him, and everyone else. Requiem picks up the mic from the mat.] RQ: We'll let you get back to your regularly scheduled "wrestling." Just remember, if it doesn't feature Genesis -- it's not hot enough! Kauffman, make your interview short, or you'll miss the last bus to Nowheresville! And as for you, Otto, better pray that Serge Annis cripples you tonight -- because if you face me, you will suffer torment you didn't think possible!     G: And that's the Gospel according to my big brother! [Huge heel pop as Requiem throws down the mic, and prepare to leave the ring. Suddenly, "Paint It Black" by the Rolling Stones erupts over the PA system! Big pop! The members of Genesis wheel around to face the aisle!] TD: Oh my! SR: Yeah, this is what we want, baby dolls! TD: Here comes the Intercontinental Champion! [Out walks Mad Dog Watkins, Intercontinental belt fastened tightly around his waist. He glares at the entourage in the ring, slowly letting his steely gaze pass over each and every member of Genesis. As the crowd pops loudly for the chiseled veteran, he points at the ring and then motions to one of the IIWF production crew to bring him a microphone. Quickly a microphone is found and placed in Watkins' ebony paw. As he lifts the microphone to his ugly mug, the crowd falls silent to hear what he has to say:] MDW: Well... well... well... What do we have here? Good evening ladies! [The crowd pops in appreciative cheer! The camera switches to a shot of Scott Rogers, who smirks at Watkins' comments, grabs his crotch and can be seen mouthing something about self-copulation.] MDW: I couldn't help but overhearing your little rant while back in the back. And to be honest with you, I wasn't too sure you really wanted me to come out here. After I got done laughing, someone had to convince me you weren't kidding. It seems that your little girls club has got the notion that you can take this belt from me. That's funny. Almost as funny as the other day when Spreadbury tried to tell me I had to defend the belt against the Highwayman. [The camera shoots the Highwayman in the ring and picks up his shouting "That's right. My shot, Old Dog! That belt's coming home with me!"] Seems that you guys are trying to amuse me. First, you go out and get you some sort of nice Halloween costumes and call yourselves wrestlers. Fine -- I can live with that. Then you get you some nice little club -- some sort of bitch-session group... all right, no big deal. But then you go too far. Old school... new school... washed up... new gen. Well, Genesis, have I got a Revelation for you! I don't really give a damn! You see, I come from a long line of men that you couldn't even begin to relate to, guys who know what it's like to sweat, cry, and bleed. All for the love of this sport. Guys like Bruno the Sandman who preferred a fist to the face over the bright lights and cameras, and who wouldn't know a title match from a Texas Death match. And it seems now that Boy Rectum's got his hands on that world strap, you seem to think you made it. Everything is yours now that you can ride one man's coat-tails. Well, there ain't never been a damn thing that came that easy in this sport. Ask me -- I know. You want a shot at my Intercontinental title? Rogers? Annis? Highwayman? Hell, I don't give a damn if it's the Ferryman or the damn Easter Bunny... if the name is associated with you boys in Genesis -- it'll be a cold day in hell before I put my strap on the line against you. [Watkins unstraps the gold belt from his waist and holds it in the air, almost taunting the members of Genesis with it.] This belt doesn't just tell me that I'm one -- if not THE -- best wrestlers going today. It tells me I've paid my dues. All I have to do is look at it and I can remember every cracked rib, dislocated shoulder, and ride to the emergency room that it took to get it. But you pretty boys wouldn't know about that now, would you? [In the ring, the members of Genesis are stirring around, getting a bit impatient and antsy while Watkins continues his diatribe.] But I'll give you one thing -- you got the guts to call me out. Not too many can claim that. Just a shame it took a group of you to do it. So, I've got a deal for you. Spreadbury tells me that I've got to defend against the number one contender... that doesn't bother me. Whoever it is, he'll get his ass kicked just the same. But somehow the Highwayman is that man. Well, I ain't doin' it. No way. No how. Not unless you give me what I want. And what I want is you -- ALL of you! [Crowd pop!] Midsummer Madness. You've got an open contract. Count me in. If you can beat me, then I'll give the Highwayman his shot. But if you can't beat me and my team, you lose your shot. Either way, when you come out of that match you're gonna know two things: one, that I've come to collect on your dues, and two, I'm gonna start by sticking my foot down your throats, up your [bleeps], and any other place I can stick it! [Big crowd pop at the news and Watkins' challenge! In the ring, Genesis has become very excited. The Highwayman is very vocal and can be heard yelling... "You got you men? Who?"] My men? You want to know men? I ain't tellin'. It just might be me, myself, and I. I guess you'll find out at the PPV. But trust me when I tell you I ain't gonna have a hard time findin' men who'll join me in knocking your teeth in. Hell, I just might have to beat them away with sticks. [With that, Watkins slings the IC belt across his massive shoulder, gestures to the ring to let Genesis know that he thinks they're "Number 1", and makes his exit, all to the deafening cheers of the crowd as "Paint It Black" starts up once again.] TD: Oh my! What a challenge there from Mad Dog Watkins -- Highwayman will get his shot at the Intercontinental Championship if Genesis can defeat Watkins and four partners at Midsummer Madness! What a match that's going to be! SR: The Culture Club are on borrowed time, baby dolls! Whoo yeah! [Genesis confer in the ring, Requiem nodding to Highwayman, who motions that the belt will soon be around his waist. Rogers and Annis wander around the perimeter of the ring, continuing to jaw with the fans, while Cold Spell stand impassively behind their leader, the World Champion, and observe the discussions. Eventually, Requiem signals to his troops to leave the squared circle, and they slowly head back to the locker room, still putting the bad mouth on the fans. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, Genesis are leaving again -- it appears that they have got what they wanted. SR: And at Midsummer Madness, they're gonna get what they deserve! I love it, Dross! TD: We apologise for the delay in getting to our opening contest, folks, but I believe we are now ready to go up to the ring. We are going to kick it off with an intriguing matchup between two very promising IIWF newcomers. SR: The only promise I want to hear from Jericho is that he'll visit a plastic surgeon right after the pay-per-view.  Or at least start wrestling with a bag over his head.  I have a sensitive stomach, Dross, and I just don't want me or my L'il Soundbiters exposed to this much ugly. TD: Steve Roberts, there is nothing wrong with the way that Sebastian Jericho looks -- why have you chosen to completely ignore this young man's obvious wrestling ability to constantly harp on his physical appearance? SR: I'm sorry -- did you say something, Dross, I was just looking at a picture of Jericho in tonight's program... I don't know if I've mentioned this before -- but, damn, this guy is ugly. TD: Let's get to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Sebastian Jericho vs. Tonnage |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: JJ [The lights dim as Sparkplug Lee somberly takes the mic.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, prior to tonight's opening contest will you please rise for a moment of silence in memorial of Japanese ladies superstar Plum Mariko, who died of ring-related injuries one week ago. [The crowd respectfully stands as the bell rings to a ten count... and a powerful cheers follows.] SL: The following contest is set for one fall... introducing first, from Kalamazoo, Michigan, he weighs 256 pounds... SEBASTIAN JERICHO! [The brown-skinned ex-football player quickly walks the aisle, the thickly-torsoed Jericho is clad in a black singlet, and accepts a face pop as "My Name is Mud" from Primus plays.] TD: Here is Sebastian Jericho, you have to be impressed with this young man... although, you certainly would have liked to have seen some comments from either he or Tonnage on yesterday's "Countdown to Saturday Night." SR: Well, only if they hid him behind a blue dot, like for those molestation trials.  I wouldn't hold it against Jericho, though -- I think his Genesis buddies had plenty to say on his behalf. [Sparkplug retakes the mic as "The Beast" by Twisted Sister begins to a heel reaction.] SL: And his opponent... he hails from Albany, New York, and weighs a whopping 565 lbs... TONNAGE! [The big man makes his way down the aisle, completely ignoring the taunts of the aisleside fans.  The massive Tonnage is wearing his half mask and blue singlet with yellow striping.] TD: Tonnage comes into this match feeling like he may have something to prove, feeling that maybe he hasn't received the respect that he's due in the IIWF. SR: I like the fat man, Dross.  Make no mistake -- but the game is played at a different speed at this level -- and even the fattest of the fat, fat men have to tune it up a little bit when they step into the Double Eye, Double You, F'n F. [Big Joey Patrick waves the two men together as the bell rings -- Ding! Ding! Ding! -- and the match is officially underway. Tonnage stands in the center of the ring -- and the left of the ring -- and the right of the ring.  The crowd beginning to roar as the size difference between the two men is obvious... Tonnage is not only twice Jericho's weight -- but nearly a foot and a half taller than his opponent.  The two men are nose to... stomach... Jericho seeming completely unawed by the massive girth of the big Tonnage.  Jericho speaks quietly to the big man, then flashes quickly backward, Jericho springboarding off the ropes and ramming straight into the torso of Tonnage... Thud. Jericho hops quickly to his feet... readying himself again for another rush at the powerful Tonnage... Thud.] TD: I think that perhaps young Jericho will need to take another approach. SR: Hey, Dross.  What's the approach where a guy runs around screaming, "U - G - L - Y... I ain't got no alibi... I'm ugly... Yeah, Yeah... I'm ugly." [Jericho runs completely around Tonnage, springoarding again and diving, this time at the knee of Tonnage... the big man teeters as the crowd roars with anticipation... Jericho now goes off the backropes, coming hard at the back of the knee of Tonnage, driving hard into the leg... Tonnage buckling... Jericho quickly moving up the body... moving to a waistlock for an attempt at a... at a... German suplex!] TD: Well, that was just no good at all, Steve Roberts.  Sebastian Jericho was completely unable to lift Tonnage off his feet for that suplex -- and the big man responds with a short armed clothesline that drove Jericho straight into that canvas! SR: Ugly and dumb.  That's a rare combination in today's world.  Not among these fans, of course. [Tonnage grinningly picks Jericho to his feet... whipping him nearside and clotheslining him 360 degrees back to the canvas!  Big, Big Pop! Tonnage now drops a huge knee to the right arm of the prone Jericho, extending the arm outward -- and pounding away again with three, four kneedrops on the exposed limb. Tonnage rises, smiling broadly as the fans booing begins to increase, Jericho writhing away on the mat, his arm clearly burning with the pain of 500+ pounds having been laid atop it. Tonnage goes back to the mat, putting on an armbar and laying a huge leg over the top of the shoulder... Tonnage squeezing away at the arm with the monstrous power of his huge body.] TD: Tonnage showing a degree of calculation here, Steve Roberts.  He's not in there with a man who can beat him with his legs, like a Phoenix, a Billy Shakespeare.  Jericho is a power wrestler -- and with one arm, he is really going to be up against it in trying to overcome the incredible mass of this big man. SR: Fat guys aren't dumb, Dross.  They know where the buffets are. They know where to find the eight feet of beef stick on a Sunday morning. They know which Taco Bell is still serving the chicken burritos at 3:30 in the morning.  I love the fat guys, Dross! [Tonnage rears back on the arm, only looking up from the hold as an enormous, enormous heel pop rises from the crowd...] TD: It's Requiem!  It's Requiem! The Champion of the World has arrived at ringside! SR: Don't tell me Jericho isn't Genesis, Dross.  We saw Genesis at the ugly guy's last two matches.  And here they are again!  Three times in a row!  He's Genesis... He's Genesis! [Tonnage breaks the hold and stands..pointing at the Champion, yelling at him to get away from ringside.  Requiem pays the big man no mind, slowly walking around the perimenter of the ring, taking furtive looks inside. Tonnage snarlingly dismisses Requiem, bouncing off the ropes and windng up with a big... big leg drop...] TD: Missed!  Missed!  Jericho rolls free! SR: It's that damn Requiem, always interfering. [Jericho is up to a big pop... and as Tonnage rises, Jericho leaps toward him out of a three point stance, sweeping the leg.  Pop! Tonnage wobbles furiously... trying to keep ahold of his balance as Jericho charges again... thwacking hard to the leg... And the crowd roars as Tonnage falls!  Tonnage falls! Jericho pounces immediately, ripping away at the big man with savage lefts and rights, Jericho ripping and tearing at Tonnage's massive head with closed fist blows.  The crowd roars its approval as Jericho finally leaps from the nearly defenseless Tonnage... the official forcing the break of the onslaught.  Big Pop!] TD: These people are certainly behind young Jericho... they seem to admire his intensity, his work ethic, they know that this man is fighting for his family, Steve Roberts -- that he'll do whatever he has to... and he is attacking Tonnage again! [As Tonnage began to stumble to his feet, he was driven hard to the mat with a Jericho flying forearm, dropping the big man hard to the canvas. Jericho moves to the legs, applying a grapevine and rearing back, seemingly able to lock in on the scissor.] SR: This ain't gonna work, Dross -- this guy's thighs are the size of small farm communities -- if Jericho thinks he's somehow going to get a submission... he's even uglier than I thought! TD: I don't see why that would have any bearing on his tactical approach. SR: Dross, when you this ugly, it affects everything you do.  Jericho is holistic ugly. [Requiem politely applauds, still slowly walking the perimeter as Jericho bends away at the leg of Tonnage... Jericho trying to soften up the big man, Jericho bending back -- now standing up in the hold! Jericho standing as his leg is still intertwined with that of Tonnage! The pugnacious newcomer stomping away at the exposed hamstring as Tonnage attempts to roll from the hold, Jericho grabbing a leg as Tonnage rolls...] TD: Half-crab!  Sebastian Jericho has a half-crab on this big Tonnage, and you can now really see the pain in the face of this big man.  Jericho's leg work is staring to have its desired affect! SR: Come on, fat guy!  All the biscuits you can eat... just get to the ropes! [With the crowd on its feet, Tonnage begins to crawl, crawl to the ropes as Jericho holds on desperately to the half crab... Tonnage using that huge wingspan to reach out to the ropes outside of which stands the World Champion... Tonnage reaches out...] TD: He's got the ropes!  Tonnage breaks the hold -- and Requiem made no attempt to stop him, Steve Roberts.  What do you think about that? SR: I think Boy Requiem was just trying to remember the lyrics to "Karma Chameleon" and he forgot where he was, Dross. [Tonnage pulls himself up slightly, laying his head over the bottom rope as Jericho breaks the hold, rolling to the apron and shockingly dropping a sharp leg over the exposed Tonnage head!  Big Pop! Jericho stands outside, cuffing Tonnage's head, choking Tonnage over the bottom rope! Big Pop!  Requiem stands quietly behind Sebastian, Requiem making no motion as the official requests a break by Jericho -- he gives it... and then Jericho turns to confront Requiem!] TD: Oh... now what do you say, Steve Roberts?  Sebastian Jericho is getting right in the face of the Champion -- Jericho pointing an accusing finger at him... why would he do that if he's gone Genesis? SR: It's a swerve, Dross.  It's a classic swerve... we're supposed to take our minds off the real issue -- which is Jericho's incredible ugliness.  Put that thing away, Jericho!  You're frightening my L'il Soundbiters! [The section with the L'il Soundbiters is shown... the group consists of a half dozen thoroughly inebriated middle aged men, they appear to be singing a song of the sea.] SR: Morons.  Seagoing morons. [Jericho continues to advance on Requiem, who hasn't made so much as a motion.  Requiem turns his back... at the same instant where Tonnage rocks Jericho with a double axe to the back!  Pop!  Tonnage picks Jericho up, up into a military press... and slams Jericho down hard, face first over the apron!  Pop!  Tonnage picks Jericho up again, tossing him back into the ring... and slowly moving to finish the newcomer off. Tonnage lays Jericho out in front of the corner, Jericho motionless as Tonnage begins to climb... the crowd roaring as Tonnage goes up to the second buckle...] TD: OH NO!  Tonnage comes down hard, landing backside first upon the chest of Sebastian Jericho! SR: Butt-Bomb!  The fat guy butt bombed him, Dross!  Fat Boy make you jump for joy... Fat Boy make you jump for joy! [Tonnage drapes himself across the prone Jericho, Joey Patrick moving for the count... 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: He picked him up!  Tonnage picks Jericho up! SR: He ain't done playin', Dross.  We are talkin' about a Phat Boy Production!  A real squared-circle Jammy-Jam!  Phat-Boy!  Phat-Boy! [Tonnage picks Jericho to his feet, giving him some cursory slaps across the face... and then whips him cross-corner -- Tonnage charging... And Tonnage landing! A huge corner splash!  Tonnage landing his quarter plus ton body with huge momentum on the nearly unconscious, unmoving Jericho!  The crowd's heel pop is tremendous as Tonnage again refuses to let Jericho fall to the mat -- instead keeping him on his feet, smacking at his chest and yelling, "One more!  How 'bout one more!"] TD: I don't think this is necessary at all, Steve Roberts.  This is downright cruel. SR: Nah... cruel are all the closeups we're getting of that kisser of Jericho's... damn, pan back.  Pretend someone's gone hardway in Atlanta and pan the camera back! [Jericho is sent for the big ride again... smacking hard into the buckle as Tonnage again charges...] TD: NO!  He... I... Jericho slips the charge!  Jericho slips the charge! SR: No, Dross... Requiem, Requiem pulled Jericho out of the way! Requiem grabbed Jericho's arm -- and Requiem just flat pullled him out of the way! [Huge Pop as Tonnage hits the buckle hard... staggering out of the corner, unaware that Jericho is advancing... and leaping up...] TD: Hurricanrana!  Jericho with the hurricanrana of the big man! Into a roll up! [The crowd explodes as Jericho hits the hurricanrana rollup, grabbing the legs of the huge Tonnage as Patrick quickly counts... 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: Hand on the ropes!  Tonnage has his... NO!... Three!  Three!  It's over! SR: You saw that, Dross! Admit it, admit you saw that!  Requiem pulled that rope away from Tonnage!  Requiem cost Tonnage this match! ["My Name is Mud" plays as an exhausted Jericho's hand is raised in victory.  Tonnage furiously slaps the mat... trying to deduce how he was defeated as Requiem slowly leaves ringside.] SL: Your winner... as a result of a pinfall... SEBASTIAN JERICHO! TD: A stunning victory here, Steve Roberts... and I'll tell you what -- I don't know what it means... but I do believe that you are right -- I do believe that Requiem aided Sebastian Jericho in getting that win. SR: Now you see it, Dross.  There is no doubt about two things.  One, the single butt ugliest man in the IIWF is Sebastian Jericho -- and he now belongs to Genesis! TD: This next match will be between Duncan Macbeth and "The Intrepid"... SR: Decrepit? TD: No, Intrepid. SR: That's what I said. TD: [sighing] "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard. Both men are pretty evenly matched, with Macbeth getting the slight edge in height and weight. SR: Don't forget IQ. Howard's isn't exactly the brightest bulb in the IIWF. TD: Let's get to ringside for the intros. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Duncan Macbeth vs. "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: RR [Scene cuts to the ring, where Sparkplug Lee is entertaining a few old ladies in the front row with his rendition of the "Macarena." He looks up at the camera, grins sheepishly, and starts the ring announcements.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, from Detroit, Michigan... "THE INTREPID" RYAN HOWARD! [Metallica's "Don't Tread on Me" blares over the loudspeakers as Howard makes his way out from the back. He nods his acknowledgement to the fans, striding down the aisle towards the ring. The crowd pops loudly, however, as Macbeth sprints out from the locker room behind him, grabs Howard's duster, and pulls it down over his arms, proceeding to then club him with several stiff shots to the back of the head. Macbeth, ignoring the taunts of the nearby fans, looks down at the now-prone Howard and kicks him, all the while screaming...] DM: Ye WANT this, Opie? Ye want t' make a NAME fer yuirself, ye rookie tosser? After TONIGHT, th' name they'll all be callin' ye is "th' INCAPACITATED Ryan Howard"! [to the aisleside camera] Get tha' EMT squad ready! SR: [over the headset] This is great. [As the timekeeper rings the bell to signal the start of the match, Macbeth picks Howard up by the hair, knee-lifts him once in the stomach for good measure, and runs him by the back of the neck into the ring. Macbeth follows him in close behind, continuing to kick at him until he ultimately tires of that technique and picks him up. Backing him against the ropes, Macbeth slings him across with an Irish Whip to the far side, laying him out with a clothesline on the rebound. As Howard struggles to get back to his feet, however, Macbeth stomps heavily on Howard's fingers, sending him back to the mat clutching at his hand in pain.] TD: This is disgusting. I don't know what's gotten into Macbeth. SR: Neither do I, and I wish I did. I know a few losers backstage who could benefit from some of that. Kick-me, for example. [A dull *thwack* is heard from the announcer's booth.] SR: OW! Dammit, Dross, I didn't mean to kick ME! The preservatives on that ferret stapled to your head must be messing your brain. [Meanwhile in the OTHER fight happening at the time, Macbeth has picked Howard up from the mat again. He grabs Howard by the ears, and slams three consecutive headbutts into The Intrepid one's forehead. Howard staggers for a moment, then sits down heavily, but is only given a moment to catch his breath as Macbeth puts the boots to him again.] SR: Ah, I recognize that. That's the ancient Scottish martial art of Skru Yu. TD: Excuse me? SR: It's pretty simple, Dross. You headbutt the other guy a lot, and when he falls down, you kick him. TD: That's deep, Steve. SR: Hey, I'm a regular storehouse of useless knowledge. [Macbeth grabs Howard by the hair again and pulls him up, sending him into the ropes a second time. He braces himself to catch Howard into a powerslam, but Howard slides past him, spins around, and drops Macbeth back into a Russian Leg-Sweep that leaves both men laying on their backs, gasping for air. As the ref hits about the four count, though, both stir and climb slowly to their feet. Staggering towards each other, Howard rears back to unload a stiff right to Macbeth's head, but is stopped short by a thumb to the eye by the Scot, then doubled over with a knee to the breadbasket. Macbeth grabs Howard in a headlock, signalling to the crowd for a DDT... but before he can execute it, is picked up off his feet and stun-gunned onto the top rope by a somewhat recovered Howard. Now it's Howard's turn to put the boots to his opponent, stomping on him mercilessly to the delight of the crowd.] TD: Nice reversal there by Howard, but you have to wonder if this is taking its effect on him. SR: I'd say it has to be. A man just can't go too long taking that sort of punishment and... hey, this has just gotten a WHOLE lot better. TD: What're you talking about? SR: Look at the aisle, Timmy-boy. [Dross, Roberts, and most of the crowd turn to look at the ring aisle, and are greeted by the sight of Timothy N. Turner, strolling casually down to the ring, champagne glass in his hand. Howard glances up and visibly groans, then turns back to Macbeth and grabs him by the hair, lifting the groggy Scot to his feet. He starts to pepper Macbeth with jabs, occasionally stopping long enough to duck the wild swing by his opponent, then dropping Macbeth to the mat with a hard left to the jaw. The ref cautions Howard about the fists, as does Turner, who is calling his support of the referee's warning from the ringside area, finally holding his glass up in a toast to the referee's vigilant work.] SR: Hey, since when did our refs start DOING anything? TD: Oh, hush. [As the admonishment ends, Howard turns his attention back to Macbeth, who has just gotten back to his feet. Howard backs him against the ropes again, throwing him off... reversed by Macbeth, sending Howard to the far side, then leaning heavily on the referee for support. As Howard hits the ropes, however, Turner reaches out and simply smacks his boot... not enough to trip him, but just enough to catch his attention. Howard stops short and looks down, shouting at Turner to stay the hell out of the way, but only catches a faceful of champagne for his efforts, blinding him.] SR: Hey, can we start calling him the "Inebriated" Ryan Howard now? TD: No. SR: Who asked you, anyway? [In the meantime, Macbeth has pulled himself off the ref, and launches himself at Howard in a flying clothesline that sends Macbeth to the mat, Howard over the top rope, and Turner scrambling out of the way. Howard hits the ground hard, right at the feet of Turner, who simply looks down at him and mutters soemthing about "not being able to hold his alcohol". Macbeth climbs out of the ring, shrugs to Turner in a "sorry that was so close" sort of way, and tosses Howard back in after slamming his head into the apron for good measure. Picking him up, Macbeth toses him against the far corner, and as Howard stumbles back out, leaps into the air and scissors his head, flipping backwards and driving Howard's skull into the mat.] TD: That was the Claymore! SR: Maybe he should call it the "Howard's End". TD: That was bad, Steve. SR: So's your rug, Dross. [The referee scampers over as Macbeth rolls Howard over, grabs the leg and hooks it, grinning widely as the three-count is made.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match... Duncan Macbeth! SR: Oh boy! Now the fun starts! [Macbeth stands up in the center of the ring, and motions for Turner to join him. Turner, feigning a "Who, me?" look, climbs in, and assists Macbeth in laying the boots to Howard, who attempts to fight back, but is overcome by the odds against him.] TD: Oh, this is bad, Steve Roberts! Howard doesn't deserve this! SR: That's a matter of opinion, Dross. But he's not giving up -- you gotta admire his never-say-die attitude. [Macbeth and Turner continue to beat on Howard, the crowd jeering their brutal attack, until the entire scene is broken up by the JJS. As the EMTs hit the ring and the Jobber Justice Squad ushers Macbeth and Turner to the back, Howard starts to angrily shove the medics away from him, pushing his way through jobber and doctor alike as he takes off down the aisle after Macbeth and Turner, who jog the last few steps into the backstage area. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What a courageous performance from Ryan Howard! It took two men to defeat him here tonight, and you have to believe that he's going to be looking for both Duncan Macbeth and Timothy N. Turner backstage here tonight. SR: One guy he won't be looking for is Sebastian Jericho. Nobody wants to see that guy. TD: Please, Steve, enough of the Jericho comments. Fans, we've had two exciting matches so far and the next looks to be no different! SR: Are you crazy, Dross? First off, it's a tag match! Secondly, it involves Genesis! TD: Cold Spell _are_ the champions, Steve Roberts. SR: Don't remind me. It's only because the Syndicate hasn't got their hands on them yet. That's assuming that the Syndicate doesn't come down with loser-itis after hanging with Kauffman. TD: It looks like we're ready for the announcements... let's get up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Cold Spell [c] vs. The Harlequins ....................................................................... WRITER: RP [Sparkplug Lee is standing in the ring, trying to brush some lint off of that stunning tuxedo he always wears when he notices his cue.] SL: The following contest is one fall for the IIWF World Tag Team Championship! First, the challengers... hailing from Sleepy Hollow, Illinois and weighing in at a combined 545 pounds... Harlequin Tragedy... Harlequin Chaos... the Harlequiiiiiins! ["My Lover's Box" by Garbage fills the arena as Tragedy, Chaos, Comedy, and Melody head down to ringside. Chaos is not wearing his usual attire but rather he is wearing braided leather pants, black boots, and a black armband with the familiar "CHAOS" logo he normally has on his tights. He also has on a chain mail coif, his usual steel mask and a leather jacket.] TD: What does it say on the back of Chaos' new jacket, Steve Roberts? "I Run With Scissors"? SR: Now that's funny. I hope these two beat the crap out of the cold fishes just because of that jacket! [The Harlequins climb into the ring and remove their steel masks. We find that Chaos is no longer wearing face paint and he actually is quite a good looking guy!] TD: This puts a new face on the Harlequins, no pun intended! SR: Why do people always say "no pun intended" why everyone knows damn well that a pun was intended! What a cop-out. Let's bring back the Punster! TD: Let's not. [Tragedy tests the ropes as Chaos slaps his chest while Sparkplug Lee goes on to the rest of the announcements.] SL: And the champions... hailing from Oulu, Finland and Rogers City, Michigan respectively... weighing in at a combined 500 pounds... Icehawk... Edmund Fitzgerald... this is Cold Speeeeeeeell! [Gordon Lightfoot's "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" comes forth, and so do Cold Spell. Icehawk and Fitz are clearly arguing about something and Icehawk is constantly motioning back over his shoulder. We quickly see what he is motioning towards as the rest of Genesis appears in the aisle and commences to follow them to the ring.] TD: It looks like the dissension in the ranks of Cold Spell and Genesis hasn't diminished in the least. SR: There is no way these morons can remain champs if they don't get it together! TD: Cold Spell has reached the ring but it looks like Icehawk is refusing to get in! He's yelling at all of Genesis now... it seems that he is ordering Genesis from ringside! SR: Doesn't look like their going anywhere, Dross. Icehawk isn't getting his way! [Icehawk starts back down the aisle and Fitzgerald quickly stops him.] TD: Icehawk is saying that if Genesis doesn't leave the ring area he will forfeit the match... and the title! SR: As much as I'd like to see that... is this guy crazy or something? You don't give away a title over a little spat! TD: None the less, that's is exactly what he is threatening... and Genesis is leaving the ring area! We may actually get a straight ahead match here, with the best team coming out the champions! SR: Don't forget about Tragedy's little floozies out there. All Hawk has done is forced his team to wrestle short handed. [Fitzgerald and Tragedy start out in the ring in a collar and elbow tie up. The stronger Genesis member pushes Tragedy back into the ropes and the ref tries to get them to break cleanly. Before Fitz lets go, Chaos runs down the apron and gives him a shot to the head. This brings Icehawk into the ring and the ref goes over to cut him off.] TD: A quick double team by the Harlequins... SR: [interrupting] And now that idiot Icehawk is making things worse! [That's exactly what is happening as the ref is distracted by Icehawk and both Harlequins double team Fitzgerald. Chaos holds him as Tragedy lines up for a Superkick, unloads, and misses!] TD: Tragedy got Chaos right in the jaw with that! Fitzgerald is going for the cover! SR: So what? Chaos hasn't even been tagged in! [The ref concurs as he refuses to count the pin. Tragedy pulls Fitzgerald up and quickly puts him over with a Dragon Suplex.] TD: Chaos has rolled back out of the ring as Tragedy barely gets a two count on Fitz. The Harlequins are definitely taking an early advantage but it was probably a mistake to go for that Superkick as Cold Spell still has a fresh man... and now the Harlequins don't. SR: Sure they do! Tag in Comedy! I'd pay to see that! She could probably win the titles all by herself! [Fitzgerald has maneuvered himself over to tag in Icehawk. Hawk springs over the top rope and executes a spinning heel kick right to the face of his opponent. He quickly follows it with a snap legdrop and Tragedy is in trouble.] TD: Icehawk is going to the top rope! This could be over right now! [Not quite. As soon as Icehawk is poised, Comedy jumps up while the ref is being conveniently distracted by Melody, and shakes the top rope. Icehawk crashes to the canvas and Tragedy tags in Chaos.] SR: So much for your "fresh man" theory. Always bring a skirt to the ring. Rules to live by. Oh, as an aside to Duncan Macbeth, that means a girl, not the skirt that you wear to the ring! TD: That's a kilt, not a skirt. SR: Tim Dross, fashion maven. [Chaos has just finishing dropping a series of headbutts onto the downed Icehawk and has slapped on a figure four leglock. On the outside, the Genesis Generation had started a "Genesis Rocks" chant which Comedy and Melody quickly get the bulk of the fans to change, with predictable results.] TD: The fans are firmly behind the Harlequins here. SR: They aren't cheering for the Harlequins, Dross. They're cheering _against_ Genesis... and who could blame them? TD: Steve Roberts agreeing with the fans. Now there's something you don't hear every day. [Icehawk has maneuvered himself over to the ropes and the ref orders a break. Chaos complies but as Icehawk is in the ropes, Comedy comes over and slaps him hard across the face. Icehawk leaps up, right into a hard right hand by Chaos, and goes crashing back down. The ref scolds Chaos for using a closed fist, just long enough for Comedy to unload on Icehawk with her Happy Hammer!] SR: That would be the Happy Hammer Mk. III, Drossie! It's got an ergonomically designed handle. TD: I'm sure that will make Icehawk feel so much better... when he wakes up! Chaos is tagging in Tragedy... why doesn't he go for the pin? [Tragedy grabs Icehawk's legs and turns him over into a scorpion deathlock, only to have Fitzgerald clothesline him from behind!] TD: Fitzgerald broke up a sure victory for the Harlequins and now he is going at it with Tragedy! Now Chaos is in the ring! Edmund Fitzgerald is holding off both men! SR: Yeah, and look at Icehawk! He's crawled over to his corner and is looking for the tag! He's doesn't even know what's going on! TD: Uh-oh. Here comes Genesis! [Scott Rogers, Serge Annis, and the Highwayman are heading down to ringside, but in no real hurry. Meanwhile, the ref has forced Chaos and Fitzgerald out of the ring but Edmund quickly tags back in!] TD: What a showing by Edmund Fitzgerald! He held off both Harlequins while his partner got in range for a tag! Tragedy has tagged out as well so we're going to see the two big men fight it out! SR: You call them big? Where's Tonnage when you need him? [Chaos and Fitzgerald seem to be nothing but traded right hands as they pummel each other in the middle of the ring. Fitz is getting the worst of it, however, as his heroic stance against the two opponents has worn him down a little bit. Finally Chaos flattens him with a headbutt and then clamps on the Sanitybreaker!] TD: This may be too much for Fitzgerald... Serge Annis is on the apron! [Chaos drops Fitzgerald and walks towards Annis, who just drops back to the floor. He then tags Tragedy in. Tragedy moves towards the fallen Fitzgerald and scans the crowd. He stops at one particular person and continues towards his opponent.] TD: Did you see who that was? That was the Puppet Master! That's Travis Quinn's estranged father! SR: So? [Tragedy puts Fitzgerald into a Half Nelson with one arm and a chickenwing with the other and starts pouring on the pressure!] TD: That's the Marionette! It's his father's finisher! Travis is going to win the titles with his father's finisher! The official is asking Fitzgerald! He must be in excruciating pain! SR: Not so fast, Dross! Here comes Genesis! [From off the side of the screen, Scott Rogers comes crashing on top of the two wrestlers. The ref quickly calls for the bell and the other Genesis members swarm the ring. Chaos pulls Tragedy out of the ring and the four Harlequins head away from the throng, Tragedy looking as angry as he ever has.] SR: So those Genesis Gerbils have protected the belts again and... TD: [interrupting] It looks like Icehawk has just realized what happened! He looks mad! [Icehawk is right in the face of Scott Rogers as Edmund Fitzgerald tries to get in between them.] TD: What a blow-up! Let's look at the top that shows what Rogers did to deserve Icehawk's wrath! [Cut to video tape which shows Rogers climbing onto the top turnbuckle from the outside as Tragedy has Fitzgerald in the Marionette. He then leaps off the buckle onto the two wrestlers.] TD: Fitzgerald is trying to calm down Icehawk, but look...! [The Harlequins have grabbed the tag belts from ringside and have hoisted them over their heads to a huge pop from the crowd. This goes completely unnoticed by Genesis as they continue to argue in the ring. The officials finally get the Harlequins to relinquish the belts and they leave the ring area. Shortly after, Icehawk storms out of the ring and the rest of Genesis follow at a somewhat slower pace. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, Genesis are hardly showing the united front we saw at the top of this hour -- Cold Spell are truly fortunate to still be the IIWF World Tag Team Champions after that display. SR: Damned straight, Dross. The tough guy and the gay guy just don't seem to be getting along any more. TD: Icehawk is clearly still struggling with himself concerning his place in Genesis -- perhaps we've seen the situation resolved now. Perhaps Icehawk is walking out on Genesis! SR: So? TD: This could certainly have serious implications with regard to the tag team championship, Steve Roberts. SR: Like I said, so? TD: Well, even if you don't see the ramifications, Steve, I'm sure IIWF officials will be watching this situation very closely. But for now, we must move on. [Big heel pop as a figure appears in the aisle and saunters down to ringside. It is none other than Simon Lebec, who takes a seat next to Tim Dross, and picks up the spare headset from the table. The fans in the stands behind him jeer as he dons the headset and adjusts the microphone.] TD: Simon Lebec has shown his face at ringside. I imagine you're here to scout your competition for Midsummer Madness? SL: Yessir! Live and in color! TD: Simon, I must admit, that was quite a match right here last week against Marty Warnett. Even though you lost, you should be commended. SL: Well, I could say that Warnett almost beat me to death with a chair before the match started... but I won't. Fact is, I got three things to say! First of all, Marty Warnett was the better man last week. Secondly, this punk in here ain't no Marty Warnett. And lastly, if insect stings were worth $1.50 each, I'd still be a rich man! Allah has been quiet about our match at the Madness. Why? If he thinks I'll be a pushover, then he's got another thing coming! I proved last week that I was extreme. And at the Madness, I'll prove that I'm a champion! Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a match to watch. Talk amongst yourselves. I'll give you a topic... why Simon Lebec is the stuff that dreams are made of. Discuss. TD: Of course. Be that as it may, let's get up to the ring for our introductions. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Dirt Dog Unique Allah [c] vs. Derek Mota ....................................................................... WRITER: RP [Sparkplug Lee calmly takes his cue cards and reads off them in a manner that borders on professional:] RA: This next match is one fall for the IIWF Cruiserweight Championship. First, the challenger, hailing from Toronto, Ontario, Canada and weighing in at 224 pounds, this is Derek Motaaaaaaa! [The crowd pops for this courageous young man as he comes down to the ring with the sounds of "The Great Southern Trendkill" by Pantera filling the air. He is accompanied closely behind by an EMT unit. Mota ignores them completely.] TD: I understand that Derek's doctors would only consent to this match if there was an emergency team at the ready! SR: Now if Mota had any brains he would tell everyone that the team is here for his opponent. Instead, everyone knows the guy is a cripple! TD: What do you think, Simon? SL: Hmm? I think that someone is going to be using that stretcher... and it won't be me! I just hope that whoever has the belt will be medically fit to face me at Midsummer's Madness! You know how I hate excuses. [Mota preps himself in the ring, acting totally oblivious to the medical crew standing by. Sparkplug Lee is gaping at them, however, hoping that there won't be any blood. Icky.] RA: And the champion, hailing from Brooklyn, New York and weighing in at 238 pounds, Dirt Dog Unique Allaaaaaaah! ["Snakes" by Ol'Dirty Bastard starts playing but Allah doesn't appear. Finally he literally stumbles through the curtain, being supported by Medusa Rage and Pizzazz. He doesn't exactly look injured but...] TD: He's stinking drunk! SR: [laughing] That's the way Doggie! Owwwwwww! TD: I can't believe he would come to wrestle like that! What an insult to Derek Mota! Here is a man who has fought off major physical trauma to be here tonight and the champion shows up completely hammered! SR: I guess he couldn't handle the thought of ending the career of Mota so he had to go get himself some liquid courage! [Allah is helped into the ring by Medusa and Pizzazz and Dave D'amota calls for the bell. Mota charges right at DDUA and levels him with a clothesline. Hr pulls him back to his feet and Allah swings a wild roundhouse right, missing the mark by a good foot.] TD: This match could be very ugly. Allah is in no condition to wrestle. SR: He could probably win this match by breathing on Mota! [As if on cue, Mota goes to a collar and elbow tie-up and immediately breaks the hold after getting a facefull of DDUA'a breath. Allah tries to take advantage of this by taking Mota down with a sliding groin kick but the slide never materializes and he just ends up lying on his back in the middle of the ring. Mota quickly drops an elbow on him before picking him back up. He then snaps him over with a Dragon Suplex, D'Amato goes to count but DDUA's foot is on the rope.] TD: That was Pizzazz! Pizzazz put his foot on the rope! SR: What do you think she's there for, ferret-head? [Mota then locks DDUA in an Indian Deathlock and pours on the pressure. He holds on for half a minute as the crowd lets out a big heel pop.] SR: Mota was right! Allah is Genesis! [The collective forces of Genesis, minus Icehawk, are heading down the aisle. Mota releases the hold and prepares for the onslaught but they do not enter the ring. DDUA tries to take advantage of Mota's distraction by hitting him with a leg-lariat to the back. Instead the lariat hits him in the butt. He does fall forwards and through the ropes, right at the feet of the Highwayman.] TD: Uh-oh. Here it comes. [Mota fires a right hand at the larger man who takes the shot and returns the favour. Before it can get any farther, Genesis swarms Mota and throws him back into the ring, with a few surreptitious shots to the midsection on the way up.] SR: What are these guys doing? Don't they want to beat up Mota? They always want to beat up Mota! TD: This is getting even more complicated, Steve and Simon, because here comes the Age of Rage! [The Age of Rage is heading down to ringside and Genesis seems completely oblivious to it. When they reach the foot of the aisle they call out and Genesis collectively turns and approaches them.] SR: Are these guys going to fight over that drunk? Why doesn't he just say which team he's on? TD: I don't even think he knows what's going on! Mota has just hit him with a Double Underhook Suplex and is going for the cover. Medusa Rage put his foot on the ropes! Mota should have won this match by now but -- oh my! [DDUA finds that last bit of clarity he needs and punches Mota directly in the groin. D'Amato is watching Genesis and the Age of Rage face-off and misses the whole thing. Allah starts climbing to the top rope just as the two factions at ringside start raining blows on each other.] SR: A brawl! Yahoo! TD: I can't believe that Dirt Dog is going up to the top! In his condition he could seriously hurt himself! SL: We can always hope... or help. [Simon Lebec removes his headset and runs over to the ring. The referee and the two stables are distracted by the brawl so no one but Dross, Roberts, and Mota see Lebec grab the top rope and shake, sending Allah groin first onto the turnbuckle. Mota quickly takes advantage and climbs onto the second rope, in front of DDUA.] TD: Simon Lebec has knocked Allah from his perch! SR: Isn't that a kind of bird? Or fish? [Mota drops DDUA in a Crucifix Power Bomb and makes the cover...] TD: Mota has hit the Splash Mountain! D'Amato is out of position but Lebec gets has attention... his counts the pin... ONE... TWO... THREE! We have a new champion! [Mota rolls off as D'Amato calls for the bell. The Age of Rage extricates themselves from Genesis and Tony Starks pulls Dirt Dog from the ring and they quickly head up the aisle, in the direction that Simon Lebec has already vanished.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner... and _NEW_ Cruiserweight Champion... Derek Mota! TD: What an amazing victory from a man who has the most intestinal fortitude I've ever seen! SR: He beat up some drunk guy. So what? TD: Oh no! Genesis has stormed the ring! [Huge heel pop as Genesis starts pounding on the new champ. The JJS hits the ring very quickly and pulls the various Genesis members away. As they leave the ring, Requiem grabs a cameraman.] RQ: That's just a taste of things to come! TD: Mota is hurt! The EMT technicians are helping him onto the stretcher and wheeling him down the aisle. [Half way down the aisle Mota thrusts his hands, holding the title belt defiantly into the air to a HUGE crowd pop.] TD: I can't think of a more deserving champion than Derek Mota. SR: I can't thin of more than, say, twelve or so. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: We have a new Cruiserweight Champion, Steve Roberts! We're going to take a short break, but in just a few moments, we'll be back with our second hour, kicked off by that special interview with Dan Kauffman! Don't go away! [Cut to a wide-angle view of the Coliseum from high in the rafters as Mota disappears into the locker room area, supporting himself on his elbows on the stretcher as he holds the Cruiserweight belt high into the air. 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+