[Fade up on footage captioned, "Last Saturday Night." Chris Quigley stands in the ring awaiting the challenger for an Intercontinental Championship match. The announcement echoes out across the IIWF Coliseum:] 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 Duncan Macbeth, who screams at Sparkplug and then stomps out of the ring. Over these scenes comes a voice over:] VO: Nobody had expected it. [Cut to footage from the match. Quigley bars McArthur's 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.] VO: Nobody could explain it. [Cut to later in the match. Maurice McArthur, having been laid out on the canvas, staggers up, scrambling over to Quigley, who stands by the ropes looking incredulously at Steve Manning, who is on the apron with a framed photograph... 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... MAJESTIC MAURICE McARTHUR!! [The shot freezes as Roberts leaps into the ring and presents McArthur with the Intercontinental Championship.] VO: But it happened. [Cut to footage captioned, "Last Tuesday." Tim Dross is seated at the table in the Arm Bar, hosting "Inside the IIWF".] TD: IIWF Executives were in constant meeting all day Sunday and then most of yesterday and it has been conclusively determined that Majestic Maurice McArthur is _NOT_ the IIWF Intercontinental Champion! That belt still belongs -- still belongs to Chris Quigley. [Cut to comments from Chris Quigley:] CQ: You cost me so much, not a title, not a win, you cost me the respect that I've been building for 13 years, and the only way to get it back is to _erase_ "Majestic" Maurice McArthur. I'm going to absolutely _annhiliate_ him. [Cut to comments from Majestic Maurice McArthur:] 3M: Saturday night is the biggest night in my career. It's the night of my dreams. It might also be the last time I ever see the spotlight. And I'm going to make a promise right now. Saturday night, I'm either gonna do Joe Petrow proud... or I will retire from professional wrestling. Because I've been through too much to go back to enforcing "Jobber Justice" any longer. [Cut to a video montage of Chris Quigley and Majestic Maurice McArthur apparently standing nose to nose in the squared circle:] VO: The most unlikely championship rematch of all time... right here, tonight! [The opening graphics explode into view:] ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour one...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon 13 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 Portland, Oregon! Welcome everybody to the IIWF Coliseum! Welcome everybody to the home of the finest organisation in professional wrestling today! Welcome to IIWF Saturday Night! [The shot continues to pan past row upon row of fans, many waving signs and bedecked in IIWF merchandise -- and in a pair of front row seats, almost buried behind huge buckets of popcorn and giant sodas in souvenir plastic cups, are seated Jonathon Chaos and Reggie Starr or Licensed for Devastation, wearing new "LFD are the !@#$" shirts and throwing popcorn at fans who ask for autographs. 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 "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, who is not standing beside his partner, but rather sitting at the table with his feet on the table, hands behind his head, wearing his trademark leather jacket.] TD: Howdy, folks, and welcome to another two hours of the hardest hitting, most exciting wrestling action in the world today! I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, uh, as always, is my broadcast colleague and tag team partner... SR: [interrupting] We ain't partners, Dross. Partners suggests some kind of equality in the relationship, and everybody knows that I've been carrying your sorry butt on this show for the past twenty months. TD: Were I of such a mind, I might retort that there's a reason I've been the IIWF's premier play-by-play man since the organisation's inception. But enough of that. "Soundbite" Steve Roberts is back in the saddle, folks, and we'll be bringing you some of the most incredible action you will ever see on a Saturday Night. SR: As long as we keep Becky LaRue away from ringside -- otherwise we'll see a very different kind of action. TD: Be that as it may, we have eight incredible encounters scheduled for our show tonight -- with three of the IIWF's championships on the line! Later tonight, IIWF Cruiserweight Champion, the "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner, will square off against Richard "Moxy" Blue, who will undoubtedly have Scott Rogers in his corner, and in our second hour, Billy Shakespeare will challenge for Brody Thunder's IIWF World Heavyweight belt, and we will see that long-awaited rematch between Intercontinental Champion "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley and Majestic Maurice McArthur. SR: There you go again, Dross. Spouting that bullQuigley about l'il Chrissy being the Intercontinental Champion. The whole damned world saw Triple M score the pinfall last Saturday Night -- so it's the other jobber who's the IC champ, baby dolls. TD: On top of that, we have a huge tag team contest pitting Tony Starks and the Subway Psycho -- two IIWF mainstays who have developed something of a love-hate relationship in recent months -- against Ike Sampson and newcomer "To Excess" Rick Williams. It doesn't sound to me as if either of these two partnerships will work together terribly well, Steve Roberts. SR: Who gives a damn, Dross? Let 'em fight. TD: One match that is almost certain to degenerate into an all-out brawl is the encounter between Steve "the Fury" Kowalski and Serge Annis coming up in our second hour. Here we have two of the hottest talents in the IIWF -- and they are two of the most brutal, most dangerous men in the squared circle today. What a match that's going to be. SR: One word, Dross: Skullpump. TD: That remains to be seen, folks. We've got all kinds of action coming your way here tonight, kicking off with the Highwayman, who's something of a lost soul here at the moment, taking on the huge Deathbringer. So what's the hold-up? SR: Wait a minute, Dross! We got more jobbers comin' out here. [The curtains part and Scott "The Whine" Bloom heads to the ring. Poutine Janois follows behind him.] TD: Well fans, it looks as if we have an unexpected appearance by "The Whine". SR: What's his problem now? [Bloom grabs the house mic from Sparkplug Lee.] SB: Well, apparently, the IIWF has once again found a way to keep me down! Can someone please explain to me how Maurice McArthur can get a shot at the Intercontinental Title? I am ten times the man that "3M" is. Just becuase he was once a buddy of Petrow, everyone in the Executive Committee bends head over heels for him. And as a result, I get screwed! I should be getting that shot tonight! But Quigley and Spreadbury have obviously conspired to keep me out of the picture. Well, I'm not going to stand for it! [The crowd is jeering loudly. Bloom reluctantly hands the microphone to Janois and begins yelling at the crowd to shut up. Janois takes the mic.] TD: [over the headset] Well, it seems that certain members of the Jobber Justice Squad are getting a little big for their boots in the light of their recent contract negotiations. We'll try and get this cleared up as quickly as we can, folks. [Poutine Janois addresses the crowd:] PJ: Ladeez and gentlemen, eet eez within my authority to announce zat another match has been added to tonight's card. Monsier Bloom will take on ze first challengair to agree to face him. [Bloom takes the mic back.] SB: Oh sure, just throw me into a match against some nobody! Once again, I'm being screwed by the IIWF. Once again, Scott Bloom is being made a mockery of! Once again... SR: [over the headset] Oh, will someone just get the hell down there and shut him up? [Almost on cue, the lights go out save for an eerie green light shining into the ring. Then, the familiar sound of Garbage's "#1 Crush" begins to play. The crowd erupts in approval as Tragedy and Comedy head to the ring.] TD: It's the Harlequins! Well, half of them. SR: What the... Why is he here? TD: Well, he is slated to join his brother Chaos against The Machines later on. Maybe this is just a warm-up match for him? SR: It's stupid, is what it is. He's got a match signed already. Why take the chance by wrestling twice? TD: Who cares? We have a bonus match, fans! Tragedy vs. Scott Bloom to kick things off here tonight! [The bell rings as Sparkplug Lee makes the announcement.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, this special bonus match is scheduled for one fall. Currently in the ring, from Albany, New York, weighing in at 205 pounds, SCOTT "THE WHINE" BLOOOOOM! [A chorus of boos greet Bloom as he climbs the second turnbuckle and raises his hands in the air. The boos quickly turn to laughs as Bloom trips himself stepping down to the mat though.] SL: [snickers] And his opponent, accompanied by the two-time Grapplette award winning Comedy. He is from Sleepy Hollow, Illinois and weighs 220 pounds, The leader of the Harlequins... TRAGEDY! [Tragedy removes his steel mask and the house lights come on. He hands the mask and trenchcoat to his wife who is standing outside the ring. Wasting no time, Bloom charges only to be met by the turnbuckle as Tragedy sidesteps him without looking behind himself.] TD: And Tragedy narrowly escapes a sneak attack. Tragedy with a succession of right hands to the face of Bloom. Irish whip sends Bloom into the opposite corner. Tragedy charges in and nails bloom with a clothesline. [Crowd pop!] SR: Tragedy's got this match under control, but I still don't think he should be wrestling two matches. TD: Cobra Clutch Suplex by Tragedy. Lateral press but only a two count for the Tragic One. [Looking a little perturbed, Tragedy picks up Bloom and with a side headlock, positions him in the center of the ring. Tragedy takes Bloom over with a suplex, then gets up and grabs Blooms leg.] TD: Spinning toe hold! Tragedy has "The Whine" caught in a classic submission move. SR: I wish he hadn't done that. Bad enough he complains about the committee, now he's gonna complain about being in pain. TD: Not so fast -- as a rake of the eyes breaks the hold. Bloom now rolls to his feet and nails Tragedy with a DDT! [Bloom gets up and jumps in glee. He then goes for a sloppy cover. One, two...] TD: Not enough to keep Tragedy down. SR: Tragedy's been in a cage match with The Butcher. One lousy DDT ain't gonna finish this thing. TD: And speaking of the Butcher -- we'll hear from Otto Verhoeven at the conclusion of this match. Bloom now, with an Irish whip, Tragedy rebounds from the ropes and leapfrogs over Bloom. Tragedy to the other side. [Scott Bloom drops down to the mat. But Tragedy grabs the ropes to stop his momentum, then leaps forward with a brutal looking double stomp on the head of Bloom.] TD: Ouch! SR: Nice move by the freak. TD: That's the kind of thinking one can expect from a second-generation wrestler like Tragedy. Tragedy now scoops up Bloom, it looks like he's setting him up for a Tombstone Piledriver! [Tragedy drops Bloom right on his head, stunning him in the center of the ring. Tragedy goes for the cover, then changes his mind and stands up. He slides his thumb across his throat then gives a thumbs down signal. Huge pop!] TD: Uh-oh! That can only mean one thing. SR: Okay, enough already. Pin the prelim bum and get the hell outta here. TD: Tragedy grapevines the legs and... wait, I think he's going for a figure four. SR: Can't be, it doesn't look right. TD: But that doesn't look... Wait a minute. He's executed the Tragic Ending! But look how he has Bloom's legs! SR: I dont think Bloom cares about that right now. The ref is calling for the bell! [The bell rings and Tragedy releases the hold.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, TRAGEDY! ["#1 Crush" plays as Comedy enters the ring and gives her man a big hug. A huge pop from the Harlequinners in the crowd as the referee and Comedy raise Tragedy's hands in victory.] TD: What a match we have received fans, as Tragedy puts "The Whine" in his place. SR: What was with that move? TD: We'll take a look at that again on instant replay. [A slow motion replay of Tragedy applying the modified Tragic Ending plays.] TD: As you can see, fans, Tragedy has apparently improved upon the scorpion deathlock. Look at Bloom's legs -- Tragedy is wrapping Bloom's knee around the other leg! SR: A scorpion deathlock does enough damage to someone's back. That move has to send a shot up the leg itself! [Cut back to the arena, where Tragedy and Comedy are heading back up the aisle, and Bloom kicks the ropes in frustration, before limping out of the ring and getting in Poutine Janois' face. The head of the IIWF Special Concerns Committee simply shakes his head and orders Bloom back to the locker room. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, there were rumors that Tragedy had made improvements to the Tragic Ending. It appears that Scott Bloom was the first to find out what those improvements were. SR: Yeah, but I still think it was dumb for Tragedy to take the match. Now he's tired and may not have the strength to take on the Machines later tonight. TD: Is that a note of concern I hear in your voice, Steve? SR: Concern? Get real, Dross! TD: Okay, folks, as promised, it's time to get some comments from Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven. SR: Get your ass up in the ring then, Dross. [Dross leaves the broadcast position and heads up into the ring, grabbing a microphone from the timekeepers' table as he does so. He waits for the crowd to settle before beginning.] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, my guest at this time has been on a rampage in the IIWF lately, although a force from the dark side seems to be intending to stop him. Please welcome a former IIWF World Champion... the Teutonic Terror... the German Juggernaut... the Butcher... OTTO VERHOEVEN! [The crowd virtually explodes with boos as the haunting tune of "Halloween" start to play over the PA and the massive German steps into the aisle. Verhoeven is wearing a dark blue polo shirt and black jeans. He stops at the head of the aisle and looks around, glaring at the fans, but then continues his way to the ring, his head bowed and completely ignoring the jeering fans. He climbs the steps and steps between the ropes while the heel pop reaches its climax. Again the Butcher does not even acknowledge the fans. He only stares at Dross with a spark of impatience in his eyes.] TD: Well... Herr Verhoeven, you have been on quite a roll lately, defeating such world class top draws like Lord Byron, Requiem and Mark Destructo. [Verhoeven just nods.] TD: Now a foe from the past casts his frightening shadow over you again, the very own Grim Reaper of the IIWF, the very man you defeated in that epic casket match at Ring Wars 2... the Deathbringer. He confronted you last week and his associate, the Blind... [Verhoeven shakes his head and grabs Dross by the lapels.] OV: [snarling] Get out of my face, you snivelling wimp. [He pushes Dross forcefully into the corner and Dross, knowing from experience that it is unwise to stick around in such a situation, quickly ducks out of the ring and returns to the broadcast table at ringside. The crowd jeers as Otto picks up the ring mic, his face a visage of rage, his body trembling with barely contained wrath.] OV: _I_ am sick and tired of people like Deathbringer, shadows of their former selves, who try to revive their glorious past by attacking the very people they tangled with years ago. Deathbringer is no longer the master of darkness in the IIWF, no longer the horror from the grave grown men were afraid to face. He is only a joke, a masked joke led by an aging, demented fool. Do you really think I am going to waste my time with them? Do you really think I am going to play this ridiculous game again, listen to that stupid mumbo-jumbo of the walking dead and all? HA! I destroyed Deathbringer once, sealed his very fate in that casket match. From that point on, he was on a downslide, and Germany's finest athlete has no time for "shadows from the past". At this time I crave one thing, and nothing else. Not the World title, no, I am not interested in that piece of gold right now. All I want is... The end. The end of Lord Byron. You may say I already accomplished that. And I did. I not only broke his body, not only turned this once great wrestler into a scared mockery of a man. No -- I also broke his spirit, destroyed everything that once defined the being of Lord Byron. Yet I am not satisfied. I still have to see that wretched visage of him, still have to endure his squealing voice, his whole pathetic presence. I thought he would have enough self-respect to leave the IIWF, enough honor left to see that he truly has lost his place in this promotion. Yet he appears again, week after week, a desperate bum now, but he still pollutes the very core of the IIWF, no, of the whole wrestling business. Let's finish it, Byron. Let's finish it once... and for all. If there is any trace of the Byron of old left in you, even one tiny chunk of spirit, answer my call. [The whole Coliseum has fallen silent as the tension rises and all heads are turned to the curtain, wondering what may happen next. Half a minute passes. Verhoeven walks around in the ring like a caged tiger, kicking at the ropes and silently cursing. Then he jumps on the ropes facing the aisle, nearly hurling his bulk over the top rope as he screams at the top of his lungs, his face glaring bright red:] OV: ANSWER ME! [Suddenly, the "Intermezzo" from "Karelia" Suite by Sibelius kicks in over the PA system, and the fans give an expectant pop as a spotlight falls on the head of the aisle.] TD: Here he comes, folks! Here comes Lord Byron to answer Otto Verhoeven's challenge! [The music continues to play, but Byron does not appear. The curtains twitch as an official peeks his head out for a moment, and then disappears. Verhoeven once again begins prowling around the ring like a caged animal.] SR: Uh-uh, Dross. No Byron. TD: Well, Lord Byron is scheduled to face Luke Steele here later tonight -- he _is_ in the building. SR: And he's yellow from head to toe. TD: I'm sure Byron has his reasons for not appearing here -- heaven knows, I've defended him since his reinstatement, but my patience is beginning to wear a little thin. [Verhoeven finally loses his patience, and holds up the microphone again:] OV: CUT THE MUSIC! [The music is quickly halted, and the fans buzz in disappointment as Verhoeven addresses a camera.] OV: Byron, you are nothing but a spineless, gutless coward. You have proven that your spirit is truly broken. But I will not rest until you have been eradicated, expunged from the IIWF. You are scared to face the German Juggernaut? You are terrified to face the Teutonic Terror one more time? I am not surprised. [Big heel pop as Verhoeven removes his polo shirt, revealing his immensely powerful upper body, chiseled in its definition.] I lay down the gauntlet to you, Byron. I offer you a final challenge. Answer me next week in the ring. [The crowd buzzes in anticipation once more.] TD: [over the headset] What kind of challenge are we going to hear from the Butcher? OV: I am willing to fight you on your own terms, Byron. You are such a pathetic, snivelling shadow of your former self that I am willing to face you in a match tailor made for your supposed skills. Let us make it... a TOWEL MATCH! [Big pop from the crowd!] OV: Each of us shall have a corner man. Each of us shall fight the other until we are simply unable to continue -- and a towel is thrown into the ring. And more than that... the loser of the match... must leave the IIWF forever! [Big heel pop!] TD: [over the headset] Oh my! Lord Byron has accepted a challenge like this before -- and he was put out of the IIWF by Creed. SR: [over the headset] And that was when he was at the height of his powers, Dross. Heck, I liked Byron back then -- and then he went and lost to that red-gloved, snot-nosed punk. [Verhoeven looks icily into the camera.] OV: I know you can hear me, Byron. I know you can hear the bell of destiny tolling for you, Byron. It is to be your death knell. You have no choice but to face me in the ring next Saturday Night. And one of us... will not come back. I await your answer... your _Lordship_. WELCOME TO THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE! [With that, Verhoeven throws down the microphone and heads up the aisle to a huge heel pop from the fans. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Wow, folks. A towel match between Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven and Lord Byron -- right here, next week. And one of these two men won't be coming back after that match! Unbelievable! Well, we must get to our first official match of the evening, as Deathbringer faces Highwayman in one on one competition. Let's go up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Deathbringer vs. Highwayman |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: MS [As Sparkplug heads up to the ring, LFD taunt him from their seats. Nervously avoiding the team, he stumbles through the ropes, almost tripping over his feet as Chaos and Starr laugh.] SL: The first macth is one fall, with a twenty-minute time limit! Introducing first, weighing in 285 pounds, from England, here is the HIGHWAYMAN! [Adam Smith walks out without any music, and he looks awful.  He comes out in jeans and workboots, not his typical wrestling attire.  He doesn't look like he's shaved in the past week, and the bags under his eyes indicate a lack of sleep.  He walks to ringside, totally ignoring everyone around him.] TD: Adam Smith does not look well.  The breakup of Genesis has definitely affected him. SR: Big F'N deal.  Culture Club breaks up, and he decides to pout a little.  Tough -- be a man, not a Quigley.  And where's his damn music? TD: I believe his tape was chewed up a little while ago, and he needs to provide the IIWF with some new music. SR: Figures that the cheap bastards at the IIWF can't cough up the lousy three bucks to buy their _own_ tapes. SL: And introducing his opponent, weighing 329 pounds... ["Scythe, Rage & Rose" begins playing over the speakers, and Deathbringer enters the ring.  Some in the audience cheer like mad, others just stare at the huge monster, but all eyes are focused on him.  All eyes, except for Smith's, who looks around the ring, totally disinterested in his opponent.  The Blind Guardian follows his charge to the ring.  Deathbringer enters the ring, with the Blind Guardian standing close at ringside.] TD: The Highwayman does not look like a man who came to win a match. SR: He doesn't want to be here, I don't want to be here... if it weren't for that contract that Spreadbury keeps shoving down my throat, I'd be at the Arm Bar, sharing a gallon of Tequila with my man the Smooth.  [The bell rings, and the two men lock up.  Smith grabs Deathbringer in a headlock, only to be nailed with an atomic drop from 'Bringer, followed by a clothesline.  Deathbringer picks him up for a backbreaker, then locks in a nerve hold.  Smith's face contorts in pain as the referee asks for a submission.] TD: Not much offense by Smith in the early going.  SR: Well, it's Deathbringer against a member of Genesis.  Hey, I think 'Bringer ought to take on a tougher challenge -- like the Gecko, or Poutine Janois, or even you, Dross.  Hell, to see you in the ring against Deathbringer, I'd even pay the extortion that Spreadbury charges. TD: Steve... SR: I mean, thirty-five bucks, and no female frontal nudity?  It just ain't worth it unless one of the two B's are involved.  TD: I'm going to regret asking this, but... SR: The two B's.  Blood or Breasts... take yo' pick, daddy!   [Meanwhile, Smith gets into the ropes to force a break of the nerve hold. Deathbringer releases, and Smith delivers a series of kicks at Deathbringer's stomach.  He steps back, giving Deathbringer a chance to stand, then aims a fist... blocked by Deathbringer, who responds with a series of fists of his own.] TD: What is wrong with the Highwayman?  Just a short while ago, he was the top contender to the Intercontinental title.  SR: Bringer's going to destroy the Culture Club freak.  Even the fossil knows it. [With a huge grin, the Blind Guardian heads back to the locker room. Meanwhile, Deathbringer picks up Smith's leg, and drops all 324 pounds on it.  He then grapevines the leg.  Smith kicks 'Bringer off with his other leg, then legsweeps Bringer on the rebound.  Smith gets up and starts stomping away at Deathbringer.  Then he switches tactics, and locks on an armbar.] TD: Adam Smith is in control for the first time in the match.  SR: You call this control?  It's a damn armbar, Dross.  A little twinge, no real pain.  It hurts about as much as watching that weasel on your head. TD: [a little frustrated] Or spending twenty minutes watching the dreaded "Soundbite Stall". SR: Dross, buddy, come Tuesday, you will be eating those words. [Smith drops a leg across Deathbringer's arm, then allows Deathbringer to stand up... only to bring him down with a Russian Sickle.  He makes a cover, but Deathbringer kicks out at the one count.  Both men get up, but Deathbringer just shoves Smith halfway across the ring, into the corner. Both men charge, and each nails a clothesline on the other.] TD: Both men down... what the...?! VOICE: FROM NOW UNTIL THE END OF TIME... SOMETHING SOMETHING SOMETHING... NO MERCY... DAMNED! [Suddenly, from the back strolls the Blind Guardian.  Only this time he's dressed like Requiem, complete with a guitar.  He ambles down to ringside as the audience laughs.  The Blind Guardian turns on the amplifier, and begins playing the guitar... badly.] TD: I think the Blind Guardian should not be playing publicly. SR: Shouldn't be playing publicly?  Do you know how bad that sounds? TD: I don't know.  Like the engine of a badly tuned '73 Gremlin? SR: I take it you know this personally? [The Guardian finishes his performance, to a very grateful audience.  He picks up the microphone, as Smith stares straight at the Guardian.] BG: Is this what you're proud of, brat?  Is this what you called your friend, your ally?  A clown with a guitar?  If this was the best GENESIS had to offer, and it has to be, as _you_ certainly were not the best Genesis had to offer, then I guess it's better for the rest of the league that this stable's name is never spoken out again. [The Blind Guardian turns the guitar around, and shows the back to Smith. The IIWF camera focuses in on the guitar.] TD: Well, there's Genesis.  Requiem, Serge Annis, Cold Spell, even Scott Rogers... where's the Highwayman? [Written beneath the images are the word: "GENESIS. Whom else should we need?"] TD: Smith is fuming!  The Blind Guardian is waving the guitar in his face, and Smith has completely forgotten about his opponent!  He's trying to grab the guitar! [Unfortunately, Smith's opponent hasn't forgotten about him.  As Smith tries to go through the ropes to get at the Blind Guardian, Deathbringer grabs the legs of Smith, forcing Smith to fall on the ropes.  Deathbringer then yanks backwards, pulling Smith into the ring on his stomach.  Deathbringer then spins around, so that Smith is caught in an inverted Boston Crab.] SR: What in the world is the guy doing? TD: Deathbringer... is starting to spin around.  It looks like a version of the giant swing.  But look at the velocity Deathbringer is getting! SR: He's letting go... Wow!  Culture Club Freak just flew out of the ring, right in front of the geezer. BG: [standing over the prone Highwayman]  Tell me, Smith, how do you like the Wheel of Death?  Was it everything you could imagine? [The Blind Guardian then throws Adam Smith into the ring.  Deathbringer picks the Highwayman up for the burial, and plants him into the ground. Deathbringer add insult to injury by folding Smith's arms across his chest as the referee counts to three.] TD: Adam Smith was just annihilated by Deathbringer and the Wheel of Death.  It's obvious that he was not focused on this match, and you have to ask yourself... is this the end of the Highwayman? SR: Boo hoo.  Oh, I'm sobbing.  The only Culture Club guy that's any good is Annis, and that's because he likes blood... his own, and his opponents'. You can take this guy, and send him to the same retirement home that Requiem and Shakespeare have gone to.  TD: Whatever you think of the Highwayman, he has a ton of talent, and could rise to the top of the IIWF.  But he needs the focus and the drive that he had when he was in Genesis.  But if he can't regain that... this might have been his last match in the IIWF. [Deathbringer kneels in the centre of the ring and raises his right palm to the crowd as the lights drop and he is illuminated in a blood-red spotlight, looming over the semi-conscious form of the Highwayman. The crowd cheer as the spotlight follows Deathbringer from the ring and up the aisle to the strains of "Scythe, Rage & Rose", leaving Adam Smith lying in the ring. Once Deathbringer has departed, the lights rise once more, to find Smith groggily on his feet in the ring. He holds his head in his hands, and the fans begin to laugh at him.] TD: Oh -- oh my. Listen to these fans -- they're laughing at the Highwayman! SR: Is it any wonder, Dross? Is it any wonder at all? Hey, freak -- gi back to your grave! You'd wrestle better if you were dead! [The laughter increases in volume as Smith staggers around the ring, his hands on his ears, apparently incensed by the jeers of the fans. A camera shot catches a wild, crazed look in his bloodshot eyes, surrounded as they are by puffy purple bags that suggest sleep deprivation. Smith finally lets out a primal scream, and drops to the mat, rolling out of the ring. He approaches the front row of fans at ringside, and yells in their faces. The laughs from that part of the crowd suddenly stop, colour draining from the faces of nearby fans as they realise how crazed Adam Smith has become.] TD: Oh, this is bad, Steve Roberts. We need some help out here -- Adam Smith should never have been cleared to wrestle here tonight -- this man is unbalanced. [Smith prowls around the ringside area, and fans shrink back away from the arena, seeing the look in his eyes. One unfortunate twenty-something fan continues to laugh, however, and finds himself unceremoniously hauled over the crowd barrier and into the ringside enclosure. Security swarm around Smith and try to unhand the young man, whose face is drained, as Smith holds him up by his lapels.] TD: Can we cut to commercial? We can't? This is a very unfortunate turn of events -- security now, pulling Adam Smith away from that fan -- oh my gosh, the security are sent flying! [Smith lashes out at the guards as the fan leaps back over the barrier into the anonymity of the sea of fans. Smith sends each of the security staff flying with well-aimed punches and kicks, before heading up the aisle, the fans backing away from the barriers on both sides. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, we apologise for those scenes, folks, and I'm very glad that nobody was seriously injured -- that may be the last we see of the Highwayman here in the IIWF. Let's move swiftly on to our next match: we're about to witness two of the IIWF's top tag teams hook it up, as the Machines get set to face the Harlequins. SR: We already saw Tragedy, Dross.  The suits are expectin' him to fight twice tonight?  First that damn poem bet is rigged, and now Tragedy's gotta pull double duty.  Shameful, Dross. TD: Steve Roberts, you know very well that the bet was not rigged.  As for Tragedy, however, I really can't say whether he'll be made to compete in this match as well as the one we already saw him in. Let's go up to the ring and find out! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| The Machines vs. The Harlequins |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: MB [Sparkplug Lee stands in the glare of the spotlights in centre ring.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a regulation time limit.  Introducing first, at a total combined weight of 503lbs, and hailing from Cleveland, Ohio, the team of Paul Wong and Simon O'Neal... THE MACHINES! ["Welcome to the Machine" by Pink Floyd starts up over the PA system, causing the crowd to let loose a slight heel pop.  Paul Wong walks out first, and following behind him is Simon O'Neal, who garners most of the heel pop by himself.  They walk to the ring and enter, just as the crowd begins to cheer at the appearance of the Natural Predators in the aisleway. The Predators are led to the ring by Kuyler Greyson, who takes the microphone from Sparkplug.] KG: You know something, Harlequins, I hope with this sound system even     you can hear this.  You and Cold Spell, you done my boys dirty these     past few weeks.  I dunno if you just don't see them as a threat, in     which case, you must not be able to see past that makeup, but you're     going to see something tonight.     Machines, we got the win, but were as unsatisfied as you with the     turnout. Another time, another match. [Greyson returns the mic to Sparkplug, and with the Predators in tow walks back up the aisle, leaving the Machines in the ring and the announcers to wonder.  And just as Sparkplug tries to get back on the microphone, the two valets of the Harlequins walk out to enormous applause.] TD: Well, we are awaiting the appearance of the Harlequins and, well,     it looks like Comedy and Melody are here. SR: I can't believe that Tragedy's gonna go into this match after that     match with the Whine earlier on. TD: The girls have the mic.  Let's see what they have to say. [The camera switches to Comedy and Melody at the entry.] HC: HAHAHAHAHAHA!! Will you get a load of them?! HM: [singing] You're going to regret this! HC: You two look so smug.  Well, I got news for you.  You're going to     face the Harlequins! HM: [singing] We never said which ones! HC: Gotcha, suckers! [The two Harlequins dissapear, and the crowd quiets down while the announcers mull it over.] TD: "Which ones?"  "Which ones?"  What's that supposed to mean? SR: I tell ya Dross, you may play dumb but can't be as stupid as you look. It's gonna be a mixed tag match!  Melody or Comedy is gonna climb into the ring with the Machines!  Maybe both of 'em, and give Chaos and Tragedy the night off. TD: You can't possibly believe that, Steve. SR: I believed that bet was fair, didn't I?  Then who do you think it'll be? TD: With the way things have gone as of late, it could be Steve Kowalski as Harlequin Fury, or for that matter Joe Petrow back as Harlequin Crazy. SR: I do the jokes, got it? ["Mathematics of Chaos" by Killing Joke starts up to the loudest pop yet, and Sparkplug Lee looks at the entrance as he is finally able to announce the second team.] SL: And the Machines' opponents... Accompanied to the ring by Harlequins Melody and Comedy, at a total combined weight of 604lbs pounds, here are Harlequins Chaos and... SR: Who's it gonna be, Dross? TD: I have no clue. SL: ...Terror... THE HARLEQUINS! TD: Oh my goodness, Harlequin Terror has returned! SR: Damn Dross, he's even nuttier than Chaos! [The four Harlequins, minus Tragedy, make their way down the aisle to the ring, amassing a grand pop from the audience along the way.  They all shake hands while continuing to the ring, and once they reach it they begin to brawl with the Machines right away.  Paul Wong is attacked by Chaos while Terror and Simon O'Neal go at it in an opposite corner.  Eventually both Harlequins manage to get the better of the Machines, and each whips the opponent into the center of the ring.  Rather than crash into each other, Wong picks O'Neal up and throws him like a missle straight at Chaos, knocking both men out to the floor.  However as he does this, Wong is attacked by Terror, who jams his fingers down Wong's throat, immobilizing him in a mandible claw.] SR: That's going to leave a mark. TD: I just hope it leaves his lunch down. [The bell rings, finally starting the match.  Terror relents on the claw, and pulls Paul Wong by the hair to his feet, and smashes his head into the turnbuckle a series of times.  The crowd counts along, and when he's finished Wong is on rubber legs.  A diving shoulderblock knocks him right down, and Terror goes for the pin, or so it looks.  Instead, he grabs Wong's head with both hands and begins to squeeze away.] SR: Grip of Terror!  He wants Wong to scream uncle. [Paul Wong, to his credit, manages to get to the ropes, and the referee breaks the hold.  While the match had been going on, O'Neal and Chaos had each returned to their partner's corner, and Wong tags out in a hurry. Simon enters the ring and takes a dropkick to the face, but gets right back up and runs into a hiptoss.  A third time Simon rises, and now he ducks a swinging punch and dropkicks Terror in the knee.  Terror goes down, and Simon applies pressure on the leg with a grapevine.  Harlequin Chaos enters the ring and stomps Simon O'Neal in the midsection before being dragged back to the corner, and it gives Terror the opportunity to bite Simon in the calf.] TD: I don't expect the referee would have allowed that, had he seen it. SR: Geez, you're sharp tonight, Dross.  Who told you what'd happen beforehand?  Jividen?  Spreadbury himself? [Simon yelps in pain, while Terror gets up and pulls Simon around the ring by his hair, then tags in Chaos.  He continues to hold Simon by the hair as Chaos drops an elbow into his stomach, and doesn't leave until after choking him out some.  Chaos takes over and towers over the much smaller Simon O'Neal, crushing him with another elbowdrop before trying for the pin.  Simon kicks out and gasps for breath, while Chaos gets up and bends down to pick him up.  A jacknife powerbomb sends O'Neal to the mat once again in a hurry, but the match is temporarily halted as Ms. Miki, valet to the Fabulous Ones, makes her voluptuous way down to ringside.  She stands on a neutral side to the ring, as the Harlequins protest her being there. The referee shrugs it off, unable to do anything, while Paul Wong simply stares at Miki, his eyes never leaving her.  Simon O'Neal takes this break in the action to move to the Machines' corner and reaches for the tag, but it takes Simon a few seconds to realize it.] TD: It seems as though Ms. Miki has Paul Wong mesmerized. SR: A shiny object would mesmerize him, Dross.  So why not two round objects? [Wong enters the ring and sidesteps a shoulderblock from Chaos, then hits him with a forearm to the head and rocks him further with a kick to the right knee, Chaos' known weak spot.  He hits the mat, and outside the ring Ms. Miki takes out a notepad and begins to write in it.  Wong wraps his knee around that of Chaos' and leaps into the air before coming down on the mat, driving his knee into the side of Chaos' leg and then slapping on an STF.  Chaos grimaces in pain, and Miki writes feverishly now, apparently commenting on Wong's performance.  Wong gets up and bounces off the ropes, but is hit from behind with the foot of Terror, which happened to get thrust up just at the same time.  Wong falls to the mat, but both he and Chaos reach their partners at the exact same time to get the tag.  Simon enters the ring and charges the Harlequins' corner, but Terror shoulders him in the stomach, then sunset flips over the ropes and rolls him up. O'Neal kicks out, and thumbs Terror in the eyes to gain the advantage.  A quick tag to Wong leads to an original move by the duo, a powerbomb from Wong turned into a devastating neckbreaker by O'Neal.  Wong leaves just as quick as he entered, and for that Miki again scribbles quickly in her notebook.  O'Neal tries for the pin, but is pulled off by Chaos and begins to get doubleteamed by the 'Quins.] TD: Tag team tactics are taking over. SR: Say it three times fast, and then get back to me, Dross.  Aw hell, there goes Miki. [Ms. Miki starts to walk back to the locker rooms, and Paul Wong gazes in her direction yet again.  Simon O'Neal bounces off the ropes and goes for a ride with a double backdrop, and then crawls to his corner to again tag out.  But this time Wong drops off the apron silently and begins to walk after Miki, as his partner looks on with the expression of a deer caught in the headlights.  The Harlequins pick O'Neal back up and execute a double bodyslam into the mat, and then move to the corner.  As the crowd begins to rise in anticipation, Chaos picks up O'Neal and sets him on his shoulders while Terror climbs to the top rope.  Collectively, every jaw in the arena drops as Terror leaps off, and frankensteiners O'Neal from his high position atop Chaos' shoulders.  Both men hit the canvas, but Terror drapes an arm across O'Neal and gets the three count.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, your winners as a result of a pinfall... THE HARLEQUINS! TD: What a fantastic move by the new team of the Harlequins! SR: They only got the win because the big idiot from the Machines lost interest in his partner.  Two on one, anyone's bound to win that way. TD: I'm being told that Larry Morton is on his way out to interview the Harlequin squad. [Simon O'Neal is rolled out of the ring by the referee while Larry Morton runs down the aisle and walks up the ringsteps, holding a microphone in his hands.] LM: Ladies and gentlemen, I can't find words to describe what has just     happened.  But it looks as if we have a brand new stable here in the     IIWF with the return of Terror to the Harlequins!  Tragedy, what in     the... [Chaos grabs the mic from Morton.] HCh: Did you see it?  DID YOU SEE IT?!  For a long time, the IIWF has      been filled with miserable, pathetic excuses of alliances.  They      form, they fight, and then... THEY DIE! [Mixed pop from the crowd.] HCh: They die and they die.  And the reason they die, because they don't      have the strength. [Melody takes the mic.] HM: [singing] # Syndicate was very bad / Team Brutality just a fad / Age     of Rage really stunk / And Genesis were nothing but punks! # HC: You see, Lar?  We've decided that the time has come to take whatever     we can!  My man here has already proven himself in both singles and     tag team competition.  A lot of you may have forgotten, but Tragedy     was once the number one contender for the IIWF World Cruiserweight     Championship.  And he is the only cruiserweight to defeat, that's     right DEFEAT, Otto Verhoeven inside a steel cage!  And to top that     off, he has won the U.S. _and_ World Tag Team Titles with two     separate partners!  And now that he has done all that there was to     be done in the tag team division, Tragedy is going back into singles     competition.  And he's going to be the next IIWF Cruiserweight     Champion, then he's going to take the Intercontinental Title from     that joke Piggly Wiggly Quigley, and to top it all off, he's going     to win the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship, and put the Lone     Wolf on the Endangered Species list! LM: And I assume that Terror is part of this plan. HCh: My brother has given me a great responsibility.  I am now the      captain of the Harlequin tag team.  And with my cousin, we will      return the World Tag Team Titles to Harlequin hands. HTe: Cold Spell fears us!  Yes?  The Prophets fear us!  Yes?  Damage      Inc?  Damage! Damage! Damage! [Terror starts striking himself repeatedly in the head yelling "Damage!" over and over. Harlequin Tragedy has come down the aisle and now rolls into the ring, approaching Larry from behind and tapping him on the shoulder. Morton nearly jumps half out of his skin, and throws the microphone in the air, allowing Tragedy to catch it.] HT: For the past year, we have gone easy on the ranks of the IIWF.  But     as of this moment, we will no longer bother ourselves with the     concerns of others.  My family and I have only one goal.  The     complete and total dominance of the IIWF. HTe: Resistance... is futile! ["#1 Crush" starts up and the Harlequins leave.  But as they turn to walk out, two figures leap over the guardrail and enter the ring from the other side, attacking Chaos and Terror from behind.] TD: LICENSED FOR DEVASTATION! [Jonathon Chaos clips the right knee of Harlequin Chaos out, taking the big man down to the mat and then leaps on him with a flurry of fists.  Reggie Starr climbs on Terror and tries to work him to the mat with a sleeperhold, but Terror refuses to go down.  Starr claws at Terror's eyes, and then tries a chokehold, but not even that can bring the newest Harlequin to his knees.  Jonathon Chaos sees this and slips to the outside, then returns with a chair and catches Terror flush in the face with it.  And still Terror refuses to go down, only after a double vertical suplex into the chair does he lay on the mat.] TD: Oh my! What carnage out here! The Harlequins victorious -- but those hyenas, those vultures, Licensed for Devastation -- what a heinous attack! [Licensed for Devastation, happy for now at the damage caused, exits the same way they came, while finally Paul Wong returns to the scene.  Simon O'Neal, having watched the whole deal with the Harlequins from ringside, continues to try and clear his head, while Wong profusely apologizes to his partner for walking off.  O'Neal shakes his head, walking off and refusing to listen.  He walks up the aisle while Wong trails behind, still trying to apologize. Cut back to the broadcast table.] TD: Well, that was certainly chaotic, folks -- the Predators with their challenge to the Machines, the new Harlequins, Miki coming down to ringside, Paul Wong following her to the locker room, the Harlequins getting jumped by LFD -- my head is spinning, Steve Roberts. SR: Aw, poor Dross. Damned tags. Don't they realise that they can attack each other all they like -- to the Soundbite, they're still just a bunch of gay guys. TD: They're fantastic athletes, Steve Roberts. The tag team roster in the IIWF is currently stronger than it's ever been, and... hold on a minute, folks... I'm getting reports of an altercation backstage! Let's get a camera back there! SR: It's probably just Becky LaRue "roadtesting" the IIWF's new recruits... we don't need to disturb that... so let's get a camera back there anyway! [Cut to shaky handheld footage as the camera crew races up to the scene. In front of a dressing room door marked with a plaque reading "Ronnie Paris", stand four burly looking security guards. Currently, they are blocking the path of an irate "Enigma" Takezo Musashi, who, dressed in street clothes of jeans and a white "Sycopath" T-shirt, is yelling at them furiously.] TD: It looks like Musashi is making a scene here, trying to get his hands on Ronnie Paris. Those guards don't look like they're gonna budge, however. Where the heck is Paris anyway? SR: Hah! He's probably hiding away in his cupboard like a little girl! He's in no hurry to mix it up with the Enema again! TD: Oh my goodness, there he goes! Musashi just laid out one of the guards, and this scene is outta control! [Musashi has indeed lashed out with a lightning quick elbow smash, felling one of the security guards. He immediately whips around, and blasts another hapless fellow with a savate kick, sending him flying into a crumpled heap against the wall. Another one of the guards slips behind the Enigma and grapples him from behind, holding him fast for a moment. Musashi struggles to break free...] TD: Security seem to be rapidly subduing the Enigma... SR: Kick his teeth in! TD: ...thank you, Steve Roberts. Now... Hold on! Here comes Ronnie Paris! [There is a blur of motion as Paris rushes up to the scene, a metal trash can in his hands, which he uses to crack Musashi across the head! CLANG! Musashi drops like a stone from the security guards hands, and Paris hurls the hunk of metal into his fallen carcass! The can bounces off and rolls aside.] SR: Oh man, what a shot! All this time, Paris wasn't even in his dressing room! He just sprang out of nowhere! TD: This looks bad, folks -- Musashi may be seriously hurt. Thank goodness we have this security team here to break things up before things get too serious. SR: But look at these big lunks, they're just standing there watching! What the hell is going on? [Steve Roberts is correct: the four guards simply watch dispassionately as Paris begins to lay in the kicks and stomps on Takezo Musashi, who writhes in pain down on the concrete. Paris gives a nod to the guards and they all spring into motion, combining to hoist Musashi into the air, before charging at the wall and bashing his head, battering ram fashion, into the concrete! Musashi slumps to the floor.] TD: This is just terrible! What could these security guards be thinking? SR: They almost smashed Moomashy's head right through the wall! That one just had to hurt! [The four security guards, and Ronnie Paris, take turns playing soccer with Takezo Musashi's head as he lays comatose down on the concrete. Paris visibly wears a smirk of revengeful triumph as he puts in the boots. Finally, the brutal stomping dies down, and Paris instructs the guards to pin Musashi's head back against the wall. The secuirty team complies, and Paris goes over to the trash can, pulling out of it a glass bottle. With a nasty gleam in his eyes, Paris approaches the groggy and bruised Enigma, held fast against the wall...] TD: Oh, my goodness, no! [...Paris hauls back, then whips the bottle across Musashi's forehead, where it smashes under the impact! Shards of broken glass fly through the air, and Musashi drops to the concrete like a drive-by victim, blood streaming from a savage wound on his forehead.] TD: That was completely dispicable and unecessary! If these men have a problem, they should settle it the old-fashioned way -- one on one in the ring. All this back alley fighting is disgraceful! SR: Hey! That was great, moron! Paris is finally dishing out some real punishment for once in his life. [Paris dips into his pants and extracts a wad of notes, slipping a few fifties to each security guard in turn. The guards nod their approval, and togethor, the bunch turn and retreat back up the corridor, leaving the bleeding and motionless carcass of Takezo Musashi laid out on the concrete behind them.] TD: Paris was paying off those security guards all along! This is a disgrace! SR: I gotta hand it to Paris -- setting Musashi up for a fall like that was a stroke of genius! It's gonna be hospital food from here on in for the Enema, baby dolls! [A stretcher team hurries down the corridor, but as they pass Paris and his lackies, they are immediately set upon; the stretcher upturned and thrown aside, the medics roughed up and thrown to the ground. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What a dreadful attack by Ronnie Paris. Takezo Musashi is headed to Portland General hospital -- and I hope Ronnie Paris is headed to the IIWF President's office for disciplinary action first thing on Monday morning! It's a wild, wild night already here in the Coliseum, folks, and it's only going to get wilder. Our next match is another in a series of "random partner" tag-team matches -- this one pitting the unlikely team of Ike Sampson and "To Excess" Rick Williams against the New York City team of Tony Starks and the Subway Psycho. SR: It's a plot. TD: It is? SR: Yup. I'm finally starting to understand the way the IIWF does things. They look for any chance they can to get you off guard so they can give you a good screwing. When you have to wrestle with someone you don't like, you are off-balance... and BANG! They have you. TD: Okay. If you say so. Let's go to Sparkplug. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Ike Sampson & "To Excess" Rick Williams vs. |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Subway Psycho & Tony Starks ....................................................................... WRITER: DH [Sparkplug smiles confidently, looking almost smug for some reason.] SL: The following match is set for one fall, and is a special tag-team event. First, from North Carolina, weighing 304 pounds, I give you IKE SAMPSON! [Prince's "Kiss" strikes up, and the massive man makes his way to ringside, looking totally disinterested in the match. He waves a bit in response to the fans, but no more than that.] TD: Ike Sampson is not happy about being in this match -- and that might be bad news for Rick Williams. Look what Ike did to Bradley Reed two weeks ago in a similar situation. SR: That's because he's catching on to the way this place works! SL: And his partner, from Minneapolis, Minnesota, at 257 pounds, this is "To Excess", Rick Williams! [The music switches to "Local Hero" by Mark Knopfler as Williams heads down the aisle, a grin on his face and what appears to be about two packs of gum in his mouth. As he arrives, the camera pans back to Sparky, who is now almost dancing with glee.] SR: And now, their opponents. At a combined weight of 524 pounds, from New York City, the team of Tony Starks and the Subway Psycho - THE BIG APPLES! ["New York, New York" comes onto the sound system as a slightly startled-looking pair of athletes come out of the back. Both of them glare at Sparkplug, but he is oblivious as he enjoys his moment of creativity.] SR: Dross, we really have to stop letting Sparkplug write his own cue cards. [All four men are now in the ring, and they quickly split off into a pair of face-to-face staredowns -- Starks and Sampson nose-to-nose, and Psycho looking slightly down at Williams. Dave D'Amato tries for several seconds to get the teams back to their corners, then gives up and steps between the smaller pair. They slowly back off, leaving the two black athletes still motionless in the middle of the ring. DING! DING! DING!] TD: Well, this match is officially underway, but I'm not sure that Ike Sampson and Tony Starks even realize it yet! They don't even appear to be talking trash to each other, just staring. SR: They probably can't think of anything to say. [POP!] TD: And now they don't need to! [Indeed, Starks has ended the standoff by slapping Sampson across the face. Ike answers with a forearm to the bridge of his rival's nose, and the two men start slugging it out, throwing punches, forearms, headbutts, and anything else they can think of. After a few moments, Starks starts to get a slight advantage, and backs Sampson into the ropes. The North Carolinian relaxes, expecting a break, and is immediately snapped over into a vertical belly-to-belly suplex. He isn't even fazed, though, and is on his feet before Starks can get to his. When the Long Islander does rise, he is immediately flattened by a huge clothesline. Pop!] TD: Tony Starks thought he was being clever there, but it didn't even slow the big man down! SR: Congratulations, Dross. TD: For what? SR: Figuring out a way to say Tony Starks and "clever" in the same sentence. [Sampson drops a elbow onto Starks's chest, then gets back up and repeats the move. Finally, he pulls Starks to his feet, fires him into the ropes, and catches him coming back with a massive powerslam. Huge Pop!] TD: Ike Sampson looks impressive early on in this match. It is really a shame that this is the last time we will see him for several weeks. SR: He's smartened up and is leaving? I'm liking this big goof more and more all the time! TD: No, Steve Roberts. He has some contractual obligations to fulfill in Japan, and won't be returning to North America until early 1998. This is all being done with the blessings of the IIWF front office, and we wish him all the best during his tour. It is just too bad that he has to leave just as he is becoming such a threat in the heavyweight division. SR: He's not much of a threat if he keeps getting stuck in these silly fake-tag-team matches. [Back in the ring, Ike is grinding away at Starks' temples with a headlock. Sampson pulls him to his feet in that position, but Starks grabs him around the waist and pulls him over in a belly-to-back suplex! Sampson isn't badly hurt, but the move gives Starks a chance to tag out to the Subway Psycho.] TD: Tony Starks is a suplex master, and he just found enough of a second wind to get himself out of a bad situation! SR: Look at Rick Williams! He is screaming for Ike to tag him in so that he can get in there with the Psycho. ["To Excess" quickly gets his wish, and enters the ring with the Psycho for the second time in as many weeks. Subway charges Williams and hits him with a shoulderblock, but with no result. Williams signals for him to try again, and the New Yorker obliges. This time, Williams ducks down and sweeps his opponent's legs out from under him. In a heartbeat, he has an anklelock hooked in, drawing a yell from the Psycho. Williams continues to twist away on the ankle for several seconds before Subway is able to reach the ropes. Williams breaks the hold, gets to his feet and starts laying vicious kicks into the prone Psycho before D'Amato pushes him back.] TD: Both Ike Sampson and Rick Williams complained about having to take this match, but they are dominating early on... and working fairly well as a team. Williams is going over for another tag. [Startled Pop as Williams slaps Sampson across the face.] SR: Was that a legal tag? TD: Dave D'Amato says it was, and is signaling Ike Sampson into the ring. Apparently, Rick Williams is trying to show that he and Sampson are not friends. [Sampson stares at Williams for a long moment, then ducks between the ropes and kicks him in the gut.] TD: Deep Freeze! He's doing it again! He's walking out of a tag-team match for the second time in three weeks! And this time, he is walking all the way to Japan! SR: He can't do that, you know. TD: Do what? SR: Walk all the way to Japan. There's a lot of water between Japan and Portland. TD: I realize that, Steve Roberts. SR: Maybe you do. But I wonder if Ike does. [Williams slowly gets to his feet, only to be sent flying into the ropes by a running clothesline by the Subway Psycho! As he comes off the ropes, Psycho grabs him around the head and delivers a devastating bulldog. After a pair of kneedrops to the forehead, he climbs to the top rope, then flings himself off in a picture-perfect moonsault!] TD: Rick Williams is in terrible trouble here! And the Psycho isn't even trying for a cover, he's tagging in Tony Starks. And now both men are dragging "To Excess" to his feet... double belly-to-back suplex! SR: I hope Ricky didn't waste any time signing up for the IIWF health plan! [The Psycho leaves the ring, but deposits Williams on the top turnbuckles as he departs. Starks climbs to the top rope, hooks in a Tiger Suplex, and lets himself fly backwards. Halfway to the ground, he releases Williams, who lands with a sickening thud on his head and neck.] TD: That move could have broken Rick Williams' neck! And look at these two! Tony Starks is bowing to the Subway Psycho, who is applauding him! This is sickening! They need to pin the man. SR: Oh, hush. Tony Starks might be a street thug, but he does know how to do a beatdown. This is getting good. [Starks tags out, then goes over to Williams' crumpled body to hook in a Scorpion Deathlock. At the same time, Psycho climbs to the top rope and signals to the crowd.] TD: He's calling for the De-railer! If he hits this, it will break Rick Williams in half! This could end the young man's career! SR: [munching popcorn] Yes! I can't stand these two, but I love seeing a beating. [Just as Psycho launches himself into a front flip, Williams uses his last bit of energy to lift himself slightly on his arms. That moves Starks just enough that instead of a finely-honed double-team move, the Psycho catches Starks in the face with his boot as he flies through the air. Starks drops to the mat, holding his nose, while Psycho careens into a landing on his side. While he grabs his ribs, Williams drags himself into a cover: 1 -- 2 -- ] TD: Three! He got him! Tony Starks and the Subway Psycho tried to get a little too fancy, and it cost them the match! SL: Your winners, the team of "TO EXCESS" RICK WILLIAMS AND... ummm... well, Ike Sampson, I guess. [While Williams is helped to the back by IIWF officials, Starks gets into Psycho's face. The two yell and a couple shoves are exchanged before they are separated by the Jobber Justice Squad. Unfortunately, the JJS chooses to escort Starks out right past the announcer's table.] SR: Way to administer that gangsta beatdown, Starks! Too bad you're too damn dumb to actually win the match! [Starks snaps and charges Roberts, but is cut off by the incredible mass of The Smooth. Without blinking, Starks flattens the man-mountain, and immediately locks in the Katha Jime. The JJS has trouble pulling the Long Islander off their colleague, but they finally succeed in dragging him back to the locker room.] SR: Did you see my man Smooth protecting me? He's a monster, I tell you! Did you see how good he looked against the Fury on Wednesday? TD: Steve, he lost in eight seconds! SR: Well, of course he lost! The damn IIWF made him go with the best damn wrestler in the world in his first match! It was just another attempt to cripple the power that is the Soundbite! But he had the Fury right on the very edge! I haven't seen anyone put a beating like that on Steve Kowalski in years! TD: [sighing] Whatever you say, Steve. Folks, we're heading towards the close of our first hour here tonight -- but we still have the first of tonight's three championship matches on the way. "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner is set to defend his Cruiserweight Championship against Richard "Moxy" Blue, the official number one contender to the belt. Let's get up to the ring for Sparkplug's introductions. SR: Let's just hope he doesn't try to get smart this time. TD: What are you doing? SR: This is going to be the sleeper match of the evening. Damn, I thought that the tag team matches were boring, but Turner and Moxy Blue? Break out the friggin' pillows. Tiny Dick isn't going to stand a chance against Turner. No matter how big an idiot he is. TD: Turner or Blue? SR: No, see, Dross, it's "Turn her or Blow". Hell, I better shut up before that walking canker sore LaRue thinks it's an offer. TD: Ouch. And now to Sparkplug for the ring announcements. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner vs. Richard "Moxy" Blue ....................................................................... WRITER: AD [Sparkplug Lee stands in the center of the ring.] SL: This match will be for the IIWF Cruiserweight Title. Scheduled for one fall, introducing first, the challenger... accompanied to the ring by Scott "The Fop" Rogers... hailing from Bayonne, Louisiana... weighing in at 185lbs... RICHARD..."MOXY"...BLUE! [A smattering of cheers amidst any number of boos as the loudspeakers echo "OH, YEAH, RIGHTEOUS!" and the slide metal version of "Blue Moon" accompany the appearance of Scott "the Fop" Rogers, but no Blue. Rogers is dressed as Constable Tom Turner and plays this up as Stone appears, stoic as ever.] TD: Well, this is clearly an attempt to get under Timothy N. Turner's skin -- Rogers is dressed as his brother, Tom Turner. SR: Who? TD: A well-respected athlete whose success has been mainly in tag team competition with Akira Saito as a tandem called the NorthPac Coalition, and as a singles star in Japan -- didn't you watch that special documentary back in November? SR: Was I on it, Dross? TD: Well, no... SR: You have my answer. [Suddenly, Rogers grabs the curtain, parting it to reveal Blue, dressed in a 15 foot long robe which is easily the tackiest robe in existance. Neon Green, Orange, and blue material make it up, with purple studs and yellow sequins.] TD & SR: Good God! TD: I've never seen anything like that before... that has got to be the single ugliest piece of fabric I've ever seen. SR: Moxy Blue has just died in favor of the newest Harlequin, Pipsqueak. I haven't seen anything that ungodly since Morton gave up wearing leisure suits. TD: He looks... well... dressed to impress. SR: He looks like a bowl of Rainbow Sherbert. He looks like the floor of Licensed for Devastation's apartment after whichever idiot came up with "LFD are the !@#$%" shirts passed out on the typewriter mid-sentence. Blue is no longer blue, he's Richard "Moxy" Vomit. TD: Blue stumbling as he tries to get into the ring, but Rogers seems to have inadvertently stepped on his robe. SR: God, will someone just call security? I have one optic nerve left and he's getting on it. [Sparkplug stifles a laugh as Blue walks up to him nodding solemnly. He then turns back to the mike, only to hear Blue scream in a distinctly Charlie Brown-esque manner, followed by a "fump" and the audience roaring with laughter. Looking down, he notices that he's stepped on the edge of Blue's robe.] SR: Sparky, king of comedy. SL: [recovering from a fit of the giggles] And his opponent... Hailing from Victoria, British Columbia, Canada... weighing in at 230lbs... He is the IIWF Cruiserweight Champion... "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner! [The crowd begins to boo solidly as Turner, wearing his "Rocket Man" robe, this time crimson red, makes his way to the ring. On his face is a look of disdain, as Blue, in the ring, struggles to remove his robe, finally rolling it in a bundle and handing it to Rogers. Turner stops briefly at the broadcast table and grabs Dross' mic.] TNT: I'll keep this one short, Vics... so we can have the evening to ourselves. [He backs away, glaring at Rogers, who smiles at him and nods patronizingly.] TD: I can't believe his gall. Blue looks ready for him tonight. Do you think he stands a chance? SR: First of all, Dross, he's not "Blue" anymore. Not with that robe. Second, Vomit's going to have a hard time, because as Becky LaRue once said, "Size isn't everything. Oh wait... yes it is." [Official Chuck Sanders calls for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: The two men sizing each other up here. SR: Turner finishes first and starts walking towards Blue menacingly. [As Turner advances, Blue bounds off the ropes and is caught in an armdrag. Turner shakes his head as they both stand, yelling "Come back when you're bigger, Cajun Boy". Blue shakes his head and points at Turner's groin. "Already bigger!" Turner flies into a rage and is caught by a Blue dropkick.] SR: See, here's the problem. Turner ain't gonna stay down. In fact, Blue just makes him madder with penny ante crap like that. Like you trying to do this show without me last week. TD: Blue up and Turner catching him in a scoop slam, and a quick boot to the side of Blue's head just as a taunt. Do you think that Blue bit off more than he can chew? SR: I dunno. Don't really care about the twerp either way. [Blue is lifted to his feet and hurled across the ring into the corner. Turner follows with a quick dash and misses with a clothesline as Blue leapfrogs him, rolling him over in a variation of a sunset flip. Turner kicks out at one, and Blue kips up to his feet.] TD: Blue with the momentum. You have to admit, like him or not, he works hard for someone his size. SR: Yeah, but he's the only guy in the league who can go splat against Turner or Queerstrike Chris Lickme. He's got to do a lot to impress me, Dross. And tonight, you sure as hell haven't. TD: Yeah, and the beard stays, just like the "Kids in the Hall" say, right? [While the action in the ring continues, the huge and stoic bodyguard of "The Brat" Bradley Reed, the seven foot monster Stone, appears in the aisle and makes his way down to ringside, ignoring the taunts of the fans.] TD: We have more company down here -- Stone is apparently doing some scouting for the Brat. [Blue bounds off the ropes as Turner rises, jumping over him as Turner drops to the ground, again. Both men up, Turner lowering his head and Blue with a leapfrog, both men off the opposite ropes, and Stone, who has until now been silent, grabs Turner's right leg, sending him face first to the mat. Blue connects with a somersault legdrop to the back of Turner's neck, before posing for the fans.] SR: Oh, look, big dumb bodyguard guy grabs TNT's legs. Wow. Wowee-wow. TD: Blue with a definite advantage here. The fans letting him have it for Stone's actions though. SR: Ah, who cares. Would you please tell me why I have to commentate this matchup? TD: Because it's your job, and if you didn't, Taco Bell isn't hiring now. SR: Don't tempt me, Dross. TD: Of course not. That's Becky's job. [Blue lifting Turner to his feet, throwing him to the ropes, and bounding off the other side himself. Hitting a flying clothesline, Turner rolls out of the ring to try and collect himself from Blue's onslaught. The Fop points at him and laughs, spraying him in the face with silly string.  Turner begins to bitch him out only to be hit from behind by a plancha from the top turnbuckle by Blue.] SR: No one ever accused that Vomit of having brains, Dross. Look at that. When you weigh slightly less than a grapefruit, would you _please_ tell me why you would want to risk a head first dive? TD: He's getting up, throwing Turner into the steel steps. I tell you, Blue has a lot of potential in this tough cruiserweight division. SR: Tough? Listen, just because they all together weigh less than you do doesn't make them these scrappy little fighters. I'd love to see what a big guy like Otto Verhoeven would do to a little punk like Moxy Vomit there. [Blue rolls into the ring on all fours, braying as he kicks his legs out and laughing like an idiot. Scott "the Fop" Rogers grabs Turner by the hair as the referee tries to end Blue's idiocy, walking up the steps and slamming his head into the turnbuckle.] SR: [to the tune "Glow Worm"] # Bray little jackass, Moxy Moxy... # TD: The fans aren't quite sure what to make of him tonight here in Portland. SR: Well, they could start by making him SHUT UP! [Turner, in a spurt of energy, blocks a head slam and drives Rogers' head into the steel post, sending him crashing down. The fans cheer loudly as Rogers collapses to the ground, only to renew their boos as Moxy Blue handsprings from the handstand and catches Turner over the top rope in a sunset flip... onto the concrete.] TD: What would you call that?! What a move! SR: Looks to me like Moxy Vomit powerbombed Turner onto the concrete. I didn't think the twerp had it in him. He's picked up Turner and is tossing him back in the ring... Turner's back is hurt. TD: And Scott "the Fop" Rogers taking quite a bit of abuse from the fans. [In the ring, Blue throws Turner into the ropes, but is knocked over by a shoulderblock from Turner, to the fans' cheers.] TD: Listen to that! Turner for the first time in ages receives the cheers of the fans! SR: I don't think he gives a damn what these beaver [BLEEP]ers think, I think they just want someone to cheer for. TD: Scott Rogers on the apron, and the referee trying to get him off... Turner lifting Blue to his feet. [Turner goes for a bodyslam but Blue slides over his shoulder and pushes him into the ref, knocking the ref to the ground and Scott Rogers to the floor. Turner attempts to wake up the ref, but is caught from behind as Blue leaps over him and bulldogs him off the top rope.] TD: I can't believe how this match has gone! SR: I can't believe this match is going on. I'll be back. Maybe. [Roberts gets up, the fans cheering "Shoot. Soundbite, Shoot!" as Blue struts around the ring. Blue, seeing Roberts moving away from the booth, calls out and points to him, getting his attention. Roberts, annoyed, crosses his arms and watches as Blue rolls back in the ring, climbing to the top turnbuckle, with Turner still on the mat. Blue yells "Flip, Soundbite, Flip!" as he vaults into an Asai moonsault... and misses Turner by about four feet.] TD: Well... that was special. And a tribute all to you, Steve. SR: [replacing his headset] Blue's a superstar now, but he still has the heart of the JJS. TD: That's a compliment, right? SR: Maybe he ain't so bad, after all. Just gotta convince him to leave the technicolor nightmare at home. [Blue, woozy on his feet, goes to his robe and removes an item concealed in it... Scott Rogers' rocketpack.] TD: You've gotta be kidding me. SR: Ha! I knew the robe was a fluke! The kid's got _some_ style. TD: Strapping it on... what's he doing? [Sure enough, once strapped on, Scott Rogers grabs Turner's legs and Blue fires up into the air... Rogers slamming Turner's legs into the post again and again, before rolling into the ring and dragging him to the center... where the referee has woken up and is signalling for the bell! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: I think we have a disqualification here -- but Moxy -- he's up in the rafters of the Coliseum! This is ridiculous! [Sparkplug Lee grabs the mic from the announcers' table as Scott Rogers looks, baffled, at the referee.] SL: The winner of this bout... as the result of a disqualification... and _STILL_ IIWF Cruiserweight Champion, the "Rocket Man" TIMOTHY... N... TURNER! [Scott Rogers is livid as he argues with the ref, only to be whirled around by Turner, who grabs him around the waist and executes three successive inverted atomic drops to the cheers of the fans, finally throwing down Rogers in a spinebuster.] TD: What an end to this matchup, Steve. SR: Open your eyes, Dross, it isn't over just yet. Jeez, no wonder last week's ratings were so low. You have the announcing skills of an armadillo in heat. TD: Been scouting horny armadillos lately? SR: Please. I was, after all, the one who seduced Snow White. TD: After all that time with seven dwarfs, anything looks big, Steve. [The fans "ooh" as Blue, who has released himself from the jetpack, has been executing somersaults as he hurtles downward. Cameras flash all over the arena as Blue turns over and over and over in the air...] TD: Oh, this is bad, Steve Roberts -- this is... Oh my! [Turner tries to move, but Scott Rogers grabs his legs, and on something like the seventh somersault, Blue hits Turner with a crossbody, sending him to the mat, unconscious.] TD: Blue is out! Blue is out! And... Turner is out too. This is carnage! SR: Rogers now, beating on Turner... Blue easily with the most... Olympic Diving style move of the evening. TD: Someone's in the aisle, coming this way! [Derek Mota appears to a mixed response from the audience, only to be nailed from behind by a running Steve Manning. Manning is carrying a baseball bat, which he continually uses on Mota's ankle.] SR: I can't believe this! What's he gonna do to Mota, give him the wheelchair as a hand-me-down? TD: Rogers is just pummelling Turner in there -- we need some help out here! [Mota is lying in the aisle, trying to shield his damaged ankle with his arms, but Manning's crushing blows continue to rain down on him, smashing his ankle brutally. Suddenly, the fans begin to cheer wildly.] SR: Aw, [BLEEP]! I don't believe it. [Sure enough, "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley is dragging Manning off the injured Mota, and Manning slowly backs away, a look of "Aw, gee boss" in his eyes.] TD: Manning backing away... who's that making his way to the ring? SR: There can be only one skirt like this, Dross -- although after the sartorial crimes committed in this match, anything could happen. Put on your trifocals and squint, why don't you? [Duncan Macbeth makes a mad dash to the ring, the groggy "Moxy" Blue waking to see the huge brawny Scotsman bearing down on him, and woozily bailing out and toppling over the crowd barrier and into the fans to escape, leaving Rogers in the ring with Macbeth. Scott Rogers takes a swing at him, but is scooped up into a powerslam, and Macbeth's furious kicks soon render Rogers harmless away from Turner.] TD: Looks like there may be a showdown here, Steve, SR: Go on, Scotsman! Kick his ass! [Indeed, Macbeth turns to find Chris Quigley standing behind him... the two stand nose to nose, eyeball to eyeball, gritting their teeth. Macbeth shoves Quigley to the delight of the fans, and Quigley returns the push, to even louder cheers.] TD: We may have an unscheduled match here! SR: Kick his ass! Kill him! TD: Richard "Moxy" Blue abandoned Scott Rogers -- Turner is hurt on the outside -- Manning may have broken Derek Mota's ankle -- but Quigley and Macbeth are squaring off in the ring right now! We'll keep our cameras rolling, but we've got to take a break! We'll be right back! [The staredown is held as the screen fades to black.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+