________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour two...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon 29 November 1997 [Fade through to interior shots of the IIWF Coliseum, fireworks erupting around the ring entrance area and high above the rigging in the rafters of the jam-packed arena. The shot cuts rapidly between various sections of the crowd, fans waving at the cameras, holding aloft their signs and showing off their merchandise. Finally, the shot comes to rest on the squared circle, in which stands Tim Dross, clutching a microphone:] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have a very special interview with a returning hero to the IIWF... the Party Maniac, Marty Warnett! [The crowd initially hush, then pop big time for the Welsh grappler as "Just Like Paradise" starts on the PA system.  After a few seconds, Marty appears from behind the curtain, his appearance causing the crowd to go silent. Marty is dressed in a loose yellow shirt with baggy black trousers and hi-top trainers.  He's wearing dark sunglasses that fail to hide severe bruising around the nose and eye areas. Marty's neck now sports a supportive brace; Marty limps, due to the crutch under each arm.  It takes the young Welshman longer than a minute to make his way up to the ring area. The fans are visibly shocked, not knowing how to respond.  A young lady, holding a "Marty, don't go!" sign is on the verge of tears. Marty slowly eases himself into the ring, where he sits on a chair provided by ring technician Gregor Osterwho.  Dross comes over and sits next to Marty.] TD: Marty, firstly, it's great to see you back in an IIWF ring.  How are the injuries? [Marty pauses, then speaks:] MW: Well, Tim, I suffered a broken nose, severe neck sprain and a concussion from that Stetson DDT onto the chair.  Reed's Frog Splash broke a rib and punctured a lung.  That shot early on from Stone with the TV monitor re-injured a couple of injured vertebrae -- remember that chair shot from Thunder? [Dross looks worried.] TD: You didn't attend the Golden Grapple Awards... MW: [interrupting] ...because, Tim, I only got discharged from hospital     yesterday.  Hell, it was only that soon because, as a pro athlete, I'd been in physically good shape.  Any member of Joe Q Public, well, they'd still be in the hospital. TD: Nonetheless, Marty, the cards have been piling up back at IIWF Towers. Rumours have been flying around on the internet... will you take this opportunity to scotch rumours that you started about your retirement from the sport? [Marty stares at the floor for a minute. While looking down, he speaks:] MW: Tim, so many things have happened to me lately. Falling in love, these injuries... I love the IIWF, the people, the fans, the cards... all the way along, it's been a blast.     My debut bout, where I was destroyed by Verhoeven... the feuds with Lebec... that great technical series with Byron.  The response I've always had from the crowds, the fans.  The bout where I proved I could beat Quigley cleanly...     Great memories, one and all.  Especially holding the Intercontinental Championship.     But, I've got to be realistic.  My neck and back are nowhere near up to scratch, even for real life, let alone wrestling.  I can't even fight on a part-time basis.  I don't want to end up crippled, unable to even lift up a child.  I never intended to break the news on the 'net that way, but yes, I am retiring.  Not just from the IIWF, but from the world of wrestling as a whole. [A section of the crowd start booing... a chant of "Stay, Marty, stay!" can be heard. ] TD: Marty, I really don't know where to begin... have you any idea what you'll do now? MW: [pauses] No, Tim, I don't.  The suits have been... not supportive, more understanding that I have to leave... Vice President Jividen, for example, is more concerned with how it would affect merchandise sales.     I'll remain on the IIWF payroll, until the day after the next PPV, when my contract expires.  The contract won't be renewed, a decision from both sides.  This incarnation of the IIWF isn't the IIWF I joined... too much emphasis is placed upon so-called hardcore action and gang attacks. Hell, how do you think I got these injuries? [There is a slight commotion in the back as a very concerned Billy Shakespeare comes back out to the ring.  He begins talk with Marty, and Dross is quick to give him the microphone.] BS: This is hard for me to hear, Marty.  I don't have many friends in the IIWF -- in fact, most of the wrestlers hate me.  But you, you I always trusted to watch my back.  You're the only man who has never turned on me during a tag match.  I'm not going to try and convince you that you should stay, I've been down that road before too.  Heck, besides me, you're the only wrestler who's had the guts to stay in the fed this long.  I've seen what happens to superstars around here, how they get thrown into the grinder and spat out, awaiting fresh meat.  Very few can match either our records or longevity.  Think about it a little while longer, talk to the suits, but do you really have to say "goodbye"?  Take some time off, but how can you leave this? [He sweeps his hand towards the crowd, they pop.  A chant of "Marty! Marty!" begins.  Warnett silences them with an upturned hand:] MW: Billy... you've always been around for me in the IIWF... you've watched my back, given me advice and been as close to me as a brother. SR: [over the headset] Aw, man -- I'm gonna puke. MW: Thanks for your kind words... you've really given me a lot to think about. Regardless of whether or not I hang around the IIWF, I'll still be unable to perform... I guess it's best to go for the clean break. [With that, Marty slowly leaves the ring and gingerly hobbles towards backstage.  Marty turns, looks back, and speaks.] MW: Billy, will you do me one last favour?  Will you beat Reed for me, next Saturday? [Billy merely hangs his head, staring at the canvas.  Just as it seems that he will say "no", he speaks:] BS: Not only will that be an easy task, it will be a pleasurable one.       [The crowd pops wildly.  Shakespeare waits for Warnett to make his last exit before he too climbs through the ropes and backstage. Dross returns to the broadcast position, and the shot cuts to the table as he adjusts his headset once more.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, a bomshell announcement here tonight from the Party Maniac, Marty Warnett -- who will be retiring from the sport of wrestling. SR: Aw, just breaks my heart, Dross. Boo hoo hoo. I'm _so_ sad. TD: You're incorrigible, Steve Roberts -- but right here next week, we will see Billy Shakespeare take on "The Brat" Bradley Reed! What a match that will be! Welcome back to the IIWF Coliseum, folks, for this second hour of the hottest wrestling action anywhere in the world! We've got four more incredible matches coming your way, including that World Tag Team Championship unification match, the Champions Triangle Match, and that Eight Man Sudden Death Elimination Match! SR: Whoopeedoo. TD: After this next match, it's going to look like a REAL tornado has swept through the Colisseum. Otto Verhoeven, Luke Steele, Highwayman and Serge Annis - each of these men have something to prove in the wake of Ring Wars IV, and they're all gonna be going at it simultaneuosly in a wild four way brawl. SR: Best of all, the match is coming giftwrapped in a no DQ stipulation -- an early Christmas present for all the hardcore nuts out there. Oh man, we're gonna be painting the Coliseum red tonight! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| TORNADO MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven vs. "Real Deal" Luke Steele vs. Highwayman vs. Serge Annis ....................................................................... WRITER: RD [The camera cuts to center ring, where Sparkplug Lee is grinning stupidly at a buxom blonde in the front row. Charmingly, the blonde extends her middle index finger towards the ring, and the Sparkster is shocked back into "professional" mode.] RA: Ladies and Gentlemen, the following contest will be a tornado elimination match! No disqualifications will be recognised, and all four men will be simultaneously legal! Introducing first, hailing from Cleveland, Ohio, and weighing in at 275 lbs, please give a big welcome for the "Real Deal" Luke Steele! [The soulful strains of "I am the Man" by the Philosopher Kings plays over the loudspeakers, as Luke Steele makes his way down the aisle. He has shaved off his goatee, and is attired in plain red tights with "Steele" stitched into the left leg for this evening. The fans' response to the Real Deal's appearence is minimal, and at ringside, a surly looking man holds up a sign reading: "It's a done deal that this is a JOB for Luke Steele." Steele shoots the man an angry glance.] TD: It's a somewhat bitter Luke Steele we're seeing these days, and it's not hard to see why: Despite all of his natural talents -- Steele is incredibly agile for a big man -- he's never been given much of a promotional push by the IIWF administration. SR: Hah! Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he couldn't string two victories togethor, even with the world's biggest ball of twine and a boy scout's guide to knot making! TD: What an analogy! SR: Lemme give you and all the folks at home a little gem of wisdom from the vastly superior mind of the "Soundbite", Dross: A guy like Luke Steele decides to becomes a professional wrestler, and learns all of the eye-candy moves. He gives himself a cute nickname, and lies to the fans about what a great guy he is. He gets a few wins, the media tells everybody how much natural talent he's got, but what this guy doesn't realise is, none of that stuff really matters. None of it is worth a damn once you step between those ropes and into the wrestling ring. What makes a man a winner and a champion is his ruthlessness and killer instinct, that vital ingredient that urges you to destroy your opponent at his weakest ebb, or to keep fighting when you're all busted open and your blood is staining the mat -- that is something that Luke Steele just doesn't possess, and he never will. TD: Well, I think you may be blind to the vast potential of this man, Steve Roberts. Sure, Steele has struggled to make an impact during his IIWF tenure, but not so long ago, he beat the Highwayman for the ESWP Television title, and that's no small feat. He also emerged victorious at Ring Wars IV. I have a hunch that Luke Steele's career may be about to explode in the IIWF. SR: Who gives a damn what goes on in the hick leagues? Steele will be the first man eliminated in this match, I'd stake all of my money on it. [Luke Steele climbs into the ring and begins loosening up, an expression of focused intensity on his face.] RA: Hailing from Leeds, England, and weighing in at 280 lbs, here is the "Highwayman" Adam Smith! [No entrance music greets the arrival of the Highwayman, and the fans are shocked to see him dressed in a ragged pair of jeans rather than his usual colorful attire. Highwayman still sports a three day growth of facial hair, and his hair is hanging loose, greasy and lifeless.  The deep purple/blue bags under his eyes betray a lack of sleep, but the eyes themselves are burning with intensity. The fans greet Adam Smith with a moderate level of heel heat.] TD: This man, Adam Smith, seems to have been traumatised by the break-up of Genesis more than any of his compatriots, and I wonder if he'll ever be able to live up to the bright promise he showed early in his career because of it. SR: Look at this bum, Timbo - he looks as if he hasn't had a wash in weeks! Stop snivelling like a little girl and get your ass into gear Highwayman! [Adam Smith climbs into the ring and retreats straight to his corner, turning his fierce gaze upon Luke Steele across the ring.] RA: Hailing from Ontario, Canada, and weighing in at 291 lbs, here is the "Epitome of Evil", Serge Annis! [The crowd goes silent as the Coliseum lights fade into darkness. There is a brilliant flash as twin showers of sparks shoot up near the entranceway, and red crimosn lights sweep across the aisle. A bell tolls ominously over the loudspeakers, followed by a down-tuned machine gun guitar riff, and Serge Annis steps out into the Colisseum to a huge response from the fans! Annis stalks down the aisle, his eyes bugging out with psychotic menace, many in the crowd heard to jeer him vehemently, but still more cheering him fervently. Annis' body looks like a complete mess. A three inch scar sticks out over his Adam's Apple, huge scars run down each of his arms, and all over his face and body are pockmarked scars from the imprint of barbed wire. Annis is carrying with him a bent and bloodied chair, wrapped around in barbed wire, presumably from Ring Wars IV. The camera cuts briefly to a female fan up in the nosebleed seats, wearing a "Marilyn Manson" T-shirt and about forty pounds of metal in her face, holding up a sign reading: "I Go Psycho for Serge!"] SR: Hah! Marilyn Manson are about as scary as Dakota Bundy's finishing maneuver! I've heard Tibetan Llama quartets with more musical ability than Marilyn Manson. Girl, take those studs outta' yo' face and put on a Parliament LP. Oh yeah. Get the funk down Daddy-O. TD: Well, I'm partial to Garth Brooks myself, Steve. Quite an impressive entrance for Serge Annis. SR: The boys upstairs must be pinning high hopes on Annis if they're spending this much of cash on his entrance. Don't these people realise that the fancier these ring entrances are, the less money there is left in the kitty to spend on booze for the IIWF staff members' end of year party? Just walk down to the damn ring you ingrates! It's not that hard is it? [Annis pauses at ringside, looking around at the frenzied fans, and smirks derogatively. He climbs between the ropes, spreads his arms out in the air, and great jets of flame shoot up from each ring post, sending Luke Steele and Adam Smith scattering out of their corners in shock. Big pop from the crowd!] RA: And finally, hailing from Essen, Germany, and weighing in at 340 lbs, feared across the world as the "German Juggernaut" and the "Teutonic Terror", here is Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven! [The deep chord strains of the "Theme from Halloween" blasts out over the loudspeakers, and the crowd explodes with deafening jeers. The mammoth figure of Otto Verhoeven lumbers down the aisle, beads of moisture running down his face and chest, glaring at the derisive fans. The curvacious Nurse Heidi follows closely in her fiance's wake, drawing appreciative whistles from some of the male members of the audience.] SR: Here we go, this is the man with the duke written all over him. There's no way in hell any of these bums stand a chance of stopping Verhoeven on the warpath. No way in hell. TD: I don't know about that, Steve Roberts. Serge Annis, for one, has demonstrated that he's more than capable of handling himself in a hardcore brawl. I think he might be the man to edge the rest and come out of here with the W tonight. [Nurse Heidi holds the ropes open, and Verhoeven climbs into the ring, eyeing his adversaries with murderous intent. All four men close in on each other ominously, towering over dimunitive referee Dave D'Amato in the centre of the ring. Highwayman clenches and unclenches his fists repeatedly. Luke Steele pounds the flat of his palm with his fist. Otto Verhoeven stares holes through each of his opponent's in turn. Serge Annis just grins like a lunatic. Just as the tension becomes almost unbearable, D'Amato calls for the bell. Ding! Ding! Ding! Immediately, all four men lunge at one another; Verhoeven and Highwayman battering away at each other with clubbing blows; Serge Annis booting Luke Steele hard in the midsection, then blasting him into the mat with a rocker-dropper! The crowd pops in a frenzy! Highwayman's punches falter as Verhoeven dents his head with a particularly nasty uppercut, and gets battered back into the corner under a hail of fists! Annis aims to stomp a hole through a prone Luke Steele, but the "Real Deal" rolls aside and kips up into a flying headbutt, sending the "Epitome of Evil" reeling! Verhoeven drives repeated overhand rights into the head of the Highwayman, who slumps down lifeless against the ropes. The "German Juggernaut" wraps a meaty hand around Smith's throat, heaves him up into the air, and hurls him over the top rope and down to the arena floor! Awed pop from the crowd!] TD: What awesome power from the Butcher! These guys are ripping into each other with a vengeance, and it's hard to envisage this match turning into anything other than a chaotic festival of brawling. SR: Forget the itchikanawak armbars, forget the judo tope norigami suplexes; what we're seeing here is hardcore brutality unleashed! Bring on the juice, baby dolls! [Luke Steele peppers Serge Annis against the ropes with repeated punches to the head and midsection. Annis shakes off the effects and lashes Steele's head back with a lightning quick elbow smash. Verhoeven charges in behind Steele and blasts him across the back of the head with a lacerating clothesline. As Steele careens forward under the impact, Annis ducks out of the way, and the "Real Deal" flys straight over the top rope, joining Adam Smith writhing down on the arena floor! As Verhoeven gloats over the ropes down at his fallen adversaries, Serge Annis sneaks behind him and delivers a hard boot to the small of the Butcher's back. Verhoeven bellows in pain and surprise and whips around with a look of pure psychosis in his eyes. He shoots out a hand and grabs Annis right around the throat, hefting him up until his feet are dangling in the air, and then hurls him over the top rope, right onto both Highwayman and Luke Steele as they struggle to make it to their feet! Verhoeven, pleased with his carnage, stands in the centre of the ring and raises his fists to the heavens, revelling in the heel heat directed at him from all quarters of the Colisseum.] SR: Otto Verhoeven cleans house! What an absolutely ruthless and capable mauler this man is! TD: I think Otto might be in for a little payback though Steve. Check out his opponents down on the arena floor. [Serge Annis, Highwayman and Luke Steele clamber painfully up to their feet, all nursing their bumps and staring blackly up at Otto Verhoeven in the ring. The three men confer briefly and angrily, gesticulating wildly at the Butcher, then break and quickly slide beneath the ring ropes. Highwayman comes at Verhoeven dead on, Annis and Steele flanking him, all three men homing in on the Butcher with deadly intentions! Verhoeven looks taken aback and raises his fists, but he is immediately assaulted from all sides, Annis, Smith and Steele all combining to pummel him with a ferocious flurry of kicks and punches. Verhoeven is soon battered down to the canvas, and his three opponents begin stomping away at him until his body is just a bruised and lifeless carcass. Satisfied with their work, Annis, Smith and Steele drag Verhoeven over to the corner, positioning him on the second turnbuckle. Smith steps out onto the apron and climbs up onto the second turnbuckle himself, his back facing outside the ring. Smith grabs Verhoeven's trunks, and straining under the herculean effort, attempts to hoist him into a vertical superplex. Luke Steele and Serge Annis combine to aid the Highwayman, pushing Verhoeven up, over, into the air... Verhoeven and Adam Smith careen down to the arena floor, locked in the superplex position, and the Butcher's back crashes down into a ringside table, his tremendous bulk shattering it into pieces with a hail of splinters; Highwayman himself slamming into the arena floor with bruising impact! Huge awed and shocked pop from the crowd!] TD: What unbelievable action, folks! What a punishing shot for Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven - superplexed right through that ring side table! SR: Damn that was hardcore! Hardcore to the mutha'[BLEEP]in' heart, baby dolls! Verhoeven must be nothin' but a pile of splintered bones after that one. [Verhoeven lies battered and motionless amidst the wreckage of the table like the statue of Ozymandes. Highwayman attempts to climb up from the arena floor, nursing his shoulder. Luke Steele and Serge Annis each exchange high fives up in the ring, but Serge smirks and boots the Real Deal hard in the gut! Quickly, Annis tucks Steele's head under his arm and rocks backwards, blasting his skull into the mat with a DDT! Annis hooks the leg for the cover, grinning madly: 1 - 2 - Steele manages to kick out! Mild face pop for Steele. Down on the arena floor, Otto Verhoeven is stirring, and the Highwayman drags himself up to his feet, still clutching his injured shoulder. He goes over to the fallen Butcher and begins driving stomps into his head and chest, and Verhoeven jerks spasmodically after each one. Back in the ring, Annis drags the groggy Luke Steele up to his feet, dips into his trunks, and pulls out a sharpened metal shiv. The maniac grins even more broadly, brandishing the shiv in the air for the benefit of the crowd, light glinting off the metal. Annis holds Steele steady by the back of his head, and with a manic laugh, drives the pointed end of the shiv right between his eyes. Steele immediately leaps back, flailing his arms and yelling in pain, blood spurting down his face. Serge lunges in with the shiv once again, this time in a slashing motion, but Steele is able back up sufficiently and avoid the swipe.] SR: Heh! Steele is bleeding like a stuck pig, and Serge Annis looks intent on opening him up even further. Ain't this the greatest? TD: This is a sickening spectacle! How could the fans cheer for this lunatic? SR: We're all violent and sadistic beings at heart, Timbo. Come on, admit it - you enjoy watching mayhem unfold just as much as any of those degenerates in the crowd. TD: The day professional wrestling returns to its roots, to the art of undermining an opponent's defense with debilitating holds and maneuvers, is the day I will be proud to call myself a wrestling broadcaster, Steve Roberts. This isn't wrestling, it's legalised anarchy! [Down on the arena floor, Highwayman drives one last boot into the head of the comatose Otto Verhoeven, and climbs up onto the apron. As the fans pop in anticipation, Highwayman launches himself at the Butcher with a flying double axehandle... but the big man rolls aside at the last moment! Smith flies straight into the steel crowd barriers, catching them right under his chin. He jolts and drops down limp to the arena floor, blood and saliva spilling from out of his mouth. Otto Verhoeven, an expression of ferocity on his face, picks himself up off the arena floor, bits of splintered wood falling from his body, and advances on the Highwayman. Adam Smith shakes his head, his vision swimming, and tries to crawl away from the rampaging Butcher. Verhoeven follows him, shoots out a hand, and grabs Smith by the back of his tunic, dragging him over to the ring steps. Back in the ring, Annis is chasing Luke Steele around from corner to corner, cackling madly and slashing at him with the shiv. Blood now drips not only from Steele's forehead, but from his left arm and chest as well. Meanwhile, Verhoeven pulls Highwayman backwards, then thrusts him forward, planting him face first into the steel ring steps with a sickening thud! Highwayman lolls unsteadilly in Verhoeven's grasp, and the German Juggernaut scoops him up and blasts him over the steps again, this time with a backbreaker! The sound of flesh striking against metal resonates across the Colisseum, and Highwayman rolls off the steps and into a lifeless heap on the floor.] TD: This match is completely out of control! Even in these no disqualification bouts, the referee should still have the power to stop the match when the health and safety of the competitors is at threat. SR: What the hell would be the point of that? The fans pay to see these matches, because they get to see all of their anger and frustration vented out on guys who get _payed_ to risk their health and safety. Once you start placing more power in the hands of the referee, you lose exactly what it is that makes these Tornado matches appealing in the first place. TD: Appealing to blood thirsty goons, not to fans of good, solid scientific wrestling. SR: Yeah, well when Verne Gagne can afford to buy an IIWF ticket, we'll think about changing the format, but until then, let the violence roll on! [Serge Annis has Luke Steele backed into the corner, struggling to stab away at his throat with the shiv, but Steele is holding Annis' wrist, desperately fending away the strike. Down on the arena floor, Otto Verhoeven lifts the steel steps up above his head, and hurls them over the top rope and into the ring at his warring opponents. The steps glance off Serge Annis' shoulder, bounce off, and come to rest in the centre of the ring. In his surprise and pain the Epitome of Evil drops his shiv and backs away from Luke Steele. The Real Deal immediately comes out of the corner with a standing dropkick, depositing Annis to the canvas. Otto Verhoeven dives under the bottom rope and back into the ring, aiming for the steel ring steps. Luke Steele, also recognising the deadly worth of the foreign object, makes a grab for the steps. The two wrestlers each grab a hold of the metal from opposite sides, tugging back and forth, attempting to wrench the steps away and blast their foe into oblivion. Annis, picking himself up after the dropkick, rushes up and also grabs onto the steps, each of the three men striving for possession.] TD: We have to get those steel ring steps out of the ring! Whoever gets a hold of them will have unlimited access to carnage! SR: It looks like Serge Annis will be the one... Annis is pulling the steps away... no wait! Here comes the Highwayman! [Forgotten for the moment by his adversaries, Adam Smith is positioned on the top turnbuckle, blood still running down his chin, his arms outsretched. He leaps through the air, careening into Luke Steele and Otto Verhoeven with a flying double clothesline, bringing both men down atop of Serge Annis in a clumsy pile. Smith is straight back on his feet, grabbing up the steel ring steps to a pop from the crowd. Serge Annis frees himself from the pile up, and is immediately blasted across the skull with a stair shot from the Highwayman. He tumbles backwards into the ropes and three sixties over them right down to the arena floor! Luke Steele punches Otto Verhoeven in the throat and staggers up to his feet, only to be met with another shot from the stair weilding Highwayman! Steele staggers back and flops disentoriated down to the mat, blood now streaming down his body. Otto Verhoeven makes a lunge for the Highwayman, but he too is met with the crushing impact of metal upon skull, and drops like a stone back down to the canvas. The fans pop raucously as Smith tosses the steps aside and pumps his fists to the air!] TD: This time it's Highwayman's turn to clean house! He absorbed a tremendous amount of punishment during the early stages of this bout, but now he could go on to win the whole thing! SR: There's no way Requiem's prime lapdog will hold an advantage over guys like Serge Annis and Otto Verhoeven for very long. It simply isn't in his genetic make-up to be a winner. Hey Highway! Wanna get over the Genesis blues? Just drink lotsa' Kessler's whiskey... keep drinking and drinking and drinking and... TD: Will you stop? This looks dangerous. Serge Annis is up to no good down on the arena floor. [Annis picks himself up at ringside, dusts himself off and stares blackly up at the ring. He goes over to the barriers and retrieves his barbed wire chair, looking at it almost with reverence, and makes for the ring. Otto Verhoeven staggers up to his feet, reels dizzily, and clumsily lunges at the Highwayman. Smith hauls back and busts Verhoeven one in the mouth, then unloads with the heavy artillery, backing Verhoeven up with heavy left and right fists. Luke Steele recovers and advances on Smith from behind, clinching him around the waist and dumping him shoulders first into the mat with a belly to back suplex. Both Steele and Highwayman are straight back to their feet, the former a little faster than the latter, and fastens on a triangle sleeperhold. Immediately, Smith flails his arms through the air as he tries to break the hold, but Steele is applying the pressure. Verhoeven lumbers up and begins to gouge at Smith's eyes, creating an especially painful predicament for the Highwayman! Just then, Serge Annis hits the ring. He strides forward, hauls back with the barbed wire chair, and lambasts Otto Verhoeven across the back with it. Verhoeven immediately howls out with pain and rage, little wounds etched on his back from the imprint of the wire. He whips around to slug Serge Annis, but is met with another stinging shot across the forehead. As Verhoeven staggers aside, Luke Steele releases his grip on Highwayman - who slumps down to the canvas - and backs away from the rampaging Serge Annis. The Epitome of Evil lays a solid chair shot across the chest of the Real Deal, knocking him for six, and leaving tracks across his body from the barbed wire. Frenzied pops from all the hardcore fans in the audience!] SR: Goddamn this man is hardcore! Serge Annis, laying suckas out with the barbed wire buckshot! Ya gotta' love a man who kicks Creed's ass out of a federation. TD: I believe Creed made his decision to leave the IIWF weeks before he was beaten by Serge Annis in that barbed wire bout, but you're right, Steve -- the Epitome of Evil certainly seems to be in his element in this tornado match. [Highwayman shakes off the cobwebs from the sleeperhold and lurches over to Otto Verhoeven, who is slumped against the turnbuckles. Smith grabs hold of Verhoeven by the hair, drags him out of the corner, and thrusts his head forward right into the sweeping chair shot of Serge Annis. The barbs on the chair visibly cut into the flesh of Verhoeven's face, and as he is blasted down to the mat under the blow's impact, droplets of blood fly off and spatter the mat. Highwayman looks over at Serge Annis, a glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes, finding in that brief moment of teamwork the comraderie and fellow purpose they once shared in the Genesis Alliance, so long departed from his life, but suddenly alive again just for a second... then Serge Annis smiles grimly and wallops Highwayman across the head with the chair, the moment destroyed as Smith's falling body strikes the mat.] TD: Oh my goodness! Serge Annis, with one chair shot, completely destroyed the last remaining link of the Genesis Alliance! Their legacy might have slipped away in recent months, but now it is completely and utterly vaporized! I bet Highwayman hoped for more loyalty than that! SR: Loyalty is meaningless in professional wrestling, Timbo. Highwayman was just dead weight to Serge Annis, and the Epitome of Evil would have been a fool to show mercy to such a weak man. Highwayman was a fool to expect such mercy! Way to go Serge, show all these punks that you're your own man from this day forth! [The crowd popping madly with mixed reactions - although it must be said that more seem to be in favour of Annis' actions than not - the Epitome of Evil leans over the fallen body of his former ally, and begins to rub the chair's barbs across his forehead. The pointed wire cuts deep into Smith's flesh, and blood streams from his forehead, mixing with the plasma already trickling from his mouth to create a horrible crimson mask. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, leaps the "Real Deal" Luke Steele, tackling Serge Annis from behind with a Frankensteiner and pumping his skull into the mat! Big pop for Steele's athletic maneuver! Steele immediately goes for the cover on Serge: 1 - 2 - Highwayman lurches over and plucks Steele up into the air, before plunging him back into the canvas with a jacknife powerbomb! Big pop! This time Smith makes the cover on Steele: 1 - 2 - Annis is up and drops an elbow across the neck of Highwayman, disrupting the cover, and makes a pin attempt on both Luke Steele and Adam Smith! D'Amato restarts the count: 1 - 2- Verhoeven charges over and dives atop all three men with a pulverising big splash, disrupting the pin attempt once again! Verhoeven remains atop all three of his opponents for the cover, and for the second time, Dave D'Amato restarts the count: 1 - 2 - ] SR: That's three! TD: No! Luke Steele kicked out right from the bottom! Verhoeven is dislodged, the match is still on! [The four combatants, horribly bloodied, struggle in the pile-up, kicking punching and gouging at one another as they try to regain their footing. All four men clamber to their feet, bashing the stuffing out of each other in a wild four way brawl. Highwayman clobbers Serge Annis with a series of elbows to the temple, while while Otto Verhoeven sends Luke Steele reeling with a right cross. Highwayman charges into Steele with a kneelift, flooring the Real Deal, and Annis leaps at Verhoeven with a clothesline, rocking the big german backwards, but unable to take him off his feet. Highwayman aims a leg drop at Luke Steele's throat, but the Real Deal rolls aside, and Smith slams painfully into the canvas. Steele scoops Highwayman up, and holding him in a vertical position, drives his skull into the mat with a tombstone piledriver. Serge Annis and Otto Verhoeven exchange leaden fists, each man rocking the other back, but seemingly incapable of pressing any solid advantage.] TD: It's almost a frightening sight watching two giants like Otto Verhoeven and Serge Annis pummelling each other like that. There's something towering and majestic about watching these guys trying to dent each other's heads with their fists. SR: I don't care how much Serge Annis has improved in recent weeks, or how hardcore he can get, there's no way he stands a chance slugging it out with Otto Verhoeven. This guy almost became the World Heavyweight boxing champion! You can't argue with that kind of punching power. TD: You might be forgetting, Steve, that Annis has one win over the Butcher already, and there's much more to a wrestling match than simply punching your opponent out. [Otto Verhoeven rocks Serge Annis with a particularly powerful uppercut flush on the jaw, and, grabbing his arm, irish whips him to the ropes. On the rebound, Verhoeven scoops Annis up into the air, and blasts him to the mat with a thunderous powerslam. The breath is almost visibly crushed from Annis' body, and Verhoeven remains atop of him for the cover. Meanwhile, Luke Steele has left the carcass of Highwayman behind, and is positioned up on the top turnbuckle. He leaps through the air, majestically twisting, turning... careening into Adam Smith with a spectacular Shooting Star Press! Awed pop from the fans!] TD: What a stunning display of acrobatics from Luke Steele! That Shooting Star Press used to be his finisher, he's going for the cover, both Highwayman and Serge Annis ripe for the pin almost simultaneously... SR: There's the one count... TD: That's two... Thre... No! SR: Jesus Christ, that was close! Both Serge Annis and Adam Smith kicked out within split seconds of one another! TD: Unbelievable - the staying power of these athletes - it's simply remarkable! [Verhoeven slaps the mat in frustration, gets up, and retrieves Annis' discarded barbed wire chair. Luke Steele drags a groggy Highwayman to his feet, but Smith was playing possum and drives his knee hard into Luke Steele's groin! The Real Deal groans in agony and staggers back stunned. Verhoeven turns to deal with Serge Annis, but the Epitome of Evil has recovered for the slam and has snatched up the steel ring steps Adam Smith discarded earlier in the match! Both men lunge at each other with the foreign objects, chair clashing against steps in mid-air with a dull metal clang! The fans pop anxiously, and Annis and Verhoeven strike out at each other for a second time, but once again, the foreign objects clash togethor in mid-air and stalemate. Meanwhile, Highwayman grabs ahold of the doubled over Luke Steele, and executes a stunning gutwrench suplex, smashing the Real Deal's back into the mat. Highwayman makes the cover: 1 - 2 - Luke Steele kicks out to a surprisingly strong pop from the crowd! Otto Verhoeven and Serge Annis stare at each other balefully for a moment, and then, for the third time, attempt to brain each other with their respective foreign objects. As before, the two strikes serve to parry each other, but this time, one of the chair's barbs catches Annis' hand, and he drops the ring steps with a gasp of pain. Verhoeven wastes no time in pressing the advantage, and hauling back with the chair, cracks it across Serge Annis' skull. Annis whips around under the force of impact, and disentoriatedly attempts to stagger away. Verhoeven comes in from behind, however, and rakes the barbed wire chair across Annis' back, lacerating the flesh and spilling still more blood across the crimson stained canvas.] TD: How much more carnage can these men take and still stay alive?! Each and every one them is staggering and fatigued from the loss of blood, but still they're ripping at each other with abandon! Just unbelievable. Serge Annis must be on the verge of passing out after the carnage Otto Verhoeven has just wraught on his body. SR: I don't think so Timbo! Look deep into his eyes - Serge Annis looks like he's actually enjoying this! What a mad, mad, utter headcase this man is! [Serge Annis' eyes indeed seem to spark with a wild fire as the barbed wire cuts into his back. It is almost as if the pain of the lacerations is imbuing Annis with some kind of freakish adrenaline, and he whips back around to lunge at the Butcher. Verhoeven's chair shot catches Annis across the shoulder, and although the crack of steel against collar bone is painfully audible, Annis keeps on going, barelling in to the Butcher, pushing him backwards and up against the ropes. Each man presses his considerable physique against the other, but Annis manages to clinch Verhoeven around the waist, and attempts to execute a belly to belly suplex. Annis manages to hoist Verhoeven through the air, aiming to send him right over the top rope, but the Butcher refuses to let go of his opponent, and both men come crashing down with splintering force to the arena floor! Awed pop from the crowd! Highwayman, meanwhile, picks Luke Steele up off the canvas and attempts to execute a vertical suplex. Steele digs his heels in, however, and manages to reverse the maneuver, smashing Highwayman's back into the mat. Steele is up to his feet right away, and runs to the ropes, bounding off with an impressive sommersault splash! At the last moment, Highwayman rolls out of the way, and Steele finds himself striking the mat with considerable impact.] TD: It appears that this match has split into two seperate vendettas: Luke Steele and Adam Smith putting on a wrestling clinic, with neither man seemingly able to enforce a continuous offensive; and Otto Verhoeven and Serge Annis, two steel wrecking machines ripping chunks out of each other - now that they're both laid out on the arena floor, who knows who's gonna come out on top. SR: This is just incredible! We've got bloody footprints all around ringside and on the mat, each man in there is bleeding fountains of blood - the winner might very well be the first man _not_ to pass out from the lack of plasma. Awesome stuff, baby dolls! [Otto Verhoeven and Serge Annis scrabble up to their feet on the outside, and doing the only thing left in their battered and bloody bodies there is left to do, begin whaling away at one another with stone handed fists. Annis pummels Verhoeven back towards the aisle with two consecutive uppercuts to the chin, but Verhoeven shakes off the blows like mosquito bites and crashes his fist right into Annis' nose. Back in the ring, Highwayman exhaustedly approaches Luke Steele, dragging him up and blasting him with consecutive short arm clotheslines. After the third stunning strike, Luke Steele lolls senseless in Smith's grip, and the Highwayman scoops him up, smashing him with an across the knee backbreaker. Smith goes for the cover: 1 - 2 - kickout with only split seconds to spare from Luke Steele! The fans, seeming to warm to Steele's impressive performance increasingly over the course of the bout, reward him with a loud pop! Down at ringside, Serge Annis and Otto Verhoeven continue their war, brawling up the aisle, the fans going crazy as the Butcher dishes out wobbly leg inducing knuckle sandwiches to the Epitome of Evil. Undaunted, Serge fights back against the powerful onslaught of Verhoven, and lashes his head back with a forceful palm thrust to the face. Ding! Ding! Ding! Abruptly, the bell rings, and the fans start in surprise.] RA: Ladies and Gentlemen, as the result of a double count-out, both Serge Annis and Otto Verhoeven have been eliminated! This match will now be contested between the two remaining competitors: Adam Smith and Luke Steele! [The fans pop in shock, but Otto Verhoeven and Serge Annis don't even even seem to heed the announcement, continuing to brawl furiously all the way up the aisle. Highwayman drags Luke Steele up in preperation for another short arm clothesline.] TD: What a surprising elimination! Serge Annis and Otto Verhoeven, both considered easy favourites over Steele and Smith, are out of the match! SR: Even in a tornado match, you've gotta keep your wits about ya. Verhoeven and Annis were so intent on destroying one another, they forgot about the count, and now they've paid the price for it. Okay, we can stop the match right now. Who really cares who wins between Highwayman and Luke Steele? TD: Well Steve, judging by the growing response from these fans for these two tenacious competitors, quite a few people _do_ care who wins. [As Highwayman goes to execute his clothesline, Luke Steele suddenly ducks beneath it. Caught off balance, Smith is unable to react as Steele slips behind him, pirouhettes, and blasts him with a floating DDT! Huge pop from the crowd! Smith is comatose down on the mat, and Luke Steele goes for the cover: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Oh my goodness! Luke Steele pulled that DDT right out of nowhere and scored the victory! What a stunning performance from this young man - overcoming such feared competition to emerge triumphant in this tornado match - Luke Steele is surely bound for stardom in the IIWF! SR: I can't believe it! I can't believe a wimp like Steele could possibly win a match of this calibre! I'm off for a Mooselips to recover from the shock of it all. TD: You'll remain right here, Steve Roberts. Listen to the reaction of from the crowd for this young lion, Luke Steele! [The fans pop madly as the referee raises the hand of the battered and bloodied, but undeniably triumphant, "Real Deal" Luke Steele. Steele slips out of the ring and slaps the hands of a few ringside fans, then catches sight of the "It's a done deal that this is a JOB for Luke Steele" sign once again. The Real Deal walks over to the man, snatches the sign out of his hands, rips it in half, and tosses the pieces into the air! Big pop from the crowd! Steele, a huge victory grin on his face, finally heads back up the aisle and out of the Colisseum. Meanwhile, at the entranceway of the opposite aisle, swarms of security guards are attempting to curb the wild, vicious brawling of Otto Verhoeven and Serge Annis.] TD: Oh my! This is a real pier sixer, folks! Here come the Jobber Justice Squad... this is out of control! [The Jobber Justice Squad are less than successful at containing the brawl, but eventually force Annis and Verhoeven apart long enough to get them back to the locker rooms without further incident. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Whoa -- what a match... and what a victory for Luke Steele here tonight! That's going to be one for the ages, folks, make no mistake about it. SR: First the bet, then Kowalski gets pinned by the Meatman, then Blitzsphere, now this damned Steele. This ain't my night, Dross. TD: Perhaps not, Steve Roberts. Folks, up next... hang on. ["I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred blasts over the loudspeakers.] TD: God help us ... [Seadog and Bluto Barnacle come out from behind the curtains.  They're dressed in light blue polyester suits.  They sprint to the ring and bounce off the ropes a little bit.] TD: Well, at least Alex Rio didn't come out here, that's a good sign. [Seadog takes the mic.] SB: CUT THE MUSIC!   I want all you _FAT, _OUT OF SHAPE_, Portland _PISSANTS_ to button your lips, open your eyes, and pay attention to what a _REAL_ man is supposed to look like.  I present to you the _SHOWSTOPPER_, the _ICON_, the _MAIN EVENTER_, and the man with the _BEST ASS_ in the IIWF... I present to you "The Golden Grapple Award Winning" ALEX RIO!  HIT THE MUSIC! [A new opening to his entrance music plays as a woman says "Oh Alex ... look at that ass!"  Then "I'm Too Sexy" starts back up and Alex Rio comes out of the back.  He's wearing a "Right Said Fred World Tour: 1991" half shirt along with a pair of Daisy Dukes to accent his ass.  In his hand he holds the Golden Grapple Award for "Best Ass" as he makes his way to the ring.  He gets into the ring and stands next to the Barnacle Brothers.] SB: Now, Alex... first I'll ask the question that's on everyone's mind right now... How does it feel... to have the "Best Ass" in the IIWF?! AR: [smiles] Well, Seadog... I'd be lyin' if I said this was unexpected, I mean, everyone who walks pasts me comes up to me and remarks on how lovely my ass is.  Just about nine months ago, for instance, I was walking down the sidewalk and guess who walks by? SB: Who? BB: Who? AR: Cyndi Lauper. SB: NO WAY! AR: YES WAY!  I know it's hard to believe, being someone of her calibre, but it's true... anyway, she commented on how lovely she thought my ass was, took me back to her place, and... you know... showed me that girls really do just wanna have fun.  [smiles]  And just a week or two ago, guess what popped out of where I popped in just nine months before? BB: What? AR: A LITTLE LAUPER!  SB: A LITTLE LAUPER?! AR: YES!  A LITTLE LAUPER!  But, this isn't just _ANY_ little Lauper, this Lauper has an _ASTONISHING_ ass!  BB: [gasp] AR: So, now there's a little Lauper running around... with my ass.   Maybe someday he'll be an award winner too.  Hey Dross, I see you admiring it up there, do you wanna look at it?  I know you came home without anything at the awards. SR: [over the headset] Well, of course you did, Dross!  You were competing with ME! TD: [over the headset] Two words, Steve Roberts: Poetry; Quigley. AR: Here, I'll put it down for you to look at for a while.  Just 'cause I'm a nice guy... with a nice ass.  [smiles] [Rio sets the Golden Grapple award at the edge of the ring towards Dross.] AR: There.  Now you can pretend that you didn't come home empty handed. [Suddenly, "Song 2" by Blur blares at an obnoxiously loud level over the speakers.  The crowd murmurs, as this is not the music of anyone in IIWF. Out of the curtains walks none other than Scott "The Fop" Rogers, dressed in full ready wrestling gear, mic in hand.  The crowd boos at his recogition.] SR: [smirking]  You'd like to think you didn't come home empty handed either.  But we all know you went straight home and well... let's just say the lights were out, you had an issue of "Vogue" and you were under the covers... AR: [waving his fingers in an "Ohhh I'm scared" motion]  What's this?  The official "Best Jobber" Award winner?  And he thinks _HE_ can come out here and play the Game with _THE MAIN EVENTER_?  I DON'T THINK SO! [Rio ends his sentence with a crotch chop and a large crowd pop.  Rio thinks it's for him, but in reality it is for the emergence of Richard "Moxy" Blue from the crowd, in an exaggerated "tip toe" fashion.  He wears a denim jacket with an incredibly large arrow pointing to his green spandexed posterior.  His hair is also now dyed... blue.] SR: I know you're lonely, Rio.  But did you have to take away the joy of my poor little friend Richard Blue...? [Blue has crawled, sniper-style, into the ring, and slides over to the "Best Ass" award, grabbing it like an Indiana Jones idol.  The music is so loud Rio doesn't hear him.  Upon seeing Blue, the Barnacle Brothers make their way post haste out of the ring.] TD: [over the headset] They must remember the beating Moxy gave them in his first IIWF win.  Would someone please turn that down? AR: Little friend?  He doesn't have a little ass, that's for sure... it got widened a bit a Leavenworth.  [laughs] [Blue stands up and looks at his rear end, confused.  He pats it, and motions to the crowd in a questioning like fashion, as if to say "it ain't THAT bad is it?"  The female portion of the crowd respond, the male portion laughs.  Rio acknowledges them with a nod of the head.] AR: Rogers, these people don't wanna see you... they wanna see me... and my incredible ass.  So just go on home and start looking for a day job. [Blue bends down and blatantly looks at Rio's ass... and turns away in disgust.  He points to it and shakes his head, the crowd responding with boo's for Rio.] AR: See?  Listen to them!  They're _BOO-ING_ you! [Blue walks up to Rio and sticks his behind in line with Rio's, ignoring him and comparing.  Rio does a double take.  Moxy waves... crowd pop. Rio takes a swipe that goes a mile wide, and Blue bolts out of the ring towards Rogers, and hides behind him.  Rogers tosses Blue the mic who accepts it gracefully with a bow] RMB: Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.  I've made the decision that your keeshter don't even come CLOSE to mine in quality.  Whadda you folks think? [Crowd begins to chant "Moxy, Moxy!"... along with chants of "STEROID FREAK!".  Blue looks pleased, Rogers does not.  The music has faded out.] RMB: [once again slipping into a lisped Cajun accent] Lets just sssay ah wahnt throo a lot of sssweat ahnd teeyars ta geet dis award, ahnd ahza gonna keep it, mon amie. Dis is yar feerst warning... da spotlight een IIWF beelongs on une garcon... moi. [Rogers elbows Blue in the ribs.] RMB: I mean one man.  And that's MOXY BLUE!  Mota's lost his touch, Shakespeare is a hypocrite and Petrow is too scared of me.  So, I gotta pick up the shackles of being the centre of attention!  And I'm just tryin' to save you, boy, being Moxy Blue ain't easy you know, I'm just trying to stop you from becoming an RMB wannabe.  So you be a good fella and stay away from OPP.  Oh and by the way ... damn, I'm good! [Blue bolts out of the area before Rio can react.  Rogers slowly follows.] SR: You know, if Blue wasn't hanging out with an ex-Culture Club and Rio didn't put the moves on Snow White, I might like these guys.  Right now I'd just like them sniff gas till they see God.  Or on second thought, till they see me. TD: The fans seem sorta divided.  This is just too bizzare.  Well, Blue got his award back, and now ... Rio is going after it!  He's backstage. We don't have time to give you footage as our next match will soon be underway -- and it's the World Tag Team Championship Unification Match! Let's get up to the ring. SR: Aw, wake me up when they shake the Boggle container and find out which combination of those four guys are teammates. TD: Very funny, Steve.  Everyone saw what happened at Ring Wars IV when Harle-Spell and the Cold 'Quins faced off.  Neither team was able to work well with each other, so we're back to the original teamings of Cold Spell and the Harlequins. SR: Personally I thought Potato Famine had the stuff legends are made of, Dross.  It's a sad day when a great tag team splits up like that. TD: You're just full of them tonight, aren't you? SR: I guess it's bein' back in Portland that does it.  So many jokes, so few appearances by the gay guys. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| "WINNER TAKES ALL" TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Harlequins vs. Cold Spell ....................................................................... WRITER: MB [Sparkplug enters the ring, and as has been the case all night, receives a loud cheer.  Acting like the returning hero, 'Plug walks around the ring and waves to each side of the arena.  And for once, he remains on his feet.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is for the IIWF World Tag Team Championship! [Loud pop] Whichever team wins this match will become the undisputed World Tag Team Champions.  Introducing first, at a total combined weight of 500lbs, from Oulo, Finland, Icehawk!  And from Rogers City, Michigan, Edmund Fitzgerald!  Together, they are known as COLD SPELL! ["The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" starts to play over the speaker system, and the crowd goes wild with a face pop for the former Genesis tag team.  Fitz walks out first, tagging a row of fans at ringside, while behind him Icehawk carries his half of the tag team championship over his shoulder.  Cold Spell steps into the ring, and Icehawk hands his belt to the referee, who lifts it over his head and displays it to the crowd.] SR: So far this looks exactly like Ring Wars, Dross.  Does that mean we'll get to see a rematch between Thunder and the Outlaw later? TD: I doubt it. At least Icehawk seems to have shrugged off the effects of that liquid -- whatever it was -- he took in the eye from Musashi in the Climb The Ladder match earlier tonight. SL: And their opponents... Accompanied to the ring by Harlequins Melody and Comedy, and weighing in at a total combined weight of 564 pounds, here are Tragedy and Chaos... THE HARLEQUINS! ["#1 Crush" by Garbage begins to play out of the PA system, and the foursome of Harlequins appear to a loud pop, as loud as the one received by Cold Spell minutes earlier.  Tragedy leads the way, belt firmly around his waist, and the rest of the 'Quins follow one after the other.  Trag and Chaos step through the ropes, and the other half of the tag team champions removes his title and hands it the referee.  Both belts in the possession of the referee, the bell rings as they are then handed to a ringside technician.] TD: Here we go, the match that's been building for months!  Harlequins against Cold Spell! [Starting off are Chaos and Icehawk for their respective (and intact) teams. They lock up, and Icehawk goes right to work on the leg of Chaos with a couple of quick kicks, and then a legsweep to the mat.  He grabs the leg and buries his knee into it a few times before hooking in a half Boston right away, which forces Chaos to the ropes.  The hold is broken, but Icehawk drags him right back off the ropes and reapplies the half boston, all the while yelling to Tragedy on the outside about how the 'Quins "couldn't beat Cold Spell when you had each of us as a partner!".  This causes Tragedy to enter the ring for an attack, but the referee is quick to push him back to the corner, while Icehawk laughs it up.  He releases the hold and tags out to Fitz, holding the leg in place for Edmund Fitzgerald to execute an elbow drop into the leg.  Chaos winces at the pain, and Fitzgerald takes over from Icehawk and puts Chaos into a full Boston crab. He's too close to the ropes to keep it on for any length of time, as the Harlequin member again forces the break with the ropes.  Fitz pulls Chaos to his feet (or foot at any rate), and whips him into the ropes.  On the return, Fitz takes a shoulderblock to the mat, gets up and receives a kneelift.] TD: Cold Spell's plan of action seems to be working thus far, but the Harlequins could pull off the win at any time, they've shown that before. SR: You don't suppose the gay guys are still secretly aligned with that steroid with feet, Rogers, do you? TD: Probably not Steve, but stranger things have happened. SR: Yeah, look at this Quigley-Macbeth deal.  Who'd have guessed Quigley'd have the guts to show his face here tonight? [Suddenly, the lights in the arena turn off, and the entire building is enveloped in darkness.]     What the hell's going on?  Is Deathbringer here? TD: The lights are out, who knows what's happening in the ring?! SR: I pity Chaos, it's never a wise idea to be caught in the dark with a gay guy. TD: Stop that, Steve Roberts! [The lights come back on, a few seconds after they go out, as Fitz has Chaos locked into an indian deathlock.  But the crowd is more interested in what's happening in the aisleway.] TD: There's the Machines! And the Natural Predators!  They're going at it tooth and nail in the aisle. SR: Look at what's at their feet, Dross.  It's the tag titles! [True to the Soundbite's words, the tag team titles lay at the feet of the Machines and Predators, as both teams are in the process of putting the hurt on each other.  Back in the ring, Chaos has managed to tag out and bring Tragedy in for a little doubleteaming.  They whip Fitz to the ropes and give him a double clothesline, prompting Icehawk to enter the ring and throw Chaos over the top rope.  Icehawk and Tragedy lock up even though Icehawk's not the legal man, and then start to beat each other with fists, much like the other teams in the aisle.  Fitz rolls Tragedy up from behind and gets a near three count, but Trag kicks out in time.  Icehawk leaves the ring again, and Fitz pulls Trag up into a headlock, then headbutts him and begins to execute an armbar submission.  Chaos nails Fitz to make the save from out at ringside, to which the referee is completely oblivious.] TD: That was a cheap shot by Chaos, but so was that rollup by Fitz before.  Each team just dislikes the other one, it's as simple as that. SR: Who'd have guessed three months ago that the Harlequins would be homophobic?  Who'd have guessed that Cold Spell were deathly afraid of clowns?  The IIWF has something for everyone, fans of all ages. TD: You're disgusting, Steve. [As Paul Wong and Wolf continue the fight in the aisle while their partners do so likewise closer to the locker rooms, Eddy Ramos and Alex Porteaux walk down the aisle to a heated response from the crowd and swipe the belts up off the floor.] SR: It's Damage Inc.!  Ramos and Porteaux are out to claim their belts. TD: In all fairness to the Harlequins and Cold Spell, Damage Inc. only has a shot at the titles.  They didn't win the belts. SR: They will soon enough. [Both teams are still too wrapped up in each other to care about the other six men out in the arena, as now Fitz, Chaos, Tragedy and Icehawk have all entered the ring.  Icehawk dives off the top rope and flattens Tragedy with a flying cross bodypress into a rollup for the pin.  Trag kicks out, and Chaos kicks Icehawk in the head, only to take a clip to his knee, and then be caught in an STF hold by Fitz.  Icehawk pulls Tragedy up by the head and whips him to the ropes, then dropkicks him in the face, exits the ring and bounces off the ropes with a springboard somersault splash.  Icehawk covers Tragedy, and the referee's hand slaps the mat three times, ending the match.] TD: It's over, and Cold Spell wins! SR: Aw, this really means no more Potato Famine. TD: I think that boat sailed a long time ago.  Regardless, Edmund Fitzgerald and Icehawk are your new tag team champions. [Porteaux and Ramos, having watched the end of the match up close, wait until the Harlequins make their exit, and then enter the ring, each carrying a belt.  They stare at the champions silently for a moment, and then drop the belts at Cold Spell's feet without any words.  They leave, and Cold Spell is left to wonder what that was all about.  They don't let it bother them for long, as Icehawk makes the customary trip around the ring hi-fiving the fans that all new champions take.  Fitz is a little more laid-back but still celebrates the title win, and after a short celebration Icehawk borrows the microphone from Sparkplug.] IH: First off, I would like to thank the fans for accepting us again.     This is for you. And I want to congratulate Damage Inc. Wednesday,     tell us when you want us, and we will be there with bells on.     But that's not who I am talking to right now. I'm talking to the     so-called "Best Tag Team In The World." That's right, I mean you,     Prophets. Everyone says that you are the biggest dogs on the porch     right now. Well, I don't think so! Because I know that you can't     beat us. You've had two chances in front of the whole world, and you     couldn't get the job done! The first time, you needed Violence     Unlimited to save your worthless butts, and the second time, we beat     you and took away your precious tag titles.     And now we've got those titles again. If you think you are the     best... come and get them. [Icehawk tosses the microphone back to Sparkplug, and then straps his belt around his waist, before leaving ringside with Fitz. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What was all that about? Not content with facing Damage Inc., which may be as soon as next week, Cold Spell are calling out the Prophets of Rage! SR: The gay guy's got an over-inflated opinion of himself, Dross. Cold Spell won't make it past Damage Inc., let alone past the Prophets. TD: Well, that remains to be seen -- and we will find out this coming Wednesday just when Damage Inc. want their title shot. Okay, Steve Roberts, it's the moment you've been waiting for all night -- I'm going up to the ring to interview Chris Quigley. SR: Aw, dammit, Dross. Will you just quit with this whole Quigley thing?! TD: Don't forget, folks -- this coming Tuesday, on "Inside the IIWF", Steve Roberts recites poetry to Chris Quigley! SR: Dross, you're really starting to bug me, buddy. Don't make me hurt you. TD: Okay, I'm going up to the ring. Don't go away, Steve. [Dross leaves the broadcast position and, taking a microphone from the timekeepers' table, climbs into the ring.] TD: Ladies and gentlemen... at Ring Wars IV he somewhat controversially defeated Duncan Macbeth due to outside interference from Steve Manning... he is the IIWF Intercontinental Champion... please welcome "QUICKSTRIKE" CHRIS QUIGLEY! [The heated chords of "For Those About to Rock" blast through the arena as the crowd responds with a solidly mixed pop, obviously some fans angered at how he defeated Macbeth just two weeks ago.  Quigley emerges from behind the curtain wearing his ring attire, covered by a leather jacket and his silver shades, the IIWF Intercontinental Title belt fastened around his waist.  The champion slaps the hands that are willing to slap his on the way down the aisle, before rolling underneat the bottom rope and standing up next to Dross as the music fades.] TD: Well, Chris Quigley, I think the response from the fans here tonight says it all.  [another mixed pop]  There are many people unhappy with how you defeated Duncan Macbeth at Ring Wars IV, and I would suggest you may be one of them. CQ: [nods]  Ring Wars IV was undeniably one of the most difficult nights of my life.  Not just my match with Macbeth, but seeing my friend Steve Manning in his true light.  He showed me he's the rotten apple in the Manning family, and when your brother is Kurt Manning... that's not an easy accomplishment.  But in regards to the match itself.  Duncan Macbeth showed me a thing or two, there's no doubt about it.  He was better than I gave him credit for, but then again, that's really what I expected.  What I didn't expect is to go in there and have my biggest move, my finishing hold completly nullified because of a fake knee brace.  Macbeth can go on and on about how Steve Manning cost him the title, and that's arguable anyway, but what he did was low-down and cheap as well. SR: [over headset] Oh whine... whine.... whine.... TD: There are some that would say it was a sound strategy... CQ: A sound strategy would be to convince me he injured his knee, and then run down the aisle taking me completly off guard.  Wearing an illegal device on your knee to absorb the pain of a wrestling hold is _not_ a fair strategy, and Macbeth won't even admit that much.  He's crowing about how I'm a legend in my own mind and that he beat me from pillar to post.  He even went so far as to call me a paper champion.  You told me, if I wanted to do it again, all I had to do was give the word.  Here's your cue, Macbeth.  Right here!  Right now!  [crowd pops!] TD: Chris... you're competing in that big Champion vs. Champion vs. Champion triangle match later tonight, and I expect to see you in the Cruiserweight battle royal as well! CQ: I don't give a damn.  If he wants a piece of me, he knows where to find me. [All of a sudden the lights fade, and the fans erupt, thinking maybe Duncan Macbeth is answering the challenge... until "The Frayed Ends of Sanity" by Metallica starts up.  The crowd sees the disturbed Steve Manning come from behind the curtain and lets loose with a chorus of booes.  Manning, who is grinning quite evilly, is wearing jeans and a black t-shirt simply reading "You Suck.  'Nuff Said!"  He has a cigarette between his lips, obviously not a firm believer in the Surgeon General's warning.  After cursing and swiping at a number of IIWF fans, he climbs into the ring, and confronts Quigley and Dross as his music fades out.] TD: Stev... SM: [interrupting]  Shaddup!  TD: Oka... SM: [interrupting]  Shaddup!  [Pause.]  SM: That's better!  Now, first of all, Mr. Fighting Champion, get a hold of yourself.  You ain't fighting Macbeth tonight, so why even challenge him?  Second of all.... [Quigley grabs the microphone from Dross, cutting off Manning's second point.] CQ: Listen, you lying son of a bitch, I don't need you out here telling me how to defend my title.  I don't need you at ringside _helping_ me defend my title.  If it doesn't happen tonight, I'll fight Macbeth next week.  There'll be no so-called cripples at ringside, there'll be no phony kneebraces, and there _will_ be a clear winner!  [Crowd pops as Manning raises his eyebrows, as if to say "Oh, really?"] CQ: Now, I suggest you get outta my face before I throw you out of this ring. [Manning raises his hands defensively, then for no reason, flicks his cigarette in Dross's face.] SM: Wait just a minute.  When did I become the enemy?!  I was only trying to help you out!  You've gotten soft!  What happened to the old "Living Hell" motto?  You don't win wars by dying for your country; you win wars by making the other poor bastard die for his country.  You forgot that!  I wanted to give you a hand!  You know what I'm capable of! SR: [over headset]  Becky LaRue does too... CQ: I know you're capable of lying, and wheeling yourself around taking sympathy from everyone who sees you for an entire year.  Answer me this: why did you lie to everyone?  Why did you lie to me and your family? SM: Why do ya think?!  I couldn't take that old man and his Goddammned pressure for one more second.  Be the best.  Never lose.  Don't be a quitter.  Hell, you thrived on that sorta thing, which leads me to believe there's seriously something wrong with you.  But me... I couldn't take it.  No one tells Steve Manning what he can and cannot do.  But... why don't _you_ answer _me_ this:  Why are you so concerned with my family?  If you consider me to be a little brother... aren't you dating your little sister? [Crowd gives a heel pop at that remark, as estatic laughter can be heard over Steve Roberts' microphone.  Quigley glares at Manning, attempting to control himself.] SM: Think about it.  When was the last time your parents saw you wrestle?  Why is it your at our house for Thanksgiving?  Why are you at _our_ house for Christmas?  Do you ever _talk_ to your poor family anymore? [Quigley's eyes remained focused in an icy glare at Steve Manning.  As Dross moves the microphone to Quigley's mouth, his gaze doesn't shift for even a second.] CQ: My family isn't interested in professional wrestling.  Subsequently, they're not interested in me. SR: [over the headset] Aw, my heart bleeds. [Quigley shakes some cobwebs out of his head, as if suddenly coming to the realization that his stony exterior has been penetrated for a brief moment, that he almost opened up, almost let an emotion escape.] CQ: And I don't need them.  And I don't need you.  I don't need your family.  I don't need anybody except for "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley... the IIWF Intercontinental Champion.  Paper champion my ass... I've got the two other "champions" of the IIWF in one ring tonight... we'll see who the paper champion is.  Thunder... Turner.... get ready for hell. [Quigley turns and walks out of the ring, obviously angered as "For Those About to Rock" fires up again.  The crowd responds more positively towards Quigley this time, after his agreement to give Macbeth a rematch.] SM: Cut the music! [The music fades, as Quigley disappears behind the curtain.] SM: I almost forgot to gloat! [Manning lets out a gleeful, yet chilling laugh.] SM: The poor little cripple.  Everyone tipped me over and made their jokes.  I've got just one word.  It may not mean much to you right now, but when I'm through, it will have a whole _new_ meaning.  Revenge.  _Revenge_!  REVENGE! [Manning pauses... takes a deep breath.... then shoves Tim Dross to the mat, jumps in the air, and laughs like a mad scientist creating a monster.  Manning then grabs Tim Dross, and lifts him up by the collar, and raises his hand at the frightened broadcaster.]  SR: [over the headset] This is getting better all the time!  Nail 'im!  Nail 'im! [As Manning looks about ready to hit Dross, El Super Gecko, Scott "The Whine" Bloom, and "Nifty" Ned Norton of the Jobber Justice Squad hit the ring, and tackle Manning, breaking his grip on Dross' collar.  Dross scampers out of the ring and back to the broadcast table, as the Jobbers attempt to hold Steve Manning down... to no avail.  An angered Manning gets to his feet and proceeds to deliver a groinshot to all three wrestlers, doubling them over.  Manning grabs Gecko and executes a "Brainshock" squaredriver.  He does the same to Bloom and Norton, until the jobbers are spread out on the mat unconscious.  Manning takes in his destruction, laughs, and then vaults over the top rope and climbs into the crowd, disappearing before security hits the ring.  The paramedics also get into the ring to help the wrecked jobbers, as the camera pans back to the broadcast table.] TD: [still breathing hard]  That young man has serious issues and he needs to be restrained! SR: I dunno, Dross.  I'm startin' to get a bit of a soft spot for the sick little bastard. TD: Well, we'll see Chris Quigley in action against Brody Thunder and Timothy N. Turner after this next match -- the Eight Man Tag Team Sudden Death Elimination Match! SR: Sounds like one of those Japanese matches, but it's nowhere near as interesting, Dross. TD: Well, there are no exploding mines or thumb tacks in this match, Steve Roberts -- just eight tremendous athletes in two teams of four. The match proceeds like a regular tag team match until one team loses a pinfall, at which point the entire team is eliminated. From that point on, it's an elimination match with the four remaining members of the winning team -- and the last man standing wins! It's going to be wild -- and it's only in the IIWF! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| EIGHT MAN TAG SUDDEN DEATH ELIMINATION MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Lord Byron, Tony Starks, Subway Psycho & Mark Destructo vs. Duncan Macbeth, Billy Shakespeare, "Savage" Shadoe Rage & "To Excess" Rick Williams ....................................................................... WRITER: MS [Sparkplug Lee enters the ring, and checks his watch.  Unfortunately, he forgot about the cup of soda that he's holding in the same hand he has his wristwatch on, and Dr. Pepper spills onto his suit.  After a few futile moments of trying to clean up with his hands, he gives up and begins.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, this eight-man elimination match will be for a shot at the IIWF World Title!  [The crowd goes nuts.]  The match will be an eight-man elimination tag match until one team is completely eliminated. At that point, all remaining members of the winning team will then battle each other until one man is left standing.  Team number one weighs a combined total of 1159 lbs.  Introducing first, from the Subways of New York City, here is the SUBWAY PSYCHO! ["Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne starts up, and the former IIWF Champion walks down the aisle, signalling that he wants a second title reign.  He enters the ring to a huge response.] SL: His partner, currently residing in New Orleans, Louisiana, is LORD BYRON! [The "Intermezzo" of the "Karelia" Suite starts up, but no one enters the aisle.] TD: I guess Lord Byron decided not to appear. SL: I knew it!  He's a coward. TD: I'm sure Lord Byron felt that he couldn't... SR: Exactly.  He couln't handle it.  The Butcher has utterly destroyed the man.  If he can't make it for a World Title shot, then he really is a spineless coward.  Chalk up another corpse for Verhoven. [After a few moments, Byron's music fades to "boo"s from the crowd, and "Money" by Pink Floyd starts up.  A huge monster of a man, wearing black trunks with "DCI" on them, brown hair, and a goatee enters walks downt he aisle.  He stares straight into the ring as Sparkplug continues.] SL: Their... ummm, his partner, from Atlanta, Georgia, is making his IIWF debut.  Here is MARK DESTRUCTO! [Destructo enters the ring as "Money" fades and "C.R.E.A.M." by the Wu-Tang clan starts up.] SL: The last partner of team one hails from Staten Island in New York, here is TONY STARKS! [Wu-Tang keeps playing, but...] TD: Where's Starks? SR: Maybe he's looking for Byron.  Try the yellow pages, under cowards. TD: Destructo and the Subway Psycho are in serious trouble.  With neither Lord Byron or Tony Starks, they are outnumbered four to two for the first part of the elimination match. SR: Byron's useless.  But without Starks, they don't have a prayer. [Lee shrugs again, spilling what was left of his soda onto his shoes.  He sighs and continues.] SL: The opposing team weighs a combines total of 1,005 pounds.  From Halifax, Nova Scotia, here is "SAVAGE" SHADOE RAGE! [Rage's "Death Markh" starts, and he walks to the ring, staring intently at his opponents.  Seeing the number in the ring, he silently grins as he enters.] SL: His partner, also making his IIWF debut, hails from Minneapolis, Minnesota, here is "TO EXCESS" RICK WILLIAMS! [As "Local Hero" by Mark Knopfler begins, Williams walks down.  His long black hair flows over his shoulder, and he smirks at the crowd.  Chewing hus gum the entire time, he watches his opponent in the ring.] SL: Their partner, from Glenfinnan, Scotla... [He gets no further.  "Scotland the Brave" begins, and the crowd completely drowns out any sound with their cheers as Duncan Macbeth walks to the ring.  One group of fans sits in the front row, wearing Scottish Tartans.  He grins and acknowledges the cheers as he enters the ring. Finally, the crowd dies down enough for Sparkplug to finish his job.] SL: And the last member of the team hails from Ashland, Oregon.  He is "Born to Perform", "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare! ["Little Willie" by Sweet starts up, and a single spotlight focuses on the emerging Shakespeare.  Although not as loud as for Macbeth, the crowd still loudly supports Shakespeare.  He walks about four steps when...] TD: Tony Starks!  He's got a chair, and is repeatedly smashing it over Shakespeare's head! SR: It was necessary.  Byron's flown the coop, and Starks needed to even the odds.  Of course, it is only Shakespeare, but... [The other five men in the ring see the assault.  Shakespeare's teammates try to help him, but Mark Destructo clotheslines Shadoe Rage, and the Subway Psycho nails an axehandle on Rick Williams.  That leaves only Duncan Macbeth to leap out of the ring and tackle Tony Starks.  Starks and Macbeth brawl as the officials come out to check on Billy Shakespeare and order everyone else to return to the ring.  The officials at first head Shakespeare to the back, but he shoves them aside and joins Macbeth back into the ring.] TD: Shakespeare looks shaken up, but he'll continue with the match. SR: Doesn't matter.  Starks made it a level playing field again. [Meanwhile, the referee order Destructo and Rage nto the corners, leaving the Subway Psycho and "To Excess" as the legal men in the ring.  The veteran and the rookie lock up, and Psycho grabs him in a headlock.  A handful of hair pulls him back to the ropes, and he is shoved off, where "To Excess" greets him with a backdrop.  Rick Williams then picks him up and bodyslams him over by his corner, where he tags in Shadoe Rage.  Rage tells Williams to hold him in a full nelson, then clobber the Psycho with a double axehandle from the top turbuckle.] TD: Rage's tag team experience is helping him out here, as he and Rick Williams use some doubleteaming on the Subway Psycho.  [Rage picks him up for a powerslam, and makes a cover.  The Psycho quickly kicks out at one, and Rage stomps him twice before picking him up for a powerbomb.  Psycho follows through, and uses the momentum to flip over and land on his feet, then shocks Rage with a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker. Psycho doesn't cover, and instead heads over to his corner, tagging in Tony Starks.  Rage reaches up and also tags out to the closest man, Rick Williams.  Williams and Starks lock up, and Rick Williams quickly maneuvers into a hammerlock, then drives Starks to the mat by applying pressure on the arm.] TD: Nice move by Williams. SR: Yeah, the long-haired rookie has a little potential.  But trying to work submission holds on Starks is like trying to match the Smooth plate for plate at Brenda's BBQ Buffet; not a good idea. [Williams drives his knee into the arm of Tony Starks and continues to twist it.  "To Excess" is rather proud of himself, and with his other arm, pulls back on the neck of Tony Starks.  The referee starts to ask for a submission, but he takes one look at Tony Starks and decides against it. Starks grabs a rope, causing the referee to order a break.  Williams releases at four and a half, then turns and argues with the referee about a fast count.  When he turns back to his opponent, Starks is standing and ready to pounce...] TD: Fugiwara armbar!  Starks just surprised Williams by applying it that suddenly, and has it locked in. SR: Rookie mistake.  Too bad Williams is too close to the ropes, or we'd be down one man. [Williams, despite the pain, wraps his legs around the bottom rope.  The referee starts counting 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - Starks isn't letting go, and the referee is about to call a disqualification when the Subway Psycho and Mark Destructo enter the ring.  Before the referee can make a motion, they pull Starks off his opponent, then convince him to go back to the corner.] TD: What in the world was Tony Starks thinking?  He was about to be disqualified, and lose his chance at the World Title shot. SR: Maybe he just wanted to hurt the rookie some more.  It looks like Destructo is staying. [Williams gets up, still holding his arm, and doesn't see his fellow newcomer standing behind him.  He does see his world turn upside down as Destructo picks him up and plants him in a belly-to-back suplex, then goes for a cover.  Williams kicks out at one, and is driven to the corner by Destructo.  Destructo pelts him with a series of fists, then whips him to the opposite corner.  Destructo charges after him, but Williams manages to lift a knee into the big man's midsection, then drops him with a Diamond Cutter.  Williams then dives over to his corner and tags in Duncan Macbeth to a rousing cheer from the audience.] SR: Let's see... big rookie stomps the long-haired rookie, until a lucky move comes along.  Now let's see how the big guy handles a Major League player. TD: Is he your favorite to win the match? SR: There's only three real contenders in the ring.  You've got the Scotsman, Starks, and Rage.  Outside of that, you have the has-been, two rookies, and the two no-shows, Byron and Shakespeare. TD: Shakespeare's still... never mind. SR: Now, Rage and Macbeth are on the same team, so they can double-team Starks.  And while Rage is going to be great, he's still trying to shake off that funky odor of being a tag team wrestler.  Give it to Macbeth, but take the points. [While Soundbite gives his explanation, Macbeth and Destructo are exchanging blows in the center of the ring.  Macbeth take advantage with a flying clothesline, and knocks the big man around for a while.  Then Duncan Macbeth goes for a crucifix, and Destructo grimaces, keeps his balance, and sends Macbeth to the mat with a Somoan drop.  He heads over to his corner and tags in the Subway Psycho, who climbs to the top rope and legdrops the Scotsman, then covers for a two count.] TD: Is it just me, or does Tony Starks look upset that Destructo tagged in Psycho over him? SR: Starks isn't happy unless he's hurting someone.  I like that.  But he should rest and let his partners takes the brunt of the damage. [Psycho climbs up to the top turnbuckle, and leaps off with an axehandle to the back of Macbeth, then covers for another two-count.  A belly-to-back suplex, vertical suplex, and gutwrench suplex follow, each earning a two-count from the referee.  Psycho decides to head up to the top turnbuckle again, stands on the ropes, turns arounds, and launches with a moonsault that hits... nothing.  Macbeth rolls out of the way. Neither man moves for a few seconds, until Macbeth sits up, and starts to head over to his corner.  The former IIWF World Champion trips him up with a drop-toe hold and drags the Scotsman over to his corner, where the outstretched hand of Tony Starks is there.  The Psycho tags in Mark Destructo, bringing in the rookie.] TD: It doesn't look like either Destructo or the Subway Psycho trust their partner.  Neither one wants to tag in Tony Starks. SR: Well, sure, Starks is a psychotic sadist.  And yeah, it looks like he'll be disqualified trying to kill one of the guys if he gets into the ring right now.  But look on the bright side... maybe he'll succeed with Pukespeare. [Destructo starts dropping forearms on the back of Macbeth.  When you weigh 370 pounds, forearms hurt, as Duncan could vouch.  Destructo then whips Macbeth to the ropes. but the Scottish wrestler ducks under a clothesline, then rebounds with a bulldog.  Macbeth grabs Destructo's leg, and drags him over to his corner, tagging in Billy Shakespeare.  In the corner, Starks and the Subway Psycho keep exchanging words, until...] TD: Tony Starks just hopped off the ring apron!  He's giving the Subway Psycho the finger, and starting to head back to the locker room. SR: Is Starks an idiot?  He's throwing away a shot at the World Title, because his partners won't tag him in?  Read the contract, Tony.  If your partners want to take the abuse, let them.  Wait, and they'll be easy targets later.  What in the world is wrong with that SOB?! [Tony Starks hears Soundbite's comments, and turns around, jawing at the announcing desk.  The microphones don't pick up what he says, but Tim Dross turns a bright shade of red.] SR: Brave words from a guy running from a match because they won't let him play. [Starks walks towards the announcers' desk.  Tim Dross starts to bolt, but Roberts grabs Dross' shoulder and shoves him back into the seat, then motions off to the side.  Two huge, burly men, each wearing shirts that read "Lil' Soundbite Special Forces", walk over and stand between Starks and the announcers' desk.] SR: After Requiem decided to make a name for himself by going after yours truly, I decided I wanted some help.  I mean, sure I could take out any two-bit punk.  But I might just scar up my face, and then what would all my female Soundbiters do?  They've got needs, baby!  So I called up Maurice and Little Jim here, and... [Tony Starks doesn't hesitate.  He immediately jumps Little Jim, trying to reach Soundbite.  As the Little Soundbiters go nuts, Maurice helps out, and the two pound on Tony Starks.  Starks continues to fight back, and grabs a nearby chair.  By now several officials have come down to the announcer's table, along with Kevin "The Cavalier" Christiansen.  The Cavalier yanks Starks away and hollers at him to go back to the locker room.  Starks and Christiansen engaged in a staredown, but the Cavalier is accidentally knocked down by a stumbling Little Jim. Starks quickly moves over, and applies the Katha Jime on Christiansen.  The officials have finally calmed down the big men from the "Special Forces", and try to separate Starks from Christiansen.] TD: We've got chaos over here!  Starks has that devastating armbar on the Cavalier, who was only trying to calm things down.  It looks like Starks is trying to cripple the Cavalier. SR: Just as well.  Do you know how much I lost when they played Charlotte? TD: Steve, why don't your men go after Starks now? SR: Now?  He's not bothering me now.  What's going on in the ring? [All of the wrestlers in the ring have split their attention between the match and watching teh brawl on the announcer's desk.  Finally, Shadoe Rage shakes his head, hops off the apron, and heads over to Starks and Christiansen.  He pulls on Starks, and finally Starks releases the Katha Jime.  As Christiansen holds his arm, Starks stands up, then turns and swings at Shadoe Rage.  Instead of retaliating, Rage shakes his head, says "No way!", and walks back to his corner.  Starks walks back to the locker room, as several officials help Kevin Christiansen back to the first aid station.] TD: Starks has gone insane.  First the chair, then walking out, the attack on us, then the Cavalier... and now he's trying to attack his own stablemate?  What's going on? SR: What's going on?  Simple.  Tony Starks is a crazy son of a biscuit, and he just proved it tonight.  It's a good thing Little Jim and Maurice stopped me from having to hurt him. TD: While all of this has been happening, I've completely lost track of the match. SR: I'll recap.  Basically, the has-been and the big rookie are trying to take on four guys, and they've actually been doing good.  The big guy has thrown around Pukespeare and the long-haired rookie, and has even stayed toe to toe with rage and Macbeth.  The big guy has potential.  Of course, then he tags in the has-been, and the teams in trouble again.  [The Subway Psycho and Billy Shakespeare are in the ring.  Psycho sends Shakespeare into the ropes, and goes for a backdrop, but Shakespeare leaps over for a sunset flip and a count of two.  Psycho gets up first and starts kicking away at Shakespeare, then throws him into Psycho's corner, where Mark Destructo greets Shakespeare with a thunderous right hand.  To Destructo's shock, Shakespeare gets back up and nails Mark Destructo with several fists of his own, then climbs the turnbuckle, grab Destructo's head, and uses the top rope to clothesline Destructo as Shakespeare falls.  "Spotlight" turns around, only to be nailed by an atomic drop from the Subway Psycho.  Psycho throws Shakespeare out of the ring, then runs across and does a somersault plancha over the ropes and onto the floor, right where Shakespeare use to be.  Shakespeare enters the ring and tags in "To Excess" Rick Williams, who climbs onto the top turnbuckle and delivers a double axehandle to the Subway Psycho.] TD: The Subway Psycho's in serious trouble, and if he's eliminated, Mark Destructo would have to go through four men to win the title shot.  [Williams starts to climb back into the ring, but the Subway Psycho grabs his leg, preventing him from re-entering.  The two slug it out, and Psycho gets the advantage with an elbow to the head.  Psycho tries to enter, but Williams grabs the Psycho's trunks to keep him outside, rakes his eyes, and throws him into the guardrail.  Rick Williams sets up the Subway Psycho for an inverted DDT onto the floor, but the Subway Psycho escapes -- with the help of a low blow.  Williams doubles over, and the Psycho tries to lift him up in a butterfly suplex, but Williams blocks it by grabbing the legs of the Psycho, and both men tumble to the floor, exchanging fists as the bell rings.] TD: And both men have been counted out!  I don't think either man is aware, as they keep fighting. SR: Yeah, and now the first team has a three to one advantage.  Well, I guess the rookie's big enough to count as one and a half, and one of the other guys is Pukespeare... but he's still in trouble. [Mark Destructo steps over the ropes and stares across the ring, where the three IIWF veterans converse.  Finally, Shadoe Rage steps into the ring, and charges Destructo.  They lock up, and Destructo shoves Rage into a neutral corner.  He charges, but Shadoe moves out of the way.  As Destructo comes out of the turnbuckle, Shadoe manages to lift him up and bodyslam the huge man.  Rage goes for a cover, but only gets a two count. Rage grabs the leg of Destructo, and tags in Shakespeare, who leaps over the ropes and lands on Destructo's outstretched leg.  Shakespeare then holds onto the leg and tags in Macbeth, who enters the ring and grabs the other leg.  Shakespeare and Macbeth make a wishbone with Mark Destructo.] TD: Outstanding teamwork by Rage, Macbeth, and Shakespeare.  They all realize they have to finish off Mark Destructo before they can battle each other for the title shot. SR: [deadpan] Oh, great.  A tag team match.  Yippee.  Watch me squeal with excitement.  TD: [equally deadpan] I once squealed with excitement.  Best weekend of my life. SR: Damn!  You're finally turning into a Soundbiter, Dross.  We'll have you begging for biscuits soon. [Shadoe Rage is now in the ring with Destructo, again working on the legs. Destructo reaches up and flips Rage over with a pull of the hair, then stumbles under the ropes and out of the ring.  He stands up, trying to walk and testing his legs.  Shadoe Rage jumps onto the ropes and does a springboard dive onto Destructo, sending both men into the guardrail.  The referee gets to a seven count before Destructo manages to roll under the ropes, breaking the count.  Then he rolls back out, picks up Shadoe Rage, and positions him for a piledriver onto the floor..  from the top turnbuckle, Billy Shakespeare leaps off and delivers an elbow to the top of Destructo's head, causing him to drop Rage.  Shakespeare then rolls Rage back into the ring, and starts to head back to his corner, when he is caught by Destructo and powerslammed onto the concrete.] SR: Good!  The big guy might not last long, but at least he's using his last minutes in the match to take out Shakes the Clown. [Destructo rolls back in the ring, and walks over to Shadoe Rage.  He whips Rage into the ropes, but Rage reverse the whip, then shocks everyone in the audience with a tilt-a-whirl piledriver on Destrcuto.  Rage then stumbles back to his corner, where he tags in Duncan Macbeth.  Macbeth climbs to the top turnbukle, waiting for Destructo to stnad up.  When he does, Duncan Macbeth leaps... right into a bearhug by Destructo.  Macbeth quickly slams his arms onto Destructo's ears, and Destructo lets go after the third headringer.  Macbeth falls and tries to catch his breath. Destructo picks up Macbeth and powerslams to the mat, the covers for a two-count.  Destructo signals for the Destructo backbreaker, but as he lifts Macbeth up...] TD: The Claymore!  Macbeth nails the Claymore on Mark Destructo!  He covers... [The referee makes the count: 1 - 2 - 3! As the bell rings, Shadoe Rage wastes no time and clothesline Billy Shakespeare on the outside of the apron.  Both men tumble to the floor, and Shadoe Rage starts viciously kicking away at Shakespeare.  As Destructo rolls out of the ring, Duncan Macbeth realizes that the next phase of the elimination match is on, and heads outside.  The referee stops him, and informs him that Shakespeare and Rage are the legal men, then starts a count on the men.  Rage stops his assault at five, throws Shakespeare back in at six, and rolls in himself by the eight count.  Rage makes a lazy cover, and Shakespeare kicks out at two.  Rage whips Shakespeare into the ropes, and on the rebound tries to lock on an abdominal stretch.  Shakespeare keeps the momentum going, and pivots around so that he applies the stretch on Shadoe Rage instead.  Rage quickly hiptosses the smaller man, then tags in Macbeth.] TD: Macbeth slowly enters the ring.  You can see that he respects Shakespeare.  SR: You've got to be kidding me.  Macbeth tore Quigley apart, stood toe-to-toe with the legend, and can battle with the best of them.  Ain't no way that Duncan Macbeth can respect a little stain like Billy Shakespeare. [Macbeth and Shakespeare lock up, and Macbeth latches on a headlock. Shakespeare shoves him to the ropes and goes for a backdrop, but Macbeth leaps over him.  On the rebound, Shakespeare leaps over Macbeth.  But on the second rebound, as Shakespeare leaps, Macbeth also leaps up and connects with a slying headbutt.  Shakespeare crumbles to the ground, and Macbeth makes a cover... 1 - 2 - kickout! Macbeth picks up Shakespeare's legs, and turns him over into a Boston Crab.  Shakespeare tries to reach the ropes, but Macbeth has him in the middle of the ring.  The referee asks Shakespeare if he'll submit, but Shakespeare shakes his head.  He strains to try and reach the ropes, but again is too far.  Suddenly, he switches tactics and uses one arm to hit behind the knee of Macbeth.  The blow isn't strong but Macbeth, who was not balanced, stumbles and allows Shakespeare to escape.  Shakespeare is close enough to the corner of Shadoe Rage, and tags him in.] TD: Shadoe Rage enters the ring, and is attacking Macbeth like a house of fire! SR: "House of fire."  Timmy, we really have to work on this cliché fetish you've got. [Rage throws Macbeth into the corner, and pummels him with a series of fists.  He climbs the turnbuckle and monkey flips Macbeth into the middle of the ring, then climbs up the top turnbuckle, leaps off, and delivers an elbow to Macbeth's sternum.  He goes for a cover, but Macbeth kicks out at the count of two.  Rage whips Macbeth to the ropes and delivers a legwhip to the burly Scotsman, sending him down for another two count.  Rage whips Macbeth into the ropes a second time, but Macbeth stops him with a kneelift, then bulldogs him to the mat for a two count.  Macbeth then points to the turnbuckle and climbs up.  As he positions himself standing on the top turnbuckle, Shadoe Rage dives towards the corner and knocks Macbeth off, causing him to straddle the corner ringpost.  All of the men in the audience wince, and Rage climbs up, and positions Macbeth for a superplex.] TD: Rage lifts him up... Macbeth is fighting it.  Both men are tumbling to the mat.  Macbeth is landing on top of Shadoe Rage, and hooks the leg! The referee is there for a count. [The referee drops for the count: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! As the bell rings, Billy Shakespeare quietly stands on the top turnbuckle.  Duncan Macbeth gets up as Shadoe Rage leaves the ring, turns around, and Billy Shakespeare launches himself as the cameras flash...] TD: The Final Act!  Billy Shakespeare nails Duncan Macbeth with his swinging DDT!  The cover... [Again, the count: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! As the bell rings, Duncan Macbeth realizes what happened.   The crowd, being very pro-Duncan, boos the decision.  Macbeth argues the decision with the referee, who points out that it was legal.  Meanwhile, Shakespeare gets up, and his hand is raised by the referee.  Duncan Macbeth goes over to talk with Shakespeare.] TD: I'm sure Macbeth is extremely disappointed. SR: Disappointed, Dross?  He's pissed!  I can't blame him.  He ought to take off Shakespeare's head.  That little punk let Macbeth take out everyone else in the match, then attacked him from behind and stole a victory. TD: It was a fair win, Steve.  Once Shadoe Rage was eliminated, Billy Shakespeare was the legal man, and he took advantage of that. [In the ring, Macbeth and Shakespeare talk for a few moments.  Finally, Macbeth nods his head, and raises Billy Shakespeare's arm.  The crowd celebrates as Shakespeare's victory is announced.] TD: Well, Billy Shakespeare earns the shot at the World Title.  And while Duncan Macbeth did not win that shot, he proved once again that he is definitely one of the upper echelon wrestlers in the IIWF. SR: I'm going to get sick.  First, Shakes steals the title shot from Macbeth.  Then, Macbeth actually lets him get away with it.  Here's hoping that after a while, Macbeth's Scottish temper will get the better of him and he'll take the little punk and flail him a few thousand times. And on top of all that, the bet... the Fury... Quigley... the poetry. Aw, Dross, I need some time off. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: You know what they say, Steve Roberts -- no love, no learnin'. This is the IIWF, and it doesn't get any better than this! Folks, we're just moments away from our big main event for tonight: all three of the IIWF's singles champions in the ring for a wild Triangle Match. SR: A meaningless match with no bearing on anything! TD: Not at all, Steve Roberts. It's true that there are no titles on the line but we've already seen one title match tonight. SR: Actually this is just the sort of match our newest champion wanted. TD: That's certainly true. Tim Turner has made no secret of his reluctance to defend his title. SR: That just shows how smart he is! If the title isn't on the line there is no chance of losing it! TD: It is a shameful way to conduct oneself as champion! SR: You're just mad because you put money on Mota! TD: I certainly... well, let's go up to Sparkplug. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| CHAMPION vs. CHAMPION vs. CHAMPION MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Brody Thunder vs. Chris Quigley vs. Timothy Turner ....................................................................... WRITER: RP [Sparkplug Lee, looking as suave and sophisticated as ever... meaning not at all... steps into the ring with mic in hand.] SL: This is the IIWF Saturday Night Main Event! [Huge pop from the Portland crowd] SL: This is a Champion vs. Champion vs. Champion Triangle Match! All three men will be legal at all times and the first man to get a pinfall will be declared the winner! TD: Huge bragging rights will go to whoever can win this match! Who really is the true champion of the IIWF, Brody Thunder or Chris Quigley? SR: Aren't you forgetting somebody Drossie? The Rocket Man is soaring! TD: Maybe so, but I can't believe that Tim Turner really has a chance against these two great athletes. SR: Quigley an athlete? That's like saying you are good dresser! SL: Introducing first, weighing in at 230 pounds and hailing from Victoria, British Columbia, Canada...the current IIWF Cruiserweight Champion... the "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner! [A chorus of boos fills the arena as "Rocket Man" by Elton John plays. Turner walks down the aisle in a very flamboyant sequinned robe with a huge smile on his face, clearly revelling in the reaction from his "fans".] SR: This shows how much these morons really understand about wrestling! Tim Turner is a class act! TD: Apparently they don't like the idea of a champion who refuses to defend his title! SL: The second participant in this match weighs in at 238 pounds, and hails from Corner Brook, Newfoundland, Canada...the current IIWF Intercontinental Champion..."Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! [A very mixed crowd reaction happens as AC/DC's "For Those About To Rock" booms over the sound system. There are certainly a lot of Quigley fans but there are also a very vocal group of tartan-clad Duncan Macbeth supporters who assail Quigley with insults. A number of signs dot the arena with sentiments like "Paper Champion" and "Duncan Macbeth: True IC Champ". Quigley tries to ignore this but it does seem to put him off a bit.] TD: Chris Quigley has always been popular but it seems that a number of fans don't like the way he won at Ring Wars. SR: It was only the fake cripple that stopped MacWeenie from stomping a hole in Chrissie. The fans know he's a fake...I know he's a fake... even Troy knows he's a fake! [Quigley reaches the ring and immediately goes after Turner. Tim slides out the other side and as Chris comes after him he gets clocked with the Cruiserweight Title belt for his troubles.] SR: Serves him right for not waiting for the World Champ! TD: Tim Turner isn't pressing his advantage, however. He's just laughing at Chris Quigley... keeping out of reach of course. [Dave D'Amato intercepts Quigley before he chases Turner and manages to keep him at bay long enough for Lee to finish his introductions.] SL: The final competitor in this match weighs in at 267 pounds and hails from "The Town To Tough To Die", Tombstone, Arizona...the current IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! [There is a big crowd pop as the theme from "High Plains Drifter" replaces AC/DC. Thunder strolls out, complete with a lit stogie hanging out of his mouth. The only difference from his usual attire is a white t-shirt with some sort of inscription on it. The World Title belt obscures it and makes it unreadable however.] TD: Here is the one true World Champion! SR: Whatever. TD: It appears that Brody Thunder is coming over to our announce position. [Thunder stops in front of the table and puts his stogie on the table.] BT: Dross... anythin' happens ta this stogie... I'm takin' it outta _Roberts'_ hide! SR: What the...! TD: You better take good care of the man's cigar, Steve Roberts! SR: Wipe that smile off your face Dross! That stupid cowboy! He's lucky I don't... TD: Don't what, Steve Roberts? I could call him back over and you could tell him yourself! SR: Shut up, ferret head! [Thunder climbs into the ring to join the other two champions. He stops in front of Quigley and removes his title belt, revealing the shirt. It reads "CHRIS QUIGLEY 3:16 - I WON. YOU LOST. GET OVER IT."] TD: Chris Quigley lets out a little smirk over that shirt... though Tim Turner seems less than thrilled. SR: Quigley just won't admit that Turner once beat him! TD: Tim Turner has beaten a number of competitors but Chris Quigley is _not_ one of them! [Thunder pulls off the white shirt to reveal a black one underneath reading "I DON'T _THINK_ SO". Turner breaks into hysterics and Quigley levels Thunder with a clothesline.] TD: Thunder and Quigley are going at it tooth and nail! Tim Turner has backed into the corner and is leaning against the turnbuckles! SR: There is no question who the smartest wrestler in this match is! TD: Tim Turner is a coward and nothing more! SR: [imitating Dross] Why don't I call him over and you can tell him that! [Thunder grabs Quigley's leg and drops him with a drop toe hold. He cranks on the pressure as Quigley fights his way to the ropes. As he reaches them, Thunder lets go and drops an elbow onto Quigley's back.] TD: Here comes Shadoe Rage in a wheelchair! What does he have to do with this match? SR: There's three champions in that ring! Everybody wants at least one of those guys! [Thunder pulls Quigley from the ropes and puts on a spinning toehold while Rage looks on from the outside. Quigley pulls himself to the ropes again and Thunder gives him a clean break.] SR: Shadoe Rage has just nailed Quigley in the head with that wheelchair! TD: "Savage" Shadoe is certainly living up to his name! Dave D'Amato is ordering Rage away from the ringside area, though he's leaving the now battered chair. [Rage is looking very upset and contrite as Quigley falls out of the ring. He picks Chris up and the house mic can pick up his words as he says that he doesn't know what came over him.] TD: Shadoe Rage has just suplexed Chris Quigley on the concrete! He's finally leaving the ringside area, laughing! SR: This guy has one heck of a mean streak! TD: Meanwhile, Brody Thunder has used this opportunity to bring Tim Turner into the match... by way of a devastating clothesline! [Turner immediately rolls out of the ring and heads over to where Quigley is just getting up. Turner pushes Quigley into the ring.] SR: What a smart move! This way Thunder will fight Quigley instead of Turner! TD: This is supposed to be a triangle match! Why is it just Thunder against Quigley? [Thunder goes to grab Quigley but is met with a shoulder to the midsection. Chris then finishes climbing through the ropes and drops Brody with a Russian Legsweep. Avoiding a count-out, Turner hops on the ring apron and pokes his head through the ropes.] TD: Now here comes trouble! SR: The real psycho is here! [Steve Manning is strolling down the aisle, yelling to the fans and generally acting like a crazy man. When he is about half way down, Derek Mota starts to follow.] TD: This is turning chaotic! First Shadoe Rage and now both Manning and Mota! SR: It looks like Mota wants to get a few licks in on the Rocket Man! [Quigley takes Thunder over with a Fisherman Suplex and goes for a pin. Turner quickly kicked Quigley.] SR: There's no way Turner is going to let Quigley get the win! [Turner quickly jumps out of the ring to avoid an angry Quigley. He stands outside of the ring as Steve Manning comes up behind him with a steel chair.] TD: Tim Turner is completely unaware of Manning! He's going to... oh! SR: Mota! Mota saved Turner! TD: Derek Mota used the wheelchair on Manning to save Tim Turner! Why would he do such a thing! [Mota starts heading back up the aisle but he stops by one of the cameras and a mic picks up his voice.] DM: That's for you, Duncan! TD: I guess we know... it wasn't for Turner, but rather it was against Manning! [Quigley tries to level Thunder with an enzuigiri but the World Champ ducks, sending Chris to the mat. Thunder picks up Quigley and drops him with a neckbreaker.] TD: What's Thunder doing? Why is he rolling out of the ring? [Brody Thunder heads out of the ring and over to the announcers table to take a pull on his stogie. Meanwhile, Turner scoots under the bottom rope and pins Quigley! ONE... TWO... Thr... kick out!] TD: Turner almost stole one right there! Brody is back the ring and he's taking Turner apart! Tim Turner is finally getting what's coming to him! SR: Chrissie's got Thunder! He's completely caught him off guard and flattened him! TD: The Quickstriker! He's got the Quickstriker on Brody Thunder! [Suddenly, there is a huge pop from the fans, and the "Skull-pump!" chants begin anew.] SR: Here comes the Fury, baby dolls! Steve Kowalski is coming gout to ringside! TD: It seems he's content to stand at ringside though! Tim Turner is just standing watching Quigley torture Thunder! [D'Amato is checking Thunder and Turner is watching all of them. Finally he decides that Thunder is getting too close and he superkicks Quigley in the face!] TD: Turner just saved Brody Thunder! SR: He won't let either of them get the win! [Turner picks Thunder up and throws him through the ropes at the feet of Kowalski. Quigley jumps Turner and they go toe to toe, exchanging blows!] SR: Go Fury! DDT! Kowalski DDT'd Thunder on the concrete! TD: Turner and Quigley are celebrating while D'Amato counts out Thunder! Eight! Nine! Ten! [The bell rings and Sparkplug Lee takes the mic.] SL: Brody Thunder has been counted out so Chris Quigley and Tim Turner have been made co-winners! TD: Quigley helped Thunder eat Kowalski a while ago and now Kowalski has turned the tables! Kowalski hits the ring! He's attacked Quigley! SR: The Fury doesn't think Quigley deserves any belt! Turner is standing by and laughing! Thunder is up and is in the ring! TD: Turner has scooted out but Quigley, Thunder, and Kowalski are wild in there! We're all out of time, folks! We'll try to give you an update of this situation on "Inside the IIWF"! For "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, this is Tim Dross, saying: so long, everybody! [Cut to a wide-angle view of the huge brawl going on in the ring between Thunder, Quigley and Kowalski, while the fans are on their feet cheering on their favourites. Security staff and the Jobber Justice Squad dash out to ringside. 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+