________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour two...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon 6 December 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. Suddenly, the theme from "High Plains Drifter" blares over the PA system. Heel pop!] BL: Now what is _this_ all about? TD: I'm not sure, but it appears we may have an unexpected visit from the IIWF world champion. BL: Oh yay. Just when I thought I could leave my No-Doze at home. [Brody Thunder bursts through the curtains and walks straight down to the ring, ignoring the reaction of the throng in attendance. He's wearing a blue denim long-sleeved shirt, blue jeans, black boots and hat, his customary cigar conspicuously missing. The IIWF belt is slung over his left shoulder. His right hand is also heavily bandaged. TD: Looks like the champ's sporting some injuries courtesy of... BL: Courtesy of the _next_ world champion, Steve Kowalski, Timmy. Go ahead and tell the folks the truth for once. The Fury is, as he puts it, "the next big thing" -- and if the dirt farmer up there ever stops running from him, we're gonna see who the _real_ man is! TD: Well, I think that match would indeed be a classic, but I think Brody Thunder may have a different view of the outcome. He's been     looking good -- some would even say he's looking like the strongest champion the IIWF has ever seen -- since he won the belt a few weeks ago. BL: Aw, puh-lease, Timmy! The _only_ way Thunder looks good... is from     a distance. A looooong distance! [Thunder climbs the stairs and steps between the ropes. He motions for a mic. One is handed to him by a ringside attendant. With a "THUD! THUD! THUD!", Thunder checks the mic and steps to the center of the ring.] BT: Hey, don't look so sad Dross... ya can go back ta flappin' yer piehole in a few minutes. Right now I got me a few things ta say, so jus' sit tight an' keep yer trap shut fer a second.     If you've read yer program then by now ya know that somethin's missin' from tonight's card. Seems the IIWF's sawbones didn't think I should wrestle here tonight.  Seems I got me a lil concussion courtesy o' one Steve Kowalski an' his DDT that he introduced ta my skull on the concrete floor. [A swelling mixed pop erupts from the crowd.]     Yeah... he laid the Wolf out pretty good.  Another case o' the "Fury" lackin' the guts ta step through these ropes an' face me one-on-one. Nah... instead he'd prefer the hit-an'-run type o' tactics that other folks in this business made popular. Folks like the Syn... well... I'm sure everyone knows who I mean. So thanks to Mr Kowalski's lil stunt I got me a Excedrin 100 headache an' an achin' hand -- an' the night off. Fine. But then I hear another lil runt bumpin' his gums 'bout how he's the _real_ champeen o' the IIWF. So I jus' wanna direct this ta you... Timothy N. Turner. [Another mixed pop goes through the audience.]     Doctorin' video footage is about as close as you'll _ever_ get     ta beatin' _me_, ace. [Heel pop!]     Ya drag yer whinin' lil primadonna ass inta the IIWF an' jus' think yer the cock o' the walk? Ya come out here an' say how ya beat Quigley an' the ya beat me? Well, as far as I can tell, the only thing you've beatin'...     ...is them lips o' yers together.     Ya wanna challenge me, runt? That's fine by me. I got absolutely _no_ problem puttin' yer hide through the mat fer a paycheck. Hell, fer that I might jus' do it fer free. Tell Spreadbury ta draw up the contract, kid... then try an' pony up the guts ta sign it. Then we'll talk. 'Till then -- stay outta my way. It ain't very healthy ta do otherwise. [Thunder walks around the ring abit then raises the mic again.]     Then there's Canadian crybaby. He also seems ta think he had me beat. Well, Quigley... ya put yer Quickstriker on me. I never gave up. Now yer gonna say Turner broke it up before I could say I give up, right? Well hoss, this sport is jus' a series o' circumstances. If yer good ya take advantage o' 'em. If ya ain't... ya wind up cryin' in yer maple syrup. Unnerstand my point, pal? Would I have given up if Turner didn't stomp yer squash? I doubt it, amigo. There's always a back-up plan.     Always.     Now you can go on livin' in yer lil 'fantasy world' where yer all ya wanna be. When ya come back ta reality yer gonna find it ain't such a nice place, my friend. Get in my face again...     ...an' it'll be the last. Don't believe me. I don't care. Try me again an' you'll find out soon enough. Now that jus' leaves my long-lost friend... [Thunder turns back around and looks into the camera.]     The Fury. [Enormous pop! Thunder smirks.]     Ya did yer job, Kowalski. Ya put me on the shelf... fer a week. Seven days. Seven days ta think about how ta pay ya back in kind, 'cuz Lord knows... I always pay my debts. Tonight yer facin' Quigley fer that IC strap. Strange as it may seem... I'm wishin' ya luck, amigo. That's right... I hope ya get that belt. Not because I hate the Canadian... but because it means more money fer me when we meet. An' believe me, ace... we're gonna meet. I don't care if it's in the ring... in the locker room... in the parkin' lot... or in yer favorite supermarket. It's gonna happen.      An', believe me, when it does... [The shot cuts to a tight close-up on Thunder's face as an evil grin slowly appears.]     ...you'll be the _second_ ta know. [Thunder drops the mic to the mat still staring into the camera. Finally he turns and exits the ring, again ignoring the fans. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, tough talk from the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Brody Thunder, to kick off the second hour of tonight's broadcast! Welcome back to the IIWF Coliseum for sixty more minutes of the finest wrestling action anywhere on the planet! BL: Like there's a whole lot elsewhere. TD: We've got the second of tonight's Triple Threat matches coming up in just a moment -- along with that championship double bill as both Cold Spell and Chris Quigley put their respective titles up for grabs, and Billy Shakespeare facing Bradley Reed -- but first, we're to hear from Ronnie Paris. Our broadcast colleague Larry Morton is in the ring waiting to speak with him right now. [Larry Morton stands in the ring, reveling at being so close to the action for a change as he stares at the fans chanting "I-I-W-F!"... trying to soak everything in. An abrupt cue from the timekeeper, however, brings him back to the real world. Morton raises his mic up to speak, still a bit awed at the ambiance.] LM: Ladies and gentlemen, please introduce my guest at this time, Ronnie Paris! [The boos begin almost immediately as Tina Turner's "Simply the Best" begins, and they intensify as the Texan steps through the entrance curtains. Paris is not in wrestling gear, he's wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt that reads "Wrestlers do it better." across the chest. The chants of "Ronnie sucks!" are undeniable as Paris walks down the aisle, but he tries to remain composed, allowing only a dour look as he moves past the booing Portlanders. Finally, he makes it to the ring, and slides in under the bottom. Getting up and smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt, he walks over to Morton, still not showing anything more than a dour look and a focused stare. Morton takes the initiative on the interview...] LM: Ronnie Paris, before I get into anything else I'd like to ask you about your recent ranking as the number two most-hated IIWF superstar. It's evident by the less than warm reception you just got now that the ranking is no fluke. RP: Well, Larry, if I end up being disliked by the IIWF fans, you know who that reflects badly on? [Short pause] The IIWF fans. If people are too damn ignorant to recognize the greatest talents this promotion has to offer, that's not my problem. If people want to cheer a stiff, incomprehensible Scot over the best technical wrestler Canada has ever produced, if they think an insane one-move wonder with a serious attitude problem taking on a cowboy parody is a great main event, and if they think Ronnie sucks, it just shows their own ignorance. [Paris stops, and no soon does he than the crowd again erupts into "Ronnie Sucks!" chants. True to his word, he keeps a thick skin for now, and largely ignores the chants.] LM: If I may ask you about your classic match at Ring Wars with Billy Shakespeare, what do you have to say about that? RP: I'm going to be a man and admit that, on that night, Little Willie did what he had to do. I still think I'm a better wrestler than him, but I'm not going to make a lot of excuses. He beat me. It happens. LM: What about your current, crusade I suppose you'd say, against the returning IIWF stars, and especially the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi? [Loud pop for the mention of Musashi's name, which seems to annoy Paris. He yells at one group of fans to "Shut up!", which of course only makes them louder.] RP: Let me put it in terms everyone here will understand... okay, one of you moron fans is working at Taco Bell, slaving for that promotion to assistant to the night manager and the extra ten cents an hour, and you are the best at your job. Granted, you guys would never be the best at anything, but just imagine. [Heel pop!] Now, all the sudden a guy that quit months ago comes back, and although you know he can't make tacos like you, he can't fry the beef as well or cut the peppers as well, management falls all over him and gives him all the respect, all the money, and you have to keep scrubbing toilets. They screw you, the one true talent, over. That's an analogy for my situation. LM: An analogy? RP: I know it's kinda a big word, Larry, but I don't feel like explaining it to these fans. LM: Please, Ronnie, try to keep from insulting the paying customers! In any event, can we talk specifically about the Enigma and the triangle match you have tonight? RP: That is something I wanted to address. You see, even with the way I've been getting screwed over, I still have been able to work my way up to the middle of the card, and I think I have some prospects. Now, this Chris Stonebreaker guy, he hasn't earned his way to my level yet... and neither has the Enigma. [Somewhat disconcerted reaction from the crowd, who disagree with that last statement.] LM: But the Enigma is a former Cruiserweight champion... one of the IIWF all-time greats! RP: That was before he retired. Now that he's back, since he returned, who has he beaten? No one. When you're gone for months, not on injury but because of contract disputes, when you come back you work your way back up, and I don't think the Enigma has even earned the right to share ring space with me yet! [More boos rain down on Paris, who still remains fairly calm. That is, until... Suddenly a shadow is cast across the ring from above, Ronnie Paris looks up, the crowd looks up, and descending down from the rafters, a huge Japanese flag billowing out behind him, comes the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi! The fans immediately explode into a huge pop, and Paris, completely taken unawares, can do nothing as Musashi drops into the ring, draping him from head to toe in the Japanese flag!] TD: [over headset] Oh my goodness! What's going on here? Takezo Musashi has hit the ring from out of nowhere, and the crowd is going crazy! BL: I was covered from flag to toe in a flag like that once. TD: Best weekend of your life? OW! BL: [removing her stiletto heel from Tim's instep] I don't _do_ Soundbite material. [Larry Morton drops his mic and bails out of the ring as Paris staggers around, flailing his arms and trying to shake off the sheet-like flag. Musashi immediately lunges in, blasting Paris backward with a thrust kick. As Paris staggers under the blow, Musashi grabs hold of him and tightens the flag into a knot, locking him in a kind of straitjacket! Musashi spins around, and strikes Paris hard in the general direction of his face with a savate kick! Paris topples against the ropes, and unable to steady himself tumbles over them right down to the arena floor! Huge wild pop!] TD: Musashi is clearly incensed by the words of Ronnie Paris, and it looks like he wants to put him out of commission even before the match has begun! BL: I thought the Enigma was a goody-two-shoes. Now he's acting like a talented Genesis member. I'm damned if I can figure him out! [Musashi vaults over the top rope to the outside. He advances on Ronnie Paris, who is still sprawled out on the arena floor, completely tangled up in the flag, and drags him up to his feet. BANG! Musashi hurls Paris head first into the steel ring steps, which he flips right and sends flying askew. Musashi seizes up Sparkplug's steel ring chair, and waits for Paris to blindly struggle up to his feet, and then cracks him across the skull with the steel chair! Awed pop from the crowd! Paris staggers blindly away up the aisle, but Musashi lunges in and whacks him across the back with the chair with an audible crack! Paris stumbles down to the arena floor, and as he does so, the flag finally comes loose, revealing a trickle of blood running down his forehead. Musashi advances on Ronnie with the chair, but with an expression of sheer desperation, the Texan hurls the sheet up at Musashi, billowing up in his face and disorienting him for a second. That second is all Paris needs. He scampers up to his feet, turns tail, and flees right back up the aisle, jeers raining down all around him! Musashi throws the flag down, and stares after Ronnie Paris, a wild and furious gleam in his eyes. Soon, Paris disappears backstage.] BL: Ronnie Paris has left the building! TD: Well, Paris was kind of taken unawares, I'm not sure if he can be blamed for that, uh, rapid retreat. I wonder if he'll be back to wrestle the match, or whether we'll be seeing Musashi and Stonebreaker going at it one on one? [Musashi continues to stare down the aisle, completely ignoring the fact that Dave D'Amato has made his way to ringside. After a few seconds, "A County Boy Can Survive" starts up, and Christopher Stonebreaker appears in the entranceway to the arena. He pauses, waiting for Sparkplug Lee to announce him, but nothing happens.] TD: We seem to be missing our ring announcer. BL: I think Sparky is hiding under the ring. He took off like a bullet when the Enigma grabbed his chair. [After a while, Stonebreaker shrugs and heads to the ring without drawing a glance from Musashi. He is wearing his usual black tights, and carrying a large sledgehammer over his left shoulder.] BL: I've always loved a man with a big hammer. TD: Please, Becky. BL: Do you have any idea how many times a day I hear that? "Please, Becky, can I have an autograph?" "Please, Becky, can I have a lock of your hair?" "Please, Becky, can I [BLEEP] [BLEEP] [BLEEP]?" TD: Becky LaRue, you can _not_ say that on television. BL: Oh, that's right. A couple weeks on that movie set, and I have done forgot my manners. It's a good thing I didn't start talking about [BLEEP] [BLEEP] [BLEEP]! TD: [sighing] I give up. BL: Ooooh, three of my favorite words in the English language... but not as nice as those three little words that every woman longs to hear. TD: I love you? BL: Why, Timothy. I never knew you cared. TD: No! Are those the three little words? BL: [scoffing] Hardly. Try "His Platinum Card". [During this "battle" of wits, Stonebreaker has made his way into the ring. With still no sign of Ronnie Paris, the official shrugs and signals for the bell. DING! But even that doesn't distract Musashi, who continues to stare down the aisle.] BL: Do you think he's fallen asleep standing up? [Pop!] TD: If he had, he's awake now! Christopher Stonebreaker just came up alongside the Enigma and belted him with a right hand to the cheekbone! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| TRIPLE THREAT MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Ronnie Paris vs. "Enigma" Takezo Musashi vs. Christopher Stonebreaker ....................................................................... WRITER: DH [Stonebreaker's crushing punch sends Musashi staggering into the side ropes, and as he bounces off them, Stonebreaker steps into another short right that lands on the point of the Enigma's jaw. The much smaller man falls backwards into the ropes, ricochets off, and falls soundlessly onto his face. Huge pop!] TD: Since he came to the IIWF, people have been wondering if the legends about Christopher Stonebreaker's right hand were true. I guess he has just shown that they are! Two right hands, and the former Cruiserweight champion is facedown in the middle of the ring! BL: Have I ever mentioned that I love a man with good hands? TD: [sighs] [Stonebreaker drags the Enigma back to his feet, wraps his arms around the stunned Japanese star, then drives him into the mat with a standing belly-to-belly suplex.] TD: Stonebreaker is setting him up for the Rockslide Suplex! This match might be over before it ever really got started! [Stonebreaker lifts the Enigma into the air, but that is when Musashi starts to come alive, twisting his body back and forth. The motion throws off the Cajun's balance, and he stumbles toward the ropes. Shocked pop!] TD: My God! Christopher Stonebreaker couldn't keep his balance, and tumbled over the top rope! He took a nasty spill to the floor, but Takezo Musashi must have fallen 10 feet straight down onto the concrete! He has to be seriously injured! BL: Hell, Timbo, he might be dead! [The crowd goes completely silent as Stonebreaker groggily gets to his feet. He goes over to where Musashi lies totally motionless, then looks up at the referee with a stunned look on his face.] TD: Even Christopher Stonebreaker looks concerned for the Enigma's well-being. This big Cajun is a fierce competitor, but I can't imagine that he wanted to seriously injure one of the legends of pro wrestling. [Stonebreaker sees the official's count reach seven, and gingerly reaches down to pick up the unconscious cruiserweight. A split-second later, he goes flying backwards, crashing into the crowd barriers! Musashi springs to his feet, holding Stonebreaker's own sledgehammer, his face almost glowing with intensity.] TD: Musashi was playing possum! He must have landed near the sledgehammer, and when Stonebreaker leaned over to pick him, the Enigma blasted him in the face with it! And now look at him! He looks like a man possessed! [Indeed, Musashi charges the stunned Cajun, and knocks him to the floor by clotheslining him with the hammer's wooden handle. He then drops the hammer, jumps onto the ring apron, and does a picture-perfect Shooting Star Press onto the flattened Stonebreaker.] TD: Thirty seconds ago, it looked like Takezo Musashi might be unconscious, and with one vicious attack, he has completely turned this match around! I've never seen aggression like this from the Enigma! [Musashi tosses the much bigger man into the ring like a rag doll, then follows him in. He then waits against the ropes, almost visibly calming down, and watches Stonebreaker get to his feet. Just as he starts to straighten up, Musashi springs toward him, landing a savate kick to the chin. Pop! Before Stonebreaker even hits the mat, Musashi has taken two running steps and sprung to the top rope, where he pauses, back to the ring.] TD: Starsault Press! He's going to go for the Starsault! [After a moment, Musashi flings himself backward off the turnbuckle. As the arena explodes with the light of a thousand flashbulbs, he somersaults... once... twice... three times... then crashes into Stonebreaker's chest. Massive Pop!] TD: He hit it! Dave D'Amato is counting... one... two... THREE! That's it! The Enigma got him with the Starsault! [D'Amato raises the Enigma's hand as "Stellar Regions" blares from the speakers.] SL: The winner of the match, The Enigma, Takezo Musashi! TD: An amazing match, considering it lasted only a few short minutes. Christopher Stonebreaker took advantage of the Enigma's distraction, and had the former Cruiserweight champion in big trouble. But he missed the Rockslide Suplex, and a moment of carelessness let Takezo Musashi explode with a blistering attack that quickly ended the match. But in the process, the winner showed where he got his nickname -- going from a pre-match attack of Ronnie Paris and the blatant use of a foreign object to the lightning-quick combination of moves that finished Stonebreaker off. BL: Not a bad showing by my fellow Cajun, either. But hopefully, this will teach him a lesson -- when you have your prey dazed, you don't offer it a glass of water, you finish it off. TD: Good point, Becky. One I'm sure you picked up during your fine wrestling career. BL: No, one that I picked up, along with several men, at the Delta Blues in New Orleans. [The crowd cheers the Enigma, Ronnie Paris slips out of the back and stands in the aisleway. The camera zooms in on his face, contorted with rage, as he watches the victory celebration. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Okay, folks, it's time for the first of tonight's two championship matches. The IIWF World Tag Team Championships have been passed around like hot cakes recently -- from the disgraced Syndicate to the so-called Cold Quins, and, as of last Saturday Night, back to Cold Spell, making them the fourth tag team to join the exclusive ranks of those who have held the belts on more than one occasion, the others being Rising Sun Revolution, the Dark Disciples, and the High Plains Drifters. Tonight, however, Cold Spell face possibly their toughest challenge -- they go up against the dangerous Damage Inc. BL: Another tag team with a slut valet. TD: Now, now, Becky. Let's just get up to the ring for this contest! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Cold Spell [c] vs. Damage Inc. ....................................................................... WRITER: SK [Sparkplug Lee climbs into the ring and begins to pull out the lineup card for the next match, when he glances over at the broadcaster's table and spots Becky.  Lee licks his palm and runs it over his thinning hair, and winks coyly at the buxom commentator.  Becky responds with a scowl that could freeze Death Valley, and Lee turns a conspicuous shade of crimson and turns away, stuttering into the mic as he begins the announcements.] BL: [over headset]  Hmph!  As if.  Like he thinks his thrift-shop tux and his immaculate comb-over are a big turn-on or something.  Nothing attracts a lady like powder-blue rayon, Sparky.  Ick. TD: [over headset] I'll have you know, Becky, that I have a considerable collection of synthetic sport coats back at home. BL: [sighs] Of course you do, Drossy.  Well, at least Sparky still has some of his own hair.  Speak to me, loverman! TD: Huh? SL: Ahem... uh... ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is for the IIWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP!  [Big pop from the fans.]  Introducing first, the challengers - they both hail from New Orleans, Louisiana, and weigh in at a combined 638 pounds, here is the RSPWF Tag Team of 1996, "The Ace", Alex Porteaux, and Eddy "Mad Dog" Ramos... DAMAGE, INCORPORATED! [The crowd responds with a loud heel pop as "Ambitions Of A Rider", by 2Pac blasts over the P.A., and Damage Inc.'s manager Jeandra appears in the aisle.  The slinky Jeandra is clad in a stunning and very revealing "Sailor Moon" style outfit, and she gleefully soaks up the catcalls and wolf whistles of the ringside fans as she struts down towards the ring. Porteaux and Ramos appear shortly afterward, virtually ignoring the taunts of the fans as they make their way to ringside.  The normally flamboyant Porteaux just stares straight ahead, a look of pure focus on his face, looking more like his partner Ramos, who has seemingly taken his normal grim demeanour to the next level.  The two men climb into the ring as Jeandra parades around the ring, making a point of showing off her ensemble to Becky, who dismisses her with a wave.  Porteaux and Ramos stand in the ring motionless as referee Chuck Sanders checks them over, the two men staring back up the aisle at the entrance as Lee moves back to the centre of the ring.] TD: Look at the determination on the faces of these two men, Becky. Porteaux and Ramos have been waiting for an opportunity to prove to the IIWF why they were named Tag Team of the Year last year, and they may just do that tonight if they manage to defeat Cold Spell for the IIWF tag titles. BL: Forget about Porteaux and Ramos... look at that God-awful outfit Jeandra's thrown on!  What kind of statement is she trying to make with that dress, "Whoo-hoo!  The fleet's in!"? TD: I have no idea what you're talking about, Becky. BL: If you really want to know, Drossy, talk to anybody from the U.S.S. Lafayette.  [to the camera]  If you're watching, boys, I'll be in 'Frisco in May, so book the room, and don't forget the Saran Wrap and the butterscotch syrup. TD: Good grief. SL: And their opponents, respectively hailing from Oulu, Finland and Rogers City, Michigan and weighing in at a combined 500 pounds, here are the reigning IIWF Tag Team Champions... Icehawk... Edmund Fitzgerald... COLD SPELL! ["The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald" rings throughout the Coliseum as the popular tag champs, with the glittering title belts strapped around their waists, appear in the aisle to a rousing cheer from the fans.  The hyperactive, genial Icehawk is all over the aisle, slapping hands with virtually everyone who stretches out to him, while the stoic, reserved Fitzgerald lumbers straight towards the ring, acknowledging the attentions of the fans with barely a nod of his head as his dark eyes remain fixed on Porteaux and Ramos, who begin whispering to one another in their corner as Cold Spell finally reach the ring and climb in, submitting to the attentions of Sanders.  Icehawk removes his belt, raising it high for all the fans to see before handing it off to the referee, while Fitz just unbuckles his and hands it to Sanders without a fuss, his gaze remaining locked on Damage Inc. as Icehawk bounces off the ropes to limber up.] TD: There are Icehawk and Edmund Fitzgerald, once again the IIWF Tag Team Champions.  You have to think that the first defense of their second title reign is going to be one of their toughest ever, Becky, as they're up against one of the hottest tag teams in the league at the moment. BL: I have to go with Damage Inc. here, Drossy.  They're bigger, they're stronger, and they don't have Icehawk.  Plus they're from my home town, New Orleans!  You go, mes amis!  Whoo! TD: You know, it's funny... BL: I can smell your ferret burning, Drossy.  What're you thinking? TD: New Orleans is called the Big Easy, and you're from New Orleans, and you're... BL: You finish that sentence, mister, and I swear there'll never be a Tim Jr.  Got it? [Sanders calls for the bell - Ding!  Ding!  Ding!  and after some short deliberations between the two teams, Fitz and Porteauz step through the ropes, leaving the diminutive Icehawk to square off against the massive "Mad Dog", Eddy Ramos.  The two men circle, and Ramos springs at the Fin, hoping to catch him with a quick lariat, but the Fin is much quicker, and darts out of the way, nailing Ramos with an open-handed strike to the side of the face.  Ramos blinks, angered, and rushes at Icehawk again, but again the smaller man ducks the clothesline attempt, and counters with another right hand to the temple!  Pop!] TD: I had to question the wisdom of Cold Spell there, letting Icehawk start against big Eddy Ramos, but his speed and quickness seem to be holding the "Mad Dog"  at bay thus far. BL: God, I hate that... those little caffiene junkies that run around like that.  They're worse in bed, you know - everything's over just like that.  Give me a guy like Eddy Ramos - strong, dumb, and _slow_.  A real sixty-minute man. TD: Come again? BL: You bet I would, Drossy.  Six or seven times, at least. [This time, Icehawk moves to the attack, hitting the ropes and bounding off, going for a high cross body block on the big man, but Ramos catches the flying Fin in mid-air!  Ramos, grinning to his partner Porteaux, moves to toss Icehawk over his head in a modifies fallaway slam, but the tag champ somehow twists in mid-air as Ramos heaves him over, and he lands on both feet!  Ramos spins as the crowd pops wildly, and is greeted by a high-flying dropkick from Icehawk!  Ramos staggers but does not fall, and Icehawk rushes to the ropes again, and launches himself low, taking the legs out from underneath the big man with a submarine dropkick!  A huge pop rings out from the crowd as Ramos crashes to the mat and Icehawk goes for a quick cover - 1 - big kickout by Eddy Ramos!] TD: Icehawk tries for the surprise pin, but to no avail against a man with the strength and experience of Eddy Ramos.  So far though, the Fin has wrestled a smart game against his much larger opponent, keeping him on the mat. BL: Yeah, but a guy like Ramos only need to get one shot in on a featherweight like Icepunk, and it'll be nighty-night time. [As if overhearing Becky's words, Icehawk takes this opportunity to tag out, as the giant Fitzgerald steps through the ropes to square off against Ramos.  Meanwhile, the crowd buzzes excitedly as newcomers Agito "The Universal Heartthrob" Nakajima and "Sweet" Sho Satsuma appear in the aisle and begin making their way to ringside.] TD: It's the Fabulous Ones!  BL: Really?  I haven't seen Stan in ages!  Sigh... I wonder if he can still do that naked somersault splash over the headboard with his bad back... TD: Not _them_.  I'm talking about the newest tag team to hit the IIWF, Agito Nakajima and Sho Satsuma.  Apparently, they have more than a passing interest in the outcome of this match. BL: They certainly don't seem to be interested in federal copyright laws.  "Heartthrob", my ass.  [The Fabulous Ones find a couple of empty seats at ringside and settle down to watch the action as Fitz and Ramos lock up in the middle of the ring,  the fresher Fitzgerald quickly applying a hammerlock to Ramos' right arm.  Fitz is surprised by a sudden burst of power from the "Mad Dog" though, as Ramos ignores the pain of the hold and bulls Fitz into a corner, stretching out to tag in Alex Porteaux as the two leviathans bounce off the nearby ropes!  Porteaux dashes up the turnbuckles as Fitz flings Ramos into the opposite ropes, hitting the brakes in the middle of the ring and waiting for the rebound to catch Ramos with a powerslam. Ramos, however, goes low, clipping Fitz at the knees as Porteaux, the legal man, nails Fitz from behind with a flying dropkick, and the big Michigan native slams into the mat with a resounding *BOOM*!  Big heel pop!] TD: There we see the teamwork that Damage Incorporated has been renowned for!  What a double team from Porteaux and Ramos! BL: I was double-teamed... well, that one _particular_ time was the best airport layover of my life. TD: I don't even want to know. BL: Oh, get off your high horse, choirboy.  What _else_ are you supposed to do when you're stuck in LaGuardia with two hours to kill?  Read one of those trashy airport novels?  Why do you think they call them "layovers" anyway? TD: [sighs] Come back, Soundbite.  All is forgiven. [Fitz scrambles to his feet as fast as he is able, but he is not fast enough to avoid "The Ace", as he lines up the big man and sends him back to the canvas with a thundering clothesline!  Pop!  Porteaux pounces on the downed champ and drags him to his feet, slinging him into the ropes and hitting the opposite ropes himself.  Porteaux goes for the clothesline again, but Fitz has the presence of mind to duck underneath, and the two hit the ropes again, and this time, incredibly, it is Edmund Fitzgerald who takes to the air, catching Porteaux with a crucifix! Shocked pop from the crowd!  The incredible momentum behind this move, however, knocks both competitors over the top rope, sending them tumbling to the floor below!] TD: Unbelieveable!  Where did Edmund Fitzgerald get that move from? [Both competitors pick themselves up, and begin trading blows on the arena floor, the larger and more powerful Fitz beginning to get the better of the smaller Damage Inc. member.  Jeandra moves in to try to intervene, but she is suddenly pulled back roughly, and the crowd pops wildly as seemingly from out of nowhere, another man enters the fray!] TD: IT'S "SAVAGE" SHADOE RAGE!  Shadoe Rage has appeared here at ringside, and... oh my goodness, he's going after Alex Porteaux! BL: These two have bad blood going back to the original Prophets Of Rage, and it looks like the Savage One hasn't forgotten about Damage, Inc., Drossy!  Whoo!  Look at 'em go! [Rage is all over Porteaux, shoving Fitzgerald aside in his zeal to get at the Damage Inc. member, raining blow after crushing blow in on Porteaux, and before Eddy Ramos can intervene, Rage hoists Porteaux up and smashes him into the concrete with a stunning tilt-a-whirl piledriver!  Big pop!  The Fabulous Ones look on with interest as Rage moves to grab Porteaux once again, but as the crowd pops even louder, he is stopped from behind by...] TD: SCOTT ROGERS IS HERE!  Oh my goodness, the "Fop" has now charged down to ringside, and has just saved Alex Porteaux from the clutches of Shadoe Rage!  This is absolute chaos, folks! Rogers and Rage are going at it _again_! BL: Well, the musclehead obviously couldn't stand by and watch Porteaux get pounded by Rage _and_ Fitz, seeing as how he and Cold Spell ain't exactly the best of buddies after that whole Genesis disaster.  Not a bad move, though... this moron _desperately_ needs something to do besides pump iron and babysit Moxy Blue. [Shadoe Rage is absolutely incensed at the intervention of Rogers, and the two begin a wild brawl in the middle of the aisle, each man throwing wild lefts and rights, finally collapsing to the floor and continuing to pummel one another as the Jobber Justice Squad rushes down the aisle to a resounding pop from the fans.  The JJS swarms the two combatants, pulling them apart and herding them up the aisle towards the exit. Scott Rogers screams obscenities at Shadoe Rage through blood-stained teeth, reddened from a freely-flowing stream of crimson from his nose, while Rage squints back at the "Fop" through a swollen, bloodied eye and responds in kind to Rogers' insults, cackling evilly.  Meanwhile, Edmund Fitzgerald has rolled Alex Porteaux back into the ring, and drops a heavy elbow across the throat of the Damage Inc. member, causing Porteaux to bounce across the canvas in pain.] TD: Well, that altercation between Shadoe Rage and Scott Rogers seems to have been broken up, but I have a feeling we'll be seeing more action between those two in the very near future. BL: Yawn... the has-been versus the never-was.  I'll be on the edge of my seat waiting for that one, Drossy. [Fitzgerald tags in Icehawk, and as Sanders begins the five-count, Fitz presses the Fin over his head and slams him onto the prone Porteaux! Big pop!  Icehawk covers - 1 - 2 - Porteaux kicks out!  Icehawk drags "The Ace" to his feet and hoists him into the air for a Northern Lights suplex, driving Porteaux into the mat with incredible force!  Sanders drops as Icehawk covers again - 1 - 2 - Porteaux gets a shoulder up! Disappointed pop from the fans!] TD: Alex Porteaux is in real trouble in there, Becky LaRue.  He's been in that ring much too long. BL: Don't worry about it.  It's all about legs, Drossy.  Look at those skinny pins on Icehawk -- he's not gonna be able to keep this up for long either.  Now, check out the legs on Ramos, and Fitz too -- nice, round calves, thick thighs -- mmmmm -- oh baby, these're the guys that'll make you scream for hours! TD: Um... we _are_ talking about wrestling, right? BL: Oh, for God's sake, Dross, get your mind out of the gutter, would you? [Icehawk scoops up Porteaux once again and moves to sling him into the turnbuckles, but Porteaux suddenly reverses the move, and sens Icehawk flying into Damage Incorporated's corner, where he is met by a stiff shot to the back of the head by Eddy Ramos!  Huge heel pop!  Icehawk collapses in the corner as Porteaux stumbles over and tags in the "Mad Dog" who begins mercilessly putting the boots to the Fin in the corner. Sanders moves in to break this up, and Ramos pulls the winded Icehawk into the middle of the ring and smashes him into the mat with a crushing powerbomb!  Ramos then grabs the Fin and sends him flying into the corner, as Jeandra pushes the timekeeper out of his chair, and with a sweep of her arm clears the table of the ring bell and the lineup sheets.] TD: Oh my goodness... what're they up to here? BL: Brace yourself, Drossy.  Icepunk's gonna fall down, go boom! [Ramos drags the stunned Icehawk up the turnbuckles, and as the crowd looks on in stunned silence, Ramos yanks Icehawk up and _over_ the ropes, both men plummeting off the corner as Ramos powerbombs the Fin once more, this time into the timekeeper's table!  Massive heel pop!] TD: What a move!  Ramos hits Icehawk with that Dog Collar powerbomb onto the table on the outside, just mere inches from our broadcast position, and the plucky Fin is in serious trouble now! BL: Told you, Drossy - it's all about legs.  Hmmm... you know who else has a wicked set of calves?  That mushmouth Scottie, Duncan Macbeth. Can't understand a word the guy says, but sometimes when he walks around in that kilt of his... whew!  I tell ya, Drossy, it's like Niagara Falls. TD: I'm sure that Duncan will be extremely flattered to hear that, Becky. [Ramos rolls Icehawk into the middle of the ring, and takes his time covering the Fin - 1 - 2 - at the last split-second, Icehawk drives a shoulder up!  Incredible pop from the fans!  Frustrated, Ramos scoops up Icehawk and lifts him high into a gorilla press, but before he can drop him, Icehawk squirms in Ramos' grip and drops behind him!  Icehawk musters all his strength and pulls the shocked Ramos down into a reverse cradle!  Sandres drops - 1 - 2 - Ramos kicks Icehawk off, sending him flying into his own corner, where he wastes no time in tagging Edmund Fitzgerald back in!  As Icehawk rolls under the bottom rope and lies on the apron, his chest heaving with exhaustion, the crowd lets out another excited cheer as Fitz charges into the ring, hammering away at Ramos with punishing haymakers!] TD: The two big men are back in the ring, after Icehawk somehow escaped from the clutches of Eddy Ramos!  Where he found the strength to kick out after that Dog Collar, I don't know! [Ramos and Fitz stand toe-to-toe, slugging it out for all they're worth, but Fitz manages to duck a wild swing from the "Mad Dog", going behind the Damage Inc. member and laying him out with a belly-to-back suplex! Pop!  As Ramos slowly rises, Fitz measures him and drops a huge elbow to the back of Ramos' head, sending him crashing to the canvas again!  The crowd begins to sense the shift in momentum and cheers wildly as Edmund Fitzgerald drags Eddy Ramos to his feet and sends him into the ropes, catching hi on the rebound with a perfectly-executed spinebuster!  Wild pop!] TD: Shipwreck Slam from Edmund Fitzgerald!  It could be all over now, folks! BL: Come on, Ramos!  Vas-y, you big, stupid slug! TD: I thought you _liked_ your men big, dumb and slow, Becky. BL: Yeah, and then I like them to clean up and get the hell out.  Get up, moron! [Fitzgerald covers and hooks a leg as Sanders drops for the count - 1 - 2 - Ramos drives a shoulder up!  Agonized pop from the crowd!  Fitz slams the mat in frustration, and drags Ramos to his feet once more, sending him into the ropes again as Fits hits the ropes opposite for a flying lariat.  On the rebound, though, Ramos ducks under the outstretched arm of Edmund Fitzgerald!  The two men pass each other, and as Ramos hits the ropes again, he reaches out and tags Alex Porteaux! "The Ace" climbs up the turnbuckles as Ramos and Fitz hurtle towards each other, and in the middle of the ring, Ramos catches Fitz in a crushing bearhug, hoisting the 280 pounder high under the ribcage!] TD: Oh my goodness... Damage Incorporated is setting up Fitz for The End!  We could see new champions crowned right now!  BL: About time.  Cold Spell's only had the belts for a week, and I'm already sick of them. [Icehawk can only look on in despair as Alex Porteaux somersaults off of the turnbuckle, arcing across the ring and catching Fitz's head as he descends, driving the big man's skull into the mat with a Diamond Cutter DDT!  Shocked pop from the crowd!  Eddy Ramos turns to Cold Spell's corner, grinning broadly, and motions around his waist to Icehawk as behind him, Porteaux seats himself on the chest of the now-unconscious Edmund Fitzgerald and mockingly examines his nails as Chuck Sanders drops for the count - 1 - 2 - 3!  Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] TD: NEW CHAMPIONS!  We have new champions!  What a finish by Damage Incorporated, and just like tha, Cold Spell has been dethroned!  What an incredible match! BL: They got legs, Drossy, and they know how to use 'em!  Whooo! SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners... and NEW IIWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS, DAMAGE INCORPORATED! ["Ambitions Of A Rider" by 2Pac blares forth once again from the P.A. as Jeandra climbs into the ring, jumping up and down and hugging Porteaux and Ramos, as Fitz slowly shakes his head, disoriented, and rising to his knees, looks over to Icehawk, whose downcast expression explains all to him.  The big man slowly rolls out of the ring and joins his partner as Cold Spell slowly make ther way up the aisle and out of the Coliseum, their disappointment evident as the ringside fans cheer them on nonetheless.  The Fabulous Ones watch them leave, looking quite amused at this turn of events, and then get up from their seats and make their way to the exit as well.  Back in the ring, Chuck Sanders collects the glittering IIWF Tag Team Title belts from ringside and present them to Alex Porteaux and Eddy Ramos, who hold them up high to a considerable heel pop from the crowd.  Damage Incorporated continue to parade around the ring for awhile, stirring up the crowd with their gloating, before they finally climb out of the ring and walk up the aisle to the exit, arms held high in victory. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What a match, folks! Cold Spell have their second championship reign cut brutally short -- but what a performance from Damage Inc. to capture the IIWF World Tag Team titles in their first shot at the gold! BL: I guess that screw-over at Ring Wars kinda fired 'em up, Timmy. TD: Indeed. Folks, we have another title match coming up later tonight, when Chris Quigley defends the Intercontinental Championship against Steve Kowalski -- could we see two titles change hands here tonight? Right now, we're going to see pride at stake rather than titles. Last week, Marty Warnett announced his retirement from the IIWF -- but as a parting gesture, his long-time friend, Billy Shakespeare, vowed to defeat Warnett's enemy, "The Brat" Bradley Reed, right here tonight! Let's go down to the ring! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare vs. |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| "The Brat" Bradley Reed ....................................................................... WRITER: MS [Sparkplug Lee steps back into the ring.] SL: This next match is one fall, with a thirty minute time limit. Introducing first, weighing 230 pounds and hailing from Chicago, Illinois, he is accompanied by Stone, here is the "BRAT", BRADLEY REED! ["Self Esteem" by Offspring blares over the PA system.  The massive Stone then walks through the curtains and slowly makes his way up the aisle.  Reed then pops out of the curtain with the Superstar title strapped around his waist and a cordless mic in his hand.] BR: Well, well, well -- it looks like the main event of the evening is     starting a little early tonight.  It looks like the reason you have     all spent your hard-earned this evening has finally arrived.  It's     now time for the hottest ticket in the big I - I - W- F.  It's time     for the man with THE GREATEST ASS to show he is more then just a     great piece of flesh.  'Cause I AM Born to Perform.  Not this little     nit wit I have to dismember tonight.  Folks, it's time to find out     what Brat-a-mania is all about.  It's time to catch the wave that's     the rave of the nation.  It's Reed time.  And Reed Time is going to     put Shakes through the exact same treatment his little buddy Farty     felt a few short weeks ago. [By this time, Reed has made it to ringside, and steps through the ropes.  He lets out a big loogie into the crowd and then continues.]     BUT before I treat you all to the greatest performance of the     evening -- I would like to make a BIG announcement.  As you all know, me and Stone are the most lethal force in the world.  We are the ULTIMATE alliance.  We are... [chuckles] the Brat Pack.  And all     major wrestling forces need one thing.  We've got the muscle and we     definitely got all the ass we need [points to his rear] but it needs     a feminine touch.  Reed needs himself the ultimate women to help     guide the Brat Pack into the next milennium.  So... without further     ado, let me introduce you all to the most georgous female force in     the galaxy.  Let me all give you the ultimate eye candy.  Let me     introduce a lady that puts all valets to shame.  The women who is     back here in the IIWF to pay the organization back for yet another     example of how society screws over nice guys.  Here is the only     woman too good to be true.  Here is... Stephanie Summer!! [The curtains go to the side as...] TD & BL: STEVE SUMMER! [Steve Summer, former IIWF interm, comes down the aisle in complete drag.  He is wearing a long red wig and caked in makeup.  He is also sporting a red mini-skirt outfit -- it's shown that Summer has shaved his legs for the occasion.  She -- or is that he -- draws crowd heat by blowing kisses to the males and showing some unwanted cleavage.  Summer is also carrying a large perfume bottle which he occasionally sprays. Summer comes into the ring and does some flaunting until Stone ushers Summer over to the corner on the outside.] BR: By the way, Shakes, this is a non-title contest. TD: Oh my God... young Steven Summer, now dressed like... like... BL: I'm impressed.  I wouldn't have thought he looked good in red. [Sparkplug, meanwhile, just keeps staring at Summer with a look of horror on his face.  He can't continue the announcements, as he just sputters. Finally, Offspring is replaced by Sweet, as "Little Willie" begins to play.  A spotlight shines on the entranceway, as "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare steps out, and bows to his adoring fans.  From the entranceway, he points a finger at Reed, then points to the massive Stone, and shakes his head.  Stepping to one side, the curtains part, and out steps...] BL: Oh, great.  Here comes Kevin "The Cavalier" Christiansen.  Yippee. [Well, the fans appreciate it, by there applause.  The Knight and Shakespeare exchange a high-five, then walk down the aisle, salppign hands with the fans.  When they get to ringside, Billy flips over the ropes, while Christiansen stays in the corner, staring intently at Stone.] BL: Damn.  Well, if the best Shakespeare can come up with to stop Stone is the Cavalier, then he's in trouble.  Right, Dross? TD: If I had known Summer would turn to this... [shakes his head] [The referee rings the bell, and they start to lock up.  At the last second, Reed ducks under the lock up, and taunts Shakespeare, pointing to his rear end and telling Shakespeare to kiss it.  Billy rolls his eyes, and goes for another lockup.  Another duck away, and Reed walks over to the referee, puts his arm around the official, and states "He's just not in my league!"  A third attempted lock-up, and ... you guessed it.  Reed ducks under.  This time, Shakespeare grabs his left arm, twists it, and sends him flying with an armdrag.  As Reed gets up, Shakespeare does a Norm Johnson impersonation by attemtping a field goal with Reed's rear end.  Reed goes flying out of the ring and onto the floor.  He gets up, and runs behind Stone, while Summer looks on in horror and the Cavalier raises his arms to signal a field goal.] BL: Shakespeare has been in too many matches to fall for Reed's mind games. TD: He seemed like such a good kid... willing to work hard, I don't... BL: Hey, Dross, snap out of it!  So the kid likes to dress up and flaunt it a little.  Of course, in his case there's not much to flaunt, but attitude is ninety percent.  The other 10% is silicone. [Reed enters the ring and we finally have a lock-up, followed by an armdrag by Reed.  Reed stands up, proud of himself, only to be caught by a legsweep from Shakespeare, who spins over Reed's body and slaps on a front facelock.  Reed gets up, then spins Shakespeare into a backslide. Shakespeare somersault backwards, landing in front of Reed, then greets him with an audible slap across the jaw, sending him to the mat.  This brings Steve... Stephanie Summer up to the apron, arguing something. Shakespeare goes over and asks the ref to send him back to the floor. Summer flashes some leg and leaps down.  Shakespeare turns around and is met by a superkick from Reed.  Summer now dances in front of the audience.] TD: Reed finally is in control, for the first time in the match. BL: Hey... Summer can Lambada!  And not badly, either. [Reed smiles, then taunts the audience some more as he grabs Shakespeare into a vertical suplex, and plants him into the mat.  A lazy cover doesn't even get the one count.  Reed jumps up and bounces off the ropes and delivers a somersault splash... right where Shakespeare was until he rolled out of the way.  Shakespeare picks up Reed and shoves him into the corner, then delivers a series of stinging chops across the chest. Shakespeare whips Reed into the opposite corner, then follows up with a kneelift, doubling Reed over, and making him an easy target for a neckbreaker.  A cover only earns a two count, and Shakespeare whips him to the opposite corner.  The whip is reversed, and Shakespeare slams into the corner, where Stone reaches up and nails him with a haymaker.  The referee would have disqualified him, but he was arguing with Reed about something.  Reed then hops to the top turnbuckle, turns around, and delivers a moonsault... which is caught by Shakespeare, who holds him for a full second, before slamming him down with a powerbomb!] TD: Every time Reed takes the advantage, he goes for a high-risk maneuver that has not worked. BL: He's trying to finish early.  I hate it when that happens. [Suddenly, the crowd's attention switches from the in-ring action, as the backstage curtain parts, and a figure slowly makes his way down the aisle... None other than the "Party Maniac", Marty Warnett, decked in plain red IIWF t-shirt and jeans, ably supported by his crutches.] BL: Oh, goody.  Now Marty wants to come out and play.  Maybe Reed can finish the job now. [Reed's a little busy, as Shakespeare is giving him a wrestling lesson. Right now, Shakespeare is getting a two count after an enzuiguri. Shakespeare whips him to the ropes, then bounces off the other side for a dropkick.  Somehow, Reed grabs both of Billy's feet in midair and throws them to the side, sending Shakespeare to the ground.  Reed takes a break from aerial moves to start kicking away at the prone figure of Billy Shakespeare.  As Warnett reaches ringside, Stone heads towards him... only to be stopped when the Cavalier rushes over to get into the huge man's face.] BL: Stone gets to squashed an armored bug now. TD: We haven't seen this Stone character in action. BL: Speaking of characters, isn't Summer flashing the front row right now? TD: Oh dear Lord... I'm going to be sick. [Reed locks in a cobra clutch in the middle of the ring, then lifts Shakespeare up and suplexes him backward.  The referee counts 1...2... kickout by Shakespeare!  Warnett start pounding on the mat, starting a uniform clapping from the audience, as Shakespeare struggles to get out of the Cobra Clutch.  The referee raises Shakespeare's hand twice.  On the first time it fell, but on the second time Shakespeare uses his arm to hit Reed once...twice...thrice... and is released on the fourth blow!  The crowd starts to cheer, but stops when Reed bounces off the ropes for a spinwheel kick.  Summer goes crazy as the referee counts 1...2... kickout!] TD: So close! BL: Yeah, I've heard that one before.  Hey, Reed talks a lot... but he can back it up. [Reed is furious as the referee shows two fingers, then starts heading for the top turnbuckle.  While he climbs the ropes, Stone steps towards Warnett, and the Cavalier gets into his face, then pushes him back. Without changing expression, Stone swings a massive hand at Cavalier, but Christiansen uses his experience to avoid the blow, then starts laying in a series of chops on Stone.  Stone doesn't go fall, but he is in trouble... until Steve Summer sprays some perfume in the Cavalier's direction.  Christiansen covers his eyes with his hands to protect himself, and Stone blasts him in the midsection.  Meanwhile, Reed is perched on the top ropes, waiting for Shakespeare to slowly get up.  When Spotlight does, Reed leaps with a high-cross bodyblock...] TD: Dropkick by Shakespeare!  He caught Reed right in the abdomen, and Reed is rolling around in agony. BL: Yeah, but Shakespeare isn't in any position to capitalize. [Let's recap:  Reed is rolling around the ring, clutching his stomach. Stone and the Cavalier are in a full-scale brawl outside the ring, with Stone having a slight edge.  "Stephanie" Summer is up on the apron again, yelling at the referee.  Billy Shakespeare is lying down exhausted, with his head lying over the bottom rope.  And Marty Warnett is walking around with his crutches at ringside.  He head over to Shakespeare, and whispers something to him, pointing at Reed.  Then he... he...] TD: MARTY WARNETT JUST NAILED BILLY SHAKESPEARE WITH THE CRUTCH! BL: Whoa!  What in the world has gotten into Warnett? [The crowd boo horribly, as Warnett slaps Shakespeare, then shoves him toward the middle of the ring.  Reed can see the gift, and makes a cover. Summer jumps down, and the referee makess the three count.  The bell rings, and Steve Summer enters the ring and embraces Reed.  SL: The winner of the match, in twelve minutes and fifteen seconds... The "Brat", Bradley Reed! [Reed and Summer exit the ring, each showing off their "assets" to the crowd.  Stone and the Cavalier have been separated, and the JJS now stand between the men.  Marty Warnett grabs the house microhpone from ringside. The heel pop explodes as Marty slowly climbs into the ring and stands over the fallen Shakespeare.  With a sneer on his unshaven face, Marty waits for the crowd to fall silent, laughing off several full cups of IIWF beer aimed at his head.] MW: Well, what can I say, except...     [BLEEP] you all! [The crowd erupt again, security having to work overtime to prevent several overly excited fans from entering the ringside area.] MW: I can just imagine Dross with the mic right now.     Why, oh why, oh why, Marty?   Why turn on your best friend in the     IIWF?     Well, maybe right now I'm going to enlighten you all.  Billy     Shakespeare, my so-called "best friend", has been nothing but a     damned burden around my neck since I arrived in this damn     federation.  So damn concerned with his own fading career, Billy     couldn't give a damn about ANYBODY else, especially anybody far more     talented, and certainly, as all you young ladies would agree, more     damned sexy!     So, Dross and all the other retards sat watching; let me recap     exactly what has happened lately to the ol' Party Maniac.  Lose the     Intercontinental belt to Byron -- possibly the best technical     wrestler around, who never ONCE pinned me cleanly.     I then receive NO re-matches.  None.  Hell, I cleanly pinned current     champ, the Ultimate Ego Quigley, and what happens?  Look at the     rankings, guys.  Look at the program I've had... virtually every new     guy around has decided to use me as target practise. [Marty turns and looks at Shakespeare, who is still not moving.] MW: Billy, where the [BLEEP] were you when I got nailed by Reed, Stone     and Stetson?  You know, the attack that's ended my career?  Up your     own arse, boy. [Warnett pauses to spit on Shakespeare's back.]     Don't despair, Billy-boy -- it's well known my contract ends at the     next PPV.  The suits, well, they've wanted rid of me for ages.  I     wanted to be myself, to rip new assholes into quite a lot of people,     but what was the response?     "But Marty, you're _so_ popular, we need you as a face!"     Spreadbury, Jividen, I've seen my contract, and right now, you just     can't stop me.  As long as I appear on at least one IIWF TV     programme per week, you've gotta pay me the whole week.  But I     digress, and I'd hate to think I'd become as long-winded as     Kauffman. [Marty looks up the aisle, where Reed, Stone and Summer are departing, still looking a little bemused at this turn of events.  He pauses only to take a crutch swat at a paramedic trying to enter the ring.] MW: Hey, Reed, where the [BLEEP] do you think you're going?     Reed, you've wrestled the way I've always pushed the suits about...     you truly suckered me in, and did me the best favour of my career.     Namely, ending it.  You see, having to be a goody-goody for the     suits meant I ended up taking regular beatings to put guys like you     over, and, more importantly, you've helped me, albeit inadvertantly,     to nail this piece of trash lying in the ring.     Hell, I ain't going to swear revenge -- how the hell could I?  I'll     never wrestle again, and right now, that don't matter a bean.  What     matters is this, Reed.     Again, I like your style, I like your attitude.     But you can improve technically, a lot.  Since I'm history, like Mr     Blu Tone and Sabine "The myth, the legend, the cheap bottle of wine     covered in brown paper" Figaro, I figure, maybe we can cut a deal.     Reed, I'll teach you what I know.  Well, you can figure out how to     please a woman yourself.  All I ask is a simple question.     Deliver me the head of Billy Shakespeare at the next PPV.  Think     about it, kid.  Think about how much your stock will improve,     retiring the second most popular IIWF "hero."  Think of how much     closer you'll be to that cruiserweight strap you deserve, destroying     a ranked contender.     Think about it, and let me know on Friday.  In the meantime, I'll     have to think up something to bug Spreadbury with on Saturday. [With that, Marty throws the mic at Dross, who takes evasive action to avoid being hit.  Marty eases himself from the ring and slowly makes his way backstage, as the EMT crew tend to Shakespeare, still apparently unconscious. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Oh my. Billy Shakespeare, laid out -- Warnett, turning on his best friend... this is shocking stuff, folks. And as Billy Shakespeare is wheeled out of here on a gurney, we must ask: what kind of impact is this going to have on his shot at Brody Thunder's World Heavyweight Championship next Saturday night? BL: He won't even make it to the match. I don't think he's even going to wake up before next Saturday. TD: Well, Becky -- that's going to take us to our Main Event -- Chris Quigley against Steve Kowalski for the Intercontinental Championship. BL: Timmy, can I just say how pleased I am, and I know how pleased the IIWF fans must be that a broadcaster of my undeniable talent is finally being recognized.  I think I'm going to like working on Saturday Night full time. [There is a commotion from behind the announce table, the fans murmuring... then roaring as a figure emerges from the crowd... Steve "Soundbite" Roberts.] BL: Roberts -- what the hell are you doing here? SR: Come on Becks, don't you get cable?  I work here. [Roberts motions to his Lil' Soundbite Special Forces, and two burly men immediately pop over the retaining barrier, grabbing Becky from under the arms as Roberts removes her headset.  Becky flails away as the two men carry her from the table, walking up the aisle and eventually... out of view.] TD: Steve Roberts, to what do we owe this great honor? SR: Aw, I just couldn't stand to watch you and Becky take the whole spotlight -- you know how we massive egotists are... ain't that right, Dross? I have an enormous ego, isn't that right? TD: You know, Steve, there's a match coming up I assume you'll be leaving before we have to do any actual broadcasting. SR: Is that what they're calling what you and LaRue have been doing tonight... funny, Dross -- I always knew it by its other name, "boring the public to death".  You're damn right I'm here, Dross -- but it ain't for you and your girlfirends in the front office... I'm here for one reason and one reason only... to see Steve Kowalski Skullpump that piece of Quigley back to the Paleolithic Era. And I'll promise you this Dross, when Quigley's lying unconscious in the middle of the ring at the end of the match... not only will I personally hand the Fury his belt -- but I'll recite any damn poem you want while the EMTs are performing CPR on that lifeless Canuck. TD: Well, we all know how much your promises are worth, Steve Roberts, and I have to say that Chris Quigley has defeated Steve Kowalski in the past -- and I wouldn't be surprised to see him do it again tonight. SR: I wouldn't be surprised to see me knock you on your ass tonight, Dross. TD: Steve, my heart is filled with terror.  Let's get to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley [c] vs. Steve "the Fury" Kowalski ....................................................................... WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee gives a thumbs up to a fan holding a large banner with one word "WRESTLING" and as he moves to speak... "Scotland the Brave" kicks in over the P.A. to a goodly sized pop from the IIWF faithful.] TD: We have a visitor... the Scotsman Duncan Macbeth is headed to the ring -- and listen to the people! [A chant of "Re-Match" rises throughout the crowd as many of the fans are waving tartan scaves... Macbeth emerges from the back in his black civilian garb, slapping the hands of the ringside fans, many of whom holding signs of support, "Quigley Fears Macbeth"..."Macbeth -- the Real Intercontinental Champion".  Macbeth points to a fan wearing a "Reformed Quigley Fan" t-shirt as he reaches the ring and grabs the mic:] DM: Aye, here I am, ready an' waitin' t' take on th' so-called "legend", th' paper champion 'imself, Chris Quigley.  Waitin' fer th' th' match tha' 'e _said_ 'e wanted tonight.  But as we all ken, wha' Chris Quigley SAYS an' wha' 'e DOES are often two different things.  Sae ladies an' gentlemen, I'm truly sorry, but I'm afraid tha' yuir Intercontinental Champion has withdrawn 'is challenge, an' decided NOT t' fight me tonight. [A crowd responds to this statement with a chorus of boos and anti-Quigley jeers from the multitude of Macbeth fans at ringside. Macbeth shakes his head, mockingly pleading with the crowd not to get upset, but the wide grin on his face betrays the glee he is experiencing from this.] DM: Nay, NAY, ladies an' gentlemen, dinnae be sae hard on poor Chris Quigley!  'E's yuir Intercontinental Champion, after all!  'E's an honest champ, a proud champ, a fair champ, an' aye, 'e's a _fightin'_ champ!  Sae what if 'e doesn't want t' fight me again?  Sae what if 'e turned 'is back on 'is own challenge?  "E's _still_ a legend, right? RIGHT? [The loud, raucous jeers form the crowd would seem to contradict this statement, but nonetheless, Macbeth carries on.] DM: Sae nay, ladies an' gentlemen, at th' apparent request o' th' champion, I will no' be wrestlin' fer th' Intercontinental Title this evenin'.  However, it would be me pleasure t' introduce t' ye th' man who has been selected fer a shot at th' title tonight.  Th' substitute challenger hails from Newark, New Jersey, an' weighs in at 268 pounds, 'ere is Chris Quigley's _preferred_ opponent, STEVE "TH' FURY" KOWALSKI! ["Don't Fear The Reaper" blares out over the PA, the fans chanting "SKULL-PUMP... SKULL-PUMP... SKULL-PUMP!" as... as... no one emerges from the back.] TD: We don't have Steve Kowalski... there is something going on here... we don't have Steve Kowalski! SR: Gamesmanship, Dross.  See -- since you've never been in a field of battle other than the occasional pie eating contest, you wouldn't know about gamesmanship... the Fury is going to make Quigley come out first -- just to establish some early dominance.  I love it!  [As the music fades from the PA, Duncan Macbeth grins and raises the microphone again.] DM: P'raps he's in t'little boy's room, wha'? An' now, ladies an' gentlemen, 'tis me esteemed privilege t' introduce t' ye th' self-proclaimed "legend" o' th' IIWF 'imself, th' man whose talent, ability, an'... heh heh, _sidekick_ allowed 'im t' "toss me aside" at Ring Wars "like a caber".   Th' man who has proudly, fairly, an' honestly retained 'is title time an' again -- nay, sorry, that'd be Steve Manning... Th' man whose word is 'is bond 'ere in th' IIWF.  Let's 'ave a big round o' applause worthy o' this great competitor, ladies an' gentlemen!  Let's hear it fer th' man who's listed on your paper programs as th' IIWF Intercontinental Champion, "QUICKSTRIKE" CHRIS QUIGLEY! ["For Those About To Rock" begins as Quigley enters to a tumultuous mixed pop. "Quickstrike" dumps his leather jacket in the aisle and begins removing the IC strap from around his waist, Quigley stepping through the ropes and into the ring.  The atmosphere is electric as Quigley immediately moves to Macbeth, Quigley slings the belt over his shoulder and begins yelling the word "Anytime... Anytime" as Macbeth begins shouting that he deserves a rematch.  The crowd is clearly divided, many of them chanting "Re-Match" as Macbeth eggs them on... Quigley responding with a smirk and a raising of the IC belt -- a large mixed pop for Quigley as he displays his strap for their beneift. Quigley hands over the belt to Earl Alfonso... as Sparkplug Lee requests the microphone from Macbeth.] TD: Folks... we have something going on in the back... let's get back there with our camera right now. [Cut to unsteady handheld footage from backstage, showing Brody Thunder standing over a fallen Steve Kowalski, a dented chair in his hand.] BT: Told ya I'd be seein' ya, pal! [Thunder levels the chair down hard across Kowalski's back and head.] I told ya that ya weren't gonna be around long enough ta make it ta the top! Didja think I was lyin'?! Here's a lil early Christmas present fer ya... [Thunder paintbrushes the back of Kowalski's head with slaps. Kowalski is still putting up an amazing struggle despite the chairshots. He then lifts his groggy head by the hair and rares back with his taped up "injured" hand. With a sickening smack Thunder lands a punch to Kowalski's head. Kowalski falls as if he'd been shot.]     ...no need ta thanks me, ace. S'my pleasure. [Thunder unwraps his "injured" hand, revealing a large horseshoe, taped to the back of his hand and covering his knuckles. He picks up Kowalski once more and decks him with a wicked right hand. Kowalski slumps to the floor. Thunder then looks into the camera.]     Kowalski was fond o' sayin' "hell has no fury..." Well, _now_... [Thunder holds up his taped fist, now covered with Kowalski's blood, and grins.]     ...neither does the IIWF. An'Quigley... ya got a lucky break, amigo. I jus' saved yer Canadian bacon from the kickin' ol' Fury here would've given ya... if he could walk out there, that is. A victim o' circumstances... that's all ya are... _this_ time.     _Next_time... [Thunder drives his bloodied fist into his open hand with a sickening smack.]      ...yer jus' a victim. Believe it. [Thunder turns and drives a kick to the head of the fallen Fury as IIWF security forces swarm the area. Thunder walks away backwards, smiling a very evil grin as he leaves. Cut back to ringside.] TD: Wow!  Serge Annis earlier this evening and now Brody Thunder -- and the Fury is out, Steve Roberts... the Fury is out! SR: Helluva observation Dross... you want another one?  Payback's gonna be a sonofabitch when the Fury wakes up and sees that he lost his shot at Quigley.  TD: I'm not sure what's going to happen now folks... we have some TV time remaining... wait... I'm getting the word from the back -- let's go up to the ring... Sparkplug Lee has an announcement.    [Sparkplug has the attention of the entire crowd -- including both men in the ring... as he speaks:] SL: Ladies and Gentlemen... Steve "The Fury" Kowalski will be unable to compete this evening... however, "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley... WILL... wrestle! [Big pop from the crowd as Quigley looks on with bemusement while a broadly smiling Macbeth begins to remove his motorcycle jacket.] SL: ...His opponent... weighing 230 pounds, a representative of the Jobber Justice Squad... Majestic Maurice McArthur! [Shocked pop from the crowd as Steve Miller's "The Joker" begins.  3M emerges from the back, almost leaping down the aisle as his enthusiasm is palpable.  Quigley begins to shake his head in a mixture of surprise and enjoyment as to the reaction of Macbeth, who screams at Sparkplug and then stomps out of the ring.] TD: Majestic Maurice McArthur will... well, he apparently is going to wrestle Chris Quigley tonight.  SR: Duncan Macbeth ain't gonna be the only guy who's hot about that, Dross -- I can think of another guy who sort of has a weird Pygmalion deal going on with 3M who's gonna go flat ape when he hears about this one.  This is just damn weird. [Quigley gives a wave to Macbeth as he leaves ringside... the fans cheering for him as he goes, Macbeth muttering to himself as he walks up the aisle.  In the ring, McArthur removes his "...and Jobber Justice for all" t-shirt and stands in the ring... almost giddy with anticipation as he waits for the match to begin.  Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Well -- we said the watchword for the IIWF was "unpredictable"... and I think this matchup could certainly be classified under that umbrella. SR: I don't know how Quigley does it, Dross... he gets to you and the suits to rig that poem bet... he and that freak Manning scam Macbeth and the IIWF about this wheelchair thing... and now, instead of having to face the music with the Fury -- he gets to meet the midnight toker. It's just damn wrong. [McArthur almost leaps into a collar and elbow with Quigley, who easily maneuvers into a standing side headlock and a quick body scissor. Quigley releases the hold, allowing 3M leave to return to his feet, where he is then met with another collar and elbow... this time, Quigley goes into a hammerlock, Quigley slipping a 3M attempt at a back elbow and then easily hiptossing McArthur to the canvas. Maurice rises, lunging at Quigley who feints, and fells Maurice with a drop toe hold -- Quigley floats up, coming around with a front chancery that thoroughly confuses 3M, as Quigley then grabs McAurthur's arms, moving to Maurice's back... and then elevates for a nifty bow and arrow submission that has the technically minded portion of the crowd popping and has McArthur gritting his teeth in pain.] TD: Well, this is a textbook lesson, Steve Roberts.  Chris Quigley is just flat putting on a display of his fundamental knowledge of the rudiments of this sport. SR: Quigley's a punk -- he's gotta come out here and prove he can do what?  Outwrestle Majestic Maurice?  Ooooh, big man.  He's a bigger fraud than his crippled buddy -- and you ain't much better from where I'm sitting, Dross. [Alfonso asks for a submission... but 3M refuses, McArthur showing some fortitude as Quigley eventually breaks the hold and the two men move back to their feet.  McArthur charges Quigley again... Quigley taking him over with a crisp armdrag... McArthur is up -- and then down in a similar manner.  Quigley bars the arm... Maurice, recognizing the maneuver, rolls through, getting to his feet and then stands with an armwring into a wristlock of Quigley!  Jobber Pop! Quigley is more amused that actually outmaneuvered -- reversing into a wring and a wrist of his own... and then popping 3M in the chest with a reverse crescent kick.] TD: Hey, a little chain offense there by Maurice, you know -- the Jobber Justice Squad has done some good work, Steve Roberts, they have really risen in popularity as of late and just being given the chance to compete in matches like this and the Cruiserweight Challenge matchup last week is a boost for their spirits. SR: Oh, you just had to bring it up, didn't you, Dross?  How you and Quigley and the suits went behind my back to set me up.  On my birthday and everything. TD: We did not set you up -- and it wasn't your birthday. SR: I'll kill you just as soon as sit here, Dross -- don't push me, dammit.  Just don't push me. [McArthur staggers backward to the ropes... coming off into an Irish whip by Quigley and then a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker by the Champion.  Quigley is working more quickly now... obviously looking to lay into young Maurice -- Quigley rocks 3M back to the corner with sharp European uppercuts... Quigley then puts sharp boots to the ribs of Maurice, stomping him deeply into the corner without a hint of mercy.  Quigley pounds 3M into the corner and as Alfonso attempts to move him away... Quigley gives Earl a quick shove... Quigley picking Maurice to his feet and laying in with brutal reverse knife edges that blister 3M's skin. Quigley then gathers McArthur, shooting 3M cross-corner to the opposite buckle... McAurthur hitting the corner and flipping heels over head, and all the way to the outside.] TD: Well, this has gotten a little ugly.  Quigley is just dominating McArthur now... and it looks like 3M is going to get counted out. SR: Good to see Chrssie's still at the top of his game.  Good win, Quigley -- I'm sure your momma's proud. [Alfonso reaches a count of eight... but Quigley breaks it, moving to the outside where he whips Maurice hard into the steel steps!  Many of the fans are clearly unhappy with Quigley, those with Macbeth signs now vocal in their opposition to his continued assault on Maurice.  Quigley hops to the apron... then comes down hard with a double axe to the rising Maurice's back -- McArthur staggering off to the retaining barrier, where he is immediately pursued by Quigley. Quigley takes the back of Maurice's head, slamming it down repeatedly into the guardrail... Quigley then picks 3M to the air, crotching him over the retaining barrier, then takes a few steps back... and nails 3M with an elevated forearm that takes McArthur out into the crowd!] TD: Oh... this is not good.  This is not good at all.  Chris Quigley is a man of not inconsiderable viciousness... and he is really displaying that in this matchup. SR: BullQuigley.  Chrissie's like a kid plucking the wings off baby birds... he ain't tough, he's just biding time between sniffing green markers and stealing Snickers bars at the local liquor store. [Quigley doesn't pause even a moment, dragging McArthur back over the rail... a trickle of blood now evident as it streams down the cheek of young McArthur.  Quigley drags Maurice back to the apron and now up into the ring.  Quigley, remaining on the apron, slingshotting himself over the top with a legdrop on the prone Maurice... Quigley making the easy cover... 1 -- 2 ---- NO! Pop as Maurice is able to raise a shoulder.  Quigley sits up... pausing for the first time as he stares hard at Alfonso and smacks his hands together.] TD: Awfully slow count there by Earl Alfonso. I'm not one to criticize IIWF officials -- but it looked to me like this match was over -- and I don't think Maurice McArthur would be all that disappointed were that to be the case. SR: Aw, cry me a river, Dross.  When I get screwed I'm whining... but when Quigley can't get a damn three count on a freaking jobber he's somehow Joan of Arc. [Quigley picks 3M to his feet, smacking him hard to the chest, then whipping him nearside -- McArthur coming off the ropes... and dropkicking Quigley to the mat!  Huge Pop!] TD: Good Grief!  McArthur with a dropkick!  SR: Hah!  HahHahHah!  That's the funniest damn thing I've seen since you tried to squeeze into XX jeans, Dross. [3M senses he needs to capitalize... moving up to the top rope and giving a peculiarly familiar sign...] TD: Oh no.  McArthur is going for the Starsault Press!  McArthur is going to attempt a Starsault Press!  [Maurice doesn't get the opportunity, as Quigley is easily up to his feet, and then moves to the top rope with McArthur, hooking him up and driving him down to the canvas with a mat rocking superplex!] SR: I've seen worse. [Big Pop as Quigley dramatically hooks a leg as Alfonso drops to the mat... 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: Quigley's getting up!  Quigley's breaking the count!  Steve Manning is on the apron!  Steve Manning is on the apron and Chris Quigley is going to break the easy three count!  SR: Here comes the beating, Dross.  Manning and Quigley are gonna lay McArthur out.  Lot of class... you figure maybe you and the suits want to go on into the ring and put the boots to Maurice too?  Maybe you think I oughta read a poem to Manning too.  That would be a good bet, Dross. [Manning is clearly pleading with Quigley, Manning holding up a large framed picture of Quigley with the entire Manning family, the caption reading "Christmas, 1994"... Manning holding the framed picture in front of Quigley who continues to shake his head.  Quigley refusing Manning's offer of apology and pointing for him to go back to the dressing room. Maurice McArthur staggers up, scrambling over to Quigley... the fans squealing as McArthur nearly reaches "Quickstrike"... Manning gestures wildly for Quigley to turn around... but Quigley pays him no mind. Quigley doesn't listen to Manning as the crowd continues to scream even more loudly and 3M approaches the unaware Quigley... Manning, realizing that Quigley is in trouble, takes the framed photograph -- and -- attempts to push Quigley out of the way and level 3M before he can reach the unknowing "Quickstrike". Manning swings the glass frame as Quigley whirls Maurice in front... and then reverses...] TD: OH MY GOD!  Steve Manning just hit Chris Quigley with the picture frame!  Quigley is down!  Quigley is down! SR: We got a cover!  Oh... Oh... Oh... We got a COVER! [Alfonso, obviously noticing the glass but partially shielded from the incident quickly dives and in rapid fire motion smacks the canvas... 1 -- 2 --- 3!] TD: Did I just... SR: We got a new goddamn champion, Dross... We got a new goddam champion! [There is a moment of complete and total silence, twenty thousand people standing as if just witnessing and event beyond the level of human comprehension. And then it explodes. Steve Roberts, leaping from the announce to the timekeepers table grabs the mic:] SR: Your winner as a result of a pinfall... and _NEW_ IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION... TD: I cannot believe... SR: MAJESTIC MAURICE McARTHUR!! [The crowd makes a sound of true jubilation as Alfonso raises 3M's hand and then quickly dives from the ring... Manning leaps over the top rope, awakening a stunned Quigley and begging for forgiveness... Quigley, still uncertain what has happened sits dead still on the mat as now the ring begins to fill up, fans begin to flow over the guardrail and climb into the ring, the JJS sprints en mass from the back... all of the members leaping, frolicking, dancing into the ring... IIWF officials and security now stream from every cranny of the building... Steve Roberts grabs the Intercontinental belt, forcing his way to Maurice McArthur and thrusting into his hands the strap... the effect is threefold... the fans burst into a wild chant of "J-J-S! J-J-S! J-J-S!" Maurice McArthur bursts into tears, the shot zooming in on his upraised hands... one holding the IIWF belt... ...and the other making the triple M sign... The third result is that whatever fog in which Chris Quigley existed passed.  And Quigley goes bonkers. Quigley begins to rip his way through bodies... knocking down fans, members of the JJS, IIWF officials and security, Quigley tearing like a madman as he approaches McArthur, Quigley ripping the belt from Maurice's hands and then pounding him down with it!   Chris Quigley ripping away at Maurice McArthur!] TD: Oh... oh, this is bad, folks.  We have never seen anything like this... you want to talk controversy. We have controversy right here... Chris Quigley is being pulled away from Maurice McArthur -- the IIWF officials are in the ring, they're in a huddle... something's going on here. Something's definitely going on here -- Quigley is screaming at everyone in the ring. Folks, we are out of time... We are out of time... Be sure to tune in on Tuesday, folks... we'll try to sort this all out on "Inside the IIWF"... I'm not sure what exactly has happened, but we have to go! So long, everybody! [Amid the chaotic scenes in and around the ring, 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+