________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour two...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! Egg Dome, Tokyo, Japan September 20 1997 [The opening graphics fade from the screen as the shot mixes through to further interior shots of the Egg Dome. The house lights drop, and another burst of pyrotechnics erupts in the rafters, sparks in a multitude of colours raining down on the fans, dying out and disappearing seemingly just feet above their heads. Bright spotlights swing over the sea of fans, casting them in kaleidoscopic colours... and then the light show changes hue, the spotlights swinging back to the ring, where Tim Dross stands, holding a microphone, and taking on a deep red. The image of a black meat cleaver spins on the canvas as Dross raises the microphone to his mouth:] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, my guest at this time challenged for the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship at Midsummer Madness and lost due to the shocking interferance of the still unknown "Masked Outlaw". Please welcome the German Juggernaut, the Teutonic Terror... please welcome... OTTO "THE BUTCHER" VERHOEVEN! ["Hallowe'en" starts up and the crowd reacts with a mixed pop. After a moment the huge German steps into the aisle. He is wearing a plain black t-shirt and black jeans. His face shows the same grim determination which seems to be the only emotion Verhoeven has felt in recent weeks. He does not acknowledge the crowd at all and walks quickly towards the ring, climbing up the stairs without taking his eyes off Dross once, and enters the ring by stepping over the top rope. Dross winces as he sees the barely contained rage in the Butcher's eyes.] TD: Welcome to Japan, Herr Verhoeven. I am sure you have a lot to say about Midsummer Madness and your... [Verhoeven grabs the microphone and shoves Dross aside without so much as a warning glance.] OV: First of all: konnichi wa, Nippon! [crowd pop] It feels good to be in this land again. Perhaps some of you remeber my short stint with New Nippon Wrestling Association some years ago, perhaps the huge gai-jin failed to make a lasting impression, but it sure was an important experience for me. Now, what do I have to say about my loss at Midsummer Madness? Shigata ga nai, it cannot be changed. I nearly obliterated Requiem during this match and his goons couldn't do anything about it. I took some tough shots, too, I am willing to admit that, but all in all Requiem's reign of cowardice was supposed to end when I executed _TWO_, yes, _two_ Slaughterslams. Lesser men have been crippled by two of these moves and Requiem sure wasn't in any position to escape the pin when... when that imposter strolled down the aisle to betray fate and me.     I didn't care when this "Masked Outlaw" took out Kauffman a week before and cost my team the match. I figured it was something personal, something I would keep out of to prevent the interference that happened the following week. In whatever corner of the world, or even this arena, the imposter now cowers and waits for his next "strike", I want him to know what he has done.     Not only is it his fault that Genesis and Requiem will continue to embarrass the IIWF by their mere presence and the fact that a damned lunatic holds the most prestigious belt in the Western hemisphere... no, he has also stolen my chance to regain my rightful position in this federation. He ruined the title shot I worked so hard for... I waited so long for... I suffered so much for.     I will get my revenge, this I swear. Nobody gets away with something like this, nobody. When we meet again, imposter, you won't clash with an exhausted man who just wrestled one of the toughest matches of his entire career. Oh no, my doomed friend, you will have to answer Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven face to face, eye to eye, and when you finally realise just who you offended... it will be all too late. Of course there is still the question which seems to move the whole federation: who hides behind the reputation of the Outlaw? Who has the nerve to rape the legacy of the greatest man to ever grace this federation? I wish I knew. People point at Casey James and that makes me angry. Of course, Casey is known as one of the most cunning and always scheming minds in the whole business, and, of course, I know that it may be dangerous to trust a man like him. "Look what he did to Joe Latta," some people say. "He didn't hesitate to end the career of his stablemate." Ja, he did, but he didn't have to hide behind a mask to do it. When the Blackheart goes out to take some names, he won't do it masked and later lie about it. That is not his style, that isn't even Syndicate style.     But I will find out who has done this to me, and there will be hell to pay. As my beloved fiancée would say: you can bet your soul on ZAT! ["Halloween" starts up again as Verhoeven throws the mic at Dross, who fumbles to catch it, and leaves the ring, again not playing to the crowd at all. Dross climbs down from the ring and rejoins Steve Roberts at the ringside broadcast table, donning his headset once more as the lights in the Egg Dome rise again.] TD: An understandably furious Otto Verhoeven, Steve Roberts. SR: He made some good points about the "Masked Outlaw," Dross. Almost makes me believe that the guy isn't Casey James after all. TD: Of course it's Casey James, Steve. All the evidence points at him. In any case, whoever it is had better be on the look-out for the Butcher. Folks, welcome back to the second hour of this tremendous broadcast, live from the Egg Dome in Tokyo! We're coming at you with four more incredible matches in the next sixty minutes -- in just a few moments, the tournament to determine the number one contender for the Cruiserweight Championship kicks off as Timothy N. Turner faces Ronnie Paris. We'll also see the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder, presumably accompanied by his new-found allies Mad Dog Watkins and Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, take on the Highwayman. SR: What an alliance, Dross. If Genesis is Culture Club, then Kowalski, Watkins and Thunder are Abba. Or something. TD: Quite possibly, Steve Roberts. Certainly the combination of the Mad Dog, the Fury and the Lone Wolf is one of the most formidable we have seen here in the IIWF -- and Highwayman could find that out for himself right here tonight, particularly with the problems that currently exist in Genesis. One only needs to look at the attitude of Cold Spell, as we saw in our last hour, to realise that all is not well in the Garden of Eden. SR: Aw, my heart bleeds, Dross. Those over-gimmicked cartoons had it coming all along. TD: On top of that, we still have two championship matches coming your way, folks: Mad Dog Watkins will defend his Intercontinental Championship against "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley, and IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Requiem, does battle with "Sychosys" Joe Petrow in what is sure to be a memorable match. All that still to come here tonight! But right now, it's time for that first round tournament match: Ronnie Paris takes on Timothy N. Turner. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT TOURNAMENT FIRST ROUND: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Ronnie Paris vs. Timothy N. Turner ....................................................................... WRITER: SK [Sparkplug Lee climbs into the ring to a smattering of cheers from some of the American contingent in the crowd, which Lee acknowledges somewhat embarrassingly, as "Spar-ky! Spar-ky! Spar-ky!" reverberates throughout the Egg Dome in stark contrast to the stony silence of the Japanese, who wait patiently for the match to start.  Lee does a quick bow before pulling the match card out of his coat pocket and raising the ring mic.] SL: Honoured guests, at this time it is my privilege to introduce a special guest commentator for the following contest!  He was one of the first inductees into the IIWF Hall Of Fame, he was both an Intercontinental and Cruiserweight title holder during his IIWF tenure, he is the "Angel of the Sun"... HAKIRO MATSUOKO! [The reserved Japanese fans suddenly resemble an American wrestling audience as they go wild in their zeal to cheer one of their favourite sons.  The genial Matsuoko appears in the entranceway, dressed in an immaculate three-piece suit and smiling broadly, and slowly makes his way down the catwalk to the ring, as fans along the walkway jump up to try to touch or otherwise get his attention.  The crowd starts a chant of "Hakiro-san", clapping twice after each chant and stomping the floor as they call out his name, the effect strangely recalling Gary Glitter's "Rock 'N' Roll Part Two".  As Matsuoko climbs into the ring, a deafening volley of red and white fireworks explodes in the rigging over the ring and thunders throughout the expansive stadium as Matsuoko stands in the centre, sparks showering down upon him, and bowing gracefully to all four sides before climbing out and taking a seat beside Steve Roberts at the broadcast table.] TD: Hakiro-san, it seems you still know how to make an entrance!  May I say what a pleasure it is for both us and our viewing audience that you consented to join us for this evening's broadcast. HM: My consent was irrelevant, Dross-san.  The path of my life led me to the IIWF, to the Intercontinental and Cruiserweight titles, to your Hall of Fame, and back to my homeland.  If the path now leads me to this place at this time, what else can I do but follow it?  Karma is karma, neh? SR: Uh, yeah... hey, Hakiro, want a biscuit, baby dolls? HM: Thank you, no, Soundbite-san.  So sorry, but your small Western cakes always start the tai-fun churning in my bowels. SR: Wow, really?  Well, maybe the butter was bitter in the last batch.  But now I buy the better butter, for to make my batter better! TD: It's reassuring to know you actually learned something in kindergarten, Steve.  Let's get up to the ring, as the participants for the following match make their way to the squared circle... [There is a round of polite applause from the crowd as a grinning Ronnie Paris enters to Tina Turner's "Simply the Best", and makes his way down the catwalk towards the ring area, looking quite at ease in the unfamiliar surroundings of the Egg Dome, and Paris is gracious enough to acknowledge a few fans below him on the floor with smiles and waves before climbing into the ring and submitting to the inspection of hometown referee Tetsuo Ito.] TD: Ronnie Paris is looking much more like the Paris of old tonight.  He looks as if he's quite comfortable in front of this Japanese audience. HM: It is always good to see Paris-san in action, especially here in Tokyo, where his expertise is appreciated by our more knowledgeable and enlightened supporters.  It distresses me to hear of his more recent actions -- his is a soul in turmoil, it seems. SR: Yeah, well, Ronnie may not be the milquetoast poster boy these days, but at least he's not boring the hell out of us anymore.  He used to be the only guy I knew who could put his opponent to sleep just by standing there -- and half the audience, too! [Brian May's soaring guitar lines fade into the piano swing of "The Good Life" by Tony Bennett as Timothy N. Turner enters with a grand flourish and begins doing the Fargo strut down the catwalk, flashing a megawatt grin, pausing occasionally to pose, flex every muscle group he can think of, and point to the crowd while holding a hand to his ear, trying to coax cheers from the ringside fans.  However, the only sound that can be heard in the Egg Dome is TNT's own theme music, as the Cone of Silence seems to have descended on the crowd.  Paris paces impatiently in the ring as Turner wastes as much time as possible on the catwalk, making come-ons to some of the more attractive Japanese ladies below him, which prompts one man to stand up and spew a stream of verbal invective at TNT, which only seems to embarrass his lady friend even more.  Turner just waves off the outraged fan, and finally steps into the ring, strutting around like a peacock and taunting Paris, who just leans against the turnbuckles in his corner with his arms crossed, and makes a big show of yawning in the face of Turner's antics.] HM: This is shameful.  This man Turner, he shows no respect for his opponent, or for the the very people who make his occupation meaningful. SR: Georgio Armani's entourage is here?  Hot damn!  Hey Dross -- let's get Turner to introduce us later!  Maybe he can get you a new suit for the show -- this Wal-Mart ensemble you're sporting tonight is atrocious. HM: No, Soundbite-san, the fans -- the fans make his occupation meaningful, as they do all our occupations in this glorious sport.  What would we do without the fans that give us reason to be here tonight? SR: Hit the strip clubs two hours earlier? [Tetsuo Ito moves in to check Turner's tights and boots, but the cocky Canadian pushes him back and wags a finger at him, trying to convince the Japanese official that this practice is not normally done in North American matches.  Ito seems quite confident in his knowledge of the wrestling rulebook however, and tells Turner so in perfectly fluent English, which seems to frustrate Turner somewhat as he submits to Ito's inspection. Satisfied, Ito sends the two wrestlers to opposite corners, and motions to Sparkplug Lee to begin the introductions.] SL: Honoured guests, the following contest is the first round of the IIWF's Cruiserweight Title tournament, and is scheduled for one fall.  Introducing first, weighing in at 210 pounds, from the state of Texas, here is Ronnie Paris! [Once again the polite applause starts up from the crowd as Paris smiles into a ringside camera and waves briefly, his image projected onto the huge video screens hanging over the ring. Paris keeps the greeting short, and his countenance becomes more intense as he begins to focus on the match.] SL: And his opponent, weighing in at 235 pounds, from Calgary, Alberta, Canada, here is Timothy N. Turner! [There is only dead silence from the crowd, except for a few American voices in the cheap seats who shout out, "You SUCK, Turner!"  Turner does manage to get a reaction from the crowd, however, as the Japanese fans catch their collective breaths in shock and surprise as Turner abrubtly grabs the ring mic away from Lee, and begins to speak!] TD: What's Turner up to now?  This match is taking forever to start! HM: Yes, this gaijin's insolence apparently knows no bounds.  Does he not realise how rude he is being? SR: You know, I kind of get the feeling he does... TNT: All right, listen up!  Before I take this bum Paris apart in front of all of you morons, and show all of Japan just who is the sexiest, most talented man in all the WORLD of wrestling, I want to take a moment to introduce you all to a couple of friends of mine at ringside, who you've all probably seen before, mostly because neither of them could cut it in the States!  Heh heh, just joking, guys... but seriously, folks, let's have a nice hand for one of your own, Akira Saito, and my big brother, Constable Tom Turner! [The bewildered crowd manages a smattering of applause for the two men at ringside, who stand briefly to accept the modest ovation.  Tom Turner, dressed in jeans, cowboy boots, and a leather bomber with the crest of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police sewn on the front, grins sheepishly and manages a wave before quickly sitting back down, looking very uncomfortable at having himself displayed in such a manner, especially on four twenty foot video screens.  Saito is dressed in a black suit and shirt, looking quite imposing despite his small stature, and stands with arms crossed, staring up at Turner with a look of thinly-veiled contempt before taking his seat, as the Canadian parades around the ring, clapping his hands and gesturing down to where the two men are sitting.] SR: I don't get it.  Are these two supposed to be wrestlers? HM: Hai, Soundbite-san.  Both of these men are quite popular here in Tokyo. Saito-san is a very accomplished and respected man here, while the gaijin policeman is a crowd favourite, though perhaps not as gifted as some.  I'm surprised that he and this other Turner are actually related. TD: Akira Saito is Tim Turner's former tag partner and bodyguard, and to look at him, it would seem as though their split was somewhat less than amicable.  Perhaps he's harbouring some ill will at the fact that Turner has replaced his services with those of one Duncan Macbeth. SR: Could be, Dross, but where is Big Red, anyway?  It's not like MacBean to miss batting practice... I mean, TNT's matches. TD: It's my understanding, Steve, that Duncan was not on the charter flight to Tokyo with the rest of the IIWF contingent.  In fact, I've heard rumours that he's skipped the Japanese leg of the Road to Ring Wars IV tour altogether, and has gone on to Calgary, Alberta to prepare for next week's battle royal for the right to face the Intercontinental Champion at Ring Wars.  Knowing this man's maverick personality, this could very well be the case. HM: A sensible decision. SR: Timmy's not gonna like that one bit, and I'll bet Dictator Danny won't either.  MacBean may have to stock Spreadbury's liquour cabinet with some of that 25 year old Macallan of his to get out of this one.  You'd think he'd be tired of chasing that IC title by now -- he's no closer to that belt now than he was the day he got here, for Pete's sake.  He should just be content breaking legs for Turner -- what's so bad about that? TD: Well, right now, the story is about the Cruiserweight title, with these two men contending for a chance to face Derek Mota, or whoever takes the title from him before Ring Wars.  Looks like the action's finally about to start. [Ito calls for the bell to signal the start of the match, and the two men begin to circle, sizing each other up.  Paris suddenly moves in to lock up, but Turner instead drops to the mat and rolls under the bottom rope, and takes a walk around the ring as Paris fumes and Ito begins the count.  Just after the seven count, Turner rolls back into the ring, and the two men move to lock up again.  Paris comes out of the collar-and-elbow with a quick armbar on Turner, which he quickly makes use of for an Irish whip to the ropes, but he has no chance to convert the move, as Turner drops again and slides under the bottom rope and out of the ring, making the "time out" sign to Ito from the arena floor, but the Japanese official is having none of this, and begins to count Turner out once again.] TD: Tim Turner seems to be stalling in there, Steve.  It looks like he wants no part of Ronnie Paris. HR: Has this man no shame at all?  How can a man defeat his foe by running away?  What a disgusting display of cowardice! SR: Hey, Turner didn't just fall off the turnip truck.  Look at Paris -- he's getting pretty steamed, and whatever game plan he had going into this match ain't working too well right now.  Turner's got all the time in the world in there, he's just waiting for Ronnie to slip up, and when he does, he'll be quick to capitalise. [Sure enough, at the eight count, Turner climbs back into the ring, and as Paris moves to grab him quickly before he can slip away again, Turner instead surges forward and drives a shoulder into Paris' midsection, doubling the Texan over.  Still on his knees, Turner grabs Paris' head and puts his own head under Paris' chin, rises to his feet, and drops to his knees again, rocking Paris with a jawbreaker!  Paris falls backwards to the mat, and Turner wastes no time in grabbing the legs of his prone opponent and slingshotting him twelve feet across the ring into the turnbuckles, drawing a roar of approval from the crowd.] SR: You see, Hakiro?  Just the way Sun Tzu teaches -- make your enemies play by _your_ rules, not theirs. HM: You have read The Art Of War, Soundbite-san? SR: Hell, I've _lived_ it, baby dolls. [Turner drags Paris to his feet again, and sends him for the ride, catching him off the ropes with a devastating drop kick that sends Paris flying back through the ropes and out onto the catwalk!  The crowd lets out another roar of approval, clearly enjoying Turner's display of technical prowess. The crowd starts to buzz, however, as Derek Mota emerges from the entranceway with the Cruiserweight belt over his shoulder, and begins walking down the catwalk to where Ronnie Paris is lying, trying to catch his breath as Ito starts the count on him.] TD: Derek Mota is coming to ringside!  What in the world could this mean? SR: Well, I'm really going out on a limb here, Dross, but could it be that perhaps Mota would like to have a look at these two, just in case he might have to wrestle one of them for his title at some point in the future?  You know, I really have to apologise for Dross, Hakiro, he really can be a bit thick at times. HM: As you say, Soundbite-san... "the staples from the ferret on his head went a little too deep." SR: Oh, BABY!  Shoot, Hakiro, shoot!  You're sure you don't want a biscuit, buddy? [Mota motions to one of the security guards on the floor below the catwalk, and a chair is passed up to him, but the Cruiserweight champion does not attack anyone with it, but rather unfolds it and takes a seat just outside the ring.  As Paris rises to his feet, Mota takes the belt off his shoulder and dangles it in front of the Texan, while shaking a finger at him as if to say, "you're never gonna get it".  Paris just glares at Mota, but as he turns back to the ring, he is met by a poke in the eyes by Timothy N. Turner!  Turner seizes by the head and unceremoniously drags him over the top rope and back into the ring, then scoops him up and snap-suplexes him into the mat.] TD: Another devastating move from the technician Turner, who seems to be in full control of this match thus far, and... what're you two laughing about? HM: [giggling] This cannot be... his brother's name is really Hoss? SR: Yeah!  And if you think that's funny, wait'll you hear this! [Roberts leans over and whispers into Matsuoko's ear, and Matsuoko collapses in a fit of hysterical laughter.] TD: Oh, for goodness' sakes, you two, can we be adults here? [Turner rabs Paris' legs and drags him into the centre of the ring, and attempts to set him up for a figure four leglock, but as he begins to tie up the legs, Paris finds a burst of energy and lashes out with a foot, catching Turner square in the solar plexus!  The resilient Paris rises to his knees and throws a combination of punches into the midsection of the Calgary native, who is being rocked by the blows.  Suddenly, Paris rises to his feet while simultaneously scooping up Turner into a fireman's carry, and then Samoan drops Turner into the canvas!  The crowd roars its approval!  Paris drags Turner to his feet once more, and this time, Turner becomes the victim of a viciously well-executed jumping DDT!  Another roar, followed by applause from the Japanese fans, who are clearly enjoying the fast pace and highly technical nature of this match.  Paris whips Turner hard into the corner turnbuckles and follows him in for an elbowsmash, but referee Ito makes the mistake of getting too close to Turner, and the desperate Canadian grabs him by the shirt and pulls him into Paris' path! Paris slams on the brakes to avoid hitting Ito, which is the opening Turner was hoping for, and a hard knife-edge to the throat of Paris sends him back to the canvas again, clutching at his larynx.  Outside the ring, Derek Mota snickers loudly, and moves his chair closer to the ring for a better view. Ito is furious, and administers a stern warning to Turner, but the cocky Calgarian just waves him off.] TD: We have a real see-saw battle going on here tonight, folks, and Paris seemed to have shifted the momentum into his favour for a while there, but another ruthless move from Turner, and he's back in the driver's seat. There's no telling what that man will do to gain an advantage. HM: The man is a coward, nothing more.  Look at the way he put the referee in danger in order to attack Paris with his defenses down. SR: Hey, that's in The Art Of War too, Hakiro -- deprive your enemy of his will to fight!  Beside, what else are the refs good for, anyway? [Turner picks Paris up and sends him into the ropes, and rebounds off the opposite ropes with a flying axehandle that catches Paris flush in the forehead with a loud crack that echoes throughout the Egg Dome.  Turner rises and begins to strut around the ring as Paris lies stunned on the mat, but you could hear a pin drop in the huge arena, as the fans are obviously not enjoying Turner's antics as much as they do his wrestling ability.  As if getting the point, Turner finally picks up Paris again and sets him up for a piledriver, but as he hoists Paris up for the drop, the Texan suddenly wraps his legs around Turner's head and pulls him down for a frankensteiner!  A loud roar from the crowd signals their appreciation of that move!  Both men are slow to rise from that move, but Paris gets to his feet first, and clutching the unsuspecting Turner from behind, hefts him into the air and down again into a modified gutwrench backbreaker!] TD: What a move from Ronnie Paris!  We've seen some incredible wrestling in this encounter tonight from both sides, and both men seem to be pulling out the stops, with the possibility of a Cruiserweight title shot on the line here! HM: Indeed, Dross-san, both men have demonstrated remarkable technical skills in this match.  You would almost think that these men were Japanese at certain times. SR: Nah, both of them are way too tall... oops, did I say that?  No offense, Hakiro buddy. HM: None taken, Soundbite-san.  By the way, did you ever figure out how to execute the Asai moonsault without spending two months in lower back rehabilitation afterwards? SR: Touché. [Paris decides to go for a pin, and Ito drops for the count - 1 - 2 kickout by Turner!  Paris pulls the Canadian to his feet, and puts him down with a short-arm clothesline followed by an elbow drop to the chest.  Paris covers again - 1 - 2 - another kickout!  The Texan sends Turner into the ropes, hoping to catch him wth a lariat on the rebound, but Turner ducks under, and on the second pass, the Alberta native goes over Paris with a sunset flip!  Ito drops - 1 - 2 - kickout by Paris!  Both men struggle back to their feet, and this time it's Turner who rises first, grabbing hold of Paris' head and twisting him around and back to the mat with a swinging neckbreaker!  This last move seems to take the starch out of Paris, and sensing this, Turner heads for the nearest corner and climbs up the turnbuckles!] TD: Tim Turner's going for his TNT elbowdrop finisher!  This could be all she wrote, Steve Roberts! SR: Maybe not, Dross!  Guess who's coming to dinner! [Suddenly, Luke Steele sprints down the catwalk towards the ring, past the seated Derek Mota, and unseen by Turner, runs up behind him and pushes him off the turnbuckle!  Turner crashes awkwardly to the mat, and springs back to his feet, his eyes flashing with anger.  Steele remains outside the ring, taunting Turner to come closer, and TNT obliges, stabbing a finger at Steele and letting loose with a stream of his own taunts.  As Turner approaches, Steele pulls a metal bar out of the back of his tights, and swings it right at Turner's head!  The Canadian is no stranger to tactics of this kind himself though, and catches Steele's forearm before he can connect with the blow, following it up with a kick through the ropes to Steele's gut, causing him to drop the metal bar.  Tetsuo Ito is about a split-second away from calling for a DQ before Derek Mota intervenes, pulling Steele away from Turner and shoving him up the walkway towards the exit.  Steele doesn't take too kindly to this, and begins shoving back at Mota, but the feisty champion swiftly grabs his ringside chair and threatens to swing away at Steele, who has nothing for himself to grab on the elevated walkway.  Steele decides to beat the retreat, but can't resist shouting a few insults at Mota, who responds by running Steele up the catwalk to the exit, chair held high and cursing a blue streak the whole way.] TD: A potentially ugly situation seems to have been averted here, gentlemen.  Luke Steele's attempt to interfere in this match has been stymied by Tim Turner, abetted somewhat by Derek Mota, and Mr. Turner appears to be quite pleased with himself in there. SR: He ain't gonna be too pleased in a few seconds if he doensn't turn around right now, Dross!  Look! [As Turner watches Steele and Mota exit the arena, Paris slowly rises to his feet and silently moves in behind Turner, who just a split-second too late decides to turn his attention back to the match, and walks right into a cross-face German suplex from Ronnie Paris!  Turner crashes into the mat with incredible force, and Paris goes for the cover as Ito drops for the count - 1 - 2 - 3!  Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] SL: Honoured guests, may I present the winner of this match, as a result of a pinfall... RONNIE PARIS! ["Simply the Best" fills the Egg Dome as Paris leaps to his feet and is exultant over his victory as Turner pounds the mat, clearly angry at himself for being caught off-guard the way he was.  The sound of applause rings throughout the stadium as the fans show their appreciation for what was mostly a well-fought match on both sides.  Outside the ring, Tom Turner seems to sympathise with his younger brother, but does not approach the ring to offer his support, perhaps wanting to steer clear of his sibling's foul mood.  Beside him, Akira Saito seems to be supressing an urge to chuckle, but otherwise shows little emotion at the result.  Paris wastes no time in vacating the ring after the victory, positively beaming as he makes his way back up the catwalk towards the exit, smiling and waving to the fans along the walkway on his way out.  A few moments later, a dejected Turner follows, and the noise level in the Egg Dome drops back to public library levels once more as the crowd displays its dislike for the cocky Canadian with cold silence.] TD: So Ronnie Paris advances to the next round of the Cruiserweight contender tournament, with the winner going on to wrestle the Cruiserweight champion, currently Derek Mota, for the title at Ring Wars IV.  Hakiro Matsuoko, once again, on behalf of everyone here in the IIWF, thank you for once again gracing us with your presence and your entertaining commentary tonight.  You have been, and remain, a class act.  I hope that you'll be able to join us again in the future, and... HM: So sorry, Dross-san, but I must leave immediately.  Now.  Yes, I must go... the biscuits... I told you, Soundbite-san... oh, my stomach... the biscuits... which way to the nearest toilet, please? TD: I believe there's one about twenty rows back behind us. [Matsuoko gets up from the broadcast table in a panic, cold sweat beading on his face, and sprints up the aisle towards the exit doors, leaving Dross and Roberts at ringside.] SR: Hmmm.  Maybe I need to change the shortening. TD: Good grief. Well, a tremendous match there, Steve Roberts. I can't stress how impressed I am with these Japanese fans here in the Egg Dome, Steve. They've really gotten behind the IIWF during our first stop in this tour and they just get more and more excited as we approach our final three matches. SR: It isn't the card, Drossy. The IIWF marketing boys have been at it again. TD: I'm almost afraid to ask... but here goes. What are you talking about? SR: One word: Tamagotchi. TD: Tommy Hotchie? SR: Nice try, rug doctor. I'm talking about those little electronic critters that you have to feed by pushing buttons. They've been hot in Japan for months, but the IIWF marketing department put a new spin on it for tonight's show. TD: I'm not following you. SR: What a shock. Dammit man, it's "Tonnage Tamagotchi Night" at the Egg Dome! Every fan through the gate received a Tonnage Tamagotchi. It's a great gag gift because the thing never stops beeping. BEEP BEEP! "Feed me!" BEEP BEEP! "Feed me!" BEEP BEEP! "Feed me!" BEEP BEEP! "Feed me!" TD: I think we get the... SR: BEEP BEEP! "Feed me!" BEEP BEEP! "Feed me!" TD: Stop it! SR: It's driving 'em crazy in the arena tonight, Drossy! It's payback for Pearl Harbor! TD: It is not... SR: BEEP BEEP! "Feed me!" BEEP BEEP! "Remember the Arizona!" TD: Ummmm... speaking of Arizona... SR: Hey, it isn't "Phoenix Sucks Night." That's coming up in November. TD: I _meant_ one of our next competitors is from Arizona. Before you create a real international incident, let's go to the ring entrances. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. Highwayman |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: SO [Good heel pop from the crowd as the theme from "High Plains Drifter" blares over the over the PA system in the Egg Dome. Brody Thunder steps through the curtain attired in his black leather vest with the red lightning bolt emblem. He stops briefly to push back his cowboy hat and look behind him. The heel pop grows as Steve Kowalski and Mad Dog Watkins step through the curtain behind Thunder. The trio head for the ring as a few drunken fans wearing cowboys hats yell out "Hey Pot-nah... hey pot-nah!"] SR: There ain't been a cowboy this country has admired since John Wayne. TD: I'm still somewhat surprised by this response. I thought the Japanese would have admired the work ethic of someone like Brody Thunder. SR: Sure, Dross. [imitating Thunder] I ain't no dumb cowboy... but I shore 'nuff play one on the TV. Yeeeeeee-haw! TD: There's no call for that, Steve. Thunder certainly is taking no chances with Genesis tonight, as indicated by those two men with him. SR: Maybe Thunder isn't as dumb as he looks... or is he? Look, he's gone toe-to-toe with both Kowalski and Watkins. What makes you think they won't turn on him in the blink of a sphincter? TD: The blink of...? SR: I'm talking about trust, Drossy. Can Thunder trust those two guys? I don't think so. TD: I _am_ a bit surprised Thunder has allied himself with these two men, although they do make an intimidating trio. Remember when Thunder's tag partner "Crippler" Rip Carson turned on him in another fed? It's almost as if Thunder is a magnet which draws a bad crowd. [The crowd pops as the music changes to "Stand And Deliver" by Adam and the Ants. Highwayman enters in his regular attire and Serge Annis follows him into the arena. One of drunken fans in cowboy hats now waves a souvenir flintlock pistol and yells, "Hey Pot-nah... I good for Genesis!"] TD: The Highwayman is coming to the ring with only Serge Annis. That means Genesis will be at a disadvantage for one of the few times I can remember. SR: Physically or mentally? TD: Serge Annis is an intimidating factor -- just remember how effective he was against Brody Thunder at Midsummer Madness. But even Annis is no match for the combined forces of Steve Kowalski and Mad Dog Watkins. SR: I'll bet the rest of the rat pack isn't far away. TD: Perhaps, but I really have to wonder if there is really trouble in Camp Genesis these days after they were beaten by the Old Gen team. [Highwayman barely acknowledges Thunder as he arrives at the ring, but Annis gives him a wicked smile and jabs at the air in front of him. Thunder merely glares at Annis. The spotlight falls on Sparkplug Lee, who is busily pushing buttons on a Tonnage Tamagotchi.] RA: I can't get the damned thing to stop... [suddenly looking up and turning red] oh... er... ahem... Our next contest is one fall with a thirty-minute time limit. Introducing first, from Tombstone, Arizona, weighing in at 267 pounds, he is the man known as the "Lone Wolf," he is Broooooooooooody Thunder! [Despite the heel pop, Thunder ignores the crowd, stepping into the ring and talking quietly with Kowalski and Watkins. The annoying beeping continues from Sparkplug's Tonnage Tamagotchi, drawing the attention of Thunder, Watkins, and Kowalski. They glare at Sparky, who frantically presses buttons in a futile effort to stop the noise. Thunder grabs the toy from Sparky, drops it, and then stomps it until plastic pieces fly from the ring.] SR: Uh-oh, the fat man ain't gonna like that. TD: I don't know that Tonnage was even consulted about... what the heck? [A cry of "Banzai!" goes up around the Egg Dome as thousands of Japanese hurl their Tonnage Tamagotchis to the floor and begin stomping on them. Sparkplug Lee casually shrugs his poor excuse for shoulders and raises the microphone.] RA: And his opponent, weighing in at 285 pounds and hailing from Leeds, England, he is a member of Genesis... he is, Adam Smith... the Hiiiiiiiighwayman! [A good pop greets Adam Smith as he talks quietly with Annis. Referee T.C. Armstrong waits for Sparkplug, who has gotten caught up in the ring ropes, to free himself before calling for the bell.] TD: If history is any indication, we can expect a very physical confrontation between these two men. SR: Physical? In a wrestling match? Damn, when are they gonna let The Smooth start calling play by play on Saturday nights? [Highwayman and Thunder meet in the middle of the ring, jawing at each other. Highwayman finally pokes his finger in Thunder's chest, prompting the big cowboy to finally throw the first blow. The two exchange multiple punches before the larger Highwayman finally gains an advantage and whips Thunder into the ropes, but the cowboy blocks the hiptoss and counters with one of his own. Highwayman is quickly to his feet and raises an arm in the air, daring Thunder to meet him in a test of strength. Brody locks fingers with his opponent, but the Highwayman is quick to land a boot to Thunder's midsection. As Brody doubles over, Adam Smith executes a quick swinging neckbreaker.] SR: Gee, you didn't see that coming from a mile away, huh Dross? I'm telling you, cows have been known to outsmart Thunder. TD: But they don't walk away when Thunder puts the Cattle Buster on them. His actions speak for him. SR: Looks like he's speechless right now. [Thunder pulls himself back to his feet, only to be caught by a knee lift, and an uppercut that sends him staggering back. Highwayman connects with a clothesline that sends the cowboy to the mat! Thunder scrambles back to his feet, but Highwayman scoops him up and sends him crashing straight back to the canvas! Watkins and Kowalski slap the ring apron to begin a "Thun-der" chant, but they are universally ignored by the Japanese fans. Kowalski looks out at the crowd and gives them a one-finger salute.] TD: It looks like Highwayman is going to take the fight right to Thunder in hopes of wearing him down quickly. SR: Hey Dross, your hair just moved. No kidding, it just looked at me and then moved a couple of inches. Weren't you supposed to quarantine that thing for two weeks when we came through customs? [Thunder rises to his feet again, only to be caught in a quick small package by Highwayman: 1 - 2 - kickout! Thunder is becoming visibly upset and rakes Highwayman's eyes. He delivers a closed-fist punch that sends Adam Smith reeling into the wrong corner, then complains to referee Armstrong that Highwayman was pulling his hair. Before Armstrong realizes Thunder has no hair, Kowalski has taken advantage of the lull and has his forearm wrapped around Highwayman's throat.] TD: Kowalski chokes Highwayman! SR: A little taste of his own medicine for the dead pirate. TD: Pirate? I think... SR: Get him, Fury! [Annis charges around the ring, drawing the referee's attention. Kowalski breaks the choke and confronts Annis as Armstrong slides out of the ring and separates the two men. As Highwayman slowly rises to his feet, Thunder charges and delivers a massive clothesline that flips Highwayman over the top rope and to the arena floor! The crowd finally comes to life with a mixed pop. Watkins unceremoniously tosses Highwayman back into the ring as Armstrong also slides under the bottom rope. Thunder drags Highwayman to his feet by the hair and smashes his head into the top turnbuckle nine times before executing a fisherman's suplex. Cover: 1 - 2 - kickout!] TD: We've often chastised Genesis for outside interference, but Highwayman is actually the victim in this match. SR: Go cry to someone who cares, Dross. This is great. [Thunder drags Highwayman back to his feet again and hits a neckbreaker, again covering: 1 - 2 - Armstrong stops the count as Highwayman gets a foot on the ropes! Thunder again pulls Highwayman to his feet and sends him across the ring with an Irish whip, but Highwayman ducks the clothesline attempt by Thunder and hits a clothesline of his own that floors the cowboy.] TD: Highwayman back on the offensive and he's... oh my, he's going up top! SR: Thunder isn't dazed enough for this to work. Big mistake, pirate. [As he reaches the second turnbuckle, Highwayman sees Thunder getting to his feet. Rather than continue his climb, he hurdles the top rope and charges with a kneelift into Thunder's midsection. As Thunder falls against the ropes, Highwayman resumes his attack on Thunder's ribs, kicking him repeatedly. He pulls Thunder to his feet and impressively hoists him into a gorilla press, then drops him stomach-first onto an outstretched knee.] TD: Ooh, that's gotta hurt! SR: Like week-old sushi, Dross. Hey, I once knew a girl named Sushi.... TD: Finish that limerick later, Steve. Highwayman appears to be working on reinjuring Thunder's ribs which took such a beating at Midsummer Madness. [Highwayman lifts Thunder for a bodyslam, but instead kneels down, driving a knee into the cowboy's ribs. He then whirls around and delivers a vicious powerslam. Cover: 1 - 2 - kickout! Highwayman again pulls his opponent to his feet, but quickly locks on a bearhug. As Thunder attempts to free his arms, Highwayman tightens his grip and a grunt escapes from Thunder. The cowboy finally is able to free an arm and makes a fist, but Highwayman counters by spinning and driving him into the mat with a belly to belly suplex. Cover: 1 - Watkins jumps to the ring apron and draws Armstrong's attention, momentarily breaking the count. Thunder kicks out as Armstrong resumes the count.] TD: Well, Steve, _you_ may not be sure about this alliance between Thunder, Watkins and Kowalski, but I think that just answered a lot of questions. SR: Did you know a cow has four stomachs, Dross? Four stomachs! Just like my man Tonnage! Think of all the biscuits you could eat. [Highwayman sets Thunder up for a suplex, but Brody blocks it. Highwayman tries again with the same result. Thunder summons the strength to charge into the corner, driving Highwayman's back into the turnbuckles. Both men hit the mat.] TD: Both men are down! That was like a Mack truck hitting a brick wall! SR: Or like Tonnage hitting the all-you-can-eat seafood bar at Shoney's on a Saturday night. BEEP! BEEP! "Feed me!" TD: Hold on, Thunder is getting to his feet and setting him up for a suplex. Does he have the stamina to pull this off? Yes! Thunder hit it. [Thunder seems to be getting his second wind and whips Highwayman into the ropes, catching him in a powerslam on the return. He is quickly to his feet and follows up with an elbowdrop. Cover: 1 - 2 - Annis jumps to the ring apron - kickout! The referee moves to lecture Annis, not seeing Mad Dog Watkins jump to the ring apron on the opposite side. Thunder whips Highwayman toward the corner and Watkins decks him with an elbow shot before jumping back down.] TD: Serge Annis just cost Highwayman right there. His antics allowed Thunder and Watkins to do even more damage. SR: Great, isn't is? These three guys are really starting to work together well. TD: I though you said Thunder couldn't trust.... SR: Four stomachs. Damn! [Thunder methodically adjusts his elbow pad before whipping Highwayman into the ropes and delivering a devastating clothesline. He repeats the process off the opposite ropes, spinning Highwayman with the impact of the clothesline. Thunder looks at Kowalski and nods.] TD: Thunder seems to think the end is near. We've seen him use those clotheslines time and time again to set up The Thunderbolt. SR: Nothing sets up a finisher like a loaded elbow pad, huh? TD: That's never been proven! SR: Hell, Dross, I saw him cracking a lobster with that elbow pad one night. [Thunder pulls Highwayman to his feet and bends to lift the bigger man into the torture rack, but Highwayman uses the last of his strength to lock the cowboy's head and fall forward, driving Thunder head-first into the mat. Both wrestlers lay sprawled on the mat as the referee begins the count.] TD: What a last-ditch move by Highwayman! Had Thunder gotten him into that torture rack, it surely would have been all over. SR: Four freakin' stomachs! TD: Referee T.C. Armstrong continues the count. Four, five, six... Wait a minute, we've got action on the outside! [Armstrong breaks his count as he notices Watkins and Kowalski attack Serge Annis outside the ring. Annis briefly holds his own before falling prey to their clubbing blows. Watkins notices Highwayman stirring in the ring and breaks off, leaving Kowalski hovering over Annis.] TD: Watkins and Kowalski have done a number on Serge Annis here and... what is Kowalski smiling about? SR: You oughta know by now, Drossy. TD: He's going to... oh my god! Skullpump! Kowalski just Skullpumped Serge Annis outside the ring! [Highwayman rises to his feet in time to see Kowalski's devastating move on Annis. The referee, watching the carnage outside the ring, is calling to the back for assistance. He doesn't notice Highwayman running to the ropes, only to be tripped by Watkins outside the ring. Watkins pulls Highwayman under the bottom rope and...] TD: DDT! Mad Dog Watkins just hit Highwayman with a DDT outside the ring! What's he doing now? No! He just tossed Highwayman off the platform and into the second row! SR: "Hide the evidence." That's what we called it in the old neighborhood. [Referee T.C. Armstrong finally turns to see Thunder leaning against the ropes. He looks dumbfounded as he scans the ring for Highwayman, then sees Watkins pointing into the crowd. Armstrong's eyes grow wide, then he begins the count on Highwayman: 1 - 2 - 3....] TD: I may not agree with the way Genesis has conducted some of its business here in the IIWF, but I must say that I'm a bit appalled at this scene. SR: Hey, the pirate went down with the ship. [...4 - 5 - 6 - Kowalski kicks Annis off the platform and into the first row.] TD: It's unlike Requiem and Scott Rogers not to be out here assisting their colleagues. I sense there is more trouble in Genesis than these guys are letting on. SR: Yeah, I'm sure the "champ" is in the back watching television as usual, and Roger is probably in front of a mirror. [Armstrong continues his count: 7 - 8 - 9 - 10! Ding! Ding! Ding! Thunder slides from the ring to join Watkins and Kowalski.] RA: Here is your winner by countout... "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! [Armstrong slides out of the ring and raises Thunder's hand, but the referee is quickly brushed aside as the trio make their way to the back. Several emergency medical workers are quickly on the scene, but Annis is already back to his feet and shoves them aside. Highwayman is also to his feet, although he accepts the assistance of the medical workers as he leaves the scene.] TD: I don't know that we've ever seen members of Genesis take a beating like that. Brody Thunder, Mad Dog Watkins, and Steve Kowalski have made a strong statement not only to Genesis, but to the rest of the IIWF. SR: Four stomachs... damn! TD: And it has been quite a night here in Tokyo, Steve Roberts.  We have seen the return of the High Planes Drifters, the beginning of the IIWF career of Damage Inc., the Syndicate retain the tag belts and Ronnie Paris kick off the Cruiserweight Contenders Tournament in grand fashion. Is it any wonder why IIWF Saturday Night was again voted the _finest_ weekly professional wrestling broadcast in the world? SR: Huh, you know that voting was interesting, Dross.  If IIWF Saturday Night was number one, that means that a certain other crapoloa show was number two.  Hey Dross -- little bit of a joke there.  TD: I would assume these are matters which we can discuss in greater depth on Tuesday -- be sure to tune in Tuesday, folks, when "Inside the IIWF" comes live from, Calgary, Alberta, Canada, home of the world famous Calgary Stampede!  Now that should be great fun! SR: Canada -- another country we should bomb.  Hey, foreigners!  Big greasy American coming through!  Big car drivin', big wallet wearin', big Johnson swingin' American comin' through -- so make way for the almighty and powerful Soundbite! TD: I would assume the Canadians will be as hospitable as they ever have been... and as have been the fine folks in Tokyo during our stay here. SR: Oh, they're hospitable here, alright.  Charlie knows I've got my F-111 parked outside ready to drop big wa-wa on his little rice hut and his kimono wearin' geisha girl.  Don't worry Mr. Charlie -- just keep the sake flowin' and the yen flowin' faster and everything will be just fine with you and Mr. Soundbite. TD: Let's get to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Mad Dog Watkins [c] vs. "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley ....................................................................... WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee playfully holds up two fingers, waggling them at the familiar bearded IIWF executive who is seated at ringside pounding away at his Powerbook.  The "suit" slaps his forehead in mock exasperation as Sparkplug takes the mic:] TD: The following contest is set for one fall and is for the IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP! ["For Those About to Rock" begins and the aisle becomes bathed in the silver and black lightning bolt symbolic of only one man, "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley begins making his way to the ring to a respectful pop from the big crowd, Quigley's focus is unquestioned as he dumps his leather jacket and sunglasses with the ring attendant even before climbing through the ropes and stepping into the ring.] TD: "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley -- clearly one of the top wrestlers in all the world, his biggest regret -- his biggest failure really being that he has never been able to climb to the height of this sport and capture IIWF gold. SR: And you forgot that he sucks.  Please, please, Dross, do not forget that he is Chris Quigley and he just can't win the big one.  I don't know if it's just a lack of ability... or if he doesn't train well... or if he's just a little slow... or if his breakup with Troy has really gotten to him... but he just can't get it done. TD: Breakup with Troy? SR: Oh, sure... it was in all the sheets.  Troy left him for some red, white and blue beach ball.  So, so sad to see love die. [Pop as "Paint it Black" then begins, heralding the aisleside appearance of the IIWF Intercontinental Champion, Mad Dog Watkins.  The powerfully built Champ strides confidently alone down the aisle, his gold belt strapped firmly around his waist.  Watkins ignores the applause of the fans completely as he reaches the ring, yielding the belt to the official without even a second glance.] TD: And the Mad Dog... he has worn this belt proudly since his shocking betrayal of his rival turned protegé Creed... will this be the day that he gets the payback which he clearly is due? SR: Only if Quigley brought a stick to the ring with him, and as we can clearly see -- he did not.  Hey Quigley, time to get a new pair of trunks!  Those leave _nothing_ to the imagination! [Each man stands in his respective corner as Sparkplug retakes the mic.] SL: Introducing first the challeger, wearing the silver and black and hailing from Corner Brook, Newfoundland, Canada... he weighs 238 pounds and is one of the most recognizable athletes in the world today... the master of the "Quickstriker"... "QUICKSTRIKE" CHRIS QUIGLEY! [Applause for Quigley, who does not acknowledge it at all, instead staring dead ahead at Watkins.] SL: And his opponent, wearing purple and black... he weighs 269 pounds and resides in Detroit, Michigan, United States of America, he is the IIWF Intercontinental Champion of the World... he is MAD DOG WATKINS! [Applause for Watkins, even from the enormous section of Sycopaths who seem more than a little impatient for the Main Even to begin.  the collection of young black men has made its way to ringside... and now stand completely silently as the two competitors move to the center of the ring, receive their final instructions... Ding! Ding! Ding!... And then are ready to begin.]  TD: We're gonna get started here, Steve Roberts... Oh my!  It is Quigley... Quigley with a boot to the knee.  Quigley with another... Chris Quigley has gone right after Mad Dog Watkins! [Quigley starts with a ferocious series of boots, attacking the right knee of Watkins and driving the big man back to the ropes.  Quigley Irish whips Watkins into a dropkick to the knee, Quigley powerfully driving MDW backward, then into another irsh whip -- Quigley leapfrogs -- then on the second pass drops to the mat, allowing Watkins to run by -- then reaching up and taking out the knee with a vicious legwhip that leaves the Champion flat on his stomach.  Quigley quickly applies a toe hold, wrenching away at the knee of the Champion while referee D'Amato checks for a possible submission.] TD: Very, very fast start for Chris Quigley... it looks early that he is going to target the knee of the more powerful Watkins, trying to break him down, trying to drive him from the vertical base. SR: I've always thought there was something suspicious about how much Quigley liked to get horizontal with the other wrestlers, Dross.  Always with the toe holds and the frilly underthings strewn about the locker room.  Personally, I'm offended by that type of conduct here in a place like Tokyo.  A place that invented the exploding barbed wire baseball death match.  These people are freaks, Dross!  Freaks!  Ain't that right, freaks? [The Far Eastern chapter of the L'il Soundbiters stand and say something that is probably approximate to "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!"  Or maybe "Bite the Waxed Monkey Boy!"  Hard to tell.] SR: Morons. [Watkins snapmares his way out of the toe hold, bringing both men back to their feet, where Quigley is quick to move from the collar and elbow into a hammerlock... Watkins runs him to the ropes -- but Quigley hangs on -- moving to a waistlock and attempting to take him over-the-top with a German suplex -- blocked -- Watkins hangs onto the top rope which sends Quigley tumbling back toward the center of the ring.  Watkins turns as Quigley charges... right into the big boot of the Champion!  Quigley stumbles backward... and then is driven to the mat by a sharp Watkins clothesline!  Quigley is quickly to his feet... is whipped nearside... into a front waist by the Champion... and down Quigley goes with a huge belly-to-belly that drives him into the canvas for a cover... 1 -- 2 -- NO!] TD: Watkins showing his power advantage right there, Steve Roberts. Quigley was unable to get the German suplex -- and then took a thunderous belly-to-belly from Watkins for his trouble. SR: This dog ain't all bark, Dross.  Chris Quigley couldn't even step it up against an incredible loser like Marty "How's My Hair" Warnett -- this is a grown man he's in the ring with now, Dross.  I predict a quick knockout! [Watkins applies the armbar, floating across the back as Quigley attempts to maneuver out... Watkins gets to the opposite shoulder... but Quigley has gotten a foot underneath him, grabbing ahold of Watkins as they each rise to a vertical base, Quigley attempting a backslide... that Watkins blocks, rolling into a backslide of his own that Quigley goes all the way over for... but he goes literally all the way over... flipping completely over and remaining on his feet as Watkins is momentarily unsure where Quigley has situated himself... Watkins stands up and feels himself hooked from the front... and then send down with a fisherman's suplex from Quigley that leads to a count of... 1 -- 2 -- NO!] TD: Oh My!  Watkins is just able to escape that fisherman's suplex... and the crowd really appreciates that maneuver, Steve Roberts! SR: How could you tell?  Half these people are drunken Petrow fans... the other half are just waiting to take over more American companies. Not today, Mr. Hiyakawa... the Soundbite and his F-111 are in the house! Ain't that right, Freaks? [The Far-Eastern L'il Soundbiters have begun an unfortunate "Show Your Toes" chant that security quickly breaks up. Quigley brings Watkins back to his feet, taking another shot at the already weakened knee, despite the warnings of referee D'Amato as he was looking for a break.  Watkins stumbles backward as Quigley throws a right hand.  Quigley sends another that moves Watkins again... but this time moves him forward... Mad Dog coming right at Quigley with a European uppercut and then two knife edge chops that drive Quigley back into the corner, the Tokyo crowd responds with a familiar, "Whooooo!"] SR: Some things transcend all barriers, Dross.  Everybody's creeped out by midgets, Everybody enjoys a good plate of hot, buttery biscuits and everybody enjoys a good "Whooo" when a man chops a Quigley right in the damn chest.  It really is a small world after all, Dross. [Watkins jabs a boot to Quigley's midsection repeatedly, then cross-corner whips him and charges... ...and connects!  Watkins driving Quigley hard into the buckle with a clothesline that leaves Quigley staggering out to the middle of the ring! Watkins follows up, bouncing off the sideropes and locking on a bulldog that_dirves_Chris Quigley into the canvas for a count of... 1 -- 2 -- NO! Chris Quigley is just able to get a shoulder up! Watkins senses it now... senses that his power advantage has taken hold... senses that he has dazed Quigley as he picks up the Quickstrike and whips him again -- Watkins dropping his head as Quigley approaches... ...and backdropping Quigley up -- and...] TD: Quigley stays on his feet!  Quigley stays on his feet! [Watkins turns, charging Quigley, surprise clearly evident on the face of the champion... Which turns to shock as it is Quigley who quickly backdrops him high... and far... and over the top rope out to the floor!] TD: Oh my!  Watkins is outside... and Quigley's coming over! [Quigley slingshots himself over the top rope... landing with a legdrop onto Watkins... leading to a big pop from the appreciative crowd and a huge momentum swing for Quigley.] TD: We have a visitor, Steve Roberts... there is a young man in a wheelchair who is coming down to ringside -- I can't quite make it... I believe... I believe that it is Steve Manning, Jr... Steve Manning, Jr. -- former training partner and longtime friend of Chris Quigley is coming to ringside... I have no idea what he wants, Steve Roberts. SR: I have to amend Soundbite's Rules of Rasslin', Dross.  No Women... No Midgets... No Celebrites -- and No Anonymous Has-Been Crippled Freaks at ringside, Dross.  These are simple requests... simple requests from a very important and not unattractive man.  Let's see what we can do to shape things up around here! [Manning stays far away from the scene... a look that is best described as "not quite right" on his face as Quigley quickly moves to attack.  Quigley pulls MDW up, winding up and whipping him hard into the steel steps... Watkins going in knee first and planting himself hard into the steel. Quigley quickly follows up... running to the steps and pounding, pounding, pounding Watkins down with right hands... Quigley relentless, unyielding as he jerks Watkins' leg up, propping it atop the apron, and then leaping to the apron himself... running the full length thereof and then coming down with full force with a legdrop that seems to break Watkins' leg clean in half -- drawing a shocked gasp from the ringside fans and a full blooded yell from the IC Champ.] TD: Good God!  Good God!  Chris Quigley has injured Mad Dog Watkins... Chris Quigley may have just snapped Mad Dog Watkins leg in two! What a vicious, vicious maneuver! SR: Look at the cripple, Dross -- he is eating it up!  The cripple loves it! [A sickly grin is evident on the face of Manning as Quigley ruthlessly persists, banging the limp leg of the Mad Dog against those steel steps, Quigley yanking on the leg... and then ramming over and over and over again... Chris Quigley just brutally beating the Intercontinental Champion of the World!] TD: Chris Quigley... Chris Quigley is getting a steel chair!  Chris Quigley is getting a steel chair... and he is... he is jabbing it into the knee of Mad Dog Watkins!  Chris Quigley, he is absolutely devastating Mad Dog Watkins! SR: Now why isn't that a DQ?  Ring the bell, D'Amato!  Ring the damn bell and throw this punk out of the building... and take the cripple away too -- he is really startin' to give me the heebie geebies. [Quigley thrusts Watkins' leg through the chair... taking the entire apparatus... maneuvering Watkins around, and ramming the chair-encased leg hard into the ringpost!  The sickly clang of steel on steel reverberating through the air as Watkins winces in abject, almost soul taking pain. Quigley hops again up to the apron, winding up with a big elbowdrop as Watkins lies helplessly...] TD: OH MY!  Watkins... Watkins raises the chaired leg!  Quigley just took that chaired leg of Watkins right smack in the mush!  Oh MY! [A roar goes up from the crowd and Quigley drops like a stone to the floor as MDW, the pain evident on his face, now himself leaps to apron... MDW pointing at Quigley as he leaps...] TD: Good God!  Good God!  Watkins just legdropped Quigley with that steel chaired, dead leg!  Oh my! SR: That's what I like to see... Watkins has been getting wracked up by that dirty, dirty Quigley on the outside -- but now MDW has completely turned that around by pummeling Quigley down with that steel chaired leg!  I love it! [Watkins can barely stand, hobbling back to his feet and removing the chair, tossing it aside, and then slowly hopping... hopping back into the ring. Quigley crawls to the apron, clearly stunned, and attempts to make his way back into the ring. Watkins limping over, grabs at Quigley's hair, attempting to bring him over... but Quigley ducks down between the top and the midrope, and rams a shoulderblock into Watkins' midsection... Watkins stumbles back and then lurches forward, grabbing the top rope and then taking another shoulderblock from Quigley. Watkins hangs on and reaches down -- but too slowly, as Quigley comes in over the top with a sunset flip... attempting to... atteampting to pull... attempting to pull Mad Dog Watkins over... But he cannot. Watkins holds onto the top rope for dear life, halting the momentum and then sitting down hard...] TD: Quigley rolls free!  Quigley dives out of the way!  Oh MY! [Watkins smacks hard... then slowly makes his way to his feet -- or foot, as his right leg is virtually useless -- Watkins gets to his feet and turns around...] TD: Superkick!  Superkick!  Chris Quigley smacks Mad Dog Watkins' head back... and we have a cover... One!  Two! SR: NO!  The Old Dog kicks out!  Hah!  That Dog ain't givin' up the gold that easy, Chrissie! [Quigley pulls Watkins to his feet, into an Irish whip, Watkins swinging a clothesline that Quigley ducks under -- Quigley hopping across the back in what seems to be a crucifix attempt -- but Quigley floats all the way over... looking to drive Watkins to the mat in a possible DDT... but Watkins blocks -- vines the leg... and sends Quigley sharply to the mat with an inverted Russian leg sweep that crunches Quigley's face to the canvas!] TD: Inverted leg sweep!  Unbelievable!  Watkins blocks the floating DDT and counters with an inverted legsweep! SR: Yeah, Dross... but Watkins is in real bad shape -- Quigley has, I think, blown out Mad Dog's knee... I think... What the hell is this, Dross?  What the hell is this? [A commotion is evident at the top of the aisle as a familiar form appears... it is a muscular black man, dressed all in black with a San Francisco Giants baseball cap pulled down low over his face... And with a red glove on his left hand.] TD: It is Creed!  It is Creed!  Oh my God! [The forty young black men at ringside pull on huge black sweatshirts reading: "Creed Army:  Anyone. Anywhere. Anytime." ...and then begin the familiar raucous chanting: "Creed! Creed! Creed! Creed!" as the former Intercontinental Champion, not seen snce his betrayal by Watkins some two months ago, moves to ringside -- is handed a crimson steel chair by a member of the aforementioned Creed Army... and then placidly sits down.] TD: Creed, this man who so dominated the IIWF scene for so many months -- only to abruptly vanish after losing the Intercontinental belt -- has returned... and he is here right now! SR: Well, that punk had better stay clear from Watkins -- or we won't have to run that old superbomb to the floor footage... we'll have a brand new tape to use! [Watkins takes no notice of the outside goings on, instead bouncing off the nearropes... moving back to Quigley who has just begun to stir... and executing a crisp inverted rolling necksnap that leaves Quigley gasping for breath and the fans clearly appreciative of the effort of the Champion. Watkins now seizes the opportunity, climbing to the midrope, his leg unsteady beneath him... Watkins pausing a moment and diving atop Quigley...] TD: Headbutt!  Mad Dog Watkins with the flying headbutt!  Oh my! SR: He may not have "thump" written on his ass -- but this is one mean Dog nonetheless, Dross. [Watkins covers Quigley... draping an arm across his chest, the effort of each man clear as D'Amato moves to count... 1 -- 2 -- NO! Quigley kicks out to a big pop from the crowd. Watkins slowly moves to his feet, dragging Quigley up... Watkins goes behind with a waistlock... Quigley runs to the corner -- grabbing onto the top buckle, but Watkins holds on... Watkins yanks Quigley backward -- holding onto the waist... Watkins lifts up -- and sends Quigley hard over the top with a released German suplex that brings an roar... and then a bigger roar as Quigley...] TD: Quigley stays on his feet!  Chris Quigley took that German suplex and stayed on his feet... and look at Quigley roar at Watkins!  Look at Chris Quigley... look at this proud, proud warrior wade in on the Intercontinental Champion of the World -- Quigley with right hands! Chris Quigley with right hands... and he is pounding Mad Dog into the corner! [The crowd is on its feet as Quigley fires away at Watkins... Quigley then dropping down, lifting Watkins off his feet -- and placing him up -- up to the top turnbuckle!  Quigley goes up top, pummeling away at Watkins, who is still seated on the top buckle... Quigley gets up and latches hold of the sidelock... Quigley pausing... Quigley snapping...] TD: OH MY!  PLEXECUTION!  Chris Quigley just snap suplexed Mad Dog Watkins from that top rope!  Mad Dog Watkins is down!  Chris Quigley is down!  Everyone is down and the world is coming to an end!! [The huge sixty thousand strong crowd now begins to stomp its feet, Quigley and Watkins each lying on the mat -- neither man moving an inch as referee D'Amato begins a count: 1 - 2 - 3...] TD: I don't think either man is getting up, Steve Roberts. These two men have let it all go tonight... I think we may see a double countout! SR: That's good!  That's good!  Champion keeps and we can get the hell out of this country, Dross.  Stay down, Quigley!  Stay Down! [Referee D'Amato continues the count... neither man with a seeming inkling to move: - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7...] TD: It is... It is.... Quigley!  It is Quigley!  Quigley has draped an arm... Quigley's got the count! [Huge pop as Chris Quigley drapes an arm over Mad Dog Watkins and the official makes the count: 1 - 2 - ] TD: NO!  NO!  NO!  Mad Dog Watkins has kicked out!  Mad Dog Watkins has kicked out! SR: Yes!  Finish him off, Watkins... For the Love of Troy, finish him off! [The Tokyo crowd is now roaring, roaring loudly as Mad Dog Watkins is able to kick out of the Plexecution... Watkins seems rejuvenated... Watkins getting to his feet, picking up Quigley... whipping him farside and lifting him up... lifting him up in an attempted powerbomb... But Quigley goes out the backside!  Quigley goes all the way over the top and grabs a double hammerlock -- and drives Watkins over the top with a modifed tiger suplex with a bridge... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  Watkins kicks out!  Watkins kicks out! Watkins staggers up... lacing into Quigley with two dead-on Eueropean uppercuts and then a corner whip -- reverse -- Watkins hits the buckle hard and Quigley charges... slipped...] TD: Oh my!  Chris Quigley rams hard -- shoulder first -- into the steel ringpost!  Quigley is hurt!  Chris Quigley is hurt bad! [Watkins yanks Quigley from the corner... Watkins whipping Quigley hard cross-corner -- and Quigley hits the buckle solidly -- driving him back into the arms of Watkins who side suplexes him to the mat for the cover... 1 -- 2 -- NO! Quigley just gets a shoulder up as Watkins quickly stands, whipping Quigley nearside and driving him down in the middle of the ring with a brutal spinebuster!  And the cover... 1 -- 2 -- NO!  NO!] TD: Oh, you cannot deny this man's heart -- you cannot deny that Chris Quigley has the heart of a champion. SR: But he has the waist of a loser!  No gold, no place... and he will never, never win a belt in the IIWF as long as I'm around! [Watkins smacks the canvas in clear frustration... slowly picking Quigley to his feet.  Mad Dog Watkins slowly picks Quigley to his feet and then Irish whips him hard, catching Quigley on the pass and again lifting him up... up for an attempt at another powerbomb... Quigley stops the motion... this time in mid-air... situating himself around Watkins' neck and attempting to snap off a hurrincanrana... Which Watkins stops!  Watkins stops Quigley around his neck -- holding Quigley in the air and then Watkins begins running the full length of the ring... Watkins running and then Watkins slamming!  Watkins sending Chris Quigley down to the mat with a running Liger Bomb that brings a wild roar from the crowd as in the same motion he bends Quigley's legs over, Mad Dog Watkins pressing down as D'Amato slides into position next to Quigley's downed shoulders -- Watkins, all of this in one motion -- pressing down as D'amato slaps the mat once... D'Amato slaps the mat twice... D'Amato slaps the mat... three times! D'Amato slaps the mat three times! But Chris Quigley is no longer there. Quigley, with a final burst of effort, wraps his legs around the neck of Watkins, taking him all the way over to the mat with a truly amazing head-scissors takeover... Quigley sliding underneath with a remarkable fluidlity, coming out the other side -- and then onto his feet as Watkins lies prone and stunned on the canvas... Quigley grabs the legs of Watkins... steps over and bends back...] TD: QUICKSTRIKER!  QUICKSTRIKER!  Chris Quigley has Mad Dog Watkins in the Quickstriker! SR: NO!  NO!  Get to the ropes, Watkins!  Get to the ropes!  [The crowd roars and roars and roars some more as Quigley bends backward, pulling away at Watkins, who struggles mightily to reach the bottom rope... Watkins -- the veteran, the true epitome of professional wrestling, sitting finally at the pinnacle of his sport, the proud holder of the IIWF Intercontinental Championship belt -- the pain in his leg making his face almost unbearable to watch as he tries... strains... aches with every ounce of courage... of strength... of himself that he can muster as he reaches out to the ropes... And he does not reach them. And he taps out. Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Oh my! SR: Oh my God! [There is a moment of deafening silence as the hold is broken... each man slumping to the canvas as Sparkplug Lee takes the mic:] SL: Your winner... as a result of a submission... and _NEW_ IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION... "QUICKSTRIKE" CHRIS QUIGLEY! [The crowd erupts in tumultuous applause, both for the incredible match and for the accomplishment of Chris Quigley, who takes the IC belt to his breast, Steve Manning wheeling himself back up the aisle as Quigley stands atop the midbuckle -- thrusting the belt in the air... as the applause swells.] TD: Chris Quigley is the IIWF Intercontinental Champion. SR: Damn.  I got nothing to say, Dross.  I have absolutely nothing... can you get the camera off me, please.  Dammit... get the [BLEEP] away from me, right now! [Quigley, a look of not exactly happiness, but of satisfaction on his face, steps down from the buckle... secure that this time... this moment... for now and forever -- would belong to Chris Quigley. And now, into the ring, comes Creed. The former champion enters, crimson steel chair in tow... his fans wildly popping at ringside as the rippling red-gloved rookie stands over Mad Dog Watkins... his rival, turned mentor, turned betrayor.  Creed stands above, looking MDW dead in the eye... Creed, his face completely obscured by the baseball cap... stares hard at Watkins for five seconds which seem like an eternity as Creed slowly waves the crimson chair like Barry Bonds about to take a hanging knuckleball and deposit it into the California night... Creed wheels...] TD: He hit Chris Quigley!  Creed just planted Chris Quigley with the steel chair!  Oh My God! SR: What the hell was that, Dross?  What the hell is going on here? [The crowd is stunned... save the members of the Creed Army who now look as if they are about to leap the crowd barriers in adulation.  Creed drops the chair to the floor, now looking down at the prone Quigley and saying:] CREED: Told you I'd remember, Quigley. [Creed momentarily grabs the IC belt, the gold which he once owned following the dramatic, career-defining Loser Leaves Town victory over Lord Byron -- then tosses it back to the canvas. Creed then exits, his fans roaring their approval by chanting his name as Watkins slowly gets to his feet... drawing not even a glance from the red-gloved former champion as he departs.] TD: Wow.  A stunning... an absolutely stunning turn of events... Chris Quigley... who is now getting to his feet -- and is now again accepting the applause of the fans -- is the new Intercontinental Champion of the World... defeating Mad Dog Watkins with a Quickstriker... but then Creed -- Creed, who is truly one of the great young stars in the world of wrestling, seemingly without provocation, just entered and waffled him with a red steel chair -- I don't know what to think of it. SR: Okay... here's how you think of it.  Quigley sucks.  Always has. Always will -- I don't know what happened here... but it'll be fixed. Watkins sucks too... anyone who would lose to Quigley sucks.  He's a quitter and a whiner and an over-rated has-been.  And Creed's just a glory hog. "I told you I'd remember"?! What the hell is that, Dross?  If that lucky punk kid thinks he's gonna waltz back into the IIWF -- he's even dumber than Kauffman! TD: Well, be that as it may, Steve Roberts, quite tremendous scenes here in the Egg Dome. We have a new Intercontinental Champion -- and in just a matter of minutes, we could see a new IIWF World Heavyweight Champion crowned! Requiem faces Joe Petrow -- this is the big one, folks! [The camera focuses on Sychosys in the hallway leading up to the entrance to the walk ramp.  Petrow is shown in a red robe, with gold "Simply Sychotic" letters on the back, accompanied by "Majestic" Maurice McArthur, in Team Sychosys sweatgear.  Petrow bounces and weaves from side to side, with the wide-eyed exhuberant look of a rookie about to get his first ever title shot.  As soon as his music starts, Petrow and McArthur walk to the entrance and stop.  After about the thirty second amrk, the music kicks into its major jam, after which Petrow shouts "LET'S GO!", and enters the rampway with 3M. The music is "Tamashi no Rufuran" (Refrain of the Spirit), from the recent blockbuster movie "Evangelion:  Death and Rebirth."  Red laser lights stream out in all directions, as Petrow stalks straight to the ring.  After getting into the ring, he quickly mounts the second turnbuckle to briefly acknowledge the fans, then gets down, disrobes, handing it to 3M, revealing a simple matching red amateur style singlet underneath.  Then Sychosys finally settles into his corner, and patiently awaits the arrival of the champion.] TD: Quite a reception for the challenger here tonight, Steve Roberts. Joe Petrow is a very popular man here in his adopted homeland -- and equally so amongst his following back in the States. I understand there is a "Sycho Party" going on in the parking lot of the IIWF Coliseum... [Cut away to footage captioned, "LIVE! IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon". Over one thousand fans, the majority of them clearly rabid Sychopaths, crowd in front of a large video wall erected especially for the purpose. The beer is flowing, the music is playing, and as the Sychopaths see themselves appear on the screen, they turn and yell excitedly at the camera, some rather exuberant fans almost toppling the cameraman from his vantage point. Cut back to the Egg Dome as the lights in the arena drop to almost total darkness, as a voice booms out over the PA system: "From this day forth, until the end of time, there shall be no mercy for the damned!"] TD: Oh my... here comes the Champion. [Then, dry ice begins to pour down the aisle. illuminated by a pale blue spotlight, giving the entire aisle an eerie feel to it. As the crowd, hushed, looks on, the huge Requiem steps out, clad in an all-enveloping black hooded robe. Instead of "The Music Of The Unknowingly Damned," his entrance is accompanied only by the insistent, funereal deep ringing of ancient church bells, with what sounds suspiciously like a faint heartbeat in the background. The spotlight seems to "pulse" with the heartbeat. Making his way slowly down the aisle, the fans on either side appear to be transfixed by the presence of the Champion. Finally, he enters the ring, steps into the centre of the canvas, while Joe Petrow looks on, and shrugs off his monkish robe to reveal that he is clad in black wrestling pants, a black loose fit t-shirt, black wristbands, black elbow pads, black knee pads and black boots. He also wears a black bandana, black sunglasses, and black fingerless leather gloves. Indeed, the only colour upon him is the logo on his shirt, the words "ANGEL OF DESTRUCTION" engulfed in flame on the front, and "HERALD OF DAMNATION" upon the back, similarly ablaze. Requiem is clean-shaven, revealing a face that is not unhandsome, though still strangely fearsome. His eyes are ablaze with intensity on this night, seeming to shine in the dim light of the arena as the house lights rise up once more.] TD: Oh my. The atmosphere in this arena is simply electric, Steve Roberts. These fans can't wait for this match to get underway. Let's go over to Sparkplug Lee for the introductions. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Requiem [c] vs. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow ....................................................................... WRITER: RD [Cut to Sparkplug Lee standing in the ring once more, the spotlights dancing over the crowd behind him. On either side of him stand the two combatants, the towering, ice-cold Requiem to his left, and Petrow to his right.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, our friends here in Japan, and all of the IIWF     fans watching live across the globe, the following contest will be     your main event for the evening! [small pop] This match-up will be     contested over one fall, and for the most pretigious trophy in all     of sports, the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship! [big pop]     Introducing first -- the challenger! Fighting out of the blue corner     and weighing in at 227 lbs; currently residing right here in Tokyo,     Japan; please give him a big welcome... here is "Sychosys" Joe     Petrow! [A huge, huge pop thunders over the Egg Dome as Joe Petrow, clearly a firm favourite with the Japanese fans, raises his fists to the air and grins at the crowd. Petrow is wearing a red ring robe, with "Simply Sychotic" printed on the back in gold trim. "Majestic" Maurice McArthur stands at his side wearing a "Team Sychosys" sweat suit. Petrow bounces and weaves from side to side with the wide-eyed exuberant look of a rookie about to get his first ever title shot. Abruptly, the air is filled with red streamers, hurled by the fans towards the ring, and Petrow waves proudly at his following in response.] TD: Our great Japanese fans jam-packing the Egg Dome tonight, showing     their appreciation for Joe Petrow with a touch of tradition --     clearly this man is etched firmly in their minds as the most popular     athlete in the IIWF. SR: I got a question for ya, Dross. Y'know I like Joe Petrow -- he's     crazier than Rasputin's beard and he listens to Phil Collins, but I     still like him -- but why the hell does he spend all his time hanging around a buncha' dang foreigners? That's no way for a red-blooded, Mooselips swillin', blood spillin', ass kickin' American to live! TD: Racially sensitive as ever, Steve. Joe Petrow regards Japanese     culture and tradition with the utmost reverence and respect, and as     representatives of the IIWF to these shores, we should follow his     example. SR: Ha! Next time I'm over here I'll strap a nuke to my head and     headbutt this backward nation right into the twenty first century! TD: Good grief. [Triple MMM confers a whispered strategy with Joe Petrow, as the towering Requiem stares at them ominously from across the ring.] RA: And fighting out of the red corner, weighing in at 306 lbs and     hailing from parts unknown; feared across the globe as the "Herald     of Damnation" and the "Angel of Destruction", the flagbearer of the     Genesis Generation and THE reigning Heavyweight Champion of the     world; please give him a big welcome, here is Requiem! [Scattered cheers, but mostly awed silence from the Japanese fans, marvelling at both the overbearing size and fearsome presence of the black-clad Requiem.] SR: I've never had much use for popular opinion, Tim Dross; but when     I look at this man, I know I'm sharing the feeling of every single     fan, wrestler and critic involved with this great sport: after     Midsummer Madness, Requiem has no right to call himself the IIWF     champion. TD: Well, certainly controversy has surrounded the personage of Requiem     ever since he first strapped on that golden belt, perhaps more so than any other IIWF champion in history; but when I watch Requiem in the ring, as much as I often deplore his dubious methods, I can't deny the tremendous depth of Requiem's abilities. Most big men, they get by with a handful of maneuvers, they try to make an impact based on their size alone, but Requiem possesses a remarkable array of holds, counter-holds, technical power moves... he can do it all. SR: So how come he's gotta have a gang to back him up? How come he's     gotta cheat to hold onto the belt? How come Otto Verhoeven made him     look like an over-sized lawn bowl player at Midsummer Madness? Tell     me that, Timbo! Requiem has a severe lack of confidence in his own     abilities, and a real, genuine talent like Petrow is gonna make him     look about as one-dimensional as the comic books he sprang from! TD: It's a tremendously tough job to hold onto the IIWF championship,     Steve, and if you look at some of the great champions in the history     of this federation, men like JW Hardin and Casey James... sometimes     they too have resorted to questionable tactics in order to hold onto     the title. I'm not condoning it, but that's just the way it is. It's     not fair to condemn Requiem while we honour men like the Outlaw in     our Hall of Fame. SR: You're daring to compare Requiem with the greatest damn ass-kicker     of all time? If I had Dictator Dan's job, that would be grounds for     immediate termination! [Requiem and Joe Petrow step up to each other in centre ring, the world champion towering over his challenger by a good seven inches, but nonetheless, Petrow's eyes show no fear as he gazes up into the chilling visage of his foe. Requiem simply regards Petrow with cold disregard, as if he were a small insect ready to be squashed, menace glittering in his pale blue eyes. The referee signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! The two combatants remain motionless for a moment, Petrow quietly saying something to Requiem that cannot be picked up by the sound mics, and the champion responds with a tremendous shove, sending Petrow careening off balance across the ring! Requiem immediately lunges forward, driving ferocious big boots at the chest of the staggered Joe Petrow, and referee Earl Alfonso, standing too close to the action, is caught right in the middle and... whoomp! - catches a big boot flush on the jaw, sending him up and over the top rope! Alfonso crumples into a heap on the arena floor, apparently unconcious! Requiem flashes the fallen official a cold look, and then sends Petrow reeling with a ham-fisted bolo punch. Triple M looks on concerned from ringside.] TD: Oh my goodness! Mayhem may have already broken loose in this world     title match-up, as Earl Alfonso got a little too close to the action     for comfort. We must have a second official down here immediately! SR: Did you see that look on Requiem's face? That was no accident! He     kicked that idiot referee on purpose! TD: I'm not sure that's a very credible accusation, Steve Roberts. With all the limbs flailing around in a wrestling match, the referee always runs the risk of taking a bump himself. SR: Goddammit Dross, I know what I saw! That sneaky bastard has     something up his sleeve! [Joe Petrow lolls against the ropes, and Requiem sets him up, using his tree-trunk leg to rocker-drop him with pulverising force! Big pop from the fans in appreciation of the impressive manuever. Requiem hauls the challenger back up, and with frightening power presses him up overhead, walks to the ropes and... hurls Joe Petrow bodily from the ring! Fans at ringside scatter as Joe Petrow tumbles back to earth amidst the first row, sending a few of the japanese fans sprawling like bowling pins.] SR: Hurrah! There's one in the eye for Johnny Foreigner! TD: Good grief. [Requeim climbs through the ropes and to the outside, as Joe Petrow painfully picks himself up and attempts to climb back over the railing. Requiem siezes up a fire extinguisher from ringside, stalks over to his vulnerable challenger, and uses the big metal cylinder to crack Petrow across the head! Petrow drops limply to the floor, and Requiem dishes out further punishment by stomping on his throat. Meanwhile, assorted ringside attendents work desperately to revive Earl Alfonso, who is yet to show any signs of life. Requiem drags Petrow up and slings him straight into the steel ring steps.] TD: Earl Alfonso is still in no condition to officiate this match, and     Requiem seems intent on wreaking as much havoc as possible without     fear of reprimand. We must get a second offical down here. SR: Look at the punishment Joe Petrow has absorbed already! I'm no     preacher for rules and fair play, but if one more challenger gets     ripped off in his bid for Requiem's world championship, I'm defecting to the MLWO! TD: Seriously? SR: Yeah, right! You think a hick league like that could afford the services of the "Soundbite"? Hell, they had some bum called Dan Kauffman in their main events not so long ago. TD: Please, I don't need to be reminded of that name right now. [Requiem picks up the ringbell, and Joe Petrow, trying to catch his breath on the ringsteps, can do nothing as Requiem blasts him across the face with the foreign object. Although remaining quiet, many of the Japanese fans look displeased with all the flagrant cheating going on. Petrow slumps down to the arena floor, and Requiem continues the carnage, this time stomping him in the chest. Suddenly, the crowd pops as a small, bearded Japanese man hurriedly makes his way down the aisle, buttoning up an offical IIWF referee shirt!] SR: Who the heck is that? Is it Yoko Ono? TD: No, Steve! That's Mr. Hatori! Hatori is one of the most respected     referees in Japanese wrestling, in attendance to watch the great     IIWF action tonight, and it looks like the IIWF has promptly     commissioned him as the second official for this bout! Good move! [Mr. Hatori immediately confronts the formidable figure of Requiem, and although he is more than a foot out-sized, gets right in the champions face, threatening a DQ if he doesn't get in the ring and wrestle a clean match! Joe Petrow, trickling blood from his forehead under the impact of the foreign objects, crawls up the ringsteps and pulls himself into the ring. Requiem, his cold face impassive, stares at Mr. Hatori for a moment and then follows suit. Requeim drags Petrow up by the hair, scoops him into an inverse position, and then drives his head into the mat with a tombstone piledriver! The crowd gives a mild pop for the maneuver, as Petrow writhes in pain on the canvas. Requeim drops atop his foe for the cover, and Mr. Hatori is immediately on the case with the count: 1 - 2 - Petrow kicks out to a big pop from the fans!] TD: Joe Petrow escaped the first pin attempt, but I wonder how much he     has left after being belted around with that fire extinguisher and     ring bell. Requiem may be well on his way to yet another     controversial title victory. SR: Say it ain't so, Dross! But what's up with these creepy Japanese     fans? All night, they hardly cheer at all, only makind a noise for     certain moves. Sure, most American fans are moronic and unwashed,     but at leas they know to cheer when somebody is busted open with     forty pounds of metal! It's a sure sign of the backwardness of the     Japanese people compared to us Americans! TD: Steve, please exercise a little tact! [Requeim gets up to his feet, dragging Joe Petrow up by his hair once again, and pummelling him with big right hands. Petrow staggers back against the ropes, and Requiem grabs his head and tries to rake his eyes along the top rope. Mr. Hatori immediately interjects himself, gruffly asserting his authority, and threatening Requiem with a DQ once again! Requiem stares at the referee coldly for a moment, but ceases the illegality.] TD: I have to commend Mr. Hatori for establishing immediate control in     a match that could very well have become nothing more than a lawless     brawl. The officials over here in Japan are a lot more rigourous     with the rule book than their American counter-parts. SR: Dammit, Dross, this is an American match, for an American     federation and an American World title; with two Americans - well     make that one American, I don't know where the hell Requiem is     from - and we have a japanese guy as the referee... Hell, this is     just not right! It's Un-American! It's freakish! It's against the     laws of nature! TD: Get over it, Steve. [As Requiem lunges once again at his lolling challenger, Joe Petrow ducks beneath his massive legs, grabs hold, toppling the balance of the world champion... and rolls him up into a pin! Big pop from the fans as Hatori makes the count: 1 - 2 - kickout by Requiem! Both men spring to their feet, Petrow blocking the clumsy punch of the champion and twisting it into an armdrag! As Petrow tries to clinch an armbar, Requiem immediately powers up from the mat and spins around rapidly, breaking the grip with a stunning short arm clothesline, depositing Petrow down to the mat! Requiem immediately runs to the ropes, bounds off, and squashes Petrow with a big splash! Requiem remains atop his foe for the cover: 1 - 2 - kickout by Petrow to a big pop from the crowd!] TD: Petrow nearly managed to turn the tables on this match there, but he     got careless, perhaps woozy from those earlier head shots, and     Requiem is back firmly in control. Perhaps the champion is     simply too big and strong for Petrow tonight. SR: Dross, we've seen Joe Petrow battle back from certain defeat in the     past in his wars with the likes of Dirt Dog Unique Allah and Steve     Kowalski. Requeim hasn't been tested to that level before, at least     not without controversy... it's only a matter of time before this     big lunk gets tired and falls behind. [Requiem towers up to his feet and pulls up the groggy carcass of Joe Petrow as he does so. Requeim drives his knee hard into the midsection of his challenger, doubling Petrow up and knocking the wind out of him. Requiem underhooks Petrow's arms, hoisting him up in the air, then driving Petrow into the canvas with a pulverisingly forceful double-underhook powerbomb! Huge pop from the crowd for the devestating maneuver! Petrow shudders and goes still, spread-eagled on the mat. Requeim, his eyes smouldering with triumph, makes the cover...] TD: What a great move from the world champion! Hatori has made the one     count... SR: That's two. No! Please No! TD: Thre... kickout by Joe Petrow! [The fans go crazy as Joe Petrow, from somewhere in the depths of his pain-wracked body, finds the strength to escape the pin attempt! Requeim doesn't waste any time, and lurching to his feet, charges to the ropes. He bounds off leaps at the still layed out Petrow, aiming a legdrop at the challenger's throat... but Joe Petrow rolls aside, and Requiem crashes into the canvas! Big pop from the fans as Requiem howls with pain.] SR: This is it! Petrow has a chance to turn the match around! Kick his     stinkin' head off, Crazy Joe! [Petrow painfully clambers up to his feet. Requiem tries to do likewise, but appears to have strained his leg and cannot get up from a sitting position. Petrow leaps up at Requiem from behind, sommersaults over his head, as he does so grabbing onto the champion's head and slamming it forward into the mat in a bulldog-like manner! Huge pop from the crowd for the stunningly acrobatic move! Requiem recoils and clutches at this wounded skull. Petrow lunges in again, this time pulling the champion up to his feet, clinching his waist, hoisting him up into the air... up into a vertical suplex! Petrow staggers under the weight, barely able to execute the move on a man as huge as Requiem, but with a surge of effort brings Requiem crashing back first into the canvas! Pop from the fans! Petrow goes for the cover: 1 - 2 - Requiem gets a shoulder up!] TD: Well, Petrow contended with some heavy firepower in the early stages     of the match, but now he's the one dishing out the punishment! SR: What did I tell you, Timbo? The cartoon freak has no stamina. Once     he's past the twenty minute mark, he's like Hillary Clinton on a     night with the "Soundbite" -- he's huffin', he's puffin', he's... TD: [interrupting] That'll be quite enough of that thank you Steve. [Petrow leaps back to his feet, not allowing himself to be discouraged by Requiem's rapid escape, and runs to the ropes. Requiem pulls himself painfully to his feet, but Petrow blasts him on the rebound with a flying shoulder tackle! Requiem staggers, his strained leg wobbles, but he manages to remain standing! Pop from the crowd for Requiem's resilience. Undaunted, Petrow lunges forward once again, spins around, and blasts Requiem right in the face with a tremendously stiff superkick! This time, Requiem is taken right off his feet! Big "Sychosys" pop from the crowd! Petrow retreats to the corner, nimbly positioning himself on the top turnbuckle, his back to the ring... Requiem staggers up to his feet again, and Petrow launches himself through the air, flipping over, hurling himself bodily into the standing Requiem with a moonsault press! Huge pop from the crowd!] TD: What tremendous velocity Petrow achieved on that moonsault! He's     wisely choosing to wage an aerial battle against the powerful Requiem, knowing only too well the danger of going toe to toe with such a monster. Petrow's going for the cover, we may well have a new     champion crowned right now, Steve Roberts! SR: Hatori is making the count... that's one! TD: That's two! SR: We have a new champi... No! TD: Requiem has kicked out! Unbelievable! Listen to the roar from these     fans, they're loving it! Intense wrestling action like only the IIWF     can produce, folks! [Petrow slaps the mat in dissapointment, but gets up from his foe and returns to business. Requiem has difficulty getting to his feet once again, and Petrow capitalises by locking on a step over toe-hold, then reaches forward, struggling to contend with the sheer length of Requiem, and clinches on a facelock. The fans pop in recognition of the famous STF japanese submission hold! Requiem's face immediately contorts with pain, the almost unbreakable hold exerting excruitiating strain on key points down the length of his body. Petrow doubles his efforts, sweat and blood trickling down his forehead, feeling the pace of the match almost as much as teh champion. Mr. Hatori asks Requiem if he would like to submit, but he responds with a booming "No!".] TD: How much longer can Requiem withstand the pressure? The STF,     originated by Masa Chono, one of the most painful submission holds     known to this sport... most wrestlers submit within seconds of being     locked on. SR: Look at the expressions of determination on the faces of both these     men! Petrow, so long a top contender for the World championship, and     now that the title is finally withing reach he's not gonna release     this hold for any money... Requiem, fighting a losing battle for     respect in the IIWF, struggling to retain his precarious hold on the     title, willing to undergo unlimited levels of pain to stay in     the match... these guys might stay locked like that for hours! TD: I don't know, Steve. Requiem is clearly in agony -- the courage of     this man, holding out for so long, is tremendous -- but he's wilting     fast. [The crowd pops in a frenzy, submission fighting very popular with the japanese fans, and they're marvelling over Requiem's staying power at this point. Petrow's face is locked in a grimace as he strains with all his might to clinch the hold as tight as possible. Requiem's face is marked with the intense agony of the STF, but a cold fire still rages in his eyes - he simply refuses to submit! The giant world champion reaches out with a long, pale arm, clawing the air for the ropes - tantalisingly close, but still out of reach. The cheers of the fans build to a crescendo, and Requeim claws at the mat, desperately trying to inch himself forward! Petrow clings like a tick to Requiem's back, but he just doesn't have the bulk to halt Requiem's advance, milimeter by milimeter, to the ropes. Finally, with one last desperate lunge, Requiem reaches out and fastens his fist around the bottom strand! Huge, huge pop from the fans! Mr. Hatori orders Petrow to release the hold, but the challenger almost seems to be in a trance - he's not letting go! Requiem's eyes bulge out of his head under the strain, and he gives vent to a frightening cry of agony! Mr. Hatori is yelling furiously at Petrow to relinquish the STF, and finally resorts to physically pulling him away from the champion! Petrow seems to finally acknowledge the referee, but Requiem is hanging over the bottom rope, almost passed out from the pain.] TD: Unbelievable! The fans here in the Egg Dome can't believe Requiem     escaped from the STF, and they're giving him a standing ovation! SR: Crazy Joe Petrow was going to put Requiem out for good, and that     damn interfering jap had to go and break up the festivities! TD: Mr. Hatori is intent on calling straight and narrow, right down the     middle. He's not going to permit any kind of illegality in his     matches, even if many of his American peers are are too relaxed with     the rules. [Joe Petrow pulls Requiem up from the ropes, the giant swaying unsteadilly, and whips him across the ring. Petrow leaps at his foe on the rebound and blasts him with a dropkick! Requiem sways backwards, and a second standing dropkick deposits him to the mat! Petrow retreats back to the corner, and climbs up onto the top turnbuckle. Requiem pulls himself unsteadilly to his feet, and Joe Petrow launches himself through the air with a flying body press! Requiem opens up his arms, welcoming Petrow into his guard, and catches him in mid-air! Requeim almost overbalances - the punishment he has taken and the velocity of Petrow's bodypress staggers the giant - but he digs his heels in and manages to stand firm! Big pop from the crowd! Petrow, now helpless in Requiem's grip, is blasted into the canvas with a pulverising powerslam!] TD: Oh my goodness! Petrow could have put Requiem away with that     high-risk maneuver, but the champion plucked him right out of the     air! What resilience and ring savvy from Requiem! SR: But Requiem isn't going for the cover, he's dragging Petrow over to     the corner, he's got more punishment in store for Crazy Joe! [Requeim, moving slow from the exhaustive pace of the battle, clambers up onto the top turnbuckle, dragging Joe Petrow up as he does so. The crowd is almost completely silent, poised in expectation...] TD: He's setting him up for the Superbomb! He's gonna execute the "Final     Lament"! [Joe Petrow is locked in the powerbomb position, but he doesn't fight against it, instead closing his eyes and spreading his arms out like a cross... almost as if he was inviting the brutal punishment! Requiem, a cold fire burning in his eyes, leaps up into the air, plunging towards the mat with tremendous velocity, smashing Joe Petrow into the canvas with bone-splintering, pulverising force! Petrow goes utterly still. Requiem holds him in the pinning position...] TD: What a devestating maneuver! The brave title bid of Joe Petrow is     over right now! [Mr. Hatori's hand slaps the mat for the first time...] SR: I can't believe Petrow just hung there passively, almost as if he     wanted to actually suffer from the "Final Lament"! What a suicidal     madman! [All the fans in the arena are staring at the centre of the ring, on the edge of their seats... All eyes fixed on Mr. Hatori's hand as it slaps the mat for a second time...] TD: This is it!... [As Hatori's hand descends, Joe Petrow kicks out with milimeters to spare! The fans leap to their feet and roar with approval for the narrow escape!] TD: Abosultely unbelievable! Joe Petrow, apparently crushed unconscious     under the force of that powerbomb, is still in the match! He must be     operating on pure primitive survival instincts! [Requiem pants for breath and simply stares dead at the mat for a moment. Petrow stirs and claws his way up to his feet, and Requiem has no alternative but to do likewise. Both men sway unsteadilly and raise their fists, the "Angel of Destruction" striking first and clobbering Petrow with an overhead right. "Sychosys" responds with hard chop across the chest of Requiem, the crack audible across the arena. Both men stand and trade shots, Requiem throwing the more powerful punches, but Petrow striking with greater speed and accuracy. Steadilly, he pummels the world champion back against the ropes.] TD: Both men are exhausted! They look as if they can't remain standing     a minute longer! SR: It's all stripped down to the nitty gritty, Timbo! There's nothing     left to give but fists and sweat! [Petrow whips his head foreward and delivers a nasty headbutt to the chin of Requiem. Just as the giant is slumping down against the ropes, however, the house lights abruptly go down! A gasp of fright goes up collectively from the crowd.] TD: What the heck is going on here? I apologise to all the folks     watching for these technical difficulties here in the Egg Dome. SR: Technical difficulties my ass! Something sinister is going on here! [Just as abruptly as they went out, the lights flicker back on again, revealing a scene of chaos around the ring. Mr. Hatori is standing at the foot of the aisle, confronting the hordes of Genesis: Highwayman, Serge Annis, Scott Rogers and Cold Spell - who threaten to swarm the ring. Between the ropes, a villanous sight greets the eyes: a man wearing a long grey trenchcoat, a mask, and a cowboy hat pulled down low over his brow - the Masked Outlaw - is tucking Joe Petrow's head under his arm, before executing a punishing Cattlebuster DDT! The Japanese fans sit stony faced and silent, upset at the flagrant cheating, while the Masked Outlaw rolls under the bottom rope and out of the ring. Mr. Hatori turns away from Genesis, and seeing Requiem covering the comatose Petrow for the pin, dashes betweeen the ropes and drops down to make the count: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: What a disgrace for the IIWF in front of our Japanese fans! What a     flagrant disregard for all the rules of wrestling! The Masked     Outlaw, or Casey James as I should say, must be banned before he     renders the World title meaningless through his constant     interference! I'm absolutely disgusted! Casey James has turned his     back on his friends, the IIWF, the entire Generation he was a part     of and joined this pack of rats known as Genesis! His lack of     loyalty makes me sick! SR: This guy can't be Casey James! I refuse to believe it! James would     never hang around a bunch of wimps like Genesis. The Masked Outlaw     must be somebody else! TD: Steve, there's too much evidence against that now. RA: Here is your winner, and STILL the IIWF Heavyweight champion of the     world -- Requiem! [The albinoid giant stands up and raises his fists to the heavens triumphantly, while Joe Petrow remains motionless on the canvas. Abruptly, Requiem's henchmen on the outside, excluding Cold Spell, barge through Mr. Hatori, bowling the veteran referee over, and invade the ring, swarming over Joe Petrow and punishing him with kicks and stomps.] TD: Is this really necessary? After cheating Joe Petrow out of a fair     title shot, Genesis feel they must go further and put him out of     action! What a gang of thugs! [Majestic Maurice MacArthur attempts to come to the aid of his mentor, but is held back by Edmund Fitzgerald. Requiem and his Genesis cronies continue to brutally batter the fallen Joe Petrow, while the Masked Outlaw turns and heads back up the aisle. From the opposite aisle comes running the Pheonix, drawing a big pop from the crowd. The Native American arrives at ringside and nimbly reaches under the bottom ropes. Grabbing hold of Joe Petrow's legs, the Pheonix drags him out of the ring to safety, shielding him from the blows of the Genesis members. The camera cuts back to the Masked Outlaw, who has been halted at the top of his aisle by Tiger Claw! The two men appear to be exchanging heated words! Shortly, Brody Thunder, the recently dethroned Mad Dog Watkins, and Steve Kowalski join Outlaw and Claw at the top of the aisle, pointing angrilly and hurling accusations at Tiger Claw and the Masked Outlaw!] SR: What the... What the heck are they saying? We need to get a sound     mic up there. What's going on here? TD: It looks like Watkins, Kowalski and Thunder are suspicious of     their supposed alliance with the Syndicate! All the evidence seems     to point towards Tiger Claw and Casey James switching sides to     Genesis! SR: But Tiger Claw is having heated words with the Masked Outlaw too!     Could he really be Casey James? The day Claw and James split up is     the day Larry Morton gets a date with Becky Larue. TD: No alliances are permanent in wrestling Steve, not even one as     apparently solid as the Syndicate. [Suddenly, Tiger Claw is struck down from behind by axehandles from Icehawk and Fitzgerald of Cold Spell! Perhaps miffed over their pinfall defeat at the hands of the Syndicate earlier in the evening, the former tag champs have launched a sneak attack from behind! Scott Rogers, Serge Annis, Highwayman and Requiem turn their attentions away from Petrow and the Pheonix, charging down the aisle to join in the brawl. The masked native american utilises the opportunity to shepherd the weakened Joe Petrow out of the arena, with the aid of Triple M. The Masked Outlaw shrewdly ducks away from the imminent brawl and dissapears into the crowd. Steve Kowalski launches himself into the midst of Genesis and begins trading shot for shot with Requiem! Scott Rogers and Serge Annis combine to hurl Brody Thunder right into the crowd! Tiger Claw manages to deposit Fitzgerald to the arena floor with a sweeping leg kick, but Icehawk dives atop of the Thai boxer and unloads with a flurry of punches!] TD: This event has descended into complete mayhem, folks! We've lost all     control here! I can't even work out who's on whose side and which     guys are supposed to be fighting each other! SR: [laughing] I bet the Japs have never seen action like this in the     Egg Dome before! This is great! [Mad Dog Watkins double clotheslines Rogers and Annis down from behind, giving Brody Thunder the opportunity to wade back into the crowd and boot Icehawk away from Tiger Claw. One of his kicks goes aside and belts Claw right in the chops, and the former Intercontinental champion goes berzerk, leaping up and pummelling Thunder with his patented knee fury! Steve Kowalski and Requiem continue to brawl furiously, neither man dropping, but slugging all the way down the aisle and back towards the ring!] TD: We're right out of time folks, and what a choatic way to end     Saturday Night! Remember to tune into IIWF programming next week,     and get the straight scoop on this evening's shocking events! SR: Why do we always have to leave when things get good? [The camera pans out, showing the conflicting factions engaged in an all-out war. Fitzgerald viciously chokes Mad Dog Watkins from behind, and Brody Thunder headbutts Tiger Claw in the nose as the image fades.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+