[The opening graphics explode onto the screen:] ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour two...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon August 23 1997 [Fade back up onto an interior shot of the IIWF Coliseum. Another volley of fireworks erupts in the rafters, rockets shooting down the aisle to the entranceway either side of the huge video wall, where more huge pyros explode with deafening bangs, sending clouds of smoke billowing up into the rafters. The shot swings down past row upon row of fans, all waving and shouting at the cameras. Cut to the ring area as the lights rise and the smoke clears. Suddenly, "Black Cat" begins to play at deafening levels, and all at once, almost every single living soul save the Genesis Generation fans, and even some of them, ERUPT! The lights go out, and fireworks illuminate the arena in blue and white colors... the colors which can only mean one thing! The chanting begins, picking up to staggering levels: "KAUFF - MAN! KAUFF - MAN! KAUFF - MAN!" and then the cameras focus in the stands, where Tiger Claw and Casey James walk through the crowd towards the ring! Cut to another area of the stands, where the tall and eerie Deathbringer himself, towering above all, also walks through the sea of people towards the ring! 'Bringer, James and Claw all reach the ring and climb on in, and then they motion towards the entranceway. And as the cameras, the fans, the announcers, and quite possibly the entire wrestling world looks on, and as Janet Jackson belts out lyrics:] TD: HERE HE COMES! SR: What does he have to say? That's the big question! Actually, if     there is something he _doesn't_ say, that will shock the hell out of     me. TD: Well, we're about to find out! [In a simple black tee-shirt with the word "RESPECT" printed in white on the front, and in a pair of faded blue jean shorts, Dan Kauffman arrives at the entranceway! HUGE POP! Banners fly high, signs are waved, and fans literally jump to lean over the railing and touch the hand, the shoulders, the chest, any part of Kauffman. Dan looks around the entire arena, then points to the heavens above and mouths a single "Thank You". Then, slapping hands and talking to several fans along the way, Dan Kauffman walks up to the apron. And, as he did in his first ever IIWF appearance, Kauffman jumps straight up from the concrete floor to the apron, and vaults over the top to the middle of the ring! The fans, who have given their hearts to cheering Kauffman, not to mention the others, get even louder as Kauffman brings Claw, 'Bringer and James in, and talks to them for a few seconds.] TD: You have to wonder what Kauffman is telling his old rivals. Dan     Kauffman has fought incredible matches against all of the guys in the ring, and they all certainly have a great deal of respect for one another. SR: If there is one thing ol' "Lame Duck" did last week, it was to unite the Old Generation for the first time. They needed direction, and I think Kauffman came back to give it. But for how long? Verhoeven hates Kauffman. James hates Kauffman. Can they stay together? Is Kauffman even gonna wrestle? Too many questions. TD: And many to be answered right now! [Kauffman then gets the microphone from the ring announcer, and looks around into the crowd, amidst a sea of faces, and for a few seconds, he simply stares out and smiles, even pointing at a few. Then, when that is done, Kauffman says just one word...] DK: Respect. [And the fans cheer again. Kauffman looks at his long time rivals, all of them nodding, and then Kauffman turns back around...] DK: It's what I live, breathe and sleep with. It's what I will take with me to my grave. It's what I hope to show to my little daughter Tanya all the time. It's what I will always show my fans. And it is what I must talk about tonight. Respect. Just a simple word, really. But it's a delicate one as well. And before I really get into it, I need to say one thing...     Respect... is what wrestling, as a whole, has lost. [A big crowd pop, many of them nodding "yes" to the simple remark. Kauffman looks around at his comrades, who nod as well...] DK: Everything I say tonight will be about respect, in one form or another. I'm gonna say some harsh things about wrestling tonight. I didn't want to, but I'm going to have to. Because someone _needs_ to, and I can't sit on my recliner and watch what is happening in wrestling go on any longer. Respect has been thrown out the window in wrestling, and I'm here to put it back! [The fans start to sit down, and a quiet hush, almost suffocating, fills the arena.] DK: Wrestling, as a sport, needs respect to survive. It needs its combatants to be able to respect one another, respect the fans, and respect the very sport of wrestling in and of itself. They don't have to like the fans or their fellow wrestlers, but the wrestlers do need to respect them. It is the only way that the sport of wrestling which I love so much can exist in its glorious state.     When I tour around the wrestling world, and I sit in the stands at     various events held by various organizations, I see two things that     stand out. I see the men who step in the ring, get their game face     on, and whether cheered or not, they wrestle their hearts out to win. The guys that do this know what the sport is all about. They respect the competition and the sport. Then, I see the men who step in a wrestling ring and use it to put on a show which should be reserved for stages. The ring, contrary to popular belief, is _not_ a stage. It is a place of battle. The men that use it for their own image do not respect the sport at all. These men do nothing but damage wrestling as a whole, and it is sad to watch.     Some people think that the wrestling ring should be a place where you can say anything you feel like without repercussions, in any way. Some people think that the wrestling ring is a place where any actions should be allowed to go forth. I've seen grown men strip down to nothing before. I've seen matches with the sole intent being to maim another and embarrass him. I've seen stunts pulled in a wrestling ring that wouldn't be allowed in any nightclub in the world.     I'm tired of watching these men who don't care about, respect, or     even understand what wrestling is all about, ruining the sport for     those of us who try, day in and day out, to make it as great as it     possibly can be. So here's my message to everyone. If you aren't able to compete in the ring with a respectful, decent manner... if you don't respect the organization you are in... if you are in this great sport only for show... if you don't respect the wrestlers, the fans, or the sport as a whole... then leave it or change your ways. You have done too much damage to a wonderful sport. I won't watch it anymore. [Some of the crowd stands and applauds Kauffman for his words, and Claw, James and Deathbringer nod in approval. Dan merely waits, then continues:]     As far as the Old Generation and the New Generation is concerned,     I have nothing against the New Generation as a whole. If the athletes coming into this sport care and respect the competition and the sport, then I wish them the best of luck. I was the new guy in town before, and I remember all the veterans trying to hold me back. I won't do that. If a new guy can come in here and wrestle to the best of his ability, that's fine.     But I _DO_ have a problem with Genesis.     And I'm ready to fight them because of it. [The Genesis Generation acts as if they couldn't care less, but the rest of the crowd pops like hell.] TD: I think that confirms it! I think Dan Kauffman is gonna wrestle! SR: Like, hooray. DK: It amuses me to see Cold Spell talk for Genesis last Monday about the respect they have. Because it is pretty obvious that they don't even know what the word means, much less care about it. So let me give Cold Spell, Annis, Highwayman, AND that champion Req, a quick clue as to _WHY_ the Genesis Generation doesn't have a CLUE as to respect!     First of all, respect doesn't come from ganging up on lesser numbers     and beating them into a pulp. That may earn you some nice wins and a lot of enemies, but it earns you absolutely _ZILCHO_ in the respect department! No, if you want respect, you have to earn it on your own two feet! You can have your partners mutilate a guy till he's unrecognisable, but the simple fact is, ANYONE with a few friendly helpers can become a champion. Requiem, that World Title belt of yours should be cut in five pieces and be spread out among every member of Genesis, becuase you sure as hell didn't earn it on your own! In other words, you didn't prove yourself worthy of respect!     Requiem, that IIWF World Championship does not belong in your hands. [Huge crowd pop!]     I've faced men who were the most ornery individuals in the world. Three of them are standing behind me. Their methods, demeanour, and motives could all be questioned at times. Even my motives can, and _should_, be questioned at times. But the simple fact is, when it came time to win the IIWF Championship... [Kauffman walks besides Deathbringer...]     This big guy won it on his own two feet! [Kauffman walks over to Casey James...]     Whether I like to admit it or not... THIS big guy won it on HIS own     two feet! [And Kauffman walks over to Tiger Claw...]     And the greatest Intercontinental Champion in IIWF history certainly     proved he is capable on HIS OWN TWO FEET!         [The crowd begins to pop again, but Kauffman raises a hand to stop everyone, and just as he does... one particular section begins to yell out! Kauffman glances up their way with the rest of the crowd, and everyone notices the form of "Sychosys" Joe Petrow, standing with his hands on his hips. Kauffman smiles...] TD: What's Petrow doing out here? SR: The Franchise is simply looking on, like all of us. DK: [points at Petrow] Yes Joe, even you have respect. You stand on your own two feet just like the others behind me.     But you know, unlike them, I can't stand up here and say that I won the World Championship... or any championship...using my own two feet. Because I didn't. [The crowd begins to buzz...] TD: You know, Dan is right on that. The Subway Psycho won him that Championship. Then he became a Player's Club member. SR: And I know it's gotta be eating him alive... I love it! DK: It's funny, in a way. Everyone in this ring has proven that they     deserve the respect they get... except for me. I don't like Steve     Roberts, but the fact is, everything he says is right. SR: Ha! DK: But... I may not have always been the most worthy man of respect. I may not have always done things the right way. But I am damn sure that, of all the people who have ever stepped in the world of the IIWF, I poured my mind, my heart, and my enire soul into this organization, its _fans_, and everything the IIWF has ever stood for! I was here when it started, I gave everything to this organization, and when I left, I may have left on the wrong end of a match, but I left with pride.     I made a lot of mistakes. But I know when I need to do something,     and when I see the Genesis Generation destroying tradition and hurling respect out the window, I HAVE to stand against it. [The crowd begins to pop again...]     The FACTS are this, Genesis. You can try to take apart the IIWF piece by piece and refuse to have respect for anything about it, but the men standing in this ring right now... myself included... we _MADE_ this federation succeed! WE gave everything to see that the IIWF became the greatest federation in the world today, and contrary to what others would like you to think, it is STILL the greatest     wrestling organization in wrestling today! And it is only because of Casey James, Tiger Claw, Deathbringer, Otto Verhoeven, Subway Psycho, J.W. Hardin, and myself, that YOU, Genesis, can have the OPPORTUNITY to become what you have become! The only reason you boys have a platform to stand on and be recognised is because WE MADE IT! [HUGE Crowd Pop! James, Claw and Deathbringer all nod, and Kauffman walks back to them, standing in front of the Deathbringer, with Claw and James to either side, Kauffman looks back at the camera as the crowd pops like mad...] DK: But Genesis will only fight their way. Fine. You wanted to destroy the Old Generation, but you didn't think it could ever join together and put the past behind. Well, boys, WE HAVE! And if you want a long war, WE can give YOU the longest damn war in wrestling history! You want respect? Come and earn it against the men who built the IIWF.     Respect. WE have it. YOU never will. [HUGE Crowd Pop as "Black Cat" begins to play again! Kauffman, James, Claw and 'Bringer seem to just look at each other, and perhaps in mutual agreement, they all shake hands again. Kauffman smiles, and at once, James, Claw and Kauffman all climb a turnbuckle and raise their hands high, while Deathbringer dims the lights! Fireworks erupt again as the four Old Gen stars salute the fans! HUGE POP!] TD: Oh my! Four of the biggest superstars in IIWF history standing in the same ring, united against a common enemy! This is a historic moment, Steve Roberts! SR: Maybe -- but it looks like the party is about to be pooped. [Janet Jackson is suddenly cut off, and the crowd's cheering turns to a huge heel pop as the words, "From this day forth, until the end of time, there shall be no mercy for the damned!" boom out across the PA. A spotlight clicks on, sending a shaft of bright light into the aisle, where Genesis stand -- Requiem stands furthest forward, his arms folded, the World belt glittering around his waist; behind his left shoulder stands Serge Annis, and beyond him stands Fitz; behind Requiem's right shoulder stands Scott Rogers, and beyond him stands Icehawk. All of them stand firm, their arms folded, a stern expression on their faces.] TD: This could get ugly, Steve Roberts... the challenges are simply piling up for Genesis! At the opening of our first hour, Mad Dog Watkins challenged Genesis to a match at Midsummer Madness -- and now Dan Kauffman and his partners are taking a stand against this pack of dogs! [The lights in the arena rise once more as Kauffman, James, Claw and 'Bringer all move to the side of the ring nearest the aisle, and beckon Genesis to get into the ring! Huge pop!] SR: They're calling them out, Dross! TD: We could see a war right here! [Tense moments pass, the men in the ring continuing to challenge Genesis to face them, and Genesis standing resolute in the aisle. The crowd egg all sides on, and the noise reaches almost deafening levels!] TD: I can barely hear myself think! These people want to see the war, here tonight! [With a single movement, Requiem unfolds his arms and draws a thumb across his throat, before turning and heading back up the aisle, every member of Genesis turning his back on the ring and simply walking away, slowly, confidently. Kauffman, James, Claw and 'Bringer shake their heads and confer in the ring, keeping their eyes on the aisle all the while, as Genesis leave the area.] TD: What arrogance from Genesis! Absolutely breathtaking, Steve Roberts! Requiem and his gang simply turned their back on Kauffman's challenge and walked out of here! SR: They're yellow, Dross. God knows they're not scared of Kauffman, but 'Bringer, James and Claw -- they're real, tough competition, Dross. [The crowd lets rip with its dissatisfaction at Genesis' strategic retreat, and in the ring, the four men look around at the crowd, nod in agreement -- and then charge out of the ring and up the aisle after Genesis! Huge, huge pop!] TD: Oh my! They're going to take it to the locker room! This thing hasn't even begun here tonight, folks! We'll keep you posted on any developments, but right now, it's time for our next match. Last week, we saw Billy Shakespeare wow the fans with his incredible performance in three matches back to back, defeating both Sebastian Jericho and Tonnage, before going on to face Ronnie Paris -- who was able to capitalise on the exhaustion and injury incurred on Shakespeare by his previous matches. Let's go back and take a look. [Cut to footage captioned, "IIWF Saturday Night: Last Week." Paris has a bruised and battered Billy Shakespeare locked into a camel clutch. Shakespeare shakes his head as Ronnie Paris exerts the pressure and the referee asks him if he wants to quit. "No!" cries Shakespeare as the crowd chant begins anew: "Bil-ly! Bil-ly! Bil-ly!"] SR: Listen ta those morons, Dross. Shakespeare's finished this time! [Back in the ring Paris really exerts himself, putting more on more pressure on the lower back as he leans back further and pulls harder on the chin of Billy Shakespeare! Again the referee asks Shakespeare, and again Shakespeare violently shakes his head. The crowd chant intensifies: "BIL-LY! BIL-LY!] TD: The name of Shakespeare is practically raising the roof, Steve     Roberts! Just listen to those great fans, fans who are once again     solidly behind Billy Shakespeare!    SR: Yeah, if he weren't in indescribable agony I dare say he's be really     happy about that, Dross. Stupid kid still won't submit though. He's     gonna do himself some lasting damage if he don't quit soon!    [In the ring Paris is practically vertical on Shakespeare's back as he desperately tries to exert more pressure, but still Shakespeare will not submit. Again and again the referee asks Shakespeare, and again and again Shakespeare cries out "No!" as he hears his fans chant his name. But it does not look good for Billy Shakespeare as his cries of "NO!" grow steadily weaker...] TD: Oh my goodness, Steve Roberts! It's been close to six minutes, and     although Billy Shakespeare shows no signs of submitting it looks     like he's fading fast! SR: Wimp. TD: I cannot believe you said that, Steve! SR: Only six minutes? Wimp. [The crowd raises the roof with their cries of "BIL-LY! BIL-LY! but as the referee checks with Shakespeare he receives no reply. Looking concerned, the referee raises Shakespeare's arm. It drops.] TD: Oh, no. Oh, no, Steve Roberts. This does not look good. SR: It does for Paris. [Again the referee raises Shakespeare's arm. Once more it drops. The crowd go ballistic, crying out "BIL-LY! BIL-LY!" as Paris looks about furiously. He cannot believe that the crowd are so solidly behind the man who did his beloved Maggie such harm, and he again yanks back harder, the form of Billy Shakespeare now almost forming a capital "L" on the mat, his bruised and battered back almost vertical... The referee raises Shakespeare's arm once more...] TD: Not like this! [It drops. The referee signals for the bell, and Sparkplug Lee's voice is heard...] SL: Ladies and Gentlemen, here is your winner... Ronnie Paris! [As Paris lets Shakespeare drop to the mat and stands for the referee to raise his hand in victory the crowd jeers and booes mightily, Paris seeming almost stung by the crowd's reaction. He prods the unconscious form of Billy Shakespeare once with his boot, as if to check that he is still unconscious, and then leaves the ring to a mighty heel pop as he walks down the aisle, his hand still raised in victory. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: An uncharacteristically vicious performance from Ronnie Paris secured his victory last Saturday Night -- what kind of match are we going to see here this week as these two tremendous IIWF superstars square off once again? SR: I've still got my pillow at the ready. TD: Will you stop?! Let's get up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare vs. Ronnie Paris |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: DS [Cut to Sparkplug Lee, who stands in the ring in his powder blue tuxedo.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first... [The thudding drums and wailing guitars of Queen's "We Are The Champions" kicks in over the PA. Big mixed pop from the crowd!] ...hailing from El Paso, Texas, and weighing in at 210lbs, here is... Ronnie Paris! [The form of Ronnie Paris emerges from the locker room as he steps out into the arena. His unremarkable physique glistens with water droplets, and he pauses to run a hand through his cropped brown hair, sending drops of water flying. Wearing his plain red singlet and tights and white boots, Paris makes his way down the aisle, a look of determination apparently glued to his face. He does not reach out to touch the hands of the fans who lean over the railings, but he does not brush them away either. Without making a song and dance of his entrance, he simply strides down to ringside and climbs the ringsteps, entering the ring between the ropes. He moves to an opposite corner and begins stretching and loosening himself up.] TD: Ronnie Paris looks to be all business as ever, Steve Roberts. It's hard to see past that facade he constructs when he's in the ring -- if you speak to him in the street, in the parking lot or in the locker room, he's an extremely personable young man, but in the squared circle, he's completely focused on the task at hand. SR: You notice that these moronic fans aren't exactly cheering the loudest you've ever heard, Dross? TD: Indeed. Something of a mixed reception for the third-generation superstar here. And I must say that when I ran into Ronnie in the Towers this past week, he wasn't as friendly as he usually is -- I wonder whether perhaps he's carrying the attitude he displays in the ring into the rest of his life. [The strains of Queen fade from the PA as the lights in the arena drop and the opening chords of the Sweet's "Little Willie" kick in. Huge pop!] RA: And introducing his opponent... coming down the aisle, hailing from Ashland, Oregon, and weighing in at 230lbs, here is... "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare! [A single spotlight picks out the form of Billy Shakespeare at the head of the aisle as he throws aside the entrance curtain and steps into the arena. His otherwise bare upper torso is strapped around the rib area, but this is the only deviation from his usual wrestling attire of white and gold tights emblazoned with the theatrical tragi-comedy masks. He performs his trademark deep bow to the appreciative fans, and a slight wince is evident on his face as he straightens up once more. With that, he begins his walk to the ring, the spotlight following him from one side of the aisle to the other, and back again, as he takes his time high-fiving as many fans as possible.] TD: Quite a contrast in the entrances of these two superstars, Steve Roberts. It almost seems that Shakespeare is trying to make a point of his relationship with the fans here -- and the crowd certainly seems to appreciate his attention. SR: Who cares what these morons think anyway, Dross? TD: Well, apparently both of these young athletes care a great deal. SR: Bigger fools them. [The lights rise as Shakespeare approaches the ring. He makes a complete circuit of the ringside area, slapping the hands of the fans. He even pauses in front of the broadcast table and offers his hand to Steve Roberts, who simply ignores him. Shakespeare smirks and moves on.] SR: Moron. TD: Ronnie Paris is beginning to look a little impatient in the ring here, Steve Roberts. I believe Billy Shakespeare is trying to frustrate his opponent before this match even begins. [Finally, Shakespeare climbs the ringsteps and moves along the apron. He looks across the ring at Paris and bows deeply once more to his opponent before stepping between the ropes. The music fades from the PA as the two men square up in the centre of the ring. Soon, Paris and Shakespeare are standing nose to nose. Shakespeare signals for the mic, and Sparkplug quickly brings it.] BS: Maybe the time is long past for me to come clean.  Yes, I've made some mistakes these past months.  Even Shakespeare the playwright penned Cymabline and King John, no masterpieces they.  My... our... only defense is that we were only trying our best to please you... our fans.  Let me drop pretenses for a moment.  I'm just a small town boy from nearby Ashland... [The crowd pops for the local boy!] I had a big dream.  A dream to see my name in lights.  I was blessed, maybe cursed, with this name and this talent.  I wanted to hear my name shouted by the crowd.  Yeah, there was theatre, and I was pretty good, but it couldn't match the live excitement, the thrill of victory, that wrestling provided.  I wanted to see each one of your faces up close.  That's what it is all about.  Sometimes the cheers come easily.  Sometimes you gotta work harder for them.  Recently, I heard your cheers die.  Dead men, "Sychotics", and a New Generation left few cheers for Billy Shakespeare.  I got angry.  I lost control. Courtesy of a blow to the head, I also lost my mind.  But I'm back, and even bigger than before.  What other option is there? [Another appreciative pop from the crowd!] I wrestled three men in a row.  The "Curtain Call" lost its flavor, I give you the "Final Act".  Did you like what you saw last Saturday?  There's plenty more where that came from.  Everything I've done has been for the entertainment of the greatest fans in the world, for the IIWF.  Damn the cost to me!  The show must go on!    [Crowd pops again.  Shakespeare turns to Paris.]   Now _this_ guy says he wants some cheers too.  I gotta apologize to you for what happened to your wife, and I repaid that by giving you a victory over me.  I apologize for nothing else, that's part of the business.  So what is it that you want to be applauded for, Paris?  An armbar?  A suplex?  Ned Norton can armbar and suplex. [Cheer from a bald fan in the front row.] It takes sweat to make it in theatre.  It takes sweat and blood to make it in the IIWF.  So who are you, Ronnie Paris?  Okay, we know you've got no gimmick, so then, what DO you have?  Did you come around here looking for "Born to Perform" Billy Shakespeare to give you a few lessons in personality? [He thrusts the mic at Paris.] RP: I'm very impressed with your life story there, "Mr. Shakespeare". Maybe you should hear a little bit of mine. When I was seventeen years old... seventeen god damn years old... I was on a plane over the Pacific, on my way to live in Nagano, Japan. I was just a local boy in El Paso, I'd never gone farther from my home then 10 miles, and now I'm off to live in a foreign country. I wasn't even out of high school, and I'm off to wrestle in the Orient. I was scared, I was nervous, but I was determined that I'd learn the ropes of this business we call professional wrestling. [The crowd sits mostly in silence, anticipating how this relates back to the current staredown.] So I end up spending five years in Japan... I graduated from a Japanese high school, got a degree in kinesiology from a Japanese university, and I learned how to wrestle. May I emphasize that word _wrestle_. After bouncing around Stateside, I land a contract here in the IIWF. Can anyone guess what that "W" stands for? [Some of the crowd aren't good at picking up rhetorical questions, so they shout out, "Wrestling!"] That's right, wrestling. What I do best. That's why I thought I might fit in here, because I can wrestle. That's why I thought I'd get appreciated here, because I can wrestle. Yes, Ned Norton can use armbars and suplexes, but I can use them _well_. Oh, and Billy, just for you I checked on the "F" in "IIWF." It doesn't stand for "freakshow," so I think you're in the wrong place. [Shakespeare bristles at the comment, looking to start the fight right  now, but Paris backs off a step to a mostly heel pop.] Thanks for the offer of teaching me your personality, Billy, but there's no "P" at all in IIWF. It's not the Miss America pageant, I don't get docked points for not having my make-up on. But still, you want to impress the "greatest fans in the world", the IIWF fans. [Pop from the crowd!] Well, if the IIWF fans need a painted clown to entertain them, how great can they be? I know these fans have intelligence in them, and I intend to drag it out of you, even if it has to be kicking and screaming. Now you have to prove you are great fans... are you going to cheer a wrestler who busts his ass for you every week, or a farce who can't decide if he wants to attack women or suck up to you? It's time to put up or shut up, IIWF fans. [With that, Paris shuts up, throwing the mic to the mat. Referee Joey Patrick punts the microphone out of the ring with his shoe and signals for the bell to begin the match. Ding! Ding! Ding! Immediately, Paris and Shakespeare lunge for a lock-up, Paris going low to aim for Shakespeare's taped ribs.] TD: We're underway! [Paris backs Shakespeare into the ropes, and Billy holds his hands up, asking match official Earl Alfonso for the break. Paris obliges, and the two men stare at one another again. Shakespeare adjusts his fingerless gloves as he warily approaches Paris again -- and the two men lunge once more, this time locking up collar and elbow. After a brief tussle for supremacy, Paris twists Shakespeare round into a hammerlock, which sees Billy shuffling this way and that, trying to find his way out of the move. Quick as lightning, Billy ducks under Paris' arm, then flips over backwards to reverse the hold, before bending Paris double, laying a leg over the back of his opponent's neck, and again flipping backwards, freeing himself from the Texan's grip. The fluid motion continues as Shakespeare pushes Paris, who is beginning to pull himself back to his full height, into the ropes, and then drop onto his back, hooking Paris' underarms with his feet, and pulling him over backwards before rolling over Paris himself and grabbing the tights for a quick -- 1 - 2 - Paris slips out! Appreciative pop from the crowd!] TD: What a combination of moves from Billy Shakespeare there! Just watching him is making me dizzy! SR: Yeah, but you're the kind of moron who sits in front of a washing machine and thinks he's watching some TV show about watersports. [Shakespeare backs off from the frustrated Paris, and bows deeply to him again, apparently in an effort to rile him up. Pop from the crowd! Paris, however, doesn't bite, and grits his teeth as he nods at Shakespeare and yells for him to stop stalling. The two men lock up once more, and again it is Paris who gets the upper hand, slipping behind Shakespeare and forcing him to the mat with a single leg takedown, before spinning himself around and applying an anklelock submission hold on the Oregon native. Pop from the crowd!] TD: And almost equal agility shown there by Ronnie Paris! Shakespeare could be in trouble! SR: You notice that Paris didn't go for all the flashy flipping and leaping around like his tights are on fire that you see from Shakespeare. TD: Indeed. No wasted motion whatsoever from Ronnie Paris -- and Shakespeare needs to escape this hold. [Shakespeare edges towards the ropes with his hand outstretched... his face contorted in pain, he reaches out just a little further -- and finds the rope! Shakespeare grabs the bottom rope, and Alfonso calls for the break! Big pop! Paris obliges, and both men are quickly to their feet, again looking at one another, perhaps trying to psyche out the other, perhaps trying to find a sign of weakness. Once more, the two men move to lock up -- but this time Shakespeare slips the lunge, twists behind Paris -- and plants him on the back of his head with a snap belly-to-back suplex! Big pop from the crowd!] TD: Oh my! Out of nowhere, a big suplex from Shakespeare -- but Paris is straight back up -- armdrag! Paris is straight back down to the mat! Shakespeare has just stepped this match up a gear! [The crowd begin to warm to the match as they witness a flurry of moves from the men in the ring: Paris is armdragged as he charges at Shakespeare; straight back up, he charges again, and this time blocks the armdrag attempt by an elbow to Shakespeare's taped ribs; Paris attempts to whip Shakespeare into the ropes, Billy reverses... and Paris is sent flying to the mat once more by a jumping Mexican armdrag! Big pop at the unusual move!] TD: That shot to the ribs didn't seem to slow Shakespeare down for long, Steve. SR: Paris has to hit him harder. He's a moron for not taking advantage of his opponent's clear disadvantage right from the start of the match. TD: I think young Ronnie is trying to prove a point -- that his pure, technical style is worthy of the respect of these great fans -- and taking advantage of an opponent's injury is somewhat at variance with that ideal. SR: Aw, you know what I always say, Dross: what the hell, smash the ribs. TD: You never say that, Steve Roberts. SR: But you always say that, Dross. [Paris is a little slower to get back up this time, and as he rises, he again sees Shakespeare taking a deep, almost mocking bow towards him. The fans applaud Shakespeare's cockiness, while Paris simply shakes his head and shakes the kinks out of his muscles. Paris charges at Shakespeare, who slips around him and manages to cinch in a backslide! Pop! However, the slightly smaller Ronnie manages to drag Shakespeare down towards the mat, and the fans respond with a mixed pop... but before Paris can drop to his knees and secure his supremacy, Shakespeare counters, and powers Paris back over in his direction! Big pop for Billy as he drags Paris down for a pinfall attempt: 1 - 2 - Paris slips out!] TD: Very close again there, Steve. These two men are evenly matches in terms of background and physique -- only their contrasting styles truly separate them. [Paris is up quicker than his opponent, and helps Shakespeare to feet, before whipping him into the ropes. Billy ducks the clothesline attempt which follows, and rebounds off the far side again. Paris now lifts a knee into Billy's midsection, sending the Oregon native through a somersault of 360 degrees. Mixed pop! Paris hesitates, looking into the crowd, before dragging Shakespeare back to his feet again and executing a backbreaker on his opponent. He is greeted with jeers from the crowd. Quickly, Paris picks up Shakespeare once more, and again whips him into the ropes...] TD: Oh my! A spinebuster from Ronnie Paris! Paris with a spinebuster! And these fans do not like it at all! [Paris looks out into the stands, a question on his face: "Why?" As Shakespeare tries to get to his feet, the fans continue to jeer the Texan. Paris' face begins to darken, and he walks around the perimeter of the ring by the ropes, looking out at the fans who jeer him. With every step, he seems to become more and more frustrated. Finally, he stops at one corner, and yells, "Shut up!" The result, by contrast, is an increase in the volume of the jeering, and some of the fans even begin a "Ronnie Sucks! Ronnie Sucks!" chant.] TD: I don't understand these people, Steve Roberts. Ronnie Paris has wrestled a textbook match here, and these people are jeering him. SR: Well, I can't say I'm particularly fond of widdle Wonnie, but we all know that these fans are morons. [Suddenly, Paris turns back to Shakespeare, who is now on his hands and knees, nursing his bruised ribs -- and nearly lifts him clean off the mat with a hard kick to his midsection! Big heel pop!] TD: What?! SR: Field goal, Dross! Paris wins the game for the El Paso Pistachios! TD: El Paso's football team is not called the Pistachios, Steve Roberts! But that's irrelevant -- Paris just blasted Shakespeare in the ribs! SR: A man can't take the high ground forever, Dross! Paris has snapped! TD: Well, the fans have certainly been getting under Paris' skin in this match, but... but there's no call for this. Oh, this is bad. [Paris again lifts Shakespeare from the mat with another hard kick to the ribs. Earl Alfonso warns Paris, and steps between the Texan and the prone Shakespeare, whose face is contorted with the pain of the blows to his bruised torso. Paris runs a hand through his sweat-drenched short hair, and again looks around at the crowd. The "Ronnie Sucks! Ronnie Sucks!" chant continues to pick up momentum amongst the fans. Shakespeare backs himself into one corner, and tries to pull himself up using the turnbuckles. The official moves to check on Billy, but finds himself shoved out of the way by Paris, who moves in on Shakespeare -- but Shakespeare doubles Paris over with a kick to the midsection! Big pop! Billy grabs Paris in the gutwrench position and, summoning up all the strength he can, hoists the Texan over his head -- and then dumps him over the turnbuckles! Paris is dumped straddling the turnbuckles, facing the stands. Big pop!] TD: Paris landed hard on those turnbuckles -- and he's stunned... he's sitting on those buckles facing the fans -- what's Shakespeare doing? SR: His ribs are hurt, Dross. It hurt him to lift Paris up with that gutwrench. TD: Indeed, but now, Shakespeare going to the buckles, dragging Paris to his feet, both men standing on the top turnbuckle -- this is a very precarious position to be in, Steve Roberts, so dangerous -- and... Oh my! [Huge, deafening roar from the crowd, as Shakespeare somehow leaps up and scissors Paris' head, performing an incredible hurricanrana on the Texan from the top rope which sends him flying across the ring! Shakespeare too hits the canvas with force, and both men are down on the mat...] TD: Oh my goodness! A hurricanrana from the top rope -- unbelievable! Listen to these people, Steve Roberts! SR: Do I have to?! [The chant of "Billy! Billy!" now rises from the twenty thousand fans in the Coliseum, cheering on Oregon's favourite son as he attempts to rise. He stirs first, Alfonso's count having reached four amidst the cheering, stamping and chanting of the crowd, and rolls to his knees, still clutching at his damaged ribs. Meanwhile, on the other side of the ring, Paris too begins to stir, and drags himself to his feet. Shakespeare gets to his feet, but looks decidedly unsteady -- Paris, now looking more alert, charges at Shakespeare -- who, perhaps unintentionally, drops to his knees, his head colliding below Paris' waistline. Huge intake of breath from the male fans in the Coliseum as Paris takes a couple of breathless steps backwards -- and Shakespeare pulls Paris' legs out from under him! Paris hits the mat, and Shakespeare stands above him, the Texan's feet in his hands.] SR: That was intentional, Dross! Shakespeare just headbutted Paris in his wife's best friend! TD: That's quite enough, Steve Roberts -- and I don't believe that was intentional. Billy Shakespeare is finding it hard to battle through the pain of those injured ribs -- but what's he doing here? [Shakespeare rolls backwards, again hooking Paris' underarms with his feet -- and sending the Texan through the air with a slingshot! Big pop!] TD: Slingshot! Slingshot -- and Paris sails clean over the turnbuckles! Oh my! He just hit the steel ringpost! Paris sailed clean over those buckles, and hit his face on that steel ringpost! Oh, Paris is busted open! SR: If he were Sebastian Jericho, that would be an improvement. TD: Would you stop?! This is bad -- Paris may have a broken nose here. [Paris staggers back into the ring and slumps to the mat, blood gushing from his nose. Shakespeare brings himself to his feet, and receives the cheers of the fans in the Coliseum. He looks down at Paris and begins to yell at him to get back up, even bending down to the mat to ensure that Paris hears him. Paris swings out with a wild right hand, but seems to find it hard to see straight due to the stabbing pain in his nose. Earl Alfonso checks on Paris, who pulls himself to his feet using the referee as support. Paris wipes some of the blood from his face on his arm, and stares wide-eyed across the ring at Shakespeare, who yet again bows deeply to his opponent... and Paris charges! Big mixed pop!] TD: Oh my! Look at Ronnie Paris, Steve Roberts! He is a man possessed! [Paris lunges at Shakespeare, and immediately begins raining down innumerable blows on any part of Shakespeare he can get his hands on -- face, torso, legs, arms -- literally attempting to pound Shakespeare into submission. Shakespeare tries in vain to protect his ribs, but Paris is merciless. The crowd begin to jeer him solidly once more... "Ronnie Sucks! Ronnie Sucks!"] TD: Paris now -- ripping away at Shakespeare's taped ribs. He's ripping the tape from Billy's ribs! SR: He has snapped, Dross! He's lost it this time! I love it! [Paris tears away at the tape around Shakespeare's torso, despite the protestations of Alfonso, and before long, Shakespeare's bruised ribs, visibly discoloured from his triumvirate of matches the previous week, are exposed. Finally, the official forces Paris away from Billy, who again begins to drag himself to his feet using the ropes. Paris pushes past Alfonso, and nails Shakespeare with a hard boot to the ribs that sends him through the ropes and to the outside. Big heel pop! Paris stands by the ropes and yells at the fans to "Shut up! Just shut the hell up!" Still almost shaking with rage, Paris steps through the ropes onto the apron, and looks down at the writhing form of Shakespeare, who is yet again pulling himself to his feet. Paris leaps, and drives a double axe-handle into Billy's ribs. Again, Shakespeare drops like a shot. Heel pop!] TD: This is a different Ronnie Paris we're seeing here, Steve Roberts. SR: You can keep the old one, Dross. I'm starting to like this guy more and more. [Paris drags Shakespeare to his feet -- and whips him into the steel ringsteps! Shakespeare attempts to turn himself in mid-flight, and crashes into the steps back-first. As he slumps to the floor once more, red welts are already apparent across his back. Alfonso bends out of the ring through the ropes and again warns Paris, who now jaws with the front row fans. Paris gets in the faces of several of the hostile fans, wiping fresh blood from his still flowing nose and flicking it at them, as he approaches Shakespeare once more, slowly dragging him to his feet while continuing to bad mouth the nearby fans. However, this distraction proves costly, as Shakespeare drives a headbutt into Paris' midsection -- and then lifts the doubled-up Texan up and over with a backdrop... landing on the dislodged ringsteps! Big pop! Billy drops to his knees but tries to pull himself up using the apron.] TD: Oh my! Shakespeare backdrops Paris onto those ringsteps! This match is really taking it out of both men. [Shakespeare rolls himself back into the ring, and lies on the canvas, having broken the count, his chest heaving, trying to get that precious oxygen back into his lungs. Meanwhile, on the outside, a bloody and battered Ronnie Paris rolls clear of the ringsteps, and attempts to pull himself to his feet, somehow aware of the referee's count.] TD: Look at the courage of both men, Steve Roberts. Shakespeare may have a number of broken ribs, Paris has a broken nose, and he's just been backdropped over the steps -- but he's getting up! SR: Who do these guys think they are? Derek Mota? [Paris finally rolls back into the ring as Billy also gets to his feet. He drags Ronnie to his feet -- and then rolls him up with an inside cradle! Paris is trapped in an inside cradle -- Alfonso drops to the mat: 1 - 2 - ] TD: Three! He got him... no! No, so nearly! Paris just gets a shoulder out! And listen to these people! [The crowd jeers solidly as Paris somehow escapes the inside cradle with less than a moment to spare. Shakespeare slowly sits up, his ribs clearly impeding him, and then moves to roll to his feet. The crowd again begin to chant, "Billy! Billy!" as the Oregon native pulls himself to his feet using the ropes. Paris, too, drags himself to his feet. Shakespeare draws a thumb across his throat -- and the fans go crazy!] TD: What does this mean? Shakespeare is signalling for something -- are we going to see that devastating "Final Act" DDT again? [Shakespeare approaches Paris, and quickly locks him in a side headlock. Billy slaps Paris on the back and drops like a stone -- but Paris holds onto the ropes, and Shakespeare lands hard on the mat, the DDT countered! Huge jeers from the crowd as Paris puts the boots into Billy's bruised ribs once more. Shakespeare grabs the bottom rope, and Alfonso calls for the break. Paris obliges and moves to the centre of the ring, wiping the now drying blood from his face. He looks around at the capacity crowd -- and still seems to be in a state of disbelief at the reaction he receives. "Ronnie Sucks! Ronnie Sucks!"] TD: This is harsh, Steve Roberts, no doubt about it. Paris has come out here and bust a gut -- if he'd had two guts, he would have bust them both -- and these fans are just ripping him apart. SR: I told you, Dross, these fans are the human equivalent of toxic waste. Talk about scraping the bottom of the gene pool! [Paris takes a few steps, looking around at the hostile fans who surround him on every side. He takes another look at Shakespeare, the official bending over him as he tries to stand once more -- and then he simply steps out of the ring between the ropes, hops down to the arena floor, and begins to walk up the aisle! The heel pop rises to even greater levels!] SR: He's walking out, Dross! Paris is walking out, and I can't say I blame him! These morons don't appreciate him -- look at him, bust nose, bruised head to toe, trying to carry this stiff Shakespeare to a good match -- and this is the thanks he gets. You walk outta here, Wonnie. You walk! TD: Paris is indeed leaving -- and the referee is laying on the count! Ronnie Paris could have simply pinned Shakespeare, but he is so disgusted with these fans that he would rather just walk out! [Earl Alfonso lays the count on Paris from the ring, but the count is then halted by Shakespeare, who rolls out of the ring and staggers, stumbles up the aisle after the Texan, to a huge pop from the crowd! Paris turns, and sees the battle-worn Shakespeare heading towards him, and strides towards him! The crowd on either side of the aisle yell their support, leaning ever closer to the wrestlers -- and Paris lays another vicious boot into Shakespeare's midsection! Billy is doubled over... Paris puts him in gutwrench position... He yells at the fans, "This is for you!" Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! Paris just powerbombed Billy Shakespeare out there on the concrete floor! Oh my! SR: Ha, I love it, Dross! Did you see the way Shakespeare's head bounced back off that concrete floor? That's another moment for the highlight reels, baby dolls! TD: Paris has turned tail again -- and he's walking out! He's leaving Shakespeare laid out in the aisle... and the referee is still counting! [Earl Alfonso's renewed count has reached five, now six, as Paris, without so much as looking back again at the hostile fans, disappears into the locker room area, leaving the semi-conscious Billy Shakespeare lying in the aisle. The referee continues to count... seven... eight... Shakespeare begins to stir, rolling to his knees, clearly very groggy... nine... he looks towards the locker room... ten! Ding! Ding! Ding! Huge disappointed pop from the crowd!] TD: I think we have a double countout, Steve Roberts! SR: Look at Shakespeare, Dross! He doesn't even know where he is! [The clearly disorientated Billy Shakespeare again stumbles to his feet in the aisle, slumping from one side to the other, relying on the outstretched hands of the fans on either side of the aisle to keep him upright -- and then he begins to stagger back towards the locker room after Paris! Shakespeare receives a huge ovation as he slowly, painfully makes his way back to the locker room in pursuit of his opponent. Meanwhile, Sparkplug Lee makes his announcement:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this match has been declared... a double countout! [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What an incredible match, Steve Roberts. Unbelievable punishment sustained by both men, both men wrestling a similar kind of match -- and yet, while Shakespeare is cheered, Paris receives a very negative reaction. What's wrong with this picture? SR: These morons like the showmen, Dross. They're not interested in a guy with real talent -- or even a no-hoper like Ronnie Paris. TD: That's hardly a fair appraisal of young Ronnie's wrestling skills, Steve Roberts. Both he and Shakespeare wrestled an extraordinary bout tonight -- and I'm sure the rivalry between them is far from over. Up next we have one of your favourite wrestlers, Steve: Brody Thunder, taking on a troubled young soul in Ike Sampson. SR: Sarcasm, Dross?  That's unlike you! Let's just get something straight here, I actually liked Thunder for a while. He's a no nonsense kinda guy and I can appreciate that.  But you see, his ego grew way too large for his hat to cover and Casey James had to kick him out of the Syndicate... TD: I think he left of his own accord, Steve. SR: Don't interrupt, Dross!  Now, as I was saying, Casey had to kick him out of the Syndicate, and give him a hiding to boot!  You'd think that hiding would have taught him that he is an also-ran, not a real contender, but what does he do?  He mixes it up with "The Fury"! You know that's going to be a great match on September 6, because Kowalski could carry El Super Geko on a supercard, but come Midsummer Madness, Kowalski is gonna teach him a lesson, courtesy of the Skullpump! TD: That's right fans, call your cable company now, don't you dare miss it! SR: I don't believe I've just hyped the pay-per-view. I'm gonna ask for a pay rise -- this job is far too dangerous to my street cred. TD: Let's get down to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. Ike Sampson |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: MB [Long seconds pass as Lee stands in the middle of the ring, shuffling his crib cards and whistling quietly to himself.  Dross tries desperately to give Lee his cue to make the announcements to no avail as Lee continues shuffling and whistling.  Dross eventually clears his throat across the PA system in an attempt to catch his attention, which only succeeds in startling Lee into dropping the cards!  The crowd begins to laugh as Dross drops his head into his hands shaking it and muttering to himself and Lee scrabbles across the ring collecting the cards.  Finally, with as much composure as he can muster, Lee begins:] RA: Ladies and Gentlemen, this next match is scheduled for one fall... Introducing first, weighing 304 pounds and hailing from Winston-Salem, North Carolina...  Ike Sampson! [The crowd begin to cheer loudly as "Kiss" by Prince fills the arena. The curtain ruffle and out steps the powerfully built frame of Ike Sampson, looking very focussed and intense.  The crowd alongside the aisle reach out for him, which seems to penetrate his concentration and with an almost apologetic smile, he reaches out and slaps hands as he makes his way to the ring.] TD: He is still in pain from Watkins' betrayal it seems. SR: Give it up, Dross.  Six feet six inches tall and tipping the scales at over 300 pounds, and you credit him with the mental capacity of an eight year-old...  Oh, I see what you mean...  Yeah, the pain must be intense! RA: And his opponent, weighing 267 pounds and hailing from Tombstone, Arizona... "The Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! [The crowd pop increases, with a mixture of cheers and boos in equal proportion as the theme from "High Plains Drifter" replaces the previous music.  The crowd turn to the aisle expectantly, but no-one appears. Time passes and still no-one appears and the crowd begin to murmur, concern passing through the crowd like a brush-fire.  Lee and Ike throw each other a look of confusion and both look to the announcer's table, specifically to Tim Dross, for guidance.] TD: I'm not sure.... Can you... I'm getting... reports of some sort of altercation in the locker rooms.  Can we get a camera back there? [The video wall springs into life, filling the arena with the sounds of static, drawing everyone's attention.  The picture, out of focus, clears to reveal a corridor with the prone figure of El Super Gecko in a broken heap in the corridor, the door to one of the locker rooms hanging from one hinge.  The audio blurts into life, drowning the crowd out with shouts and the sound of a sickening impact.  The camera-man steps over the downed Lizard and enters the room to reveal a full scale brawl taking place.  One of the Rotundos backs away from a chair wielding Steve Kowalski, holding his head and shoulder, a grimace of pain across his face.  "Nifty" Ned and Majestic Maurice struggle to push Kowalski back out of the room, as the other Rotundo strips the chair from his hands. Brody is pinned to the floor by the Barnacle Brothers, blood streaming down the side of his head, struggling against over 800 pounds of fat to get back to his feet.  Scott Bloom, Casey C and Jumpin' Jack stand between the two men, trying to form a human wall, lending support where needed.  Kowalski laughs out loud and spits a few insults at the struggling Brody before reaching down to the floor, plucking Brody's hat up, placing it on his head and walking out of the room.] TD: Oh my!  Brody's head is matted with blood, this match may be called off before it starts. [Officials rush into the room, along with a doctor who looks over the head of Brody, despite Brody's best attempts to stop him.  Officials and medics rush to tend to Super Gecko and the injured Rotundo, while the doctor holds a rather intense conversation with Brody and another official.  Brody breaks the "discussion" by screaming "Of course I'll damn well wrestle the match!", marching out of the locker room leaving the doctor and the officials shaking their heads.] TD: I'm not sure this is a wise decision, Steve.  Brody didn't even look steady on his feet after what must have been a couple of real nasty chair shots. SR: I agree, Dross.  He shouldn't be allowed to wrestle. TD: Compassion, Steve? SR: Compassion my ass!  If Brody pulls out a win now, he can go blowing "Even Kowalski with a chair couldn't slow me down enough to get a win tonight!" and if he loses against Ike he can cry, "At least I had the balls to enter the fight and if I had been one hundred per cent... blah, blah, blah!"  He's in a no-lose situation.  Absolutely disgusting, you watch him milk it for all it's worth. [The curtains part and out walks a very angry, and bloody looking Brody Thunder to a huge hardcore pop from the crowd, the Sychopaths chanting "Brody, Brody, Brody"!  Thunder storms to the ring, forcing a relieved Sparkplug to exit pretty sharpish and Joey Patrick, the referee assigned to the match, to call for the bell quickly.  Ike looks a little concerned to see the matted blood in his hair, but prepares himself all the same.  Brody slides under the ropes and immediately locks up with Ike as the bell rings -- Ding! Ding! Ding! -- to signify the start of this encounter.  Ike breaks the grip and Armdrags Brody towards the far-left corner, regaining his feet quickly and waiting for Brody to do likewise.  The Tombstone native gets back to his feet and charges at Ike with a clothesline, but Ike ducks under it, catches Thunder around the waist, pushing him front first into the ropes and rolling him up for a pin on the rebound! - 1 -  kickout!  Pop!  Ike stands clear as Brody slaps the mat in frustration and jumps to his feet again.  Ike offers a collar and elbow which Brody seems happy to accept but as he reaches out, a size twelve boot catches Ike in the stomach, doubling him up. Brody tries a knee lift but it is deftly sidestepped by Ike who whips a leg out and sweeps the other leg away leaving Thunder to crash to the mat where the young Sampson covers again - 1 - 2 Kick out!  Pop!] TD: Brody is understandably angry, but his anger is going to be his Achilles heel if he doesn't get a grip on it and calm down.  Ike is running circles around him. [Brody slaps the mat again, wiping a rivulet of blood from his forehead he gets back to his feet once again, as Ike looks on impassively.  He glances down at the blood on his fingertips, and wipes them clean on his black trunks, before locking up with Ike again.  Ike is obviously the stronger of the two, as he pushes Brody back into the ropes and whips him farside, Brody bounces off the ropes and pirouettes around a press slam attempt and levels the black man with a vicious clothesline when he spins around!  Ike hits the mat hard, and is hurting further when Brody wastes little time in dropping the point of an elbow into his sternum.  Brody pulls him up and lands the knee lift that evaded him earlier.  Heel Pop!] TD: Seeing that blood seems to have shown Brody that if he wants to win this, he was going about it all the wrong way. SR: Get up, Ike!  Don't let the cowpoker get on top of you! [Brody leans across the chest of Ike and pounds some heavy-duty closed fists into Ike's head, much to the annoyance of the ref, who lays a count on Thunder to encourage him to stop.  Brody gets up on the count of - 4 - and pulls Ike up with him, throwing a forearm or two at him en route.  Brody hooks him around the head, and showing impressive strength, hoists Sampson up into a vertical suplex.  Ike struggles upside down and with a rake of the face and a nice twist of the body, he drops back down onto his feet behind Brody and locks in a full nelson, almost lifting the cowboy from his feet with the power in his upper body.  Pop!] TD: I've just been told that once again, Steve "The Fury" Kowalski has been ejected from the building.  It looks like he has done enough damage to Thunder to ensure he's not getting a tick in the win column tonight. Every time he gains the slightest bit of momentum, Ike turns the tables damn quickly. SR: My man, Fury! Get the drinks in -- I'll be along in a few minutes! [Thunder struggles against the pressure exerted on the back of his neck by the powerful arms of Ike Sampson, but the matted blood does more for him than his struggling can, as Ike's hands cannot seem to find purchase and keep slipping.  Brody is once again lifted from his feet and left dangling, kicking wildly to break the hold.  In a fit of desperation, Brody wraps his hands around the top of Ike's head and with a struggle, drops to the mat, pulling Ike down with him, Brody's head impacting hard on Ike's chin in a nasty jawbreaker which hurts both of them as badly as the other!  Heel Pop!  The wound on Brody's head immediately starts bleeding again, and Ike is left reeling in pain holding his jaw with a dazed look on his face.  The ref looks with concern at the blood running down Brody's head again, while the Sychopaths see the blood and renew their "Brody! Brody!" chant.  The ref begins a count on both men, but Ike rolls over and lays across Thunder, hooking a leg for a pin - 1 - 2 - Thunder barely kicks out! Pop!  Ike, desperate to turn the match around, pulls Thunder up to a set of shaky legs and with a great display of strength, lifts Brody up in a military press, lifting the 267 pound cowboy up and down, up and down to a great pop from the crowd, then with a final heave, drops him back to the mat with a nice slam.  Thunder's face is a mass of blood as it streams into his eyes and down his cheeks, but the pain is evident through the red mask.  Ike knowing he has him hurt, pulls him back up and looks to put him in a bear hug, but Brody throws a thumb into his eye to break the hold and a desperation knee into the ribs has Sampson doubled up.  Brody staggers back slightly before hooking his head and... TD: Cattlebuster DDT! He's hit the Cattlebuster!  Ike is out, but Brody doesn't look capable of capitalising on it! SR: Now we're going to have two more weeks of listening to him brag before the Fury kicks his ass! [Brody just lays on the mat, trying to get his bearings as Ike is flat on his face, seemingly out cold.  The ref begins a slow count on the two men, but elects to stop when, after reaching the count of eight, Brody manages to sit up and roll over onto his knees.  Brody attempts to close the gap on his opponent and roll him onto his back, but as he wipes the blood from his eyes again, he loses his balance and slumps back to the mat.  Almost a full thirty seconds passes before Brody begins to crawl back towards the still unmoving Ike, and the crowd cheer the man from North Carolina, trying to inspire him into movement.  Suddenly, the curtains at the top of the aisle part...] TD: It's Starks!  He's got a chair in his hands and he's coming down for a closer look! SR: Oh, you can just imagine it, can't you? "It took two of them to put me away, and there is only one of you, Kowalski.  What chance have you got?" Roll on September 6... TD: Call your cable... SR: [interrupting] Don't you dare, Dross! [The crowd cheer Ike, trying to inspire him to move, while Brody still cannot sit up and tries to roll towards Ike.  The crowd explode as somehow Ike Sampson begins to push himself up onto all fours, and crawl to the ropes to pull himself back to his feet.  The crowd are wild as Ike, still shaky from the DDT, get to his feet and pulls Brody up with him...] TD: Small package!  Brody has caught him in a small package! [The ref drops to the mat and begins a count - ONE - Starks slides under the bottom rope - TWO - He reaches out and grabs a handful of Brody's trunks - THR... he pulls them over so Ike is on top!  Pop!  The ref begins another count - ONE - he quickly slides back out and picks the chair up again - TWO - Brody reaches in and rakes the face - TH... kickout!] TD: My, that was close! [Ike jumps to his feet quickly, the pain in disorientation seemingly forgotten and stamps on Brody a few times before dropping onto him with a huge standing splash!] TD: Brody got his knees up!  That's got to hurt! [Ike clutches at his ribs, pain indelibly etched on his face, while Brody takes a moment to catch his breath and wipe the blood from his eyes.  He struggles up to his feet and looking around ringside for whoever interrupted his pin attempt, his eyes fall on Tony Starks.  With an unbridled anger in his eyes, he pulls Ike back to his feet and hooks him for the Cattlebuster DDT again, when Sampson, sensing the danger, pushes him backwards, reaching desperately for the ropes!  Brody struggles to push against him, but the weight and strength advantage are too great and Ike grabs the ropes for safety.  Pop!  Brody drives some hard elbows into Ike's back which drops him to his knees and a sharp knee into the face leaves him sprawling.  He steps out and drops a knee across Ike's head then stops to wipe the blood from his eyes again as he glares at Starks.  Ike rolls over and slowly climbs to his feet as Brody runs the ropes for a flying clothesline, but as he bounces off the ropes, Starks waffles him across the back with the chair!  The ref, not seeing the chair shot, but hearing the impact and turns in time to see Starks hide the chair under the ring apron signals for the bell, as Brody drops to the mat.  Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: I don't believe it.  I've a good mind to go over there and slap Starks myself. RA: Your winner as a result of a disqualification, Brody Thunder! [Sampson, who has just regained his vertical base, looks to the ref for an explanation of the decision, while Brody, still hurting after the chair shot, rolls out of the ring and pushes Starks, shouting "I don't need no help to beat Sampson!"  Starks pushes back, but Brody throws out a right hook that catches him flush on the side of the head!  The two men begin to brawl furiously at ringside while the ref tries to explain to Ike the reason he was DQ'ed.  The bell rings again as the crowd start yelling -- Ding! Ding! Ding! -- which attracts Ike and the ref to what is happening outside as Thunder and Starks throw lefts and rights at each other with complete abandon!  Ike slips between the ropes and drops an axe handle onto Brody, which sends him sprawling towards the aisleway and the ref slips out between the two factions.  Brody looks up to see the two black men stood side by side, and wisely backs off up the aisle, glancing at the crowd furtively, possibly expecting Kowalski to jump out again.  Starks looks at the retreating figure, walks over to Sparkplug, picks up his mic and climbs into the ring:] TS: Now look here Sampson, you and me, we was in that whole Black Pack but there is a difference, I seen the science on what Mad Dog was doing, we was getting used to weaken them Euro Cats 'cause Watkins knew that he couldn't beat them himself.     I seen you and Creed lookin' at Watkins like he was some kinda role     model, at the same time, my boy Raheem got my ear and reminded me     that I ain't no boy's lackey and I don't need no role model, so I     left y'all and went on my own.     I told you a long time ago, you could make a choice, either go wit'     me or stay wit' Watkins, you made your choice.  It was the wrong     one... now you talkin' bout how you need family.  I found mine, this here, The Age, they understand the pain, the pain that made me, it had a hand in you too...     You need a family?  Step over into the darkness!  Well? [Sampson climbs into the ring to join him and looks out to the crowd, looking for guidance.  The crowd begin to cheer wildly, many trying to influence his decision, shouting "Yes!", but just as many scream "No".] TD: Don't do it, Ike!  Don't sell out! SR: Jump, Ike, jump!  [whispering] What's going on, Dross?  What have I missed? [Sampson seems to be in two minds about the proposition, the reaction of the crowd not helping him at all.  After a moment's hesitation, he looks back at Starks and simply turns and heads away from the ring.  Starks seems to understand, drops th mic and follows him from the ring.] SR: Did he jump?  What happened, Dross?  Is he gone? TD: I don't know, Steve, I really don't know.  We'll have to wait and see. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside. Tim Dross's voice is relayed over the PA to the crowd, who turn their eyes to the video wall.] TD: Okay, folks, it's the moment we've all been waiting for -- time to announce the matches for Midsummer Madness, which is only fourteen days away! [Big pop from the assembled fans!] TD: It is my honour to welcome now, live from his office in IIWF Towers, the IIWF President himself! [Another appreciative pop as the video wall shows the interior of the President's office, with President Dan himself seated behind a large oak desk.] TD: Thank you for finding the time to appear here tonight, Mr. President. DS: My pleasure, as always, Tim. TD: Well, let's not beat around the bush -- please, Mr. President, reveal the complete lineup for the Midsummer Madness pay-per-view! DS: Of course. As revealed last Tuesday on "Inside the IIWF," there will indeed be a double main event at Midsummer Madness on September 6! In the first half, IIWF World Heavyweight Champion Requiem will battle the number one contender, Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven -- and we will see the contract signing for that big match in just a few moments. [Pop from the crowd!] And in the other half of the double main event, a team of Genesis members -- consisting of Scott Rogers, Serge Annis, the Highwayman and Cold Spell -- will do battle with a team fronted by Mad Dog Watkins, who laid down the challenge earlier tonight! [Huge pop!] TD: Any word on who Mad Dog's partners are likely to be? DS: As it happens, I can reveal just who two of those partners are going to be. Joining Mad Dog Watkins against Team Genesis will be... Casey James and Tiger Claw! The Syndicate will team with Mad Dog Watkins and two partners still to be announced! [Big, big pop!] TD: That's quite some partnership, Mr. President. DS: It certainly is. And don't forget, should Team Genesis win that match, the Highwayman will get a shot at Mad Dog Watkins' Intercontinental Championship. [Big heel pop from the crowd.] DS: But let's make it a little more interesting: should Mad Dog Watkins be eliminated from the match by the Highwayman by pinfall or submission, then the Highwayman will be crowned the new Intercontinental Champion then and there! [Surprised pop from the crowd!] TD: You're saying that if the Highwayman pins Mad Dog Watkins, or forces him to submit, during that match -- he'll be the new Intercontinental Champion? DS: That's absolutely right, Tim, but the title can only change hands if it is the Highwayman who pins Watkins in the middle of the ring or forces him to submit. The title will not change hands if anybody else eliminates Mad Dog, or if Watkins is eliminated by countout or disqualification. Moving on, other matches already announced for the card include Marty Warnett facing "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley in a grudge match... [Pop from the crowd, mixed with screams from Warnett's female fans.] ...and the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder going one on one against Steve "the Fury" Kowalski -- and I can now reveal that this match will be a Falls Count Anywhere match! [Hardcore pop from the Furies in the crowd!] DS: In a change from the announced card, the match for the IIWF Cruiserweight Championship will now be a _triangle_ match! [Another big pop!] In the light of the events of earlier tonight, which saw Derek Mota crowned the new IIWF Cruiserweight Champion thanks to the interference of Simon Lebec, Dirt Dog Unique Allah will be given a chance to regain the title at Midsummer Madness -- so it will be Mota squaring off against both Simon Lebec and Dirt Dog Unique Allah in a Triple Threat match, where the winner of the first fall is crowned the new champion! [Big pop!] TD: Allow me to clarify that, Mr. President: it doesn't have to be Derek Mota who is pinned to lose the championship -- if, for example, Simon Lebec were to pin the Dirt Dog, then Lebec would be crowned the champion! DS: That's right, Tim -- all three men are legal at any one time, and in addition, this will be a no disqualification match! We will have a winner by pinfall or submission only! [Big pop!] DS: Now onto the announcements of the three remaining Midsummer Madness tag team elimination matches. Remember, two teams of five face off, and the match continues until all the members of one team have been eliminated, either by pinfall, submission, countout or disqualification. We could see five on five, three on two, or even five on one odds in these matches! [Murmurs from the crowd.] DS: Okay, in the first of three elimination matches, Tonnage will captain a team consisting of the Harlequins and Pain Inc... who will face a team captained by Deathbringer, featuring the Equalizers and Team Sychosys! [Huge pop!] DS: In the second elimination match, a team captained by Duncan Macbeth, along with by Age Of Rage members Tony Starks and the Prophets of Rage, as well as Ike Sampson... [Murmurs of surprise at the announcement of Sampson's name...] ...will square off against Timothy N. Turner's team, featuring "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard, "Real Deal" Luke Steele, and Licensed for Devastation. [More murmurs of surprise.] DS: And in the third elimination match, we will see a team captained by Kevin "the Cavalier" Christiansen, along with Sebastian Jericho, the Phoenix and the Hollywood Bloods take on a team captained by Billy Shakespeare, who will be partnered by Dexter St. Croix, the Machines, and... Ronnie Paris! [Big surprised pop from the crowd!] TD: Billy Shakespeare and Ronnie Paris will be _partners_? DS: Absolutely. TD: And Tony Starks and Ike Sampson -- on the same side? DS: Indeed. TD: Certainly a surprising line-up, Mr. President. DS: That's the idea, Tim. We should see an extremely exciting card right here in the IIWF Coliseum in just two weeks! There are still some tickets available, and your local cable operator is waiting for your call! TD: Thank you very much for your time, Mr. President. DS: No problem. Enjoy the rest of the show, gentlemen. [The image of the IIWF President fades from the video wall, replaced by various shots of the crowd, who continue to cheer. Cut back to the broadcast table.] TD: Well, there you have it, folks -- a sensational line-up coming your way in a couple of weeks! Right now, it's time for that special contract signing for one half of the huge double main event for Midsummer Madness. If you'll excuse me, Steve. [pause] Steve? [Steve Roberts looks up from his notes.] SR: What do you want, Dross? TD: Whar are you reading, Steve Roberts? SR: The marketing suits want me to say that I'm reading the latest riveting issue of the IIWF Magazine, on news-stands now -- but that's not true. I'm reading the problem page of this fine top-shelf publication... TD: [interrupting] I don't think we need to know any more, Steve. [Dross removes his headset and leaves the broadcasting position. Tim Dross enters the ring, where a long table bedecked with a long blue cloth with a shimmering IIWF logo has been set up. At both ends of the table are chair, a decanter and glass of water, a fountain pen and an IIWF microphone. Dross strokes his "hair" for a moment, then turns to the camera and starts to speak:] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, my next guests will fight at Midsummer Madness for the biggest prize in the world of wrestling, the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship! Please welcome first, the challenger and No.1 contender, he is a former World Champion himself, he is OTTO "THE BUTCHER" VERHOEVEN! [Tremendous heel pop as "Halloween" starts up. Nurse Heidi enters the aisle first, wearing a sequinned, purple and revealing dress. Some of the men greet the beautiful woman with the shoulder length blonde hair with catcalls. Then the massive form of Otto Verhoeven steps through the curtain. The 6'8" tall behemoth is wearing an expensive looking tuxedo. He stops in front of the curtain and takes a long moment to look at the booing crowd in the Coliseum auditorium. He runs his right hand through his crew cut, then walks slowly towards the ring, sneering at the fans. In the ring he kisses Heidi on the cheek as he sits down while his fiancée positions herself behind him, slinging her arms around his shoulders.] TD: And his opponent... the "Angel of Destruction" and leader of Genesis, and... most importantly of all, the current IIWF World Champion... [The arena lights dim as a menacing voice announces over the PA system: "From this day forth, until the end of time, there shall be no mercy for the damned!"] TD: REQUIEM! [A dim blue spectral spotlight suddenly appears at the head of the aisle as Requiem appears, dressed in an immaculate black three piece suit and collarless shirt, his night black electric guitar hanging by his side. With a brilliant grin he begins to play "The Music Of The Unknowingly Damned" as he makes his way to the ring, the tune imbuing the arena with a sense of imminent menace. Huge heel pop! Through the curtain steps Gabrielle, immaculate in a shimmering black low-cut knee length semi-translucent dress. Huge evil -- yet sexy -- babe pop as Requiem's little sister follows him down to ringside! Requiem and Gabrielle take their place at the table, Requiem staring intently at Verhoeven whilst Gabrielle looks Heidi up and down and simply smirks.] TD: Alright, gentlemen. I want to remind you once again that Poutine     Janois has threatened you with severe punishments if this contract     signing is interrupted by any outbreak of violence. OV: Let's get on with the show, Herr Dross. We all know what we got to     do. NH: [agitated] Ja, and I sure hope zat zis mentally challenged covard     over zere and his little, freaky sister know vat is best for zem and     stay on zeir side of the table. [Gabrielle once again smirks as Requiem throws back his head and laughs evilly for a long, long moment.] RQ: What is best for me, Heidi? Oh, I know very well what is best for     me. Never fear, young "lady", I am here only to begin the battle of     words. The war of actions shall begin -- and end -- at Midsummer     Madness! [Heidi looks at Gabrielle venomously, but the Butcher has his eyes fixed on the champion.] OV: Ach, do you really believe that the war of actions will begin at     Midsummer Madness? Look around you, freak! The IIWF is already in     flames because of this conflict. Impossible alliances are being     formed and the battle lines are drawn...         But you are right with one thing... this farce will end at the PPV,     when your body lies on the mat, broken like a rag doll, and the     title belt is in my hands once again. Then, and only then, will the     sideshow called Genesis be closed down and all of the deluded fools     who follow you can return to the asylums you fled from. NH: Ja, tell them, liebling! Hey, where are the other Genesis members?     Magus, Legion, Prisoner #109? [During this tirade Requiem has looked on with ill-concealed enjoyment, but now he speaks.] RQ: I know not the names you blather, but the other members of the most     dynamic, the most _ruthless_ [heel pop!] force in the existence of     the IIWF are nearby, never fear. We in Genesis are rarely alone,     Otto Verhoeven, as many in the IIWF have already found out!         But, getting back to your question, "Butcher": Yes, the war _will_     begin at Midsummer Madness. These last few weeks have been but the     opening skirmishes, Verhoeven. You and those like you think you've     seen the best, Verhoeven? We've saved the best for last. Midsummer     Madness will be a nightmare from which you will never awaken! [heel     pop] At the Madness the true war will begin. The end of Genesis, you say? Hardly. Even were you to beat me, Genesis will survive.         You see, Otto, unlike your new "friends" Casey James and Tiger Claw     -- formerly a power to be reckoned with called the "Syndicate" until     we arrived -- we do not turn tail and run when the road ahead becomes difficult. You cannot simply defeat me at the Madness to ensure the end of Genesis, Verhoeven, you must destroy me.     And better men than you have tried and failed.     In fact, you will have to destroy _all_ of us, and that you will     never do. NH: You can talk all you vant, you inbred piece of genetic trash! Once     you enter the slaughterhouse, nothing can save your sorry hide. [In the meantime, Verhoeven has signed the contract and Tim Dross hands it over to Requiem.] OV: Go ahead, you are about to sign the end of Genesis. [Requiem scribbles his name, rolls the contract into a little ball, and sends it shooting through the air to bounce off Tim Dross. Heel pop!] G : Hardly, Butcher. Win or lose the battle at the Madness, we will still win the war. But, since you're both here, I've got a question for "Nurse" Heidi here. Why do you hang around with this guy? I'da thought it kind of dangerous for a sow to hang around with a butcher! [Heidi's face flares up with rage. Slowly she reaches for the glass of water, walks over to Gabrielle and pours it, without so much as a gleeful smile, over the head of Requiem's sister. Gabrielle seems stunned, but then a malevolent smile breaks out... and Gabrielle grabs hold of a surprised Heidi and sends her to the mat with a belly-to-belly suplex! The two women start brawling on the floor as we hear...] SR: [over the headest] CATFIGHT! CATFIGHT! Wahoo! Take it away, ladies! [The women roll around in the ring, pulling, scratching and scratching! Interested pop from the large number of fifteen year olds in the crowd! Requiem and Verhoeven angrily stand up, sending their chairs flying across the ring as Tim Dross makes a break for the ropes and the relative safety of the outside of the ring. There is a tense staredown as Requiem and Verhoeven eye each other warily, and then... Otto makes a move. He flings Gabrielle to the other side of the ring, then puts Heidi down gently. The big German reaches for the microphone...] OV: There are three things you don't do in the IIWF: you don't step into     the shower when Chris Quigley is there, you don't mock J.W. Hardin's     legacy -- and you DON'T TOUCH OTTO VERHOEVEN'S FIANCEE! [He takes off his jacket and raises his fist to a fighting stance, but Requiem just stands there, a look of smouldering anger slowly travelling across the face of the champion as Gabrielle slowly gets to her feet, clearly dazed. Suddenly, the German Juggernaut jumps into action, turning over the large table and throwing it right at Requiem, who swats it aside like a fly. Otto leaps at Requiem, who narrowly manages to dodge to the side. Big pop! Otto recovers quickly and lunges again at Requiem, who levels the big man with a DDT! Huge heel pop! Requiem reaches down to grab one of the microphones scattered in the ring, the usually calm champion seemingly quite irate...] RQ: Make that four things, Verhoeven! You forgot to add: You never,     _ever_ piss off Requiem! For you, there can be... NO MERCY! [Huge heel pop as the furious champion begins laying into the dazed challenger with a series of vicious kicks to the kidneys, then he quickly grabs one of the chairs in the ring and...] SR: NO! Chairshot to the ribs! Where the hell is everybody?! The Butcher     must not be punked! [Requiem pulls the chair back to hit Verhoeven again, but is stopped as Heidi leaps on his back! Her valiant effort only seems to distract Requiem momentarily, but it's long enough for Verhoeven to stagger to his feet and deliver a standing dropkick! Pop! This time it is Requiem who hits the canvas, squashing Heidi underneath his huge 306lbs body!] TD: Heidi sure knows what it means to stand by your man. [In the ring Otto grabs Requiem, pulling him off his fiancee and laying into Requiem with some big stinging punches, but the champion soon retaliates with some huge european uppercuts, rocking the challenger!] SR: It's looking like a classic brawl in the ring, Dross! Both these     guys have forgotten all about wresting and are concentrating on     kicking the snot out of each other! TD: What a minute! Gabrielle jumps Heidi, a big clothesline to the back     of the neck sending Otto's feisty fiancée down to the mat, where     Gabrielle pounces! SR: Dammit, Dross! Two women in skimpy dresses wrestling! This is my dream come true! If only we had mud in there! TD: I thought you said the three things you hated most about wrestling were celebrities, midgets... and women? SR: Aw, you can't hate this, Dross. You just can't! [Both men are busy brawling frantically! Both women are rolling around on the floor! The audience is going crazy! Huge heel pops compete with cries of "We want mud!" started by the "Li'l Soundbiters"!] TD: We need security down here, Steve Roberts! Where are the Jobber Justice Squad?!     SR: If they've got any sense, they're recording this for posterity and     don't want to break it up too soon!     [Suddenly a huge pop! Sprinting down the aisle comes Joe Petrow, who slides under the ring ropes and stops, uncertain of what to do next! He glances at the carnage in the ring and grins evilly!] TD: NO! Double Asspump! Joe Petrow pulls both women to their feet and     delivers a double Asspump! SR: Damnit, Joe! Couldn't ya have waited five minutes? Those dresses     wouldn't have lasted much longer! [Requiem and Otto have stop fighting, both looking stunned as they see what Joe Petrow has done! Huge pop as Petrow scoops the microphone from off the mat.] JP: HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!  We've got the women fighting, we got the     geeks in the back, all we need now is some midgets and we got     ourselves a freakin' circus here! [Otto and Requiem look at each other, as if to say "Who is this fruit?" and, both looking pretty angry, start to make their way toward Petrow, who steps back a pace and hold his hand out, gesturing for them to stop.] JP: HEY!  You guys don't want any part of me, and I'll tell you why!     I'm the guy who can give you both what you want!  Requiem, you     want respect, right?  You want to use this main event spotlight     match to show the world that you're NOT just some fluke paper     champion, right?  And Otto, you want a shot at becoming the first     man to ever regain the IIWF World's Heavyweight Champion, without     having to worry about half a dozen guys jumping you and taking     away what you think should be yours, right? [Both Otto and Requiem are paying close attention to what Petrow has to say, and even the women have stopped scrapping, as the entire world seems to focus on what Joe Petrow has to say...] JP: Well, I guess neither of you guys read the fine print on that contract, or you wouldn't even be bothering with this psych-out crap! On September 6th we will NOT have a world's title match between Genesis and the Nurse Brigade!  We WILL have a match between Requiem and Otto Verhoeven, and the better man WILL win! How do I know?     [HUGE pop as Joe Petrow slowly begins to rip away at his shirt, revealing beneath it the familiar black and white stripes of an IIWF referee!] JP: BECAUSE I'M GONNA MAKE DAMN SURE OF IT! [The crowd roar becomes deafening as Joe Petrow throws the tattered remains of his shirt at a stunned Otto Verhoeven and Requiem before somersaulting the ropes and leaving, high-fiving fans as he goes!] TD: I cannot believe what we just saw, Steve Roberts! Joe Petrow...     special referee?! SR: Yeah, Dross, that is kinda like giving a pyromaniac the keys to the     firework store, ain't it?     [Back in the ring the two big men once more eye each other warily as Requiem slowly reaches down and grabs a microphone, never letting his eyes off Otto Verhoeven.] RQ: Petrow? Joe Petrow, you're about as well qualified to referee this     match as I am to give you professional psychiatric advice! [Heel     pop!] But if you want to stick your nose in my business it's okay with me! Hey, if you've got suicidal tendencies... ack!     [Unseen by Requiem, Otto Verhoeven rushes to the ropes, and rebounds off to deliver a mighty shoulderblock to an unprepared Requiem, who is sent flying over the top rope by the impact!] TD: Requiem hits hard, Steve! He could be stunned out there! SR: Looks like it's all hit the fan again, Dross! [Otto grabs the microphone from the floor, and points toward the stunned IIWF champion. Pop!] OV: Reqviem, you talk too much! [Suddenly a huge heel pop as the remaining members of Genesis come rushing down to ringside and slide under the bottom ropes! Verhoeven in the ring grabs a chair and tries to hold them off, but he is slowly being surrounded as the members of Genesis close in on him, encircling him. Scott Rogers swiftly moves forward to grapple Verhoeven and is quickly repelled by Otto, but this has given Genesis the opening they need! Verhoeven is swiftly dived upon, Rogers, Annis, Fitzgerald and The Highwayman lashing away with a quick succession of punches and kicks. Otto valiantly fights back, but soon even the "Butcher" is knocked down by the sheer weight of numbers against him. Huge heel pop! Outside the ring Gabrielle checks on her brother, who appears dazed.] SR: No! The Butcher must not be punked, Dross! Where's security when you     need them?     TD: No! Heidi, don't be so foolish! [In the ring Heidi tries to intercede, trying desperately to make her way to the fallen Butcher, but it's no good... She cannot breach the vicious circle that now pummels away at Verhoeven! Screaming a battle cry she leaps on the back of Scott Rogers, who quickly leaves the circle to rid himself of Heidi. The weight on his back seemingly irrelevant, Scott Rogers runs headlong at a ringpost, twisting at the last moment so that Heidi impacts the steel! BIG heel pop as Heidi releases her grip and slumps to the ground, unconscious! Scott Rogers looks down, mimes "wiping his hands" and then quickly dives back into the chaos that is Otto Verhoeven and Genesis!] TD: I cannot believe that Scott Rogers just did that, Steve! SR: Well, he did. Get over it, Dross, and ring security for some help at     ringside! Do something, man! The Butcher's getting slaughtered down     there! [Huge pop! Thundering down the aisle comes Casey James, Tiger Claw, Deathbringer and... Dan Kauffman!] TD: The cavalry have arrived, Steve Roberts! Dan Kauffman is here! Tiger     Claw is here! Deathbringer is here! Casey James is rushing down to     save Verhoeven! SR: Oh, sweet mercy! Show these bums a thing or two, Casey! [Genesis sees the other members of James' crew coming, and grab Verhoeven! Heel pop as they use the battered and bruised body of the Butcher as ammunition, sending him flying over the top rope to slam into the men at ringside! The heel pop loudens as all the members of Genesis slingshot themselves over the top rope, to brawl on the outside with Casey James and companions!] TD: I cannot believe what I just saw! Otto Verhoeven -- the human     cannonball! [In the ring Nurse Heidi stirs and starts to arise, slowly getting to her feet as she clutches her side, obviously in some pain from her smash into the ringpost. However, shooting into the ring from the opposite side to Genesis, James, Verhoeven et al comes Gabrielle, clutching a...] TD: Chair shot! Gabrielle with a _stiff_ chairshot to the unsuspecting     Nurse Heidi! Are there no depths Requiem's sister will not stoop     to?! It seems that Gabrielle will do anything! No! Another shot to the defenceless Heidi! And another! Another! This Gabrielle is just as much a monster as her brother! [On the opposite side of the ring to the action Requiem slowly gets to his feet, shaking the cobwebs from his head. Amidst the Genesis battle Otto Verhoeven staggers to his feet, and suddenly hears the "CRACK!" of a chair! Turning, he sees Gabrielle standing over Heidi with chair in hand. "Nein!" he yells, and rushes into the ring. Gabrielle and Requiem see the Butcher, and Gabrielle turns pale. Verhoeven dashes across the ring and sends Gabrielle flying with a stupendous clothesline! Mixed pop! Requiem is in the ring scant seconds later, and sends the Butcher flying with a clothesline of his own! Outside the other members of Genesis and the members of James' band still battle away!] TD: I can't believe Verhoeven just did that, Steve! There is no excuse     for... SR: [interrupting] Come off it, Dross! Gabrielle had it coming for what     she did to Heidi! [Inside the ring Requiem checks the unconscious form of Gabrielle, and then, worried by what he sees, lifts her up in his arms and leaves the ring, stepping over the barrier into the Genesis Generation, who provide a escort as he takes Gabrielle to safety!] TD: Requiem is leaving! He's leaving Genesis to fend for themselves! SR: They can cope, unfortunately! Come on, Casey! Kick those cartoons     into orbit! Damn it, Kauffman, kick that Rogers guy's butt! [Inside the ring Otto Verhoeven slowly stirs, crawling toward the still unconscious Heidi. Outside the ring the remaining members of Genesis, unaware that their leader has left them, battles on with the Casey James' gang! Casey James suddenly explodes into action, the brief burst of energy catching Genesis by surprise! Highwayman looks around for Requiem and is surprised to see he's not there! Turning, he orders the rest of the gang that is Genesis to retreat! Heel pop as Genesis start a fighting withdrawal, making their way up the aisleway whilst still brawling with Tiger Claw, Deathbringer and Casey James!] TD: Thank heavens! [The JJS swarm onto the scene, but are knocked aside, the sheer ferocity of the brawl in the aisle betweeen the James' crew and Genesis seemingly like a tornado of destruction that the JJS cannot breach!] TD: I cannot believe the scenes of carnage we just witnessed, Steve     Roberts! The sheer evilness of Requiem, Gabrielle and the rest of     Genesis is beyond belief! SR: [sombrely] Yeah, Dross. Requiem and those guys are pieces o' work     alright. _Real_ pieces of work. TD: Why so sombre, Steve? It's not like you to be without a witty     "soundbite"! SR: Take a look in the ring, Dross. TD: Oh, no. [In the ring a frantically worried Otto Verhoeven hovers over the still unconscious form of Heidi as an EMT team bring a stretcher down to ringside. Paramedics swarm into the ring as Otto looks on anxiously.] TD: This is terrible, Steve Roberts. Genesis, and especially Gabrielle,     have gone too far tonight. SR: Way too far, Dross. [Heidi is slowly ported away in a stretcher, engulfed in a team of paramedics. Otto follows impotently behind them, until he sees a cameraman filming the whole sorry scene. He goes to push the camera away, but thinks better of it as he leans in close...] OV: REQUIEM! REQUIEM! YOU WILL PAY FOR TONIGHT'S WORK! I SWEAR IT! [Cut back to the broadcast table as the stretcher disappears into the locker room.] TD: I'm still in shock at what we have just seen transpire, folks -- truly incredible scenes here in the IIWF Coliseum. It's going to be a war when Requiem and Verhoeven lock it up at Midsummer Madness. SR: And there's nothing more dangerous than an angry Butcher, Dross. Whoo-hoo! TD: Well, for now, we must move on. Our next match is one that afficianados of technical wrestling have been watering at the mouth for. Chris Quigley, arguably the best technical wrestler in the IIWF, will face another gifted wrestler in Tim Turner, who may very well try to out-wrestle the wrestler. What a feather in Turner's cap if he could beat the perennial contender here tonight, and what a momentum killer that could be for Quigley going into a big Midsummer Madness match against Marty Warnett. SR: You keep talking as if Turner's winning would be a big surprise...     I'm telling you, this guy may be a rookie in the IIWF, but he has the right attitude, and he's already ten times the man Chrissie will ever be. TD: I somehow think millions of wrestling fans, along with a certain Ms.     Manning, may disagree with you there, but the beauty of professional     wrestling is that an upset is always possible. It's so unpredictable -- speaking of which, Sparkplug Lee is about to introduce a rather     unpredictable guest commentator for this match. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley vs. Timothy N. Turner |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: JdW [Sparky, already in the ring, kicks right into his spiel knowing that he has three introductions instead of two and that time is of an essence. The crowd, as always, are about as excited to see Sparky in there as any wrestling crowd can get for a ring announcer.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce at this time the special guest commentator for this match. Hailing from Cardiff, Wales... [HUGE POP!] he is a former IIWF Intercontinental Champion... Marty Warnett! [Immediately, "Cold Gin" kicks in to whip the crowd into a frenzy, particularly the females in the 15-25 year old demographic. The theme is almost drowned out initially, however, as a series of fireworks take off from the top of the ramp, zooming towards the roof. Meanwhile, small bursts are exploding high over the ring, making the sound even louder and the show even more spectacular. Finally we get a clear look at the flamboyant Welshman, who's dressed rather informally in a t-shirt which reads on the front, "I watched a Kauffman interview and...", and on the back, "...ZZZZ!", ripped jeans and trainers, his hair now tied back and the previously shaved sides now nearly back to normal. He's also wearing a pair of trademark Chris Quigley shades, and carrying a very normal looking plastic bag.] SR: Look at this glory hog, Dross. I don't know if it's his showboating     or Quigley's whining that's worse. I just know I want to sleep through their next match. TD: You certainly can't accuse Warnett of being reserved as he mounts the turnbuckles, but the fans seem to eat it up for the most part. Now he's heading over to a young lady, and he seems to be taking those Chris Quigley sunglasses off. SR: Damn, those two have started emulating each other? Just when I     thought neither could get more annoying... [After giving the insanely happy (and bouncy, that's very important) girl the shades, Warnett finally puts the kibosh on his kibbitzing and starts making his way towards the announce position, a barely concealed smile on his face.] TD: Marty Warnett, take a seat please. [Warnett moves to do just that,     and also picks up his headset and starts adjusting it.] Well, Steve,     Marty Warnett certainly has the support of many of these fans, and a lot of the female fans among that number. SR: Bah, it's just because he's a pretty boy. Damn, I hate being surrounded by pretty boys... that's what I like about you, Dross. TD: Thanks... I think. MW: Hey, Steve, you really need to unwind, loosen up.  Here's some gifts     for ya... [Marty reaches into his bag.  He pulls out several large packets of biscuits, along with two six packs of Mooselips.  Soundbite almost leaps over Dross to get to the goodies.] MW: Easy, hoss.  I just thought you may as well snack out during this     bout. [He hands goodies to Roberts, whilst retaining several Mooselips for himself.] TD: Wow. I haven't seen the Soundbite move like that since, well,     actually I'm pleased to say I've never seen him move that fast before. [Time is money, or at least that's what President Spreadbury has stenciled in big letters over his desk, so Sparky forges ahead into the next intro, partly to keep things flowing and partly to distract the Furies from trying to steal all that Mooselips.] SL: Introducing first, hailing from Victoria, British Columbia, Canada, at a weight of 230 pounds... Timothy N. Turner! [TNT is sans waiter this time as he takes his first step into view and begins to be soundly booed. Of course, we could expect the surprise factor would be gone if he did have a waiter with him... in any event, Turner starts to set about his usual ring entrance, consisting of strutting, flexing, and informing the fans just how good he is.] MW: You know, Tim, this TNT dude, I mean, we all know dynamite blows,     right? [Soundbite splutters, sending partly digested biscuits over the ring apron. Dross just looks on anxiously, hoping that went over most people's heads. It probably didn't.] SL: And his opponent, haling from Cornerbrook, Newfoundland, Canada, at a weight of 243 pounds, he is known as the "Quickstriker"... Chris Quigley! [The bassy sounds of an AC/DC ballad, specificly "For Those About to Rock", blast out to get the crowd worked up yet again. Instead of a pantheon of pyrotechnics, Quigley is making a simple entrance, walking calmly down the aisle, slapping the hands of supporters, etc. As usual, a system of laser beams is creating the trademark Quickstrike symbol. Quigley, by now almost at the ring, stares directly at Warnett for a split second, but then looks away as if there was nothing there. Turner looks shocked as Quigley rolls into the ring, and as the Atlantic Canadian gets up, he tries to point out the way things should be done, saying, "You're supposed to be distracted by him, then I jump you from behind. It's tradition, man!" The bell rings but Quigley, however, isn't biting, so Turner has to try and create his own opportunity, looking to lock up with the grappler. The two do get tied up in a knucklelock, but neither has a decisive advantage as they struggle back and forth. Finally, both men just release and start circling again, looking for an open spot to attack.] TD: It looks like things are starting off slow in this one, both men     trying to feel each other out. And before you say anything, Marty     Warnett, yes, Chris does not usually partake in feeling men out. SR: Mpph gahsy mggggle. TD: I think your mouth is full, Steve. Ladies and gentlemen, until Steve     Roberts finishes his biscuits, Mr. Warnett and I will be calling this match without Soundbite assistance. [Turner tries to duck under an extended arm, looking for a single leg takedown, but the well-schooled Newfoundlander kicks off the lunge and dives down to latch a head-and-arm lock, controlling Turner and riding him down to the mat. Turner starts scrambling, trying to turn around and get behind Quigley, but Chris is equal to the task, at least for now.] TD: So far this seems like a college match, both men are dipping into a     lot of techinical knowledge and Quigley seems to have the early     advantage. Marty, you have to be worried about this man's technical     expertise, and also his focus in totally ignoring you. MW: You, see, Tim, I respect Quigley for his in-ring abilities, but, you     see one Quigley bout, you've seen 'em all.  He's added no new     offense since, well, god knows when. TD: If it ain't broke, don't fix it, I suppose. [Turner's managing to gain some headway and is almost turned around. He's weakened Quigley's grip enough to slip outof the head-and-arm, and then scoots behind Quigley into an amateur referee's position. He grabs a headlock and dives down into a bulldog of sorts, which despite the lack of height has nasty impact. Turner then goes to work on the left leg, grabbing it before any counter is possible and twisting back in a grapevine. Quigley's fighting the pain, as we might expect, but Turner seems to genuinely think this move will put him away. As a result, Quigley starts to use his incredible willpower and endurance to push up against the submission, and an incredulous Turner can do nothing but look concerned as he's finally thrown to the mat, the hold released. Turner springs right back to his feet and charges, only to run into a Quigley right hand. It's obviously shaken him up mentally, because TNT loses his composure and charges again, only to be dropped by another sucker punch, this one dropping the confident Victorian on his kiester, where he starts flailing about, holding his sore jaw.] TD: Turner can certainly wrestle on a level with Chris Quigley, but it would seem as if he can't quite think with him. He really fell into that trap hook, line, and sinker. Any comments, Mr. Warnett? MW: [Marty turns to Roberts.] Hey, I respect you, biscuitman. TD: What on earth is that all about? [TNT slowly starts to get up, still holding his jaw where he'd been struck. An impatient Quigley rushes over to engage him again, but Turner decides to pick his fights, and runs towards the corner to hide behind referee Chuck Sanders, with his head stuck between the ropes in an act of self-defence. Quigley is finally forced back by Sanders, so he turns around to walk away in disgust. Turner sees the chance, and runs at Quigley, literally back-jumping him to land on the shoulders and try for a...] TD: Victory roll! That's good for one... two... oh, he almost had him!     What an upset that would have been! MW: Steve just wrote something on his notepad... he wants me to say this     for him. "It wouldn't upset me." I agree, Soundbite. TD: Even with his mouth full... [Turner's trying to stay in the driver's seat as he picks up Chris by the back of his neck and whips him to the ropes. Quigley tries to leap at TNT, but this actually plays in Turner's favour as he catches him with ease. Turner then grabs one leg, setting it up for a fisherman suplex! Despite the negative crowd reaction, he holds one finger up for the crowd as he goes for a cover: 1 - 2 - another near fall! Quigley kicks out well, if not strongly, though, so Turner decides to try and slow him down with a bit of brawling. TNT wails away at the back of Quigley, firing shot after shot, but still Chris takes it, almost inviting more. Finally he bursts up to his feet, startling Turner who tries another punch. You know the sequence that's coming... TNT punch is blocked, TNT punch is blocked, Quigley hammers him with right hand... but Turner's thinking on his feet and knows this might get out of hand, so he quickly brings a knee into Quigley's chest. The move is legal, so despite the disapproval of the fans Chuck Sanders can't really complain, although it was sort of fighting dirty.] TD: We have two very proud and very skilled Canadian wrestlers in the     ring, and even though it's only a few minutes in we've already seen a very hard fought match between these two. I'm not sure what it is,     but Canada seems to produce a lot of great technical wrestlers. MW: It's nice to see Chris sprouting the ole pro-Canuck routine.  It's     nice to see that he thinks they're great drinkers.  Mind you, if the     two greatest pro wrestling role models up there are him and Lebec,     I'd be paralytic too.    TD: I think to be on the safe side, we should apologize to our Canadian viewers for the insuation that they can't hold their liquor. [After some furious writing, Steve Roberts holds up a notepad with the following written on it: "We have Canadian viewers?"] TD: Well, actually, our Canadian viewers who don't have a satellite dish     get to see an edited one hour version of Saturday Night on Thursdays. MW: That must suck. I hope it's not the same crappy version we get back     home... [Regardless of the international availability of IIWF programming, TNT is starting to go postal on the favourite, nailing him with various manners of kicks to the gut, body shots, and stiff martial arts type chops. This time he's not facing much of a return offense, so he feels free to gloat a bit while doing so. Finally, Turner moves in for the kill, grabbing Quigley around the neck and starting to spin, presumably for a reverse neckbreaker. Quigley, ever the counter-wrestler, goes along with the spin so well that he just keeps going until they're right back where they started, then he boots Turner in the gut. Finally there's a piledriver which, as most Quigley offense tends to do, is drawing a lot of cheering from the crowd.] MW: Nice move... TD: Yes, Quigley executed it well... MW: Nah, I meant that chick over there.  A-wigglin', and a-jigglin'.     Damn fine pair of biscuits. TD: Well, I suppose so if you like those store-bought, synthetic kind of     biscuits. MW: Ouch, Timmy, you may be learning something. TD: I learned something once. Best month and a half of my life. [Quigley then moves in to a lateral press, but Turner still has a lot in him and is able to kick out at two with relative ease. However, the  Quickstrike is far from done, as ties up Turner's leg in his own, and pulls back into a Russian legsweep. Another cover, and this time a closer call, but still only two. Quigley picks up TNT yet again and whips him hard into a corner, following in himself. Turner sees it coming and gets his feet up, meaning Quigley's in a bit -- make that a lot -- of trouble if he can't stop in time. He doesn't, and ends up on the wrong end of a boot to the mush. Quigley stumbles back, while Turner hops up to the second rope, leaping off majestically towards Quigley's jaw. The dropkick hits, and Quigley goes down hard.] TD: Chris Quigley does his best ping pong ball impersonation, as he     bounces right back up after going down! MW: Becky bounces right back up after going down too, big deal. TD: Please, Marty, this is prime time television! We're on live... except in Canada, of course. [Quigley did indeed hop right back up, but Turner's on too much of a roll for that to affect him. Instead, he hops right up onto Quigley's shoulders and twists him into a hurricarana, holding on for the pin attempt at the end for: 1 - 2 - No, he just kicks out! A frustrated Turner starts jawing with Chuck Sanders about the speed of the count, but is getting nowhere. Quigley peeks up to see TNT distracted, but instead of capitalizing he lays back down and waits for Turner to get back to him. Eventually Tim does, and he gets the idea of going for a submission victory. Turner grabs the left leg of his opponent and starts setting up for a figure-four, which Quigley is fully ready for with an inside cradle: 1 - 2 - no, Turner somehow powers out! He quickly works on slowing the Quickstrike down with a thumb to the eye, drawing the ire of the capacity crowd, and the referee. Not worried about a DQ over such a small transgression, however, Turner instead sends Chris to the opposite ropes and sets up to receive him. Quigley's still a bit blinded, so he isn't prepared to act when Turner blasts him with a spinebuster, the sound of which echoes through the building.] TD: Did you hear that impact? Chris Quigley seemed to land tenderly on     his head there, he may be hurt. [Warnett mimes that he's sobbing.] TD: Will you be serious for one minute, Marty Warnett? [Turner starts strutting a bit for the crowd as he notices what Dross had... Quigley is hurt, possibly concussed from the impact. Smiling at his good fortune, Turner draws one thumb across his throat in an "I'm gonna finish him" gesture, and starts his way to the top rope. Once he's made it, he signals for the TNT by patting his elbow, lets out a trademark laugh then...] TD: Turner is in the air for that TNT elbowdrop and... Quigley moves!     Quigley is right back up, snapping the Quickstriker on! He was playing possum! Once that Quickstriker is on, you just don't break it... MW: Every move can be broken.  Especially the ole Quickstrike.  Trust     me.  Then, Chris'll end up retiring and joining McBombalds.  Quite a     demanding career change for him.  "Would you like fries with     that?"         TD: I'm not sure Turner can break this one, but he is holding out... [The pain was obvious on TNT's face as he tries gallantly to stay in the match, but after a gruelling match one simple can't take a Quickstriker, and Turner is no exception as he begins tapping out.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match by virtue of a submission, "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! ["For Those About to Rock" kicks in again, and a victorious Quigley starts heading up to the top turnbuckles to celebrate his win with the fans. Turner, meanwhile, silently curses himself as he heads up the aisle. With this the scene, Marty Warnett gets up from his seat and, while in the process of taking his headset off, has one final comment to the Soundbite, who's still stuffing his face.] MW: Oh yeah, Steve?  Becky owes me twenty big ones for finally shutting     you up in a broadcast. [Warnett then continues on towards the ring, while a redfaced Roberts angrily puts down his half-eaten biscuits and half-drunk Mooselips. Why does the term half-drunk seem so appropriate in conjuction with the Soundbite?] SR: That little punk, he... he... well, what the hell, I gots my biscuits and my beer. Who cares where they came from? TD: You're not holding a grudge? SR: If only Marty would have brought me some of that fine pre-age of     informed consent ass he's always hanging around with backstage, we might have gotten to be friends. [Meanwhile, while Chris Quigley heads down the aisle to some pretty loud cheering, Warnett enters via a somersault over the top rope. He's still got his plastic bag with him, and soon he has the house mic as he "borrows" it from Sparky. Quigley had been trying to ignore his tormentor, but he turns around mid-aisle to listen to him now.] MW: You know, all I've heard from you, Chris, and indeed Tonnage amongst     others, is about your feuds elsewhere, other titles you've held.     And yet, Chris, since you're such a star, I'd like to remind you     that the current IIWF belt score between us is a mighty one-nil to     the Party Maniac... and very soon, it'll be two-nil. [Big crowd pop!]     Chris, your skill needs to be recognised, which is why I have a     present for you... [Marty reaches into his bag, pulling out a... gold belt!] MW: This, my friend, is the prototype of the Cruiserweight belt here in     the IIWF. I thought the initials were kinda fitting for you, given     the way you tend to leave the arena.  I mean, Chris, you are the     Concussion Weight champ, aren't you? [The crowd gives a huge pop!  Marty throws the belt in the middle of the ring before exiting, waggling his eyebrows at Quigley as he passes him, high-fiving the fans on his way back down the aisle.  Quigley simply shakes his head and leaves the belt in the ring, throwing one disgusted glance at the hunk of gold lying on the mat before heading back to the locker rooms, a frustrated look on his face. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: These two men are both fan favourites, but they both have very     different ways of going about it, and that very contrast should make     their encounter a classic. SR: You know, I'd make a joke about women's tennis, but Marty's such a     huge fan it wouldn't be worth it. TD: I'm afraid to ask but... why's Marty Warnett a women's tennis fan? SR: Because he found out the best player in the world is a 16 year old.     Marty and Martina... what would they name the kids? TD: Good grief. Well, fans, we're now just moments away from our main event, pitting Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven against Serge Annis -- but who knows what kind of shape the Butcher is in, both physically and mentally, after the assault Genesis inflicted on him -- and on Heidi -- a little earlier on this evening. SR: The Butcher's a tough nut to crack, Dross. I know he's gonna be out here breakin' heads just as soon as the bell rings... or maybe even before the bell rings. TD: We're about to find out. Hold on to your hats, folks -- this one's going to be a war. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven vs. Serge Annis |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: SK [Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring and raises the microphone once more:] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is your _Main Event_ of the evening!  This match is scheduled for one fall.  Introducing first, weighing in at 293 pounds and accompanied by members of Genesis, from Oakville, Ontario, Canada, here is the Epitome of Evil... SERGE ANNIS! ["Some Days It's Dark" by Death Lurks threatens to drown out the massive heel pop from the crowd as the Coliseum's house lights begin to dim, and a thin trail of fire sparks down the aisle and surrounds the ring.  It's a truly chilling effect, and becomes even more so when the black curtain covering the wrestlers' entranceway parts, and Gabrielle, looking quite smug and seemingly unscathed from her battle with Nurse Heidi earlier in the evening, emerges to lead the way to the ring.  Behind her, the Epitome of Evil himself strides slowly and deliberately, his ever-present Zippo lighter in hand, and the only time Serge Annis breaks his impassive expression is when he passes the aisleside camera, where he flicks the lighter to life and holds it close to his face, the flame throwing eerie shadows across his face as he grins manaically into the camera for the benefit of the legion of Genesis Generation fans seated nearby, who go into a chant of "We're not worthy!  We're not worthy!" as Annis passes by.  He then flicks the lighter closed again, and continues on to the ring, ignoring the jeers, catcalls, and the occasional bit of trash thrown at him by the anti-Genesis fans.  Behind Annis are the Highwayman and Cold Spell, with Adam Smith and Edmund Fitzgerald walking side by side, and Icehawk, looking like he'd really rather be somewhere else, lagging a bit behind.] TD: Genesis coming out in somewhat less than full force here to accompany Serge Annis, Steve.  Apparently Requiem and Scott Rogers have decided to pass on the main event tonight. SR: I'm not surprised, Dross.  Boy Rectum's probably trying to spend as much quality time with his belt as he can before he has to hand it over to Otto in about two weeks from now.  But who the hell's this other guy you're talking about? TD: Scott Rogers, Steve. SR: Is he a wrestler? TD: He's a member of Genesis, Steve. SR: Hmmm.  Do you know what a "fifth wheel" is, Dross? TD: Ouch.   [The group reaches the ring and the other members of Genesis take up positions around the ring as Annis, with a quickness belying his mass, rolls under the bottom rope and rises in the middle of the ring, as four-foot flames shoot up from each corner of the ring and the hail of boos from the crowd reaches fever pitch.  Annis sheds his black leather jacket with "Genesis" emblazoned across the back, and hands the jacket and his silver Zippo to Gabrielle as referee Earl Alfonso moves to give Annis instructions.] TD: Earl Alfonso's got his work cut out for him tonight, Steve Roberts. This is a matchup that could feasibly get out of control at any moment, and given the state that Otto Verhoeven is in after seeing his fiancée taken to hospital, the possibility of one or both of these men being seriously injured here tonight is, unfortunately, quite high. SR: We can only hope, Dross, we can only hope.  Good thing I brought along extra biscuits for this match... SL: And his opponent, hailing from Essen, Germany, and weighing in at 340 pounds, known around the globe as the "Teutonic Terror", and the "German Juggernaut", here is... Good Lord! ["Good Lord" is indeed _not_ Annis' opponent tonight, but the introductions at this point become irrelevant.  Sparkplug Lee quickly evacuates the ring as suddenly, from out of the crowd, Otto Verhoeven charges over a guardrail and into the ring, still clad in the tattered tuxedo he wore at his contract signing earlier in the evening!  Annis, still receiving instructions from Alfonso, is caught totally unawares as the Butcher, eyes burning with hatred, levels Annis from behind with a savage clothesline! In an instant, Verhoeven is on the downed, disoriented Canadian and begins laying into him with a flurry of bludgeoning fists!] TD: Otto Verhoeven has slipped through the fingers of Genesis and is devastating Serge Annis right out of the gate!  This match has started out as a Pier Six brawl, Steve! SR: And it's only gonna get better, Dross!  Jesus Marimba, I LIVE for this! Get him, Otto!  [Alfonso motions for the timekeeper to ring the bell, signalling the start of the match, as Gabrielle bangs on the mat outside the ring and screams curses at Alfonso and encouragement to Annis, who cannot seem to offer any resistance to the punishing attack of the enraged German!  Verhoeven looks absolutely homicidal as he abandons the fisticuffs and wraps his huge hands around Annis' neck, threatening to squeeze the very life out of the Epitome of Evil.  The Juggernaut waits until just a hair shy of the five-count before releasing the chokehold, but his rage is undaunted as he drags Annis to his feet, slaps on a reverse headlock, and leaps into the air to drive Annis' head through the mat with a vicious jumping DDT!  Pop from the crowd!] TD: That's the closest thing to a scientific wrestling move we've seen in this match thus far, Steve.  Verhoeven seems bent on annihilating Serge Annis here tonight, right in front of his stablemates. SR: Science has nothing to do with it, Dross.  This is vintage Butcher, doing what the Butcher does best - carving up fresh meat!  Get that hook ready for Serge, baby!   [Verhoeven leaps to his feet and tears off his tuxedo jacket and shirt, flinging them into the face of Adam Smith at ringside.  As the Juggernaut and the Highwayman engage in a heated shouting match, Annis begins to slowly stir behind Verhoeven.  Something in Smith's eyes must have alerted the big German to the danger, though, because as Annis crawls to his knees, Verhoeven suddenly turns on him and lifts a huge knee right into Annis' face, sending him sprawling back to the mat!  Big pop!] TD: Otto Verhoeven is pulling no punches here tonight, Steve!  He is utterly destroying Annis, who hasn't been able to mount any offense thus far in this match. SR: I hope that ambulance that took Heidi to the hospital's gonna be making a return trip... [The big Canadian lies motionless on the mat as Verhoeven circles him, fixing his eyes in turn on each member of Genesis and pointing down at the semi-conscious Annis, taunting the ringside "spectators" in his native German before setting upon Annis, dragging him to his feet and sending him for the ride.  Verhoeven sets up for a flying shoulderblock, but incredibly, Annis has the presence of mind to hold on to the ropes! Verhoeven lands hard on the mat right in front of Annis, who almost more by force of gravity than design, falls forward and drops an elbow right on the back of the German's head!] TD: Serge Annis showing incredible resilience here, Steve Roberts. Verhoeven may have miscalculated his opponent's endurance, and now the tide seems to have turned in the Canadian's favour.  SR: What the hell is it with these Canadians, anyway?  Just like Timex watches -- they take a lickin' and keep on tickin'!  Annis, Mota, Turner... oh wait, Chrissie Kick-me's from Canada too, so I guess that blows _that_ theory...  [Both men are now prone on the canvas, both not appearing to move, and Alfonso begins counting them out, but at the count of four, it is Verhoeven who stirs first, and begins to slowly drag himself up by the ropes as the crowd uncharacteristically cheers him on.  However, Gabrielle is up on the apron in a flash, screaming at Alfonso that Annis, who has also begun to stir, has been cut over an eye.  As the referee moves to check the validity of Gabrielle's pleas, Adam Smith rushes over to where Verhoeven is still crawling to his feet and seizes the big German by the head, choking him with the middle rope!] TD: Genesis is certainly making its presence felt now, Steve, in a manner we've become all too familier with in recent months.  The Highwayman is blatently choking Verhoeven in there! SR: They're gonna have to, Dross, 'cause they're not gonna stop Otto any other way!  The Butcher's royally pissed, and those Genesis punks are gonna need every guy they got to keep him down!  [Verhoeven flails his arms frantically, attempting to land a blow on Smith, but the Highwayman has his fingers laced tight around the back of Verhoeven's head and is pulling down with all his weight and strength.  As Gabrielle continues to argue with Alfonso, Verhoeven begins to wilt as Smith keeps up the pressure on his throat, the Juggernaut's arms slowing their movements until eventually they hang limply over the apron.] TD: Earl Alfonso has no idea what's transpiring behind him, Steve!  This is terrible! SR: Typical Genesis, Dross... gutless.  Hey, what the...    [Suddenly, the lights in the Coliseum die out, blanketing the arena in total darkness.  When they come back up, both Verhoeven and Annis are once again lying motionless in the middle of the ring, Gabrielle has backed away behind the ring wth a look of sheer terror on her face, and the Highwayman finds _himself_ the victim of a vise-like, one-handed chokehold applied by the Deathbringer!] SR: It's the other dead guy, Dross!  The freak's come to clean house!  [As the Highwayman coughs and sputters, dangling like meat on a hook from the masked man's hand, Deathbringer jerks him close, as if to let Smith gaze into his unearthly red eyes, then prepares to heave the Highwayman into the air for a chokeslam!  However, as the 'Bringer crouches for the lift, Scott Rogers leaps over the guardrail from amongst the group of Genesis Generation fans at ringside, tackling both Deathbringer and Smith to the floor!] TD: Scott Rogers coming out of nowhere to save Adam Smith from the clutches of the Deathbringer!  Annis and Verhoeven are out cold in the ring, and it's chaos out here on the floor, Steve! SR: That's why the IIWF is the greatest promotion in the world, Dross.  Two matches for the price of one!  Pass the biscuits, baby dolls!  [Meanwhile, back in the ring, both Annis and Verhoeven are coming around, but this time, it is Annis who rises first, tottering unsteadily over to the German as he pulls himself up to all fours, and dropping another big elbow into the small of Verhoeven's back!  Verhoeven cries out and clutches his back in agony, and Annis, sensing an advantage here, drives still another elbow into the base of the Juggernaut's spine.  Gaining momentum now, Annis pulls Verhoeven to his feet in a reverse headlock, and tapping some deep reserve of energy, lifts the 340 pound terror up and slams him face-first into the mat!] TD: Annis going right to work on the back of Otto Verhoeven, which still may not be 100% after the events of last Saturday, Steve Roberts.  The Butcher appears to be in real pain out there. SR: He's still the Juggernaut, Dross.  He only needs one good shot to end this.  C'mon, Otto!  Suck it up!  [Outside the ring, the brawl between Deathbringer, Highwayman, and Rogers still rages on, with the hell-bent 'Bringer somehow holding his own with his two adversaries, dropping Rogers with a roundhouse right, then turning to fell Smith with a lariat.  Fitz leaps into the fray, tackling Deathbringer to the concrete once more, and now the three Genesis members keep him down, laying into the big man with kicks and punches as Gabrielle gloats and Icehawk looks on sullenly.] TD: Deathbringer's being mercilessly attacked by the Genesis faction now, Steve, with only Icehawk staying out of the brawl. SR: Yeah... wouldn't want to mess up his hair now, would he?  These Genesis punks may be mouth-breathing morons, but at least they'll go a little. Fitz should give his little buddy a shot in the mouth just on principle.  [Deathbringer becomes momentarily lost from view under his three enemies, but it appears that there's still some fight in the Master of Chaos yet, as Rogers suddenly flies out of the pile and into the steel barrier, collapsing in a heap.  Smith leaps atop the 'Bringer to rain in more blows, and is shocked to be met by another lightning-quick chokehold!  Fitz hammers away at the Deathbringer's back as he slowly rises, pulling up the Highwayman with him, but the 'Bringer's free arm whips around with a scything backhand that catches Fitz square on the jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor.  As Deathbringer prepares once again to chokeslam the Highwayman, the Jobber Justice Squad charges down the aisle, swarming over the 'Bringer, who releases Smith from his death-grip to strain against the JJS as they work to remove the masked man from the ring area and herd him towards the exit.  Smith drops to one knee, clutching at his throat as he struggles to catch his breath, while Rogers shakes his head and takes up a position near the ring and Fitz shrugs off Icehawk's attempts to aid him.] SR: What the hell is THIS?  The jobbers drag off the freak, but nobody's doing anything about these Genesis punks?  Who the hell's running this show anyway, Dictator Danny or Boy Rectum? TD: A bizarre turn of events indeed, and nonetheless, the Genesis faction is still present at ringside.  More action inside the ring now...  [Back in the ring, Annis is on a roll now, scooping up the fading Verhoeven and dropping him hard in with a punishing backbreaker near the ropes.  As the crowd jeers loudly, Annis then proceeds to tie up Verhoeven's arms in the ropes!  Annis squats down in front of his bound foe, and proceeds to slap Verhoeven across the face several times, taunting him all the while. Annis then hits the opposite ropes, and on the rebound, launches himself into the air and lands a flying knee right against the side of Verhoeven's head!  Huge heel pop!] TD: Serge Annis taking to the air here, Steve Roberts!  A highly uncharacteristic tactic from the Epitome of Evil! SR: Kinda reminded me of that stunt with the bus in "Speed"...  [Both men tumble to the floor, Verhoeven collapsing in a heap on the concrete, while Annis' fall is broken by Edmund Fitzgerald, who moves quickly to intercept his ally.  Earl Alfonso begins the ten count as Annis drags Verhoeven to his feet, but the big German suddenly lashes out with a left hook that catches the Canadian off guard.  Annis fires back with a right of his own, and Verhoeven, rallying, throws a lightning quick left-left-right combination that staggers the Epitome of Evil!] SR: Yes!  Attaboy, Butcher!  Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee! Rope-a-dope!  Rope-a-dope!  [However, Annis knows better than to take on the pugilistic Butcher at his own game, and sticks a thumb in Verhoeven's eye.  As Verhoeven doubles over, clutching at his face, Annis scoops him up into a backbreaker position, but instead of dropping the German again, this time Annis charges towards a corner of the ring, smashing Verhoeven's lower back into the steel ring post!] TD: Annis back in control, and once more punishing the back of Otto Verhoeven!  The Butcher's in danger of being seriously injured here...  [As Alfonso's count reaches seven, the Highwayman moves to assist Annis in throwing Verhoeven, who's in serious trouble now, back into the ring, and Annis rolls back in just after the count of nine.  Annis drags the Butcher near one of the corners, then bellows out, more for the crowd's benefit than Verhoeven's, "Are you ready for a surprise?", then begins to climb up the turnbuckle!] SR: You _gotta_ be kidding me...  [Annis climbs up to the top rope, facing away from Verhoeven and steadying himself by holding on to the top of the ring post, and bounces once -- twice -- and on the third bounce, launches himself high into the air, flipping over backwards!] TD: Moonsault!  Serge Annis with a moonsault!  What a surprise indeed, Steve Roberts!  This is unbelieveable! SR: You crazy son of a bitch... [It's not the prettiest moonsault ever captured on film, and Annis doesn't get good rotation on the move, but the effect is nonetheless awesome as 293 pounds of Serge Annis crashes onto the chest of Otto Verhoeven!  The landing is not good, however, and Annis, shook up himself by the move, does not land in a pinning position, and both men once again lie on the mat, Annis struggling to clear the cobwebs from his head, and Verhoeven, twitching slightly but otherwise motionless and appearing to be unconscious.] SR: Too much courage and not enough technique, Dross.  Annis could have cost himself the match right there.  [Annis, slowly getting his bearings, crawls over to the prone Verhoeven and lays an arm across his chest.  Alfonso drops for the count - 1 - 2 - Verhoeven, incredulously, gets a foot on the bottom rope!  Pop from the crowd!  Annis musters the strength to pull Verhoeven into the centre of the ring, and goes for another pin - 1 - 2 - Verhoeven drives a shoulder up! Pop!  Annis, realising what's happening here, jumps on Verhoeven and begins whaling away with punches, but the Butcher raises a knee hard into Annis' groin, and the Canadian rolls off, his face contorted in pain.] TD: Verhoeven is rallying!  Where is he finding the energy, Steve? SR: Boy Rectum had better be taking notes on this, Dross.  Verhoeven's taken enough punishment to stop an eighteen-wheeler, and he's still going! They don't call him the Juggernaut for nothing, baby dolls! [Slowly, deliberately, the battered Butcher rises to his feet, staring down at the stricken Annis with a look of pure murder.  Verhoeven seizes Annis by the hair and pulls him to his feet, whipping him into a corner and following him in with a big splash!  Annis hangs in the corner like a rag doll as Verhoeven climbs the ropes and begins delivering hard right hands to Annis' temple and jaw, the crowd gleefully calling out the count - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10!  Wild pop!] SR: Tenth floor!  Lingerie, feminine hygiene, washed-up coat tail-riders... Ha! [Verhoeven drops to the floor and sends Annis crashing into the opposite corner, once again charging in after him for another splash.  This time though, the Butcher's boiling rage works against him, and he goes in too fast, his momentum carrying both him and Annis over the top turnbuckle and tumbling once again to the floor!] TD: Oh my goodness!  Both men are outside the ring, and we've got a street fight on our hands now, Steve. SR: It's about time, Dross!  I've been waiting for this all night! Slaughter that bum, Butcher!  [Both Annis and Verhoeven rise simultaneously, and proceed to attack each other tooth and nail, brawling out of control on the arena floor as Earl Alfonso begins counting both men out.  The Genesis members at ringside wisely stand clear as the two combatants flail away at each other with punches, chops, and elbows, each seeming bent on permanently incapacitating the other.  Unnoticed by Annis, Verhoeven, and indeed most of the fans in the Coliseum, Requiem enters and begins striding down the aisle towards the ring, carrying the World Championship belt over his shoulder.  As Annis and Verhoeven continue to brawl on the floor, Alfonso's count reaches five, at which point Gabrielle jumps onto the apron, chewing out Alfonso for an alleged quick count.  Gabrielle and Alfonso argue, momentarily stalling the count, as Requiem reaches ringside and calmly strolls up to where the two men are battling.] TD: Requiem is at ringside!  This could get ugly, Steve!  [Verhoeven has his hands locked around Annis' throat as he looks up with surprise into the pale, smirking face of the World Champion, a sudden look of understanding crossing his own face before Requiem whips the World Title belt off his shoulder and smashes the Butcher right between the eyes with the heavy gold strap!  HUGE heel pop!  Verhoeven crumples to the floor, a bad cut opened over one eye, and lies unconscious on the concrete as Requiem replaces the belt on his shoulder and moves away from the scene of the crime, standing beside Icehawk, who can only stare at the champion with disbelief.] TD: What a heinous act by the champion!  Verhoeven is down, and he is not moving, Steve!  Otto Verhoeven has been laid out by Requiem!  This is an outrage! SR: This is a crock, Dross!  These Genesis weasels are out of control! Otto's not gonna make it back!    [Earl Alfonso finally manages to rid himself of Gabrielle and her protests, and resumes the count at six as Annis, shaken up but still lucid enough to understand the situation, crawls back to the ring as the count reaches seven... Annis reaches the apron and pulls himself up to his feet... 8... Verhoeven still hasn't so much as batted an eyelid... 9... Annis rolls under the bottom rope and into the ring, but the Butcher still lies motionless on the arena floor... 10!  Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: Aw, for cryin' out loud... SL: Here is your winner, as a result of a countout... representing Genesis, the Epitome of Evil... SERGE ANNIS! ["Some Days It's Dark" once again blasts forth from the P.A. as Annis rises to his feet in the ring and, exhausted as he is, still raises his arms and punches the air in celebration of his victory to an ear-splitting heel pop from the crowd.  Requiem, Gabrielle, Highwayman, Rogers and Fitz climb into the ring to congratulate and celebrate with Annis, while outside the ring, Icehawk stands with his arms folded, shaking his head and staring at the floor.  The members of Genesis take a few moments to rub the crowd's collective noses in their victory, Gabrielle cuddling up to Annis as Requiem parades around the ring, holding the World Title belt high over his head as deafening boos rain down from the stands.] TD: Well, a victory for Genesis tonight, Steve Roberts, but as always seems to be the case, a victory tainted by controversy.  We can only hope that after the incredible punishment he has absorbed tonight, Otto Verhoeven has not seriously jeopardised his chances to win the World Title at Midsummer Madness. SR: Look at these morons, Dross!  This has got to stop!  The Butcher will be back, you can count on it, and if you think he was pissed before, you ain't seen nothing yet!  [Finally, the group decides it has had enough and leaves the ring, led by Requiem, who is blindsided as soon as he climbs to the arena floor by a furious, manaical Otto Verhoeven!  Verhoeven tackles the champion to the floor and lays into him with savage knees and fists, nearly insane with rage, but his resurgence is short-lived, as a vicious kick to the temple by the Highwayman takes the wind out of the Butcher's sails once again.  Now Verhoeven is utterly helpless as he faces the full force of Genesis, as Requiem, Annis, Rogers, Smith, and Fitzgerald set upon him like wild dogs, punching and kicking the Butcher mercilessly.] TD: Verhoeven is being utterly worked over by Genesis, Steve!  He's taken so much punishment all evening, and now he's running the risk of certain injury at the hands of Requiem and his minions!  This is an atrocity! SR: Where the hell's the JJS now, Dross?  I guess we know now who's calling the shots backstage!  Well, I'm not gonna stand for this!  [Roberts stands up and begins removing his jacket]  I've had it up to _here_ with these backstabbing lily-livered morons... TD: For the love of God, Steve, sit down! SR: No way, Dross!  I'm tired of this [BLEEP]!  I'll clear off these punks MYSELF if I have to! TD: You're not going anywhere, mister!  Sit back down or... IT'S THE SYNDICATE!  The Syndicate is coming down!  This is absolute chaos! SR: YES!  YES!  Sic 'em, boys!  God bless you, Blackheart!     [Suddenly, a huge pop rises from the crowd as Casey James and Tiger Claw, steel chairs in hand, sprint down the aisle to ringside and begin swinging away at the members of Genesis!  James fells Rogers with a well-placed chair shot to the solar plexus, while the agile Claw slips under a roundhouse right from Fitzgerald and leg sweeps him to the floor, following up with a shot to the back of Fitz' head with the chair!  Incredible pop!] SR: GIVE 'EM ANOTHER, CLAW!  HA! TD: We're out of time, folks!  Out of time!  Be sure to call the Hotline tomorrow for a full report on these shocking events, and tune into "Inside The IIWF" for the latest updates!  For "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, this is Tim Dross, saying: so long, everybody! SR: KICK THEIR FREAKIN' ASSES, JAMES!  [Pandemonium reigns on the floor of the Coliseum as the Syndicate and Genesis tear into each other, with Otto Verhoeven once again lying unconscious on the concrete as a full-scale war rages over him, slowly fading to black.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+