C + O + U + N + T + D + O + W + N T + O ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/..............\........|...|.......|....| with Larry Morton and Victoria Von Edward January 2 1998 [The shot opens on the usual setting for Countdown, Portland's IIWF studios. Victoria is looking as beautiful as ever while Larry is looking a little, shall we say... peaked.] VVE: [loudly] Welcome to the first IIWF broadcast of 1998! We are ready to kick off another year of excitement and action! I'm your host, Victoria Von Edward, and this is my partner, Larry Morton! LM: Are you yelling just to annoy me or is there some sinister motive? VVE: It seems that our pal Larry enjoyed himself a little too much on New Year's Eve and he still hasn't quite recovered. Isn't that right, Larry? LM: Can we just recap Wednesday while I go and find some aspirin? VVE: Capital idea, Larry! [Larry slowly leaves the set.] ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| REWIND: IIWF Wednesday War Room - [31/Dec/97] |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... Serge Annis def. The Smooth Richard "Moxy" Blue def. "Nifty" Ned Norton The Down Boys def. The Barnacle Brothers Icehawk def. Bobby B. Goode Ronnie Paris def. El Super Gecko Subway Psycho & Tony Starks def. The Rotundas Lord Byron def. Scott "The Whine" Bloom "Quickstrike Chris Quigley def. "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur VVE: As you see, the IIWF rounded off 1997 with a somewhat lacklustre card... improved only by the absence of Becky LaRue. Chris Quigley enjoyed his last successful Intercontinental Title defense as he prepares to face the true champion! [Larry comes back in and sits down, looking no happier than when he left.] VVE: No luck? LM: Can we just get this show over with? ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| PREVIEW: IIWF Saturday Night - [03/Jan/98] |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... VVE: The first IIWF Saturday Night of the New Year looks to be full of great matches from the top of the card to the bottom. Speaking of bottom...is that where you hit the other night, Larry? LM: Lower...much lower. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Intercontinental Championship Match "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley vs. Duncan Macbeth ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: We've got a great main event coming your way when Duncan Macbeth gets his first shot at Chris Quigley since the champ conspired with Steve Manning in order to rob Macbeth of the title. LM: Quigley had nothing to do with it. VVE: Quiet or I'll yell in your ear. Let's hear from the true champion. [SCENE: The interior of the IIWF Coliseum, shrouded in darkness except for the emergency lights ringing the bowl of the arena, and the spotlights that are illuminating the ring in the centre of the arena floor. The camera sweeps across the rows of empty seats as it draws nearer, and after a few moments we can see a tall figure standing in the middle of the ring. The man's back is to the camera, and appears to have just completed a grueling workout in the ring, sweat clearly running down the man's back. As the camera nears, the man bends over backwards like a cat, and executes three consecutive, fluid back walkovers before turning to face the camera. The royal blue white-crossed tights are unmistakeable, as are the burning green eyes and intense countenance of Duncan Macbeth, as he brushes a damp strand of his long ruddy-blond hair out of his face and stares into the camera lens.] DM: Happy New Year, Quigley. 1997 is gone. An' with it went the prestige tha' was once associated with bein' th' holder o' th' Intercontinental Title. [Macbeth starts to pace around the ring, as he thinks back to the events of 1997.] I remember when I first arrived 'ere in th' IIWF some months ago, an' th' title was held by Laird Byron. Byron's got 'is personality disorders, t' be sure, but nobody ever questioned 'is abilities in th' ring. Verhoeven never had t' help him win a match - in fact, 'e probably would hae been offended by th' insinuation. Then, Creed took th' title from Byron, an' a better example o' a fightin' champion could no' be wished for. Th' kid an' Byron hated each other's guts, but they shared one thing in common - fightin' spirit. Creed was as proud a champ as Byron, an' th' two o' them made th' IIWF Intercontinental Title one o' th' most sought-after prizes in all o' wrestlin', perhaps even more so than th' World belt. It all started t' go downhill wi' th' Auld Dog. Turned 'is back on 'is pupil, an' took th' candy righ' out o' th' baby's mouth. Creed was an eejit fer trustin' 'im in th' first place, but 'twas nae matter, 'cause th' Auld Dog would no' keep th' belt fer lang. As ye sow, sae shall ye reap, as th' sayin' goes. Which brings us t' ye, Quigley. Ye beat Watkins clean in Tokyo, an' everyone thought, great, th' title's in good hands, Quigley'll make a fine champion, someone t' bring back th' lustre t' th' belt tha' was tarnished by Watkins' betrayal. An' I was one o' th' ones tha' thought tha' way as well. [Macbeth shakes his head, laughing at himself for his own folly.] How wrong we all were. How would we ken tha' Tokyo would be th' last time Chris Quigley would gain a victory in th' IIWF without th' help o' 'is schemin' pet weasel, Quigley's one-man fan club, Steve Manning? How were we t' ken tha' this so-called "legend", who was sae renowned fer his abilities in th' ring, would have t' resort t' backstabbing, cheap shots, an' sneak attacks t' cling t' 'is precious title? Ye expect people t' respect ye fer THA'? Ye don't want much, do ye? Th' fact is, Quigley, ye had far more respect when ye were jus' another wrestler then ye do as th' Intercontinental Champion. 'Cause before, yuir accomplishments were yuir own, an' ye earned every one o' them with yuir ability alone. Now, ye're a sham, a puppet, a con artist. [Macbeth smiles, savouring his next words.] A paper champion. Have ye made yuir New Year's resolutions yet, Quigley? I have. My resolution is to restore the former glory of the IIWF Intercontinental Title. T' give it th' upstanding, fightin' champion it deserves. An' I'm a man who ALWAYS sticks t' 'is resolutions, wha'. 1997 should hae been yuir year, Quigley, but ye pissed it away. 1998 is MY year, an' I'm startin' it off tomorrow nigh' by takin' tha' shiny belt away from ye. An' there's nothin' tha' ye, yuir pet weasel, or anybody else can do about it. [Macbeth starts to turn away, then stops, and turns back to the camera with a twinkle in his jade eyes.] Oh, an' President Danny... me waist size is 34, an' I prefer royal blue leather. [Macbeth grins confidently as the scene fades.] VVE: That's quite a resolution. Did you make any, Larry? LM: I will never drink again. VVE: Right now, you probably mean that. My resolution is to find somebody who can wear the IIWF World title with pride. I mean, we've got an excellent Cruiserweight Champ in Tim Turner, we will have a fantastic Intercontinental Champ in Duncan Macbeth, but no one to wear the World gold. Maybe when Derek Mota gets back from rehabilitation... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Lord Byron vs. Meatman ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: What do you think about this match, Larry? LM: Great contest...contrast in styles...yadda yadda yadda. Cut to the clip. [The Meatman stands with his son, the Meatboy.] Meatman: Where you gonna be Saturday night, Meatboy? Meatboy: Watchin' you, Dad! Meatman: You gonna watch me beat up Lord Byron? Meatboy: Meat, meat, meat, meat, meat! Meatman: Is he good? Meatboy: Yeah, he's real good. Meatman: Better than Norton? Meatboy: Tons. Meatman: Better than Highwaymeat? Meatboy: Yeah. Meatman: Better than Dead Meat Bringer? Meatboy: Ummm, in a different way. Meatman: Can he beat the Meat? Meatboy: Nobody can beat the Meat, Dad! Meatman: You want to help me win? Meatboy: Yeah! Meatman: You wanna come ringside with me, root me on? Meatboy: Heck, yeah! Oh wow! Can I? Meatman: You root real loud I'll win the match for you. Meatboy: I'll scream my guts out! Meatman: If I win, I'll take you to buy that new bike. Meatboy: Alright! Meatman: Now, go play. Meatboy: [exits] Meat, meat, meat, meat, meat, meat, meat.... [The shot zooms in on the Meatman as he turns back to the camera, his face a picture of severity.] Meatman: You ain't gonna beat me in front of my son, Byron. You ain't gonna beat me in front of my son. [Fade back to the studio.] VVE: It looks like the Meatman has a little extra incentive for this match-up. LM: What kind of name is Meatboy? That's just stupid. VVE: Larry! You get cranky when you're hung-over! LM: Not so loud, please. VVE: Watch it or I'll bring Duncan in and you'll hear some real yelling! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Down Boys vs. The Fabulous Ones ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: Let me get this straight. First we had Damage Inc. and the Down Boys. Then Damage Inc. takes the name of a tag team in another promotion. Then the Down Boys take the name Damage Inc. Tomorrow they fight against the Fabulous Ones...not the original Fabulous Ones but the current Fabulous Ones. All we have to do is bring in the line-up shuffles of the Harlequins and the Prophets of Rage and we will really be confused! LM: The Down Boys? Oh no. Oliver always yells. [Camera fades in to a gym. Many musclebound people, hulking out in every direction, walk around the gym, either lifting weights, drinking protein drinks at the health bar, or just flexing in general at the many mirrored walls of the gym. Awesome T swivels into view, wearing a pair of blue, baggy shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt with Japanese lettering on it. He looks into the camera, sharing with up his classic smirk.] AT: How wonderful it is to be part of the #1 team in the IIWF, that being, of course, the IIWF World Tag Team Champions, Damage Inc. Okay, between you and me, I know they're not actually Damage Inc., but someone has to be. I mean, look at them. [Camera pans over to a weight bench. "Ace" Adam Peterson, clad in a Damage Inc. "This Is Going To Leave A Mark" sleeveless t-shirt, spots "Mad Dog" Dan Oliver, who looks to bench press a great deal of weight. Peterson can be heard saying "You can do it, baby" as Oliver prepares for his lift. The camera switches angles so T can be seen close up at the bar while the Down...er...Damage Inc. can be seen over his shoulder.] AT: Whoever they are this week, it doesn't matter, because whether they're Damage Inc., the Down Boys, or the damn Barnacle Brothers, they're still the most talented team in the IIWF. [Dan Oliver begins to lift the bar off it's support with help from Adam Peterson] AT: They've dismantled every team they've faced here in the IIWF. They beat the Natural Predators, the team that's getting the push from nowhere. They've beaten Licensed for Devastation, a team that got a title shot before us. They've beaten the Machines... but, then again, who hasn't these days? [Adam Peterson lets go of the bar, and it begins to crash down on Dan Oliver's chest. Danny gasps for air as Adam frantically attempts to pull the weight off, but the two men can't seem to lift it] AT: And yes, they've beaten you, Fabulous Ones...the team that seems to want to take credit for everything that we've done in this fed. Let's think back now...what exactly _have_ you done in the IIWF since you've been here? [A very muscular bodybuilder walks by Adam and Dan's weight bench and sees the duo's difficulty. The bodybuilder reaches down with one hand and lifts up the weight, as Dan Oliver gasps for deep breaths of air] AT: You've...let's see...you've...no, wait, that was us... you've ...well...you've beaten the Rotundos, you've lost to the Down Boys, when they were horribly off their game, you've been jumping people left and right, making you the poor man's Licensed for Devistation, and...well...you've brought a hecka fine piece of ass to the IIWF by the name Ms. Miki. Granted, she is very attractive, but she's no Hoochiemama... [On cue, Hoochiemama, busting out all over in a skimpy pink lycra workout outfit, walks through the gym and stands next to T. The bodybuilder, once helping Adam Peterson and Dan Oliver, drops the weight back on Danny after seeing the very busty Hoochiemama] AT: ...but we all can't have someone like her, can we? Of course not. And we all can't be as talented as Dan Oliver and Adam Peterson. See this shirt, boys? You can probably understand it better than I can, but it came from the dojo that I trained in. Yes, I, Awesome T, trained in a Japanese dojo, with aspirations of becoming a professional wrestler. My knee wouldn't let me, but I passed down whatever info I had to those two men that I manage today. I used all my contacts in Japan to get them in the dojos themselves. But why should I tell you how good my team is? Why don't they tell you themselves? [T and Hoochiemama walk over to where Adam and Dan were working out. Adam has managed to roll the weight off of Dan Oliver's chest, and both men have gotten up. Dan Oliver is visibly out of breath.] AT: Got a few words for the Fabulous Ones, Ace? ["Ace" Adam Peterson puts on dark sunglasses] AP: Yo, son...yo...I ain't sayin' dat y'all ain't chill and all, you know what I'm sayin'? But what I'm tryin' to say, you know what I'm sayin', is that you runnin' up against the RSPWF Tag Team o' da year in 1996, you know what I'm sayin'? We was numba 13 in the RSPWF 500, you know what I'm sayin'? Son, yo b, with ow rep, you don't stand a chance, son, you know what I'm sayin'? AT: Word, Ace. How about you, Danny? [Dan Oliver, still breathing heavily, glares at the camera. He opens up a packet and puts something in his mouth. Foam begins to come out of his mouth, and we begin to realise it's Alka-Seltzer] DO: DO YOU...(pant pant)...KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE...(pant pant)...TO FEEL...(pant pant)...THE...(pant pant)...TOP ROPE POWERBOMB??? HUH??? SOMEBODY'S GONNA...(cough cough)...DIE!!!!!! AT: Couldn't have said it better myself. Fabulous Ones, look out for the best tag team in the IIWF...we've beaten you on our worst day...now you get to see us at the top of our game. [Fade out.] [Outside a top notch restaurant, Tavern on the Green, in Central Park, a news van pulls up. A female reporter, with cameraman following, rush up to the front door of the lavish restaurant. As they enter, another news van pulls up. The reporter turns around and looks into the camera.] Reporter: Hi, I'm Monica Gaylor for Channel 4 sporting news. I'm here in front of Tavern on the Green, New York's finest restaurant, to follow up on late breaking news concerning the upcoming IIWF pay-per-view, SNOW BRAWL, which is set to happen January 17th. [The other reporter and cameraman start to broadcast, as Monica continues her interview.] MG: I'm here in front of this restaurant, because just behind these doors are two individuals who will be able to shed some light on this news. [She turns around and walks into the restaurant. The cameraman follows. The maitre d' attempts to stop Ms. Gaylor, but she bats her beautiful eyes at him and continues on. In the middle of the large elegant and classy interior of the restaurant are "The Universal Heartthrob" Agito Nakajima and "Sweet" Sho Satsuma, the Fabulous Ones. With them are the Lovely Bertha, and a woman that looks a lot like Carmen Electra. Both Agito and Sho are decked out in black Armani suits. Monica approaches the foursome.] MG: Mr. Nakajima, Mr. Satsuma, I was wondering what your thoughts were on the latest news on the IIWF PPV? AN: Ms. Gaylor, can't you see we're busy? MG: I'm sorry about the interruption, but you know how the news works. AN: Hai, I understand. When your in demand like Sho and myself, you've got to learn to be ready for reporters at all times. Now, before we go on, what IIWF news are you talking about? MG: The Fabs will be going up against the Machines at Snow Brawl. AN: Ooh, is that so? I think it's certainly about time to get it on with the Machines, don't you? [Agito looks over at Sho.] SS: Definitely! But Monica, do you expect anything less from the IIWF? They want to finest that wrestling has to offer at their PPV. They want the PPV to sell. They want more female fans. They want to see the hottest feud going in the IIWF on their big winter show. Now, with all that said, would you leave out the Fabulous Ones? MG: Absolutely not! [At this time, the other news team approaches the foursome.] Reporter: Mr. Nakajima, can I get a few comments? AN: Sorry, but we're only talking with Ms. Gaylor tonight, it's an exclusive interview. [The reporter persists, and for his troubles a huge oriental man, Kensei Tokugawa, stands up from a table behind the Fabs and escorts the news team from the building.] AN: Are there any other questions? MG: Also, at the PPV they're having a tag team battle royal to determine the challengers to face the IIWF World tag champions, later that night. AN: That's very interesting. I'd have to say that the IIWF must want the "little reputation boys"... SS: Wait right there, Agito. We killed their rep with words, remember? AN: Hai! Now, what I was saying is that the IIWF must really fear the Fabulous Ones winning those World titles. Look at what they've set up to keep us from getting to the champions. They put us in a match with the Machines, probably the best tag team in the IIWF next to us. Then, we get to battle for the title shot in a battle royal with all the other teams. Then, if we make it, which we will, we get a shot at the champions. It's sad that the board of directors feel their champions can't fight us without help. Look at the situation. Since Sho and myself have arrived in the IIWF, their ratings have gone up. The female ticket buying attendance has increased over fifteen percent. They know that they can get the ratings and the benefits of the Fabulous Ones by our mere presence in the IIWF. So, they have everything going for them if they can find a way to keep the titles around the waist of Damage, Inc, or LOST BOYZ, whatever they want to call themselves. Why? Because Damage, Inc. is one of the biggest names in the tag team field. They've won countless titles. They've beaten countless opponents. They've pretty much done it all. They were even RSPWF's number one tag team. For that reason, the IIWF wants them as the champions. This gives them the best and the hottest draw, in the Fabulous Ones, and the quote, unquote, legends of tag teaming, Damage, Inc... SS: LOST BOYZ! Did you know that is one of my favorite movies? [Agito gives Sho a strange look.] AN: This makes there tag division the tops in the world of pro wrestling. My only problem with this is that Damage, Inc made their reputation without stepping in the ring with the best -- and that's us. [Agito points to himself and Sho.] AN: So, no matter what the IIWF does to protect the champions, we will overcome, and eventually get our shot. We've seen this kind of bureaucracy before, and it didn't stop us then, and it wont stop us now. Is there anything else? MG: That pretty much does it, and thank you very much. [Monica turns around and faces the camera.] MG: The IIWF pay-per-view is shaping up to be a big one, and the Fabulous Ones will be there. This is Monica Gaylor with Channel 4 sporting news. [Camera cuts off.] VVE: We are going to see nothing short of a tag team war! The Fabulous Ones are quickly making a great name for themselves in the IIWF and the Down Boys are making...well...a couple of names for themselves! LM: Oliver yelled. I knew he would. At least there won't be any yelling with the next match. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Enigma" Tazeko Musashi vs. Christopher Stonebreaker ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: Here are two wrestlers who are primed and ready for Snow Brawl! Musashi will face Ronnie Paris and Stonebreaker is lobbying hard to get into one of the Snow Brawl matches! Maybe Stonebreaker has what it takes to be my kind of World Champ? LM: I thought you only went with people who were friends of Turner's? VVE: That list is too short. Anyway, this could be Stonebreaker's big opportunity for an important win to put him on the Snow Brawl card. Musashi is likely looking past him and a win over the veteren will surely improve his standings in the eyes of the booking committee. LM: Roll the tape. Roll the tape. [SCENE: The "Enigma" Takezo Musashi stands leaning against the railing of a rickety old wooden jetty, which stretches from a pebbled beach out over the sea. The sun has just set, and dusky night air creeps like a stealthy grey cat over the horizon. A few stars already glint in the sky, their light twinkling in reflection across the lull of the gently lapping water. Musashi looks out over the sea in calm reflection for several more moments, before turning to face the camera.] TM: Should a man have respect for tradition? Should we honour our fathers? Our life blood springs from the past even as we hurtle toward an uncertain future. We are made who we are today from the moulds our ancestors have created. Their aspirations, their errors, their triumphs, their wars and their passions, are our inheritance. Do we break away from the destiny our fathers have set in motion and attempt to forge a fresh legacy? - or do we take their existing legacy and live it to its fullest extent; enbolden it, strengthen it, preserve it for those who come after us... Ronnie Paris, you have thrown away your inheritance; and you have thrown away the Paris legacy. That is your decision to make, for each man's fate is only his own to decide. I myself, no longer hold many links to my past. The values and traditions my ancestors held so dearly no longer hold much meaning for me. When the Grandmaster died - the only man who was ever a father to me - I discarded most of his teachings and values. They sank into nothingness along with his death. My fate now lies in my own hands. But, Ronnie Paris... the manner in which you have turned your back on your family name is a dishonourable one. To become your own man and to live life only by your own rules - that is good; but you are not yet ready to do so. You must always have something new and of worth to replace the old ways you have rejected... but what do you have, Ronnie Paris? Your craven cowardice? Your bitter sense of inferiority? Your cheating and treachery and gang mentality? You are not nearly strong enough to live life on your own terms, Ronnie Paris. You are not half the man your father was. Your spirit is weak and feeble. To insult your family name with flippant disregard, as you have done last Saturday night, is a mark of dishonour and a curse over your head. To the Enigma, your disrespect for the past is yet another transgression of foolishness and folly. Cowardice. Lack of integrity. Now - sullying your family name. I am your antithesis, Ronnie Paris. Expect to answer for your misdeeds tomorrow night. [Takezo's expression has steadilly grown more inflamed and intense as he has spoken, and now his eyes glint dangerously.] Christopher Stonebreaker, we have unfinished business to contend with. Tomorrow night, we shall settle it as two honourable warriors should. Head to head unarmed combat - no weapons, no outside interference, no dishonour. Just two men pitting their skills and their wits against one another in full blooded battle. I shall be looking forward to it. [The Enigma gives a nod to the camera, and the scene fades over the star flecked waves of the ocean.] [The camera opens on the empty IIWF ring in Portland, Oregon.  Christopher Stonebreaker sits on the ring apron, and he glances up at the camera which is recording him.  He just shakes his head as he looks back down at the floor, and then, the sledgehammer which is resting between his knees, with the head on the floor, drops to the hardwood with a sudden "THUD"] CS: Musashi, Saturday night, I am going to prove to you and to the IIWF fans and to the wrestlers of the IIWF that you are wrong.  I am going to prove to everyone who questioned my arrival in the "father" of the modern era of this sport, that there are two things that do still exist in this world. [Chris reaches down, and picks up the sledgehammer, and then pushes it back into the ring behind him out of sight.] The first thing that I am going to prove to you, is that there is such a thing as justice and respect in this sport.  What you did to me the last time we met.... [Chris stops and looks back behind him and into the ring, where the shape of Max still sits, albeit out of camera range.] What you did, Musashi, was something that brought me to a point of losing all respect for you as an athlete.  I lost all respect for you as a wrestler that night.  So when I step into this squared circle Saturday night, you had best not be expecting a wrestling match, Enigma. What you best be expecting is one whirlwind of a fight. If I have to take this one out to the walkway, here on the floor or right up there on the canvas, it doesn't matter.  You best come prepared for a fight this weekend, because that is what you're going to get. As for number two.  Hell, I have to say that my little accident with Ronnie's protectors wasn't exactly unplanned.  You see, Ronnie, if there's one thing I hate worse than a man who loses my respect, is a man who didn't have it in the first place.  That means that after Saturday night, my grudge with Enigma ends and that leaves me to take care of the second piece of business. [Chris pulls the sledgehammer out from the ring, and places it across his shoulders.] You see, Ronnie, I've already taken out a quarter of your little security barber shop quartet.  That leaves three more.  How long do you think they'll actually be willing to protect you and keep you secure when they know that I'm watching someone's back?  That someone that you simply don't want to square off with? [Chris holds out the sledgehammer at arms length parallel to the ground, and he looks down the handle of the weapon as he continues to speak.] You see, Ronnie, unfortunately for you, Musashi was wrong.  Justice does have it's hands in the pot here in the IIWF, and as you can tell, I have a very long reach.  Musashi will find that out Saturday night, and you... well, after we get rid of the three baritones, you'll find that out as well. [The cajun turns his attention back to the camera, and a smile crosses his face as the screen fades to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "To Excess" Rick Williams vs. Ronnie Paris ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: This match has the same issue as the last, with Paris looking at a big match and Williams trying to make the card. LM: Rick Williams looks more interested in the Subway Psycho. VVE: Let's look at the clip. [Scene opens to the exterior of a large grey house in the early evening. A few drops of rain fall on the camera lens, before the shot changes to the interior of the house. There, "To Excess" Rick Williams sits, staring blankly at an old photo album, surrounded by extremely sparse furnishings. Dressed in a black shirt and blue jeans, Williams' gum-chewing habit is once again in evidence, as he places his feet on a nearby table. Slamming shut the album, he stares at the camera and begins to speak.] RW: It seems like somewhat of an irony... don't you think, Ronnie? I see you're not in your old man's good books... Damnit, I know how _that_ feels. When I look at you, Ronnie, and when I listen to your whining voice, it's _strange_... I can almost identify with your plight... if I didn't think you were such a jerk off. [Williams shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head in clear mock disappointment.] Fathers can be difficult, huh, Ronnie? In fact, Spreadbury's decision to put you and me in the same ring tomorrow night brought a lot of memories flooding back. [Grinning that devious grin, an evidently thoughtful Williams calmly proceeds.] RW: But alas, my past is just that... I'll never have my dear father showing up on Saturday Night telling me where I went wrong... I'd never sink that low, Ron. So, on Saturday, Ronnie, our similarities may be many, but I just don't care anymore. It's been two weeks since I subdued Starks and Psycho, and tomorrow, I'll be anxious to discover, Ronnie... What are you? Pick of the litter... or the black sheep? I know which category _I_ fall into, so fasten your seatbelt, Ron... This could be your journey of enlightenment. You won't win, but maybe you'll earn something more important. [Williams shoves the photo album under the table, and once again, sits back.] RW: But not being one to disappoint my fans and admirers, I just _can't_ leave such an oppurtunity go by without speaking of my ol' pal, the Subway Psycho. You know, Psycho, I really hope you had a merry Christmas... because mark my words, you're not gonna have a happy new year. I've made my resolutions... and whadda ya know? Smack, bang top of the list -- "Ensure that the Subway Psycho, the IIWF 'Institution', in his own mind, is finally shown up as the overrated, over-the-hill sap, who should have retired along with Nixon, that we all know he is". Mission Statement of "To Excess" Rick Williams, 1998... The complete destruction of old men who fail to step aside voluntarily, for the future of our glorious sport, beginning with a subway-dwelling "psycho". [Fade.] VVE: Someone should tell Mr. Williams that the Psycho is now a tag wrestler. LM: I don't think the Psycho will back down regardless. VVE: Now that I think about it...if Williams were to get a partner to face Psycho and Starks...they would probably be my pick as my kind of Tag Champions. LM: He should team with Turner. They both have egos bigger than the IIWF Coliseum. [Victoria gets a certain gleam in her eye. It is clear that she is intrigued by the idea.] VVE: Handle the rest of the show, Larry! I've got to make a call! [Victoria dashes from her announce position.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Harlequins vs. The Natural Predators ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Uh, okay. These are both great teams. They deserve title shots. Uh, they don't yell too much. Roll the tape. [The camera pans across a field. Trees give a cool shade as birds sing. A deer gallops across, stopping to momentarily look at the camera before continuing across. The camera finally stops and zooms in on a small rabbit, peacefully nibbling on some grass in the still quiet of the field. Suddenly, a large figure leaps in front of the rabbit's face.] TERROR: The rabbit fears me! Yes? [The rabbit quickly scampers off in fear as Terror sits poised on the ground. The camera backs off to reveal the other four Harlequins: Tragedy, Comedy, Chaos, and Melody, sitting on a blanket with a picnic basket along with Tim Dross.] COMEDY: Terror, stop picking upon the animals! TERROR: But the rabbit fears me! Yes? DROSS: I don't know how to thank you for inviting me out here today. COMEDY: Oh Timmy, don't mention it. Now, who wants chicken? DROSS: Well, it's good to see that you're still okay after what happened last week. COMEDY: Ha! I've taken harder bumps in the ring. But thanks for your concern. Honey, could you get the potato salad? [Tragedy reaches into the basket.] MELODY: # That's still no excuse. I thought that Fitzgerald was supposed to be one of the good guys! # COMEDY: Oh, those Cold Spell guys were always creepy! [Chaos picks up a fried chicken leg, when suddenly a butterfly flies by his face. Chaos drops the leg and chases after the insect.] TERROR: The rock fears me! Yes? DROSS: I have to say that I was appaled by Fitzgerald's actions last week. I would have thought that the problems between you and Cold Spell were over. TRAGEDY: Apparently, Mr. Fitzgerald is still living in the past. A sign of weakness. [Chaos chases the butterfly in the other direction as Tragedy scoops some baked beans onto Dross' plate.] DROSS: Well, he still seems to see you as a threat of some kind. Even though the Harlequins haven't been involved in a Cold Spell match since dropping the titles to them a few months back. TERROR: The birch fears me! Yes? TRAGEDY: The man is delusional, Mr. Dross. He sees conspiracies everywhere. And in his feeble attempts to stop them, he becomes the problem itself. In the past, he had Icehawk to set him straight. Now, he's working alone. [The butterfly lands on a blade of grass. Chaos leaps for it, but it flies away and the phenom gets a faceful of dirt.] MELODY: # That makes him dangerous. # DROSS: I have to agree. Any man that would attack a woman with an oar is a few cards short of a full deck. What exactly are you going to do? [Chaos sits up, looking dejected. But then the butterfly he chased decides to land on his nose. A smile comes across the teen's face.] TRAGEDY: The one thing I always do when my opponent makes a mistake Mr. Dross. Capitalize. Edmund Fitzgerald named himself after a ship that sank. Saturday Night... TERROR: The butterfly fears me! Yes! [The butterfly flies off. Chaos, looking angry that his cousing scared off the insect, slams his head into the ground, then runs after it again.] TRAGEDY: ...the man will find himself drowning in his own self-destruction. DROSS: And as for the other Harlequins' match. What about the Natural Predators? COMEDY: Ha Ha Ha! Oh they still haven't figured it out yet! MELODY: # I wouldn't want to be them! # DROSS: How so? COMEDY: Timmy, people still haven't figured out what we are doing. They see Trag in singles and think of Terry as a stand-in. Nothing could be farther from the truth. TRAGEDY: The past team had my brother's destructive power under control from the three of us. Now that power is doubled, but the control is now solely in Melody's hands. MELODY: # And I like seeing a brawl! # DROSS: So by leaving the team, you improved it? TRAGEDY: In a sense. COMEDY: Who wants biscuits? DROSS: Please. So is Terror a better tag wrestler than you are? I mean... TRAGEDY: I spent ten years of my life doing things myself. I am at my best as a solo act. But believe me Mr. Dross. With my extended family, I am capable of doing anything. DROSS: So then we can expect... TERROR: The grizzly fears me! Yes? [Dross and the Harlequins look towards Terror and the bear, which makes a run for the group.] COMEDY: Yikes! Gotta cut this short! Run! [The Harlequins scatter save Terror who is just barely pulled away by Chaos, the butterfly resting on his finger. The bear tears into the picnic lunch as the image fades.] [Kuyler Greyson and the Natural Predators in a snow covered field as the camera comes up, night time skies specked with a few stars and many clouds. The wind whips the Predators' hair as they sit around a campfire in meditation. Kuyler addresses the camera. Both wrestlers are wearing their gear and long coats made of leather. Kuyler is dressed warmly in a long trenchcoat. He is holding a sheaf of papers] KG: You see these, Harlequins? Scouting reports. Detailed work done to find out who you are, what weakenesses you have, what sort of a team you make. Except you've really rather outgrown the moniker of "Harlequins" haven't you? [Kuyler picks up a small book, opening it and reading from it] KG: "Harlequins were the mirth bringers, the comic relief in the most serious of situations. They evolved from Zanies to Sages in the span of a few short centuries." Mirth? Relief? Seems more like angst nowadays. From Harlequins to Pantalone...or perhaps Il Capitan for you, Chaos....and Terror? Brighello. The evil, the fear bringer. The role of the trickster is prominent in Native American lore...but these reports were about a team called the Harlequins. What we have now is a bit part show of a Commedia. And not the same. [tosses the sheaves into the flames] KG: Clever. You can't be scouted, no history. Your last match? A forfeit by LFD. And with this new team, you answer a challenge long ago uttered. An attempt to unnerve us? Hardly. [The Predators rise] KG: See, in a few months, we've ascended from prelim men to next in line for a shot at the titles. At this point, it's hard to ignore us. Or the inevitable. [The Predators flank Kuyler, and stand in silence] I wasn't best new manager for nothing. My boys are on a tear. And on Saturday night, Chaos and Terror will have new meaning...as my proteges continue their march to the titles. B: Legends are born every day. GP: Neyho neyehe hiyo. We shall triumph. KG: And on Saturday...it will be another big win for the Predators. [Camera fades to black] LM: Both of these teams will be in the Battle Royal at Snow Brawl so they will use this match to warm up...of course the Brawl is in Hawaii which is already warm and...ah, forget it. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Tragedy vs. Edmund Fitzgerald ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Here we have two great tag wrestlers who are trying to prove themselves in the singles ranks. One of them has been offered a position in the Natural Predators...or something. I can't remember. Tragedy had this to say about the match. [Silence] LM: [talking off the set] Where's the Tragedy spot? What do you mean we ran it with the last match? That's it. I'm going to bed. [Larry walks off the set as the screen cuts to pre-recorded comments from Edmund Fitzgerald.] [SCENE: A small, dingy gym in Portland. Edmund Fitzgerald, wearing a t-shirt and shorts, is doing bench presses when he is approached by Tim Dross.] TD: Excuse me, Fitz? Could we have a moment of your time? EF: [sitting up] What do you want, Dross? TD: Well, I think the fans of the IIWF would like to know why one-half of their most-loved tag team has taken to beating people with an oar. EF: Because that's what the fans want. TD: I don't hardly think it is. EF: You know damn well it is. Look at it this way: Last Saturday, Icehawk wrestled a fantastic match with TNT. He didn't cheat a bit, and should have won the title. As a matter of fact, even you called him the "rightful champion". Right? TD: Yes. EF: I came out, beat up two people with an oar, and damn near broke a woman's neck. TD: Yes, you did. EF: So why is he wrestling a jobber on Wednesday this week, while I'm on Saturday Night? Because the fans want to see blood and gore and senseless violence. Icehawk's a Boy Scout, so he's boring. I've "snapped", so I'm exciting. Kinda pathetic, isn't it? [With that, Fitz stands up and walks away. Fade.] [The IIWF Countdown sits empty. Finally, a scraggly looking bespectacled man rushes onto the set. He is clearly an unhappy man.] RP: Uh... that was Edmund Fitzgerald, who uh, really wants to win the match. Oh... I'm Rusty Priske, the producer of this show and Monday Musings. Um... I'm sitting in until one of our co-hosts comes back. WHICH THEY BETTER DO IF THEY EVER WANT TO WORK FOR THE IIWF AGAIN! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Real Deal" Luke Steele vs. Richard "Moxy" Blue ------------------------------------------------------------------------ RP: Here we have two guys who... um... all right, one guy who is really on a roll. Steele has been doing great while Blue is just... strange. [The scene is the typical IIWF interview area, with the IIWF logo shining like a beacon on the backdrop. In it stands the incomparable Larry Morton, dressed in a black blazer, shirt and dress pants, with a blue bow tie finishing the ensemble. he holds a microphone with IIWF logo feverishly in his hand. He looks from side to side like a chicken in a dog pen...] LM: Good evening folks, and... I am just here awaiting my interviewee... I have the privilege of being the first man to interview for the IIWF one Richard "Moxy" Blue. He has yet to make himself... [Without warning, Morton screams in girlish Ned Flanders fashion. The camera pans down quickly to Mortons legs, now grabbed from behind by the Righteous One, Richard Blue. He is partially submersed in the cloth of the IIWF backdrop, only his arms, head and torso are visable, and all of it wrapped around Larry's legs. Blue is dressed in his faded denim jacket and crescent moon sunglasses, and his hair is still dyed bright blue.] LM: Aaaaiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeee!! RMB: [still on ground] Calm down man... take a Ritalin! LM: Aiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeee! [Blue crawls through the yelping Mortons legs and grabs his mic, tossing it leisurly from one hand to another as he stands. His ragged neon orange T-shirt is now visible, and his purple jeans now have plaid patches in tartan of a clan that does not exist, unless there are some scots out there keen on sky blue, fuchia and charcoal white.] RMB: Chill buddy! You act like someone crawled out from under a backdrop and grabbed your legs or something. [Blue smirks] LM: Please...don't ever...do that...again...please... RMB: Do what? Yeesh. [Blue pulls his "Best Ass" award from under his jacket and starts to shine it with Mortons shirt. Morton is now so frightened of Blue he puts up no resistance. He makes and attempt to start the interview, shakingly bringing the mic to his lips.] LM: So, uh, Mr. Blue... Where have you been the past few weeks? RMB: Where do you think I've been? When was the last time ya saw me, rectal boy? LM: I believe you were in a match with Timothy N. Turner. RMB: A match where I whipped him from pillar to post. A match that ended with the most spectacular moment in IIWF history with my sextuple somersault plancha! OH YEAH RIGHTEOUS! [Blue places his award on the floor and pulls up his shirt and shows his puny chest, but rather developed abdominal muscles.] RMB: Feel that... mind the nipples though, it's cold in here and ya might cut yourself. LM: What? RMB: Feel that last rib. LM: No! This is absurd. RMB: No, watching an Alexei Sayle marathon is absurd. I'm trying to prove a point. Look! [RMB grabs Mortons unwilling hand and forces him to poke him. Blue screams in agony!] LM: [confused] Auch! Are you okay? [Blue stops screaming effortlessly and smiles, looking towards the camera over his shades] RMB: Thats what I felt like a few weeks ago after that move. That was nothing... compared to the... sob... emotional pain of Scotty goin' away. [Blue falls on his knees in mock sobs and half heartedly pounds his fist against Mortons stomach, hiding his face with his other hand. Morton falls for it like Milli Vanilli fan club membership roster.] LM: So, you were rather upset at the dpearture of Scott Rogers? RMB: [instantly back to "normal"] Upset? Hell, I was thrilled! He completed my record! LM: What record? RMB: Everybody who ever messed with me in IIWF vanished. He cost me the title, and Fate dished out the consequences. Look. I beat Tsunami. Poof! Bye bye fat boy. I beat Dakota Bundy. Poof! Bye bye Ugly boy! Alex Rio messes with me. Poof! See ya Loser! Reed makes a claim for my coveted award... Poof! Ya see where this is leading Mr. Three Nostrils? LM: Yeah, I think I do. Three? [Blue continues regardless] RMB: Rogers costs me the title. Big mistake on his part... LM: But that whole plan seemed more your idea... RMB: ...and the Fop is no more. If this keeps up I'll be the only guy left in IIWF! Then it'll rule, right Larry? LM: Uh.. RMB: RIGHT, LARRY?!?! LM: Yeah! RMB: Smart man, smart man. LM: So what are your plans in IIWF now? RMB: Well, now that Timmy has been put in his place and seen that I can outdo him at whatever he does, I guess I'd better take that belt away from him now. LM: That will probably be easier said than done, getting another title shot. RMB: Not if I beat Luke Steele, the IIWF's newest lil prodigy. I've run into many "Real Deals" in my career, and not one have ever got the job done of getting rid of Moxy Blue. And this guy will just be another victim of this... [Blue takes of his sneaker and tosses it to Larry, who catches it, dropping abruptly after. Underneat, however, RMB wears a shining golden... sock.] RMB: Bump bump ba baaaaaaaaaa! THE GOLDEN BOOT! LM: The golden boot? RMB: THE GOLDEN BOOT! LM: But its a sock! RMB: It's not literal. LM: It's not washed either. RMB: DARE YOU MOCK THE GOLDEN BOOT?! I will leave you now mortal... bwahahaha! Stealthily as I came... [Blue crawls underneath the backdrop in super hero like fashion...] THUNK. [And hits his head on an undefined object. Needless to say, he stumbles back through the cloth, grasping in vain in an epic battle of man versus fabric...which Blue loses. The backdrop creaks, and falls. On top of Morton. Camera fades as Morton screams and Blue struggles...] LM: My health plan doesn't cover this! RMB: You'll never take me alive!! [Fade back to Rusty.] RP: So Richard Blue thinks that a win here will bring him back into the title picture. He might be correct! [Suddenly Priske hears something from off the set.] RP: You've found Larry? Where is he? Cue the Trash Talk segment and I'll get him myself! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Trash Talk |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... [Scene: Darkness. The shot finally comes up and it looks as if it has been taped on a video cassette recorder. Two images are suddenly hit with a beam of bright light from off camera. It is Tony Starks and the Subway Psycho. The shot closes in on them, Starks speaks:] TS: So this is it? [Psycho does not respond. Just keeps on walking forward. Starks takes a flashlight from his coat pocket and hits the surroundings. It looks to be some sort of subterranean cavern.] TS: Yeah... yeah. [Starks nods his head] I see... Darkness. Damn, I thought I had a rough spot to come up. The streets aint no joke but this place, this place here, this is evil. For real. I see what made you baby, for real. It is damn near the same thing that made me. Bleak images...darkness and pain. [They come up on a large room. It is lighted dimly by candles and some living accomodations. Starks looks around the room while Psycho just stands.] Damn. This is what it is all about, huh? [Psycho says nothing.] Word... [Starks turns towards the camera, Psycho just off to his left.] TS: You see... all you cats out there are wondering what the hell me and him are doin' together, right? How can two guys who tried to annihilate each other two weeks ago team together? Listen up, this is a man who I got respect for. We came from the same places...whether it be wrestlin' or livin'. When I fought him some weeks back, he showed me somethin'. He showed me who he is, same as I did him. We got two different styles but they are the same in a way. We both like to rip our opponents apart. We just do it a different way. I do the mat style and Psycho comes at you from all angles. You want to know what's up for the teg team division? Hell. You want to know what we call ourselves? The same damn thing we been callin ourselves since day one: Subway Psycho and Tony Starks. Get ready for the purity of oblivion. [Starks walks off camera and the shot moves over the Psycho. He just stands, staring into the camera with a hollow stare. Fade.] [Simon O'Neal is sitting on a steel chair at the IIWF offices, staring straight into the camera with an angry look on his face.] SO: I have no idea where the hell that bast... [Just then, Paul Wong opens the door and enters the room.] PW: Hey, what's... [He stops as Simon wads up a piece of paper and throws it at Paul, nailing him in the face.] SO: You know what that is, Paulie? It's the damn schedule for this week. You know what's missing? US! Not on Wednesday, not on Saturday, we lost to a couple of damn Singles wrestlers last week! [Paul doesn't answer, so Simon continues] SO: I've heard that they're thinking of trimming down the tag team ranks around here. If they do start letting teams go, who do YOU think they'll fire, Paul? Here's a hint... it won't be a team that's actually been WINNING matches. [Again, silence from the big man, so Simon continue] SO: Ever since those Japanese pretty boys and their trailer park trash manager stepped into here, we've been crap. Well, no more. I say we try things my way. And my way is to get into their locker room, grabs some weapons, preferably some painful ones, put both the Fabulous Ones and Ms. Miki in the hospital. And if that AEWA slut Bertha decides to drop by, I'll be more than glad to have her join them. Got it? [Simon stands up and gets directly into Paul's face, ready for another arguement. Instead, Paul closes his eyes, shrugs, turns around, and leaves the room. Simon watches with a look of shock and disgust on his face. Then, after a moment, he notices the camera.] SO: What the hell are you looking at? [He goes over to the outlet, where the camera is plugged in, yanks... STATIC] [SCENE: We find Charles Scheffield standing before a non-descript backdrop. He is wearing a snappy navy blue suit with a white dress shirt beneath it, and his blond hair is pulled back in a pony tail. The look on his face is quite serious for once.] CS: Well... look who it is... Charles Scheffield back from his vacation! What a surprise. Well, I must be about the only wrestler in this federation who has recieved a two week vacation while still being on the roster of active participants to end the year. For people who haven't kept up with the IIWF may think this is a common practice... but for those of you who have actually faced reality and noticed just what has been going on here, you know why I had two weeks off. [Scheffield does not look very happy at this point.] CS: Now, don't get me wrong. I enjoyed having Christmas off. It was actually quite a gesture from the bigwigs at the IIWF offices if you look at it that way... but the reason for the vacation was quite disturbing. You see, the same people at the IIWF offices cannot seem to figure out just what to do with this "rich boy" from the most "aristocratic" part of Connecticut. I'm not too sure exactly what that is supposed to mean... but if you want to know what to do... I have the answer... [A devious grin forms upon his face.] CS: Put me up against Steve Kowalski. [The grin becomes a bit broader.] CS: Call me crazy or whatever... but I feel that the man known as "The Fury" needs to be shown the power of class. I hear the man week after week talking about how the IIWF has gone soft. Well, from my perspective, the class of the IIWF has simply raised itself above little Kowalski and he can't stand it... but there's more to it than that, of course. He says that there are no longer any tough men in this federation... well... Kowalski... "The Fury", whatever you want to call yourself, you are in for a rude awakening. I may be a classy man... but I can assure you that one of my strengths happens to be my toughness. I was noted for instigating fistfights in highschool. I was suspended from school one time for breaking a kids nose. But Fury... don't go running away just yet. You see, I believe that one of us "softies" has to be the one to teach you that sometimes there's an iron fist behind a padded glove. But for me... it shall be all too easy to teach you your lesson. I know how to tie you in knots which weren't even known to be possible. And if you want punishment on top of that... I'll be happy to dish some out. You do not frighten me with all this talk about how tough you are... what should frighten you is how I am willing to step in the ring with you to prove that it isn't always braun which makes toughness. I happen to play a tough game of intelligence. On top of that... I could never be considered to be a man of effeminate virtues. So Kowalski, I know you have your hands full with other wrestlers... but right now my calendar is wide open. My new years resolution happens to be that Scheffield is going to rise to the top at all costs... and unfortunately you're in my way. Maybe I'm starting too high... but I must start somewhere. Kowalski... see you in the ring. [Scheffield begins laughing in quite a disconcerting fashion. The camera simply fades out.] [Fade it to the Amber Bug. Downtown Newark watering hole of the IIWF champion Steve “The Fury” Kowalski, is quiet. Unconscious bodies are littered about the place, snoring away in there drunken stupor. It looks as if an ocean of Mooselips beer washed through the establishment, forcing everyone into an alcoholic explosion. Silence is broken by his voice.] SK: Is this what ya were expectin’, Spreadbury? A nice little party fer the new champ. Funny, don’t remember ya stoppin’ by. Well, we had a good time anyways. [The camera turns to see the New Jersey Nightmare, the last man conscious. Championship belt one the table, wet from numerous spilled shots and beer. His meaty hand taps on the strap, almost nervous to let it go.] SK: Burp! Yeah! It’s good to be the king! Cut. That’s it. [Kowalski gets up and starts to go, until a stunned cameraman asks...] CM: Hey, wait a minute. Where are you going? We have a shoot here today. Mr. Spreadbury says each wrestler has to devote a certain amount of time to a shoot. SK: I’m the champ, Jackass. I do as I please. CM: Even Thunder put his time in. SK: Thunder? Thunder!?!? Ha ha ha ha! Are ya [BLEEP]in’ me? That panty waist is lickin’ his wounds an’ cryin’ to his ol’ lady right now. CM: He still has another shot at you, Fury. You should keep that in mind. [Kowalski stands up now, barely. Obviously still polluted from the long nights’ celebration, he stumbles towards the camera.] SK: I should what!?! Did God strike ya blind last week!?! Did the SKULLPUMP heard ‘round the world not make it to yer ears!?! Or are ya one o’ them hopefuls that thought Thunder was gonna make it to Snow Brawl!?! Well let me send ya a newsflash...to ya an’ to all them non-[BLEEP]in’ believers out there! _I’m_ on top an’ [BLEEP] flows downhill! Get...used...to...IT! CM: [meekly] Okay. [Fade back to the studio where Larry Morton is being escorted to the desk by his producer.] LM: Why aren't you dragging Von Edward out here? RP: Because I don't know where she is! You can bet your ass that she won't be here next week! Now close the show! [Larry seems noticeably happier by Priske's little announcement.] LM: That's it for Countdown. Watch tomorrow for... our other show. Come back next week for a show starring... me! +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+