________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour one...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon 6 December 1997 [The opening graphics fade through to interior shots of the familiar IIWF Coliseum, the twenty thousand strong crowd as excited as ever to witness live IIWF action. Cameras flash all over the arena, from the floor to the mezzanine, with such rapidity as to almost create a strobe effect, briefly illuminating one area of fans, then another, then another... In the midst of the darkness is the beacon of the ring area, a huge rigging erected over the squared circle, many coloured spotlights spinning over the crowd and the canvas. Suddenly, the Coliseum itself seems to shake as huge volleys of pyrotechnics erupt in the rafters, rockets streaming up to the rafters from the head of the aisle. The crowd is now brought alive, the fans shouting their approval as showers of sparks fly as a path of fireworks explodes in turn down the aisle, finally reaching the ringside area -- and the four ringposts are together seemingly ablaze as brilliant white flame shoots up from each corner! As the smoke in the ringside area clears, the voice of Tim Dross is heard over this footage:] TD: Welcome everybody, to the IIWF Coliseum! Welcome to Portland, Oregon! Welcome to another live and loud edition of IIWF Saturday Night! [The shot continues to pan past row upon row of fans, many waving signs and bedecked in IIWF merchandise. Eventually, the shot comes to rest on the ringside enclosure and the broadcast table, at which stand Tim Dross, dressed in his traditional royal blue IIWF blazer and tie, and Becky LaRue, almost wearing one of her trademark revealing gowns, causing fans in the front row to leer lasciviously at her impressive cleavage. Becky, however, seems to enjoy the attention.] TD: Howdy, folks, and welcome to the world's hottest two hours of wrestling! I'm Tim Dross, and beside me this week is the lovely Becky LaRue. BL: I can't remember the last time I stood out here to do play by play, Timmy. TD: Indeed -- it's been a number of months, and it's taken the departure of Steve Roberts from the live announce team to coax you back to the broadcast table here in the Coliseum. In fact, rumours were flying around that the Golden Grapples Awards was to have been your last engagement with the IIWF. BL: Well, I had a couple of weeks off to take a look at my options, and I travelled up to the frozen north of Canada to visit an old friend -- but he seemed to think I was his property. Let me tell you something, Timmy: Becky LaRue belongs to no one man! TD: That much is obvious. [Becky grits her teeth as she stamps her foot, and Dross' eyes begin to water.] TD: Ouch. BL: Ah, the thrill of the live crowds, all these innocent young men clamouring for a glimpse of the finest double act in the wrestling business. TD: [eyes still watering] That's very kind of you to say so, Becky. BL: What? You thought I was talking about you and me, Timmy? Hardly! I'm talking about these little beauties... [She shimmies slightly, causing her ample chest to wobble and prompting the fans behind the broadcast table to let forth a number of wolf-whistles. Becky grins.] TD: You're incorrigible. Well, folks, what a show we have lined up for you here tonight -- in our main event, we're going to see Steve "the Fury" Kowalski challenge "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley in an effort to become the IIWF Intercontinental Championship for the second time. We'll also see IIWF World Tag Team Championship action, as Cold Spell, who unified the title just seven days ago, face off against the number one contenders, the impressive Damage Inc. What a double bill of title matches -- and both coming up right here tonight! BL: Plus we'll see two IIWF veterans take on newcomers: Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven faces the mighty Mark Destructo, and the Subway Psycho battles "To Excess" Rick Williams. TD: Both promise to be very exciting encounters. We also have a pair of Triple Threat matches coming up tonight! In just a few moments, we'll see former IIWF Cruiserweight Champion Derek Mota, current number one contender to the same title, Richard "Moxy" Blue, and newcomer Charles Scheffield square off -- and at the top of our second hour, two superstars who are rapidly building up quite a rivalry here in the IIWF, the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi and Ronnie Paris, will battle it out with newcomer Christopher Stonebreaker. BL: And on top of all that, IIWF franchise "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare faces "The Brat" Bradley Reed, trying to keep his promise to the departed Marty Warnett that he would meet and defeat Reed here this week! TD: We'll be getting live comments from Ronnie Paris and Serge Annis here tonight -- and right now, it's time for the second part of that interview with Steve "the Fury" Kowalski. Hang on to your hats, folks. [Cut to a monochrome montage of Steve "the Fury" Kowalski in action in the squared circle, over which comes the voice of Tim Dross:] VO: Last week, we heard from the New Jersey Nightmare, Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, about his plans for 1998. Tonight, we conclude our special interview with this superstar of the ring wars. [Fade in to Steve Kowalski and Tim Dross at Company B's, Kowalski dressed in his usual jeans, T-shirt and leather jacket. Enjoying his Pabst Blue Ribbon, he has his feet up the opposite chair. Dross is dressed in his unspectacular gray suit.] TD: Oookay. I feel the negative waves from that one. Who else? SK: That's jus' the beginnin'... there's Quigley. What the hell is up with this guy? He's like the youngest has-been I ever saw. His only claim to fame was that match against "Trash" Kauffman an' it sucked so bad, I fergot who won. I hope ol' Stevey Manning bats his ass once fer me. TD: Well you have to respect him at least as a champ... SK: [interrupting] Oh, I got one fer ya. Since when did Tony Starks become gansta party supreme? He's got a finisher that ain't even like in English. Problem with him's he goes an' wrestles part time in alla them [BLEEP] feds. Ya know the ones that say they're hard-core an' extreme. A guy goes there fer a few weeks an' he starts to believe he is hard-core. Boy, the stink on my feet is more hard-core. TD: I'll take your word on that, Fury. I'm sure you can sit here all day and critique all the wrestlers you think aren't up to par. Is there anyone out there that could be the future, other than yourself? SK: There's a young guy that's here that's got all the tools, but ain't got the heart. His name is Ike. TD: Ike Sampson? You really respect Ike Sampson? SK: Nah. I don't respect 'em. He ain't earned respect, yet. Now, if he were my prota... prote... TD: Protegé? SK: Yeah, I jus' said that. Now, if he had a little guidance, he might make somethin' of hisself. Stop kissin' the babies an' start pullin' the trunks, junior. TD: Let's go to a change of subject. Ever watch the tag team division? SK: Ever pass a kidney stone? TD: No, thank goodness. Too painful. SK: Then, ya got yer answer. They're all the same far as I'm concerned. They may come up with a cute catch phrase like "Gonna make you flood" or "I'm with stupid", but they don't impress. If ya want to impress do it by yerself. TD: But you have been a part of tag matches before. SK: Sure, but I ain't into it. Spreadbury comes to me an' says, "Please, Steve. It's the November sweeps. The ratings are always up when you make one night alliances." 'Cept he knows I don't like taggin' up. TD: Then why would have you do it, then? SK: Easy, I lose my temper. He knows nobody can stack up to me an' when they fall behind, I get pissed. An' when I get pissed, people get hurt. When people get hurt, ratings go up. Hey, former VP Steve Owens knew that. But he ain't around no more. TD: True. Since we have come to the point of the front office, I would like your take on the upper management. Most of the wrestlers don't care to comment due to personal reasons. SK: That means they're chicken[BLEEP]! Y'know when guys "demand" matches on camera, they're really askin' Danny behind the scenes. I, on the other hand, command a followin' 'round here. TD: What are your thoughts on Janois? SK: Cost me the match 'gainst "Crazy" Joe Petrow, but hey, he's an inch shorter 'cause of me. So I guess we're even. He's one of those little guys that got pushed 'round when he was young. So, now that he has some power, he over-uses it. Oh yeah, he can eat [BLEEP]. TD: Enlightening. Jim Jividen, current VP. A position that you helped get him, by ousting Mr. Owens. SK: Don't think about him much. He's one of those kiss ass types Spreadbury likes. "Yes, sir." "Right away, sir" "Would ya like me to fluff yer pillow, sir?" Mindless worm. TD: We'll go right to the top. Dan Spreadbury. SK: Danny boy. He's a guy that'll go thru hell an' high water to get this place to be #1. He signed me, right? Other than that, he's a manipulative, back stabbing, piece of [BLEEP]. TD: I would like for you to sum up the IIWF for me. SK: I thought ya were gonna ask me about the time I shacked up with Becky LaRue? TD: You mean the banana incident? SK: Yeah. TD: [embarrassed] I was, but off camera. SK: All right. The IIWF is the top organization with the top talent. The only the talent is soft now, nothing to keep 'em on the edge. Until, now. I'll keep 'em on the edge. TD: Steve "the Fury" Kowalski -- thank you very much for your time. [Fade through to the same footage concluding on the huge videotron at the head of the aisle in the Coliseum. As the IIWF logo fades back onto the screen, the shot pulls away, panning past all the fans who are now chanting "Skull-pump! Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: There is simply nobody in the IIWF who can ignite a crowd quite like Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, Becky. BL: The man's dynamite under the sheets too -- but I guess you didn't want to know that, Timmy. TD: You're absolutely right, of course. Okay, folks, it's time for tonight's opening match -- we're going to see a Triple Threat match pitting former IIWF Cruiserweight Champion, Derek Mota, against newcomer Charles Scheffield, and the man who will get a shot at the current Cruiser champion, Timothy N. Turner, right here next week -- the inimitable Richard "Moxy" Blue. BL: Or Little Dick, as I like to call him... what? What're you looking at, Timmy? TD: I can see this is going to take some getting used to. BL: Oh... _now_ I see... you thought I meant that... TD: [quickly cutting in] Anyway, we're all set for the ring introductions, so let's go over to join Sparkplug Lee! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| TRIPLE THREAT MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Derek Mota vs. Richard "Moxy" Blue vs. Charles Scheffield ....................................................................... WRITER: MP [Sparkplug Lee climbs into the ring, smiling around and raising his arms at the packed Coliseum crowd... who give only a tame little pop for the fashion victim ring announcer, along with a few cries of "Get on with it!". His face falls, and he raises the microphone:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the IIWF Coliseum! It's now time for our opening match of the evening -- a special Triple Threat match-up! [The crowd starts to get more animated, popping expectantly...] The rules are simple: Three competitors in the ring at one time, all are legal, with the first pinfall deciding the victor! And now... the competitors... [The crowd erupts into a spontaneous heel pop, cutting Sparky off as a large muscle-bound figure struts to strut his way down to ringside...] TD: Becky... hold on one moment, folks... here comes trouble itself -- in the form of Scott "the Fop" Rogers on his way to ringside... BL: Big Roger. Big Roger and Little Dick. A winning combination, if ever there was one! Hehehehe... snort! TD: Rogers is in the ring, and... look out Sparky! It looks as though he's got something to share with us... [The crowds jeers echo through the arena as Scott Rogers enters the ring, dressed in a tracksuit with the initials S.R. on the front, and the lettering "Camp Moxy", over a silhouette of Moxy Blue on the back. He has a water bottle in one hand, a towel over his shoulders, and is chewing gum. He saunters across to the bemused Sparkplug Lee, snatching the microphone from him and inciting another huge heel pop from the crowd, before turning to address the arena...] SR: Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me _great_ pleasure to introduce to you the next Flyweight Champion of the World. He's got the sexiest ass in the entire IIWF and weighs in at, what, about one fifty? [Sparkplug Lee tries to motion he's 185 by raising one finger, then five, then eight...] SR: Yeah, whatever, he's the lightest man around. He hails from... [Rogers lowers the mic as he swears to himself, obviously having forgotten the name of Blue's hometown. The fans begin chanting "We want Sparkplug, we want Sparkplug" along with the odd chant of "All is forgiven, Sparky!" Rogers just looks at them in disgust.] SR: He is... Richard "Moxyyyyyyyyyyy" Bluuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuue! [The crowd erupts with mixed cheers, jeers, laughter and even some debris as the theme from "Rocky" starts up over the PA system, and the spotlights train on the aisle... Rogers tosses the microphone back to Sparkplug Lee, who fumbles to catch it, and steps between the ropes and drops down to the arena floor... and the crowd bursts out into a loud pop as "Moxy" Blue enters the aisle...] TD: Oh my word... [The crowd bursts out into chants of "Go Moxy! Go Moxy! Go Moxy!" as Blue jogs out into the aisle, dressed in outrageous boxer's shorts and a hooded robe with the initials R.M.B. on the front, and the same Camp Moxy logo on the back. He pumps his fists in the air furiously, the crowd responding with deafening laughter and cheers as he stops and starts to shadow box in the aisle... quite badly..] BL: You know, Timmy... I get the impression Little Dick thinks he's in a different sport... TD: It's certainly a very... unique... entrance. BL: And that's to say the least... but I'll tell you something, Timmy - his ass isn't everything he thinks it is. TD: We don't need to go there right now, Becky. BL: I mean, sure it's round and perfectly formed, but it's just too small! An ass like that... where's the power?! TD: Becky! BL: Now Brad Kinder -- _he_ had an ass to die for. But while we're on the subject... [Rogers points at Moxy, shouting out "Who's the man? Who's the man?!" as the diminutive superstar jogs down the aisle, still pumping his fists in the air and throwing the occasional jab or hook punch, much to the delight of the crowd... he stops in front of Rogers, and the pair high five, Rogers shouting instructions in his face, psyching Moxy up even further... finally, the pair high five again, and Moxy climbs to the ring apron, doing a rather familiar slingshot flip over the top rope and into the ring, walking backwards, bobbing and weaving his head like a snake... Rogers looks up at him, satisfied, and turns away, starting to walk back towards the dressing rooms... Sparkplug Lee tries to keep his eyes off Blue's antics, slowly raising his microphone...] TD: Amazing! It looks as though Scott Rogers is actually leaving ringside! Well, that'll be a load off the other wrestlers' minds. He's proved before just how much of a distraction he can be... BL: ...what's wrong with my ass, anyway? Seriously, Timmy... do I look fat in this? RA: *ahem*... and the second competitor weighing in at 224lbs, and hailing from Toronto, Ontario, Canada... here is... DEREK MOTA! [The crowd bursts into a heel pop as "The Great Southern Trendkill" by Sepultura starts over the PA system, and Derek Mota steps out into the aisle, hands on hips... and straight into the face of Scott Rogers! Pop! Both men stare at each other for a second, and then Rogers lets fly, flooring Mota with a vicious clothesline! Heel pop!] TD: Oh, I just knew it. I just knew that Rogers would have to get involved at some point... BL: Hey, it's what he's good at. I got involved with Rogers once, and I'll tell you this... TD: Do you have to? BL: There's definitely something to be said for a muscled posterior. I don't know what kind of exercises he does, but... [The crowd continues to jeer loudly as Rogers wails away at Mota on the floor, before pulling him to his feet... he looks back at Blue in the ring, shouting something about a "Welsh Whip"...] TD: What in the world...? [The crowd pops in bemusement as Rogers pulls hard on Mota's arm, spinning him around and sending him hurtling with force... straight down the aisle, towards the ring -- which happens to be some fifty yards distant...] TD: And what effect, precisely, is that supposed to have? [Blue collapses into a fit of hysterics as he sees Mota unable to control his momentum, running towards the ring apron at speed... then slowing down... then pulling up short, a good fifteen yards or so away from the ring... Mota shakes his head, turning around to regard Rogers, who himself has lapsed into a fit of laughter...] BL: Um... Timmy? What's that all about? TD: I really haven't got the faintest idea... [Mota shakes his head, bemused, as Rogers starts to stumble back down towards ringside, almost doubled up with laughter... Mota shakes his head again, and turns... straight into a slingshot somersault dropkick from Blue! Huge crowd pop! Blue kicks back up to his feet on the outside, turning and wiggling his behind first in Rogers direction, then in Becky's, before picking Mota up and rolling him into the ring...] TD: This is crazy! We haven't even finished the introductions yet, and they're already going at it! [Lee quickly escapes the ring as Blue leaps back up to the ring apron, quickly climbing to the top rope as Mota slowly climbs to his feet, shaking head to clear the cobwebs...] RA: And the final competitor, weighing in at 231lbs, and hailing from Lordship, Connecticut... here is.... CHARLES SCHEFFIELD!! [The crowd pops wildly as Scheffield bursts through the curtains, running quickly down towards the ring... Mota stumbles up to his feet as the bell rings... turning around... and Blue launches himself from the top rope, flipping over Mota's head, catching him by the hair and pulling his head over his shoulder as he crashes towards the canvas...] TD: Incredible! Blue with a flipping throatbuster from the top rope! And there's the pin! He could have this one won already! [The referee slides into position as Blue looks the legs - and pulls the tights, exposing the crowd to a side of Mota they didn't particularly want to see. The referee counts... 1 - 2 - ] TD: And Charles Scheffield with the save at the last second! Mota looked to be out of it from that incredible move! Blue was inches away from recording the fastest-ever victory! [Blue quickly rolls away from Scheffield and back to his feet, backing away from the larger Scheffield... Mota, clutching at his throat in obvious pain, rolls to the outside for a breather... Scheffield moves to lock up with Moxy, who slips under him, before taking him down with a single-leg takedown... Scheffield's back up straight away, and Blue sends him back to the canvas with a dropkick! Pop! Scheffield pulls out Blue's leg from the canvas, pulling him into a Achilles tendon hold... Blue quickly scrambles back into the ropes, Scheffield breaks, and the two circle each other warily...] TD: Mota's still down on the outside... [The crowd erupts into a deafening heel pop...] TD: ...and here comes Bradley Reed's bodyguard, Stone! What's he doing out here? BL: I guess he's been sent on a little scouting report... [Stone strides up to the ringside area, ignoring the fans, folding his arms and watching the action impassively. The Fop, now back in Blue's corner, eyes him cautiously, before turning back to the ring and throwing his head into his hands as Scheffield sends Blue twisting to the canvas with an armdrag...] TD: You could be right. Just look at that man... so calm, so cold and menacing... BL: I bet I could warm him up a bit... TD: I've no doubt you could. BL: You keep forgetting the golden rule, don't you, Timmy? "Don't be nasty to a woman wearing six inch stiletto heels." [Scheffield maintains an armbar on Blue as he twists around, trying to get to a vertical base... rolling over and then kicking up to his feet... Scheffield turns the hold into an overhead wristlock, trying to bring his weight to bear on Blue... Blue grimaces, and switches into a hammerlock.. which Scheffield reverses again into an armbar!] TD: This is an unusual tactic from Blue here -- he's trying to outwrestle Scheffield, and as a result, he's finding himself at a disadvantage. [Rogers slaps the ring apron, shouting instructions out at Blue, who nods his head rapidly, shouting back. Rogers repeats his instructions, sounding almost like a drill sergeant, and again Blue nods, shouting out a reply again, and clutching at his shoulder... Scheffield looks around at Rogers, bemused, as he shout the instructions out a third time, loud and slow... and Blue staggers towards the turnbuckles, dragging Scheffield with him and then leaping up onto the top turnbuckles, still locked in the armbar, and backflipping off, using the momentum to snap Scheffield head over heels! The crowd pops, and Rogers applauds loudly! Blue covers... 1 - 2 - kickout by Scheffield! Heel pop!] TD: Look out! Mota's back in the ring! And he looks hot! [Mota flies into the ring, charging straight across at Blue with a look of intense fury on his face... and Blue dives out of the way at the last second, scurrying out of the ring and hiding behind Rogers! Pop! Mota starts to climb out of the ring, but is caught from behind by Scheffield as he rises, who executes a quick waistlock into a German suplex... Mota kicks out before the referee even starts to count, rolling to his feet and catching Scheffield as he rises with a vicious lariat... he rains a rapid series of blows down on Scheffield, before pulling him to his feet and backing him to the ropes...] TD: Irish whip by Mota... Scheffield rebounds... and Mota with a Japanese armdrag takedown! BL: And here comes Moxy Blue! [Blue, who climbed back onto the ring apron cautiously as Mota unloaded his aggression on Scheffield, flips over the ropes and into the ring, slingshotting himself with a legdrop across Scheffield's neck! Pop! Mota immediately goes for the small superstar, who rolls straight back out, hiding behind Rogers again! Rogers pats him on the back, and hands him the water bottle... Mota glowers at the pair, before turning back to Scheffield, who's staggering back to his feet...] TD: Mota with another Irish whip, this to the turnbuckles... reversed by Scheffield... Mota hits hard, and Scheffield catches him with a blow to the midsection on the rebound.. and a perfectly executed butterfly suplex! The cover... we have one! BL: Blue's on the top rope! TD: Look out! [Huge crowd pop!] TD: Blue with a senton splash from the top rope! Scheffield rolled away at the last second, and Blue hit Mota hard! Another cover -- one... and Scheffield breaks it up with an elbow to the head! Both men back up... and now Blue and Scheffield are going at it! BL: This is one crazy match... how can the referee keep track of everything that's going on? TD: I think Alfonzo gave up right after the ring introductions! [Scheffield sends the smaller Blue back into the turnbuckles with a series of European uppercuts, before whipping Blue cross-corners and following through after him...] TD: Blue leaps to the turnbuckles.. flies off and twists back... cross body block... no! Scheffield turns it into a powerslam! And Mota with a flying elbowdrop off the ropes, and now Blue's in serious trouble! [Mota drops another elbow across the prone Blue, and Rogers leaps to the ring apron, shouting at the referee... Mota snarls and launches himself at Rogers, knocking the big man off the ring apron with an elbow shot! Pop! Rogers glowers, and tries to climb into the ring, only for the referee to cut him short... Mota grins at him and turns...] TD: Straight into a DDT from Scheffield! The cover! BL: The referee's not there, Timmy -- he's still arguing with Rogers! [The crowd roars in appreciation as another figure appears at the head of the aisle, pushing what appears to be an extremely battered wheelchair...] TD: Look out! Here comes the Rocketman! Tim Turner! BL: As if things weren't crazy enough as it is! [Rogers finally drops back off the ring apron, and the referee turns, sliding down to count Scheffield's pin just as Mota kicks out, and Blue flies over the official's back to a huge pop from the crowd, coming crashing down across Scheffield with a flying legdrop.. the cover... 1 - 2 - Mota pulls Blue off! Blue quickly rolls away as Mota closes on him, trying to slide out of the ring... and Mota grabs his leg! Blue clutches at the ring ropes as Mota tries to pull him back into the ring... only to be caught from behind by Scheffield, who locks his arms and sends him crashing back into the canvas with a Tiger Suplex! Pop! Scheffield bridges... 1 - 2 - kickout! Both men slowly roll to their feet as Blue starts to climb the turnbuckles...] TD: Turner and Rogers are having a confrontation on the outside... Blue's up top! BL: Stone's being... well... Stone. TD: Mota and Scheffield are both up... and Blue with a double dropkick onto both men! Incredible! BL: No! Mota slipped it! Mota slipped it! TD: Mota managed to avoid the impact, but Scheffield was sent out through the ropes, and hit hard! Blue now, back to his feet... and Mota with a kick to the midsection... and a swinging neckbreaker! The cover! One... two... kickout by Blue! [Mota drags Moxy back to his feet, hooking him into position for a suplex...] TD: Mota now, setting Blue up... drops him across the top rope... and slingshots him into a powerslam! Body Plex! Incredible impact! That could do it! [Mota covers, hooking both Blue's legs... 1 - 2 - ] TD: And Rogers is on the ring apron again!! And the referee breaks the count! We've got chaos here, folks! [Mota climbs angrily to his feet, walking across and getting involved once again with his one-time colleague... on the outside, Scheffield starts to pull himself to his feet, shaking off the cobwebs... Blue staggers back to his feet, stumbling through the ropes and starting to climb the turnbuckles...] TD: Look out! Tim Turner from behind with the wheelchair! He nailed Moxy! BL: Moxy's out, Timmy... Turner knocked him into the middle of next week! [Rogers, seeing his partner downed, leaps back off the ring apron and races around the ring, nailing the cruiserweight champ from behind with the water bottle! Heel pop as Turner collapses to the arena floor, clutching his head... he kicks away at the prone Turner, pulling him back up, and clutching him around the throat...] TD: Rogers is going to chokeslam Turner on the outside! First he hit him with that water bottle, which must be loaded, and now he's going to... look out! [Just as Rogers hoists Turner up, Derek Mota comes flying over the top rope, catching Rogers from behind with a flying body press, saving Turner at the last second! Huge crowd pop!] TD: And now everyone's on the outside! Rogers and Mota are going at it... Turner's down... Scheffield's pulling Moxy back up... this is complete chaos! [The referee, unsure what to do, rolls out of the ring to and starts trying to separate Mota and Rogers. Scheffield rolls Moxy back into the ring, following him in himself. Turner climbs back to his feet, picking up the wheelchair again and eyeing Rogers... Heel pop!] TD: Turner with the chair again...! NO! Rogers ducked away, and Turner inadvertently nailed Mota! BL: And look at the ring! Scheffield's pinning Blue! What's the referee doing? [Turner backs off, staring down at the prone Mota and shaking his head and backing off up the aisle as the referee stoops to check him... Rogers staggers away, and sees Blue being pinned, rolls into the ring... Heel pop!] TD: Look out! Rogers just nailed Scheffield with the bottle... and he's splashing water on Blue's face! [Rogers rolls back out of the ring, pulling the referee back and telling him to do his job... the referee looks around to see Blue dazedly roll over and drape his arm over Scheffield... he slides into the ring and counts... 1 - 2 - ] BL: Three! He got him! Little Dick got him!! [The referee signals for the bell, and Rogers rolls back into the ring, helping his little pal back to his feet, and raising his arm in the air...] RA: Here is your winner... RICHARD "MOXY" BLUE! [The crowd bursts into a huge mixed pop, cheers for Moxy, boos for Rogers involvement, and the two bail out as a recovering, disappointed and very angry Mota storms the ring, quickly heading back up the aisle...] TD: What a miscarriage of justice! The referee had no control of that match at all! BL: Steve would have loved it. And just think, Timmy -- we've got another one coming up later on! TD: Indeed we have -- the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi and Ronnie Paris will hook it up, along with Christopher Stonebreaker, at the top of our second hour! But now we'll have the first tag team contest of the evening.  The Machines are set to face the Natural Predators, after that melee in the aisle last weekend. BL: Is it me, or is it about to get a few shades dumber in here? ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| The Machines vs. Natural Predators |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: MB [The usual chants for the Natural Predators begin to rise, as the crowd begins to swell with a pop as Grey Pheonix and Bear emerge from the wrestlers' entrance, and head down the aisle to the ring.  Sparkplug Lee stands in the ring.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, this match is scheduled for one fall, with a regulation time limit.  Introducing first, the team making their way down to ringside at this time... the team of Grey Pheonix and Bear... THE NATURAL PREDATORRRRRS! [The two men step between the ropes and enter the ring, the impressive frame of Bear towering over tiny Sparkplug.  The Grey Pheonix stands on the middle turnbuckle and looks out at the entrance, just as "Welcome to the Machine" by Pink Floyd comes over the PA system.] SL: And their opponents... the team of Paul Wong and Simon O'Neal... THE MAAAAAAAACHINES! [Paul Wong appears first, to a rather mixed response.  When his partner, Simon O'Neal comes out, the crowd releases a very heated negative response.  Simon gives a big grin to the crowd and mouths "Ya know ya love me" to the camera, before tapping his partner on the shoulder to stop.  Wong opens his jacket to reveal a t-shirt bearing the message "THE FABULOUS ONES DON'T WANT TO FACE US."  As soon as the camera gets a shot of it, O'Neal does the same and shows a second message, "...BUT MS. MIKI WANTS THIS", with an arrow below the words pointing downwards, past his waist to the front of his tights.  Wong sees the second message, and shakes his head silently as he steps through the ropes.  O'Neal starts to laugh as he follows.] BL: You know, that Simon O'Neal is kinda cute.  I can see where Miki would be drawn to him.  But Wong's got to go, he's just a hanger-on. TD: Do you even pay attention to Countdown anymore? BL: Like the rest of the world, I don't watch when I'm not on. ["Goodbye" by Gravity Kills starts to play, shocking the fans out of their silence.] TD: What's going on? BL: Beats me, Timmy.  Hold on -- it's that tramp, Harlequin Melody! TD: The siren of the Harlequins is coming out.  I guess she has her own theme music. [Melody steps out wearing a Harlequins T-shirt and a very short leather skirt.  She's holding a microphone in her hands. The two teams in the ring stand and look on, bemused.] HM: Well, well, well, lookie what we have here.  You know, Machines, I've heard that you two have been running off at the mouth about how you two should get a shot.  How you two beat the Harlequins and Cold Spell.  Well, it's time to set the record straight.     First of all, you didn't beat the Harlequins, Cold Spell beat the Harlequins. All you did was lie down on an unconscious man.  Though with your social lives, you probably have a lot of practice at that. [Big pop!] TD: [over the headset] Good grief. BL: [over the headset] Catty little slut, isn't she? HM: Secondly, the only reason a punk-[BLEEP] prelim team like you even got into the IIWF was because Seadog of the Barnacle Brothers had a hangnail and Danny Boy needed a replacement team.  You guys should be thanking God you're still not in prelim hell.     Now I realize that in your own little world, you guys are all that and a bag of chips.  So I feel it's time to get you to back to reality.  And if you two are men, or at least close enough without having to shave your palms... [Another big pop!]     ...you two will agree to take on the Harlequins right here next week! Though your masculinity is seriously in doubt there.  Well, I gotta go! [Melody turns to leave to a huge pop.] TD: I'm not sure we'll be seeing that challenge fulfilled, but if we do, it's going to be very intense. BL: The only thing intense about the Harlequins is when they try to decide which are going to wrestle on any given evening, and more importantly which two are going to wear the skirts.  Mix and match, right, Timmy? TD: I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. [The Machines confer briefly, Simon O'Neal shaking his head and stepping out of the ring. The bell rings, and Grey Pheonix locks up with Paul Wong in the center of the ring.  The two combatants hold a test of strength in the center of the ring, and the Pheonix slowly drops to the mat on his back and monkey flips Wong straight into the Predators' corner.  Wong rolls to his feet as the Grey Pheonix runs in with a clothesline, flattening the Machine against the turnbuckle.  A snap mare out of the corner leads into a chinlock by the Pheonix, and the move gains even more pressure with the knee of the Pheonix planted into Wong's spine.] TD: That's enough to make any mortal man give up. BL: Wong's no mortal man.  You see Timmy, every time you try out one of those tired old cliches, I'm right here to snap you back into reality. TD: I think I'm starting to miss Steve Roberts. BL: Why would you miss that little 'Biter? [Wong struggles to the ropes and manages to have the hold broken by the referee, and then rocks the Pheonix with a right hand to the jaw, followed by a kneelift into a backbreaker.  The Pheonix rolls to his stomach and is hit with an elbowdrop to the small of the back, after which Paul Wong applies a reverse chinlock and then changes it into an STF hold.  The Pheonix now is the one to grab for the ropes, and again the submission hold is ended by the referee.  Wong drags the Pheonix to the corner and tags out to Simon O'Neal, but just as the Machines trade places a disturbance draws the attention of the fans.] BL: Hey, look at that. TD: It would seem as if the Machines are about to get a little company out here, because the Fabulous Ones are on their way out! [True to the word of Dross, Agito Nakajima and Sho Satsuma appear right at the head of the aisle, flanked by Ms. Miki and wearing a pair of championship titles marked as the United States Tag Championship belts of the UWF.  They slowly make their way down the aisle, as the crowd waits with bated breath to see what the Machines do.  In effect, they ignore the Fabs and continue with the match, although the distraction allows the Grey Pheonix to capitalize and whip O'Neal into the ropes, then takes him down with a powerslam into the mat.  Simon lays on the mat, trying to catch his breath, and Bear receives a tag from his partner, then enters with a mighty stomp right in the middle of Simon O'Neal's chest.] TD: That'll take his breath away. BL: Please, no more of these obscure references to eighties pop songs.  It'll only bring the Down Boys out, and _nobody_ wants that.  Next thing you know, Poutine Janois will be out policing everybody. TD: Are you quite done? BL: Steve Manning said the same thing at the Grapples. [Bear drags Simon by the head to the corner of the Predators and works him over with hard body shots, then grabs him in an armbar and pulls him into a wickedly short clothesline to the mat.  Simon weakly tries to stand, and when he grabs the ropes to steady himself, he finds himself face to face with Agito of the Fabulous Ones.  The Universal Heartthrob finds it funny that Simon's having his problems, and this leads to Bear grabbing Simon with a bearhug, crushing him inwards.  Simon struggles to escape the powerful hold, and after a surprisingly forceful headbutt Bear drops him, and leans on the ropes for support.  Simon scampers to the other side of the ring and tries to recover, then charges Bear and flies at him with a high kneelift that partially catches his opponent in the face, and then Simon climbs to the top rope and comes off with a flying sunset flip into a rollup.  Bear kicks out, and the Pheonix strains to tag in, his hand just narrowly missing that of the big man.  Paul Wong and Simon O'Neal continue to treat the Fabs as non-factors with a double whip into the ropes followed by a double clothesline on Bear, but the Grey Pheonix enters the ring as well and attacks Wong from behind with a nudge off the ropes that smashes Wong into O'Neal, and O'Neal in turn into the corner.  Bear is up at that point and avalanches O'Neal, which again draws laughter from the Fabs at ringside.  Wong manages to subdue the Pheonix and then throws him into Bear, then helps Simon to his feet.  The Machines glance at each other, then at the Fabs contingent, then back at each other.] BL: What are they up to?  They look like a couple of degenerates doing that. TD: They -- oh my goodness, did you see that?  Paul Wong just hurled his partner right at Sho Satsuma!  He threw him over the top rope! BL: That's going to hurt tomorrow morning, but that was a helluva move. [O'Neal, sprawled amidst the Fabulous Ones, gets up and starts to stomp on Sho's form.  Agito rises behind him and grabs him by the back of the head, but Paul Wong is there to the rescue.  The Natural Predators long forgotten, the Machines and Fabulous Ones battle all the way up the aisle, eventually dissapearing through the entrance.  The crowd is on its feet during all of this, while the referee counts both Machines out of the match.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners as a result of a countout... THE NATURAL PREDATORS! [The Predators look on at the crowd, angry over how they won the match. Their music playing over the PA system, Bear and the Grey Pheonix begin the walk back to the dressing rooms, hearing the cheers from the crowd.] BL: Well, that just sucks.  All because the referee has no patience, a great team like the Machines lose to a couple of barnyard inbreds. And what's with this Pheonix deal?  It's transferable, I suppose?  Let me guess, by next year we'll see the rebirth of Serge Annis as the Fire Pheonix?  Or even better, Otto Verhoeven as Herr Pheonix? TD: Some days it just doesn't pay to get out of bed. BL: Don't I know it! Hehehehe... snort! TD: Once again, surprises galore here at the IIWF Coliseum -- and the night's actions ready to continue right here with a clash of two true titans of the sport: Otto "The Butcher" Verhoeven taking on Mark Destructo. This is going to be a real power battle we're about to witness, Becky -- and for the first time I can remember, Otto is actually going into a match where he could well be at a power disadvantage! BL: Oh, this one's going to be a war, Timmy. Two huge, powerful men, sweating it out, giving it everything they've got... you know, it reminds me of... [Dross hurriedly coughs.] BL: Oh, I'm sorry, Tim -- I keep forgetting how long it's been since we worked together. TD: Too long, I'm sure. Now, we all know about the devastating form The Teutonic Terror's been on of late - but Mark Destructo has shown himself that he wants nothing more than to be the best once again, and Otto's going to need to keep all his attention focused on his opponent here. BL: And what exactly makes you think he won't? TD: The fact that we're to be joined by a special guest commentator... BL: Oh no, Timmy, not at all. If anything, that's simply going to motivate the Butcher further. You've seen Byron recently, Timmy. You saw what effect Verhoeven's attack had on him at the Golden Grapple awards. He's a broken man. If he does have the guts to show up tonight, Otto will be laughing all night long. TD: You may be right, Becky. Byron's appeared far from his former professional self these last few weeks, and with the news that DeWinter still hasn't recovered from her injuries... BL: [spitting] Trumped up little tart finally got what was coming to her... TD: [ignoring the outburst] ...you have to wonder if Byron's in any fit state to compete. He's passed fit, but what sort of state is he in mentally? BL: Why don't you ask him, Timmy? TD: I may just do that. [Both Dross and Becky are hushed as Sparkplug Lee enters the ring, preparing to address the crowd...] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, at this time I would like to introduce our special guest commentator for the following match -- would you please give a warm welcome for the Golden Grapple Award Winner... LORD BYRON! [The crowd starts to whisper as "Intermezz" from the "Karelia" Suite starts up over the PA system, the arena hushed, with the exception of a few scattered cheers - matched almost equally by boos which continue to increase as no sign of the superstar emerges from the entrance to the aisle...] BL: He's not going coming, Timmy. Looks like it's just you and me. TD: To be honest, Becky, I'm not overly surprised... the scenes we saw earlier this week... ["Intermezzo" starts to fade out, the fans reacting badly to a second non-appearance...] TD: From what I saw, Byron's concern for his ward was... [Dross is cut off by a spontaneous and unexpected pop from the crowd at the entrance to the aisle, and a buzz surges through the arena...] TD: It's Byron! He's in the arena! [The fans cheers start to increase as Byron slowly walks down the aisle, head bowed, dressed black trousers and a loose white shirt. His hair is tied back in a loose ponytail, and he glances up, appearing to hesitate as he sights the ring. The crowd urges him on, and he raises his head, casting an anguished look around the Coliseum and biting his lip...] BL: Look at him, Timmy -- he doesn't know what he's doing here. He doesn't want to be here. It's like I said -- the Butcher's crushed him. [Slowly, Byron starts to turn away from the ring, turning back towards the dressing rooms to cries of disbelief and a chorus of boos from the crowd... he shakes his head, and continues back...] TD: This has gone far enough. I'm not going to let this happen. He's accomplished too much to be treated like this... BL: Timmy...? Where are you going? Sit down! [The crowd pops again as Dross throws down his headset, leaving the broadcast desk and jogging down the aisle, stopping Byron just short of the curtains with a hand on his shoulder. Byron turns, startled, and Dross starts shouting at him, and the free feed microphones start to pick up the conversation...] TD: ...must be feeling, but you can't hide away like this forever! Where's your pride gone, Byron? LB: My pride? Mr. Dross -- I took this from Steve Roberts, I didn't expect it from you. Just let me go, please. I don't know why I came here tonight in the first place. TD: I don't believe that for one second, Byron. You came here for a reason. You entered the arena for a reason. I know what it must be like... [Byron snarls, shrugging Dross' arm off and casting him a dark look] LB: Do you? Do you really? [Dross bites his lip, looking away. Byron smiles bitterly] Of course you don't. You can't imagine what it's been like for one second. [Byron snorts, and turns again, walking quickly away from Dross... back towards the ring! Huge pop from the crowd! Byron rolls into the ring and snatches the microphone from an astonished Sparkplug Lee, turning back to face the returning Tim Dross with an angry glare.] LB: Is that it, Mr. Dross? Do you want the exclusive? Do you want to know how it feels? Do you want me to talk? Well, then -- by all means, let's talk! [Pop! Dross slowly climbs up the ring steps, and Byron holds the ropes open for him. As Dross steps into the ring, Byron walks back, turning and brushing his hand through his hair.] LB: You want to know how it feels, Mr. Dross? I'll tell you how it feels. It feels as though there's nothing left. I returned to this federation to try and salvage a scrap of dignity, to try and get some measure of revenge -- and I ended up losing everything. Why? Because of that very pride you talked about earlier. My fiancee... [The crowd pops, and Byron checks himself, almost choking on his words] ...my ward, is lying unconscious in a hospital bed at this very moment. All I want to do -- all there is left for me to do, is be with her. I don't want to be here, Mr. Dross. I don't want to wrestle, not when my ward is lying injured due to my own foolish pride! [Dross walks across to Byron, muttering words of consolement, but Byron slaps his hand away angrily, raising the microphone again, his face twisting into another bitter, self-loathing smile.] LB: They say what goes around comes around, don't they Mr. Dross? [Dross reaches for the microphone, shaking his head, and Byron again slaps his hand away, pointing at Dross' chest and shaking his own head angrily] Oh no, Mr. Dross... you wanted the story, it's yours. What goes around comes around. I'll freely admit -- since I've been in the IIWF, I've committed more than my fair share of crimes. Marty Warnett, Creed... I cheated and backstabbed at every turn. And maybe I was due some payback. But let me ask you this. What did DeWinter do to deserve her injuries? What crime did she commit? [Dross tries to speak, but Byron cuts him off.] LB: Nothing! All she did was try to be there to help me. Nothing more. She tried to help the person she loves. [Byron chokes again, his face a mask of anguish] She's no fighter, Mr. Dross - she couldn't even hope to stand up against Heidi, let alone Verhoeven. but she tried, trying to help me. And where was I when she needed help in return? [Byron throws the microphone to Dross, turning away...] What happened, Mr. Dross... what happened was my own fault. I'm the one to blame. I should never have come back. [Byron walks to the ropes, and starts to exit the ring as a worried murmur passes through the crowd. Dross stares at Byron for a second, then shakes his head, raising the microphone...] TD: So that's it, is it, Byron? You're just going to walk away and give up? You're going to let the Butcher walk all over you? [Byron pauses between the ropes, before turning and glaring at Dross with unconcealed hate... slowly, he steps back into the ring, walking back up to Dross... the crowd starts to pop again...] LB: And tell me... just what, then... just what would you have me do? [Byron stares at Dross, who gulps, and raises the microphone again] TD: I wouldn't have you throw away everything you worked so hard to achieve. [Byron snorts, and starts to turn away] Because that's not the Byron... the contender... I used to think I knew! LB: Well then, I guess you don't know me as well as you think you do. TD: Don't give me that, Byron -- don't you dare give me that! When you applied for reinstatement, I backed you all the way! Janios backed you all the way. Why? Because when we looked at you, we saw a true world class competitor! You've been through a lot, Byron -- we all know that -- but you're better than this. You're better than just another victim of the Slaughterhouse. Now, you can just walk out of here right now and leave, or you can try an face your problems. Which one's it going to be, Byron? [Byron pauses, glancing around the Coliseum, and the crowd pops, trying to rally him, trying to make his decision. Byron looks back at Dross, and slowly, sadly, shakes his head, before stepping out through the ropes, and walking away from the ringside area, back towards the dressing rooms. The sigh of disappointment passes through the crowd, but this time, no boos follow Byron as he makes his way to the back. Dross watches him leave, and exits the ring, rejoining Becky LaRue in the broadcast booth...] TD: I tried, Becky... I tried... BL: How touching. [Becky yawns] Can we get the match underway now? ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven vs. Mark Destructo |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: MP [Back inside the ring, Sparkplug Lee straightens his bow tie, brushes down his tuxedo, and prepares to address the quietened crowd...] RA: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a fifteen minute time limit! [The crowd pops, starting to forget the interview as they realise that the actions about to start] Introducing first, hailing from Atlanta, Georgia, and weighing in at 370lbs... please welcome... MARK DESTRUCTO! [The crowd pops in anticipation of the wrestling legend as "Money" by Pink Floyd starts up over the p.a. system and then a collective roar erupts as Destructo emerges at the entrance to the aisle, dressed in his weightlifters trunks with the initials "D.C.I." across the front in silver. He stands at the entrance, brushing his short brown hair back with his hands, casting a glare around at the fans, before quickly striding down towards the ring, brushing off the fans who stretch out to try and touch his immense muscled frame.] BL: Now there's a man if I ever saw one. Look at that, Timmy -- Mark Destructo, here on business. TD: He certainly cuts an impressive figure -- but he's got a tough singles debut here tonight. [Destructo reaches the ring and steps onto the ring apron, glaring at the referee as he steps in over the top rope. He makes his way to the corner, leaping up onto the second turnbuckle and raising his arms to the crowd, shouting out at the fans and inciting a good sized heel pop as "Money" slowly fades out..] RA: And his opponent... [The crowd roars out in an instant heel pop from the crowd as "Hallowe'en" by John Carpenter starts up over the PA system] ...hailing from Essen, Germany, and weighing in at 340lbs... here is "The Teutonic Terror"... OTTO "THE BUTCHER" VERHOEVEN! [The crowd's roar continues to pour down as the awesome figure of the Butcher emerges from the backstage area, angrily throwing the curtains aside and striding towards the ring, glaring at Destructo, who goads him on from the turnbuckles... Nurse Heidi quickly follows him, attempting to calm him down...] BL: Look at that, Timmy -- the Butcher's upset. I guess he didn't take kindly to being kept waiting... TD: That's his problem. There were things that needed to be said. BL: Oh Timmy, you are so brave... must be the Soundbite in you. [Verhoeven wastes no time in getting to work, leaping onto the ring apron and stepping into the ring, walking up to Destructo and unloading with a vicious right hand! Heel pop! Destructo staggers, but returns the compliment, and both men start to trade punishing blows...] TD: And the match has barely started, and we've a slugfest going on here! BL: I told you, Timmy -- the Butcher is hot. TD: But Destructo's not backing down from the German Juggernaut one inch! Look at this! [The Butcher reels backwards as Destructo hits him hard with a thrust to the throat, and then another! Verhoeven staggers backwards, and Destructo hits a headbutt that knocks him back into the ropes... he Irish whips the Butcher to the far side...] TD: Clothesline by Destructo... no! Otto ducks under! Verhoeven's off the far side... shoulderblock... [Huge crowd pop!] TD: Destructo never even blinked!! Incredible! And he's asking Verhoeven to bring it on!! [Verhoeven stares at Destructo for a second, and then flies into the ropes, coming back with another huge, high-impact shoulderblock... and again, Destructo stands there and takes it! The crowd roars in appreciation as Destructo holds out his arms, shaking his head and grinning at Verhoeven... who glares back... and holds up his hand! Heel pop!] TD: And Verhoeven's asking Destructo for a test of strength! BL: Now this could be a big mistake, Timmy -- Verhoeven's simply not used to facing someone larger and more powerful than himself... TD: And if anything, Destructo looks to be exactly that! Verhoeven has the height advantage, though... [Destructo runs his hands through his hair again, looking around at the popping crowd... and reaches out tentatively, interlocking fingers with Verhoeven...] TD: And a kick to the stomach from Verhoeven! And a second! A third! Four! Verhoeven's hammering away at Destructo in there! He's going at it like an animal... BL: Hehehe... snort! [Destructo collapses to one knee, and Verhoeven twists his arm around, holding him down and letting fly with a series of punishing forearm shots to the back of the neck. He pulls Destructo back up again, backs him into the ropes, and whips him across ring... and the crowd explodes into a pop!] TD: And another clothesline from Verhoeven... and this time Destructo goes down hard! What impact! BL: Um... Timmy... it looks as though we've got company heading this way. [All eyes from the crowd are now on the aisle, where Deathbringer is slowly advancing towards the ring, lead by the Blind Guardian... Verhoeven pulls Destructo to his feet, hoisting the heavier man up and slamming him back down to the canvas, before turning and narrowing his eyes as he sees Deathbringer approaching...] TD: This could be trouble here, Becky... look at the glare on Verhoeven's face... BL: Well, it didn't improve his mood any, that's for sure. [Deathbringer and the Blind Guardian reach the ring, and stop at ringside, Deathbringer watching on impassively as Verhoeven glares at him, holding his arms out in a gesture... Destructo slowly rises back to his feet.. Verhoeven turns... huge pop!] TD: And Destructo with a clothesline that sends Verhoeven out over the top! Incredible! [Destructo quickly rolls out after Verhoeven, picking him up from in front of Deathbringer and Irish whipping him across the ringside area... and sending him flying straight through the steel steps! The crowd roars in appreciation, and Destructo pulls Verhoeven back up, rolling him back into the ring... Verhoeven starts to roll to his feet, and Destructo drops a huge legdrop across the back f his neck, rolling him over and hooking the leg for the cover - 1 - Verhoeven powers out, kicking Destructo off with force...] TD: It takes much more than that to put the Butcher down... BL: Don't I know it. TD: Why do I get the feeling we've been here before for some reason? [Destructo rolls across Verhoeven, locking him into a Boston Crab... the referee checks for the submission, Verhoeven glares at him, the pain from the big man's weight evident on his face, but he shakes his head angrily...] TD: And now Destructo's showing us his strategy here -- he's starting to work on Verhoeven's back. Trying to take away some of the Butcher's strength, and set him up for his finisher.. BL: It's a good strategy. There's not much a man can do with a bad back... except for former Vice-President Steve Owens, of course. [pause] What? Why are you looking at me like that? [Verhoeven strains against Destructo, flexing, the pain evident on his face.] TD: Verhoeven's trying to kick out of the hold... Destructo's got it locked in tight. [Destructo looks up at the crowd as he feels Verhoeven strain against him, and Verhoeven slowly pushes up on his hands, leaning forward... and kicking Destructo off with force! Huge pop from the crowd! Verhoeven starts to get to his feet... the crowd roars again, from another disturbance in the aisle.] TD: And Destructo with an elbowdrop to the small of the back! And a second! BL: What's all the noise about, Timmy? [The pop from the crowd increases wildly as they recognise the figure striding out into the aisle for the second time, walking quickly towards the ringside area... inside the ring, Destructo pulls Verhoeven to his feet, hooking him up and sending him crashing down into the canvas with a towering belly-to-back suplex... the cover... 1 - Verhoeven kicks out angrily, and with force! The figure pauses for a second, watching the action in the ring, before turning and walking towards the broadcast table, pulling out a chair and sitting back, putting his feet up on the table and crossing his ankles... ] TD: Lord Byron! Glad you could come and join us. LB: [coldly] No problem, Mr. Dross, I'm sure. BL: Had a change of heart, Byron? We thought you'd left us for good... LB: [expressionless] You could call it that, Ms. LaRue. [Destructo starts to pull Verhoeven up again, this time receiving a shot to the midsection, before responding with a clubbing forearm of his own. Verhoeven lashes out again, and Destructo backs off slightly, giving Verhoeven enough time to get to his feet... Destructo pulls him into a headlock, and Verhoeven quickly charges him into the ropes, using the momentum to throw Destructo off and to the far side...] TD: Verhoeven drops his head... and elevates Destructo with a high back body drop! Incredible! Destructo back to his feet -- and Verhoeven backs him to the ropes again. BL: So, Byron. How is that lovely Miss DeWinter doing? You'll have to send her my fondest regards... [Byron stays silent as Verhoeven Irish whips Destructo towards the far side... Destructo reverses... and as Verhoeven returns, sends him flying over the top rope and down to the concrete below! Huge heel pop! Verhoeven slowly pushes himself back up to his feet as the referee starts the count... and looks up, straight at the broadcast table...] BL: Uh-oh... [Verhoeven's eyes glaze over with hatred, and he climbs to his feet. Byron slowly lowers his feet to the floor as Verhoeven walks across, staring at him... Byron glances away, and Verhoeven starts to laugh... until he's clubbed from behind from a double axehandle from Destructo!] TD: And Destructo with an axehandle from the ring apron, brings Verhoeven to his knees! BL: Cheap shot. If he hadn't been so distracted by Mr. Mourning here. TD: Becky, not now, please. [Destructo pulls the Butcher back up, rolling him back into the ring... Verhoeven slowly rises back to his feet, clutching at his back with a slight grimace while Destructo pulls himself back onto the ring apron, watching Verhoeven carefully...] TD: Verhoeven now.. slowly getting to his feet... Destructo's waiting on the ring apron, watching his man... Verhoeven turns... slingshot bodyblock by Destructo! Oh my! BL: That's a 370lb man with a slingshot bodyblock! I haven't seen anything that impressive since Brad Kinder showed me his... TD: [interrupting] The cover! One -- two -- and... a kickout by Verhoeven! And Destructo's straight back on him! Elbowdrop! And a second! He pulls Verhoeven up... side backbreaker! Another cover... [Byron snorts in disdain.] TD: One... two... and a kick out! Destructo's dominating him, but he can't keep him down! [Destructo pulls Verhoeven up again, this time hoisting him up in a fireman's carry... he turns around, looking out at the crowd...] TD: Look at the power of Destructo! He's holding the Butcher across his shoulders like a rag doll! BL: This man is pure power, Timmy... I haven't seen anyone do that before. TD: And Destructo with a Samoan drop! Another cover! One... two... and Verhoeven kicks out again! LB: [coldly] Verhoeven's too tenacious. If Destructo's going to beat him, it's going to take something special. BL: Oh, you're still with us, are you? LB: For the moment. [Destructo pulls Verhoeven up again, glaring stonily around at the crowd and inciting another roar... He quickly backs Verhoeven into the ropes, setting him up for an Irish whip...] TD: Verhoeven to the far side... no! Verhoeven reverses... and pulls Destructo straight back, and into a short knee to the midsection! Destructo doubles up... and Verhoeven nails a jumping DDT! The cover: One... what the...? [Verhoeven looks up, pulling Destructo's shoulder off the canvas before he can kick out. He glares up and across at the announcers desk, staring past Tim Dross with a look of pure malice...] TD: What on earth is Verhoeven doing? BL: He's sending out a message, Timmy... and it's not hard to guess who it's directed at... [Again Byron looks away from Verhoeven's gaze, turning instead... to meet the gaze of Deathbringer, who has turned to regard the Englishman thoughtfully... Byron shakes his head, and looks away again, as Verhoeven sneers, pulling Destructo back to his feet, flinging him back into the turnbuckles and following through with a series of rapid punishing body shots to the ribs...] TD: And Verhoeven's on the warpath now! Look at him! The referee's got to get in there! Verhoeven used to be a boxer, and he's using those closed fists as a weapon! [Verhoeven continues to pummel Verhoeven back into the corner, repeatedly smashing blows into Destructo's ribs and kidneys, before lashing out with a huge right hook that sends Destructo's head snapping to the right! Heel pop! Destructo slumps, but Verhoeven continues unabated, kicking away at his midsection, and then choking him out against the bottom turnbuckle with his boot... the referee lays on a warning count...] TD: And Verhoeven breaks at four and a half! And he goes straight back to the choke again! This man is an animal! [The referee lays on another warning count, and as Verhoeven breaks again, pulls the Butcher backwards and getting right in his face! The Butcher glares at him, shaking his head, before turning back to the dazed Destructo and pulling him back to his feet... he hooks him into a facelock, throwing Destructo's arm over his shoulder...] TD: And Verhoeven with a vertical suplex! What power! The cover... One... two... and it's Destructo who kicks out! BL: But look at Verhoeven! He's enjoying it! [Verhoeven snarls, watching Destructo as he struggles to rise, before dropping a fistdrop to the back of his head as he gets to his knees... he pulls Destructo up again... hooking him around the waist... and planting him straight into the centre of the ring with a gutwrench suplex! Verhoeven covers again - 1 - 2 - Destructo kicks out again!] TD: Incredible resilience by Destructo here -- he's fighting on instinct now... BL: But the Butcher's not finished yet, Timmy... [Verhoeven glances across at the announcers table again with a snarl, and sets Destructo up for an Irish whip into the ropes... Destructo goes flying across the ring, and Verhoeven comes back, lining up for a clothesline...] TD: Ducked by Destructo! Both men on the rebound... and Destructo with a powerslam! He nailed him! BL: But he can't capitalise! He's taking too long with the cover! [As if hearing Becky's words, Destructo pulls Verhoeven back to his feet as he rises himself, backing the Butcher into the turnbuckles and sending two huge shoulder charges into the Butcher's midsection... he takes Verhoeven's arm...] TD: Irish whip across ring... and the Butcher hits the turnbuckles face first! What an impact! BL: That must have moved the ring, Timmy! TD: Verhoeven staggers back out... and Destructo with a Dragon Suplex! And the release! Verhoeven's head just bounced off the canvas! What a move! [Destructo rolls over onto the prone Butcher, hooking the leg... the referee slides into position... 1 - 2 - and Verhoeven gets his shoulder up! Destructo slaps the canvas, pulling Verhoeven up to his feet again...] TD: And Destructo backs the Butcher into the ropes -- he's signalling to the crowd... Irish whip coming up... Destructo with the clothesline -- ducked by Verhoeven! Both men turn... and Verhoeven grabs Destructo around the throat! And he nails the Slaughterslam! He got it! [Destructo collapses, and Verhoeven drops on top of him... Byron slowly stands, walking away from the broadcast booth as the referee slides in for the cover... One... two... Destructo raises his legs to kick out...] BL: Three! He got him! TD: Destructo kicked out a moment too late! [The referee signals for the bell...] RA: Here is your winner... OTTO "THE BUTCHER" VERHOEVEN! [Verhoeven rolls away from Destructo, raising his arm and looking once again across at the broadcast booth... and then quickly looking around, his eyes narrowing as he sees Byron walking back up the aisle, head bowed...] TD: Uh-oh... Verhoeven's sliding out of the ring... we could have some trouble here... [Verhoeven starts to jog up the aisle, trailing Byron towards the dressing rooms... the crowd starts to pop in warning... and then bursts into a full-blooded roar as a figure steps between the pair...] TD: It's Deathbringer! Deathbringer just stepped between Byron and Verhoeven! BL: And look at Verhoeven's face! He doesn't like it one bit! [The crowd pops wildly as Verhoeven and Deathbringer stand at ringside, glare at each other, long second passing... as the two glare at each other, the Blind Guardian makes his way towards the broadcast table, a smirk spreading across his face.] BG: It seems... that the Deathbringer has chosen his next victim. [The Guardian urns away, laughing, and walks past Deathbringer, tapping him lightly on the shoulder as he passes the pair. Slowly, Deathbringer turns away, following the Blind Guardian back towards the exit himself. Verhoeven starts to make after him, but Nurse Heidi pulls him away, looking at him anxiously... Verhoeven snorts in anger, and shrugs her off, raising his arms to the crowd before walking to the back himself...] TD: What a confrontation we've just witnessed here, folks... Deathbringer and Verhoeven... two long-time rivals... getting back in each other's way again here tonight! BL: And the old man had the nerve to say the Butcher's going to be Deathbringer's next victim? Yeah, right... Verhoeven's unstoppable, Timmy... [Back in the ring, Destructo steps away from the turnbuckles where he was standing, cursing his luck, and climbs out of the ring, turning to walk back to the dressing rooms himself...] TD: What the... the scenes aren't over in this match yet, folks! Shadoe Rage! Shadoe Rage just vaulted the security railings, and he's doing a number on Destructo! [The crowd roars out a heel pop as Destructo tries to fend off a wild attack from the former Prophet at ringside... and the pop increases again as a muscle-bound figure charges out of the entrance and down the aisle, catching the unsuspecting Rage from behind with a clothesline that sends him spinning to the arena floor! Pop!] TD: Scott Rogers! Scott "The Fop" Rogers has arrived, and he's going right after Shadoe Rage! [The Jobber Justice Squad pours down the aisle as the three superstars start to tear into each other, quickly intervening and trying to separate the trio, despite the fact that the three don't appear to care who's stood in front of them anymore. One of the Barnacle Brothers takes a good few kicks to the head from Scott Rogers for no apparent reason, while Scott "The Whine" Bloom is catapulted into the stands by Destructo as he angrily tries to reach his attacker. Eventually, sheer weight of numbers prevails for the JJS, and they drag the trio back towards the dressing room area. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Subway Psycho vs. "To Excess" Rick Williams |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: RP [Lee looks nervously down at Starks at ringside, clearly hoping that hell doesn't break loose while he is still in the ring. The arena lights suddenly drop to nothing, prompting a huge pop from the assembled fans. The form of Sparkplug Lee's can be made out in the ring by the occasional camera flash which goes off around ringside. Suddenly, the videotron above the aisle shows a speck of light, which rapidly grows, and the arena seems to shake with the noise and the vibration of an approaching subway train. Above the din, Sparkplug makes his announcements:] SL: The next match is a one fall affair. Introducing first, hailing from the subways of New York... weighing in at 255 pounds... it's the Subway Psycho! ["Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne kicks in to another big pop as the white light engulfs the videotron and fireworks explode around its perimeter, a single spotlight then picking up the form of the Psycho as he emerges into the aisle. His stringy long black hair lies wet, and he tosses it back away from his face, throwing water droplets into the air. His face is adorned with his usual grey make-up around his eyes, and he bears the scars of the barbed wire match at Ring Wars IV, discoloured streaks of scar tissue littered over his arms and shoulders as he makes his way down the aisle, slapping hands with the fans. He stops at ringside, confronted by Tony Starks, who is still surrounded by security. The lights rise and the crowd hushes in anticipation of an explosion between the two athletes.] BL: It looks like we might be getting a different match than the one advertised! Tony Starks could kill that mole person! TD: Actually, it doesn't look like they are going to fight... they're just staring at each other. Subway Psycho is climbing into the ring without incident! BL: What's with these two? If they don't like each other they should fight. If they do like each other they should get a room down at the Ramada. The rooms are cheap and the beds are soft. [The Psycho climbs into the ring as Starks allows himself to be escorted away from ringside, his eyes continuing to stare at the subway dweller as he goes. Sparkplug resumes his announcements:] SL: And his opponent... hailing from Minneapolis, Minnesota... and weighing in at 257 pounds..."To Excess" Rick Williams! [A decent sized heel pop erupts as "Local Hero" by Mark Knopfler comes over the PA system. Williams saunters out to ringside, throwing glances of disdain at the crowd and vigorously chewing some gum. When he reaches a camera he stops and says...] RW: This is _my_ time. TD: Rick Williams has made no secret that he thinks Subway Psycho is past his prime. BL: He's right. A hunk like Williams could have beaten a lump like Psycho even at the top point in his career...and he's far past that. TD: I disagree. The Subway Psycho seems to be returning to form...to the level of enthusiasm and ability that took him to the IIWF World title back in 1996. [Williams passes the security entourage escorting Tony Starks back to the locker room, and slyly spits out his gum, swatting it at the Staten Island native and scoring a direct hit. Mixed pop from the crowd!] TD: Starks is going ballistic! Security is holding him back and he is finally heading back to the locker room. [Starks yells all manner of obscenities at Williams, who simply gives an arrogant smile and continues down to the ring, taking his time and making the Psycho wait. He finally climbs up the ringsteps and enters the ring. The official signals for the bell, and the match is underway. Williams approaches Psycho warily before they both lock up. Psycho gets him with a go-behind, which Williams immediately reverses.] TD: Psycho has re-reversed that go behind. BL: I'd like Williams to perform a go behind on me! TD: Psycho has Williams in a standing arm bar and... oh! A thumb straight to the eye! BL: That's one of the best ways to break a hold. That and a kick to the groin. TD: It looks like Rick Williams is on the same wavelength as you are, Becky. He just hit Psycho with a quick low blow, shielded from the ref. [Williams lines up Psycho and snaps him down with a DDT. He hoists him up again for a crucifix powerbomb...] TD: What a counter by the Subway Psycho! He rolled with the impact and armdragged Williams right over the top -- and now he's followed by slapping on the head scissors! BL: I could put Williams in that move much better than the Psycho! [Psycho pours on the pressure but Williams slips out with another groin shot. The ref admonishes Williams as the crowd reacts to another presence.] TD: Tony Starks is coming back to ringside! BL: Didn't he just leave? TD: Williams has Psycho in the Excess Express and... down he goes! Williams is dominating Psycho with the aid of some illegal tactics! BL: Williams is just too much of a man for the gutter rat. TD: Didn't Victoria Von Edward say something similar on Friday night? BL: Never... NEVER... compare me to that stuck up cow! [Psycho gets back to his feet, though he looks kind of groggy. He catches Williams flat-footed though as he charges forward with a running clothesline.] TD: It looks like both Williams and Becky counted Psycho out too soon! That clothesline has knocked Williams right through the ropes at the feet of Tony Starks. BL: The Sewer Urchin doesn't know what to do now! He's afraid to go out of the ring where Starks is! TD: I would say that caution is not the same as cowardice. Starks has grabbed Williams! He's locked him in the Kathe Jime! Starks has Rick Williams locked in his devastating finishing move! BL: Hey, Starks! Wrong guy! TD: Don't forget the incident with the gum and... [Big pop as another figure streaks down the aisle!] TD: Here comes Kevin Christiansen! BL: What does the choir boy want? TD: He's pulling Starks off Williams! They're exchanging blows! Rick Williams is up! All three men are going at it! Here comes the Subway Psycho! BL: That lunatic just launched himself over the top rope with a plancha right onto all three men on the outside! TD: We have a four-way brawl here tonight! The ref has lost all control of this match and is calling for the bell! It looks like a double count-out has been decreed. BL: The Jobber Justice Squad is coming down but I don't know if they can stop these four guys! [Security and the JJS once again descend on the scene, attempting to keep the warring factions apart. The Psycho and Williams are pulled apart by security, as are Starks and Christiansen, security slowly forcing them all back to the locker room area via separate exits. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: That match hardly had a chance to get started before it got completely out of hand. Things are just going crazy around the IIWF at the moment! And now it's time to get comments from the "Epitome of Evil", the man who has finally stepped into the spotlight here in the IIWF -- here comes Serge Annis! [The crowd all begin to erupt, especially the "hard-core" fans, as bells begin to toll, followed by a faint drum beat. This is soon followed by the heavy guitar sequence of "Hands of Death" by Rod Zombie and Alice Cooper. The lights drop down to an eerie crimson red setting. Suddenly, fireworks go off around the entrance way to the aisle. This sets up the arrival of "The Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis. Annis walks out from behind the curtains, wearing a black pair of jeans, and a black cut up t-shirt of Annis' new IIWF "WHAT'S YOUR EVIL?" t-shirt. As the majority of the crowd release a pop, Annis looks around, eyeing the crowd. Annis then begins to grin and continue on his way to the ring. Once in the ring, Annis raises his hands and smashes them down as the four corners begin to emit five foot flames of fire. After the impressive display of pyrotechnics, the music slowly trails off and the lights return to normal. Annis' scars are still visible, over his neck, shoulders and a few very small ones on his face. He doesn't look to be in as bad shape as he has lately, and appears to be healing nicely. Annis is handed a microphone by a ring attendant.] SA: WHO'S THE DAMN MAN NOW?! [Annis grins as the crowd pops loudly for his favorite saying.] SA: Well, well, well... it looks like Serge Annis has got himself a little bit of time on this very microphone. The one that Chris Quigley uses to whine over every loss... the one that Requiem used when he took apart this federation piece by piece... the one that Brody Thunder uses to scare people with his big words... the very one that the "Outlaw" of the federation, J.W. Hardin refused to pass on to anyone else. Who the hell would have thought Serge Annis would get his chance at the microphone? TD: [over the headset] Sometimes I do wonder just what Serge is talking about. SA: And more importantly... who would have thought that the IIWF's most over-rated hack would make it this far? I think you all know what I'm talking about when I say that. For over six months, men like _you_... [Annis points over at the broadcast table.] SA: ...degraded me, discredited me, and you sure as hell disrespected me. Serge Annis can't cut it in the big leagues. Yeah, that was one of your more favorite sayings... and look where you are now. You like me now. As soon as I show a little blood. Same thing goes for the men in the back. The cliques, the loners and everyone else never gave me a goddam chance. Everyone else held back The Epitome of Evil. If you think I sat home every night, crying because of what people thought of me, you are seriously mistaken. I became, and I still am, the IIWF's most bitter superstar... heh heh. I'd go home and dream of my chance to rip Otto Verhoeven's head from his neck. I'd pray for the day to chokeslam Brody Thunder through the mat. I eagerly awaited my chance to step up into the glory... and into the success that the IIWF offers so very few men. And now that I have arrived at some form of "greatness"... heh heh, I plan on raising a little hell in the process! [The crowd begins to cheer and Annis doesn't even acknowledge them. He just stands in the center of the ring, looking straight to the camera, with no emotion on his face.] SA: First off, let's deal with Creed. Creed, everyone expected you to get the win at Ring Wars IV. But then everyone saw that I was in my element. Creed, I don't like you. Let's get that clear. But after what I did to you, you still got up. Forget the excess baggage, The Subway Psycho... that match was you and me. And you got up. For that, I can respect you. And above all else, rookie, I should thank you for helping me, open up the eyes of the world to look at the Epitome of Evil. [The crowd pops for Creed's mention. Annis just snickers.] SA: You are still an over-rated hack though... heh heh. And now, let's look over at Chris Quigley and Steve Manning. Hell, I like Manning's style! You sure as hell impressed me, Manning. Here I was thinking that you were a spineless coward hiding behind that freak of an Intercontinental Champion, and the whole time you could walk! Damn, that's funny! Manning aside, Quigley, you still owe me! You beat me a few months back in my first and only title shot in the IIWF. But you didn't beat me on your own. I could demand all the rematches I want, but no one will listen to me. And now you have that freak in a kilt, Duncan Macbeth, coming back after you for what he thinks is rightfully his. I got news for ya, Macbeth... That title is mine! Macbeth, you didn't deserve the original title shot ya got, much less a rematch. So shut up and stop whining over it or I may just as well beat the hell out of you, just like I'm going to do to that prissy of an Intercontinental Champion! [The crowd gives a mixed reaction, cheering for the challenge to Macbeth, but "boo"ing for Annis badmouthing Chris Quigley.] SA: You people can boo, cheer or anything else you want. I don't give a damn about a single one of you. You weren't behind me five months ago, so why the hell should you be behind me now? Now... here's a topic that is my number one issue... Mr. Steve "The Fury" Kowalski. Let me ask you, Fury... who the hell did you beat? [The crowd cheers Kowalski's name.] SA: Huh? Who the hell did you beat, to deserve an Intercontinental title match later tonight in the main event? You beat no one. Sure, you beat people up three months ago. But the fact is you've been gone for a while. You've lost your priority. You don't deserve a title shot at all. Kowalski, you are riding your coat-tails of your past success here in IIWF, and it makes me sick! I have to agree with Ronnie Paris when I say this... but "What have you done for me lately?" Absolutely nothing. If talking like an idiot who doesn't know anything other than a four letter word gets me a title shot, hell, get those damn censors ready! I'll give 'em something to bleep out if you want. Whatever works, right? Spreadbury, listen to me and listen good. You've finally made Serge Annis a star... now start treating me like one. And stop giving in to whatever the hell that over-bearing idiot Steve Kowalski wants... VOICE: [interrupting] The reason I get what I want, Anus, is ya _think_ yer the man... When everyone in the world _KNOWS_... I am the man! TD: [over the headset] Oh my! It's Steve Kowalski! [The crowd absolutely freaks out when the New Jersey Nightmare, dressed in jeans and his battered denim Harley jacket, walks down the aisle, his green eyes blazing, microphone in hand. Kowlaksi waits for the "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" chants to die down a bit before continuing.] SK: Are ya feelin’ like yer on top of the world, Anus? Did ya feel that all of those months of hard work an’ abuse finally paid off? I ain’t seen ya do anything yet. Where’s yer gold? Where’s yer title shot? I’ll tell ya. There’s none. What yer fegettin’ problem is that ya finally won a big match, but ya fail to realize that ya have to do it every night to be respected. SA: You are only half right, Kowalski. You are right when you say I don’t have any gold, and I don’t have any title shots, because all the big shots like you keep hogging ‘em all, and I don’t get my chance for anything. You're wrong when you say that I have to win every night. Why? Because I’ve been winning them for the last three months. Sure, it took a barb wire match for people to open their eyes, but hell... I’ve beaten Verhoeven, Warnett, and I even pinned your "great" Dan Kauffman. What you fail to realize is just how big your ego is and that you can’t make room for others, and in my case, who are better than you. [Kowalski continues to approach the ring, microphone in hand, staring cockily up at Annis as he speaks again:] SK: Y’know, Anus, what it comes down to... what it all really means is this. Yer goin’ ‘round the country askin’ "Who’s the man?" I guess ya really don’t know. The _man_ will be wrestlin’ Quigley tonight, the _man_ will get some gold tonight and maybe... jus’ maybe if ya can ask him nicely... maybe the man’ll give ya a shot next week. Go ahead, ask me. An’ ya better say pretty please, Anus. SA: The only man in that match I see is Chris Quigley and that scares me. The only thing you are, Kowalski, is an overbearing loudmouth who doesn’t know when to shut the hell up. [With that, Annis tosses the microphone to the canvas, and spits directly in Kowalski's face. Kowalski shuts his eyes as if he had been slapped -- and then slowly opens them once more, burning with rage. Kowalski rips off his denim jacket, and launches himself at the ring. Annis is ready, stomping on Kowalski as he rolls under the ropes, but the Fury will not be stopped that easily, and fights to his feet, launching rights and lefts at Annis with gusto.] TD: Oh my! We've got a pier sixer right here, folks! [A full-scale slugfest erupts in the middle of the ring, and security staff, along with the Jobber Justice Squad, flood down the aisle, storming the ring. Suddenly, Annis and Kowalski are back to back, sending members of the Jobber Justice Squad flying as they attempt to break up the brawl. The apparent team work lasts only a couple of moments, however, as once the first wave of jobbers has been despatched, Kowalski and Annis turn their attentions back to one another, and the brawl continues. A second attempt on the ring is made, and this time with more success, security grabbing Annis and managing to drag him out of the ring, his flailing arms and legs knocking out a couple of security staff, while Kowalski is restrained in the ring. The furious Annis grabs Kowalski's discarded microphone from the arena floor as he is pulled away from the ring.] SA: Kowalski, you did absolutely nothing to deserve this Intercontinental Title shot, and you full well know that. All you did was bring your dead ass back to the federation. And you were "rewarded" by Spreadbury. I have been working harder than anyone in this goddamn fed, and you know it, Quigley knows it... [Annis shrugs off the heavy hands of the security staff as he is dragged away from the similarly restrained Kowalski.] SA: ...and the IIWF committees especially know it. So, I am taking matters into my own hands, and I say you can't have the title. And that's that! [Kowalski simply gives Annis the finger, prompting a cheer from the crowd and a resurgence of the "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" chant. Annis sneers, and tosses the microphone at Kowalski, who ducks out of the way. The security staff continue to drag Annis up the aisle away from Kowalski, a spotlight following his departure, while Kowalski breaks free from his restrainers, climbing to the second turnbuckle and gesturing to the crowd that the IC belt will be his later in the night. Huge pop from the crowd, and the "Skull-pump!" chant grows ever louder!] TD: Folks -- what a confrontation we've seen here! Steve Kowalski faces Chris Quigley live tonight in our main event -- we'll be right back after these messages from our sponsors. Don't move a muscle! [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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+