[Fade up on an overhead shot of an empty wrestling ring, rotating slowly in the half-light of the beam of a single spotlight casting its beam down on the canvas. As the ring apparently spins, so too do the shadows cast by the ropes and the ringposts. The gently undulating effect continues as two non-descript wrestlers fade into the scene, grappling with one another on the mat. Over this, a voice over:] VO: The squared circle. The battlefield of the men who would be champions. [Another two athletes fade into the scene, one backing the other into one corner of the ring, and laying into him with hard punches, the arc of the arms creating dark shadows on the canvas, which continues to revolve under the camera's gaze. In the background, a military drum begins to drill at a steady marching tempo.] VO: The thoughts of these warriors, dominated by the pursuit of gold. [More wrestlers appear in the ring, another pair, then another three, all involved in fighting each other. The shadows dance across the canvas in ever more frenzied patterns, the ring beginning to spin faster, the drumbeat picking up intensity.] VO: They will stop at nothing to realise their goal. [Yet more wrestlers fade into the ring, the canvas becoming ever more crowded, the ring spinning ever faster, the drumbeat ever more insistent, ever louder.] VO: They will go through five men... ten men... fifteen men... [The ring now spins at dizzying speed, the shadows wheeling round and round...] VO: Tonight, one man will defeat nineteen others... [The scene spins so fast it is no longer possible to make out the ring at all. Everything is a blur, the drums pounding away... and then suddenly, the camera drops towards the centre of the confusion, as if drawn in by the speed of the spinning. There is an explosion... and then silence. A boot steps into vision, cast in sharp relief by back lighting, the fall of the foot creating a small cloud of dust. The shot pulls back rapidly, panning up past his tights, past his chest, to his face. The visage that fills the screen is beaded with water droplets, the black hair falling forwards into eyes which are both green and blue at the same time. The slightly stubbled jaw moves as the face, that of Chris Quigley, speaks:] CQ: ...to face me. [The shot pulls out again now, revealing the Intercontinental Champion to be standing in the centre of the ring, a single shaft of light from a spot overhead casting him in half-shadow. The Intercontinental belt glimmers around his waist as he gives a confident grin. The opening graphics explode onto the screen:] ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour one...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! Saddledome, Calgary, Alberta, Canada September 27 1997 [The opening graphics fade through to interior shots of the huge Saddledome in Calgary. The domed roof of the arena arcs over a sea of some twenty thousand fans, cameras flashing like ripples of moonlight over an expanse of water, briefly illuminating one area of fans, then another, then another... In the midst of the darkness is the beacon of the ring area, a huge rigging erected over the squared circle, many coloured spotlights spinning over the crowd and the canvas. Suddenly, the Saddledome itself seems to shake as huge volleys of pyrotechnics erupt in the rafters, rockets streaming up to the rafters from the head of the aisle, which is also raised above floor level. The crowd is now brought alive, the fans shouting their approval as showers of sparks fly as a path of fireworks explodes in turn down the aisle, finally reaching the ringside area -- and the four ringposts are together seemingly ablaze as brilliant white flame shoots up from each corner! As the smoke in the ringside area clears, the voice of Tim Dross is heard over this footage:] TD: Welcome everybody to the Saddledome in Calgary! Welcome to the second stop on the Road to Ring Wars IV! Welcome to IIWF Saturday Night! [The shot cuts closer to the fans, many of whom wave signs and IIWF merchandise. Red-gloved fists wave hysterically, foam fingers point to the rafters, and the fans clamour to be caught on camera. Cut to the broadcast table at ringside, at which are seated Tim Dross, wearing his familiar IIWF blazer and a tie which bears the design of the Canadian maple leaf, and his partner, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, who is wearing his trademark leather jacket over a "Road to Ring Wars IV" t-shirt, and still sports the small trophy around his neck.] TD: Howdy, folks! I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my broadcast colleague and tag team partner, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. What a show we have lined up here in the Saddledome, Steve. Twenty thousand fans on hand to witness tonight's twenty-man battle royal for a shot at Intercontinental Champion, "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley, at Ring Wars IV in November. SR: Twenty men, Dross, and any single one of them could kick Quigley's ass. TD: It's going to be a war in the squared circle, that much is certain. Two men will start it off, and thereafter, every ninety seconds another athlete will join the fray until all twenty men have entered. The only way to be eliminated is to be thrown out of the ring over the top rope, with both feet hitting the floor. There will be no fewer than six former champions of one sort or another in that match -- and tonight, it'll all come down to the luck of the draw, with the man drawing number twenty having a definite advantage over those who have gone before. Who are you picking for this match, Steve Roberts? SR: You gotta like the Mad Dog, Dross. Or the Fury. It's the Mad Dog or the Fury, baby dolls. TD: Well, that remains to be seen. Later on tonight, we also have the historic first meeting between two of the hottest tag teams in the world today: the Prophets of Rage, former IIWF World Tag Team Champions, and recently voted the number one tag team in all of the world, will do battle for the very first time with Damage Inc., who were voted the number one tag team twelve months ago. A war of words has waged back and forth, across federation boundaries, for some time... but it's going to get physical right here tonight, folks! SR: As Eddy Ramos says -- and hell, Dross, it's the only damned thing he says -- let's get it on! TD: A second historic moment will also go down later on here tonight, Steve Roberts. We are going to see none other than the mysterious "Masked Outlaw" in the ring against "Majestic" Maurice McArthur -- and you just know that there are going to be more than a few folks down at ringside to find out just who has been wreaking such havoc in the IIWF for the past several weeks. SR: If you're thinkin' it's Casey James, Dross, you're going to be disappointed. I wouldn't be surprised to see James come out to get a look at this masked imposter later on. TD: Steve Roberts, we know that the "Masked Outlaw" has been Casey James all along, for whatever reason... and with men like Requiem, Brody Thunder, Otto Verhoeven and others all declaring their intention to unmask the mystery man right here tonight, Casey James is going to be not only a masked man, but a marked man! SR: I'm telling ya, Dross, it ain't the Blackheart. TD: Well, time will tell, Steve. With a large number of the singles ranks involved in that huge battle royals, the tag teams of the IIWF are given a chance to shine here tonight. Later on this hour, we'll see Licensed for Devastation face the newly-returned High Plains Drifters, who made themselves truly unpopular with Reggie Starr and Jonathan Chaos last week by stealing Shock the Taser and preventing Harlequin Comedy from a horrible fate. SR: I just don't know what's gotten into the Drifters since they got out of that clinic, Dross. Seems their brains have been dried up like the drink. TD: I believe the new attitude of Pale and Easy Rider is one to be applauded, Steve Roberts. You simply can't condone violence against women. SR: Well, maybe, but it's those damned Harlequins we're talking about, Dross. There's so many of them, nobody would miss one or two. TD: Be that as it may, we'll see the Harlequins themselves in action later on tonight as they square off against long-time enemies Cold Spell and the Machines in a triple threat match... and the team that comes out on top in this one is surely going to be in top contention for the IIWF World Tag Team Championships. You can bet the Syndicate will be watching this match closely. SR: Casey and Claw have nothing to fear from any of those teams, Dross. There's the serious guy and the crazy guy, the tough guy and the gay guy, and the gay guy and the tough guy. TD: I have no idea what you're talking about, Steve Roberts. Nonetheless, we'll also see the second match in the first round of the tournament to determine the number one contender to the Cruiserweight Championship, as Simon Lebec faces Billy Shakespeare, and we'll see Otto Verhoeven do battle with the massive Tonnage. All that, plus comments from IIWF World Heavyweight Champion Requiem, just days after the announcement of his split from Genesis... and we'll also get comments from the red-gloved wrecking machine Creed, who returned to the IIWF last week in the Egg Dome in Tokyo, Japan. Right now, however, let's get up to the ring for our opening contest -- the Cruiserweight Championship is on the line as Derek Mota defends against Dexter St. Croix! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Derek Mota [c] vs. Dexter St. Croix ....................................................................... WRITER: SK [Sparkplug Lee climbs into the ring and proceeds to pull the match card out of his jacket pocket, but as he raises the microphone to his mouth, it is suddenly jerked out of his hand, as he is standing on the mic cord.  The live mic falls to the mat with a loud THUNK! which echoes throughout the Saddledome, and as a frantic Lee quickly bends down to pick it up, he inadvertently kicks the mic across the ring with another loud THUNK!.  What follows is reminiscent of a Buster Keaton routine as Lee kicks the mic around the ring several times, causing the crowd to roar with laughter. Finally, the mortified Lee pounces on the microphone, and takes a moment to tidy himself up a bit before starting the introductions.] SR: [over the headset] What a freakshow.  Are you sure Sparky's not secretly one of the Harlequins? TD: [over the headset] Good grief.  SL: Ahem... Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is for the IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!  Introducing first, the challenger... he weighs in at 220 pounds and hails from Kingston, Jamaica, accompanied by his "Posse", here is DEXTER ST. CROIX! [The island swing of "Exodus" by Bob Marley and the Wailers starts up, prompting a good portion of the fans in the Saddledome to start swaying in their seats as spotlights hit the wrestlers' entrance, awaiting the appearance of the popular newcomer.  Long seconds go by, however, and St. Croix does not appear, starting the impatient crowd buzzing.  Lee looks across to referee Earl Alfonso, who prompts the announcer to make the introduction again.] TD: What on earth is going on here, Steve Roberts?  Where is Dexter St. Croix?  He doesn't want to be late for this match and risk a forfeit, this a title bout! SR: He could be lots of places, Dross.  Maybe the Mounties wouldn't let ol' Dex over the border with that kilo of ganja he's always carrying.  Maybe he's on the lam from the DEA.  Hey, what if he's been in some big shootout with a rival Jamaican cartel?  TD: I seriously doubt that, Steve. SR: Remember "Scarface"?  "Say hhhello to my leetle friend, mon..." TD: Steve, please.  Let's see if St. Croix shows up this time... SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here is the challenger, weighing in at 220 pounds, from Kingston, Jamaica, DEXTER ST. CROIX! [Once again, the spotlights hit the wrestlers' entrance, but St. Croix still does not emerge.  Lee and Alfonso exchange confused glances, and the restless crowd begins to get noisier, as they grow tired of waiting for the match to start.] TD: What a disastrous blow this will be to the career of this youngster if he fails to show up for this... wait just a moment, I'm getting a report from backstage... SR: What?  Summer got carded trying to buy a beer at the concession stand? TD: No, Steve, it's... oh my goodness, we've got a huge brawl going on backstage!  We've got cameras at the scene, let's go to the action! [Cut to a camera shot of a corridor backstage at the Saddledome, where a camera crew is racing towards a chaotic scene at the far end of the hall. As the camera approaches the end of the corridor, we see the Cruiserweight champion, Derek Mota, beating mercilessly upon a downed Dexter St. Croix with the Cruiserweight title belt!  It appears obvious that St. Croix was caught completely by surprise by Mota's attack, as he seems unable to offer any resistance to Mota's blows.  The Jamaican is cut badly over one eye, and weakly raises an arm in a desperate attempt to ward off another blow from Mota, but before he can bring the heavy belt down again, a member of St. Croix's Posse intervenes and snatches the belt out of Mota's hands! The already enraged Canadian goes ballistic at this impudence, and quickly whirls on the Posse member, knocking him to the floor with a vicious right to the temple.  The belt clatters to the concrete, and Mota wastes no time in grabbing a chair in the hallway and swinging wildly at the rest of the Posse, screaming, "Keep your [BLEEP]in' hands off my belt, potheads!", before turning back to St. Croix and smashing him over the head with the chair!  As Mota prepares for another shot, a security team rushes down the hall, led by Poutine Janois.  The team wades into the fray and quickly separates the two men, and as the unconscious St. Croix is quickly carried off to the medical room for attention, followed by his Posse, a red-faced Janois steps right into Mota's face and hisses, "My office.  NOW!"  Mota just smirks defiantly, but doesn't seem to have much say in the matter, for as soon as the diminutive champ retrieves his belt from the floor, he is seized by three burly guards and forcibly escorted down the hall behind Janois.  The group turns the corner, and we hear the loud reverberation of a door slamming.  The shot cuts back to Tim Dross and Steve Roberts at ringside.] TD: What a shocking turn of events here, Steve Roberts!  Derek Mota seemed bent on seriously injuring Dexter St. Croix just now! SR: Well, what did you expect, Dross?  Just what the hell has the Rastaman done to deserve a title shot, anyway?  So he meets the weight limit, big deal.  This match shouldn't even be happening, and Mota's just made that point crystal clear to the boys upstairs.  Heh heh... I love this kid. TD: What remains to be seen is what the decision will be regarding this match.  It's quite possible that this bout will be ruled a no-contest, which I'm sure will make Derek Mota quite happy.  Let's go up to the ring for the call. [In the ring, Sparkplug Lee and Earl Alfonso have been conversing for about a minute now, and Alfonso finally nods to Lee, who raises the ring mic.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, it is the ruling of the referee that this match will be _postponed_ until later in this evening's card!  If, at that time, Dexter St. Croix is still unable to compete, he will forfeit the match to Derek Mota, who will remain the Cruiserweight Champion! TD: Well, Dexter St. Croix has won himself a bit of a reprieve here, but it still remains to be seen whether or not this postponement will be a moot point after the savage beating he sustained from Derek Mota. SR: What a waste of time.  St. Croix needs intensive care, not a postponement.  All this is gonna do is prolong the inevitable, Dross. TD: All the same, this sort of barbarism simply cannot be tolerated, Steve Roberts.  You can be sure that Mota's receiving a serious dressing down from Poutine Janois behind closed doors right now. SR: Do me a favour, Dross, and _never_ mention Janois, "dressing-down", and "behind closed doors" in the same sentence ever again.  It conjures up too many disgusting mental images. TD: Well, we must move on. What an atmosphere we have here tonight in Calgary! SR: What are you talking about, Dross? This whole city smells like cow patties! TD: I have to disagree with you there, Steve Roberts! Calgary is one of the great wrestling cities in the world! It's the former home of Stampede Wrestling! The former home of... SR: It's the former home of the Turner clan, baby dolls! But somewhere down the line they wised up and moved back to Victoria! TD: Victoria is a beautiful city as well, but this is Calgary -- and we're about to see a match featuring two of the toughest teams in the IIWF! SR: The Syndicate and who? TD: The Syndicate is here for an interview later tonight, but now we have the High Plains Drifters and Licensed for Devastation! SR: You call the Drifters tough? "Hi, I'm Pale Rider and I'm an alcoholic." Did you see these putzes stop LFD from going about their business in Tokyo? And they took the taser! TD: The High Plains Drifters made their presence known to the IIWF, that's for sure! Let's gets up to the ring for the introductions! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| High Plains Drifters vs. Licensed for Devastation |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: RP [Sparkplug Lee climbs into the ring and drops the large cowboy hat he is sporting. When he tries to pick it up, he accidentally drops all of his cue cards. When he tries to scramble them back together, he drops his microphone. Eventually he gets settled.] RA: This next match is a twenty man battle royal! [Confused pop from the crowd.] SR: Wrong match! I think that hat is too tight! [Lee gets very flustered and goes through his cards again. He finally settles down and begins the _correct_ introductions.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall, and has a twenty minute time limit. Introducing first... hailing from the American Southwest and making their return to the IIWF... weighing in at a combined weight of 502 pounds... Easy Rider... Pale Rider... the High Plains Drifters! [The theme from "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly" plays and the two desperados head down the aisle. They are both wearing the same old, battered looking outlaw garb, but Pale Rider is carrying Shock the Taser. They climb into the ring and hold their fists in the air to the sounds of the crowd's cheers.] TD: The Calgary crowd is firmly behind the Drifters, Steve Roberts! SR: Hey Drifters! You forgot your hats! [Steve Roberts pulls out two baseball caps with the words "Betty Ford Clinic" written on them.] TD: You are despicable! SR: Ain't I, though. SL: And their opponents, hailing from Baltimore, Maryland, and weighing in at a combined weight of 530 pounds... Reggie Starr... Jonathan Chaos... Licensed for Devastation! ["Down" by 311 comes over the loudspeakers as LFD throw the curtains aside and stagger out into the aisle to a big heel pop. They are both carrying bottles in their hands.] TD: What the... are they drunk? SR: Look again, Drossie! They're laughing their heads off! [LFD are clearly making sport of the Drifters' recent... affliction. The bottles are Kessler's Whiskey, the cowboys' favorite brand.] TD: I don't believe it! Steve Roberts has been out low-classed! SR: What?! How about this one... Hey, Rider! Are you afraid -- or do you just have the shakes? [LFD climb into the ring and offer the bottles to Pale Rider. He declines. Easy Rider climbs out to the ring apron. Chaos does the same, taking both bottles with him.] TD: Maybe we will actually see a match tonight! SR: Hey, Easy! Hit the one in the middle! [Starr flies at PR with a lariat, but misses the ducking man. He turns around... right into a superkick.] TD: That will show Starr not to take these two men too lightly! SR: There's nothing light about these guys! They only like the full strength stuff! One hundred proof! [Starr jumps up, only to be put back down with a leg sweep by Pale Rider. The cowboy then whips Starr into the Drifter corner and he tags in Easy.] TD: Starr's in the wrong area of town now! [Pale holds him in the corner while Easy lays in with punches to the midsection. As PR climbs out of the ring, ER grabs Starr by the throat and lays him out with a thunderous chokeslam! Big pop! He goes for the cover, and official Chuck Sanders drops to the canvas to make the count: 1 - 2 - big heel pop!] TD: Chaos with an Axekick right to the back of Easy Rider's head! SR: That's one way to break the count! [Chaos gets over to make the tag before Easy can shake the cobwebs out and Chaos comes charging back in. He kicks the Drifter in the stomach and lines him up for a powerbomb.] SR: This is where my brother flattens that stupid hick! [Easy Rider powers Chaos over into a back body drop! He then catches him getting up and takes him over with a belly to back suplex!] TD: Once again LFD takes the Drifters for granted! [Easy tags Pale Rider back in, only to feel the crunch of Reggie Starr hitting a cross body block into his back] TD: It's pandemonium in the ring! Official Chuck Sanders has lost all control of this one! Chaos has scooped Easy Rider up into a powerslam position and... dumps him over the top rope! That's got to be a disqualification! SR: No good, baby dolls! The ref was distracted by Starr pounding on the drunk! [As the ref runs over to see what happened to Easy, Chaos holds Pale Rider while Starr dumps the contents of one of the whiskey bottles over his head.] TD: The ultimate indignity! Here is a man who has tried to better himself and... stop laughing, Steve Roberts! SR: Look at this! Chaos has got the taser! [Jonathan Chaos has picked the taser up from where the Drifters left it on the apron. Starr distracts the ref while Chaos sneaks up behind Pale Rider and...] TD: Oh no! He got him with the taser! Pale Rider was soaking wet, which can only make the shock that much worse! Chaos is rolling out of the ring and Starr is making the cover! [The fans are on their feet, yelling their disapproval, as referee Chuck Sanders drops to the mat and makes the cover, unaware of the transgression that has occurred: 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: No! What a despicable act by Licensed for Devastation! SR: Despicable?! That was beautiful! There's nothing like a good... oh! [Outside of the ring, Easy Rider is pounding on Jonathan Chaos. He lands a series of punches and kicks until Chaos drops the taser. ER scoops it up and hits Chaos with a full force shock!] SR: Now that's a sore loser! TD: Turnabout is fair play, Steve Roberts! Easy Rider is in the ring with the taser now! Look at Reggie Starr rabbit out of there! SR: What do you expect? Easy Rider has got a foreign object! [LFD backs up the aisle, yelling at the High Plains Drifters all the way. Finally, Easy Rider helps Pale Rider to his feet on assists him out of the ring as well.] SR: Yeah, but who won the match?! TD: That's true, Steve Roberts. Although I suspect that this is far from over. SR: You bet, Dross! Those pantywaist reformed cowboys still have the taser! TD: Well, folks, it looks like Pale Rider isn't seriously hurt by that taser attack, but it's going to go down in the books as a victory for Licensed for Devastation here tonight. For now, we must move on. IIWF World Heavyweight Champion Requiem shocked the IIWF with his announcement, in the aftermath of his match with "Sychosys" Joe Petrow in Tokyo last Saturday Night, that he has left Genesis -- and right now, we're going to get some comments from the Angel of Destruction. If you'll excuse me, Steve Roberts. SR: If you'd rather be in the ring with Boy Rectum than spending some quality time with the Soundbite, Dross, there's no hope for you. [Tim Dross hurries to ringside, and enters the ring, where Sparkplug Lee surrenders the ring microphone into his hands.] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, my guest at this time is none other than the reigning IIWF World Champion! Here is the "Angel of Destruction", REQUIEM! [The lights suddenly darkens as "From this day forth, until the end of time, there can be no mercy for the damned!" echoes throughout the Saddledome, followed by the slow tolling of ancient church bells. The aisle is suddenly lit by a blood red spotlight as the cowled Requiem walks slowly to ringside. The crowd is hushed, not even booing, so imposing is the champion as he strides to the centre of the ring to stand towering over Tim Dross. The lights rise, but only to the level of a twilight evening, the bloody spotlight beam remaining focused on Requiem and now Tim Dross, who blinks uncomfortably, unused to the powerful beam's strange light.] TD: Requiem, I think it's fair to say that, ever since becoming champion at Coronation Clash back in July, you've become something of a controversial figure within the IIWF... [Requiem standing in the centre of the ring, completely hidden by the deep hood of the encompassing monk-like robes he wears, says nothing, leaving Tim Dross to continue after a short pause...] TD: Let's talk about the match between you and Otto Verhoeven, if I may. That was one heck of a match, but I don't think the outcome was ever in any doubt. Otto Verhoeven _should_ have won that match! [Loud crowd pop! Requiem again says nothing...] TD: Otto Verhoeven had you beaten, after not one but _two_ Slaughterslams. He had you down on the canvas, but was prevented from pinning you by a mysterious "Masked Outlaw", who many suspected to be none other than Casey James! [Another pop, but still Requiem remains silent.] TD: And then, your match with "Sychosys" Joe Petrow. Again, this "Masked Outlaw" came to your aid. Was it Casey James? Was it Hardin himself? Regardless of who it was, it seems clear that the masked man is the latest member of Genesis, right? [Yet another crowd pop! Requiem slowly reaches upwards with both hands, pulling the long hood back to reveal his new, clean-shaven look. His white eyes seem ablaze with fury in the spotlight, and he now turns that furious gaze directly upon Tim Dross, before replying emphatically:] RQ: _NO_. [The crowds erupt into a chorus of derision. Several fans call out, "Who are you trying to kid?" whilst one young fan holds up a placard with a rough cartoon of Requiem handing a smiling Masked Outlaw a large bag of cash. Requiem glances upward at the crowd, a scowl on his face, then looks back down to Tim Dross:] RQ: This "Masked Outlaw" is no friend of mine, Tim Dross. He has cost me greatly already, and for that he shall pay dearly. TD: Cost you? Where I've been sitting I've seen this mystery man do nothing but save your championship belt for you _twice_. RQ: Oh? I will confess, Tim Dross, that on the night I fought Otto Verhoeven I was... less than impressive. If it were not for this Masked Outlaw, Otto Verhoeven would indeed have become the IIWF Champion. [Big mixed pop.] TD: Yes, exactly. And what about the match with "Sychosys" Joe Petrow? Once again, this masked man saved the match for you. What more proof could you possibly need? RQ: Excuse me? He saved the match for me? Tim Dross, that was a hard fought match, and I have nothing but the utmost admiration for the wrestling skills of Joe Petrow, no matter how insane he may be -- but I was not in any danger at the time this "Outlaw" attacked... [HUGE heel pop.] RQ: Oh, sure, it's true that both Joe Petrow and I were tired. Bone tired. BUT... the match was even, Tim Dross. There was no reason for this "Outlaw" to "rescue me", as has been claimed. Was I flat on the floor of the ring, about to be pinned? No, I was not. Was I perhaps locked in the dreadful STF submission move? No, I'd already escaped that. Was I about to fall victim to an ingenious finishing move? No. TD: Well, yes, but... RQ: [interrupting] If this "Outlaw" was concerned for my championship belt, why did he not intervene when I was trapped in the STF, seemingly ready to submit? Surely that would have been the ideal time, Tim Dross? TD: If he's not a friend of yours, if he's not the latest member of Genesis, why else would he "rescue" you from both Otto Verhoeven and Joe Petrow? RQ: Why? Well, perhaps he is an enemy of both Verhoeven and Petrow, and wishes to ensure that neither of them becomes the IIWF Champion? TD: [Looking sceptical] Well, that's a possibility, I guess... RQ: Or perhaps this "Outlaw" simply wanted to embarrass me? After all, it's no secret that I'm some kind of phony champion who can't keep the belt on his own, right? [Dross simply arches an eyebrow at the champion, unimpressed by his sarcasm.] RQ: You know, I've got a lot of respect for Joe Petrow, Dross. He's a mad little bastard, and he's not afraid to let people know it. But he can also wrestle, and he does that damn well, too! Last week Joe Petrow and I fought for the belt, and in the end I was victorious. So it pisses me off when I hear people spouting about how "We know you should be champ, Joe," and "Requiem got lucky..." That's a whole bunch of crap, and you know it. How do you know Petrow would have won? You _don't_ know that, any more than Petrow knew that. You know what? I was speaking to an IIWF official last week, and he said that Petrow wanted to "redeem" the belt. Felt that the belt had been tarnished because of who was wearing it. Joe Petrow didn't want to win the belt for himself, he just wanted that belt in the hands of somebody who would treat it right... [HUGE pop!] RQ: In fact, my source within the IIWF informed me that Petrow quit because he felt that the IIWF belt had become a joke whilst I was defending it! [Even bigger pop! The odd "Damn straight!" can be heard coming from the crowd] TD: [nervously] I wouldn't go that far, but a lot of the wrestlers, and indeed the fans, feel that the way you've been defending the championship has perhaps tarnished the belt. Relying on Genesis intervention, cheating... RQ: "Relying upon Genesis"?... I don't. [Disbelieving pop, which seems to anger the huge Requiem!] RQ: Where was Genesis at the Petrow match? Did they so much as lay one finger upon Joe Petrow? They did not! [Requiem seems suddenly to lose his anger, and his voice lowers gently.] RQ: I admit, I have accepted the help of Genesis on some occassions to help secure victory, but it was prudent to do so. In war, one accepts help from one's allies. An outnumbered enemy is a weakened enemy. [Requiem's voice once more lowers, and he seems to pause for a moment. But then...] And, I admit... that that was a mistake. [Puzzled pop!] RQ: I _don't_ need the help of Genesis to win my battles, but a lot of people can't look behind the Genesis interference, and see what I can do. I can put on the match of the century, and as soon as somebody interferes my efforts go out the window. It's suddenly "Well, he wouldn't have won, but so-and-so interfered". TD: I've long maintained that you're an extremely skilled individual, even though I don't agree with how you go about getting things done... RQ: Nice of you to say so, Dross. Perhaps I won't beat you up after the show after all. Joe Petrow talked about me "dishonouring" the belt. Talked about "redeeming" the belt. Others have said I don't "deserve" the belt. Obviously I'm not going to agree with those who think I didn't deserve this belt in the first place, but I think maybe Joe had a point. [Surprised pop! Requiem opens up his robes, to reveal that underneath he is wearing the glittering golden IIWF belt, which he gently pats.] RQ: This belt means a lot to me. It shows that I kept my promise to my fans, that I _would_ win them championship gold. I did that. It shows the world something, but it also demands something. It demands respect. Well, I've always respected this belt. In fact, I love this belt. What it stands for. The people who've worn it before. The proud legacy of the IIWF. This belt is something special. It marks the person who wears it as someone special. It marks that person as the champion of the mightiest wrestling organisation in the world today! [Another surprised pop! The crowd begins to stir, wondering where this is leading...] SR: [over the headset] You love that belt my ass, freak. You respect what that belt stands for? Give me a break. [There is a rustle and a thump as Roberts apparently pulls off his headset and throws it down onto the table in front of him.] RQ: As far as I am concerned, the Age of Genesis has brought nothing but good to the IIWF. The IIWF has really kicked it up a gear since Genesis arrived on the scene. Old enemies became allies. Old alliances were broken and new ones formed. The Age of Genesis brought about change on a massive scale, but change is good, Dross. Without change there is only stagnation, and stagnation leads to decay, and eventually death. But whilst Genesis as a whole has brought about good, Joe Petrow made me realise that what I've done is wrong. The way I've defended this belt is wrong. It has to stop. [HUGE surprised pop!] RQ: I announced that I was leaving Genesis last Saturday night. It seems that a lot of people believe this to be a "swerve," some kind of plot. It isn't. From now on, I defend this belt as it _should_ be defended. Man to man. One against one. TD: Are you sure that's wise? By now the entire IIWF hate you with a quite genuine loathing. You must realise that you're now a huge target for all sorts of revenge attacks. RQ: I know. Nonetheless, I will walk the path alone from now on. I stand alone, with no-one beside me. I either keep the belt on my own, or I will lose the belt on my own. However little time I have left with this belt, I aim to defend it _on my own_. Now the fans will see what Requiem alone is capable of. TD: Well, this seems strange timing to me, Requiem. Next week you face Brody Thunder, and he will have a few friends with him. Friends, he says, that have learned a few lessons from the example of Genesis. RQ: Brody Thunder has got something to prove, Tim Dross. He needs to prove that it was he that should have been the next IIWF World Champion. But now, I too have something to prove. I need to prove that it is no accident that I wear the golden belt. Brody Thunder has something to prove. I have something to prove. Brody Thunder wants the IIWF belt. I _need_ the IIWF belt. I need to hold on to it for a while longer, to give myself time to prove to the fans that Requiem holding the belt is not the greatest mistake in IIWF history! I aim to prove just that. TD: And you're not concerned about Watkins and Kowalski? For that matter, it seems to me that you can expect just about anything to happen in that match now that Genesis aren't around to watch your back... RQ: Only a fool would not be concerned, and despite what anyone thinks of me, I have never been a fool. But no matter if it is Brody Thunder alone, or Thunder and his friends, no matter if it is the entire IIWF against me in the ring next Saturday night... Requiem stands alone. But I am still the "Angel Of Destruction", Tim Dross. I may be a self-imposed outcast, but I am still that. Just because I am now alone.... How best to put it? Why, how else but how I've always put it... From this day forth, until the end of time, there can be no mercy for the damned! [Requiem steps away from Tim Dross and raises his arms to the crowd, who jeer him solidly as the haunting tones of "The Music of the Unknowingly Damned" drift over the PA. Suddenly, a spotlight picks out a figure approaching from the top of the aisle. It is the 6'8", 290 pound "Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis, making his way to ringside to the jeers of the fans, arms upstretched in victory. Serge is decked out in black pants, boots and wrist pads along with a black line of face paint, trailing over the nasty one inch scar under his left eye. Serge sports a new haircut, with practically shaved sides and about three quarters of an inch on the top. Serge's light brown hair is darker, and his menacing blue eyes pierce the fans in the front rows as he looks around, drinking in their disapproval. Annis approaches the ring, climbs up the steps and enters the squared circle, immediately walking up to face the huge IIWF Champion, just seven days ago an ally.] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, Serge Annis! [Big heel pop as Annis turns his head slightly in order to speak into the microphone that has been placed between himself and Requiem, who looks at Annis with unblinking eyes.] SA: It's a fact that Genesis appear to have parted ways, is it not? [The crowd responds with massive cheers, which makes The Epitome raise an eyebrow.] SA: That is exactly what each and everyone of you imbeciles would like to think. I want to send a message to each and every one of your weak minds right now. Genesis lives. [The crowd reverses the cheers and begins booing madly.] SA: I will lay the facts out for you. Cold Spell... gone. Good. We didn't need them. Frankly Fitz was more trouble than value to Genesis. And Icehawk? Well, do not get me started on him. Requiem... [The crowd is hushed once more as Annis looks back at the IIWF Champion.] SA: Requiem has left the group, of his own will, and on good terms. Requiem has something to prove to each and every one of you out there, and trust me, he will do it. Requiem, right now the only thing I can say to you is good luck. [Requiem acknowledges Annis with a nod of his head, and then leaves the ring, heading back to the locker room while the crowd unleashes a torrent of jeers. Annis grabs the microphone away from Dross and shoves him into one corner of the ring. Dross takes the hint as Annis walks around the ring, staring out into the hostile Canadian crowd.] SA: Oh, shut up! You let other IIWF wrestlers have their time, well right now it's mine. Now... Requiem has left us... to prove to you what he can do on his own. Well... that is _exactly_ what Genesis intend to do from now on! Requiem may have "led" Genesis, and we were his lackeys, as so many people put it. Requiem is tired of it! And we are sick and tired of it. Genesis lives, within Adam Smith The Highwayman, Scott Rogers and myself! And our goal is to prove to each and every one of you this plain and simple fact: we do not need Requiem to survive in the IIWF! Genesis lives on... and with that, I want to bring out Scott Rogers and The Highwayman. As equals! For that is what we all are, for there is no leader in Genesis! [The Highwayman appears at the head of the aisle, raises his arms aloft and walks down the aisle. Scott Rogers appears through the curtain to a volley of jeers, except the Genesis Generation who jeer both him and Smith wildly. The duo pass the retreating IIWF Champion as they make their way down to the ring, and Rogers pats Requiem on the back as he disappears into the locker room. The Highwayman gets into the ring and Rogers follows, climbing over the top rope. Serge tosses him the mic as he nods his head. Rogers, as ever, grins as he speaks.] SR: Sergey, nice job. [Annis nods his head and grins with Rogers.] SR: Yeah, Genesis lives on, but not, like the ears man, Spocky, may say, as we know it. We've lost our leader as far as any man in this audience with half a brain'd think -- same goes for Dross, Roberts, Morton and Lau. Yeah, you dolts thought the almighty Requiem was our leader just 'cause he's got his mitts on the World title. Well think again, buddies. He won the title that night 'cause o' me. No-one else. Just me. [Annis and Smith look on with surprised looks on their faces.] SR: He made it worth me while to let him beat me in the tourney, so I did. And he made it even more worth me while to make sure he beat everyone else, which, bein' the ultimate physical specimen I am, I did! But if he don't want no hard feelin's, he ain't got none. But when I get me shot at ya belt, Reqqy-boy, don't think it ain't comin' back to Genesis, 'cause it is. Yeah, we're gonna get stronger, and little old you's gonna get weaker. [Rogers mocks crying. There's a mixture of laughter and heel pops from the crowd.] SR: But I ain't out here to bag Requiem, easy as it is. I'm here to tell every one of you [mocking] "Are we American, French or English?!" [grinning] nobodies that tonight, Sergey was right, Genesis are gonna win this Battle Royal. Yeah, one of us is gonna win this thing and get a shot at Quigley, but as _I_ got the best chance, I think we can safely say Quigley's gonna be facin' _me_ at Ring Wars IV! [Rogers drops down the mic and poses for the crowd then waves to his stablemates, then walks to the side of the ring and begins jawing with the front row fans. Annis watches Rogers as he walks up, with a cold look. Serge, without taking his eyes off of Rogers, bends down to pick up the mic, and hands it to Highwayman.] HWM: Watkins, I don't blame you for dropping the belt to Quigley. You and I both knew you were not capable of defending it adequately. You and I both know the belt would have been mine at Midsummer Madness but for the actions of a fool. My issue with you was the belt, and that now adorns the waist of another, more capable man so our "disagreement" is ended... unless you don't want it to be? [The pro-Watkins crowd "boo"s Highwayman.] [smiles] It seems you have a bigger problem to deal with than my annoyance now that Creed has returned, I shall sit back and watch you to be destroyed by that red-gloved fist of his! And finally on to you Quigley, be grateful my mind is occupied elsewhere at the moment, but do not get too complacent. That belt _will_ come into Genesis, sooner rather than later. [Serge is handed the mic once more. Serge looks straight into the camera with a dead serious look on his face.] SA: Tonigh is the Intercontinental Title shot battle royal. Each and every one of us are included. I won't make a promise I cannot keep... so victory is almost certain. _But_... I can assure you of this, Genesis will have an impact on the battle royal. We are not in the ring to get the shot. We are in the ring to get respect. The IIWF's days just got a lot darker... but with Genesis the way we are now... I can assure you, the IIWF will be taking a trip through the lowest regions of Hell, as Genesis will look on from their throne of bones... ruling over the IIWF. [Serge drops the mic and raises his hands once more, and high-fives Highwayman. Serge's music returns to the speakers, and the crowd seems content to keep booing madly. All of a sudden, the music is drowned out, as the crowd goes absolutely wild!  It can only mean one thing...] TD: [over the headset] It's Derek Mota!  He's not finished with Genesis yet!  I can't believe that after all these beatings, he's coming back for more! [Mota looks around at the crowd, and turns to stare at Genesis, a canny look in his eyes.  The spunky Canadian takes a few moments to pump up the crowd some more, and finally lifts up a house mic to his face and speaks.] DM: Hey Genesis!  Things ain't looking too good for ya right now! [The crowd pops once more and Mota's arrogant smile lights up on his face.] It looks like you just lost your leader!  You guys are in a tough spot now, aren't ya? Well, I'll tell ya what... I've got just the solution for ya. You wanna new leader?  I'll be your leader! I guess it's time ta realize that goin' up against Mota ain't gonna get ya nowhere... where's all your titles?  When's the last time you won a match? Tell ya what... you hop on the Mota bandwagon.  Take a ride with the Cruiserweight champ, learn a little from the Heatseeker himself, and I'll take the job as the leader of Genesis.  Ya know, someone's gotta protect the world from knowin' that you're all a bunch of mid-card jobbers!  Come on, Pepe LeBleu was probably more of a challenge than you guys are one on one! So, Scott Rogers... you seem ta think I'm a Rogers wannabe.  Boy, I was rippin' it up way back when you were still a Wednesday wonder.  So you wanna prove it to me?  To yourself?  Saturday Night, October 18.  Rage in the Cage.  We meet behind the bars. You beat me, I'll tell ya I'm a Rogers wannabe.  Now if I beat you... I'm the leader of Genesis.  How about it, boy?  How about it?  [The crowd gives a huge pop as Mota, who has been wandering down the aisle as he speaks, drops the microphone with a thump and throws his arms open wide, as if waiting for a response. Scott Rogers, who has been growing increasingly agitated throughout Mota's appearance, motions for Mota to enter the ring. Mota throws his head back and laughs, turns as if to walk away... and then turns back to the ring, dashes down and under the bottom rope, where he is immediately stomped by Rogers and Highwayman. Huge pop as Mota tries to fight to his feet!] TD: Oh, this is bad... Derek Mota, who still has yet to meet Dexter St. Croix here tonight, is once again receiving a heinous beating at the hands of Genesis! [Mota manages to unfasten his Cruiserweight belt from around his waist, and brings it sharply upwards, catching Highwayman under the jaw and staggering the big man. He spins and slams the belt upside Scott Rogers' head, toppling the Utah native. Big pop! But before Mota can turn around, he is blindsided by Serge Annis, who clubs him over the back, then spins him around, grabs him by the throat, and performs a devastating chokeslam! Rogers and Highwayman get back to their feet, Rogers grabbing the microphone as he stands. He puts the boots to the stunned Mota as he yells across the microphone:] SR: You want Scott Rogers in a steel cage, Mota? You got it! You don't know what you're letting yourself in for, ya piece of crap! [Security officials pour down the aisle and swarm the ring, dragging the Genesis trio away from Derek Mota and pulling them from the ring. Rogers, Highwayman and Annis make their way back up the aisle, Rogers raising his arms in victory, to the derision of the crowd, while in the ring, Mota is attended to by a pair of referees. The crowd cheers wildly as Mota pulls himself to his feet, grabs his Cruiserweight Championship belt, and thrusts it into the air! However, he is groggy, and he lolls forward dangerously, the ropes breaking his fall and keeping him upright. Mota unsteadily, but determinedly, rolls from the ring and heads up the aisle, shrugging off the assistance of the two officials and trying to clear his head. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside, where conspicuous by his absence is one Steve Roberts.] TD: Well, Derek Mota proving once again that he is one of the pluckiest superstars ever to step foot in the squared circle. Not content with jumping Dexter St. Croix before the scheduled Cruiserweight Championship match earlier tonight, Mota comes out to challenge the remains of Genesis. More guts than brains, that much is for sure. Folks, I apologise for the absence of my broadcast colleague, but it appears that he walked out during Requiem's interview a few minutes ago, and... [Suddenly, there is a chorus of "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!" as Roberts emerges from within the hordes of fans in the stands behind the announce table. Roberts clambers over the barrier, clutching several hotdogs between his fingers. He dons his headset, making sure to check his hair isn't out of place.] SR: I tell ya, Dross, I just got far closer to these Canadian inbreds than I ever could have wanted -- and all in the pursuit of a few measly hotdogs. Have you seen these things, Dross? I swear to God, there's real dog in there. Here, have one, buddy. [Roberts tosses one of the crudely wrapped snacks at Dross, the spongy foodstuff rolling out of its paper napkin and spreading grease all over Dross' notes. The veteran announcer looks at the hotdog for a moment, and then eagerly begins eating it.] SR: That's what I like to see, Dross. Total disregard for your body. Hey, sorry for walking out on ya back there. TD: You're sorry, Steve Roberts? SR: Did I say I was sorry? Wow, these hotdogs are worse than I thought. No, Dross, I'm not sorry. Why the hell should I sit here and listen to Boy Requiem spouting all that crap about going it alone -- we all know it's one hundred proof bull. Every single day that freak spends with the IIWF title around his waist is twenty four more hours too long, Dross. TD: Well, we'll be back in the IIWF Coliseum next Saturday Night, and Requiem will be defending his title against none other than Brody Thunder -- and with his Genesis comrades apparently now out of the picture, we'll finally see whether Requiem can sink or swim as the Champion. SR: Like a stone, baby dolls. Like a stone. TD: The action in the Cruiserweight divison just keeps going on, as this     week we see another first round matchup in the tournament to crown a     number one contender to the Cruiserweight champion at Ring Wars IV,     whomever that may be at the time. SR: Boy, someone's hedging their bets. It'll still be Mota, give that     plucky little Canadian bastard some credit. Besides, this may _not_ be that much of a tournament match, didn't Pukespeare say he wanted out? TD: Well, he did say that last week, but one can never be sure with Billy Shakespeare where the reality begins and the performance ends. SR: Very metaphysical, Dross. Let's have Sparky do his job now, okay? I     hear we have a special guest coming out here to work with us... ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| CRUISERWEIGHT TOURNAMENT FIRST ROUND MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Billy Shakespeare vs. "Showstopper" Simon Lebec ....................................................................... WRITER: JdW [Sparkplug Lee gets up from his seat, hearing a loud pop when the audience begins to realize he's wearing a Calgary Flames bow tie instead of his usual powder-blue job. Of course, he put it on upside down, but the Albertans are, in the spirit of international co-operation, letting it slide.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the special guest commentator     for the following Cruiserweight divison match, from El Paso, Texas,     Ronnie Paris! [A loud heel pop rises up as Paris walks out into the aisle, wearing faded jeans and a shirt that reads "I went to Calgary and the only good part was buying this stupid shirt!" The crowd gets fairly vocal in its dislike of the Texan, shouting out such old chestnuts as "Boo" and "Ronnie sucks!". In reply, Paris gestures with his hands towards a certain part of his anatomy he's telling _them_ to suck. Eventually, after milking the boos as long as he can, Paris makes it to the announce position where an enthused Steve Roberts and a reserved Tim Dross sit waiting.] TD: Ronnie Paris, ladies and gentlemen, and I suggest you are not the     most popular man here in Calgary. RP: [just getting his headset on] Who cares what the Calgarians think of me? You know Calgary is an Indian word for "City of the Assholes", right? TD: We apologize to... RP: [interrupting] Don't. Calgary sucks and we all know it. Steve, as a fellow Texan, you know where I'm coming from. You know this city     wouldn't know a cowboy if one bit it in the rear, right? SR: I'm just so proud of you, Ronnie. Who'da thunk it, but you're finally getting the right attitude about things. [Back to Sparky, who's ready to gwet the actual match introductions under way.] SL: And now, the first round Cruiserweight Championship Tournament     match... introducing first, from Hollywood, California, at a weight of 239 pounds... the "Showstopper", Simon Lebec! [Lebec's theme music gets the crowd back onto it's feet to boo as the cocky actor begins to walk out into the aisle, strutting with usual aplomb and confidence. The Californian takes the boos in stride, making sure to blow kisses to all the attractive ladies visible in the first few rows. This, of course, makes him all the less popular with all but those select few ladies, making the rest of his trip to the ring like walking through a heel heat minefield.] SR: Say what you will about Simon Lebec, but one thing's for sure: the     man has style. Some people just exude style, and he's one of them. RP: I exuded style once... TD: Oh no, there's two of them! RP: Seriously, though, Lebec isn't up to my calibre, but he shouldn't     have any troubles with a clown like Shakespeare. [Lebec rolls into the ring and stakes out a corner in which to limber up, keeping a wary eye on a possible future opponent in Paris. Sparky pics up the mic for a third time to finish off the intros.] SL: And his opponent, hailing from Ashland, Oregon, at a weight of 230     pounds... he is "Born to Perform", Billy Shakespeare! [A HUGE face pop greets the start of "Little Willie", as the twenty thousand plus fans await the entrance of one of their heroes. And await. And await some more. Referee Dave D'Amato looks nervously at Sparky, and calls him over to the side of the ring for a consultation. The music keeps playing, but still no sign of Billy. Lebec just smiles as the fans start to get restless.] TD: Where is Billy Shakespeare? SR: Listen, if Pukespeare doesn't feel like showing up, I have no problem with that. The less I have to see him, the better. RP: I can tell ya exactly where he is, Dross. He's cowering under a hotel bed at the thought of me kicking his ass one more time. I can tell ya where Luke Steele is too... he's cowering under a hotel bed dreaming he could be man enough to come _close_ to satisfying my wife. Dating Maggie my ass, Lukey. TD: I doubt Billy Shakespeare is afraid of you, or any IIWF star, for that matter. However, it looks like the official has come to a decision... [Despite looking a bit uncertain, Sparky launches into a proclaimation to quell the rising tide of restlessness among the paying customers.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, IIWF official Dave D'Amato has ruled that     should Billy Shakespeare not appear in the next sixty seconds, he will lose the match by forfeit! [Lebec and the Soundbite seem the only ones in the whole building truly satisified about this decision, as the rest of the crowd lets out a loud burst of boos in disgust. The view on the Jumbotron quickly switches to a split-screen, one side a countdown from 60 seconds and the other an external view of Shakes' closed locker room. The countdown begins...] TD: Billy Shakespeare has... well, now about fifty-five seconds to appear for his match. RP: A chicken by any other name is just as scared, Dross. SR: Anyone wanna hear a song while we wait? I've found these three chicks outside who say they're some kind of local band... "Farmer's Cousins" or something. Sounds up your alley, Dross. [Still no activity from Shakes' dressing room... 12...11...10...] RP: He's scared out of his mind, Dross. BS would rather French kiss     Rosanne while being rectally examined for concealed weapons than wrestle me again. TD: A... vivid image you paint, Mr. Paris. SR: ...three... two... one... It's a forfeit! [Everyone realizes what the decision is, and they start to get somewhat angry about being cheated out of a match. Sparky prudently decides not to make the official annoucement, as it'd just serve to rile up the crowd more. Lebec, however, has never had any qualms about riling up crowds. Rent "Simon's Kinky Karpool" for proof of that. Therefore, it's no surprise that he's asking for the mic, looking to gloat most likely. Lebec laughs as he grabs the mic from the retreating Sparky.] SL: Well, it would appear to me... and as I am he, as you are he, as you are me, as we are all together... I guess it would appear to everyone... that one Mr. "Born To Perform" won't be performing tonight. [Crowd boos, as Lebec nods.] SL: That's right, people.  Everyone's favorite literary genius must have     gotten a paper cut while going through "King Lear"... looking for     some outdated material!  HA!  Deep down... I know he's running scared, and by God... he should be! [Lebec climbs up to the second rope, posing to the jeering crowd.  He then climbs back down to the center of the ring.] RP: [over headset] As much of an idiot as that guy usually is, he hit the nail on the head. BS _is_ running scared. TD: [over headset] Please, be quiet! SL: There's an old saying... "At the feast of ego, everyone leaves hungry."  Shakespeare... YOU DIDN'T EVEN SHOW UP TO THE TABLE! [Small heel pop] SL: But that's okay.  Ya see, I got something more important to deal with other than Billy Shakespeare's tired old ass!  I'm comin' from the back, and do ya know what I see?  I see Genesis, in their full form... pretending like they're the biggest fish in the pond, just 'cause they put the beat-down on little Derek Mota!  Well, if the pond is the size of a toilet, then I may have to agree!  However, it ain't. And I'm not in the pond.  Still, I can swim like the best of 'em! Genesis!  You're a bunch of yard apes!  Nothing more! [Big pop from the fans!]     Do ya shave your own backs, or do ya let the animal researchers do it while they change your newspaper flooring? [BIG POP!] SR: [writing furiously] Change... your... newspaper... flooring. I'll have to use that sometime. TD: [over headset] Some of us _do_ want to hear these comments. SL: Why don't one of you come out and take Pukey's place, huh?  I got a nice long banana for ya! [Lebec grabs his crotch.]     Heh!  I'll even show you my opposable thumbs! [Lebec gives a Fonzie-esque two thumb salute, followed by a not-so-Fonzie-esque middle finger salute.]     How about you, Scott Rogers?  Rumour has it that you're not too pleased with me after last Wednesday!  Well... join the club, monkey boy! Membership is free... and the annual lobster boil is a real happenin' time!  Get your ass off Requiem's lap, and show this old man a couple of new dance steps! [Lebec throws down the mic and begins tap dancing in the middle of the ring.] TD: How about that! Scott Rogers has just been called out -- for the second time this evening! SR: Well, I've always been partial to the Showstopper anyway, but now     he's really getting on my good side. Anyone who takes shots at the     body-builder gains respect in my books. RP: Count me in... just because I stopped harping on it doesn't mean I     don't think Genesis still sucks. They do even worse now that all the rats are leaving the ship. TD: Well, I wonder what kind of a reply... [Dross is cut off as the video wall springs to life, the madly grinning form of Scott Rogers appearing on it.] SR: Simon... Simon, how's things buddy? From this end it don't look     good. I mean, ya ain't been doin' too hot lately have ya, and that guy accompanyin' ya to ringside... I dunno, Si... he ain't no good. Yeah, ya woman's not a bad lookin' chick, but ya can do much better than that. Just see who I got on me arm later tonight, buddy. I'll pull a few strings... sure she got some friends. Well [laughs] I know she does, if ya see what I mean. Don't wanna be vulgar in fronta all these little _kiddies_! [Rogers nods his head and grins.] SR: Listen, Si, I ain't got all night here. Give up them two... I'll     take ya under me wing, get ya a few wins, a bitta gold and a bitta     foldin' green. Yeah? Ya can be me protegé. Give it a bitta thought then get back to me. Hey, feel free to refuse, I'll be doin' ya a favor... See ya! [Rogers laughs as the video wall then again reconstitutes itself to show the "IIWF Saturday Night" logo.] SR: I knew he wouldn't have the guts to show up and fight like the man he wishes he was. RP: I was kinda looking forward to a brawl, too... I mean, I have to     entertain myself _somehow_ in this hick town. TD: Simon Lebec does not look happy about being dismissed, and he still     has the mic to complain about it. This one may not be over yet. [Dross was right, as Lebec knows where Rogers soft spot was, so he starts up a massive "Quigley" chant that catches on easily in Chris' home nation. Once the crowd is actively chanting, Lebec starts zeroing in on Rogers himself, saying "You couldn't get the job done on Wednesday", "You're just Requiem's lap dancer", and something about Rogers' questionnable heritage. With that, the muscular Genesite comes barreling out into the aisle towards Lebec, who drops the mic and runs out to intercept.] SR: Cleanup in aisle seven, we're about to get hardcore! [The two meet right in the middle of the aisle, exchanging early pleasantries in the form of right hands. Both hit but neither have much impact on the adrenaline-laden grapplers. Lebec starts to fall back a bit against the onslaught of a series of Rogers punches, so he counters with a swift kick to the midsection. While Rogers is stunned, Lebec pulls his muscle shirt up over Scott's head to obstruct his view and hold him in place, then he begins wailing away on the defenseless man to the approval of the crowd.] SR: That's an old hockey trick! Lebec is using a hockey trick and these     idiots love him for it! TD: When you're fighting a bigger man, I suppose tactics such as that are in order. RP: [looking at watch] Five, four, three, two... and here come the JJS. [Paris was right on schedule, as just now Ricardo LeBleu, Ned Norton, the Rotundos and the Barnacles burst out to try and break up the disturbance. LeBleu and Norton dive in to tackle Lebec, releasing his grip on the shirt and allowing Rogers time for a sucker punch to Simon's jaw before he too is drowned in a sea of jobbers, Jumpin' Jack and Casey C having seemingly shown up from nowhere. Lebec appears to have a minor cut on his chin from the sucker punch, while Rogers is a bit dazed after being pummeled about the head, and both are easy pickings for the lovable losers of the JJS to begin carting away.] SR: You can never have a good brawl in this fed without those idiots     breaking it up. And why does that LeBleu guy look so familiar? TD: No idea, Steve Roberts. I suppose, Mr. Paris, that you should be     moving along now before our next match starts. Nice having you along. RP: The pleasure was all yours, Dross. Now, if you'll excuse me, I would say I had a hot date with Luke Steele's woman, but he doesn't have one. Just between you and me... I had to share a dressing room with that guy for a few months, and he always seemed to be trying to sneak a peek at me when I was showering. He's a queer little fellow, if you know what I mean. Kinda like Shakes in that respect. TD: I believe we _all_ know what you mean, Mr. Paris. [Ronnie takes off his headset, and gets up to leave to the intense disapproval of the crowd once again.] TD: If you will, Steve Roberts, let's just move onto our next match, which hopefully will actually _occur_. Three of the IIWF's top tag teams -- former World Tag Champs, Cold Spell, former United States Tag Champs, the Harlequins, and one of the most promising recent additions to the tag roster, the Machines -- all in the ring for a tremendous triple threat tag team match. Whichever team comes out on top in this one is surely going to be in line for a title shot in the near future. SR: I really don't want to watch this match, Dross. Can't I go get a beer or something? TD: You've already walked out on the job once tonight, Steve Roberts. You'll stay right there. SR: Aw, you're no fun any more, Dross. TD: Let's get up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| TRIPLE THREAT TAG TEAM MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Cold Spell vs. Harlequins vs. The Machines ....................................................................... WRITER: CS [Sparkplug Lee strides confidently into the ring to a large ovation from the crowd. Lee, not quite sure why he earned this reaction, bows to the applause which leaves him wide open for a kick from referee Rusty Smith. Lee rubs his tush and demands an answer for the whack in the butt.  Smith points to Lee's back, on which he discovers a "Kick-Me" sign, crudely taped there by a mischievous front-row fan.] SR: If this world nominated a king of idiots, Lee would be it. TD: King of idiots? SR: And Larry Morton would be his Queen. TD: [sigh] Let's get the ring introductions for this big tag team triangle match. SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a special Triple Threat Tag Team Match.  The rules are as follows: two men will be in the ring at any one time, anybody can be tagged in, and there will be one fall to the finish -- by pinfall or submission only. ["Welcome to the Machine" by Pink Floyd starts up over the sound system.  Simon O'Neil and Paul Wong, the Machines, step out to a mixed pop and slowly make their way down to ringside.] The first tag team making their way down the aisle weighing in at a total combined weight of 503lbs, and hailing from the infamous Parts Unknown, here are Paul Wong and Simon O'Neil... The Machines! [A face pop is heard for the fan favourite, Paul Wong, while a heel pop seems to be directed at Simon O'Neil.  Wong slaps the fans' hands on his way down to ringside and even mugs for a few camera shots while O'Neil makes his way to the ring, apparently totally focused on the task ahead.] TD: Look at the focused expression on the face of Simon O'Neil.  He really looks ready for this bout. SR: That's because he's the straight guy, Dross. ["The Wreck of Edmund Fitzgerald" by Gordon Lightfoot blares over the speakers which is recieved by a mixed pop.] SL: Their opponents, weighing in at a total combined weight of 500lbs, here are Icehawk and Edmund Fitzgerald... Cold Spell! [Icehawk and Edmund Fitzgerald appear at the run way and soak in the mixed reaction which, for the first time in a few months, is favored towards a face pop.  They then nod their heads and jog down towards the ring.  Icehawk and Fitzgerald slap a few hands before jumping into the ring and beginning stretches in the ring.] TD: Since they dropped Genesis, the fans have begun to warm up to these former World Tag Team Champions. SR: Why would the fans want to cheer for two gay guys? SL: And finally, hailing from Sleepy Hollow, Illinois and weighing in at 545lbs, accompanied by their valets, Comedy and Melody, here are Chaos and Tragedy... the Harlequins! [The arena erupts into a big pop as Garbage's "#1 Crush" pumps through the speakers. But the pop begins to die down as no one appears through the curtains.] SR: Looks like the Harlequins have bailed.  Fear of the tough competition -- even though there's only one guy in there who isn't gay. TD: I can't beleive you, Steve.  But you have to wonder where the Harlequins have got to. SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the Harrrrrrrrrlequins! ["#1 Crush" starts up again. After a little hesitation, Comedy and Melody appear, looking around nervously, and constantly looking towards the back.] SR: Looks like the big tough Harlequins have sent the women to do their dirty work. TD: They have not. SR: Just use your eyes, Dross.  The girls have been left out here by themselves. [With that a huge pop begins as two figures seem to drop from the rafters. Ropes attached to the waist of both Harlequins zip down into the ring to a tremendous face pop.  The Machines and Cold Spell gaze towards the entranceway, not noticing the Harlequins right behind them.  But the Harlequins soon make their presence felt as Chaos double clotheslines both Machines over the top rope and to the concrete floor.  Tragedy then dropkicks Icehawk into Emerald Fitzgerald -- which causes Fitzgerald to stumble right into a spinebuster from a waiting Chaos.  The impact of the move causes Fitzgerald to bounce off the mat and then roll to the outside, allowing Tragedy and Chaos to whip Icehawk off the ropes and into a monsterous double clothesline that causes Icehawk to turn a complete flip in the air.  The ref then persuades Chaos back to his corner, allowing Tragedy to work over Icehawk.] TD: Now that was quite an entrance from Harlequins. SR: Jumping the competition like the gay guys they are.  They didn't even bring baseball bats, Dross. TD: Yes, but it was effective nonetheless.  Looks like Tragedy and Icehawk will start things off.  These guys definitely have their differences. [Tragedy hits Icehawk with a crisp dropkick after whipping him off the ropes.  He then lifts Icehawk back up, only to whip him off the ropes again for a monkey flip which sends Icehawk to the arena floor.  Icehawk then glances over at Comedy, but decides she isn't worth the trouble and re-enters the ring, where a pumped Tragedy is waiting for him with a belly to belly suplex! Pop!] TD: And Icehawk is being tossed around like a rag doll in there. SR: Gay guy, Dross.  Tossed around like a gay guy on his wedding night. TD: What? [Icehawk slowly gets back to his feet clutching his back only to be hit with a hurricanrana.  Tragedy then drops a big elbowsmash across his chest before lifting him up for a German suplex.  Tragedy then glances at the crowd, and when it seems like he is going to go for the cover, he instead drops to his knees over his foe and hammers punches down across the temple of Icehawk. Fitzgerald decides that it's time to save his partner by entering the ring and hitting Tragedy with a heel kick upside the head.] TD: Fitzgerald with a big save. SR: Check out the Machines, Dross. [In the far corner O'Neal and Wong chat idly with each other, not seeming to care what is going on in the match.  Meanwhile, Icehawk is able to recompose himself and make the tag to Edmund.  Edmund then lifts up the stunned Tragedy and stuns him even more with a big powerbomb.  Edmund then lays kicks into the prone Tragedy, which causes Chaos to run into the ring and hit Fitzgerald with a flying forearm which rocks the big man.  The ref escorts Chaos back to his corner while both Cold Spell members bring up the Sleepy Hollow resident and whip him off the ropes for a big backdrop.  Fitz, deciding Icehawk is sufficiently rested, tags back to his partner.] TD: The teams so far have been sticking to each other, realizing you have to be in the ring to win. SR: Doesn't look like the Machines even want to be in there.  [The Machines continue to talk amongst themselves, apparently unaware of the match going on in the ring. Icehawk leaps to the top rope and hits the rising Tragedy with a flying tackle.  Icehawk then bounces off the ropes and hits Tragedy with a clothesline that sends both men over the top rope.  Icehawk then struts over to Comedy and gives her a "don't you wish you were with me" type gesture.] TD: Icehawk making moves at Comedy. SR: Why?  He's only going to get Fitzgerald jealous. [Icehawk decides he has pestered Comedy enough and turns back to Tragedy, who greets him with a vicious right hand that drops the Fin.  Tragedy then rolls him inside and follows right behind.  Tragedy bounces off the ropes, and nails Icehawk with a startling spinning huricanrana that sends the Cold Spell member's head straight into the mat with a solid crunch.  Chaos is quickly tagged in and lifts up Icehawk for a tremendous military press that sends Icehawk flying to the Machines' corner.] TD: Icehawk really has to make the tag.  Which he... doesn't? SR: Both Machines have jumped off the ring apron! That's some smart wrestling ... maybe Wong isn't so gay after all. [Icehawk is left hollering at both members while they just laugh at him, which leaves him wide open for a belly-to-back suplex from the big Chaos. As Icehawk hits the mat with a thud, Chaos bounces off the ropes and leaps into the air onto the fallen Icehawk.  Chaos hooks the leg but before a count can even begin, O'Neil drops a knee onto the back of the head of the huge Harlequin.] SR: I'm loving these Machines more and more.  Not only are they keeping themselves away from the war in order to stay fresh, they won't let the others score any pinfalls.  Smart moves.  I love these guys. TD: Yes, but they can't win unless they get in there officially. [Chaos groggily gets back up, only to be hit by a neckbreaker by Icehawk. Icehawk then goes over for a tag from the Machines, only to be denied by both members.  The frustrated Icehawk then tags in Tragedy to a huge gasp from the crowd.] SR: They can do this, Dross.  You can tag in anybody! TD: Tragedy must now fight Chaos.  This should be interesting. [Tragedy runs off the ropes and jumps into Chaos who is able catch him and put him into a military press, from which he throws him on top of Icehawk.  A huge pop!] TD: I guess that move kind of backfired on Icehawk.  And I guess that counts as a tag. SR: Damn Drifters. TD: You still not over that?! [Tragedy then rises to his feet and rolls Icehawk into the ring.  Chaos then hoists Icehawk up, but instead of throwing him on top of anybody, he drops him on his knee.  He then tags Tragedy back in, who hits Icehawk with a frog splash from up top.  Tragedy then goes for the cover but the Machines make a quick save again.  But once Tragedy decides to make a tag to either member they refuse.] TD: Looks like the Machines have decided to stay completely out of this battle between Cold Spell and Harlequins.  SR: Yeah, isn't it great? [Tragedy, upset but undaunted, continues to work over Icehawk.  Tragedy finally allows Icehawk back up but only to bring him back down with a snap suplex.  Deciding to slow the pace, he hooks on a Boston crab.  Icehawk screams in pain but before there is a real chance for any submission, the Machines are on top of the matter -- knocking down Tragedy.] TD: This is just getting annoying, Steve Roberts. I understand that they don't want to lose this contest -- but why won't they just get in the ring and show their stuff? SR: In due time, Dross. [Tragedy gets back to his feet but not in time as his chin is rocked by a superkick -- Tragedy drops hard to the mat.  Icehawk -- in pretty bad shape -- makes a badly needed tag to Fitzgerald.  Unfortunately for the Cold Spell member, he doesn't get to Tragedy quick enough, as he makes a tag to the energetic Chaos.  Chaos, with the approval of Melody, lands a big kick to the gut of Fitzgerald that makes the hardened veteran double over, putting him in position for a thunderous powerbomb.  Chaos, deciding he doesn't want any interference from the Machines, knocks both men down to the floor with a double clothesline.  He then tags back in Tragedy and launches him towards Fitzgerald -- but much to the dismay of Tragedy he hits nothing but mat.  This gives Fitzgerald a chance to show his power by hoisting up Tragedy in a military press and slamming him in the middle of the canvas.  Fitzgerald then lifts Tragedy back up and whips him into the ropes to hit him with a spinebuster slam.] TD: It looks like Cold Spell is going to finish this thing up. SR: No way, not if the Machines can help it. [Fitzgerald tags in Icehawk, who bounces off the ropes to hit a big legdrop, before going up to the top rope, launching himself and... and Icehawk hits the Artic Blast to a huge pop.  Icehawk goes for the cover but the ref refuses to count.] TD: Why won't the referee make the count? SR: Because the Machines snuck in a tag while Icehawk went off the ropes! Now I really love these guys! [While Icehawk is arguing with the ref, Wong climbs to the top rope and hits a big leg over Tragedy's chest, making the cover. Referee Rusty Smith drops to the mat and makes the count... Chaos comes in to attempt to make a save but Icehawk intercepts him -- not knowing a pin is being made -- while O'Neil jumps Fitzgerald. Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: It's over, Dross! The Machines win it! What a brilliant strategy. TD: What a rip off! The Machines decided to finally enter, only when Cold Spell had Tragedy finished.  This isn't right. SR: Oh boy, the Harlequins and Cold Spell aren't done yet. [The intensity of the battle has caused the two teams to continue their war.  Icehawk battles away with his nemesis Tragedy while the big men, Fitzgerald and Chaos, pound away at each other.  The battle spills out into the crowd, much to the delight of the bloodthirsty fans. Meanwhile, the Machines celebrate their victory.] TD: The Machines with a very smart -- but ultimately cheap -- victory. SR: I thought it was great.  All you kids you finally have a role model. The only way in life is the easy route.  This is great! TD: Don't tell the kids that.  Hard work always pays off in the end, and those who take shortcuts get caught sooner or later. SR: Uh, Dross, are those staples that keep that rug on your head blurring your memory?!  Who won this, Dross? The guys that worked hard are fighting in the bleachers while the guys who took the easy route are celebrating a win. TD: Well, it looks like security are getting this situation under control. It's time for our next contest -- the match between Derek Mota and Dexter St. Croix that should have taken place earlier tonight. SR: Ol' Ganjaman isn't going to be in any state to make it to the ring, Dross. Mota's gonna take it on a forfeit. TD: That remains to be seen, folks. Let's get up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Derek Mota [c] vs. Dexter St. Croix ....................................................................... WRITER: SK [Sparkplug Lee climbs into the ring and begins to confer with Earl Alfonso, who after a moment's conversation nods his head and prompts the announcer to begin the introductions.  Lee visibly sighs, and raises the microphone.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, once again, the following contest is for the IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT TITLE!  Introducing first, the challenger... weighing in at 220 pounds and hailing from Kingston, Jamaica, here is DEXTER ST. CROIX! ["Exodus" once again blares from the P.A. as the spotlights sweep across the crowd and illuminate the wrestlers' entrance, but once again, there is no sign of St. Croix.  After a few seconds, a Saddledome usher emerges from the entranceway and sprints down the aisle towards the ring, and climbs up on the apron to talk to Lee and Alfonso.] SR: Who the hell is this?  St. Croix's substitute?  This guy looks like he'd go about 90 pounds soaking wet.  Mota's gonna kill that pencil-neck. TD: I doubt this fellow will be wrestling tonight, Steve.  Let's just see what the message is. [The usher, Lee and Alfonso continue to talk while the crowd buzzes with anticipation, then the usher drops to the floor and runs back up the aisle and out of the arena.  Alfonso nods to Lee to continue.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, Dexter St. Croix is apparently still receiving medical attention backstage, but it is the ruling of the referee that this match _must_ continue.  Therefore, at this time may I introduce the reigning IIWF Cruiserweight Champion!  Weighing in at 224 pounds and hailing from Toronto, Ontario, Canada, here is the self-proclaimed "heatseeker", DEREK MOTA! ["The Great Southern Trendkill" by Pantera starts up as the Cruiserweight champion emerges from the entranceway and begins to strut cockily down the aisle, a smug, self-satisfied look on his face as he is roundly booed by the Saddledome crowd. Mota takes the time to respond in kind to some of the insults thrown at him by the ringside fans before climbing into the ring, holding his belt high over his head as he parades around to another loud chorus of boos.  Lee and Alfonso confer again as Mota shouts "C'mon, ref, start the count!", and Alfonso just shrugs and gestures once again to Lee.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the referee has ruled that if Dexter St. Croix does not come to the ring in the next sixty seconds, he will forfeit this contest to Derek Mota! TD: This is terrible.  St. Croix may have been gravely injured by Derek Mota earlier this evening, and now it looks as if he's going to lose his first IIWF title bout by forfeit.  This is an absolute disgrace. SR: This is absolute brilliance, Dross.  Mota took that dumb-ass rookie to school, that's all, and now he's saved himself the trouble of having to come down here and wrestle in front of all these inbred dirt farmers. Makes perfect sense to me.  In sixty seconds, Mota can go down the street to Heifer's, grab a seat by the brass rail, and get himself a European towel dance from one of Calgary's finest.  Hell, I just might join him. TD: That remains to be seen, Steve.  We're past the thirty second mark now. St. Croix is running out of time. [Inside the ring, Earl Alfonso is keeping his eye on the huge scoreclock hanging over the ring as it clicks away the seconds to St. Croix's disqualification.  Mota is leaning against the ropes, grinning broadly as the clock reaches 40 seconds.  The crowd begins to call out the seconds as they count down to zero ["SIXTEEN!  FIFTEEN!  FOURTEEN! THIRTEEN!] and then a huge pop fills the Saddledome as a battered, bandaged Dexter St. Croix appears in the aisle, supported by two members of his Posse, and slowly begins making his way down the aisle towards the ring!  Mota's jaw drops in disbelief, then he just shakes his head, genuinely surprised that St. Croix is even still in the building.  St. Croix is walking with a noticeable limp, and a gauze bandage is wrapped around his head to protect his badly cut eye, but his eyes are firmly locked on Mota as he can barely contain his rage.  As the Posse helps St. Croix up the ring steps, Alfonso halts his count and signals for the bell to start the match -- Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: St. Croix manages to get to the ring just under the wire, and it looks like this match is finally under way.  You have to wonder just how effective this young Jamaican can be after absorbing all the damage he has this evening, Steve. SR: He might not even get in the ring, Dross!  Look! [As soon as the bell rings, Derek Mota launches himself at St. Croix as he is being helped through the ropes by his Posse, and knocks the Jamaican off the apron and onto the floor with a shoulder block!  St. Croix sprawls onto the concrete, and the speedy Canadian immediately grabs the top rope with both hands and slingshots himself over the ropes, splashing St. Croix on the floor below!  Incredible pop!  Mota is slow to get up from this manoeuvre, but get up he does, and scooping up St. Croix, whips the Kingston native into a ring post!  Huge heel pop!  St. Croix falls back, stunned, bright crimson seeping into the white bandage covering the cut over his eye.] TD: Derek Mota is utterly annihilating Dexter St. Croix, Steve Roberts!  He blindsided the Jamaican right off the bell, and now it appears that Mota's out to put St. Croix in the hospital!  This is disgusting! SR: What's wrong with this picture?  Isn't Mota supposed to be the guy who takes the punking and crawls back to the ring for more?  You just can't tell the players without a program these days. TD: Which, we should add, you can find in this month's issue of the "IIWF Insider", available now at your local newsstand! SR: Dross, _that_ was disgusting. [Mota picks up St. Croix and pushes him under the bottom rope and into the ring, and proceeds to climb the turnbuckles, launching himself at the prone Jamaican for an elbowsmash from the top rope, but just before he lands, St. Croix manages to get a leg in the air, and catches the unwary Canadian flush on the chin with the edge of his boot!  The crowd pops wildly as Mota crashes to the mat, and now both men lie disoriented on the canvas!] TD: St. Croix is still alive, Steve!  What a gutsy move from this young Jamaican! SR: Let's get some coffee down here, Dross.  These two guys could be kicking the snot out of each other until the cows come home -- and these Alberta cows party harder than Marty Warnett, baby dolls. [Mota is the first of the two to rise, but as he makes his way over to his opponent, he is met by a shot to the abdomen by St. Croix that doubles him over.  Another shot to the solar plexus from St. Croix, and the Jamaican pulls himself to his feet and sends Mota into the ropes, catching him on the rebound with a powerslam!  Big face pop!  St. Croix, rallying now, pulls mota up and goes behind, laying the Cruiserweight out with a beautiful belly-to-back suplex!  St. Croix goes for the cover, and Alfonso drops for the count - 1 - 2 - kickout by Mota!  St. Croix picks Mota and sends him into the ropes again, but his back drop attempt is countered by a sunset flip from the champ!  Alfonso drops again - 1 - 2 - kickout by St. Croix!] TD: This is absolutely unbelieveable, Steve!  Where is St. Croix finding the energy? SR: Beats me, Dross.  That stuff usually just mellows me out, but then I start getting the munchies big time. TD: Steve... whatever are you talking about? SR: Uh... why, the official IIWF Chewable Vitamins, available at fine pharmacies everywhere! TD: Good boy. [The crowd is popping at fever pitch is both competitors spring back to their feet, with Mota once again the quicker of the two, and he levels St. Croix with a lariat out of nowhere, pouncing on the downed Jamaican and raining a flurry of fists down on the bandaged laceration over St. Croix's eye, causing him to bellow in pain.  Alfonso steps in to warn Mota about the closed fists, a split-second distraction that allows St. Croix to grab a handful of the Canadian's jet-black hair and pull him off, and jump on top of Mota and start whaling away with a barrage of fists himself!  Big pop!  A face rake by the champ soon breaks this up, and Mota takes advantage of St. Croix's momentary disorientation to set him up for a snap suplex, but just before Mota lifts the Kingston native, St. Croix reaches down, grabs a leg, and pulls Mota into a cradle!  Alfonso drops - 1 - 2 - kickout!  St. Croix instantly sets upon Mota and lifts him up off the mat for a powerbomb, but in his weakened condition, he can't hold the clutch at the apex of the lift and Mota rolls out, clutches St. Croix from behind, and lays him out with a modified Northern Lights suplex!  Mota covers - 1 - 2 - ] TD: Three!  He got him! SR: No!  St. Croix got a foot on the ropes!  Whatever he's on, I want half of it, Dross! [Alfonso holds up two fingers, and Mota pounds the mat in frustration, as he clearly would have had the three count in the middle of the ring.  Mota pulls St. Croix to his feet, and the spent Jamaican offers no resistance as Mota slings him into the ropes and runs and hits the ropes on the opposite side.  As the two men rebound, Mota takes to the air for a flying bodypress, and a HUGE pop explodes from the crowd as...] TD: He caught him!   Dexter St. Croix caught Derek Mota right out of the air!  Where did he find the strength to do that? SR: Beats me, Dross, but he's got Derek Mota in a world of trouble right now! [St. Croix, suddenly looking fresh again, takes a moment to parade around the ring with a kicking, squirming, and very surprised Derek Mota locked in his powerful arms.  St. Croix looks down at the members of his Posse at rinside and shouts "Time t' put dis bwa down, mon!" as he heaves Mota up onto his shoulders!] TD: He's going for the Natty Dread Drop!  We could see the title change hands right here! SR: Don't bet on it, Dross.  Mota's got ol' Dex right where he wants him. [St. Croix leaps into the air, with Mota slung horizontally across his broad shoulders, and falls backwards to the mat for his patented finisher. The impact is tremendous, but the resilient Mota hooks St. Croix's arms as he hits the mat and, summoning all his strength, rolls the Jamaican over into a crucifix pin!  Alfonso drops - 1 - 2 - 3!  Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, and _still_ IIWF Cruiserweight Champion, the "heatseeker"... DEREK MOTA! ["The Great Southern Trendkill"  blasts forth from the P.A. once again as Mota rises to his feet to a huge heel pop from the crowd, raising his arms in victory as Dexter St. Croix lies on the mat, utterly exhausted. Mota stares down at the Jamaican, as if deciding whether or not he should pick up where he left off backstage before the match, but thinks better of it, and goes to the corner to collect his belt, pausing to look back at St. Croix and shake his head in disbelief before making his way up the aisle and out of the arena, as the ringside fans assault him with taunts, insults, and trash.  Back in the ring, St. Croix is still slow to move, and the members of his Posse at ringside flood into the ring to assist him, picking him up and helping him out of the ring.  Once he is on the floor, though, the battered, bloodied Jamaican pushes his helpers away, and starts to hobble up the aisle nder his own steam, to a resounding face pop. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What an unbelievable match that was, Steve Roberts.  Dexter St. Croix may not have come out of this bout with the Cruiserweight title, but he has certainly gone a long way towards silencing many of his critics here in the IIWF.  He certainly showed that he has talent, intestinal fortitude, and an undeniable will to win. SR: But he ain't got the gold, Dross, 'cause he ain't got the smarts to be a champion.  Mota's a tough little bastard, but he's also one of the most cunning snakes in the grass you're ever gonna meet, and there's no way he's gonna be one-upped by a guy who spends his spare time frying the few brain cells he has. TD: Well, Derek Mota has certainly been busy here tonight, getting involved with Genesis a little earlier on. His self-confidence seems to be at an all-time high. Okay, folks, that brings us to the end of our first hour of action. We'll be right back after these messages from our sponsors, with Otto Verhoeven facing the huge Tonnage up next! [Cut to a wide-angle shot of the jam-packed Saddledome. 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+