________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| | || | \ v v / | __| |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| ___ _________ ___ _______ ______ _______ ____ | \/ || || \/ __\| | | \/ || \/ | __\| _ \ | \ / || || \ \__ \| | | \ / || \ / | __\| / | |\/| || || / /__\ \ v | |\/| || |\/| | |__| \ \ |_| |_||_||__/\____/\_/|_| |_||_| |_|____\_|\_\ ___ ______ __ ___ ____ ___ ___ | \/ || \ | \ | \ | __\/ __\ / __\ | \ / || \ \ | \ \| \ \| __\\__ \ \__ \ | |\/| || |\ \| / /| | || |_____\ \___\ \ |_| |_||_| \_\__/ |_|_||____\____/\____/ Saturday 6 September 1997 + IIWF Coliseum ----------------------------------------- H O U R T W O [Fade back to the interior of the IIWF Coliseum, jam packed with its capacity crowd of around twenty thousand excited fans. The shot pans down past the stands, and finally comes to rest on the bank of broadcast tables along one side of the ringside enclosure. The shot pans past the Spanish announcers, gesticulating wildly and apparently shouting themselves hoarse despite there being nothing in particular to shout about, and comes to rest on the table at which are seated the tuxedo-clad dynamic duo of Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts.] TD: Welcome back to Midsummer Madness, folks! The action is set to continue in hot and heavy fashion in just a moment, as we witness the third of our four elimination matches. We talked at the top of the first hour about this match, Steve Roberts -- speculated about how Billy Shakespeare and Ronnie Paris will be able to work together as partners after their numerous altercations in the past weeks. SR: Ronnie Paris has finally woken up and smelled the coffee, Dross. I approve of his new attitude -- hey, anybody who takes a stand against Shakespeare is a friend of mine. TD: Well, Shakespeare and Paris will be partnered by Dexter St. Croix and the Machines in this next match as they go up against Sebastian Jericho, the Phoenix, Kevin "the Cavalier" Christiansen and the Hollywood Bloods. An eclectic group of athletes, Steve Roberts. SR: Yeah, whatever. TD: Let's get up to the ring for the introductions in this contest. ___ ___ | \/ |---------------------------------------------------------------. | \ /_|_ ___ MIDSUMMER MADNESS ELIMINATION MATCH: | | |\/|| \/ | Shakespeare, St. Croix, Ronnie Paris & The Machines | |_| || \ / | vs. | | |\/| | Jericho, The Phoenix, Christiansen & Hollywood Bloods | |_| |_|---------------------------------------------------------' WRITER: SK [Sparkplug Lee enters the ring to ringing cheers of "Spar-ky!  Spar-ky! Spar-ky!" from the pumped-up Midsummer Madness crowd, a group of whom at ringside are bowing down to our indefatigable ring announcer in the time-honoured "We're not worthy!" fashion.  Lee blushes visibly at the attention, but nonetheless, he just can't resist pulling the lineup card out of his pocket with a grand flourish in response to the accolades. Unfortunately, he loses his grip on the card in the process, flinging it into a far corner of the ring, and scrambles awkwardly after the card as the ringside fans roar with laughter.] SL: Ahem... the next contest is the third of tonight's Midsummer Madness tag team elimination matches!  Introducing first, at a total combined weight of 1,163 pounds, here is the team of the Machines, Dexter St. Croix, Ronnie Paris, and their captain, "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare! [The Sweet's "Little Willie" rings throughout the Coliseum as the members of the first group make their way down the aisle to the ring.  Despite the presence of crowd favourites Shakespeare, St. Croix, and the affable Machines, the crowd weighs in with a very loud heel pop, reserved solely for one Ronnie Paris, who trails behind the main body of his team as they all approach the ring area.  Paris seems to be reveling in the jeers and taunts of the ringside fans, and as his teammates climb into the ring, Paris halts midway down the aisle and smirks, waving his arms at the crowd as if conducting an orchestra.  A chant of "RONNIE SUCKS!" begins to build from the ringside fans, and with Paris egging them on, the chant swells until it becomes nearly deafening.  Paris, seeming to be pleased at this, grins from ear to ear and continues down the aisle and climbs into the ring, taking a sweeping bow for the crowd directly in front of Billy Shakespeare, who seems none too pleased with Paris' antics.  Shakespeare attempts to chastise Paris for his delay of match tactics, but Paris just pushes him aside as he moves back to the corner.  Shakespeare looks as if he'd like to throttle Paris, but the captain manages to hold his temper.] TD: You have to wonder just what's going on inside the head of Ronnie Paris these days, Steve Roberts.  He actually looked as if he was encouraging the fans to boo him! SR: Don't you get it, Dross?  When the fans loved Ronnie, he sucked!  Now that they hate him, he's kickin' ass!  Now, the Soundbite's not a superstitious man, but if I were Ronnie Paris, I'd take the time to tell each fan at ringside just what I thought about their mothers' sexual practices, then pray for them to start in with the airborne objects.  TD: Uh huh... and you _actually_ think this will help him win matches? SR: Hey, anything to get those ratings up, baby dolls.  We're damn sure not gonna get a porn star every Saturday night, unless Danny-boy starts showing up at more cards with his latest rent-a-date.       SL: And their opponents, weighing in a combined 1,256 pounds, here are the Hollywood Bloods, the Phoenix, Sebastian Jericho, and their captain, Kevin "The Cavalier" Christiansen! [The dramatic swells of "Carmina Burana" fill the Coliseum as the Cavalier emerges from the entranceway, resplendent in a glittering helmet and breastplate, purple cape, and leather gauntlets and boots.  A silver shield is strapped to his left arm, with his right hand resting on the hilt of a long broadsword hanging by his side as he makes his way to ringside, looking as if he'd just stepped out of a scene from "Excalibur".  Jericho and the Phoenix fall in behind him, both looking deadly serious as they approach the ring, with the Bloods bringing up the rear, Wayne and Watson playing up to the crowd to almost zero response as the majority of the crowd's attention seems to be taken up with the spectacle of the Cavalier, who has entered the ring and has begun the laborious task of divesting himself of his garments.] TD: Well, Kevin Christiansen certainly put some spice into an otherwise low-key entrance for this team with his spectacular ensemble, Steve.  My goodness! SR: I think the Cavalier's still paranoid that Tim Turner's gonna come after him again after he put that Opie kid in the hospital, Dross.  Nothing like eighty pounds of steel armour to save you from a punking.  I'm surprised he didn't come to the ring in a Brink's truck. TD: Earl Alfonso's now trying to sort these two teams out before the bell. Neither team would seem to have an advantage as far as chemistry is concerned, Steve - Christiansen's team are all strangers to one another, whereas Ronnie Paris will certainly be a fly in the ointment for Shakespeare's team. SR: And that's the only reason I have to stay awake during this one, Dross. Otherwise, all you've got here is a "Battle Of The Also-Rans".  This ointment could desperately use a few flies. [Inside the ring, most of the participants have moved to their respective corners, but the Machines and the Bloods are still in the ring, jawing at one another.  Clark Watson and Paul Wong in particular are having a heated head-to-head, and the two begin shoving each other.  Simon O'Neal and Doug Wayne step in, but the Wong and Watson push them aside, staring each other down.  Alfonso then steps in, fingering O'Neal and Wayne, and the two turn and head for their corners, leaving Wong and Watson in the centre of the ring, eyes still locked.  Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] TD: It looks like Wong and Watson will be starting things off here, Steve. The two tag teams involved in this match, the Machines and the Hollywood Bloods, seem to have been developing a bit of a rivalry in recent weeks, with the Machines scoring a big win over the Bloods just last week. SR: Well, that's just fascinating, Dross.  Say, do you know if Macbeth is still in the building? TD: I haven't a clue, Steve.  Why? SR: I'm hoping he's got some of that single malt Scotch stashed in his locker.  I'm really gonna need a stiff drink to get through this match. [Wong and Watson move in for the lockup, and it's the Machine who moves to the offensive first with a headlock, but Watson pushes out of it easily, and the two lock up again.  This time, it's Watson with a swift knee lift to Wong's midsection, doubling him over, and the Blood measures Wong for another knee lift, this time into the Machine's forehead!  Wong crashes to the mat and Watson follows him down with an elbow strike, but Wong rolls out of the way and Watson find nothing but canvas.  Watson springs back up to his feet, but Wong is way ahead of him, and levels the Blood as he rises with a powerful clothesline!  The enrages Watson scrambles to his feet again, and is mowed down again with another lightning-fast lariat from the Machine!  Big pop!] TD: Some rousing action from Wong and Watson to start this match off, Steve. SR: Scotch... vodka... Mooselips... diesel fuel... _anything_, Dross.  Just so I can get through this crap and see Otto kick Rectum's rectum. TD: I'm afraid it'll have to be coffee tonight, Steve.  Decaffeinated, at that. SR: Lord, have mercy on my poor, tortured soul. [Wong pulls Watson to his feet and sends him for the ride, catching him off the ropes with a devastating powerslam that shakes the ring with the force of its impact.  Watson is reeling from the Machine's power assault, but manages to drive a shoulder into Wong's midsection as he picks him up for another move.  Watson fights his way back to his feet, throwing lefts and rights into Wong's stomach.  Wong throws back a few shots of his own, but Watson feints with a right and spins instead, nailing the Machine on the jaw with a superkick!  Sensing a shift in momentum, Watson quickly scoops up Wong and lays him out with a spinning neckbreaker!  Loud heel pop!] TD: Clark Watson has managed to fight back here, Steve Roberts, and is now taking it to Paul Wong in there. SR: Yeah, but in a ten-man tag match like this, Dross, you've gotta have eyes in the back of your head.  You've got to watch your opponent _and_ the corners. [Sure enough, Watson picks Wong up and sends him into the ropes again, and bounces off the opposite rope to nail Wong with a lariat of his own, but Wong is conscious enough to duck under Watson's arm!  As Watson prepares to bounce off the ropes again for a second pass though, Simon O'Neal moves behind Watson, and there is a quick flash of metal in his hand as the other Machine strikes Watson in the back of the head as he hits the ropes! Watson collapses to the mat, stunned, as Wong takes the opportunity to hit the prone Blood with a legdrop as he bounces back, and covers for a pin! Alfonso drops - 1 - 2 - 3!  Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, CLARK WATSON has been eliminated as a result of a pinfall! TD: Clark Watson is the first man to be eliminated here, Steve, under somewhat dubious circumstances! SR: What'd I tell you, Dross?  You've gotta watch _everybody_ in a match like this, especially a guy like Simon O'Neal.  That kid definitely gets the Soundbite Seal Of Approval!  One piece of advice though, O'Neal - go solo!  That loser Wong's just holding you back, son! TD: I'm sure that Simon O'Neal would emphatically disagree, Steve.  Wong apparently has elected to remain in the ring, and now Sebastian Jericho steps in for the Cavalier's team. [Jericho and Wong spend a few moments sizing each other up, and move in to lock up, but Jericho strikes first, slipping the collar-and-elbow and taking Wong to the mat with a Russian leg sweep.  Immediately, Jericho is upon the Machine, and applies a crushing leg scissors to Wong's rib cage area.  The winded Wong seems to be having difficulty breathing as a result of the power of Jericho's legs constricting his diaphragm, and he begins flailing about frantically in an attempt to break the hold.] TD: Paul Wong's in real trouble now, Steve.  It may not have been a smart move for him to remain in the ring after pinning Watson, and now he's tiring quickly under the force of Jericho's leg scissors.  We may see a submission if this keeps up. SR: You see, O'Neal!  GO SOLO!  Would the Soundbite steer you wrong? [Jericho pours on the juice as Wong falters, but the popular Machine rallies, rising on his hands in a push-up position, and begins to drag himself and Jericho to the ropes!  Jericho decides to change his tack and releases the hold, making sure to deliver an axehandle to the back of Wong's head before rising to his feet.  Jericho scoops up Wong, who is still fighting for breath, and sends him into the ropes.  On the rebound, Jericho catches the much larger Machine around the waist, spins him in the air tilt-a-whirl style, and then catches him in mid-air in a powerbomb position!] TD: Raptureplex from Jericho!  This may be the end for Paul Wong here, Steve! [Earl Alfonso is quick to drop for the count as Jericho covers, but he really has all the time in the world as the Raptureplex has taken all the remaining fight out of Wong - 1 - 2 - 3!  Ding!  Ding!  Ding! SL: Ladies and gentlemen, PAUL WONG has been eliminated as a result of a pinfall! TD: The newcomer Jericho is looking very impressve here in his pay-per-view debut, Steve Roberts.  He would seem to have a bright future ahead of him in the IIWF. SR: Yeah, he pinned Wong, big deal.  Let's see how he does against someone more challenging, like... well, like, say, Jumpin' Jack, or my buddy Smooth. [Paul Wong rolls out of the ring, looking somewhat disoriented, but remains at ringside to support his partner O'Neal.  The crowd pops wildly as Billy Shakespeare steps through the ropes to face off against Jericho, but the action is delayed as Ronnie Paris also steps through the ropes and begins arguing with Shakespeare.  Jericho remains in the ring, arms folded, and paces impatiently as Shakespeare and Paris jaw at each other and the crowd begins to boo its disapproval at both the delay in the match and its cause. Finally, Earl Alfonso moves to break up the argument and asks captain Shakespeare to get a man in the ring.] TD: Shakespeare and Paris are at odds over who's going to start against Jericho, Steve.  The ill feelings between these two men are threatening to hold up the proceedings, as neither man wants to back down. SR: It looks like neither Pukespeare or Paris are gonna get in, Dross. Alfonso's sending them both back to their corner! [Alfonso's decision enrages the two arch-rivals, and they protest vehemently, but the referee is adamant, and he gestures to Simon O'Neal to enter the ring as Paris and Shakespeare grudgingly climb out, still trading insults.  O'Neal steps into the ring, locks up with Jericho, and immediately rakes Jericho across the face with his black-gloved hand. Jericho reels back, rubbing at his eyes, and O'Neal pursues, chopping away at the throat area of the Kalamazoo native with vicious knife-edges.  Now it's Jericho's turn to gasp for air as he clutches at his larynx, and O'Neal uses the opportunity to quickly seize Jericho and drive him into the mat with a DDT!  Pop!] TD: O'Neal's tactics are a little rough around the edges, Steve, but they're certainly taking their toll on Sebastian Jericho. SR: I know, Dross, and it's a cryin' shame.  O'Neal could probably be a future Cruiserweight champ with moves and attitude like that.  Too bad he's letting that deadbeat Wong drag him down.  Of course, I guess _somebody's_ got to fight the Barnacle Brothers week after week. [Jericho decides that enough is enough, and he lunges towards his corner, tagging in Doug Wayne, who seems desperate to get his hands on O'Neal. Wayne vaults over the top rope and immediately goes for a bodypress against the Machine - 1 - kickout by O'Neal!  Wayne stays atop O'Neal and begins pummelling him with lefts and rights, which O'Neal struggles to block!] TD: Doug Wayne's looking to pay back O'Neal for his part in Watson's elimination, Steve!  He is absolutely furious! SR: Can you blame him, Dross?  His partner got pinned by Paul Wong!  Watson won't be able to show his face around the Coliseum for weeks.  He just wants to be careful mixing it up with O'Neal, though -- that boy's as sneaky as they come. [Indeed, O'Neal finally solves his problem by sticking a thumb in the eye of Wayne, who rolls off the Machine in pain, but both men are quick to get to their feet, and it is the resilient Doug Wayne who gets in a pair of forearm smashes to the side of O'Neal's head before grabbing the Machine by the head and driving him into the mat with a snap suplex!  Wayne scoops up O'Neal and sends him into the turnbuckles in Team Cavalier's corner, but on impact, O'Neal cries out loudly and crumples to the mat, clutching his back in pain.  As Alfonso moves to investigate, O'Neal struggles to his feet and turns, complaining to the referee and pointing at Kevin Christiansen!] TD: What's O'Neal saying here, Steve?  He seems to think that the Cavalier somehow hit him from behind, but Christiansen was nowhere near him! SR: Heh heh... this is gonna be great. [Alfonso begins to chastise the Cavalier, who protests his innocence profusely, and Doug Wayne moves to the corner to verify his story.  At that moment O'Neal digs something out of his trunks, but instead of using the object to attack Wayne, he pulls at the Blood's waistband and sticks the object down his opponent's trunks!  As the confused Wayne begins rummaging through his tights, O'Neal shouts at Alfonso, who turns just in time to see Doug Wayne holding Simon O'Neal's own brass knuckles in his hand!  Alfonso immediately turns to the timekeeper at ringside and signals for the bell - Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, DOUG WAYNE has been eliminated as a result of a disqualification! SR: How do you like that, Dross?  Simon O'Neal managed to eliminate both of the Bloods almost singlehandedly!  I _love_ this kid! TD: Indeed, it looks as if tonight is just the beginning of the bad blood, if you will, between the Bloods and the Machines.  Look at Doug Wayne, he is positively apoplectic! [Wayne is beside himself with rage, and screams at Alfonso that the knucks weren't his, but ranting and raving while brandishing a heavy blunt instrument isn't the best way to persuade an official, and the no-nonsense Alfonso ushers the Blood out of the ring, who is cursing profusely and jabbing his finger at O'Neal, who just cockily waves him off.  His next opponent isn't waved off so easily, though, as Sebastian Jericho cuts O'Neal down with a drop kick from behind!  Pop!] TD: Sebastian Jericho's back in the ring now, and seems to have caught O'Neal off guard.  Perhaps he wants to finish off the Machines on his own, as O'Neal did the Hollywood Bloods. SR: Bad move, Dross.  The bird-man and Sir Bore-Me-To-Tears haven't even set foot in the ring yet.  You've got to keep the fresh man in the ring if you want to go home with the win.  Jericho's team's already a man short. [Jericho certainly seems fresh enough, as he pulls O'Neal to his feet and sends him for the ride, but as O'Neal hits the ropes near his corner, he reaches out a hand and tags in Ronnie Paris!  On the rebound, Jericho attempts to take down O'Neal with a sunset flip, but before he can pull the Machine down, Paris comes off the top turnbuckle and drives a fist right between the prone Jericho's eyes!  A huge heel pop rings throughout the Colisuem as O'Neal rolls out of the ring and Paris begins to go to work on Jericho.  Paris drags Jericho to his feet, snaps him into the air and smashes him in to the mat with a perfectly-executed Northern Lights suplex! The "Ronnie Sucks!" chant starts up again, but Paris just laughs openly, and makes a point of gesturing to Shakespeare before slinging Jericho into the ropes and hotshotting him onto the opposite rope!  Big heel pop!] TD: The crowd's opinion of Paris is as low as ever, Steve, but you have to admit, he's pulled out some impressive manoeuvres in there.  He seems to be rubbing it in Shakespeare's face a bit as well. SR: Yeah, it's kind of like he's the Evil Twin Ronnie, isn't it?  He's got that Jericho punk in a world of trouble right now. [Jericho lies on the mat, barely moving after the hotshot, and Paris goes to his corner to tag in Shakespeare, but the captain does not extend his hand to accept the tag!  The crowd cheers as the two men begin to argue again, Paris unleashing a torrent of taunts at Shakespeare, and Shakespeare berating Paris for not finishing his man.  Behind them, Jericho struggles to his feet, and seeing Paris distracted, rushes in to tackle his opponent. Paris somehow anticipates the move, and whips around with a roundhouse right that catches Jericho flush on the chin, and staggers him long enough for Paris to wipe Jericho out with a cross-face German suplex!  Paris covers as Alfonso drops - 1 - 2 - 3!  Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Paris-Plex!  Ronnie Paris got Jericho with his patented finisher!  What a move! SR: Is it too late to nominate Ronnie as captain?  It's just the Phoenix and the Cavalier left on the other side now, Dross! SL: Ladies and gentlemen, SEBASTIAN JERICHO has been eliminated as a result of a pinfall! [As Kevin Christiansen steps into the ring to face Paris, the Texan merely smirks, and strolls back to his corner, holding out his hand blindly to his three teammates as he stares right at the Cavalier.  Dexter St. Croix, who's been itching to get in the ring all night, jumps to tag himself in, but Simon O'Neal is quicker, and the Machine steps into the ring again to the consternation of both Shakespeare and St.Croix, while Paris just laughs to himself, and steps through the ropes.] TD: O'Neal wants to get back in on the action here, Steve Roberts. SR: Doesn't ANYBODY listen to me?  O'Neal's got two fresh teammates, and he's going back in for more?  I like the kid, Dross, but he frustrates the hell out of me sometimes.  First, he sticks with the pantywaist Wong, and now he pulls a stupid stunt like this.  He's still got a lot to learn. [O'Neal moves to lock up with Christiansen, but he is easily overpowered by the Cavalier, who cinches a headlock on the Machine, followed up by quickly-executed side suplex!  O'Neal has barely hit the mat before the Cavalier follows up with a knee drop to the forehead that sends O'Neal bouncing off the canvas in pain!]  SR: Just like I told you, Dross.  All you L'il Soundbiters, pay attention, 'cause I can't keep giving out all this free advice. [Christiansen pulls the Machine back up, but O'Neal manages to ram his head into the lowest part of the Cavalier's lower midsection on the way up. O'Neal drives a shoulder into Christiansen's solar plexus as he claws his way back to his feet, and pushes the staggered Cavalier back into a corner. O'Neal then Irish whips Christiansen across the ring towards the opposite corner, but in the middle of the ring, the Cavalier reverses the move, and sends O'Neal hurtling towards the corner!  The force of the impact sends the Machine tumbling head over heels over the top turnbuckle, and he topples to the floor, cracking his head against the ring steps on the way down!] TD: Oh my goodness!  Simon O'Neal just fell out of the ring, and may have injured himself on those steel ring steps!  It looks like he's out cold, Steve! SR: I said it was a mistake, Dross.  A fresher man may have had the presence of mind to break his fall, but O'Neal's been in there way too long.  Looks like he's finished for the night. [Alfonso's count has reached six before O'Neal even begins to stir, a crimson trickle of blood streaming steadily down the back of his head and neck as Paul Wong, who was still at ringside, tends to his fallen partner. A hush falls over the crowd as Christiansen looks on from the ring, looking quite concerned for the well-being of his opponent.  Wong makes no attempt to push O'Neal back into the ring, as the smaller Machine still seems groggy and disoriented, and Wong just looks up at Alfonso and shakes his head as the referee's count reaches 7 - 8 - 9 - 10!  Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, SIMON O'NEAL has been eliminated as a result of a countout! [An EMT crew makes its way down to ringside to tend to O'Neal, but the Machine puses away the attempts of the paramedics to treat him, clutching the back of his head a ringside towel and slowly making his way up the aisle to the exit, with Wong and the medics escorting him out.  Meanwhile, Dexter St. Croix finally steps into the ring, bouncing in place in anticipation of getting in the action, but there seems to be some uncertainty in the opposite corner as Christiansen, clearly disturbed by his part in O'Neal's injury, can't decide to stay or tag out.  Finally, the Cavalier elects to tag out to the Phoenix, who steps through the ropes to lock horns with the Jamaican.] TD: Simon O'Neal appears to be all right except for that nasty cut, and now we have two fresh men in the ring.  It's like a brand new match all over again, Steve. SR: That's it.  These ten-man tag matches have _got_ to be banned.  I can't take it. [St. Croix and the Phoenix move to tie up collar-and-elbow, but the Phoenix fakes the lockup, electing to get a couple of open-palm strikes in to the side of the Jamaican's face before spinning in place and taking him down with a heel-kick to the temple.  The resilient St. Croix surges right back up, though and cinches the Native American around the waist, taking him to the mat with a startlingly quick belly-to-belly suplex!  St. Croix picks the Phoenix up off the mat and sets him up for a powerbomb, but Phoenix hooks a leg and pulls St. Croix into a cradle!  Alfonso drops - 1 - kickout by St. Croix!] TD: Some quick exchanges between these two men, Steve Roberts.  Both of these athletes have been waiting a long time in this match to show this capacity Midsummer Match audience what they can do. SR: Yeah, we've all been on the edges of our seats, Dross. [Both men scramble to their feet, and they lock up again, but this time, St. Croix slips the tie-up and goes behind the Phoenix, once again displaying his quickness as he hoists the Native American into a belly-to-back suplex that staggers the Phoenix!  The crowd pops at the Jamaican's tenacity as he drops a leg on the downed Phoenix and goes for a cover of his own - 1 - 2 - kickout!  St. Croix pulls the Phoenix up, sends him into the ropes, and catches him with a powerbomb!  St. Croix covers again - 1 -2 - Phoenix drives a shoulder up!  St. Croix can't believe it, but wastes no time in scooping up the Phoenix again and attempting to bodyslam him, but the agile native twists over St. Croix's shoulder, lands behind him, and pushes him into the ropes for a reverse rollup!  Alfonso drops - 1 - 2 - kickout by St. Croix!  Big pop!] TD: The crowd is clearly appreciating this display of talent and intestinal fortitude that these two men are providing, Steve.  This is what an IIWF live event is all about! SR: Jesus Marimba, will this madness never end?  I'm _way_ too sober right now... [St. Croix is on the Phoenix in a flash, and once again sends the Native American into the ropes, this time as a setup for his Natty Dread Drop, a tilt-a-whirl powerslam.  But the Phoenix isn't near softened enough yet for a finisher, perhaps an indication of the Jamaican's greenness.  At any rate, the Phoenix vaults over St. Croix's tilt-a-whirl clutch attempt and goes into the ropes again at incredible speed, leaving St. Croix off-balance and off-guard as the Phoenix somersaults through the air on the rebound and connects with...] TD: Phoenix Strike!  The Phoenix just tagged St. Croix with that move out of nowhere, and the Jamaican is down! SR: I gotta admit, Dross, that was a sweet move by the Phoenix.  The Rastaman never even saw it coming. [Dexter St. Croix is now laid out spread-eagled in the middle of the ring after the Phoenix's finisher, and Alfonso drops for the count as the Native American covers - 1 - 2 - 3!  Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, DEXTER ST. CROIX has been eliminated as a result of a pinfall! TD: Well, the fun-loving Jamaican goes down as a result, if you will, of a rookie mistake, but he certainly has gone a long way towards impressing a lot of people in the IIWF tonight, Steve. SR: I know a few people around here who are pretty impressed by a few things Dex has to offer already, Dross.  Becky's been spending a lot of time in the bathrooms lately, and I haven't seen her this relaxed since those videos she showed me from her sorority days. TD: We're now down to the final four competitors.  Here comes Billy Shakespeare, finally making his entrance into this match!  It seems incredible that, up until now, Shakespeare has not been involved in this match. SR: Well, he is the captain, Dross.  You know what they say... "don't ask, don't tell". TD: I beg your pardon? SR: Oh, wait... I meant, "rank has its privileges".  Never mind the other thing. [Shakespeare enters the ring to a huge face pop from the crowd, while back in his corner, Ronnie Paris just yawns and makes like he's falling asleep on the turnbuckle.  The Phoenix sizes Shakespeare up and promptly moves to his corner to tag in Christiansen, who strides to the centre of the ring and extends a hand to Shakespeare, who after a moment's consideration, accepts the Cavalier's handshake to the cheers of the audience and the jeers of Ronnie Paris.] TD: After all the sordid business that's gone on in this match thus far, Steve, this extraordinary display of sportsmanship by Shakespeare and Christiansen is a real breath of fresh air. SR: Baloney.  It's just making a dull, lifeless, and freakin' _long_ match even longer, for Pete's sake!  At least the Phoenix is listening to the Soundbite -- Sir Lose-A-Lot was the fresher man, so he tagged him in.  Smart wrestling right there. [No sooner have the two wrestlers in the ring released their handshake than the Cavalier charges at Shakespeare, hoping to catch him with a lariat, but the Oregon native is prepared for a surprise attack, and takes the big Englishman to the mat with a drop toe hold.  A quick pair of elbow drops to the back of the Cavalier's head, and Shakespeare pulls the Cavalier to his feet and sends him into the ropes, looking to drop kick him on the rebound, but the Cavalier holds the rope, and Shakespeare crashes to the mat as Paris cackles with glee in the background.  Christiansen picks up Shakespeare and begins working on his left arm, twisting it and yanking down hard several times as Shakespeare roars with pain.  The Cavalier continues to apply the pressure, twisting Shakespeare's arm almost to the breaking point, prompting Alfonso to move in and check for a submission, to which Shakespeare shakes his head emphatically.] SR: Pukespeare's gonna be carrying that arm home with him in his gym bag if the Cavalier keeps this up, Dross. [Christiansen shows no sign of relinquishing the hold, as he seems to have Shakespeare in a bind, but the agile Oregonian, clenching his teeth, executes a standing back flip to ease the tension on his arm, and follows it up with a lightning-fast enzuigiri that cold-cocks the Cavalier!  Big pop!  Shakespeare pulls the burly Brit to his feet and attempts a suplex, but the Cavalier still has some fight left in him, and he clinches Shakespeare around the waist to counter the suplex, and follows it up with a modified gutwrench shoulder breaker!  Pop!  Both men are on the mat now, as the Cavalier seems to be fading a bit, but he pulls himself together in time to scoop up Shakespeare and Irish whip him to the turnbuckles, following right behind for a corner splash.  Shakespeare, however, does not hit the turnbuckles, but runs up them instead, springing off and twisting in midair to catch a surprised kevin Christiansen with the Curtain Call! Incredible pop from the crowd!  Shakespeare hooks both legs on the rollup as Alfonso drops for the count - 1 - 2 - 3!  Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, KEVIN "THE CAVALIER" CHRISTIANSEN has been eliminated as a result of a pinfall! TD: What an incredible, gutsy, and spectacular move by Billy Shakespeare! That has to stick in the craw of Ronnie Paris a bit, Steve, as he's been trying to out-perform the man who was "Born to Perform" all evening. SR: Ronnie's just saving himself for the finish, Dross.  Nobody ever remembers who got the first pin in these matches, they only remember who got the last.  Pukespeare can do all the prissy tinkerbell moves he wants in this match for all Paris cares, as long as it's Ronnie standing in the ring at the end.  Which, by the way, I hope will be coming _real_ soon. TD: Of the Cavalier's team, only the Phoenix remains now, and he has to face the potent tandem of Shakespeare and Paris.  I have to say I don't much like his chances here, Steve. SR: I don't like my chances of staying conscious until the end of this match, Dross.  [Shakespeare waits for the Phoenix to enter the ring, but is momentarily distracted as Ronnie Paris begins shouting at him from the corner for a tag.  Shakespeare turns to Paris and shakes his head, pointing at himself and slapping his hands - 1 - 2 - 3, indicating that he intends to finish the match himself!  You would think that Paris would be incensed by this, but instead, he just grins at Shakespeare cryptically.  Shakespeare looks puzzled, but then, suddenly comprehending, turns back to the match at hand just in time to be levelled by a top-rope drop kick from the Phoenix!  Pop! The stunned Shakespeare is immediately sent into the ropes by the Native American, who devastates him again with a frankensteiner off the ropes! Paris gloats from ringside as the Phoenix drags the disoriented Oregonian up once more, and drives him with incredible force into the mat with a whiplash snap suplex!] TD: Pardon the pun, but the Phoenix is on fire in there, Steve Roberts!  He is just throwing everything he has at Billy Shakespeare! SR: He has to, Dross.  This late in the game, there's nothing left to save for later.  He's got to build some momentum now and try to ride it through if he has any hope of putting away both Pukespeare and Paris.  Looks like he's setting Pukespeare up for another Phoenix Strike! [The Phoenix has dragged Shakespeare to his feet once again, and Irish whips him into the ropes, as he runs to the opposite ropes to build momentum for his jumping spin kick, but as Shakespeare his the ropes, Ronnie Paris reaches out and tags Shakespeare's hand!   As the Phoenix rebounds from the ropes and prepares to leap into the air, Paris climbs the turnbuckles in one fluid motion and launches himself at the Native American, catching him with a flying clothesline that nearly takes his head off, and whose impact can be heard throughout the Coliseum!   Paris hooks a leg and covers as Alfonso drops, but the pin is academic, as the Phoenix is out cold - 1 - 2 - 3!  Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, THE PHOENIX has been eliminated as a result of a pinfall!  Here are your survivors, RONNIE PARIS and "SPOTLIGHT" BILLY SHAKESPEARE! ["Little Wille" kicks in over the P.A., but the music does not produce the usual reaction from the crowd, as Shakespeare is still just getting to his knees in the ring, and the crowd is more preoccupied with raining boos and jeers down upon Ronnie Paris, who is celebrating as if he were the sole survivor of the match, climbing the turnbuckles and throwing taunts of his own back at the audience.  Shakespeare finally climbs to his feet, and the crowd begins to cheer him as he smiles and waves to the fans, largely ignoring the nearby antics of Paris.  Paris, sensing that Shakespeare is stealing his thunder, strides over to his fellow survivor and belts him right in the mouth!  Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my goodness!  After all these two men have been through tonight, it appears as though they're going to start fighting amongst themselves now! SR: Why not, Dross?  The only heat that mattered in this match was between two guys on the same team anyway.  They're just giving the people what they want!  Besides, Paris has every right to be pissed at Pukespeare.  All he did was let the birdbrain slap him around before Ronnie had to come in and take care of business himself.  Why should he get to share the glory? "Captain", my ass. [The surprised Shakespeare reels back in pain, and Paris uncorks another haymaker that sends Shakespeare to the mat!  The crowd's boos become almost ear-splitting as Paris puts the boots to Shakespeare, who is too tired and stunned to resist, and finally succeeds in kicking Shakespeare out of the ring and to the floor!  The crowd buzzes with excitement as Marty Warnett suddenly sprints down the aisle to the ring area, and tends to Shakespeare momentarily before rising to his feet and hurling abuse up at Paris in the ring.  Paris merely shrugs off Warnett's insults and challenges, and continues his posing for the jeering crowd, despite all indications from the ringside audience that he has long outstayed his welcome in the ring. Warnett pulls Shakespeare to his feet and raises his hand in victory, drawing loud cheers from the fans at ringside, and the two make their way up the aisle to the exit.  Paris climbs out of the ring soon after, and mockingly invites the ringside fans to slap hands with him as he too saunters up the aisle and exits the Coliseum. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Another fascinating turn of events in this match as Marty Warnett comes to the aid of Billy Shakespeare, Steve Roberts.  It's interesting to note that with their respective appearances tonight at Midsummer Madness, both Warnett and Shakespeare have wrestled fifty matches in the IIWF, surpassed only by Tiger Claw of the Syndicate. SR: And just what the hell does that useless bit of trivia have to do with anything, Dross? TD: Well... I suppose it means that the two have developed a mutual respect for each other, based on their similar length of tenure and experience here in the IIWF. SR: Right.  The only mutual respect that those two probably share is for their similar tastes in interior decorating.   TD: Up next, we have the match that could well end up stealing the show here tonight, a contest which wrestling fans all over the world have been waiting for -- Marty Warnett facing Chris Quigley one on one in the squared circle. Let's take a look at the rivalry between these two superstars. [Cut to slow-motion monochrome footage captioned, "IIWF Saturday Night: Last Week." Chris Quigley and Marty Warnett stand facing one another in the ring. Behind them stand Steve Kowalski and Brody Thunder respectively, their partners in a tag team match. Warnett and Quigley look upon one another with intense, unblinking stares. Over this footage comes the voice of Tim Dross:] TD: Two superstars united in their quest for recognition, for respect... and for gold. Two superstars with tremendous talent -- but with personalities that are almost diametrically opposite. [Cut to a clip of Warnett being mobbed by young fans as he makes his way out to the ring, almost being dragged over the crowd barriers and into the sea of fans. His face is painted with a wide grin as he enjoys the attention of his public.] TD: On the one hand, there is the flamboyant young superstar, in tune with his generation, a man determined to work hard and party harder. [Cut to a comparable clip of Chris Quigley making his entrance, his hands outstretched to either side to allow the clamouring fans to touch him, but in stark contrast to Warnett's playful smile, his eyes are set on the ring.] TD: And on the other, there is the man whose entire life has been steeped in wrestling. From his youth to the present, Chris Quigley has always been the picture of intensity, of determination, and of focus. [Cut back to the monochrome footage of Warnett and Quigley standing face to face in the ring.] TD: Two superstars. Two beliefs. One battle. [Cut to various snippets of each man's interviews, interspersed with footage from their various meetings. Cut to Chris Quigley:] CQ: Marty Warnett is not going to just be beaten in this match, he's going to be able to comprehend a whole new level of pain. I'm gonna allow him to earn some respect in this match. [Flash cut to Chris Quigley locking the Quickstriker on Marty Warnett. Cut to Marty Warnett:] MW: There's no way I'm missing our bout, and no way I'll let being hit by a chair affect my performance. No excuses and no regrets. [Flash cut to Warnett and Quigley brawling in Becky LaRue's locker room at Coronation Clash 1997. Cut back to Chris Quigley:] CQ: When this thing's said and done, Marty Warnett will be a man, or at least, he'll be as close as he's gonna get. [Flash cut to Warnett and Quigley slugging it out in the tag match just one week ago on IIWF Saturday Night. Cut back to Marty Warnett:] MW: I will pin you, 1-2-3, and the partying will begin and never end in the IIWF... [The two men stand nose to nose once more, cast starkly in monochrome, as the segment fades back to the broadcast table.] TD: There you have it, folks -- this should be a truly memorable matchup. I've been looking forward to this one all evening! SR: Yeah, whatever. I wanna ask you something, Dross. Who is the gimp     sitting next to me?     [Steve Roberts points to a bespectacled little man dressed as an IIWF Technician, sitting nervously next to Steve Roberts.] TD: Ah... Actually, I'm glad you mentioned that, Steve. That's Jake     Walkers, an IIWF technician. President Spreadbury specifically     requested that he be here for this match.     SR: Yeah? What does Dictator Dan want with him? TD: Jake is the man who runs the "seven second delay" button, Steve.     With this match, President Spreadbury wanted him close so he could     keep a special eye on you.     SR: What?! Why, that little [BLEEP]! That [BLEEP]ing Dictator! Who the     [BLEEP] does he think he is? Jake [BLEEP]ing Walkers? I'll give him     Jake [BLEEP]ing Walkers! TD: That's exactly the sort of language President Spreadbury is worried     about, Steve. Given your past record with Chris Quigley, President     Spreadbury is taking no chances. SR: We'll see. I got rights, Dross. What about the First [BLEEP]ing     Amendment?! Hey, will you [BLEEP]ing pack that in, ya little [BLEEP]?! [The little man grins nervously, showing the camera the little remote control he's got grasped in his hand.]     TD: Well, we'll see. Let's get down to the ring with Sparky! ___ ___ | \/ |---------------------------------------------------------------. | \ /_|_ ___ GRUDGE MATCH: | | |\/|| \/ | "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley vs. Marty Warnett | |_| || \ / | | | |\/| |---------------------------------------------------------' |_| |_| WRITERS: MG & MC [Sparkplug Lee casually enters the ring, a "Lee Rules" baseball cap jauntily perched upon his head. He raises the microphone, and begins to speak...] SL: This contest is scheduled for one fall, with no time limit! About to     enter the ring, weighing in at 238lbs and hailing from Corner Brook,     Canada... "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! [The crowd pops as AC/DC's "For those about to rock!" blares through the arena and fireworks explode throughout the air, sending the kids into apoplexies of delight! Chris Quigley strides down the aisle with an unusually intense air about him, ignoring the outstretched hands of the clamouring fans and keeping focused intently on the ring ahead.] TD: Oh my goodness, and Chris Quigley is certainly looking intense,     even by his own standards.     SR: Who cares, Dross? Chris Quigley is a punk, and always will be. You     know it. I know it. The whole world knows it!     TD: That's not entirely true, Steve. SR: I'm not even going to say a damn thing during this match, Dross. The     whole world knows how I feel about Chris Quigley, and his "friend,"     Troy! Me saying anything else during this match would be redundant.     SL: And his opponent,hailing from Cardiff, Wales, weighing in at 245lbs,     the "Party Maniac", Marty Warnett!     [Another big pop as "Cold Gin" begins to reverbate throughout the arena, but after a few moments the crowd begins to buzz with confusion as Marty Warnett fails to appear...] TD: Well, this is certainly curious, Steve. Where the heck is Marty     Warnett?     [In the ring Chris Quigley stands in the centre of the ring, patiently awaiting his opponent, not a flicker of emotion crossing his face] SR: If it were any other man Marty Warnett were facing, I'd say that the Party Maniac had chickened out, but since it's Quigley... who knows? SL: His opponent... the "Party Maniac", Marty Warnett! [For a second time, "Cold Gin" once more blares throughout the arena, but again there is no sign of the Party Maniac. The referee urgently beckons Sparkplug Lee over to the ring and confers briefly...]     SL: Ladies and gentlemen, I have been informed by the referee that if     Marty Warnett does not appear then Chris Quigley will win the match     by virtue of a forfeit! [The crowd boos, wanting to see the match this evening.] SL: His opponent... "Party Maniac" Marty Warnett!     [Again "Cold Gin" blasts throughout the packed coliseum, only to be abruptly cut off. Suddenly, David Lee Roth's "Just like Paradise!" begins to play, and Marty Warnett steps into the aisle. Big pop from the crowd! As he steps into the glare of a spotlight, it can be seen that he has adopted a different garb for the evening... His trunks now have the Red Dragon of Wales on the rear, he sports a tie-dyed hairband, and a loose white T-shirt with "Day 56: IIWF UNDER SIEGE" on the front, and the words "The Biscuits Are Liberated" on the back.] SR: What the [BLEEP]? He liberates my biscuits over my dead body, Dross! TD: Well, better late than never, Steve, as Marty Warnett slaps hands     with every single fan lining the aisle! He's really making Chris     Quigley wait!     SR: Yeah, look at that, Dross! He's even signing autographs! [The rocking beat of Warnett's entrance music continues as Marty zig-zags from one side of the aisle to the other, slapping hands with as many fans as possible. Once reaching ringside, he looks up at Chris Quigley waiting in the ring, and elects to make a complete circuit of ringside, again slapping the hands of every fan he is able to reach, occasionally glancing up into the ring and grinning at the increasingly frustrated Quigley.] TD: Well, after [looks at watch] five minutes of delays, Marty Warnett     is finally ready for action in the squared circle, Steve.     SR: Like I said earlier, Dross, I don't care. This whole match is a     non-entity for me. Sure, I'd like to see Quiggers get the [BLEEP]     kicked out of him once again, but why send a big girl like Warnett     to get a boy's work done, huh?     [The bell rings -- at last -- and the two men eye each other warily, before lunging into the centre of the ring for a collar-and-elbow, both men circling the ring as they try and dominate. After no luck for several long moments Marty Warnett drops to the mat and monkey-flips Chris Quigley, who lands unharmed on his feet. Quigley drops an elbow, but Warnett is not there, having flipped to his feet moments earlier. The moment Quigley hits the mat, Warnett delivers a big legdrop. Pop!] TD: What precision timing that must have taken, Steve! SR: Hmmm... two across, five letters, "A political organisation." TD: Put the crossword down, Steve. [In the ring Warnett has gone for the quick pin, but Quigley kicks out effortlessly, sending Warnett flying as he powers out. Both men are back on their feet again, and Warnett irishwhips Quigley into the ropes. Warnett with an armdrag, but Quigley holds on, sending Warnett flying. Warnett rolls over and hits his feet quickly, narrowly dodging a clothesline from Quigley, but retaliating with a forearm to the breadbasket which sends Quigley down to the mat once more.] TD: Well, I was expecting a fast paced match, and so far this has been     no disappointment.     SR: Man, am I tired. Think I'll take a nap! TD: NO! SR: [BLEEP] this, Dross! No way you can make me call, or even _watch_,     this match -- it's cruel and unusual punishment!     [Warnett pounces upon Chris Quigley, wrapping him up in a figure-four leglock! Pop! It's in the centre of the ring, with nowhere for Quigley to go, and the crowd hits the roof!] TD: My goodness, Steve, things are looking bad for Chris Quigley! He's in the centre of the ring, there is nowhere for him to go! He cannot get to the ropes, Ste -- what are you doing, Steve Roberts? SR: Hmm? Oh, sorry, Dross. Have you seen this? It's great! It's called     Super Mario 64, you're this cute little guy who's got to run around     collecting all these little jewel things...     TD: [interrupting] How did you hook your monitor up to a video game     machine?     SR: This little technician guy's real helpful. Me and him are getting on     great!     TD: [through gritted teeth] Watch. The. Match. SR: Shan't. [In the ring Marty Warnett has got the figure-four locked on tight, and Chris Quigley seems to be in considerable pain, but even so he's struggling, he's trying desperately to escape this oh so painful move, and he's beginning... he's beginning to reverse the figure four! BIG crowd pop! Chris Quigley reverses the figure-four, and now it's Marty Warnett who is in pain!] TD: Marty's near the ropes, and he quickly grabs for a rope! The referee     is instructing Chris Quigley to break the hold, but Quigley seems to     be taking his time!     [The crowd boos as Chris Quigley does not break the hold immediately, indeed, only releasing it when the referee almost reaches the five count.] TD: And it seems that Chris Quigley has very certainly got a grudge     against Marty Warnett, Steve Roberts! Chris Quigley a mere fraction     away from being disqualified.     SR: Uh-huh. Good. Keep up the good work. TD: You're not paying any attention, are you? SR: Uh-huh. Good. Keep up the good work. [Both men are now on their feet, though Warnett appears to be limping somewhat. Again, both men nervously eye each other before going for a collar-and-elbow, but Quigley ducks at the last minute and ducks behind...] TD: Belly-to-back suplex! That was so quickly applied I almost didn't     see it, Steve! Marty is down and now Chris Quigley floats up and     locks on a headlock! Marty slips out, and now floats over Quigley     for an armbar. The speed I'm seeing here is simply breathtaking! [Quigley easily evades the armbar, and once more both men are on their feet, as once more they cautiously approach one another. Chris Quigley raises his arm, inviting Warnett to a test of strength, which Warnett seems to be willing to go for as he raises his arm also...] TD: Big boot from Quigley to the Party Maniac's midsection, Steve!     Rocker Dropper from Quigley - NO! Marty drops to the mat quickly and     rolls out of the way! Quigley meets nothing but arm and slams on the     mat hard! What timing from Marty Warnett, Steve!     [As Chris Quigley gets to his feet, Marty Warnett is on the move, rebounding off the ropes and flying high into the air with a cross bodypress, but Quigley, using his own momentum against him, catches Warnett in mid-air and drops to the mat on his back, sending Marty flying backwards and through the middle rope to the mat outside! BIG pop!] TD: Oh my! And certainly a stunning move from Chris Quigley there, Steve     Roberts! Warnett is down on the mat, and he looks out of it! Steve?     Steve! Put that Playboy away this instan... hello, is that Becky     Larue?!     SR: Nah. Looks like her, but see, Becky's got this cute little mole on     her left...     TD: [interrupting] I don't wish to know that! Put that magazine away and     call the match, Steve!     SR: Aw, Dross, you're taking all the fun out of my life. I don't care     about the match. Sure, it's fun to watch a real man kick the [BLEEP]     out of Chris Quigley, but Marty Warnett isn't a man, Dross, he's an     overgrown Hanson fan, and I don't give a [BLEEP]ing [BLEEP] about what those two overgrown [BLEEP]s do in there, unless they start getting naked, in which case I'm leaving. Now let me get back to reading these interesting stories in this here magazine, Okay?     [Meanwhile, back in the ring, Chris Quigley has been biding his time, patiently awaiting Marty Warnett. As Warnett dazedly slides back into the ring, Chris Quigley bursts into action, sprinting across the ring and kicking Marty Warnett outside again with a sliding baseball kick! Slight heel pop! Warnett goes down to the floor again, and Chris Quigley slides out after him. Quigley begins to put the boot in as the referee begins to count both men out!] TD: Oh my word! Chris Quigley is really laying into Marty Warnett out     there, and the referee appears to be showing a certain degree of     lattitude which, I must say, I don't think will be appreciated by     Marty Warnett!     SR: [mumbling to himself] And then the butter slowly began to melt,     sliding into every crevice of her hot...     TD: [interrupting] Steve! If you must read that magazine then do it     silently! This is a family event! I'm sure President Spreadbury will     be having words with you after this event. [Quigley continues to stomp away, moving between the forehead and the sternum of the downed Warnett, as the referee continues to lay in the count, which is up to about six.  Quigley notices the count, and slides back into the ring, sliding right back out, as the count is forced to start anew.  Quigley picks Warnett up off the ground, and throws a roundhouse right in the direction of his face, which is blocked by Warnett's forearm, as Marty fires back with a LOUD European uppercut!  Warnett delivers three more as the crowd pops huge!] TD: Marty Warnett is fighting fire with fire here, using everything he has against an equally fired up Chris Quigley!  Warnett has Quigley set up against the railing... oh my! [Huge pop as a big dropkick by Marty Warnett sends Chris Quigley over the top of that guardrail and into the front row!  Warnett picks Quigley up out of the crowd and carries him over his shoulder back into the ring.] SR: [Mumbling, on a cellular phone] Yeah, yeah, I know I'm a' gettin' a porn star tonight and all, but I think two would do quite well!  Hell, two [BLEEP]s are _always_ better than one. TD: Will you stop? [Warnett has Quigley in the ring, and whips him to the ropes.  Using some amazing agility, Warnett quickly steps out to the apron, catching Quigley as he comes back across with a springboard bodypress!  Face pop as the referee counts: 1 - 2 - kickout by Chris Quigley!  Heel pop!  Quigley scrambles to his feet, looking Warnett right in the eyes before nailing him with a kick to the midsection.  Quigley hooks the arm and head, lifts Warnett, and DROPS him to the mat with a corkscrew vertical suplex!  Quigley starts driving repeated elbows into the head of the Party Maniac, increasing the force with each blow.] TD: Quigley is a man posessed, Steve!  Steve... Steve... Steve Roberts! [Dross looks over to the seat beside him, and finds no Steve Roberts, who is now sitting in the crowd with a few Lil' Soundbiters and Jake Walkers. He smiles and waves to the camera, mouthing "Hi Mom!"  Meanwhile, back in the ring, Quigley is tying Marty in the ropes and kicking away at his midsection with a fury not seen from "Quickstrike" in a long time.  Quigley pulls Warnett's one arm out of the ropes, and stomps at it a few times.  He then ties it back up, and slaps Marty.  The crowd lets loose with boos, and Quigley turns his back to Warnett to acknowledge the fans with a simple raise of one arm to the air.] TD: Chris Quigley needs to remain focused, and not worry about what the fans think about him -- and especially about what Steve Roberts is saying back there... yes, Steve, we can hear you. [Roberts is trying to start a "Quigley sucks!" chant... to little effect other than from his Lil' Soundbiters.] TD: Fans, I apologize for the actions of my broadcast partner, who doesn't feel the need to perform his job at the moment. [In the ring, Warnett is released from the ropes by the referee, and Quigley immediately pounces, locking on a side headlock and taking over Warnett, who reaches up with a headscissors submission, tapping at his own legs to apply pressure around the neck of Chris.  Quigley reaches up with his arms to try to seperate the legs, and Warnett grabs both arms, laying back in a full upper body stretch of Quigley, who pounds his feet off the mat in pain.] TD: Warnett is using a great submission offense in the early going of this match, which is about ten minutes in or more.  Marty releases Quigley slowly, keeping a hold on both arms, Greco-Roman knuckle lock style, puts his head in under the one arm, and lifts, bridging back with a Northern Lights Suplex! [Nice face pop as Warnett nails the move and bridges well, prompting a count of two from the referee prior to a kickout by Chris Quigley, who lifts his legs into the air and flips back, landing on top of Warnett for a: 1 - 2 - kickout!  Quigley pulls Warnett up, as the two men's hands are still interlocked.  Chris drops down to the mat, bending Marty over, and delivers a hard-to-notice low kick to the Party Maniac.] TD: Cheap shot by Chris Quigley there, and he kips his legs up toward Marty Warnett's neck, hooking him, and flipping back in a sort of grounded hurricanrana!  He doesn't go for a pin though, he starts unloading on the head of Warnett with a series of punches!  Quigley is dominating this match so far. [Roberts finally steps back over the guardrail to be seated at his announce position, where he promptly puts his head down and falls asleep. Meanwhile, Quigley quickly takes Warnett up off the mat, hooking him for another vertical suplex, but instead dropping Marty straight down on his head with a beautifully executed brainbuster!  Warnett's head bounces off the mat, and he rests, not moving.  Quigley works like a machine, quickly picking him up again, and slamming him to the mat hard.  Chris drops a high impact legdrop across the throat of Marty, and then brings him to his feet without a cover.  Marty is rocked quickly by a Quickstrike Quigley clothesline. Warnett stumbles to his feet slower again, and Quigley dropkicks him right in the chest, sending Marty through the space between the middle and top ropes and to the floor, hitting his back on the apron on the way out. Warnett is dazed, and has a lot of trouble reaching his feet, as Quigley is into action immediately, sliding underneath the bottom rope and nailing Marty with a hard right hand that looks to send a tooth flying from Marty's mouth into the crowd.] TD: A _huge_ right hand from Chris Quigley sends Marty reeling, and Steve Roberts is missing all the action!  Quigley throws Warnett into the ringpost, back first, and just laughs at him!  This is brutal just to watch! [Quigley, working almost as if he has a set plan, slams Warnett onto the blue matting that covers the concrete in the ringside area.  Warnett quickly clutches his back in agony, as Quigley goes over to the timekeeper's table, grabbing the ring bell.  He carries it over his head to the place where Warnett lays on his back, rolls Marty over, and slams the ring bell across his back.  *Ding*ing sound rings out from the shot.  Loud heel pop!] TD: The ref has just decided to stop trying to count these men out, looking just to let it go.  This feud _needs_ to come to an end, and it needs to come to an end tonight! [Suddenly, a static-sounding snort comes forth from Steve Roberts's nasal passages, as he sits straight up, a tiny amount of drool on his chin.] SR: Is it over yet? TD: No. [Quigley rolls Warnett back into the ring, nailing him with a series of stomps to the back before bringing him to his feet.  Quigley makes a twirling motion with his fingers as a signal to the crowd, dropping Warnett HARD to the mat with a spinning side suplex, and punctuating the impact with an open hand slap across the chest of Marty that sounds like two hands clapping together or a cane nailing someone in the chest, causing Marty to curl up in a ball defensively.] TD: Warnett is in serious trouble in this match... I don't know how much longer he can last. SR: Nice suplex by Shakespeare on Quigley, wouldn't you say so Dross?  I think he's getting ready to be finished off by Billy! TD: Are you watching the same match as me?  Pay attention to your monitor! SR: I am. [The camera gets a shot of the monitor, as the camera shows Coronation Clash's four way dance on the screen.  A VCR, used for the Nintendo 64 video game A/V cables earlier on, is now playing said match.  The camera stays focused as Quigley pins Shakespeare in the match.  Roberts gives a sarcastic "Damn, I thought Billy had a shot today!" statement, and then fiddles with the video games some more.] SR: Maybe I can do this myself, I've got the IIWF video game right now! TD: You're going to let the game run a match between Chris Quigley and Marty Warnett? SR: Of course not, Dross!  I'm going to control Warnett! [Quigley has been taking a breather the whole time, allowing Warnett to rest as well inadvertently.  Marty kips up to his feet, and Quigley quickly grabs him, attempting yet another corkscrew suplex.  Quigley starts to fall back, and Marty reverses the momentum completely, rolling forward and hooking the legs in a small package.  The referee quickly drops into position: 1 - 2 - almost a three as Quigley barely kicks out, shocked by the sudden offense that Warnett brings as both men reach their feet, nailing a trio of clotheslines on Quigley.  Chris quickly reaches his feet each time, before being nailed in the stomach area with a hard kick, as Steve Roberts yells it out, executing the same move in his pseudo-world match...] SR: DDT!  DDT BY WARNETT! TD: Wow, "IIWF Ring Wars: The Video Game", available from Slapcom Incorporated for the Nintendo 64... So close to the real thing, it's like being in the ring! SR: Shaddup Dross, all it shows is that Quigley and Warnett are beyond     redundant in their move arsenals.  Marty is on his feet again, and he quickly drives Quigley to the mat with a piledriver... TD: [interrupting] Oh my! Single Underhook DDT. [Warnett quickly grabs the arm of Quigley, applying a "code red" Japanese armbar, and wrenching back quickly, bouncing up and down off the mat in an attempt to seperate Quigley's shoulder.  Chris yells out in pain, and Warnett continues to wrench at the arm.  Quigley swings with his free left arm at the head of Warnett each time he bounces upward, and connects, weakening the grip.  Quigley times himself for one more swing, and the Party Maniac merely stays down, making Quigley throw his other arm out as well with the hard swing.  Chris absolutely shreiks out in pain.] TD: I don't think Chris Quigley can break the hold, Steve.  He's in some     tremendous pain.  Marty Warnett may just have this one won. SR: Yeah, I hope he can come back... he's busted open and locked in the [BLEEP] Quickstriker! TD: Please, Steve, I'm not going to beg... pay attention to the match! [Warnett realizes Quigley will NOT break the hold, and releases it, bringing him to his feet.  He hooks the neck and delivers a Hangman Neckbreaker, and another, and another, and a final fourth one.  Each time he does so, Quigley's neck is practically snapped in two, bringing an increasingly louder crowd pop with each one.  Chris lays, almost unconscious on the mat, as Warnett steps outside onto the apron, turning his head to look at the video game Roberts is playing, and seeing himself in the Quickstriker.  Roberts is maniacally pounding at the buttons.] SR: COME ON!  GET LOOSE YOU LOSER WARNETT! [Warnett reaches a single hand down, pushing the only button Roberts wasn't, breaking the hold.  He then refocuses himself.  While his attention was diverted, Quigley sat up, wide awake, then inexplicably laid back down. Warnett climbs to the top rope to deliver a Flying Headbutt, and leaps... The crowd gasps.  Dross breaks the silence] TD: Nobody home! Quigley was playing possum!  Chris Quigley was playing     possum!  He got out of the way in the nick of time, and Warnett just came crashing head first into the mat!  That HAD to hurt!  Quigley picks him up -- HIGH ANGLE POWERBOMB BY QUIGLEY! [The crowd gives a heel pop as Quigley holds the legs of Warnett in the power bomb position, and lifts him AGAIN in an absolutely amazing display of strength, driving Marty down across the mat with a second power bomb. An exhausted Quigley slumps to the mat, and falls flat on his face, but somehow also manages to drape his arm across Warnett.  The ref, out of position, leaps over the cover, dropping to the ground in position to make a slightly quicker count to cover his mistake: 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: Shoulder up! Warnett got a shoulder up! [Warnett gets his shoulder up just in time.  Quigley just rolls away, tired, exhausted both from taking and executing moves, about equally as spent as Warnett.  Marty reaches his feet before the man who had just planted him in the ground, picks Chris up, and whips him across the ring. Quigley blocks the Irish whip, however, with a reversal, and Warnett returns the reversal.  The closeness to the ref gives him no time to move, and Quigley levels him accidentally.  As he comes back off the ropes, he blocks a hiptoss with a swinging DDT, bringing a HUGE pop from the crowd! Quigley stumbles over to cover, obviously earning a three count, but nobody is there to make said decision.] SR: One... two... No! I can't believe he kicked out, Dross! Can you believe that?! TD: Are you still playing that game?  There's no referee awake in the real match right now, Steve. SR: [Ignores the comment] This is a great game! [Quigley gets off of Warnett, and walks over to the downed ref.  He taps him on the shoulder to no effect.  Warnett stumbles to his feet and gets behind Quigley, wrapping his waist in his arms and delivering a textbook German Suplex, but his lack of energy remaining ceases any attempts at a bridge, and both men remain sprawled on the mat.  Warnett comes to his feet, twists at Quigley's leg, and locks on The End!  He applies the Figure Four Leglock, but no referee is around to make the count on the flat-against-the-mat shoulders of Quigley, or to ask him if he surrenders.  Quigley shakes his head no, even though he is not being asked. The referee starts to stir, and crawls over to a seemingly unconscious Quigley... after what seems like an eternity, he begins a very slow, slumped count... 1 --- 2 --- Quigley brings a hand and shoulder into the air! Appreciative pop!] TD: Quigley's twist of the hand brings him away from the ropes he was right next to, however, and now his only hope is to actually reverse The End. [Quigley cannot bring himself to move well enough to reverse the end, and instead practically separates his body in many pieces by throwing his hand at, and grasping, the ropes.  Warnett breaks on the fourth count of five. He brings Quigley to his feet, and Chris quickly kicks Marty in the midsection, and then blatantly hits him low.  Chris goes for the Quickstriker, but Marty is too close to the ropes.  Quigley pulls at the legs, yanking him through the air, crashing down on the mat back first, bringing an ear-wrenching shreik of pain out from Warnett's mouth.] SR: Small package... One... Two... Three! TD: It's not over yet!  Quigley is stepping through for the Quickstriker! Quigley takes a shot to the head!  Warnett reaches up... SR: I meant on the ga... Hey, Dross, look at that! [Warnett catches Quigley in a small package, and the crowd seems to draw and hold one collective breath... 1 -- 2 -- Quigley reverses, getting his own two count.  Both men come to their feet. Huge crowd pop!] TD: Listen to this crowd!  Quigley swings at Warnett, and he ducks... [Quigley trips Warnett up, and Marty springs to his feet, nailing Chris with a clothesline on the way up.  BIG crowd pop!  Warnett picks Chris up, and catches him right across the bridge of the nose with a serious of open hand palm shots to the nose.  Warnett backs Quigley to the ropes, and catches him coming off with a HUGE superkick across the bridge of the nose, busting open Quickstrike.  Quigley slowly gets up off the mat, and Warnett drops him with a Cattle Buster DDT!] TD: Was that a message to Brody Thunder? SR: That's it!  I'll be Thunder against the legendary J.W. Hardin hidden     character! TD: He covers! [Warnett drapes himself across Quigley, back in pain, and gets a 1 - 2 - kickout!  Big heel pop for Chris!  Warnett slowly scrambles to his feet, and places Quigley up top for a superplex, as he looks out to the crowd.] TD: We could see a huge superplex here from Warnett... but it may break his own back in the process. [Warnett must have heard Dross, as he changes his mind, attempting, albeit horribly, a top rope hurricanrana.  Warnett is caught awkwardly by Chris Quigley, who delivers a ring-shaking superbomb!  Loud pop as Warnett grunts in pain!] SR: SUPERBOMB!  I _heard_ that! TD: You're paying attention... [Roberts goes back to his game.] TD: Quigley comes to his feet, picks Warnett up, and whips him to the ropes, Warnett ducks a clothesline and stops dead... [Quigley is caught in yet another German Suplex by Marty Warnett, who bridges up, fighting off all the pain, fighting off all the agony, and... holding the bridge for... 1 -- 2 -- 3! Quigley manages to raise a shoulder, but just one moment too late... There is a stunned silence.] TD: Did he kick out? I think he kicked out! I think Quigley kicked out! SR: No way, Dross -- Warnett had him... [The silence is broken by the opening bars of "Just like Paradise!"] RA: Here is your winner, at a time of thirty-two minutes... MARRRRRRRRTY WARRRRNETT! [Warnett actually stands there, and offers his hand to Quigley, the crowd is in silence as Quigley stares at Warnett, and then sticks his middle finger directly in front of Warnett's face, and the two stand there, staring at each other, the middle finger of Quigley the only divider, as the crowd watches in silence.  Finally, Quigley lowers his hand, and simply rolls out of the ring, and walks down the aisle, absolutely disgusted with himself.] TD: Well, Chris Quigley disappointed by his defeat tonight, Steve Roberts. He has always seemed that little bit better than Warnett in their previous encounters, but somehow Warnett pulled the rabbit out of the hat here tonight -- and perhaps he has now truly come of age here in the IIWF. SR: Aw, can it with the claptrap, Dross. Quigley got beat one, two, three -- and he got beat by Warnett. You just know that it's going to eat away at him for the rest of his life. TD: Indeed, I believe this is the first time in his IIWF career that Chris Quigley has been cleanly pinned... his disappointment is understandable, but he has nothing to be ashamed of. We have seen a real athletic contest -- and look at Warnett celebrate in the ring! [Warnett climbs to each of the four corner turnbuckles in turn, and salutes the crowd, as a volley of fireworks explodes high overhead in the rafters. The fans chant, "Mar - ty! Mar - ty!" as the young Welshman leaves the ring and is swamped by the eager hands of the fans who reach over the crowd barriers to touch their sweat-stained hero. While the celebration continues, cut to the broadcast table, where technician Jake Walters is dismantling the remote control "bleeper" and video game machine.] TD: Well, folks, that brings us to the end of our second hour. Coming up in just a few moments, the first half of our double main event. We'll be right back. [Cut to a wide-angle shot of the arena floor as Marty Warnett continues to make his slow progress up the aisle towards the locker room. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Jim Jividen | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | brokeback@webtv.net | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+