________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour one...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon 3 January 1998 [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 to the IIWF Coliseum! We are coming at you live and loud with a block-busting night of wrestling action, and... [Suddenly the haunting strains of the theme from "High Plains Drifter" begins blaring eerily over the PA system. The crowd turns and looks toward the entrance curtain. The curtain bursts open and out steps Brody Thunder. He's dressed in blue jeans, black boots, black hat and t-shirt. The shirt displays the familiar motto of the Lone Wolf; "EVIL, MEAN & NASTY".] TD: Well, we have an appearance from the former IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder, a little earlier than scheduled here, folks. SR: When Thunder's got something on his mind, Dross, he doesn't just wait for the producer to give him the green light. What's the matter, Thunder, somebody got your precious belt? TD: Indeed, it was just seven days ago that Brody Thunder was dethroned as IIWF World Heavyweight Champion in one of the most competitive matches we have seen here for some time -- and we will have pre-recorded comments from the new champion, Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, later on tonight. [Thunder storms down to ringside then enters the ring. He leans over the top rope and motions to a ringside official. The official produces a mic which he then hands to Thunder. Thunder walks around the ring pacing very demonstratively. He's obviously angry as he pauses and stares at the mat. The mic is raised to his mouth...] BT: Don't bother adjustin' yer television set 'cuz there ain't nuthin' wrong with it. What's missin' is the flamin' IIWF World title. An' the reason I'm standin' out here tonight without that IIWF World title... [He stares directly into the ringside camera.] ...is because of an incompetent referee... some musclebound goof... [A cheer goes up from the crowd in recognition of Mad Dog Watkins.] ...an' a guy who took advantage o'a two on one when he knew he couldn't get the job done on his own. [A huge pop erupts from the "Furies".] Now two weeks ago Serge Annis an' Steve Kowalski wrestled fer the right ta face me fer the world strap. They go to a draw. So instead o' havin' a return match, the IIWF decided not to have them wrestle each other... but instead have both wrestle _me_. Well, excuse me, but the last I knew my strap wasn't a _tag_ title -- it was the _World_ title. But bein' the man that I am, did I cry? Did I go runnin' to the President an' beg to get out of the match? Hell no. What I did was lace up my boots, step through these ropes an' go balls to the wall fer thirty minutes against _two_ men, not one. Name me another champeen who'd do that? [Thunder lowers the mic and looks around the arena again.] An' true to form, what happened? They stick that fat, donut-eatin', near-sighted pusbag D'Amato in there instead of a real referee, an' the next thing I know I'm watchin' Kowalski waltz outta the ring with my strap. [Thunder walks around the ring slowly then pauses. He looks towards the back of the arena and raises the mic once more.] Now I ain't out here ta cry 'bout what happened. What I _am_ out here to do... is to issue a challenge to "the Fury". [Big Fury pop! Thunder grins slightly and nods his head in response.] That's right... cheer yer flamin' idol's name. Scream it loud enough so that the runt drags his belt-stealin' carcass out here. That's exactly what I want. Y'see Kowalski... I know yer back there watchin' on the monitor. I know ya can hear every word I'm sayin'. [The "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" chant rises in pitch from the crowd, forcing Thunder to pause momentarily.] TD: [over the headset] Steve Kowalski is _not_ in the arena, Steve Roberts. He's not been seen all day. SR: [over the headset] Doesn't mean he's not here, Dross. Besides, if I know the Fury, he'll be down at the Amber Bug celebrating his win. I don't think they even have cable there. [Thunder waits for the crowd to quieten before continuing.] BT: But in case yer havin' a little trouble _unnerstandin'_ me, lemme jus' make it crystal clear, ace. I ain't askin' ya fer a rematch, son... I'm demandin' one. One-on-one. Jus' you an' me with the strap on the line. An' jus so's ya know, Kowalski... ...I ain't waitin' fer Snow Brawl to get it. So you can get yer ass out here right now or I can come back there an' drag ya out here. Either way I'm gettin' an answer tonight. Spreadbury... make the match, my friend, an' make it fast. I'm growin' short on patience an' I ain't waitin' around all night, so Mr. President, you get your new champeen ta get in this ring with me -- or the next time ya see 'im he'll have a tag on his toe. [Thunder turns and looks directly into the ringside camera.] Catch my drift, bossman? Ya better. 'Cuz the alternative won't be pleasant. Get it done. I'll be waitin' fer yer answer. Ya got 'til the end of the show... and not a minute longer. [Thunder drops the mic to the mat, still eyeing the camera. He then slowly steps through the ropes and exits the ring to the strains of the theme from "High Plains Drifter". As the crowd once again rises to its feet in a chant of "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!", cut to the broadcast table at ringside, at which are seated Tim Dross, wearing his traditional IIWF blazer, and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, who wears his leather jacket over a t-shirt that reads, "Love me... love my beard."] TD: Howdy, folks, and happy New Year! Welcome to the first live IIWF event of 1998! I am Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my broadcast colleague, the bewhiskered "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. Perhaps you should make it your New Year's Resolution to shave more often, Steve? SR: Not a chance, Dross. This is my lucky beard -- and as long as I have this beard, Chris Quigley won't be hearin' any poetry from me. TD: Well, an auspicious start to tonight's show -- Brody Thunder has challenged Steve Kowalski to a rematch ahead of Snow Brawl... and has issued both Kowalski and the suits with an ultimatum: answer him in the next two hours, or face the consequences! We'll be getting some pre-recorded comments from Steve Kowalski later tonight, but the Fury was not scheduled to be here in the Coliseum this week. By contrast, the man who made his shocking return to the IIWF last Saturday Night to help the Fury become the first man ever in the history of the IIWF to hold all three singles titles -- I'm talking about the veteran Mad Dog Watkins -- will be here later on to explain where he has been the past several months, and what motivated him to make his return just seven days ago. SR: I'll give you a clue, Dross: wa-wa. Money. Moolah. The big green. Dead presidents. Good to have ya back, old dog. TD: Plus, tonight's the night for Chris Quigley and Duncan Macbeth. It's been a long road from Ring Wars IV for Macbeth to his rematch with the Intercontinental Champion -- but tonight, he gets his chance. These two have been such intense rivals over the past few months, and I believe it is all going to come to a head in tonight's main event! SR: Just two weeks to the pay-per-view, Dross. Two weeks to Snow Brawl -- and we're seeing Quigley/Macbeth II on free TV. What's the matter with the suits these days?! TD: The level of competition in the IIWF is higher than ever, Steve Roberts, and say what you will about Chris Quigley -- well, actually, you shouldn't say what you will about Quigley, Steve Roberts -- but he is a fighting champion. SR: Wrong, Dross. It's Manning who does all the fighting -- it's Manning who wears the pants. That crazy, sick sonofabitch actually enjoys wearing Quigley's pants. Makes me want to cry, Dross. TD: Be that as it may, we are indeed only two weeks away from Snow Brawl, and the IIWF President will be on hand later tonight to announce the three big six-man tag matches that will make up the Lethal Lottery section of the event. Backstage, lots will be drawn tonight during the course of the show -- and before our main event, the IIWF President will announce the random partnerships for the matches coming your way on January 17, live from the Aloha Stadium in beautiful Honolulu, Hawaii. SR: Maybe I can get me some hula girls in grass skirts, Dross. TD: And maybe we could stick with the point, Steve Roberts. All kinds of action coming up here tonight for you, folks, including the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi meeting his rival Christopher Stonebreaker, while Ronnie Paris faces "To Excess" Rick Williams. A better pair of good, old-fashioned wrestling matches you'd be hard pushed to find, Steve Roberts. SR: I don't know, Dross. My definition of a good, old-fashioned wrestling match is myself and Elizabeth Shue getting down and dirty in the golden syrup. Sticky, sticky syrup, Dross. TD: What has gotten into you tonight, Steve Roberts? Could you please keep your warped fantasies to yourself? SR: All night long, baby dolls! Whoo-hoo! They don't call me the sixty hour man for nothing, Dross! TD: I really don't want to know. We'll also be seeing the new Harlequins, Chaos and Terror, link it up with the Natural Predators, while former Harlequin, Tragedy, goes up against Edmund Fitzgerald one on one. Fitz, you'll remember, attacked Tragedy last week with an oar -- and we could well see something similarly crazy here tonight. Plus Lord Byron faces the Meatman, and the Fabulous Ones face the Down Boys... or is it Damage Inc.? SR: Doesn't matter, Dross. All the gay guys is the same to me. TD: But right now, let's kick off tonight's action with our opening contest -- as Richard "Moxy" Blue faces the man possibly on the hottest streak in the IIWF right now, the "Real Deal" Luke Steele. Let's get up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| "Real Deal" Luke Steele vs. Richard "Moxy" Blue |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: AD [Sparkplug Lee, dressed in a radiant pink tuxedo not unlike the one Tom Hanks wore in "Big" enters the ring, waving to the fans who cheer -- and laugh -- loudly for the ring announcer. He takes the mic:] SL: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! Welcome to Nineteen Ninety Eight! SR: Few days late on that one, Sparky... SL: ...and the first edition of IIWF Saturday Night of the NEW YEAR! [Fans cheer loudly, IIWF pop!] SL: Without any further ado... [the Li'l Soundbiters in unison cheer "Adieu" in a drunken, slurred way that implies the New Year was only a pit stop in their drinking binges!] SL: Let's get ready to wrestle!  Our first match is scheduled for one fall with a thirty minute time limit... introducing first... a man     who has been in the public eye... and perhaps an eyesore... since he debuted several months back. He hails from Chester, Nova Scotia, and weighs in at 185 lbs... Our own Rupert Pupkin... The "Golden Boot"... Richard "Moxy" Blue! SR: [over the headset] We really have to stop Sparky editorialising, Dross. [A bellowed cry of "Oh Yeah Righteous!" precedes the slide metal guitar version of "Blue Moon" that heralds Blue's arrival at ringside. He appears, dressed in his standard wrestling tights, wearing one boot and one sock which, of course, is golden. Comic pop!] TD: Fans seem to be getting a little more behind Blue this year, Steve. SR: Let me tell you this. Blue is a moron, but he's an efficient moron. This match between Moxy Vomit and Happy Meal Steele is not my concern. All those lovely IIWF girls stranded... Think they need a rescue team? HEY! [The crowd cheers as Blue sidles up to the announcers table, lays across it and tugs on Soundbite Steve's beard. Steve takes a swing at him, which Blue avoids... by falling off the table.] TD: Looks like someone else is anxious to see an end to that beard of yours, Steve. SR: Don't touch me, kid. My face is precious. [Blue enters the ring, hooting and hollering with a mi from the announcer's table.] RMB: Are ya ready to have a little more CRAZINESS added to your recipe      of life, gentlemen and Quigleys? [Crowd pop!] RMB: [in Cajun lisp] Sssince poor lil Timothy didn't fahnd it fit to      defend 'is coveted Cruisairwhyit titail dis week, ah thought ya      should see da REAL champ een actionn.  'Is pal Macbeth. 'e is, 'ow      you say, complayneeng?  Yeah, complayneeng about beeing da real      champeen, at yet 'ee 'angs around weet folks who are no betair! [Crowd reacts with mixed cheers for Blue and Macbeth and boos for Turner!]      So, ah would poot me belt on da line, but Lukey, 'e ain't a      cruisair, ya know ya know?  So, Lukey, let's 'ave a good match and      see if you are title material, oui?  Ah hope ya don't lose, 'cause      den you'll be a victaim of da GOLDEN BOOT!  OH YEAH... [Blue lets the crowd finish his phrase as his small cult following yelp "RIGHTEOUS!" as Sparky takes the mike] SL: And his opponent... a man who is currently on perhaps the hottest streak of any IIWF superstar... hailing from Cleveland, Ohio, and weighing in at 275lbs... a man who has been the cornerstone of the IIWF... here is the "Real Deal" Luke Steele! ["I am the Man" by the Philosopher Kings begins to play as Steele walks quickly toward the ring, ignoring the fans mixed pop. He glares directly at Blue, who is kicking the ropes in mock rage at him] SR: Another non-entity who's stepped into the spotlight of the IIWF. Happy Meal Luke Steele has been around for ages, and he has some killer instinct now... but I can't get over who and what he was. TD: Joey Patrick is the referee, and it looks like we're about to get     underway. [The bell rings, and the two wrestlers move to the middle of the ring. Blue holds out his hand for a handshake... Steele just staring at him. Steele finally puts his hand out and Blue slaps it away, grabbing Steele by his ears, covering his lips with his thumbs and "kissing" him. HUGE comic pop as Steele pushes him away] TD: Blue out to humiliate Steele right off the bat here. SR: Borrowing a page out of LaRue's handbook, hmm? Giving up nearly a     hundred pounds, so he kisses him. Smart boy. Eesh. [Steele moves slowly toward Blue, who takes him down with a armdrag, Steele rolling almost immediately to his feet as Blue plays to the crowd. Turning, Blue is caught by a boot to the midsection and set up for the Flotaing DDT, which he avoids by a quick shoulderblock to Steele's midsection.] TD: Smart move by the Golden Sock to keep alive here. Steele isn't     someone you can underestimate. SR: Kowalski vs. Thunder II. Wonder what Annis is thinking about this? TD: You have to give Brody Thunder a hell of a lot of credit for coming out tonight. He was a fighting champion. SR: Not to mention getting rid of Boy Rectum and putting an end to Genesis. Hey, is Phil Collins still with the promotion? [Blue gets righted first, tucking his head between Steele's legs and diving, arms spread wide, in a tackle that topples the bigger Steele. Tapping his head, he rushes over into the corner and begins slamming his "Golden Boot" on the canvas.] SR: Look! He can count! Just like Mister Ed -- meet Richard "Horsey" Vomit. TD: Sort of an odd sound, isn't it? No boot, just a sock going "fump". SR: Fallen Arches for the retard. [As Steele rises to his feet, Blue makes a dash and performs "the Golden Boot", a Savate style kick, which Steele sidesteps, planting a backhanded fist in the exposed area. Male Sympathy pop as Blue crumples] SR: Pinpoint accuracy by Happy Meal Luke Steele there. TD: Referee Joey Patrick warning Steele, as that shot was a little low. SR: Was a lotta low, Dross. I'm amazed he could find the target there. TD: Steele moving slowly to pick up Blue...and a kneelift sending Blue     back down. I tell you, Soundbite, this is going to be an amazing     card at Snow Brawl. The Six Man teams will be announced tonight. SR: And the Gay Guy battle royal should be interesting. [Blue slow to his feet as Steele guides him to the ropes, throwing him cross ring and missing with an elbow...as Blue rebounds, he does a midair somersault, landing the top of his boot on the top of Steele's head, sending the big man down. Blue lands on his rear, and pauses, turning toward Steve Roberts before yelling...] RMB: OW! [Comic face pop!] TD: What would you call that, Soundbite? SR: An idiot vying for attention. TD: The somersault kick there... What would you call it? SR: An idiot doing a somersault kick. Here's my trademark rant of the     night, first of the new year. You folks at home know what a bodyslam is, what a dropkick is, so call the action for yourself while I get this off my chest. [Blue is up to his feet quickly, and off the ropes with an Asai Moonsault, covering Steele quickly. Patrick counts "2" before Steele kicks out, Blue moving to the corner and standing crane style, a la "Karate Kid" on the middle turnbuckle.] SR: Luke Steele, the Bum Deal, finds himself a finisher that halfway     works well. A floating DDT. Lo and behold, he's gotta have a name     for it. Let me tell you a story about a man named Jake. Big thin     druggie who had a reptile fetish. Invents this move he calls the     "Damn Devestating Terror", or DDT. Uses it with FRIGHTENING     efficiency. [Blue leaps with a Harlem style legdrop superkick at Steele, who catches him and turns him over into a sidewalk slam. Steele shakes his head as he scoops Blue up and powerslams him down. Patrick on the job counts 1 before Blue kicks out] SR: Soon every twerp and his mother thinks they can do it. It becomes     too common. Look at this league. We got this Floater, the Cattle     Buster, the Phoenix Claw... Good moves, but they all gotta have     a name? You wanna tell me WHY Morton wants him to name it "The     Steele Refinery"? You wanna tell me WHY he has to name it? Better     part of this mook's career I haven't given a damn about him. Now     he has a chance at making it big, right? It's got a name. Floating     DDT. Cope with that, Moron. TD: Says the originator of the Soundbite Press, the Soundbite Slam,     the Soundbite Claw, the Soundbite Stall... SR: Hey, _I'm_ an original. All those moves were made and or improved     by yours truly, the Soundbite, Steve Roberts. TD: Blue looks woozy... and Steele goes for the DDT again, Blue just     pushing him off and dropping an elbow on Steele's gut. SR: There's the way to escape a DDT, kids. Grease your hair. TD: Blue off the ropes again and... What would you call that? SR: I told you before Dross. An idiot. [Indeed, Blue bounds off the ropes and dives in a corkscrew plancha, within the ring, on a prone foe, striking his shoulder after skidding along the ring. The move was efficient as Steele clutches his shoulder in some pain, but Blue looks up, smiles at Soundbite giving him a thumbs up, and falls face first on the mat.] SR: What an imbecile. Here's an idea. Put him in the ring with Thunder     for five minutes and then no one will ever have to worry about the     technicolor nightmare again. TD: He left the robe behind. SR: Yeah, it's hanging in Boston's MFA now. In the coat check room. TD: Please. SR: Couldn't tip them enough for them to give it back. [Blue rises to his feet alongside Steele, both men trading punches, until Blue backs up and attempts his Golden Boot again. Steele blocks it with both hands, throwing the foot back down before doing the obvious...] SR: First smart move Steele's done all match. One boot, one foot unprotected, about time he stepped on it! TD: Blue is grabbing his foot... Steele with a right hand... FLOATING     DDT! He's laid Blue out! [The referee drops to the canvas as Steele makes the cover on Moxy: 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: Patrick counts three. Happy Meal wins. [Sparkplug enters the ring as Steele refuses to have his hand lifted, just walking back to the dressing room] SL: The winner of this match... the "Real Deal" Luke Steele! [crowd boos as a woozy Blue rises to his feet, looking around as Joey Patrick informs him the match is over. Blue begins to literally kick himself with the Golden Boot, er, Sock.] SR: He better cut that out, or he'll boot himself out this league. Heh-heh. [Cut to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Folks, before we get to our next match, I should mention that we're running a little light on staff here on tonight's production team. There was a minor bus accident earlier this evening involving the IIWF Express, driven by Captain Nils. The bus was carrying some of the IIWF's auxiliary personnel -- administration, back-up officials, the ring girls, all the foreign announce teams, and so on -- but, thankfully, nobody was hurt, except for poor Nils, who has broken a leg.  As a result, the Coliseum is a little understaffed as a result tonight, so please excuse any minor technical hitches we might have on the broadcast tonight -- but everything should be okay. SR: No ring girls, Dross? No lithe young ladies strutting their stuff in skimpy outfits? That's it -- I'm outta here. TD: You'll stay right there, Steve Roberts. Okay, folks, it's time to get some comments from "Savage" Shadoe Rage. If you'll excuse me... [Dross gets up and leaves the announce position, taking a microphone from Sparkplug Lee as he heads into the ring. The fans hush in anticipation as Dross begins to speak:] TD: At this time I'd like to announce our very special guest... making a surprise appearance... "SAVAGE" SHADOE RAGE! ["The Death March" plays as Shadoe Rage pushes through the curtains, swirling and flourishing for the fans in a loose-fitting black open collared shirt and wide-legged black trousers.  His hair is tied back in a ponytail and he wears heavy black boots.  Marissa Monet swaggers by his side in shiny black hot pants and a matching leather coat, knee-high buckled boots and a fuschia, clingy T-shirt of shiny spandex.  The couple soak in the mixed cheers as Shadoe holds the ropes open for the taller Marissa.  She pecks him on the cheek and steps over the top.  Shadoe, smiling, bounces up to the top rope and points one finger in the air before moonsaulting into the ring to stand next to Tim Dross.  He throws an arm around Dross's shoulder casually.] MM: Hold on.  Hold on.  Something's not right here.  Ah, here we go. [As the women in the crowd hoot and holler, Marissa unbuttons Shadoe's shirt to the waist and lets it hang open to display his super-cut abdominals and the bunched muscles of his chest.  MM: Oh, that's the look.  Sorry girls, but the booty is mine alone. TD: Well, Shadoe, if we could... what's your purpose in being out here tonight? SR: You want me to tell you about something?  Oh yeah, I'll show you exactly what I've got for you.  It's a little lesson called Petrow 101.  Could you lower my gift from the ceiling?  [shouting] Now, I don't have all damn night!  I command it.  Now! TD: This isn't a port-a-pottie, is it? SR: [smiling] You're learning, Dross.  I appreciate that.  You've got your first mark in Petrow 101.  A C+ I should think. TD: What are you talking about?  What is this Petrow 101? [An object in a black tarp descends from the screen.  It is rectangular and flat.  Hydraulics and workmen haul away the tarp, revealing a videoscreen.  The screen flashes to life.  LIVE blinks in the corner.  Shado is standing by the East River, a garbage barge passing under the bridge.] SR: IIWF, live in living colour it's the Angel of Death all up here by my lonesome.  I've got a special little lesson for you in how to be just like your pathetic idol, Joe Petrow, the biggest fraud in the whole of the IIWF.  Petrow, you like to pretend like you're a crazy bastard?  Well, you're only half right.  You're a bastard, but you ain't crazy.  You ain't even original.  See, I'm gonna show the whole world exactly how to do a Petrow interview.  Right.  First you need yourself a notepad and pencil.  [He holds out his hand and somebody passes him a pen and pad of paper.] SR: I don't know why he's got those since he can't write worth a damn.  [He throws the note pad into the river and hurls the pen out after it.]  But that's to write down all the cool little things he sees on TV and reads in magazines.  Next you need yourself a little calendar so you can find out exactly when Monday night really is. [He grabs a calendar from somebody off-screen.  All the Mondays in the month are circled.] There, now you know what day it is. [He rips the calendar in half and tosses it in the river.] TD: What is this? SR: Shhh, I'm talking.  Anyway, don't ask me the questions.  Ask him. SR: [on screen] That's right, Dross.  I'm the one conducting the lesson.  Now you just shut your mouth before I have to get the strap.  [Crowd pop.]  Now where was I?  Oh yeah, you got your calendar, your notepad and pen.  Now you need a cable box. [He's handed a cable box and hurls it into the river.] Don't forget you need a VCR and a videotape too so you can watch everything and tape everything like a jackass. [He's handed a tape and wings it into the darkness.  He takes a VCR and hurls it into the river, too.] See, now you have all the ingredients to steal all your ideas from.  All right.  Now you need yourself a TV to watch all this crap on.  What you thought he dreamed it all up? [He's handed a TV with rabbit ears.  Rage doesn't hesitate to heave it over the edge.] There you go.  Now you just watch your little shows, get all the cool stuff down and copy it, twist it around to make yourself seem like a crazy jerk.  And that's when you get the last ingredient to be a Joe Petrow. [He reaches off screen and snatches the Sychopath who was always and will always be known throughout his life as the kid who took the missile dropkick from Unique Allah.  Rage shakes him by the collar.] This is the last ingredient.  You get some beer-swillin', masturbatin', pimple-faced jackass to worship everything you say or do because he don't have enough of a life to make his own way in the world.  And you pull out some pathetic piece of trash who couldn't win a match a if his opponent were dead. [Rage reaches to the other side of the screen and pulls out Scott "the Whine" Bloom.] See, you add these goons to the mix. [With a heave he throws the kid over the bridge.  He looks over the edge until he hears a satisfying splash.  Scott Bloom suddenly grabs his crotch as a wet stain spreads across the front of his trousers.  He starts to whine "Why me?"  Rage looks at him in disgust and clotheslines him over the edge.] SR: Piece of trash.  I suppose I should have thrown some scuba gear down there too, but hell, that's already been done.  Back to you, Shadoe.  I'm done with this trash. [The screen fades to black.] SR: [in ring] See, that's all it takes to do anything around here like Petrow.  Maybe I'll show you how to act like Chris Quigley, but you know, I just don't cry and drop to my knees for Spreadbury to get anywhere in this world. [Pop from the crowd.] TD: That's just disgusting. SR: NO, YOU KNOW WHAT'S DISGUSTING?! The cast-out FWLI crap that passes for talent here.  See, about every six months, the FWLI -- excuse me, IFWF... no, I was right, the FWLI -- went through a purge of egos.  Wrestlers who didn't do a damn thing and cried and pouted and ran when the rest of the world realised they were crap.  Mark Destructo.  This guy was unpinnable in the FWLI.  Hmmm, why?  Why did he suffer when all of a sudden his President buddy left?  See, the kind of crap he's doing here.  And Chris Quigley?  He's always gonna be a President's open-mouthed bitch.  There ain't nothin gonna change that.  He wants to be the tragic hero?  Then stop whining and trying to force everybody to pay attention to you.  Jackass, if they don't care now they never will.  And bloody Lord Byron.  Nah, you're all right for now. But Petrow, you're the worst of the worst.  You want to be the showstopper?  You want to be the spectacular man?  Well, let's see if you have the talent to keep up with the Spotmaker, the Scenestealer and the bump taker, who comes up with his own ideas.  Yeah, that's gonna kill you, ain't it?  You don't have the stuff to come up with one freakin' idea of your own.  And that's the damn truth.  So I'm telling all of you in the fan, let's go back to Petrow's Japan connexions and start bombing him with sushi every time he does something that sucks.  That's all I have to say except let's give it one practice run.  Dross? TD: Yes? SR: You're it! [Shadoe and Marissa dive and roll for cover as the fans begin throwing raw fish at the overworked announcer.] SR: And that's the word from the Angel of Death! [Laughing, Rage and Marissa make their way back to the locker room to a big pop, as Dross rolls out of the ring to avoid the hail of piscine remains being hurled at the ring. Security moves fast to end the disturbance, and a ring crew moves in to sweep up the stinking raw fish. Dross returns to the broadcast table, pulling a sardine out of his pocket and tossing it into the crowd as he adjusts his headset once more.] TD: Disgusting. SR: Aw, I don't know, Dross. Sushi is kinda trendy. TD: The ring crew here must have half a dozen buckets full of fish. I think security need to start doing fish checks on these fans before they let them into the Coliseum. What a night we are having! And we still don't know if Thunder and Kowalski will be battling it out tonight! SR: It would be a Steve Roberts dream come true! Quigley getting totaled and the Fury strutting his stuff! TD: Not to mention the great match we have coming up next! SR: What's to mention? Washed-up tag guy faces washed-up tag guy. It's what any fan would pay not to see. TD: Luckily for the IIWF that that is not true because we have a packed house here tonight! Let's get up to the ring for the introductions! Tragedy of the Harlequins battles former two-time co-holder of the IIWF World Tag Team Championship, Edmund Fitzgerald, one of the toughest men in the IIWF today. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Tragedy vs. Edmund Fitzgerald |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: RP [Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring clutching his microphone:] SL: This next match is a one fall affair! Introducing first, hailing from Rogers City, Michigan... and weighing in at 280 pounds... Edmund Fitzgerald! [Gordon Lightfoot's "Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" plays as the big man heads down to ringside, noticeably alone. The fans give a mixed pop as he gets a short way down the aisle before...] TD: What's that noise? SR: It sounds like a chainsaw... TD: It's the Harlequins! Chaos has a chainsaw! SR: This is going insane! [Terror and Chaos have burst out of the curtains behind Fitz and are gesturing menacingly with the chainsaw. Fitzgerald, realizing that his strength means nothing against such a weapon, backs quickly down the aisle.] TD: Fitzgerald is down! Something tripped him! [Two figures rapidly stand in the aisle, pointing down at the fallen Fitzgerald and laughing with glee. The fans give a huge heel pop!] SR: It's Melody and Comedy! The chicks are all over this guy! He's getting pounded on by women! TD: Wait! It's Icehawk and the Natural Predators! They've jumped Chaos and Terror! They have tossed the chainsaw aside...right into the crowd! Oh my god! There's no security crew around! Someone could get killed! SR: The fans have cleared away! No blood this time, baby dolls! [One huge figure lurches out of the clearing in the stands where the crowd is screaming and backing away from the roaring chainsaw. Big pop!] TD: It's Shadoe Rage! He's snatched the chainsaw and shut it off! Thank god! I never thought I'd be saying thank god for Shadoe Rage! SR: This isn't over, Dross! [Terror and Chaos are holding their own against Icehawk and the Predators -- Terror using Icehawk as a battering ram against the Grey Phoenix, while Bear and Chaos trade rights and lefts.] TD: Fitzgerald is shaking off Melody and Comedy -- but here comes Tragedy! He's rappelling from the rafters! [Fans point skywards as a spotlight hastily swings towards a figure zooming down from the rafters of the arena: Harlequin Tragedy can be seen careering down a zipline to the aisle! Huge pop! Fitz finds himself hit in the back by a dropkick from Tragedy as he reaches the end of his rapid descent!] SR: Tragedy's got a chair! TD: Fitz ducks and Tragedy nearly clocks Comedy! That would be a real tragedy! SR: Fitz caught Trag with a quick greco-roman punch to the groin! TD: He rolls the smaller Harlequin into the ring and referee Chuck Sanders is calling for the bell! [The timekeeper does indeed ring the bell -- Ding! Ding! Ding! -- despite the crazy scenes in the aisle, as the Predators and the other Harlequins go at it, while Comedy and Melody dance around the ring in manic fashion.] TD: This is ridiculous! We need some help out here! He can't start this match! This isn't a wrestling match! It's chaos! SR: No, Chaos is the guy who just levelled Grey Phoenix! TD: I can only guess that Sanders is just hoping to get through this match without having to call security. The IIWF is dangerously short staffed tonight. SR: Fitz whips Trag to the ropes... TD: Reversal! Edmund hits the ropes and... SR: Happy Hammer to the back of the head! Melody has just dropped Fitzgerald like a stone! TD: Tragedy is kicking Fitzgerald in the head! The classic Tragedy technique has gone completely out the window for this match! SR: Normally it would be a big mistake for the little clown to duke it out with the Titanic there... but this is no normal match! TD: Edmund is on his feet... he just clotheslined Tragedy right over the top rope! SR: What's left of the IIWF event staff has managed to get the extra members of the Harlequins, Predators, and Cold Spell cleared away from the ring area. Don't the realize the entertainment value in a good brawl? TD: Fitzgerald leaps over the top rope! Tragedy isn't there and he hits the security railing! A very uncharacteristic move from Edmund Fitzgerald and he pays the price! SR: Tragedy has that chair again and he wallops the big guy! TD: Why doesn't Sanders stop this match? This is beyond the bounds of decency! SR: What are you talking about Dross? If the Fury is here and he throws down with Thunder, you're going to see a lot worse than this! TD: Fitz is fighting back to his feet... right in front of Shadoe and Medusa Rage! SR: Shadoe looks bored! I guess this match is too tame for him! TD: Chuck Sanders is putting the count on both men! He's up to seven! We're going to have a double count-out! SR: Shadoe is motioning towards the back! It's raining fish again! [The fans begin to pelt the ring with more fish, fish of all sizes raining down on the canvas, some frozen, some half-eaten, some even in cans... the wrestlers do their best to shield themselves from the deluge, but one large frozen mackerel strikes the official, Chuck Sanders, hard on the back of the head! Big pop!] TD: An absolute deluge of fish! This time they are frozen solid! No one is safe from the onslaught! Fitzgerald is clipped by a large halibut and looks a little groggy! SR: Ref down! Sanders is face down on the mat! TD: Chuck Sanders looks seriously hurt! Fitz has slipped on a fish and hit his head on the security barrier! Tragedy rolls him into the ring but there is no ref... SR: No! Sanders sees the cover... TD: A slow, painful count... Sanders is barely conscious... it's a three count! Tragedy has the victory in this very strange match! SR: Send in the clowns! TD: Chaos and Terror are sprinting down to ringside... Terror grabs the idle chainsaw from a grinning Shadoe Rage! SR: Here's Chickenhawk! [Huge pop as Icehawk, garbed in street clothes, dashes into the aisle, dodging the carnage left by the chainsaw, zipline, and the Natural Predators, and makes a beeline for the ring to aid his friend.] TD: Icehawk pulls Fitzgerald from the ring before the combined forces of the Harlequins can do any further damage... Terror swings at Icehawk with the chainsaw! SR: So close! We almost had ice cubes! TD: Cold Spell vacate the ring area but Chuck Sanders still hasn't moved. We need a medical team down here right away! I can't tell from here how bad his injury is -- but at the least he's done for the night! [An EMT crew descends on the ring while the overworked ring crew once again sets about clearing away the dozens of fish from the ring and aisle. A close-up reveals that Sanders is now unconscious -- and his neck is being braced before he is moved onto a gurney. The fans fall silent as the official is gingerly stretchered from the ring and rolled back up the aisle, a crowd of medical personnel surrounding the stretcher to prevent the fans seeing the unconscious official. Cut back to the broadcast table, where Steve Roberts absent-mindedly bashes a raw fish on the edge of the desk.] TD: Will you stop that, Steve Roberts? SR: I wasn't sure it was dead, Dross. TD: Well, folks -- the perils of live television being amply demonstrated here tonight. I don't believe there's enough support personnel in the building, and things can very easily get out of hand, as we have just seen, resulting in injury. We'll try and get you an update on the condition of referee Chuck Sanders later tonight -- but the Harlequins are still here at ringside. I guess we're going to see our next match without any further ado... let's get back up to Sparkplug Lee. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Harlequins vs. Natural Predators |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: JV [Cut to the ring, which is pungent with a piscine pong. While the IIWF crews continue to clean up all of the fish, Sparkplug Lee is trying to hold his nose at the same time as announcing the next matchup.] SR: Hey, look -- Sparky's wearing a tie with Jennifer Aniston on it. I didn't even know they made Aniston ties, Dross. She can be my friend any time. TD: We haven't even started yet, will you stop? SR: Does anyone have some Lysol? TD: I'll second that. [Sparkplug reads the introductions.] SL: Weighing in at 608 pounds and accompanied by Comedy and Melody, here are Harlequin Terror, Harlequin Chaos... they are the Harlequins! ["Mathematics of Chaos" by Killing Joke plays, interrupting the Harlequins, who are still at ringside, from their reverie. They leave Comedy at the side of Tragedy, who is now beginning to recover, and Terror passes his chainsaw to Melody as he and Chaos enter the ring to a mixed pop from the fans. Presented with the two huge Harleys, even Sparkplug Lee seems uncomfortable.] SR: They are out here in force, Dross! TD: Did you see that? Melody just hit a fan with her Happy Hammer! You can be sure that the president... SR: Melody can hit me with that hammer any time, Dross. Hubba... TD: [interrupting] Sparkplug is going to introduce their... SR: Victims! HA! [Sparkplug Lee begins again.] SL: And their opponents, weighing in at 625 pounds, accompanied by Kuyler Greyson, here are Bear and the Grey Phoenix... they are the Natural Predators! ["Destination Eschaton" by The Shamen plays and out come the Natural Predators to a huge face pop from the IIWF fans in attendance. They head to ringside and glare at the Harlequin entourage. They talk amongst each other and then march into the ring.] SR: Looks like the Goof Phoenix will start off for the Predators. TD: That's Grey Phoenix, Steve Roberts, and you are right. The Harlequins are conferring on the outside -- and in comes Terror! SR: So it's Goof and Terror. TD: Grey, not Goof. SR: Don't correct me again, Dross. [Terror attacks Grey Phoenix before the bell! Chaos, Melody and Comedy cheer him on! Terror establishes that he is the man with a kick to Grey Phoenix's head! Grey Phoenix staggers a bit and Chaos enters the ring, and hits Grey Phoenix with a Side Russian Legsweep! Down goes Grey Phoenix! Bear charges in and powerslams Chaos! Bear then throws Chaos out of the ring with a hiptoss! Refree Dave D'Amato sends both teams back to their corners! Chaos heads back to his own corner to rethink things. Bear points at Chaos, taunting him.] SR: Not much accomplished there. TD: What a way to begin! SR: Terror back in the ring, Melody is massaging Chaos. Bear and Greyson are conferring right now... lot of good that will do! [Grey Phoenix points at Terror. Terror starts heading towards Grey Phoenix and...] TD: Grey Phoenix just tagged out to Bear! Bear charges out and lunges for Terror, Clothesline from Bear but Terror gets up and just shrugs it off. SR: HA! Didn't even phase Terror. Did you see that Dross? Nothing! Terror is laughing at Bear! [Back in the ring Terror locks up with Bear, Bear throws Terror against the ropes but Terror stops himself and launches at Bear...and hits him with his signature Topé! Bear flies outside of the ring! Tragedy seizes the moment and slams Bear with Terror's chainsaw! Comedy adds to the insult by hitting Bear with her happy hammer! Greyson charges over and pushes Comedy away from Bear! Tragedy hits Greyson with the chainsaw!] SR: Fight! Fight! The Quins' are clearing house, Dross! The wimps are getting theirs! TD: Greyson tried to help his own man and get that woman away from Bear! SR: It's just beginning, Dross. Here comes Fitzjerk to ringside... wait a second, what's he carrying? TD: It's that oar again, Steve Roberts! Fitzgerald is coming in to clear house! Fitzgerald heads to the brawl and... SR: Hits Tragedy over the head with the oar! Comedy comes over and begs Fitzgerald to stop, but it's a set-up... [Tragedy gets up and starts trading punches with Fitzgerald. Melody hits Fitzgerald over the head with her happy hammer. Bear and Grey Phoenix have used this time wisely and Bear grabs Fitzgerald's oar and hits Terror upside the head! Grey Phoenix and Bear drag Terror back into the ring! Comedy, Tragedy, Melody and Chaos are beating up on Fitzgerald! Melody looks for Terror and sees the Predators setting up their finishing move on the out cold Terror... and Melody yells to Chaos and Tragedy...] SR: Unbelievable. TD: The Predators have Terror all to themselves, Steve Roberts, as the MVP for this match is Edmund Fitzgerald! [Bear and Grey Phoenix hit their finisher, the Natural Selection! They hit it! Bear goes for the pin as the Harlequins hit the ring en masse... 1 -- 2 -- 3! Dave D'Amato raises the hands of Bear and Grey Phoenix! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, your winners, by pinfall... The Natural Predators! [Tragedy, Comedy, Chaos and Melody hit the ring and attack Bear and Grey Phoenix! Bear gets leveled by Tragedy and Grey Phoenix by Chaos and Melody's happy hammer! Fitzgerald grabs the oar which Bear dropped and hops up on the apron and aims for Tragedy! However, he hits Melody by mistake! Fitzgerald is in shock! Tragedy and Chaos charge after Fitzgerald as the JJS come out to clear house. Cut to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What a match. SR: Those wimps lucked out! TD: I said, "What a match." SR: Where's that Lysol? TD: What a match. SR: Hey, Dross, is your record broken? TD: The rivalry between Tragedy and Edmund Fitzgerald continues unabated, folks -- and you have to wonder when it will be settled. SR: Hey, Dross, is your record broken? TD: What are you talking about, Steve Roberts? SR: Aw, don't mind me, Dross -- just havin' a little fun, eatin' a few biscuits. You know how it is. TD: We're sure to witness a hotly contested match up next, folks, as two of the IIWF's rising young stars step up in the ring. Ronnie Paris... he's been around the IIWF a while, and as much as I hate to admit it, ever since he turned sour several months ago, he's been rocketing up the ladder of contention. Unfortunately, abusing the fans and playing the game dirty seems to be working better for him than sticking to the rules ever did. And then we have "To Excess" Rick Williams, a true hot prospect and a potential superstar in the making. He's already dominated several independent leagues, and if his big mouth doesn't get him into too much trouble, he should have a stellar career here in the IIWF. SR: I like this kid Williams. He's cocky, he's talented, he takes care of business. But unfortunately for him, he's up against the leader of the Soundbite Special Forces tonight, and that means THE elite, baby dolls. Y'know, I really misjudged Paris when he first entered the Double Eye. I thought he was just some lil' puppy, nipping at the heels of the mid-carders and getting bossed around by his woman, but now he's developed the killer attitude to kick the asses out from under any punk dumb enough to stand in his way. Let's face it: Paris wouldn't be adverse to slappin' the taste outta Maggie Collins mouth if she stepped outta line, or slappin' around some freaky Mongolian in a ladder match at Snow Brawl. TD: Japanese, Steve. The Enigma is Japanese. Say it after me - "The Enigma is Japanese". SR: Whatever. Koreans. Injuns. Burmese. They're all the same to me. We kicked their rice bowls in their faces with a big ass atomic bomb, and that learned 'em not to get uppity. U - S - A! U - S - A! U - S - A! [Several drunken rednecks in the audience directly behind the announcing position take up the chant, which falters as quickly as the next swigs of beer are taken.] TD: Good grief. Let's go down to Sparkplug Lee for the introductions. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| "To Excess" Rick Williams vs. Ronnie Paris |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: RD [The spotlight falls on centre ring, where Sparkplug Lee is watching in amusement as several brown shirted security men stomp on the head of a fan in the stands wearing a "Night of the Legends" t-shirt. After the unfortunate man is ejected from the arena and told to dress appropriately next time, Lee raises the mic to his lips.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen! The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, hailing from Minneapolis, Minesota, and weighing in at 257 lbs; here is the most arrogant man alive, "To Excess" Rick Williams! ["Local Hero" by aging guitar navel gazer Mark Knopfler emenates from the loudspeakers, and the crowd begins to jeer and throw trash into the aisle. The well tanned and toned figure of Rick Williams appears in the entranceway, and despite the deafening round of heel heat aimed in his direction, he still wears an arrogant smirk on his face and cockily chews away on his gum. Williams takes his time walking down the aisle, soaking up as much of the crowd's response as he can, his arms open with palms upward as if to say "Hey, look at me."] TD: He certainly seems to enjoy being hated, doesn't he? Undoubtedly, Williams has got a lot of talent and plenty of confidence in his abilities - perhaps too much confidence - but some doubt remains about his will to win and ability to absorb punishment. SR: Well, Rick's gotta prove he's got guts, he's gotta prove he's got more to his act than just preening and strutting, he's gotta show he can go in there and mix it up with his opponents. The IIWF is a rough place these days, and ya' can't get by on just a pretty boy face and a cute nickname. [Williams spits his gum into the crowd, and retaining his perrenial grin of smug self-satisfaction, climbs up into the ring, beginning to limber up.] RA: And his opponent! [Jeers already begin afresh] Hailing from El Paso, Texas, and weighing in at a trim 210 lbs; here is the IIWF's only third generation wrestler, Ronnie Paris! ["Simply the Best" by aging soul belter Tina Turner pumps out over the speakers, and Ronnie Paris steps out into the aisle to a huge heel reaction. Paris is flanked by his four burly, yet dim-witted security goons, and looks even more irate at the crowd's reaction than usual. A pair of fans hold a huge "I Called a Cab for Ronnie Paris" sign out over the aisle barrier, and the Texan pauses to yell at them furiously. This only serves to encourage a chant of "Paris fears Musashi!" in that particular section, and incensed, Paris directs his security goons to rip the sign from the fans' hands and tear it into pieces. Loud boos and paper cups rain thick in the air.] SR: That's the way, Ronnie my man! Don't take no crap from these morons. TD: Paris clearly feels a lot of bitterness at the IIWF fans for not paying him much attention when he was trying to do things the right way in this sport. It's a shame to see such a promising young scientific wrestler take this kind of route in his career, and it certainly seems to have earned him the wrath of the Enigma. SR: If that Belgian has been is all that Paris has to worry about, he'll be laughing for the rest of his career. Let's all dress up in face paint and entertain the kiddies! Scary, scary! TD: Well, Musashi, apart from not being at all Belgian, certainly doesn't seem bothered about whether the youngsters are on his side or not during his latest IIWF stint. In fact, he seems to be pointed in something of a hardcore direction, manifesting a very devilish and dangerous mean streak at times. And has been? If anything, the Enigma seems only to be on the verge of the break-through years of his career. SR: It's strange - something almost gives me the feeling that it's not really you saying that... as if somebody was pulling your strings... TD: I really have no idea what you're talking about, Steve Roberts. Speculation is rampant that the Enigma might show up in some capacity during this bout and take the law into his own hands against Ronnie Paris. These are two guys that plain just don't like each other. SR: What the hell gave that away? [Paris' goons position themselves at key points around the ringside area, keeping a wary eye out for any kind of interference, while Paris steps through the ropes and into the ring. The fans are unrelenting with their chants of "Where's your cab?" and "Enig - ma! Enig - ma!" prompting Paris to lean over the ropes and futilely yell at them to "Shut the hell up!" Abruptly, Big Joey Patrick, the assigned official for the bout, signals for the bell. Ding! Ding! Ding! Rick Williams comes in fast from behind, but Paris is too cagey to be caught unawares, and whips around to meet him, locking up in a collar and elbow tie up. Both wrestlers struggle against each other for several moments, trying to turn the lock up into an advantageous hold, but they stalemate and shrug each other off. Williams grins arrogantly again, while Paris' expression remains one of focused concentration, and they lock up again... This time, Paris rapidly switches to a standing side headlock, applying the pressure. Williams twists his head out of it, then shoves Paris hard in the back, sending him careening into the ropes. Incensed, Paris whips around and slugs at Williams, but the cocky technician ducks away, drops, and rolls out of the ring.] TD: Both competitors opting for a slow pace at the start of the match. Neither of these guys are likely to know much about one another, so we'll be seeing a bit of a feeling out process in the early stages. SR: Bor - ing! Bor - ing! [Williams paces around ringside as the crowd yells at him to get back in there and fight, and Paris beckons him on from centre ring. Finally, Williams opts to slide beneath the bottom rope and back into the ring. He rapidly gains his footing, and locks up with Paris once again. Both men grapple with one another, Williams attempting to twist Paris around into a hammerlock, but the third generation star slips away, then ducks under his opponent's guard with a standing waistlock. Williams attempts to flip out of the hold, but Paris is sharp on his game and utilises the extra momentum to lift Williams up and smash him into the mat with a modified side suplex! Mild pop from all the armchair technicians in the crowd. Paris is straight back on his feet, grabbing William's leg and applying a toehold. William's face grimaces as Paris locks on the pressure, but he arches his back and drives both of his legs up at Paris' chest, forcing him to release his grip and sending him careening back against the ropes. Williams springs to his feet and charges at his opponent with a clothesline, but Paris nimbly drops out of the way and rolls out of the ring.] TD: And this time it is Ronnie Paris with the stalling tactics. Perhaps these two men are attempting to psyche one another out, each hoping that their opponent will grow hot headed and make a mistake. SR: I wish one of them would hurry up and lose their head already. I wanna see some fisticuffs, fat daddy. [Paris paces around ringside, and Williams seems content to wait for him to get back into the ring. The crowd begins to grow restless, yelling at the two technicians to get in there and fight. Patrick begins to count Paris out of the ring, so he rolls back under the bottom rope and springs to his feet. Williams lunges in at Paris, but he back peddles and ducks behind the referee, sheltering himself from any blows. Williams backs up and simply stands in wait, as Paris clings to Patrick's shirt, keeping well out of harms way, but the ref bawls him out and tells him to "Let go of my damn shirt!". A few chants of "Bo - ring! Bo - ring!" go up from the crowd. Paris seems pleased with the fans' reaction and extends a one finger salute high up in the air. Suddenly, Williams chooses this moment to strike, and Paris is taken a little by surprise as he is hit with a kneelift. Paris staggers back into the corner under a hail of fists, but manages to catch most of William's blows on his elbows. Williams follows up, blocking Paris in the corner, but the Texan hooks his arms, preventing him from throwing any more fists, and pushes his way out of the corner in a scrappy clinch.] SR: This is getting ridiculous! Let's see some damn decent offence! TD: Well, both Williams and Paris don't look too eagre to get in there and fight, instead pacing themselves carefully. The fans certainly don't seem to like it, but sometimes it pays off to be cautious. SR: Stuff that! I wanna see a good dust up for my money. TD: Perhaps they've both been watching "Soundbite's Classic Stalls of the Eighties" on home video. SR: Hot damn! Dross goes hardcore! I've been waiting for you to develop a sense of wit, old buddy. [As the two grapplers move to centre ring, Williams manages to wriggle an arm free from the clinch and takes Paris down to the mat with a hip toss. Williams retains his grip on the arm and applies a standing wristlock, prompting Paris to wince in pain and attempt to power up to his feet. Williams applies the pressure, but Paris snakes out his other arm, catching William's own, and takes him down with a modified armdrag. Retaining his grip, Paris quickly presses the advantage by stepping over William's arm and fastening on a figure four armlock! Pop from the fans for the unconventional submission hold. William's face immediately grimaces in agony as the pain takes hold down the length of his arm. Paris grinds his legs down, forcing the pressure... Patrick asks for the submission, but Williams hisses out a "No!" through gritted teeth.] TD: What a great hold from Ronnie Paris, one of the most underrated technicians in the sport. This is the man who traded holds in an even match with Lord Byron, and went the distance with a wiley veteran like Mad Dog Watkins. SR: Williams looks like he's hurtin' bad. I don't think he can last out for much longer... [Paris leans back and grabs onto the top rope for leverage, really putting the strain on William's arm. "To Excess" emits a gasp of pure agony, but still, he refuses to submit... but his eyes are glazing over, and he looks on the point of passing out. Just as Patrick is considering calling for the bell, he looks up and catches sight of Paris illegally using the ropes, and orders him to release the hold. Paris doesn't look too happy about the prospect, but reluctantly complies. Immediately, however, he goes back to work on William's arm, holding it up and then dropping a leg across it. Williams cries out in pain, but Paris drags him up and blasts him into the corner with a short arm clothesline. Paris gets in close, wraps William's arm around the top turnbuckle, and begins to lay hard elbow smashes across it!] TD: Paris is really going to work on William's arm, which is one of the soundest strategies in wrestling - pick a body part, work over it, render it useless for the rest of the match, and then put a submission hold on it. SR: You mean like the giant pink ramrod deathgrip? Is that what you're talking about, Dross man? TD: No, that's not what I'm talking about at all. SR: The wrinkled prawn ball claw hold? TD: Ahem... Never heard of it. SR: The nipple clamp twist top figur... TD: [interrupting] Look, let's just watch the match. [Williams yells out in agony once again as his damaged arm is pounded upon, but he sticks out his other arm and dirtilly claws at Paris' face, gouging at his eyes! Paris shrieks in pain as his tender optics are jabbed and backs away. Williams grins and takes the opportunity to drive a knee hard into his opponent's groin, and Paris stoops over clutching himself, almost sobbing with agony.] TD: What kind of damn wrestling match is this? This is like the Three Stooges versus Elmer Fudd! SR: Well, that might not have been a classic wrestling exchange, but it was pretty damn funny. I guess when you put two dirty players like this in the ring, you can't expect anything less. [Rick Williams, perhaps recognising the need to get down to business at this point, hooks Paris arms behind his back and launches him through the air with a tiger suplex! Paris crash slides on his back across the mat, but does his best to stagger quickly to his feet. It's not fast enough for Williams, however, who lunges in grabbing a leg, hoisting Paris up overhead, and smashing him into the canvas with a T-Bone suplex! Pop from the crowd, finally warming up to the action! Williams is up and dragging Paris to his feet... he clinches his arms around the Texan's midsection, attempting to execute a belly to belly, but Paris manages to block, slip behind Williams, and dump him shoulders first with a German suplex! Paris bridges for the cover: 1 - 2 - kickout by Williams!] TD: Now this is wrestling! Paris and Williams, finally quit messing around and putting on a dazzling exchange of suplexes. SR: Kick his teeth in! TD: Who? SR: Both of 'em! [Both men are up on their feet, Paris taking the initiative with a standing dropkick, depositing Williams to the mat. Paris goes over and grinds the tip of his boot into William's eyes, who writhes in pain down on the canvas. Paris makes sure he stays down there by by putting a couple of stomps to his head, then retreats to the corner, climbing up onto the second turnbuckle and launching himself off with a flying fistdrop... that misses as Williams rolls aside! Paris clutches his sprained wrist and rolls about on the mat in agony. With a smirk, Williams gets up to his feet and dusts himself down over Paris' body. He grabs hold of Paris by the hair, tucks his face under his arm, rocks backwards... blasting Paris into the canvas with an inverted DDT! Big pop from the crowd!] TD: What a maneouvre from "To Excess" Rick Williams! That might be enough to put Paris away... SR: Williams isn't going for the pin, he's going up to the top! [Rick Williams balances himself on the top turnbuckle, measuring up his prone opponent down below, then launches himself through the air, crashing into the chest of Ronnie Paris with an incredible flying elbow smash! Awed pop from the fans! Williams goes for the cover, hooking the leg... Patrick puts on the count: 1 -- 2 -- Paris kicks out!] TD: What resilience from Ronnie Paris! We had something of a sedate match to start with, but now the action is really hotting up! SR: Well, maybe bubbling slightly around the edges... [Williams drags Paris up to his feet, then floors him with a powerful European uppercut! Paris rolls across the mat, gets up to his knees, and begins to beg for mercy! Big heel pop for Paris as, his arms outstretched, he pleads with Rick Williams to end the punishment!] TD: What the...?! What a wimp! It looks like Musashi was right - Ronnie Paris is a coward! SR: Aw hell, he's just... [Roberts is cut off as Williams charges in at Paris, who abruptly springs up and rolls his opponent into a small package!] SR: ...playing possum. [Paris holds the tights as Patrick registers the count: 1 -- 2 -- 3!!] TD: He got him! Unbelievable! Paris got Rick Williams! SR: No he didn't... look, Patrick is shaking his head; he saw Paris pulling the tights. Damn. [Ronnie Paris leaps to his feet and begins arguing furiously with Big Joey Patrick, who shakes his head and firmly tells Paris to concentrate on the match. The Texan is rapidly surprised from behind, however, as Rick Williams hauls him up and blasts him over the knee with an atomic drop! Pop from the crowd! A few cries of "Ass - pump! Ass - pump!" ring out. Paris staggers forward, then breaks into a run, dropping and sliding out of the ring for yet another stall.] TD: Here we go again, I thought this match was really building up to something special, and now Ronnie Paris is taking time outs instead of getting in there and fighting like he wants to win. SR: Hey! The kid took some punishment and now he's having a breather! So what's wrong with that? [The crowd jeers loudly at Ronnie Paris as Rick Williams beckons to him to take the fight back into the ring, but "To Excess" doesn't deign to go out after him either. Paris shakes the cobwebs from his head and wipes the sweat from his brow, then slips back beneath the ropes. The two wrestlers lock up collar and elbow once again, and a huge pop begins to emenate from the head of the aisle, spreading out across the Colisseum... but it isn't for Ronnie Paris, nor is it for Rick Williams.] TD: What the!?... Takezo Musashi is heading down the aisle! The Enigma is here! SR: He's got a ladder! The crazy bastard is carrying a ladder down to the ring with him! Somebody get this rice farmer the hell out of here! TD: What the heck is that he's wearing tonight? [Steve Roberts is unable to respond as he stands up over the announcing table, removing his headset and yelling directions to the dim-witted and slow moving security goons, who slowly herd togethor and block the opening from aisle to ringside. Takezo Musashi continues his slow but steady descent of the aisle, a big pop following in his wake, although there is some consternation as to his striking ring attire... Instead of his usual silver and blue colours, Musashi is wearing black karate style pants decorated with red pentacles sewn down the legs. Red pentacles have also been painted around each of his eyes, instead of the usual shimmering stars. Written across his bare chest, also in bloody red, dripping body paint, is the word "Chaos". Musashi carries a tall steel ladder folded up in a horizontal position across his chest... a telling portent for Snow Brawl.] TD: Look at that wild look in Musashi's eyes! Look at the fire raging in them! We've seen what deadly games Musashi can get up to when he appears like this before, and it could prove very dangerous for Ronnie Paris... or anybody else at ringside, for that matter! SR: [his voice just filtering in through his discarded headset as he yells to Paris' goons] Get the hell down there!... Get down there and kick his ass! [Rick Williams and Ronnie Paris are trading shots up in the ring, seemingly oblivious to the drama unfolding down below them... The four brawny security goons begin to advance slowly down the aisle, rubbing their fists togethor in menacing fashion. Musashi notices the goons and pauses, fixing upon them a psychotic glare that would freeze a lonely deer in it's tracks on an interstate highway. The crowd pop dies down abruptly, breathlessly waiting to see what will transpire... Abruptly, the Enigma breaks into a charge down the last few yards of the aisle, heading directly for the solid wall of flesh blocking his path, leaping up into the air, the ladder poised across his chest, careening into the goons with the cold hard steel, taking them all down to the concrete floor with an all mighty crash! A huge pop explodes from the crowd!] TD: Oh my goodness! Takezo Musashi has just taken out Ronnie Paris' entire security corps with one fell swoop! Unbelievable! SR: What a useless buncha' damn clumsy oafs! What the hell are they getting paid for! Get up you yella' stinkin' stiffs! [Takezo Musashi kips back up to his feet and into a fighting stance, the crowd still popping all around him. The security goons gingerly pick themselves up off the ground, one by one, and come at Musashi from all directions. Musashi takes the first one out with a thrust kick, then pirouhettes and slams another in the throat with a palm strike, sending him toppling over the barriers clutching at his neck. Paris and Williams are still trading furiously in the ring, but abruptly, Paris catches a glimpse of what is transpiring down below and turns more than a little pale. Benefiting from the distraction, Williams hauls him up and cracks him across the knee with a backbreaker slam. Back down on the floor, the third security guard grapples Musashi around the throat from behind, but the Enigma ducks down and flips him overhead with a judo style throw. The fourth goon backs slowly away, the Enigma advancing on him with a firey gleam in his eyes. Musashi lunges in and unloads with a flurry of punches, then whips around and blasts him savagely in the face with a savate kick, flooring him with punishing impact! The fans are popping crazily!] TD: This whole match is degenerating into chaos! Williams and Paris are going at it with a vengeance up in the ring! Musashi has just destroyed Paris' paid mercenaries, and now he looks intent on entering the match! SR: They're not getting up! Damn those overweight oafs! [Paris goes to execute a powerbomb on Rick Williams, but "To Excess" blocks the attempt, and lifts Paris up into the air over his shoulders, dropping back and smashing him into the canvas with a modified Somoan Drop! Down on the arena floor, Musashi is unfolding the ladder, leaning it diagonally up against the ropes, the end stretching out a few inches over the ring, the first step touching the foot of the aisle... Musashi backs up down the aisle, making sure he has a good few paces...] TD: He wouldn't... He couldn't! SR: Jesus Christ! [Musashi charges forward down the aisle, sprinting like a hundred metre runner, springing like a nimble cat right up the ladder steps towards the top rope, reaching the end and using the leverage to launch himself through the air and into the ring, sommersaulting through space, careening down towards Ronnie Paris and crashing into him with an incredible ladder assisted somersault bodypress! Musashi and Paris crash down toward the canvas, Rick Williams diving aside in the nick of time, but Big Joey Patrick not so fortunate, caught in the way, and going down hard sandwiched between the falling bodies! Huge, huge awed and shocked pop from the crowd!] TD: Unbelievable! What a way to make an entrance! What a manouevre! SR: That was just... that was just plain suicidal! Evil Keneival has nothing over this man! [The crowd continues to pop in awe as Musashi picks himself up from the amid the fallen bodies of Joey Patrick and Ronnie Paris, pulling the groggy body of his foe to his feet by the hair, dragging him over to the ropes, right where the ladder is still positioned. Musashi clinches his arms around Paris' midsection from behind, hoists him up into the air in a belly to back suplex position, then drops and drives him down head first over the top rope and into the cold steel of the ladder! Paris jolts violently and topples down to the arena floor, his head busted open from the impact and spilling blood down his face! Another huge pop rocks the Coliseum as Paris sprawls spread eagled and bloody down across the concrete!] TD: Backdriver suplex over the top rope and onto the ladder! This is just plain crazy! Musashi with that patented Backdriver suplex of his... this whole match is outta control! We've gotta get some security down here, Musashi has clearly lost his mind! SR: Not much chance of that, given that bus crash earlier in the day. Ronnie Paris is in a mess! Damn that Musashi, he's gonna be getting it brutal from the Soundbite Special Forces in the near future! [Musashi turns and flashes a dangerous glance at "To Excess" Rick Williams, who has been regarding the whole scene with amusement from a safe distance. Williams simply grins and shrugs his shoulder as if to say "Hey, I ain't got no beef with this" and sits himself comfortably down on the top turnbuckle, happy to let his opponent take a beating as long as it will be of advantage to himself. Musashi turns his attentions back to the ladder, dragging it up over the top rope and into the ring, folding it up once again and setting it up next to the strands. Paris puts his hand to his head, checking the extent of the blood, amazingly still conscious, but having great difficulty getting up to his feet... Musashi scales the ladder, balancing on top with his back facing outside of the ring... Paris staggers up...] TD: What in heck is he gonna do next! I can hardly bear to watch! [The fans collectively draw in their breath, as Musashi launches himself up off the ladder, backflipping through the air, careening down towards the outside of the ring, spinning through an incredible three revolutions... then splashing down onto the staggering figure of Ronnie Paris with super-charged velocity, bringing both men crashing down against the steel crowd barriers! The huge pop erupting from the crowd seems to shake the very foundations of the IIWF Coliseum!] TD: Starsault Press... from the top of the ladder! Starsualt Press to the outside... That has got to be the most incredible feat of dare devil athleticism I have ever seen! Unbelievable! SR: What the!?... Jesus F'n Christ! Jesus... that was just incredible! What a crazy little bastard! The Enigma has well and truly lost it! [The pop dies down again, as the crowd waits with baited breath to see if either Paris or Musashi will still be even alive after the incredible bump... Several long moments pass, and the fans grow uneasy and worried, but slowly, gingerly, Musashi picks himself up off the fallen carcass of Ronnie Paris, and stands firm. He goes and grabs a mic up from the ringside table, and addresses the crowd.] TM: I stand before you now, after taking the most incredible bump of my life! I stand before you now, having done something that no man has ever even dared to attempt before! A Starsault Press from the top of a steel ladder to the outside of the ring -- is there any man who can still doubt the courage and molten steel that flows through my veins? Can any man now doubt the danger that is the Enigma? A fire rages deep within my soul -- it is my spirit of chaos fighting for domination! Ronnie Paris, you earned the wrath of the fans, you earned the wrath of your family, and most deadly of all -- you earned the wrath of the Enigma. See now, the havoc I can wreak upon your accursed body. See now, the torment I can inflict upon your soul. There will never be any end to this, Ronnie Paris, not until there is no longer a breath in your lungs, or a beat in your heart. Ronnie Paris, I say to you, that your final doom approaches... And to the rest of you all... Well, if you think what you saw tonight was a little crazy, a little suicidal, a little beyond the realms of hardcore... well what I gotta say to you is... you ain't seen nothing yet! [A huge pop goes up from the fans at these words, as Musashi slams the microphone into the bleachers, causing a squall of feedback, and begins to head back up the aisle, leaving Paris' motionless body behind him.] TD: Musashi has spoken in recent weeks of the dual sides of his personality -- his calm and focused technician side, and his crazy and dangerous chaotic side, and I guess tonight, more than at any other time, we have seen that hardcore aspect unleashed. I'd like everybody to know, that I don't condone this type of behaviour at all. Musashi was always -- his troubled skirmishes with Joe Petrow notwithstanding -- a man who conducted himself with honour, according to the rules and traditions of this great sport, one of the last of a dying breed... and now he feels the need to behave like this. He has stooped just as low as Ronnie Paris, in my opinion. SR: I can't believe the suicidal moves Musashi performed just now. But I'll tell you this: it's easy for a man to come down here, launch a sneak attack, and claim to be the baddest man on the planet; but when Ronnie Paris recovers, he's gonna be pissed the hell off. And when he's pissed the hell off, he's gonna make life a misery for Takezo Musashi, mark my words. Paris has a few moves of his own, and he has more than enough capability to have this crazy Korean bastard stretchered out of the IIWF for a permanent vacation. TD: Well, they'll be settling up at Snow Brawl, and what a hotly anticipated match that is shaping up to be. I'm not sure how the official result for this bout will go down in the record books, ending as it has in so much chaos, with Joey Patrick still laid out in the ring, but the guess here is a no contest. Rick Williams is heading up the aisle right now, and he doesn't seem too fazed about the whole affair... in fact, he appears quite pleased that somebody other than himself has taken a beating. [Ronnie Paris' security goons finally decide to regroup, and as their mentor shakes his head and begins to show signs of life, they help him up to his feet. Paris, however, is not at all receptive to their aid, shoving them aside and yelling furiously as he wipes the blood from his forehead. After catching his breath on the guard rail for several moments, Paris begins to head up the aisle, his goons following uncertainly in his wake. The look of pure rage in Paris' eyes is enough to silence even the most disrespectful of fans, and before he dissapears through the entrance curtain, he turns and slashes his hand across his throat, signalling a future of pain for the Enigma. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, we're heading towards the end of our first hour here tonight, folks -- the "Enigma" is scheduled up for action next to face Christopher Stonebreaker. We've got all kinds of action coming your way in our next hour -- but right now, let's go to some pre-taped comments from the new IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, the man who has been called out here tonight by Brody Thunder... let's hear from Steve "the Fury" Kowalski! [Cut to footage captioned, "Earlier This Week." Tim Dross and Steve Kowalski are seated in a studio, between them a small table adorned with a jug of water -- and a four-pack of Mooselips, apparently placed there by the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, whose shiny new belt is proudly placed on his lap.] TD: Mr. Kowalski -- or should I say Mr. Champion? Thank you for coming here today to share your thoughts with us. SK: Hey, no problem, Timmy. Time is on my side an' the clock ain't started runnin' yet. Let's start chewin' the fat. TD: Right. Last IIWF Saturday Night of 1997. Steve Kowalski. Brody Thunder. Serge Annis. Three of the toughest men in the IIWF now set to clash in a three way dance for the title. A title at which _you_ have a shot at Snow Brawl. All men are beaten within an inch of their lives. All of you are seconds away from winning, no clear cut advantage in sight. In comes Mad Dog Watkins. Out goes Annis' chance at besting you and realizing his championship dreams. Down goes Thunder and down goes his championship reign. SK: Ya got a good memory, Timmy. I can barely remember Tuesday night. TD: You become the new IIWF Champion and gain a victory over your most fierce competitors. But did Mad Dog win that belt of yours? SK: No. _I_ won the strap. I don't think Brody ever handed it over to me. I know as hell Anus didn't step aside... I took it plain an' simple. TD: Are the Mad Dog and the Fury running together? SK: Nope. TD: How do you account for him being there? Why did he make his return on this very night? SK: The Ol' Dog got his own logic an' I can't figure 'im out most of the time. But I do know one thing... He whooped Serge's ass! Let 'im dance with Serge fer a while. Maybe we'll find out if he's in game shape. TD: Do I detect a small ounce of respect... some well deserved respect for the Epitome of Evil? SK: [smiling] Well... he's tough, ya gotta give 'im that. An' he don't give a rat's ass about his body when he throws down. But yeah... I gotta give the devil's due. I'll still call him Anus, though. I'll go as far as to say... future IC champ. Q-ball has really lost it. TD: Predictions... respect... What else is the IIWF champion giving out this week? SK: A big [BLEEP] you to Brody! I said it, Cowpoker, an' it happened. I said I would tear ya a new one an' it got torn... big time! TD: Please, Mr. Kowalski, we have to show this on prime time. Our sponsors are already worried about the image you portray as the new IIWF poster boy. SK: Ha ha! They should worry, 'cause I don't give a crap about what product the IIWF's pushin' or what friggin' demographic we need to sell to. I put cans in the seats. I wrestle... they will come! Period. I said I was gonna lead this fed outta the darkness an' into the light. An' junior... did ya notice the lights got switched on Saturday? TD: There is still the matter of Snow Brawl. SK: What 'bout it? Everyone knows that Snow Brawl is Fury's PPV. TD: That's what they say, but talk is cheap and this is a new year. This year it's a rematch between you and Brody Thunder. The "Lone Wolf" has more than the belt riding on the line, he is looking to regain his pride. SK: I took his pride last week an' in two weeks I'll take what's left. Whatever that may be. TD: You have to agree that in a confrontation of that magnitude that... SK: Timmy, give it a [BLEEP]in' rest already! Tell Spreadbury I'm sorry I busted everyone's bubble an' killed his buyrate. Tell Annis I'm sorry he has to wait to be the next big thing. Then when yer done with that, tell Brody I'm just broken up over makin' his career an afterthought. He jus' couldn't get out of his own way, could he? I'll even tell ya I'm sorry for killing the hype fer Snow Brawl. But I ain't gonna tell I'm sorry fer bein' the champ. 'Cause I'm the best! TD: Okay. You're the champ and you're the best out there. What about all the partying and madness since you acquired the championship? People have always said that it was a matter of time until you got the IIWF title, sooner or later, by hook or by crook. The problem being you felt that way as well, and in turn, don't appreciate what you have accomplished. Are you ready to deal with all that comes with being a champion? SK: Havin' a good time? Yep. Is the party gonna continue? Yep. Yeah, there was never any doubt in my skull that I was gonna get the strap. It's my third belt in a year. [BLEEP], I'm the only triple crown winner in the IIWF. No man can make a claim to that. Maybe someday I'll find me a partner an' grab the tag belts. Makin' history is a regular fer me. TD: Your confidence is overwhelming, Steve. Do you understand that now you are no longer the hunter? You are now the hunted. There is a target on your back now. This is the zenith of our sport and yo seem completely unfazed. SK: I ain't changin' for nobody. My equation fer success has been "A good ass kickin' = Good Push." Plain an' simple. An' until some punk in the roster can shake my foundation, I'm stickin' to the equation. Hey, Timmy, I don't expect the fed to bow down or kiss my ass now that I'm the strap holder. But I do want them to realize that I a [BLEEP]damn tyrant! Jus' like the great ones... Otto... Casey. I'm not gonna sit back an' get fat on this. I'm gonna wave it in front of these animals an' see which one bites. I'm still tryin' to whip this fed into shape an' I got a lot of work to do. If it takes thirty men comin' after me day after day to do it, then that's what we're gonna do. TD: So you're going do roll up your sleeves and keep working at it, eh? SK: I may jus' roll'em up an' work ya over, Timmy. TD: I still remember that near-miss SKULLPUMP you tried to catch me in. SK: [laughing] Ya know I like ya, Timmy. TD: I just don't like how you show it. Do you have any closing comments for the folks at home? SK: Ya mean like "Kids eat yer vitamins or ya might die"? TD: Never mind. SK: Ya gotta lighten up, Timmy. [Kowalski grabs one of the cans of Mooselips and shakes it, before opening it in Dross' direction. Under a rain of frothy beer, Dross leaps out of his set and out of the shot. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Jim Jividen | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | brokeback@webtv.net | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+