[Montage shots of the canadian countryside; fishing trawlers of Nova Scotia; The Edmonton Eskimos Grey Cups; Wayne Gretzky's birthplace; the red and white flag bearing the maple leaf.  Finally a cut to a live shot of a sign reading:  "Welcome to Corner Brook. Home of IIWF Intercontinental Champion Chris Quigley"  A small group of school children wave at the camera.  There is the whistle of a falling bomb and and screen explodes into flame.  From the inferno emerges:]                           ________      ______                           | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|                           | || | \ v  v / | __|                           |_||_|  \_/\_/  |_|                         __ __       __ _______  ___                  |    //_  / | /| //_ /__   / | /__|\__/                  | / //   /  // |//      \ /  //   /  /                  |/|//__ /__//  //_______//__//   /__/                        ___  ___      ___   ________                  |    //__| /__\     /__\  /  //  //|/|                  | / //   //   \    /   \ /  //  // / |                  |/|//   //    /   /    //__//__//    |                  --------------------------------------                             September 24 1997             *LiVE* From The Corner Brook Regional Civic Center*                        Corner Brook, Ontario, Canada [Larry Morton and Becky LaRue are sitting in the now deserted Regional Center at a makeshift booth.  Larry is desperately trying to remove his foot from where it is stuck to the floor.] BL: Cute intro.  Where are the guns and tanks? LM: We're trying for a more "family oriented" approach these days. BL: I'll give them "family oriented"! [Becky begins to pull up her shirt] LM: [nervous] Welcome to War Room and to the home of Chris Quigley.  And     please don't do that, of we'll both get fired. BL: Quigley a belt holder, who'd have thunk it?  Wonder who he had to     sleep with to get that. LM: You _don't_ sleep with people to win belts in this sport. BL: You don't?  You mean that I was wasting my time all those years? LM: I'm sure you didn't view that as a waste. BL: Speaking of Quigley, what was with that piece we saw on "Countdown     to Midsummer Madness"?  Are we to believe that Quiggles would rather spend time with the guys in the basement than with his girlfriend?  And what is with the machines down there... what exactly does the SM on Quigs' pants stand for? LM: A greater mystery from Midsummer Madness is who is the man in the mask. BL: No, who's on first. LM: Huh? BL: Never mind.  It is obvious that the pretender to be the immortal     Masked Outlaw is none other than his greatest admirer:  the Punster! LM: You're kidding. BL: You're right.  We all know that the Punster fell off a cliff. LM: But this isn't the only mystery. Who is pledging to "Be Back"? BL: Easy, Lady DeWinter. LM: Excuse me? BL: Oh, sorry, I thought you were asking who was pledging to "Be ON her     back". LM: On other subjects... How are you finding Corner Brook? BL: Frozen ice cube, it's beyond me why Simon Lebec would want to be mayor of this place.  I _am_ enjoying Mounting the Royal Canadian Police. LM: That's Royal Canadian Mounted Police. BL: They are when _I'm_ done with them. LM: I really, really want to get to the wrestling. BL: A country like this could make a girl frigid.  ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Dakota Bundy vs El Super Gecko ------------------------------------------------------------------------     It didn't take long for Dakota to introduce the IIWF to his brand of     wrestling.  Before Gecko even made it to the ring, Bundy waffled him     with a steel chair.  Gecko went down, and Bundy rolled him into the     ring, laughing at the unconscious lizard.  After a powerbomb for good measure, Bundy stepped on Gecko for the pin.  Afterwards, his manager made his way to the ring. [Matt Malone, the short, loud mouthed manager of Dakota Bundy steps into the ring and raises his hand in victory, then is passed a mic...] MM:  Well fans, what is it you're looking at here?  The next      Cruiserweight champion?  The next Intercontinental Champion?  The      next World Champion?  Maybe.  Let me tell you scabs something, if      anyone deserves it, it is this man right here, Dakota Bundy.      But I'm not going to stand here wasting my breath on you ignorant      morons.  No, now I'm going to let Dakota Bundy do the talking... ["The Mouth" signals, and Dakota Bundy "Firearm's" El Super Gecko from behind, knocking him down cold.  Grinning a toothless grin and following Malone's encouragement, he steps over Gecko and slaps on a move reminiscent of the Aristoclutch.  Gecko begins to scream, Bundy just makes it more painful until finally security come and get Malone to order him off.] RESULT: Dakota Bundy by Pinfall LM: It should be noted that Mr. Bundy has been signed to compete in the     Intercontinental battle on Saturday, AND the Cruiserweight tournament. BL: Remind me to put in an early order for copies of Saturday Night's     tape.  Bundy is going to be snapping the lightweight wrestlers like     straws. LM: Almost makes you jealous to be Steve Roberts. BL: Almost, but what is that thing he does with his spoon when he eats in the cafeteria? LM: I'm almost afraid to ask. BL: It's almost enough to make me sick.  And _I_ have a strong stomach.  LM: How strong? BL: Give me your worst. LM: Dead puppies. BL: The IIWF cafeteria's lasagna. LM: Steve Summer's acne. BL: Tonnage in a thong! [Both dwell on this thought for a moment then begin to gag uncontrollably.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Natural Predators vs. Rotundos ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The Natural Predators kneeling in the center of a chalk circle, incense burning from wooden braziers beside them. KUYLER stands beside them, holding each man's totem, the BEAR and the WOLF] K: Hey folks. Just in time to see the boys prepping for their match. Bear and Wolf both in the midst of silent meditation in order to purify mind and body of all things but the will of the spirits. [The camera pans to Bear.] K: You see there? Bear is opening himself to the spirits of the    wildnerness... the power and strength inherent in all things right.    Right now, you think, bushwah, but it's true. [The camera pans to Wolf.] K: Wolf is calling to the spirits of speed and wild reserves... the    same thing, like Bear, only in a different form. [Back to Kuyler, who walks to the center as the two wrestlers behind him rise.] K: You see, in the end, it isn't important what you say or do to    get in their way... the spirits have favored these two young men, and    with a little help, they're going all the way. Starting tonight.    Rotundos, you're going to fall to NATURAL SELECTION. Pure and simple,    baby... [Fade back to the studio.] The Natural Predators, the huge, near 400lbs Bear, and the athletic 247lbs Wolf, came down the aisle to the strains of some pulsating Native American drum music, and received a favourable reaction from the crowd. Once the match was underway, the Rotundos' teamwork suffered due to the fact that whichever man was on the outside was able to tuck into the large hamper of food which the team had brought down to ringside: thus the Rotundo in the ring was continually bickering with his counterpart on the outside and trying to tag out in order to stuff his face. The powerful Bear solved the problem by cutting the ring in half and keeping one of the starving Rotundos away from his corner, wearing him down with punches, clotheslines and elbowdrops. The Predators exhibited quick tags, Wolf using a more aerial-based offence, including an impressive spinning heel kick and an enzuigiri, to keep the big man down on the mat. One impressive piece of double-teaming saw both Predators perform a vertical suplex on the huge Rotundo, before going for the easy pin. After the match, while the Predators celebrated their victory in the ring, the Rotundos' hamper was dragged away from ringside by attendants, thus bringing the two huge men wobbling in its wake. Suddenly, the hapless Rotundo who had been pinned was set upon in the aisle by "Dazzling" Dan Oliver and "Superstud" Adam Peterson, otherwise known as the Down Boys, who were truly a vision in their dated attire and overdone hairstyles. Oliver and Peterson elected to match the Predators' impressive suplex, together hauling one of the Rotundos up and over, bringing him crashing down on the concrete aisle with great force. Oliver then "made the cover," while Peterson "made the three count," before the Down Boys pointed at the Natural Predators as if to say, "We can do better than that!", and left the ringside area. RESULT:  Natural Predators by Pinfall LM: Probably a smart move by the Down Boys, shooting for a team new to the IIWF. BL: Bushwah? LM: Sounds mystic, don't you think? BL: I think it's Native American for "Wolf, stop humping my leg". ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "B.G." vs. Jumpin' Jack ------------------------------------------------------------------------    B.G. cut quite the picture as he entered.  Standing 6 foot 8, with a     flowing white cloak which matched his flowing white beard.  A white    cloth coverd his eyes, a skull tatoo covered his chest.   A second    of a cross adorned his back.  His eyes were an eerie white.  None too    impressed, and hardened by his nose breaking, Jumpin' Jack attempted    a daring plancha dive before the bell, only to be caught up and    slammed on the concrete floor.  From there, the match was all B.G.    who seemed to take little interest in the bout before finally defeating his clown opponent with the "Four Gates of Hell";  Five    powerslams in succession in each corner then center ring. RESULT: B.G. by Pinfall LM: Certainly enigmatic, this "B.G.". BL: Sort of the "anti-Requiem". LM: You think? BL: Yes, I do.  You should try it some time. LM: I did...  I mean, I am.  I mean, I can! BL: Maybe this "B.G." is just another incarnation of Archangel, or Legion.  Perhaps a new face for the Venusian Death Cell? LM: Regardless, he is making his prescence felt.  That Four Gates to Hell looks painful. BL: Speaking of hell, what was with Deathbringer?  We haven't been able to get the smell of sulphur out of the Coliseum basement yet.  LM: I guess he's some sort of Demon Walker now. BL: Are you suggesting..? LM: DEMON, I said _Demon_ Walker! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Down Boys vs. Barnacle Brothers ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Camera shot of a locker room in the Tokyo Dome.  Dan Oliver is getting stitches in his forehead.  Adam Peterson watches, squirming, but intensely.  Awesome T looks down for a moment, dejected, shakes his head, then looks up.] AP:  EWWWWWW... AT:  This is the big time.  So I'm told.  This is the place where      I was always told I should be.  Japan.  Land of the Rising Sun.  I      know that Wednesday we'll be in the middle of some maple syrup ranch in Canada, but earlier this week, we wrestled another match for another federation here in Japan that we could have easily won, if it weren't for the actions of a certain individual in this federation.  That individual is a Mr. Timmy Turner. AP:  Timothy. AT:  I'm quite aware of what he likes to be called, and I'm sure you know that's of great importance to me.  My point here is that my beloved Down Boys, the team loved in Japan by thousands of fans... the team that had their own anime movie made about them... fell to the hands of the mediocre at best NorthPac, with Timmy pushing along his little brother while interfering in the match.  Now, I'm sure that the big-ass piece of steel that Akira pulled out of his boot and jammed into Danny's forehead may have had something to do with the loss, but you were there, Timmy, and I, personally, had to come and slap you around like the woman that you are.  Now that's sad, considering that you're a "reputable star" here in IIWF and I'm just a feeble manager, albeit a manager that would tear up the ranks of the Cruiserweight Division if he had two good knees... [T looks down again, looking at his legs] AT:  Besides the point.  Anyway, the Down Boys make their IIWF      debut Wednesday Night and we plan on showing the powers that be here in the IIWF that we are established superstars and that we don't need our big brother to jump into the ring and do our work for us. Danny, got anything to say? DO: OOOOWWW! AT: That's enough...see you in the ring, kids.    [Cut back to the studio.] The Down Boys, who had made an unannounced appearance earlier in the evening, were greeted by total confusion from the fans in the Civic Centre, although this appeared not to bother them in the least. With their late-eighties attire and crazy, coiffeured hairstyles, Dan Oliver and Adam Peterson were a sight to behold as they made their entrance amidst the glittering lights. In the ring, however, any awkwardness in their appearance disappeared, their tag team cohesion immediately evident. Whizzing around the ring, these two light heavyweights considerably outpaced their opponents, keeping one man trapped in the ring and making use of frequent tags. The end came with the "Unskinny Bop" on Barnacle Brother Bluto, who was floored with a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker from Peterson, before being hit by an impressive somersault splash from the flying Oliver for the three count. RESULT:  Down Boys by pinfall. LM: They are a good-looking team. BL: Good-looking is the term.  Both of them have better hair than I do.     "Soundbite" is going to have a heck of a time figuring out which one     of these two is the "gay guy". ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Derek Mota vs. Ricardo LeBleu ------------------------------------------------------------------------     Mota recieved great support from his fellow Canadians, but regardless, he was suprisingly cautious against this newcomer.  That was until Billy Shakespeare came ringside, edging close to the Cruiserweight belt where it sat on the apron.  At first Mota was distracted, and LeBleu got in a number of suprisingly good shots.  But suddenly, Mota grabbed the mic and shouted "Come on boy, you can do better than that! You ain't gonna give me any more of a fight than that jobber St. Croix is!" As an unimpressed Shakespeare looked on, Mota finished up the match with his "Main Attraction" somersault splash from the ropes. RESULT: Mota by pinfall LM: A little bad blood being stirred up between Mota and Shakespeare.  The later seems a little chaotic these days, obviously interested in the belt, but bowing out of the tournament. BL: You ever thought that he wants to skip the work and take the title     form Mota immediatly? LM: Hey, that might work. BL: Not like he'll be able to.  Speaking of "unable to", and I don't mean you, Larry, what is with this new boy LeBleu?  Add a new boy for Ned Norton to hold hands with in the shower.  Or is that your job, Larry? LM: Yes, I enjoy a hot shower after work, if that is what you are asking. BL: Larry, look out behind you... It's Brian Lau! LM: Where!  Where? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Subway Psycho vs. Timothy N. Turner ------------------------------------------------------------------------     Subway showed no rust from his time off.  The brash Turner was none     too impressed by the wrestling legend.  Both exchanged blows for     a time, til half way through "Real Deal" Luke Steele came ringside.      Suddenly, Turner was fighting two men as Steele consistantly grabbed     at his ankles and held him for a near pin.  It was after Steele knocked Turner from the turnbuckle that Subway Psycho got in Steele's face, demanding he leave and not appreciating the attempted help.  Steele turned to leave, then spun, striking Subway with the ESWP TV title belt which Luke had carried ringside.  Turner quickly seized the advantage and covered for the three count. RESULT: Turner by pinfall. LM: I certainly wasn't expecting Luke Steele to get involved _that_ way. BL: At least the ESWP belt is worth something. LM: I counter that, Becky. BL: You "counter" that? LM: Yes. The ESWP is a very fine federation. BL: What does it stand for: Extra Stupid Wrestling Promotion? LM: [sighs] As always, the views expressed by Becky are entirely her own     and the IIWF apologizes for any ill will. BL: In _my_ case, I could understand:  Especially Sexy Wrestling Personality. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Duncan Macbeth vs. Luke Steele ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene: Outside a local gym in downtown Dartmouth, Nova Scotia.  The cameraman walks inside, and the dimly lit room takes a second to come into full view, and for the camera to adjust.  It does after a few minutes, and we can see a rusty, worn-down wrestling ring in the center of the floor. Inside it, the "Real Deal" Luke Steele stands, locked up with a man built like an icechest.  The man's arms are each the size of Luke's head, but he manages to push the man back across the ropes into a prone position.  He kneelifts the man and then pushes him away, then smiles and shakes his hand.  Luke exits the ring and stands in front of the camera.] LS: Hey baby dolls, the Real Deal's in town.  I guess good ol' TNT got the message last weekend.  He's not in the Cruiserweight Tournament, after all. The only regret I have with what I did is it gave Ronnie Paris a chance in the next round.  Oh well, Derek Mota's got the belt around his waist and I don't see him giving it up anytime too soon. But you, Duncan Macbeth.  This Wednesday you and I collide.  I'm coming at you, Rage-man, full force.  I'm going to make an example out of you, at just how focused Luke Steele has gotten since Kauffman blew into town. And out of it, I might add.  As an example of just what I can do, take a look over there on that table. [Luke points over to an old table, which serves as a ringside stand.  On it rests the ESWP Men's TV title, and Luke smiles at the camera.] LS: Yours truly went out last weekend, and beat the living snot out of the Highwayman.  That's right, Genesis' Adam Smith.  That gives me all the confidence in the world, and it's enough to take you out. But just in case I've missed something in my normal training strategies, I've enlisted the help of a former local wrestling hero to give me a little more training. Sorry, it's not Chrissy Quigley -- IIWF, meet Nick McGill. [One of the men in the background walks up and stands next to Luke.  He's hobbled by a crutch, but wears a t-shirt with the moniker "Schooner".] LS: This man is a legend down here.  In the last year and a half he competed in the top levels of the UWF, and was the very first UWF/ACWF Unified Light Heavyweight Champion.  If it wasn't for a nasty injury he suffered while defending his title, he'd be one of the best light heavyweights in the world.  But even a one-legged Schooner is good enough to beat you, Macbeth. NM: Yessir, Duncan Macbeth.  I've been watching Luke in the ring, and even though I only had a couple of years pro-wrestling experience, I've grown up all around the toughest fighters in and out of the professional game.  And what I see in Luke is an edge, an edge that can take him to the top. LS: See you Wednesday, Macbeth. [The camera pans back as Luke steps back into the ring, and surprises the big man with a lightning quick savate kick, and then expertly uses a springboard somersault legdrop.  Fade to black as McGill shouts encouragement.]     It was a different Luke Steele who entered the ring, starting with     new entrance music, "Shades of Grey" by Billy Joel.  He shed his     tiger stripes in favor of wrestling tights with "Steele" written     on the leg, and sported a matching red leather jacket.  Again he     brought the ESWP TV title belt ringside, slung over one shoulder.     In the ring, he took the upper hand over Macbeth, who appeared     to have little interet in the bout.  But Macbeth's edge in size     kept the match even.  The end came when Timothy Turner entered     ringside, grabbing up the ESWP belt, spitting on it.  Enraged, Steele rushed in an attempt to reclaim the belt.  Macbeth, seeing the advantage that his friend Turner was giving him, also rushed.  Turner sized up the charging Steele, and swung the belt.  Steele evaded and TNT clocked Macbeth upside the head, dropping him to the canvas. Steele cleared TNT from the apron, delivered a piledriver to the woozy Scot, rolling out of the ring and escaping with his belt only seconds after the three count.  Macbeth remained in the ring, scolding Turner. RESULT: Luke Steele by Pinfall BL: So far that belt has more victories in the IIWF than does Tonnage.      Who knew that such a cheap piece of tin could do so much damage? LM: Again, please remember my earlier disclaimer.  Is it trouble in     paradise between Turner and Macbeth? BL: Not likely, although TNT might want to get a pair of glasses.    LM: And that brought us to the event that everyone wanted to see. BL: I hope you aren't referring to Tim Dross's interview with Quigley. LM: One and the same. BL: And I thought that the image of Tonnage in a thong was enough to make sick. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: Chris Quigley vs. Scott Rogers ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The Camera cuts to Tim Dross standing in the ring, as the frenzied Newfoundland fans become more and more vocal, actually starting a meaningless "Fat!" chant at Dross.  Dross ignores it, and raises the microphone to his face.] TD: Ladies and gentlemen... here he is... your hometown hero... and the _NEW_ IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION.... "QUICKSTRIKE" CHRIS QUIGLEY! [The fans absolutely explode, as fireworks go off, airhorns sound, and the hockey siren wails, while Chris Quigley comes from behind the curtain wearing a white "Property of Corner Brook" t-shirt and blue jeans, silver wire rimmed shades cover his eyes, as the Intercontinental Title belt is draped over his shoulder proudly.  While "For Those About to Rock" plays on, Quigley takes the time to slap as many hands as possible, stopping longer every once in a while to greet familiar faces and friends.  He climbs into the ring, mounts the second turnbuckle, and holds the title belt up high, as the fans manage to get even louder.  Finally, the music dies down and the fans control themselves, at least in a manner so that Quigley doesn't have to scream to be heard.] TD: All I can say is... WOW.  Chris, you finally did it, after all this time here in the IIWF.  And in perfect honesty, I'd have to say, the IIWF Intercontinental Title has never looked better.  [crowd pop!] CQ: [looks around at the fans]  It's nice to know somebody in the IIWF chambers was rooting for me, Tim.  For over a year, this Federation has taken me and all my fans on one big, endless ride.  And yeah, I was feeling pretty nauseous about the whole thing.  Time after time, the "bad guy" would come out on top, and time after time I would be accused of being a whiner, when in fact, I can't remember whining about anything in the first place.  My true fans stuck with me though, and nowadays, the fans are all I have, and they're all I want. TD: Well, it does seem that way.  I mean, let's face it, you have been constantly alone here in the IIWF.  You're maybe the most hated individual on a lot of wrestler's lists, and now, you're a champion.  The price on your head has just doubled. CQ: [nods] The fact of the matter is, the other so-called "wrestlers", and I use that term loosely, of the IIWF can't begin to fathom just how good I am.  I go on and on and on about how I'm better than the rest of them, don't I? TD: At times, maybe you can be a little... CQ: [cutting him off]  I just wanted a yes or no answer. TD: Yes. CQ: Thank you.  Now, why do I always say that?  Why the _hell_ do you think I always come out here and say, "I'm better than you.  I can't be beaten by you."  It's not because I'm some sort of delusional legend in my own mind like Steve Roberts.  It's pure and simple, I'm a product of the Living Hell in Phoenix, Arizona.  Only a select few ever come out of that place and still want to wrestle.  That alone makes me better, tougher, and smarter than every other wrestler in the IIWF.  [looks to the fans]  Agree or disagree?  [The fans respond with a huge positive pop!] TD: So please, enlighten us as to what you were saying last week, about your skills being inadequate and you not yet fighting.  What was all that talk? CQ: [rolls his eyes]  Sarcasm is definitely wasted on some people.  I was merely voicing the opinions of every _other_ person in the IIWF.  The ones who hate me because I'm so good.  The ones who can't stand that I put so much into my career, and that I've finally reached undeniable excellence and more important, consistency. TD: Speaking of other wrestlers, Creed attacked you with a chair after your title win on Saturday.  He mentioned something about being "even". What's this all about? CQ: Short memory, Dross?  Can you remember back, not so long ago, when Creed was nothing more than a scared, trembling rookie?  He was all set to wrestle his first big match, against some kind of clown or something, I believe it was.  Anyway, to make a short story shorter, I wanted to get something off my chest, so I came out, hit both of them with chairs, and said what I had to say.  Plain and simple, no harm done, nobody cared about that preliminary match anyway.  Now, after all this time, Creed has built up some sort of unbridled anger towards me.  Yeah, like I'm supposed to be intimidated and hope that he leaves me alone now.  Hope that he settles for being "even".  Listen closely, Mr. One Red Glove, you do _NOT_ interrupt the triumph of a freakin' LEGEND over something so stupid and petty as a weak chairshot a year ago.  You got that?  I'll just tell you right now Creed:  You're lucky I don't tear apart your locker room, find your other glove, and stick it someplace where you'll never lose it again!  [Crowd POP!]  And another thing... [All of a sudden the giant video wall flickers and the shot shows the closed door of Creed's locker room.  The door slowly swings open...] TD: I believe Creed may be answering your challenge or something here, Chris.  I don't.... [Then, instead of Creed appearing in the doorway, the squeaky wheels of the younger Steve Manning's wheelchair can be heard, and he appears in the doorway, a huge, downright scary smile wrapped across his face.  In one hand dangles a single red glove.] TD: Steve Manning?!  What are you doing back there?!  Give us some answers! SM: Hey!  Hey!  Hey!  Get off my back, Timbo!  First of all, I swear to God I was just taking pictures of the car!  It wasn't my fault they were speeding in that tunnel and crashed into the pole!  I was really looking at the car, not _her_!  I'm a Mercedes buff!  So sue me! [A slightly negative pop fills the arena, as the Diana tragedy is exploited by the sick Steve Manning.  Meanwhile, Chris Quigley is almost seen with a small smile flickering across his face, but Quigley bows his head down, to hide his expression.  Dross regains his composure and fires away again.] TD: Listen Steve, I don't know what you're talking about regarding being a member of the paparazzi, but all I want to know is, why are you rooting around in Creed's locker room? SM: [smiles sharply]  Elementary, my dear Dross.  My longtime friend, Mr. Intercontinental Champion of the entire [BLEEP]ing IIWF, earlier requested someone retrieve the missing glove of Creed's.  Being a huge fan of Quickstrike, how could I resist? TD: Uh... well, I ask you that you watch your language, Mr. Manning. Secondly, I believe that was an idle threat, made just.... CQ: [cutting him off again]  Now wait just a minute!  You believe that was an _idle_ threat?!  You're no better than the rest of these IIWF hacks.  You don't respect me at all.  Get outta the ring.  NOW! [Dross looks up at Quigley surprised, but Quigley just stares him down, as the fans roar their approval, meanwhile on the video wall, Steve Manning can be seen laughing his psychotic ass off.  Dross hands the microphone to Quigley, and steps out of the ring.] CQ: Idle threat.  Not on your damn life.  Creed, you want a piece of me? You're in _way_ over your head!  You got that?  You're not good enough, and you never will be good enough, to even tie my laces.  I'm gonna make you wish you stayed wherever the hell you were at for the last two months.  The new IIWF Intercontinental Champion is gonna... [The fans yell out these last words with him...] CQ: ...STRIKE YOU DOWN! ["For Those About to Rock" starts up again, as Quigley tosses the microphone on the mat.  On the video wall, Manning is laughing so hard he's using Creed's glove to wipe the tears away, then the wall goes black, while Quigley hops out of the ring, and then vaults the barricade, dissappearing into the swarm of hometown fans.]     Scott Rogers has never been accused of being a technical wrestler, but he was well aware that this was his biggest shot to date and nothing could stop him.  Quigley entered to deafening support from the crowd and perhaps tarried too long, for Rogers could be patient no longer, throwing his ring robe over Chris in the aisle, then following up by choking him across the crowd barrier.  Quigley received unexpected support by a crowd member who smashed a "Quickstrike eh?"  sign over Rogers.  This allowed Quigley time to drag Scott into the ring and start the match. Rogers resorted to his usual arsenal of power moves, but none of these were new to the IC champion, who countered with cross face and stretch holds.  Suddenly there was a distraction, mixed cheers and jeers, as Mayor of Corner Brook Simon Lebec joined the announcing team.  Rogers dragged the match outside, throwing Quigley into the steps.   Quickstrike got the upper hand, but Rogers defended himself by grabbing a small child from the crowd, holding the crying youth before him like a shield.  Quigley let him escape only to have Rogers christen him with a cup of grape soda. The crowd was calling for blood, and Quigley almost obliged, turning the match up a notch to dizzying pace.  Quigley threw himself to the ropes to launch, but unnoticed, Lebec snuck to the ring, holding down the ropes, as Quigley tumbled backwards to the floor.   Immediately Lebec and Rogers began to work him over.  Rogers dragged him back into the ring, but out of nowhere, Quigley unleashed his sometimes finisher Superkick, laying out the challenger.  Quigley locked up the "Quickstriker" for the defense and the screams from the crowd.  In the ring, Lebec chastized Rogers for his incompetence, taunting that he is nothing without Genesis, finally slapping him across the face.  Rogers snapped, powerbombing the "Showstopper" to the sorrow of a group of young mothers, and the brawl was on.  In moments, Ned Norton, El Super Gecko and Ricardo LeBlu fulfilled their JJS duties and dragged the two backstage. RESULT: Quigley by submission LM: Chris Quigley successfully defends the belt he worked so hard to earn. BL: He won't keep it long.  Whoever wins the tournament will beat him. LM: Like who? BL: Brad Kinder. LM: He's not in the tournament. BL: Shame. LM: I have to say at this time that I don't believe that Simon Lebec's     chastizement of Scott Rogers is in his best interest.    BL: Tony Starks. LM: Huh? BL: Tony Starks.  If he doesn't win the tournament then I'll go out with     you. LM: Serious? BL: My word. LM: This should be interesting.  Well, next week, folks, it looks like we'll be coming to you from North Carolina.  This IS the Road to Ring Wars IV. BL: No clever name?  No "Ring Wars Crusade Tour"?  or "Ring Wars Hobbit     Holiday Tour"? LM: Say "goodnight," Becky. BL: No. [Larry shrugs his shoulders as Becky tosses her flame coloured hair indignantly. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Jim Jividen | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | brokeback@webtv.net | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+