________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour two...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon 10 January 1998 [Fade through to interior shots of the IIWF Coliseum, fireworks erupting around the ring entrance area and high above the rigging in the rafters of the jam-packed arena. The shot cuts rapidly between various sections of the crowd, fans waving at the cameras, holding aloft their signs and showing off their merchandise. Eventually, the shot comes to rest on the broadcast table at ringside, at which are seated Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts.] TD: Welcome back to the IIWF Coliseum for the second hour of tonight's action packed show! In the next sixty minutes, we have some incredible matches coming your way -- Billy Shakespeare will face "To Excess" Rick Williams, the returning Mad Dog Watkins will go up against the "Epitome of Evil", Serge Annis... SR: [interrupting] Speak of the devil, Dross. Look who's coming to town. [A big pop erupts from the crowd as the shot cuts to the aisle, into which Serge Annis has just strode purposefully.] TD: Serge Annis is here with an unscheduled appearance. SR: To hell with the schedule, Dross. Let's hear what the firebug has to say. [Annis does not flash his trademark zippo lighter. Annis does not grin, or smile. Instead, Annis' look is cold -- very cold. Serge is not even wearing his regular clothes, or ring costume. Annis is wearing a pair of blue jeans, unlike all his other black jeans, and a black undershirt with no catchy phrase, or witty remark spread over it. The shirt is bare black. Annis is wearing a black leather jacket over it, which resembles his Genesis jacket, minus the logos. The most notable difference about Serge is that he is now sporting a small beard, as if he has not shaven for several days.] TD: Something about Annis says he is not in a good mood. SR: When has the guy ever been in a good mood? TD: Point taken. [Annis walks to the ring, and walks around ringside avoiding contact, or any association with the fans at ringside. Annis walks right over to Dross and Roberts at ringside. Annis immediately reaches out and grabs Dross by his collar, and pulls him forward, almost over the table.] SA: You get your damn microphone out, 'cause you have an interview to cut. SR: Get your hands off my buddy Dross! [Annis raises his fist to hit the Soundbite.] SR: Take him! Take him! He's yours! Here's your mic! [Annis lets go of Tim Dross' collar when Tim nods his head in agreement, and Roberts hands a microphone to Dross in passing. Annis watches over Dross like a hawk, and follows him up the ring apron, and into the ring. Tim takes a moment to compose himself.] TD: Serge, we haven't heard from you in weeks. We saw you attempt to get involved with the World title street match last Saturday, but only for a brief second. And now you come back, totally unannounced. You look different. You wrestle Mad Dog Watkins later tonight in his return match. What is the meaning of all this? SA: I have the answers that everyone doesn't want to hear, Dross. I have that opinion no one cares to notice. And if you pay attention, Dross, and look at the facts... I am the voice of reason, the voice of logic. And above all else... I am the voice of intimidation, fear... and true evil. Not some pansy-assed wolf with a shirt. [Big heel pop from the fans! A "Thun-der! Thun-der!" chant breaks out in the fans, drawing absolutely no reaction from Annis, who simply looks to Dross once more.] TD: Mr. Annis, I believe there are quite a few questions that come to mind when I hear your name. SA: Ask away, Dross, I'm all ears. TD: Well, I believe the obvious one is, about Mad Dog Watkins first costing you the IIWF World Heavyweight title two weeks ago here on Saturday Night, and then last week he stated he's starting with you. [Annis is silent for a moment as a pop follows after Watkins' mention.] SA: You're wrong, Dross. That is not the obvious question. TD: Uhm... all right. How about losing the IIWF title match? You had victory close in hand, and it was taken away from you. The one thing you have strived for, taken away at the last moment. SA: "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder, I'm addressing you first. You poor, poor baby. You lost your damn title, and you came out here last week, talking about how it was more like a tag team match, or something like that. You said you're not whining. I call your bluff, Brody. I think you were crying it up on the inside, Thunder. What the hell gives you the right to come out here and demand a goddamned World title match, like you did last week?! What the hell were you doing? You were being the selfish S.O.B you are, "son." You have your shot at Snow Brawl, Thunder. You didn't need that shot. I DID! Had I known I could walk out here and demand my match, I would have! You were beat, Thunder. It was me and Kowalski. You didn't get robbed, _I_ did. [Big heel pop from the fans, the "Thun-der!" chant once again rising in pitch, now being joined by a "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" chant. Annis merely grabs the microphone, pulling Dross' hand closer, as he continues to speak, his voice rising in intensity.] SA: _I_ deserved the re-match. But now you got your belt back, and I'm sure you're happy. Well, screw the psycho-man once more... see if I give a damn. TD: Uh, I'm not sure I follow that, Serge. SA: Thunder, after Snow Brawl, you may or may not be World champion. [Annis gives a wry smile.] SA: Hell, if you're _not_, you won't even be here. Either way, you know what that doesn't mean much to me. I'm going to go out, and win that Lethal Lottery thing, and I'm going to get that world title shot. Either way, if I demand my rightful re-match now... or I am guaranteed it after Snow Brawl, one way or another, I'm getting that World title, and you can bet, I will wait a month. Unlike you, I'm a patient man. [Annis finally looks out to the crowd, rather than at Dross. Annis gives an evil, cold-hearted stare out to the world, and then back to Dross.] SA: Steve Kowalski... [The mere mention of Kowalski's name is enough to prompt the fans into huge "Fury! Fury!" and "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" chants. Annis does not smile now -- his face is completely cold once more.] SA: Kowalski, keep your respect for someone that wants it. In a way, I almost appreciate it, though... I've been fighting for respect for months in the IIWF, and it seems you are just about the first to acknowledge it. But, Steve, you won't be respecting me much longer. Oh no. I'm going to do so many sick things to you that you're gonna lose all that respect you earned. You couldn't be any more right when you said Serge Annis didn't step aside. And Kowalski, Annis ain't stepping nowhere. You think you got by Annis on your way to Snow Brawl, think again. Future IC champ, eh? [Annis spits on the ground resulting in a small pop.] SA: That IC championship is nothing to me any more. I want the gold, Kowalski. Whether it be yours, or Thunder's. Whoever owns that World title gets Serge Annis with it. TD: Now, the big topic. Mad Dog Watkins. SA: Mad Dog Watkins... how I hate thee so. I am not going to welcome you back to the IIWF... because I'm going to knock you out on your ass too soon for 'em to notice you, Dog. [Big pop!] SA: You cost me the IIWF World title. I had victory in my hands, Dross. Literally, in my hands. You know, I don't think that title means more to anyone than it does to me. It means the months and months of disrespect... the months of hiding in the shadows. The taunting. The disrespect. It all ends. It all ends when that title is wrapped around my waist. Serge Annis, the over-rated hack. The never-was. The King of minor league feds. I heard every one of the comments and jokes that the commentators, wrestlers and fans said. Every single one of 'em. Serge Annis' Genesis days are over, boys. I'm the last one left, and I'll be damned before I get put out the way the others were. I'm here to stay. And that title proves it. And Mad Dog Watkins, YOU RIPPED ME OFF! [Annis tears the microphone out of Tim Dross' hand and points and shouts right to the camera.] SA: You ripped me off you [bleep]! You ripped me off, because I am the mid-carder that gets carried to main events by Kowalski and Thunder. I'm your stepping stone to retain your status here in the IIWF. Well, you can damn well bet this, Dog... this mid-carder's gonna kick your ass! You got what you wanted! You pissed me off, Dog. You pissed me off beyond belief! You robbed me! And I'm going to pay you back! I'm going to cost you what you want the most... to regain your position at the top of the ladder. You should have picked someone else to piss off, Dog... because you see... I have a little problem dealing with my anger. Yeah, it's a real problem, but I think it's more or less _your_ problem now! Dog, remember that guy that put you out the IIWF in the first place? Yeah, the red-gloved rookie? [Pop for the mention of former IIWF superstar Creed!] Well, I turned him into the one-eyed rookie. [Heel pop!] He's gone, and I'm the one that saw to that. Know your place, Dog... and roll over and beg for forgiveness... because the Epitome is sending you straight on a ride through Hell -- and I don't think you're gonna like what you see! You got what you wanted. The Epitome is mighty pissed at "the old man that doesn't know his spot." Well Dog, your spot is six feet under! Not because of your age -- but because that is exactly where I am gonna put you, later tonight! [Annis is so focused on the camera that Tim Dross, sensing the hostility and anger in Annis' voice, slips out of the ring and back to his seat unnoticed.] SR: [over headset] He's gonna be mad when he sees you left. SA: Shadoe Rage, I'm making you this statement... and challenge. Rage, I want to make something clear to you. You aren't worth my time, energy and focus right now. But you stepped in and played super hero last week. So unfortunately, you got it. Now you can add yourself to my little hit-list. But don't pride yourself on anything, except the fact you know your neck is gonna be snapped! You had the guts to laugh in my face, Rage. And I'm going to teach you a lesson, all about guts. After I rip them out of your body, I'll lay 'em down in the ring, and I'll point out each and every one of them to you and teach you which ones caused you to make such a boneheaded mistake of crossing my path! [Big pop for this somewhat graphic description!] Right now, Rage, I couldn't be bothered worrying about you. I have much better and bigger things to be concerned with, like the Dog and winning Snow Brawl... but after that... the next Saturday Night, get your carcass into the ring. Step into the ring with the mad man known as the Epitome. You'll serve as a warning to all... don't cross my path. For when you raise the ire of the Epitome... you raise each and every soul in Hell, and set yourself up for a collision with your own personal apocalypse. Next week, Rage, answer my challenge. Look at me eye to eye in the ring... gaze into the eyes of a madman. And see the burning hatred I have for you, and everyone else in this federation. Answer my call... I dare you... heh heh... [Annis grins for a moment, then contorts his facial expression back to its original mold.] SA: And for Snow Brawl... I have the Dog as my tag team partner. And "To Excess" Rick Williams. Williams... don't mess with me. We can work together and stand a better chance at winning this thing... or you can cross my path too, like the Dog. And you will suffer. Williams, work with me, and I can promise you a chance to get further. After that, I shall snap your neck... but either way, you will get hurt. Duncan Macbeth... you finally won the Intercontinental title, and I send out my congratulations, and my respect. You finally earned it. You kilt wearing freak. Heh heh... but at Snow Brawl, I'm not showing any respect for you, Mota or your little pal, "Rocket Man" Timothy Turner. Talk about the _REAL_ Culture Club. Trust me, it ain't Genesis. It's that crew. Just because I have some form of respect for you Macbeth, don't think it will get you off easy. I'm still going to dine on your soul, and I will beat the hell out of you. Heh heh. Turner, he's a joke of a Cruiserweight champion... Flying around on that pretty lil' jet pack of his? Sooner of later you and that jet pack are gonna crash and burn... and when something's burning, you know Serge Annis is near... heh heh. Come Snow Brawl, I don't give a damn who gets in my way... _NO ONE_ is gonna stand in my way, and prevent me from getting what is _RIGHTFULLY_ mine: respect... power... and the IIWF World Championship. I made a promise to my Mother this Christmas... and Serge Annis _always_ keeps a promise... [Annis drops the mic, and turns to exit the ring. Annis does not even notice Dross' absence. Annis makes his way back up the aisle, with no music, to a very large pop. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, a very, uh, _intense_ Serge Annis here tonight, folks -- and he'll be wrestling Mad Dog Watkins after the conclusion of our next match, pitting IIWF legend "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare against a man who aspires to that self-same title... "To Excess" Rick Williams. Let's get up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare vs. |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| "To Excess" Rick Williams ....................................................................... WRITER: Shawn Kilpatrick [Sparkplug Lee steps through the ropes and pulls out a card from his tuxedo jacket, raising the ring mic to his mouth to begin the introductions.  There is a short pause as he squints at the card in confusion, and then the camera and a good number of the fans at ringside see the horror on Lee's face as he realizes he's just pulled out a business card from the Beaver Trap.  Lee turns a bright scarlet as the fans razz him mercilessly, and frantically fishes around in his pocket for the correct card.] TD: Oops.  I certainly hope Mrs. Lee isn't watching our broadcast tonight, Steve. SR: Just what the hell is he doing with a card from that house of sin?  Shameful! TD: Well, it's probably just a mistake...I'm sure a fine, upstanding gentleman like Sparkplug has no need of something like that. SR: Yeah... you'd think ol' Sparky'd have the address of that dive _memorized_ by now, Dross!  Ha!  [Lee finally finds the correct card, and sheepishly begins the introductions.] SL: Ahem... ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall.  Introducing first, hailing from Minneapolis, Minnesota and weighing in at 257 pounds, here is... "TO EXCESS" RICK WILLIAMS! [Mark Knopfler's "Local Hero" swirls throughout the Coliseum as Williams enters the aisle to a fair amount of heel heat from the fans. Williams' long black hair is tied back in a tight ponytail, and he scowls at several fans along the aisle as he makes his way slowly to ringside, chewing away at his ever-present wad of gum.  As the crowd continues to boo him lustily, Williams steps through the ropes and struts cockily around the ring, showing off his physique and inciting even more heat from the crowd. Williams just smirks with an incredible air of arrogance at the taunts of the fans, and finally pulls his ponytail loose, flicking the hairband in referee Joey Patrick's face as he comes over to inspect him.] TD: Rick Williams looks extremely confident going into this match, Steve Roberts.  This is a man who sees himself as the future of the IIWF, going so far as to call out many of the IIWF's old guard of veterans, including his opponent tonight, "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare. SR: Yeah, and I remember a group of morons who claimed to be the "future" of the IIWF a while back, Dross.  You remember, their boss was a big guy, white hair, stupid lookin', couldn't play the guitar to save his life... where are they now? TD: Indeed.  I hope Mr. Williams has taken note of Genesis' example, Steve. SR: He's still gonna kick Pukespeare's butt, though. SL: And his opponent, weighing in at 230 pounds and hailing from Ashland, Oregon, here is the man who was "Born To Perform"... "SPOTLIGHT" BILLY SHAKESPEARE! [The fans pop wildly as "Little Willie" by The Sweet pounds out of the P.A. and the popular Shakespeare appears in the aisle, grinning broadly and waving to the crowd.  Shakespeare slaps as many hands as possible all down the aisle before stepping through the ropes and gesturing to Sparkplug Lee for the ring mic.] TD: Billy Shakespeare receiving a great ovation from this capacity crowd... and it appears he would like to say a few words before the match, Steve. SR: Oh great.  If we have to listen to another boring soliloquy from "Hamlet", I'm outta here.  Methinks thou doth protest too much, moron. [A chorus of "Shooteth, Soundbite!  Shooteth!"  rises from behind the announcers' table, as Roberts folds his arms across his chest, leans back in his chair, and looks proudly over to Dross.] SR: They's is quick, ain't they, Dross? TD: Good grief. [In the ring, Shakespeare has the ring mic in his hand, and steps into the centre of the ring until he is nearly nose-to-nose with Williams, who chews away at his gum while he glares down at the Oregonian.] BS: Rick Williams... you said you wanted the spotlight... [Shakespeare reaches behind him and pulls something out of the back of his trunks.] BS: Well, HERE IT IS! [Shakespeare suddenly whips the object around and sticks it in Williams' face, and as his thumb presses a button, we see that the object is a pen-sized flashlight, and the sudden bright beam of light in his eyes causes Williams to recoil in surprise!  Pop from the crowd!  Shakespeare laughs out loud, but his laughter is soon cut off when the enraged Williams slaps the penlight out of his hand and floors Shakespeare with a lightning-quick left!  Patrick calls for the bell to start the match - Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] TD: We're off and running here, folks!  Billy Shakespeare gave Rick Williams a small taste of the spotlight he's been craving, and now Rick Williams is giving it to Shakespeare! SR: Dumb move by Pukespeare, Dross. Williams isn't a guy who's gonna stand for a lot of fooling around, and he's paying for that little stunt right now. [Williams drags Shakespeare to his feet, fires off a pair of forearm smashes that snap Shakespeare's head back, and sends him into the ropes, preparing for a back body drop.  But on the rebound, Shakespeare vaults over Williams' back, twists in the air, and lands facing Williams from behind!  Williams spins around, and is met by a soaring drop kick to the chin by Billy Shakespeare!  Big pop!] TD: What a move by Shakespeare!  The man who was "born to perform" pulls out a spectacular aerial manoeuvre to turn the tables on Williams! SR: Yawn.  Okay, Billy, I'm ready for that soliloquy now...  [Shakespeare locks on an armbar, and pulls Williams to his feet, exerting tremendous pressure on the right shoulder joint of the Minnesotan, who tries to break the hold by swiping at Shakespeare's head and trying to grab a handful of hair.  Shakespeare slips each attempt, and pours on the pressure, causing Williams to grunt with pain, and complicates matters for Williams even further when he bends the arm behind Williams' back, curls in back to back with Williams, and lifts him up into a chickenwing!  Williams crams in agony as the crowd pops for Shakespeare!] TD: An unusual move for Billy Shakespeare, but an effective one nonetheless.  Joey Patrick is moving in to check for the submission... no!  Williams kicks his legs up and rolls over the top! SR: Hey, Dross -- I kicked a leg up and rolled over the top once.  TD: Let me guess... the best weekend of your life? SR: Hardly, baby dolls.  That was the best _month_. TD: Ah. [Williams lands face-to-face in front of the surprised Shakespeare, and drives a kick into the Oregonian's abdomen, doubling him over, and Williams is quick to send Shakespeare head-first into the mat with a DDT!  Williams picks himself up, measures the prone Shakespeare, and drops a knee hard into the back of Shakespeare's skull, sending him bouncing on the mat in pain.  As Shakespeare clutches the back of his head, Williams circles, pulls Shakespeare up, and applies a facelock.] TD: Fisherman suplex from Rick Williams!  Williams bridges for the pin... 1 - 2 - Shakespeare kicks out! SR: Williams is taking control of this match now, Dross.  He's said that old guys like Pukespeare and the Subway Stinker should get out of the way for the new blood, and he's gonna show ol' BS why right now.  You know, I could get to like this guy... [Williams springs to his feet, pulls up Shakespeare, and stands beside him, grapevining his right leg with Shakespeare's left.  Williams pulls Shakespeare's left arm behind his head, applies a reverse facelock with his right arm, and snaps Shakespeare back to the mat with a vertical neckbreaker!  Shakespeare's head bounces off the canvas, and Williams goes for the pin again - 1 - 2 - kickout!  Big pop for Shakespeare!] TD: A devastating move from Williams, and Shakespeare is in real trouble now.  SR: You know, now that I think of it, Williams isn't proving a thing by slapping around a moron like Pukespeare.  He's just lucky that J.W. Hardin or the Butcher aren't around to hear him shooting his mouth off about the old guard.  TD: He certainly seems to have matters well in hand at the moment, Steve. SR: You just keep playing with the little fish, big boy. [Williams picks up Shakespeare again and sends him into the ropes for a lariat, but Shakespeare has the presence of mind to duck under!  Both men hit the ropes again, and this time, it is Shakespeare on the attack with a kick to Williams' midsection... which Williams catches!  Williams grins cockily into Shakespeare's face, and the disappointed pop from the fans suddenly turns wild, as quick as a flash, Shakespeare converts Williams' counter into an enzuigiri, pole-axing Williams to the mat!] TD: Billy Shakespeare absolutely cold-cocked Rick Williams with that move, but now both men are down!  Shakespeare has absorbed a tremendous amount of punishment so far in this match, and he is slow to get up! SR: That's what the ladies at the Beaver Trap say about Sparkplug, too, Dross.  Poor guy. [Shakespeare does manage to get up, and leans against the ropes to collect himself as Williams rolls over onto his back, his chest heaving. With a sudden burst of speed, Shakespeare charges across the ropes, leaps over the body of Williams and hits the opposite ropes, coming off with a Japanese-style powerdrive elbow across the throat of Rick Williams!  Big pop!  Williams clutches his throat, slamming his feet on the mat in agony, as Shakespeare picks himself up again, gaining momentum, and climbs up the turnbuckles, reaching the top and flipping backwards towards Williams!] TD: Moonsault from Shakespeare!  SR: NO!  Williams got his knees up!  Ha! [Shakespeare crashes point-blank into Williams' outstretched shins after arcing gracefully through the air, and he crumples to the mat clutching his ribs, seeming to deflate like a balloon with a slow leak.  Williams struggles to get to his feet, looks down at the curled up Shakespeare, and despite his own pains, begins to smile malevolently!] TD: We may have just witnessed the final turning point in this match, Steve Roberts!  It's a well-known fact that "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare has had recurring problems with his rib cage his whole career as a result of his high-risk style, and he may have just aggravated that condition with that attempted moonsault! SR: Williams is back in the driver's seat now, Dross.  It'd take a real moron to screw this one up. [Williams scoops up Shakespeare, lifts him up into a crucifix position, and drops him sideways into a modified rib-breaker that takes the wind out of Shakespeare again, but Williams does not let go, lifting Shakespeare up and dropping him across the knee again!  Heel pop! Williams lets Shakespeare spill to the mat, and goes for a pin: 1 - 2...] SR: Three!  He got him! TD: Joey Patrick is holding up two fingers, Steve.  Shakespeare just got a shoulder up, but the way Williams is working on Shakespeare's ribs, it may only be a matter of time. [Williams glares at Patrick, who motions to the Minnesotan to carry on with the match, and pulls Shakespeare up again, this time moving behind Shakespeare and bending him over backwards with a reverse facelock, causing Shakespeare to bellow in discomfort.  His complaints are quickly cut off, though, when Williams suddenly drives Shakespeare's head into the mat with an inverted DDT!  Big heel pop!  Williams covers for another pin as Patrick drops into position: 1 - 2 - Shakespeare just manages to kick out!] TD: Shakespeare beats the count again, and look at Williams' face!  He was sure he had him that time! SR: He's getting frustrated, Dross, and that's bad news.  I never got frustrated -- I used to just take my time. TD: Steve -- you took _all_ the time. [Cut to a clip of "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, clad in flame-airbrushed tights with the words "DISCO INFERNO" written across his rear, standing on the floor outside of a wrestling ring with his hands on his hips as the referee counts him out.  The ref reaches eight when the ring bell suddenly sounds, cutting the count off, and Roberts breaks into a huge grin and taps his head as the ring announcer can be heard saying "Ladies and gentlemen, the result of this contest... is a time limit draw!"] SR: Dross... get a life. [Cut back to live action. Williams is clearly angry at once again failing to put Shakespeare away, and he drives several right hands into Shakespeare's face before being warned off by Patrick.  The incensed Williams pulls Shakespeare back to his feet, sets him up for a suplex... and is pulled down into a cradle by Shakespeare!  Patrick drops: 1 - 2 - kickout from Williams! Disappointed pop from the crowd!] TD: Desperation move there from Billy Shakespeare, and he nearly caught Rick Williams napping! [Williams springs back to his feet, furious, and begins viciously putting the boots to the exhausted Shakespeare, who is barely able to ward off the blows, and Patrick steps in again to break it up, but Williams just shoves the official aside and hauls Shakespeare up by the hair, shouting "You damn sure ain't gonna get up from Excessive Force, old man!" and facelocks the fan favourite as the heel heat rises to fever pitch in the Coliseum!] TD: Rick Williams is going for his patented neckbreaker finisher -- if Shakespeare can't find a way out of this, it could be all over! SR: He's done like dinner, Dross.  Here comes the big hurt. [Williams rocks Shakespeare back and forth in the facelock, building up the momentum, and then snaps Shakespeare around viciously, wrenching his neck and driving him into the mat with incredible force!  Shakespeare appears to be on the verge of unconsciousness, his eyelids fluttering as Williams stands over him, nodding his head in self-approval, and grins at the fans as they boo and taunt him, mockingly drawing a finger across his neck before covering Shakespeare for the pin.  Joey Patrick moves in for the count: 1 - 2 - 3!  Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] TD: It's all over!  He got him! SR: About goddamn time, too.  I get so bored watching Pukespeare get his ass kicked week after week.  What's up next, Dross? [Williams leaps into the air, his arms raised in victory, but Joey Patrick is on his feet, shaking his head and waving off the decision to the timekeeper!  The crowd pops wildly as Patrick waves his arms back and forth in front of Williams, signaling the washout!  "Local Hero" does not play, and Williams whirls on Patrick, his eyes flashing fire, and screams at the official, but Patrick stands his ground, and points down at the prone Shakespeare.  Williams looks, and turns noticeably scarlet with rage!] TD: Shakespeare got his foot on the ropes!  Joey Patrick has waved off the three-count!  This match is still on, Steve Roberts! SR: Great.  Just great.  Doesn't Pukespeare realize this match is hurting _me_ more than it is him? TD: I seriously doubt that, Steve. [Williams is absolutely beside himself with anger, and instead of applying another move on Shakespeare, he reaches through the nearby ropes, and snatches the ring bell off the timekeeper's table!  Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my goodness!  Rick Williams has snapped, Steve!  He's got that ring bell and... GOOD GOD! SR: Now, _this_ is great! [Dross is cut off as Williams raises the bell high over his head, and brings it down hard across the temple of Billy Shakespeare!  Deafening heel pop!  Shakespeare's body jolts as the pain stabs through his skull, and the berserk Williams hauls back for another strike before the bell is wrenched out of his hands by Joey Patrick!  Patrick slides the bell under the bottom rope to the timekeeper, and motions to the ringside official as Williams viciously kicks Shakespeare into a corner behind him -- Ding!  Ding!  Ding!] TD: Rick Williams has just been disqualified!  Try as he might, he just couldn't manage to put "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare away in that match, and his frustration just got the better of him!  SR: Moron.  That match was practically gift-wrapped for him, and he blew it.  Well, at least he's dealing with it well... [Williams continues to kick furiously at Shakespeare, who can no longer defend himself, and a mighty pop rises from the crowd as a team of security guards charges down to ringside, led by...] TD: IT'S MARTY WARNETT!  Marty Warnett is on his way to the ring! SR: All right!  Shakespeare's gonna get punked by Williams _and_ Walnut! This ain't so bad, Dross! [Warnett hits the ring and dives under the bottom rope, grabs Williams by an arm and whirls him around, and kicks him in the gut, doubling the Minnesotan over, and drives him into the mat with a lightning-quick DDT! Warnett is on his feet in an instant, kicking the stunned Williams out of the ring and into the waiting arms of the security team, who quickly usher the disoriented wrestler up the aisle and out of the arena as the fans pelt him with trash.  Back in the ring, Warnett looks over to Shakespeare, who is slumped in the corner, blood trickling out of a corner of his mouth, and slowly walks over to him.] TD: Warnett now moving over to Shakespeare -- will we see a truce of sorts here? SR: Hell, no!  Warnett should finish him while he's down!  It's just the right thing to do, Dross! [Warnett bends down, grabs Shakespeare by a wrist, and gingerly pulls the Oregonian to his feet, and the crowd signals its approval with a huge pop!  Shakespeare is clearly still confused, shaking his head to clear his vision after Williams' brutal assault... and sees Marty Warnett standing in front of him, checking the injuries to Shakespeare's face and head.  Shakespeare's eyes flash with anger, and as the crowd continues to cheer, roughly shoves Warnett back!] TD: No!  Marty Warnett is only trying to help Billy Shakespeare, but Shakespeare still apparently regards Warnett as a threat! SR: Ungrateful punk! I told you Warnett should have finished him off, Dross. [The cheers of the crowd fade to a confused buzz, as Warnett shakes his head, protesting to Shakespeare, but Shakespeare jabs a finger at the Welshman, warning him not to come any closer.  Warnett continues to plead to Shakespeare, trying to convince him of his good intentions, and takes a step forward, extending a hand to the Oregonian.  Shakespeare glares at Warnett's outstretched hand, and answers this offer of truce by lashing out and striking Warnett across the face with the palm of his hand!] TD: Oh my goodness!  What has gotten into Billy Shakespeare?  Warnett just saved him from Rick Williams, and he paid him back by slapping him in the face! SR: I can't believe I'm gonna say this, but... KICK HIS ASS, WARNETT! [The only sound in the Coliseum is the reverberation of the slap as it echoes over and over, as the crowd stares in silence at Shakespeare's action.  Warnett stares at Shakespeare, more shocked than hurt by the slap, but Shakespeare just stares coldly back, eyes glinting like steel, and steps through the ropes, glowering as he makes his way up the aisle and out of the arena.  Warnett just watches him go in disbelief, hands on hips and shaking his head, then climbs down to the floor and follows him out.  The crowd continues to buzz in confusion, unsure who to support.] TD: Well, we have an interesting situation here, Steve Roberts.  We very nearly saw a peace forged between Marty Warnett and "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare, but Shakespeare is apparently having none of it, and it appears that he was laying down a challenge of sorts to Warnett with that slap.  It seems that the issues between these two men aren't going to be resolved with one save. SR: What a waste of time.  Walnut interrupts a good, entertaining butt-kicking just so he can let Pukespeare make him look like a idiot on national television.  He should have done the smart thing, and helped Williams kick Pukespeare into a greasy stain on the canvas. TD: Well, we'll have to see how Marty Warnett chooses to deal with this situation, but there's a good chance we haven't seen the end of the friction between these two men. SR: I hope we have.  Friction between two men... it just ain't right, Dross.  You listening, Quigley?  IT.  AIN'T.  RIGHT. TD: If nothing else, folks, we'll see Shakespeare and Warnett mix it up one-on-one in the squared circle in just seven days at Snow Brawl -- don't forget to call your local cable operator right now to order! [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: We're about to get into what promises to be a brutal match, and I'd     suggest a very evenly matched one. Serge Annis has a chance for revenge against the man he feels cost him the World Title, and Mad Dog Watkins gets to take some shots at the new blood in a federation he feels betrayed him. SR: Or, to put it in less eloquent terms, these two guys are gonna put     the hurting on each other. TD: It is also a preview of sorts, as Annis and Watkins will team along     with "To Excess" Rick Williams against Duncan MacBeth, Derek Mota, and Tim Turner at Snow Brawl. That is, for many reasons, the most     anticipated of the six-man tag matches and possibly a show-stealer. SR: It's a what?! TD: Show _steal_er. SR: Oh, okay. For a minute there I thought we were going to have to call     the copyright lawyers again. TD: Let's not go there. [No one speaks for a moment, as Dross looks     pensive and listens to his headset.] Ladies and gentlemen, I'm told     we have a disturbance backstage... do we have a shot? Yes, let's take a look. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Serge Annis vs. Mad Dog Watkins |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: John deWolfe [Cut to a hallway somewhere backstage, where Serge Annis is busying himself by smashing a hockey stick over Mad Dog Watkins' head. Several JJS members peek their heads out of half-opened doors as Annis proceeds to jab one half of the now-broken stick into Watkins' ribs. He then pulls back to strike again, but Watkins sticks a foot up to nail him in a rather tender area. Annis, no longer a tenor, crumples in pain as Watkins struggles to his feet.] SR: Yes! I'm liking what I see, Dross! TD: This is barbaric! These two aren't even waiting until the match     starts, they're going at it right now! SR: Give the Soundbite what he wants, baby dolls. He's hardcore, he's     hardcore! [Both men are on their feet, and the adrenalin has seemed to kick in for both. They charge right at each other, the larger Annis keeping his momentum as they collide and driving Watkins back into the wall. The Canadian grabs Watkins by the scruff of his neck and hurls him towards a T-junction in the hall, sending him in another direction and out of the shot. Annis runs in after him and the camera follow Annis as he turns the corner... and is blasted with a wooden folding chair! Big international object pop as Watkins brings the frame of the chair first over Annis' head, and then glancing off his chest. The big man is definitely wobbled, but he hasn't gone down yet and his only concession is to take a few steps back. Watkins winds up for a third strike, not quite aiming carefully, and Serge is ready to duck the clumsy blow. Watkins is left exposed and Annis has no qualms about taking advantage, so he fires a strong kick at the back of Watkins' knee, hobbling him momentarily. With the Detroit native on a bum leg, Annis has time to elbow him in the gut and double him over, moving in to set up in piledriver position.] TD: Oh no, not onto the chair! SR: Here it comes... bring it home, big Sergie! [CRACK! The sickening sound of skull on wood on concrete echoes throughout the hall as Watkins is bounced off the ground in a piledriver. Annis gets up slowly, looking down on his enemy to see a cut opened up on his head, blood already starting to gush out of it... and he smiles. It is an evil, sadistic sort of grin that sends chills down your spine. He only holds the smile for a second, but that's enough. Annis then picks up the Mad Dog in a side headlock, the typical "noogie" position that older brothers subject younger ones to, and starts running him towards a steel support beam in a corner. Annis continues to pick up speed, barreling towards the steel and Watkins demise.] TD: The Mad Dod is in trouble, he's going to take a header! SR: No way, Dross! Reversal! Annis goes in face first and... and we have     more juice! I think Serge just cut himself open! [Watkins starts to draw in deep breaths again as Annis slumps to the floor, his plan having backfired. He is indeed bleeding, almost as badly as Watkins, and in tribute the Soundbiters are screaming out a "Hard Way!" chant. It's Watkins' turn to look down on his enemy and smile before hauling him to his feet, shoving him through a door marked only by a blue stick woman.] SR: The women's rest room! Watkins just shoved him into the women's rest     room! TD: Now THAT's originality. You know, I always wanted to know what one of those things looked like... and Watkins is going in there, we're gonna find out! SR: It's not that special. [Watkins barrels through the door, our camera man following soon after. Fortunately, there don't seem to be any ladies in the room at this time. Annis is propped up against a wall, but when he sees Watkins coming something in his eyes starts to blaze, and he charges yet again. Neither man shows great technical skill as they run towards each other, but the Epitome comes out on top with a fortuitously timed elbow. He's staggered Watkins enough to redirect him, flinging him towards the hand dryer... which Watkins hits head first! Annis has some time to search for a weapon, but there don't seem to be many around. He's about to give up when he notices that a soap dispenser is loose, so he rips it off the wall and palms it in one hand, hurling it towards Watkins. The Mad Dog ducks away from the projectile, and drives towards Annis' waist with a football tackle, pushing both men back out the door to land on the floor outside.] TD: I'd like to remind everyone that this match has not started yet. SR: I'm just ticked off that there wasn't anyone in that bathroom. TD: Steve! SR: Needs, Dross. I gots needs. [Watkins was moreso on top, so he gets up a little faster and takes control, blasting Annis with a punch. After what they've been through, though, that isn't nearly enough to put Serge away and he fires back a right hand of his own. The two warriors begin to hammer away on each other in that fashion, trading punch for punch, with neither giving up much ground. After a few rights, though, Annis gets the idea to poke Watkins in the eye, backing him up. Annis moves quickly, going back to punches quick enough that Watkins can't really mount a counter-offensive. He starts backing the Dog up, bit by painful bit, as a large curtain comes into view.] TD: That's the aisleway entrance curtain! These two gladiators are finally going towards the ring! SR: I really think we should give whoever booked this match a big     raise... it's Soundbite heaven. Two guys beating the hell out of each other with varied weapons, a Mooselips by my side, and a date after the show with identical Italian triplets. TD: [incredulous] You've met the Beaver Trap's new foreign attractions     already? [Annis relents his offense for a moment to run at Watkins with a clothesline, but this gives the Dog time to prepare a defense. Annis runs right towards Watkins, where he is slightly tangled up with the curtain, but once he gets close Watkins pulls the curtain aside and lets Annis go barreling through. A pop erupts as, finally, one of the men is visible without looking at the Portland-Tron. Annis stumbles on the ramp, not ready for the first step, and Watkins dives right on top of him to start throwing in shoot style punches to the face, trying to open up his cut even more. It's Annis' turn to just try and block as the blows rain down, left hand after right after left... Finally, Watkins gets up, feeling he's done enough, and picks Annis up to his feet. He eyes a half-set up interview area and whips Annis towards it, sending Serge barreling into one of those cheap podiums used for face to face interviews. The thing collapses under Serge's weight. Watkins moves in to try for the kill, but when he gets too close a resurgent Serge clips him on the jaw, and then picks him up in a running powerslam position.] TD: Oh no, Serge! Not there! SR: I love this! Serge is aiming to toss the Old Dog right off the stage! Who's your daddy? Who's your muhfuh'in daddy?! [Serge starts running as fast as he can while carrying some 260+ pounds on his shoulder, looking to dump Watkins off the ramp to a pile of supply equipment on the floor eight feet below. He gets to the edge and starts to follow through with the slam... Watkins' momentum taking him down... but then he grabs Annis head and pulls down on him, making both men fall! Annis and Watkins tumble towards a big pile of wiring -- not live, thankfully -- falling towards the concrete floor... Both men hit at the same time, and both seem to be out of it. Huge, huge hardcore pop!] TD: Good God! SR: He is good when he presents you with a gift like this. Almost enough     to make me want to repent for spiking the holy water at my local parish. TD: You spiked holy water? SR: You didn't hear nothin'. TD: My goodness, Watkins is moving! He's trying to get up! [Trying is the operative word here. Both men have their eyes open, but Watkins is more active in struggling slowly to his feet, unable to keep his footing because he's so disoriented. From the ring, official Dave D'Amato continues to just watch the action, deciding not to get involved in light of the bumps he and his comrades took last week in the call of duty.] SR: When did we get a zebra out here? TD: He's been here the whole time, Steve. He just can't do anything     because the match still hasn't started yet. As odd as it seems, this is all preamble. [Suddenly a huge pop breaks out as Watkins is somehow on his feet, though he can barely move. He wipes some of the blood out of his field of vision, and takes a tentative step towards Annis, who's made it up to one knee. Loud chants of "Hard-core!" continue unabated as Watkins throws a weak, nearly off balance kick at Annis... and has it blocked! Serge, seemingly getting the energy from nowhere, smashes a blow down on Watkins' head, knocking him right back out! Heel pop as Annis opens his hand to reveal a metal plate that looks like countless others among the equipment and wreckage on the floor. Annis tosses the object back into the pile and pushes Watkins under the ramp towards the secondary exit/entrance, and lamnetably out of view for our cameras.] SR: What the hell are they doing now? TD: This brawl rages on, folks, and... [Dross is cut off by a     phenomenally loud smash of metal on bone.] What was that? [A bloodied Annis staggers out into the aisle near the ring, reeling from something... which we discover when Watkins walks out after him, holding a dented fire extinguisher! Instead of blasting him with the cannister again, Watkins releases the pin and lets loose a blast of foam and smoke into Annis' face! The Canuck is blinded just long enough for Watkins to jab the extinguisher into his gut, causing him to almost lose his balance. The Dog, who's not moving so fast himself, still has time to set up Annis as he wants, grabbing him in a bearhug before quickly pulling back into a belly-to-belly suplex. At least this time Annis' head bounces off some mats instead of bare concrete, but still, he's being battered.] SR: If I had a son, I'd sacrifice him in honour of the god that promotes     this kind of mayhem. TD: Actually, it isn't a god, it's that bearded executive with the laptop. SR: Well, he's making the IIWF plastic surgeon a rich man, in between     replacing Serge's scar tissue and pumping up Lady DeWinter's... TD: [interrupting] They're headed towards the ring! [Watkins moves to hurl Annis towards the ring steps, but on instinct Serge reverses and sends the Dog face first towards the steel. Watkins hits dead on, but Annis is too beat to capitalize right away. Finally he moves in just as Watkins is rising, and decides to roll him into the ring. Annis follows soon after, and D'Amato gets to call for the bell, finally pressed into action.] TD: The match has started! We've got a match! SR: We should do this kind of introduction for all the matches. [Somehow, despite the flowing blood and battered bodies, the two warriors go at each other yet again, Watkins a litle more spry due to his smaller body mass mowing down Annis with a big clothesline. After a short pause to catch his breath, he picks Annis back up and whips him stiffly into a corner, where he collides with the buckle back first. Watkins charges in after him, but with the last bit of strength he may ever have, Annis ducks down to send Watkins over the top in a back body drop. Annis collapses as soon as he's done the move. Watkins is not so lucky.] TD: He's headed straight for... [CRASH! Loud chants of "Table! Table!" break out, as D'Amato begins to count Watkins out.] TD: This is insane! Annis is out cold on the inside, Watkins is out cold     on the outside, our timekeeper's table is in shambles, and the official is making a count? SR: Welcome to Soundbite Heaven. TD: Neither man is moving, and Dave D'Amato's count continues... eight... nine... ten! [The crowd seems somewhat disappointed at the way this has ended, but still Sparkplug Lee gets up to make it official.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner by virtue of a count-out, Serge Annis! [No music plays for Serge to celebrate to, as he's in no position to celebrate. A pair of stretcher crews immediately take off for ringside, one heading for Serge and one for Watkins. The EMTs reach Watkins first, and starting to gingerly roll Watkins on to a gurney. Meanwhile, the other crew reaches Annis and starts doing the same.] SR: This is what I want to see, Dross. Two non gay guys beating each     other into unconciousness. Sign these two for a weapons cage match at Ring Wars V, that'd outsell any main event Spreadbury could dream up. TD: Well, I... my word, Watkins is getting up! [On the outside, Watkins staggers to his feet against the advice of the EMT's and swears at them to "Leave (him) the Hell alone!". A massive pop erupts, especially from the nose bleed seats, as a wobbly Watkins makes his way slowly back up the aisle.] TD: I don't believe it, Watkins is up! He's walking out of here... and     Annis is trying to get up too! He wants to come over here! [Serge gets up to much the same response from the EMT's, and gives a similar rebuttal. He slowly makes his way towards the announce position, eyeing the Soundbite's half finished can of Mooselips. Shrugging off any assistance, Annis makes it to the table and simply points to the beer.] SR: Go ahead, big guy. You've earned it. [With that, Annis in one swift motion picked up the can and took a big swig. He didn't swallow, though, instead bringing his ever present Zippo to his face and lighting it, spitting the beer into the flame to cause a huge blue fire to spurt forward!] TD: Insane! Serge Annis is certifiable! SR: Hey, I like him. He has a sense of style. [Satisified, Serge returns the rest of the beer and walks off as best he can, ignoring the jeers of the fans. Watkins by now is long gone, or we might see the two go at it yet again.] TD: There's no place for something like that in professional wrestling. SR: Shut up, Dross. That's exactly what wrestling should be... if you     don't like it, you can try to re-reopen the AWA. TD: Let's not discuss that. Well, Serge Annis gets a victory, albeit a     cheap one, but I don't think this settles anything. SR: For once, you're right. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What a match that was, Steve Roberts! And there's yet more to come here tonight, still more incredible action... hang on. I'm getting a message that we are about to cut to a backstage broadcast on the video wall. SR: I hope it's a "South Park" re-run.  [The familiar twirling IIWF logo is replaced on the giant video screen by the visage of Billy Shakespeare.] BS: Marty... I never wanted to have to fight you. If you hadn't been     there a hundred different times then Mama Shakespeare's boy would be     back playing Willie Loman at an old folks' dinner theatre.  The     paternity suit... the car trip... that time in Sweden when I almost     went to the wrong doctor... that football game against the Netherlands when you took a bottle to the head for me.  But this isn't about what happens outside the ring, leave that kind of sordid business for the Petrow, MacArthur, Quigley, Manning lovefest.   This is all about what happens inside the ring... what the people see... righting wrongs.     This is about litle Johnny Jones who saves up his pennies to buy a     Marty Warnett temporary tattoo.  The one who smiled on Christmas when Santa brought him the Marty Warnett Lava Lamp.  The one who     wakes up in the middle of the night, his pillow soaked with tears, wondering why his hero -- why Marty -- would betray Billy Shakespeare.     This is all about your fans, Marty.   When Johnny is bad, his Daddy sends him to his room.   Marty, think of the Snow Brawl match as a metaphorical trip to your room without supper. SR: [over the headset]  Did Shakespeare say that he wants to get into Warnett's room and call him Daddy? TD: No, I believe you're thinking about one of your weekends. SR: Hey! The Soundbiters pay $9.99 a minute for that information, don't be giving the merchandise away for free. [The video continues to play.] BS: I've been invoking the name of that mythical fan: Johnny Jones, that     young man who exemplifies all that is good about the fans of the IIWF. Now I want to put a face on that name.  If your name _is_ Johnny Jones, then send me your picture and address and I'll select one real, true-to-life Johnny to accompany me to ringside and be my guest at Snow Brawl.  'Til then... Born to Perform. [The video winks out. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: Eeew.  Shakespeare versus Warnett to see who has the most unhealthy     interest in underage fans.  At least Marty goes after the girls. TD: Well, a most unorthodox request from Billy Shakespeare -- who knows where that's going? Folks, we must get back to our scheduled action. It's a tag team encounter with a difference -- I described it earlier tonight as possibly the most intriguing match ever on an edition of IIWF Saturday Night. We are going to see two best friends, two men who are also champions here in the IIWF, Duncan Macbeth and Timothy N. Turner, go up against two bitter rivals, the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi and Ronnie Paris. Should Macbeth or Turner be pinned by Musashi or Paris, their title will change hands! But the key questions here are whether Paris and Musashi can put their differences behind them sufficiently to work together, and whether Turner and Macbeth value their titles more highly than their friendship. Either way, we're about to find out! Let's get up to the ring! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| TITLES ON THE LINE: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Duncan Macbeth & Timothy N. Turner vs. "Enigma" Takezo Musashi & Ronnie Paris ....................................................................... WRITER: Rusty Priske [Sparkplug Lee raises the mic and, uncharacteristically, has no problems with the announcements.] SL: This next contest is a tag team affair with this special stipulation... if either of the champions in this match are beaten by pinfall or submission, the wrestler who beat him will be awarded his title! [Big pop from the crowd!] RA: Introducing first, hailing from El Paso, Texas, and weighing in at 210lbs; he is the leader of the Soundbite Special Forces, please give a big welcome for... Ronnie Paris! ["Simply the Best" by Tina Turner blasts out over the loudspeakers, and the crowd begins to respond with deafening jeers. The heel heat dies down after several moments, however, when Ronnie Paris fails to appear from behind the entrace curtain.] TD: This is odd... No sign of Ronnie Paris. I wonder where he could be? Perhaps he's off trying to patch things up with his family... SR: Hah! You're as green as a pool table and as bald as a cue ball, Dross man. As if Ronnie gives a damn what his family thinks of him. That crazy Guatemalean bastard had better not have anything to do with this... [Sparkplug Lee looks puzzled, but shrugs and begins announcing Paris' tag team partner for the evening, as the crowd buzzes in surprise.] RA: Hailing from Kobe, Japan, and weighing in at 210lbs; he is a former record-breaking IIWF Cruiserweight champion, please give a big welcome for... the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi! [A big pop rocks the arena as the wild dissonant jazz of "Stellar Regions" by John Coltrane wails over the speakers. Once again, however, the pop dies down as no sign of the Enigma appears in the aisle. Duncan MacBeth and TNT look at each other quizzically in the ring.] TD: Something is clearly up here folks, as neither Ronnie Paris or the Enigma have showed up for their match... hold on a minute! I'm getting reports of trouble backstage! [The camera cuts to an open corridor backstage in the Coliseum. There is a furious commotion, as both Ronnie Paris and Takezo Musashi, restrained by two seperate security teams, yell threats at one another.] TD: Oh my goodness... it looks as though Ronnie Paris and Takezo Musashi, two men who are supposed to be working as a unit tonight, have almost come to blows! SR: Aw, why don't they just let 'em go at it? That's what they both want. [Suddenly, and almost simultaneously, both the Enigma and Paris rip free from their restrainers and launch into one another with a vengeance! Both men rip at each other with a flurry of punches, busrting through the security men and taking the fight further back down the corridor!] TD: Chaos reigns backstage as Musashi and Paris go at it with old fashioned fisticuffs! What will become of this tag team encounter now? [Paris and Musashi continue to fire away, both men swallowing solid punches, but each refusing to give any ground. Musashi wears a snarl of rage on his face, while Paris' is beat red with anger. The security men seem a bit reluctant to intervene, given the wildly flailing limbs coming from all directions. Suddenly, Musashi sends Paris reeling with a hard right cross on the point of the jaw, and siezes up a nearby spotlight stand! He lifts it by the rod high up over his head, then brings it smashing down across the back of Ronnie Paris!] TD: This is outta control! This security team has got to break things up before they get even more out of hand! SR: Come on Paris, kick him in the teeth! [The security team grabs Musashi from behind and drag him backwards, away from the fallen body of Ronnie Paris. The Enigma claws wildly but can't break free. Suddenly, Paris staggers up to his feet, siezes up a nearby trash can, and lunges in at Musashi with it! <> Paris drives the heavy tin into the forehead of Musashi, who stumbles and falls backwards amidst the security team. Paris, snarling with anger, bashes the can a second time into the head of Musashi, sending him sprawling spread eagled across the concrete.] SR: Way to go Paris! Put a few dents in his skull! [Paris goes for another bash with the can, but he is tackled from behind and at the flack by several security men and brought down to the ground. Quickly, the security team moves to keep the two men seperated, and dragging them up to their feet, starts marching them down the corridor towards the entrance curtain.] TD: Whoa! It looks like we might actually get to see this match after all, but with the violent scuffle we've just witnessed, I wonder how fit these two men will be to compete. SR: Look at that lovely shiner swelling up around the Enigma's eye! I doubt these two are gonna be able to work together after this! TD: While things get sorted out backstage, Sparkplug Lee is going to continue the introductions. SR: MacWeenie and Rocket Boy must love this! Their opponents can't even hold it together long enough to get to the ring! SL: And now... the champions! First, the IIWF Cruiserweight Champion! Hailing from Victoria, British Columbia, Canada... weighing in at 230 pounds... "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner! ["Tubthumping" by Chumbawamba starts as Turner sashays thorough the entrance way with a flourish of his ornate robe. He is holding a cordless mic in his hand and he starts talking while the music still runs.] TNT: Thanks Pluggy but I'll take it from here! TD: [over the headset] Pluggy? TNT: Please put your hands together for the best thing to happen to professional wrestling since... well... me! He is the Goliath of Glenfinnan... he is the scion of Scotland... he is the newest and greatest IIWF Intercontinental Champion... and most importantly, he holds the illustrious honour of being "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner's best friend... Duncan Macbeth! [A monstrous pop welcomes Macbeth as he strides into view with just a hint of a smile on his face. He stops to grab Turner in a friendly headlock before letting him go and them both heading down to the ring. Chumbwamba keeps going until they reach the ring and shoo Sparky out. Turner then continues his orating.] TNT: Take a good look at Timothy N. Turner and Duncan Macbeth, IIWF! Take a look at the most dominant force in the federation! Two men! Two titles! A stable of champions! We've now accomplished as much as those has-beens Genesis ever did, with only one-third of the manpower! We're the best thing going in the IIWF right now, wouldn't you agree, Duncan... I mean, _champ_? [Turner hands the mic over to Macbeth, who grins as the crowd cheers.] DM: Aye, Tim, an' ye ken th' only _other_ thing we have in common wi' Genesis? [Turner shakes his head, but he seems to be stifling a fit of laughter as he does.] DM: We BOTH had t' show Derek Mota th' door! [Pop from the crowd, as Turner laughs out loud, nodding hysterically.] DM: 'Tis too bad, Derek lad, but ye ken wha' they say... "Two's company, three's a crowd"! Everybody can't wait t' see Tim Turner an Duncan Macbeth wrestle these days, an' now nobody's payin' any attention t' th' so-called "Heatseeker" anymore. Now, doesn't tha' jus' break yuir bleedin' heart? [Turner lets loose with a derisive "Awwwwww!", which several fans at ringside gleefully mimic.] Well, now ye can jus' sit back an' watch th' most dominant force in wrestlin' go t' work, tosser, an' kick yuirself fer givin' it all up! An' remember -- 'twas yuir choice, an' yuir loss! [Macbeth tosses the mic to a ringside attendant and waits for the final entrance of Musashi and Paris.] TD: The fans certainly take more of a shine to Turner when his pal Duncan is out there! SR: This peons just wish they could be Turner! He's smart, rich, good looking...in short, he's a lot like me! Name me one person who wouldn't be a little cocky with those kinds of assets! And he's the Cruiserweight Champ! TD: Maybe not for long! Here comes their opponents! [Musashi and Paris finally appear in the aisle surrounded by a herd of orange-shirted security personnel and walk down to the ring, spending as much time eyeing each other as the two champs. Paris' hired guards walk inbetween them, though they clearly don't look happy about it.] TD: It looks like its going to be Macbeth started off against Musashi! SR: The Highlander will make sushi out of him. There's an idea for a match! Macbeth and Musashi in a Haggis/Sushi chow-a-thon! [The two wrestlers lock up, and before you can bat an eye Musashi is thrown into the champs' corner.] TD: Duncan Macbeth completely manhandled the Enigma there! Now he's talking to the ref as Turner has Takezo by the throat! SR: These are two guys who never let enthusiasm by the fans spoil a good cheat fest! TD: Actually Duncan fights fairly cleanly. SR: Tell that to "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard! Do you remember how these two put him out of the IIWF? TD: Uh-oh! Here comes trouble for the title holders! [Derek Mota is suddenly seen heading down to ringside. He starts clapping for Turner choking out Musashi and everybody seems to stop and look at him. Everyone that is except the Enigma.] TD: Musashi took advantage of Turner's distraction and slipped free from his grasp... oh! A devastating savate kick to the face of the Cruiserweight Champ! SR: That looked more like a move that evil pentagram Musashi would do, not wimpy little silver star Musashi. TD: It is true that the Enigma has developed a split personality of sorts, which is reflected in his clothing. Today we see the more traditional Takezo -- but what will we see at Snow Brawl? [Turner has been sent crashing tot he floor and Mota quickly runs over, with a look of concern on his face. Before he can get there, however, TNT leaps to his feet and grabs a chair.] SR: That's the way Rocket Boy! Brain the feisty guy! TD: Timothy Turner has certainly taken great offence at the...rebellion of Derek Mota. SR: Turner's a guy that understand the value of friendship. Mota doesn't. It's as simple as that. Mota rode on Turner's coat tails. TD: I just can't agree with that. Derek has been here longer and he was the Cruiserweight Champion long before Turner. [As our stellar announce team argue, much is happening in the ring. First, as Musashi turned back to face Macbeth he is surprised by a flying clothesline. Not too surprised, however, as he drops the mat and lets the burly Scotsman fly harmlessly overhead. They both get to thier feet quickly and Takezo hits the ropes, only to go crashing to the mat.] TD: Turner hit the Enigma with that chair! This is over before it really began! Macbeth drops for the cover and.. ONE! TWO! NO! Musashi kicked out! SR: The jumping Polynesian is lucky that it was a chair and not Turner's steel bar! [Macbeth looks a little surprised that his opponent kicked out and so reacts a little bit slowly when Musashi lunges past him to the corner to tag Paris.] TD: Ronnie Paris did nothing to meet the tag! Takezo had to actually slap Paris' shoulder in order to gain the safety of the ring apron! SR: And Paris looks none to happy about it either! TD: He's getting in the ring however. He's pointing to Turner! Ronnie Paris is taunting Timothy Turner! [Paris points at TNT and invites him to tag in. Macbeth reacts in typical fan-favourite fashion by asking the crowd if he should make the tag. Also in typical fashion, the crowd pops to the idea the champions acceding to the challengers wishes.] TD: We must remember that it was Paris who Turner beat to earn his shot at Derek Mota! However, this was after Paris had earlier eliminated Turner and Timothy was re-instated in a strange kind of ladder match. SR: Speaking of Ladder matches, isn't there some kind of ladder match next week? TD: You bet there is! Snow Brawl! Musashi vs. Paris! It will be a match to remember! Thanks for the segue, Steve. SR: No problem. It looks like MacBean is going to give Paris what he wants... oh! I kinda like that Haggis-eating bastard! TD: Duncan Macbeth suckered in Ronnie Paris completely by acting like he was going to give Turner the tag and then levelling him with a clothesline! [Macbeth pulls Paris back to his feet and whips him into the ropes. Paris comes rocketing back and the bigger man hoists him up in a Gorilla Press and launches him into his own corner.] SR: Macbeth just threw Paris into Musashi! The Indonesian went flying off the apron like he was shot out of a cannon! TD: Paris is angry though and he hit Macbeth with a Spinning Leg Lariat! He sweeps the leg! A lightening fast leg drop! Macbeth has completely lost momentum! [Paris tried to pull Macbeth over in a German Suplex but as he does so, Duncan's hand shoots out and slaps the outstretched palm of Tim Turner.] TD: Paris has Macbeth's shoulders to the mat but he has no idea that Turner is the legal man! Timothy mounts the top rope and... SR: That's the TNT! Turner's elbow drop can stop any man cold! TD: Macbeth clears out of the way as Turner makes the cover! ONE! TWO! Musashi has grabbed Turner's foot and dragged him out of the ring! SR: The Malaysian just saved Paris from a certain pin and now Turner and Musashi are trading blows! TD: Wait! Paris hits the floors and grabs...Musashi! [Paris starts yelling right in the face of the Enigma as Turner smugly backs off. The ref starts counting the two legal men out but Duncan quickly stops him.] SR: Teammate against teammate! That's why Macbeth and Turner are walking out of here the champions! [Turner looks at the two wrestlers, obviously close to blows, picks his spot and...] TD: Turner just dropkicked both of them right over the security railing! Musashi and Paris don't realize exactly what happened and they are starting to exchange punches. Turner and Macbeth are just laughing at them! SR: They aren't the only ones! Look at Mota! [Derek Mota stands safely out of the fray with a sign that reads "Duncan Macbeth: A Champion To Be Proud Of" as he laughs at the plight of Paris and the Enigma.] TD: Macbeth is yelling at Mota, telling him to get the hell out of there! SR: It looks to me like the plucky little guy is cheering for Macbeth! TD: Duncan Macbeth doesn't trust Mota any farther than he could throw him... and I don't blame him! SR: Hey, that could be pretty far! Didn't you see him toss Paris? [The ref turns to make sure that Macbeth and Mota are okay so misses completely the fact that Paris and Musashi suddenly refocused and double teamed Turner's head right into the guard rail.] TD: That was a brutal shot to the head! It looks like Turner is actually broken open! I can't recall if we've ever seen Turner bleed! SR: Rocket Boy looks like he doesn't even know where he is after that shot to the head! Paris rolls him back into the ring! TD: It looks like we're about to have a new Cruiserweight Champion! Wait! Where's the ref? SR: Mota's got the guy on the other side of the ring, arguing about the guard rail hit that Turner took! TD: Derek Mota just saved Turner from losing his title? What is going on here? SR: I'm telling you, Dross. Mota regrets what he did! He wants to repent! [The ref finally gets Mota back off the apron but by that time Turner has gotten together enough to kick out. Paris tries to move in again but the Rocket Man slips out of his grasp and does a diving forward roll across the ring to tag in his partner, Duncan.] TD: What an acrobatic move from Timothy Turner! His attitude generally keeps him from the top of the list when you are thinking about the quickest and most agile wrestlers in the IIWF...the Musashis...the Quigleys...the Tragedys...but he has what it takes to hold that belt he has! SR: Nearly as good as the old Soundbite! [Paris looks exasperated as he realizes that he lost a golden opportunity and tags in Musashi. Takezo scowls at Paris as he steps through the ropes.] TD: It's clear that Ronnie Paris sees Macbeth as the bigger threat and is avoiding him. SR: Members of the Soundbite Special Forces avoid no one, Dross! TD: It looks to me like your other members around ringside are keeping thier distance from everybody! What kind of security force is that? SR: They're just... conserving thier energy. [Macbeth and Musashi lock up again. The Enigma is a little more wary this time but he still gets over powered and Macbeth whips him hard into his own corner. When he hits the buckle his elbow flashes backward and hits Paris right between the eyes.] SR: What is that maniac doing! Doesn't he want to win or something? TD: I'm not sure that it was even intentional. SR: Oh come on, Dross! Wake up and smell the Sashimi! [Macbeth charges into the corner after Takezo. Musashi springs onto the top turnbuckle and Macbeth goes shoulder first through the ropes and into the cornerpost.] TD: That just knocked the wind out of Macbeth's sails! SR: And Musashi just knocked him out of the ring! [In fact what happened is that Musashi looped the top ropes with his knees, dropped down and grabbed Macbeth's ankles. Since Macbeth was already off-balance after charging the cornerpost, a quick flip and he was sent to the floor...nearly.] TD: Duncan landed right on top of Ronnie Paris! Paris looks very angry and I'm not sure who it is really aimed at, Macbeth or Musashi! SR: Paris has been set up, Dross! All the other three guys are working against him! TD: I really doubt that Takezo Musashi would hurt his own chances at winning a title by doing such a thing! [As if on cue, Musashi sprints across the ring and sails over the ropes...] TD: A corkscrew plancha right on top of Macbeth... Paris... Derek Mota... and one of Paris' security guards! SR: That Cambodian is a menace! TD: The question also is, what was Mota doing charging into the fray? Was he going to attack Paris or Macbeth? SR: Can't you give the guy a break, Dross? He wants to make amends for his misdeeds! What's so wrong with that? [Takezo is the first to his feet and he rolls Macbeth into the ring. he then vaults to the top turnbuckle as Duncan staggers to his feet...] TD: A moonsault DDT! Takezo Musashi is going to become the Intercontinental Champion! ONE! TWO! NO! Ronnie Paris broke the pin! Ronnie Paris broke the pin! SR: Ronnie knows full well that the elbow and the plancha were on purpose and he isn't going to stand for it! TD: And the fact that he would lose his opportunity at either belt means nothing? [Musashi looks into Paris' eyes and fires off a quick shot to the head.] SR: The fists are flying now! TD: Macbeth is getting to his feet and... they both turn on him! SR: No matter how many times they lose focus they still manage to get back to the match! That's due to Ronnie Paris' Special Forces training! TD: Turner is in the ring! He and Paris are trading blows! Musashi has Macbeth...oh my god! I didn't think a Backdriver Suplex was possible on a man the size of Macbeth! Paris and Turner have separated on the outside but I'm not even sure if Turner realizes what's going on in the ring! Takezo is back on the top turnbuckle...Starsault Press! SR: Turner sees it! Wait! Mota is yelling to him! DM: Don't worry! I got it! [Derek Mota starts to slide in under the bottom rope but he suddenly grabs his ankle in exaggerated pain.] TD: I can't believe that guy! First he saves Turner and then he pulls this! Musashi got Macbeth for the three count...no he didn't! Turner made it in time! I've never seen such quickness! He was caught off guard by Derek Mota but then he dove under the bottom rope and snagged Musashi's foot! Paris is in the ring! The ref is trying to keep Mota from joining the four combatants! SR: The Laotian is back on the top rope! Doesn't he ever get tired of going up there? TD: Another Starsault Press! This one is on Timothy Turner! Macbeth is still out of it and he only sees the ref struggling with Derek Mota. Ronnie Paris! Paris just dropped an elbow on the back of Musashi! [Paris kicks Paris out of the way as Macbeth stumbles over to Mota and the referee. Chuck Sanders turns to see Duncan and spots Ronnie Paris dropping to cover Timothy N. Turner...] SR: ONE! TWO! THREE! Soundbite's Special Forces has the gold, baby! SL: Your winners, Ronnie Paris and "Enigma" Takezo Musashi! Due to the special stipulations in this match... Ronnie Paris is now your _NEW_ IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION! TD: Paris isn't getting any time to enjoy his victory because chaos has broken out in the ring! Takezo Musashi has leaped onto the celebrating Ronnie Paris and the SSF guards have quickly come to thier leader's aid! Macbeth has started laying in lefts and rights an Derek Mota and he has been joined by a reviving Timothy Turner! Turner has just realized that he has lost his belt and he is taking it out on Derek Mota! SR: Musashi just hit his Backdriver Suplex on the new Champ but the SSF guys are using thier size advantage to keep him at bay! TD: Not quite! He's dropping them like ten pins! Oh no! Look at this! Duncan Macbeth is holding down Derek Mota and Turner has pulled out his steel bar from his boot! SR: That's the same bar that put Ryan Howard out of wrestling and he's using it on Mota's already injured ankle! TD: Something has got to be done! Here comes the Jobber Justice Squad and IIWF security! I don't know if they are going to be enough! Musashi is flattening as many of them as he is of Paris and his men! Turner just nailed El Super Gecko with that bar! SR: Don't worry. It doesn't hurt him. TD: Here comes Poutine Janois! I don't know what he's telling all of these guys but they seem to be listening! Things are starting to calm down. SR: Turner and Macbeth are heading to the back... followed by Musashi. TD: Paris and his goons are going now... he's got the Cruiserweight belt hung over his shoulder and the fans don't like it one bit! SR: Medical crews are at the ring to help Mota to his feet but he's waving them off! This little guy is scrappy, isn't he? TD: Duncan Macbeth made the parallel to Genesis earlier and this does match earlier events. Derek Mota is pounded into near oblivion but he still manages to get up and walk to the locker room! What heart! What courage! But what was he doing at ringside in the first place? SR: It was all a big misunderstanding, Dross. Derek just wants to be friends. Live and let live, that's what I always say. Actually, I'm more likely to say "Bring on the juice" of "Kick-me is an idiot" -- but that's beside the point. TD: One thing we can tell you is that Snow Brawl is one week away. Order now and you will see Macbeth, Turner, and Mota compete on the same team! You will also see Ronnie Paris defend his newly won Cruiserweight Title in a ladder match against "Enigma" Takezo Musashi! Only on pay-per-view! [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, folks, we have a new Cruiserweight Champion -- and I can only imagine that next week's Ladder Match between Takezo Musashi and Ronnie Paris will now have the added dimension of having the IIWF Cruiserweight Championship on the line! SR: Everybody remembers that last Ladder Match we had, Dross, between those two Oriental guys -- who were they again? TD: It was the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi and the "White Phoenix" Shinja Chow at Ring Wars III, folks, in the first ever Ladder Match for an IIWF title -- back in March 1997, it was the "Enigma" who went into the match with the belt, but the Phoenix came out on top. Will history repeat itself at Snow Brawl, or will Musashi recapture the IIWF Cruiserweight Championship? Order now, folks, to make sure you don't miss one moment of the action! SR: Enough already, Dross. Let's get to the main event. I want to see Petrow kick the Quigley out of Quigley and his little freak-boy friend. TD: Folks, two other tremendous matches we're going to see at Snow Brawl feature the men we are about to see in tag team competition. Two Submission Matches feature on the big pay-per-view next Saturday -- Steve Manning faces "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur, and former Intercontinental Champion Chris Quigley faces "Sychosys" Joe Petrow. There's plenty of bad blood between these two men -- thanks to Petrow, Quigley lost his first ever match by submission last Saturday Night to lose the Intercontinental Championship, although he maintains that he did not give up... and I, for one, am inclined to agree with him. SR: Aw, give me a break, Dross. Quigley made like Fred Astaire last week, and he's gonna do the same tonight... and then third time will be a charm at Snow Brawl. Tap, tap, tappity tappity tap. TD: We'll see about that, Steve Roberts. Let's get to the ring for tonight's headline encounter. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley & Steve Manning vs. |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Team Sychosys ....................................................................... WRITER: Daniel Spreadbury [The fans are buzzing as the lights rise once more, Sparkplug Lee stepping into the glare of the spotlight again.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is tonight's Main Event! [Big obligatory main event pop! The lights in the arena begin to dim as the instrumental intro to Metallica's "Unforgiven" drifts out across the Coliseum over the PA. Sparkplug Lee is cast into sharp relief by the spotlight which still illuminates the ring.] RA: Introducing first, hailing respectively from New England and Tokyo, Japan, and at a combined weight of 457lbs, the team of "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur, and "Sychosys" Joe Petrow... here is... Team Sychosys! [Big pop as the Coliseum continues its descent into darkness, fans waving lighter flames above their heads -- until suddenly, the arena is plunged into darkness. The words of the song kick in at high volume, and suddenly a shower of fireworks erupts over the head of the aisle! Huge pop! Amidst the rain of sparks emerges a very different Team Sychosys. Dressed from head to toe in completely in black -- black boots, black overcoats covering black pant-length tights, and cut-off black denim shirts -- Petrow and McArthu also sport two painted shiners, and walk slowly to the ring with a cold, unfeeling expression on their faces, ignoring the cheers of the fans.] TD: What's with the black eyes, Steve Roberts? SR: Who knows, Dross? All you can ever be sure of when ol' Crazy Joe's around is that you can't be sure of anything! TD: This is the man that has seemingly returned to the IIWF for no reason other than to torment Chris Quigley -- Joe Petrow has been a thorn in the side of the former Intercontinental Champion for many weeks now, and it's all going to come to a head in just seven days, at Snow Brawl, when they will meet in a Submission Match! SR: Tappity tappity tap, tap tappy tappity tap, baby dolls! TD: Nobody knows what you're talking about, Steve Roberts. SR: I knew what I was talking about once, Dross. Best weekend of my life. [Petrow and McArthur make their way to the ring without so much as looking at one another, climbing up the ringsteps and entering the squared circle as the lights begin to rise once more. As both men remove their long coats, McArthur appears to murmur something to Petrow, who seems to fly into a rage! Petrow gets in his partner's face, yelling and pointing -- "This ain't the Jobber Justice Squad no more, boy!" -- "I'm _not_ gonna carry your ass again tonight!" McArthur seems to reel from the verbal assault, but stands his ground.] TD: Whoa! Looks like Team Sychosys has hit a few problems here tonight, Steve Roberts! But they'd better sort out their differences fast -- because here come their opponents! [The lights in the arena are restored, and the music fades from the PA, to be replaced by a big heel pop from the capacity crowd as "For Those About To Rock" by AC/DC kicks in. All eyes turn towards the head of the aisle, and before the curtains even twitch to suggest the entrance of the wrestlers, balled-up paper cups and, indeed, cups brimming with soda, are hurled at the aisle. Sparkplug struggles to be heard over the racket, both of the fans, and of Petrow's rabid screaming at McArthur:] RA: And their opponents, hailing respectively from Phoenix, Arizona and Corner Brook, Newfoundland, Canada, and at a total combined weight of 468lbs, here is the tag team of... "Sanguinary" Steve Manning, and "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley! [The rain of cups continues as the curtains are finally swept aside, Steve Manning leaping out into the aisle like a jumping jack, a crazed look, as ever, etched onto his face. His shoulder-length, dirty blond hair is tied back away from his features, and his blue eyes stare out at the fans, daring them to hit him with their missiles. He dodges and weaves between the projectiles with glee, until behind him emerges Chris Quigley, bereft of his sunglasses, but otherwise in his usual ring attire. Quigley looks as emotionless as ever as he strides out into the aisle, Manning now taking his side, draping his arm over his shoulder, and pointing at his own chest, which is adorned with a T-shirt bearing the words, "I'm With a Legend", with an arrow pointing in the direction of his partner.] TD: Hardly a positive reaction here for the tag team combination of Quigley and Manning, Steve Roberts. Just look at Chris Quigley -- we all know that he makes a habit of hiding his emotions, but can you imagine what's going through his mind right now as he makes his way down to the ring? SR: It probably has a lot to do with rubber and chickens, Dross, and I don't want no part of it. TD: Will you please stop, Steve Roberts?! Right now, I have to believe that Chris Quigley has tremendous rage bottled up inside of himself; he made a vow to himself that he would never lose a match by submission, and last night, when circumstance -- and one Joe Petrow -- conspired against him, that vow was broken, as he lost his coveted Intercontinental Championship to Duncan Macbeth. The question is: will he be able to control that rage -- or is he just going to snap the moment he gets into the ring with Joe Petrow? SR: That's not the question, Dross. The question is: what's Troy's place in the little ménage a trois he's got going on with Quigley and Manning? TD: Please, Steve Roberts. Just look at Steve Manning as he passes us here at ringside... this man is walking that razor's edge between sanity and insanity every second of his life. He is simply crazed, he is warped -- but it seems the only thing that is constant in his existence right now is his trust and admiration for the man he is partnering in the ring tonight. SR: Well, he's not going to bite the hand that strokes him, Dross. TD: Steve Roberts, this is defamation of character. Do you want a law suit slapped on you? SR: Quigley ain't slapping _anything_ near the Soundbite, baby dolls. TD: Joe Petrow is still berating poor Maurice in the ring -- is Team Sychosys even going to be able to function as a unit here tonight? [Quigley and Manning now stand at ringside, Manning having made a circuit of the ringside area jawing with the fans. Looking up at the ring and at the argument between Petrow and McArthur which is still raging, Quigley removes his leather jacket and hands it to a ringside attendant, while Manning continues to leap around like a hyperactive kid, removing his t-shirt and lobbing it up at Sparkplug Lee, who is on his way out of the squared circle. The shirt scores a direct hit, and the crowd pops as the hapless announcer grabs the shirt away and throws it into the crowd.] TD: Although this is the first time Quigley and Manning have teamed here in the IIWF, it's by no means the first time they've ever partnered one another... SR: [interrupting] That's a masterpiece of understatement, Dross. TD: [firmly] ...in the _ring_, Steve Roberts. Quigley and Manning exchanging a few last moment strategies... SR: [mocking Manning] "We'll take 'em from behind, Quigs! We always take 'em from behind!" TD: Steve Roberts, are you going to keep this up all night? SR: Never say that the Soundbite can't go, baby dolls. [Suddenly, there is a huge shocked pop as McArthur lashes out at Petrow, knocking him on his behind with a stiff right hand!] TD: Oh my! Maurice just snapped! McArthur just knocked Petrow on his keester! SR: And I thought we'd be seeing Quigley and Manning doing the bitch-fighting here tonight! [Petrow leaps straight back up from the canvas and launches himself at McArthur, both men flailing away at one another in the ring! At ringside, Quigley remains stoic, while Manning is almost bent double with his laughter as he watches Team Sychosys go at it. In the ring, McArthur tries to send Petrow to the ropes, but Petrow reverses, catches McArthur by the hair on the rebound, runs to the ropes... and both men go over the top with a plancha, taking Quigley and Manning completely by surprise and taking them down to the floor! Huge pop! Petrow and McArthur leap back to their feet, and exchange a double high-five!] TD: It was all a ruse, Steve Roberts! It was all a ruse! There's no bad blood between Petrow and McArthur -- it was all an act! We've got chaos on the outside -- all four men going at it on the arena floor! [Official Earl Alfonso leaps down from the ring to try and separate the brawls, as Quigley and Petrow exchange stiff punches and kicks, while McArthur does his best to duck and weave from Manning's wild swings. The crowd cheers all four men on! Manning lunges at McArthur, driving him back-first into the ring apron. McArthur staggers away, and finds himself up against the ringsteps. Manning swings at 4M, who dodges out the way -- and Manning's fist slams into the steel ringpost! Manning yowls in pain as McArthur grabs the Phoenix native around the waist, and takes him down to the floor! McArthur flails away on Manning, while Petrow stomps away at Quigley's knee with hard, hard kicks.] TD: Look at Petrow go to work on Quigley, Steve Roberts! This match isn't even underway yet, and Petrow is just dismantling the former Intercontinental Champion -- oh my! Quigley just fired back -- and Petrow is reeling! [Quigley hits Petrow with a hard right hand, and Petrow staggers backwards -- only for Quigley to charge at him with a clubbing clothesline, driving Petrow to the hard concrete floor... and smashing it against the steel crowd barrier in the process! Petrow looks dazed, but has the presence of mind to lash out at the approaching Quigley with a kick to the stomach, before reaching up, grabbing Quigley around the neck -- and bringing his throat down hard across the steel barriers! Huge shocked pop as Quigley goes down, clutching at his throat!] TD: Oh my! Petrow may have fractured Quigley's larynx right there, Steve Roberts! That was a brutal, brutal shot -- I don't think Quigley can breathe! [While Manning and McArthur continue to brawl around the ring, Petrow drags himself to his feet, and yanks the winded and choking Quigley back to a vertical base by his hair, dragging him towards the ring. Quigley's face is reddened, his breathing very shallow, as he is too weak to resist Petrow tugging at him. Sychosys rolls him roughly into the ring under the bottom rope, and then climbs from the apron, cat-like, onto the middle of the second rope, balancing precariously as he measures up Quigley... hopping up onto the top rope, and diving into the ring with a flying elbow in a single motion! Big pop as Petrow's elbow connects with Quigley's already injured throat! Earl Alfonso hurriedly clambers back into the squared circle, and signals for the opening bell! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: This is bad, Steve Roberts. Earl Alfonso apparently hasn't realised what kind of condition Chris Quigley is in -- this match should not have been started here. This is really bad. SR: Bad? This is great, Dross! Besides, Quigley probably gets off on this kind of thing. Do you swallow, Quigley? Huh, punk? TD: Steve Roberts, you a truly a disgusting individual. SR: I didn't know you cared, Dross. [Petrow drags the still choking Quigley back to his feet and whips him into the ropes, bouncing off the opposite side himself -- and flooring the former Intercontinental Champion with a flying clothesline! Petrow points to the heavens, and quickly moves to the outside, hopping up onto the top rope... then signalling for a Starsault Press! Huge pop!] TD: Oh, please, no. Petrow has never once executed this move well -- talk about shooting yourself in the foot! SR: Watch out, Petrow! [Suddenly, Petrow is knocked from the top rope -- by the steel ring steps! There is a loud CLANG! as Petrow tumbles into the ring, the ring steps being brandished by Steve Manning, who stands grinning on the apron! He looks down at McArthur, who had just been downed by a shot from the ringsteps himself on the outside, and realising that 4M is trying to fight back to his feet -- throws the steps down on top of him once again! Huge heel pop! Petrow lies motionless in the ring next to the still prostate Quigley, who continues to fight for breath.] TD: Manning just blasted both Petrow and McArthur with those ringsteps -- they must weigh close to a hundred pounds, Steve Roberts! Manning, now, moving to the outside... he's going under the ring. What's he doing? SR: He's got a shirt, Dross! Manning's got a shirt! He's hardcore! He's hardcore! TD: Will you please, please stop, Steve Roberts. Manning is pulling that shirt over McArthur's head -- but McArthur doesn't have his arms through the sleeves... he's lying helpless out there! SR: That shirt must be made of the same stuff as Manning's straitjackets, Dross. What does it say on that damned shirt? [Manning pulls the groggy McArthur's head off the arena floor, and pushes it towards a camera, grinning like a madman as he points at the slogan on the shirt 4M has been forcibly made to wear: "Don't Be Fooled!" is emblazoned on the front, and Manning then turns McArthur over, revealing the slogan on the back, which reads, "Jobber 4 Life!"] TD: Oh, please. This is disgusting! Steve Manning is trying to humiliate Maurice McArthur. [Manning now leaves the struggling McArthur on the arena floor, and climbs onto the apron. In the ring, Quigley has dragged himself into a corner, where Earl Alfonso bends over him, checking on his condition. Meanwhile, Petrow slowly drags himself to his feet, clearly feeling the effects of the compound blows to the head from steel barriers and steps. He groggily turns -- and falls foul of a flying clothesline from Manning, who slingshots himself into the ring over the ropes! Big heel pop as Manning lets out a primal scream, and leaps to his feet, stomping all over Petrow's torso and head, forcing Sychosys to cover up with his arms. As the assault continues, Earl Alfonso's attention being diverted, the crowd suddenly lets out a huge pop!] TD: Manning is just blasting Petrow here, Steve Roberts! This is carnage! SR: Hey, Dross -- look at Maurice! TD: Oh my goodness! Somehow -- somehow, Maurice McArthur has climbed up to the top rope! His arms are still trapped under that rubbery shirt -- but he is balanced on the top rope! [Manning ceases his attack on Petrow, the cheers of the crowd raising his suspicion, and as he turns towards the corner... Maurice launches himself with a top rope Thesz press, sending Manning sprawling to the canvas! Huge pop! Petrow now gets to his feet, and helps McArthur remove the shirt -- which 4M then proceeds to try and stuff down Manning's throat!] TD: This is just wild, Steve Roberts! The official needs to get some control here! [Quigley is finally able to breathe a little more easily, and pulls himself to his feet in the corner, shoving Alfonso out of the way as his expression darkens. Quigley launches himself across the ring -- and plants Petrow with a rough bulldog! Quigley straddles Petrow on the canvas and paintbrushes him with hard rights and lefts, while Alfonso ferries both McArthur and Manning back to their respective corners.] TD: Finally we have some semblance of order here -- Quigley and Petrow are the legal men, and for the first time, Manning and McArthur are in their corners, awaiting the tag. [Petrow jams a thumb into Quigley's eyes, and then brings his legs up, scissoring Quigley's head, and dragging him down to the mat. Petrow then quickly manoeuvres himself into position to roll Quigley up for a pinfall attempt -- Alfonso dives to the mat -- 1 -- 2 -- Quigley kicks out! Both men jump to their feet, and look at one another across the ring for the first time in the encounter. The staredown lasts only a moment, but seems to last much, much longer, so intense are the expressions on each man's face. And then... they lunge at one another, locking up collar and elbow. Quigley quickly twists Petrow around into an armbar, cinching in the hold with as much pressure as he can muster... and Petrow, a grimace on his face, switches out of the hold, hiptossing Quigley to the mat and applying a hammerlock on Quigley, who twists himself around to apply a bodyscissors on Petrow, going behind him and applying an ankle lock. Petrow reaches out for the ropes, and finds them just out of reach! Big pop!] TD: What an exchange between these two athletes -- and now Petrow is in trouble! Quigley is testing Petrow right now, seeing what kind of endurance he can expect in next week's submission match... and Petrow can't quite reach those ropes! [McArthur drops to the arena floor and moves to the ropes, forcing the bottom rope within Petrow's grasp -- and Sychosys grabs the ropes! Alfonso calls for the break while McArthur returns to his corner and Manning yells at the official for the cheating. Petrow and Quigley again get to their feet, Petrow now slightly favouring his right leg -- and the two men lock up once more! This time it is Petrow who gets the better of the exchange, slipping Quigley into a side headlock. Quigley forces Petrow into the ropes and drops to the mat to attempt a monkey flip -- but Petrow stops short, grabs Quigley's legs, and rolls backwards, slingshotting the former Intercontinental Champion up into the air... and Quigley comes down on the top rope, throat first! He falls to the mat, again clutching at his throat, and now it is Petrow's turn to lock Quigley in a submission hold, choosing a Boston crab. Quigley, his head turned sideways against the mat, unable to muster enough energy to push himself up and relieve the pressure on his back, instinctively reaches out for the ropes... but comes up just inches short!] TD: Now it's Quigley who needs to get at those ropes -- Manning is moving to the outside to help Quigley, but it looks like McArthur's going to cut him off! Hang on -- oh my! [Manning suddenly changes track, rolling quickly into the ring under the bottom rope and ignoring the protestations of official Earl Alfonso. Petrow sees Manning coming and releases the Boston crab -- only to be hit hard by a clothesline from Manning! Big heel pop! Alfonso forces Manning out of the ring, while Petrow and Quigley once more struggle to their feet. Quigley is fastest back up to a vertical base, and tags in Manning. Quigley rolls out of the ring to collect his thoughts, as Manning leaps into the squared circle over the top rope. Manning immediately unleashes a series of stinging reverse knife-edge chops on the groggy Petrow, backing him into a neutral corner and then whipping him across the ring. Petrow slams hard into the opposite turnbuckles, and Manning then charges across after him -- only to run headlong into a boot from Petrow. Big pop! Manning turns and staggers into the ring... as Petrow climbs to the top rope, and launches himself with a dropkick, which hits Manning right on the back of the head! Manning hits the deck hard, and Petrow immediately drags him back to his feet before planting him straight back to the canvas with a front layout suplex! Big pop! Petrow makes the cover: 1 -- 2 -- Manning kicks out!] TD: Steve Manning proving that he's made of stern stuff here, Steve Roberts! Joe Petrow has yet to tag out of this match, but he's holding his own in there. SR: Better that than letting Quigley hold it, Dross. TD: Steve Roberts... oh, I give up. SR: All night long, baby dolls! Whoo-hoo! [While Quigley is still recovering outside the ring, Petrow hoists Manning up onto his shoulders! Petrow walks towards his partner, Manning balanced precariously on his shoulders -- and tags McArthur! 4M appears visibly excited as he nimbly climbs up to the top rope, Alfonso administering the five count on Team Sychosys...] TD: Oh my! Team Sychosys are going for the Sychosynthesis! McArthur is poised up on the top rope -- I have never seen this move executed successfully by Team Sychosys, Steve Roberts. [McArthur leaps! McArthur leaps with a flying clothesline...] TD: I can't watch! [...and connects! Huge pop as McArthur knocks Manning from Petrow's shoulders, sending the Phoenix native through a 360 degree spin in mid-air, before crashing down on his back! McArthur leaps up from the canvas, whooping and hollering, as Petrow simply stands and looks at his partner in shock.] TD: I can't believe it! McArthur hit the Sychosynthesis! Listen to these fans -- they can't believe their eyes either! [Petrow finally snaps out of his disbelief and yells at McArthur to cover Manning as he ducks out of the ring. McArthur nods enthusiastically before dropping onto Manning to make the cover. Alfonso drops: 1 -- 2 -- Manning kicks out! Big heel pop! McArthur stands, his eyes widening, as if unprepared for the fact that the match might continue after executing the Sychosynthesis. Petrow yells at McArthur to do something, but 4M seems rooted to the spot.] TD: Oh, this is bad. McArthur's like a deer in a car's headlights here, Steve Roberts! He'd better make the tag, even if he does nothing else... [McArthur suddenly awakens from his reverie, and moves towards Petrow to make the tag -- but Manning grabs 4M's leg as he recovers on the canvas, Maurice taking a nose dive towards the mat, falling woefully short of the corner. Manning gets back to his feet and, looking towards Quigley with an evil gleam in his eye, drags McArthur by his leg back over to his corner, where he tags in the somewhat recovered Quigley. Quigley also fixes Petrow with a hard stare as he enters the ring, Manning moving to the arena floor and keeping out of sight as he grabs McArthur's ankle, keeping him in the corner. Quigley blasts McArthur with a barrage of closed fist shots, drawing a warning from referee Earl Alfonso, before whipping him across the ring with tremendous force, McArthur moving with such velocity that he flips over the opposite turnbuckles, and ends up seated straddling the top turnbuckle. Big heel pop!] TD: McArthur's in trouble right now, Steve Roberts! He's stuck on that top turnbuckle -- and Quigley now, moving to the corner, climbing up the buckles... we're going to see a superplex! [Quigley drags McArthur to his feet, so that both men are standing on the top turnbuckle. Cameras flash all over the arena as Quigley picks up McArthur and the two men fall backwards -- and crash to the mat! Quigley immediately goes for the cover: 1 -- 2 -- Quigley pulls McArthur's shoulders away from the canvas! Quigley pulls McArthur up at the count of two! Huge heel pop! Alfonso warns Quigley as the former IC champ drags the woozy McArthur over towards Petrow in the corner -- and invites Petrow to tag in!] TD: Quigley is inviting Petrow to tag in and save his partner, Steve Roberts -- but Joe Petrow is hesitating! Look at these two men, look at Joe Petrow and Chris Quigley... and finally, Joe Petrow tags in! [Big pop as Quigley allows McArthur to slump back to the mat, and moves away from the corner as Joe Petrow steps in between the ropes. The two men never take their eyes off each other as they once again close in on each other in the ring... and then they suddenly begin flailing away at one another with hard rights and lefts! The crowd explodes as punches are traded, Petrow attempting to sending Quigley for the ride across the ring -- and Quigley reversing the attempt, sending Petrow... clattering into Earl Alfonso!] TD: Referee down! Referee down! Oh my -- and now all hell is breaking loose! [Manning, smelling blood in the water, immediately enters the ring to aid Quigley in double-teaming Petrow. They whip Petrow into the ropes -- and hit a double high-elevation backdrop on Sychosys as he comes back for the rebound! Quigley drags Petrow to his feet and holds him, while Manning again goes to the outside, reaches under the ring -- and produces a broomstick! Big heel pop!] TD: Oh my! Manning has a broomstick! And he drives it into Petrow's stomach! Oh, this is bad! SR: Aw, Dross, this damned Quigley, all the time spoiling my fun. [Petrow buckles from the gut shot, but Quigley does not allow him to fall to the mat, holding him up and allowing Manning to take a second free swing with the stick. Again, Petrow buckles under the force of the blow, but Quigley keeps him upright. Quigley and Manning send Petrow into the far ropes and, each grabbing one end of the broomstick, attempt to clothesline Petrow with it -- but Petrow ducks under the stick, slams on the brakes -- and hits Quigley with a standing dropkick, sending the former Intercontinental Champion sprawling! Huge pop!] TD: Oh my! Quigley goes down... SR: [interrupting] Nothing new there, Dross. TD: ...and Petrow now, with Manning -- a kick to the midsection, Petrow hoists Manning into position for an inverted piledriver... oh, he's going for the Knightmare! Joe Petrow is going for the Knightmare on Steve Manning! The referee is still down! [Petrow hoists Manning up by his armpits -- and then sends him crashing down to the mat face-first! Huge pop!] TD: Knightmare! Knightmare! Petrow is cleaning house in there! [Quigley staggers back to his feet as Maurice McArthur finally summons up the strength to enter the ring once more. Petrow instructs McArthur to grab the broomstick as he sends Quigley for the ride into the ropes -- Petrow grabs the other end of the broomstick, and together, Team Sychosys clotheslines Quigley with the broomstick, breaking it in two! Huge pop!] TD: Oh my! That broomstick just snapped like a twig across Quigley's neck! This is vicious, Steve Roberts! Manning now, beginning to stir -- Petrow is signalling to his partner... he's telling McArthur to go for Quigley! [The crowd is on its feet as Petrow manages to cinch Manning into a stump puller, yanking to get as much leverage on the hold as he possibly can, while McArthur... McArthur grabs Quigley's legs, grapevines his right leg, steps over -- and turns Quigley over. Huge pop!] TD: Can you believe this, Steve Roberts?! Maurice McArthur has Quigley in the Quickstriker! Unbelievable! SR: Wake up, Alfonso! I can hear Quigley warming up in the wings for a little tap number! TD: Earl Alfonso now, beginning to stir -- I'm not sure he even knows what's going on here. Petrow has Manning trapped in that stump puller, and Quigley -- Quigley... Steve Roberts, Quigley is turning that Quickstriker around! Quigley is reversing that Quickstriker! SR: Aw, damn it, Dross! TD: After all the punishment he has taken here tonight, Chris Quigley still has the wherewithal to reverse this hold! Unbelievable, Steve Roberts! [The fans are practically climbing the Coliseum walls as they see what is happening in the ring -- side by side, Joe Petrow has Manning in a stump puller, and Chris Quigley now has the Quickstriker cinched in on McArthur. Alfonso crawls inbetween the two, as both Manning and McArthur frantically slap the mat... and the official calls for the bell! Ding! Ding! Ding! Huge pop!] TD: Oh my! This match is over -- but what's the decision? What's the decision? [Petrow and Quigley both keep their submission holds firmly locked onto their victims as Alfonso drags himself over to the corner to let Sparkplug Lee know about the decision. A gang of IIWF officials and security staff dash down to ringside to try and break up the situation. Over the clamour of the fans, Sparkplug struggles to be heard:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, due to both Maurice McArthur and Steve Manning submitting, the official has ruled this match... a draw! A DRAW! [This announcement goes almost unnoticed by the fans in the ring as they watch the officials try and disentangle Petrow and Quigley from Manning and McArthur. Eventually, both men are forced to break the hold, and they square up to one another in the ring, nose to nose, security staff trying to keep them apart. After a good deal of posturing from both men, Quigley leaves the ring, helping the sore and battered Manning as he goes, and Petrow follows, supporting McArthur by having his arm draped over his shoulder. As the fans begin to settle once more, cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What an unbelievable match, Steve Roberts! The rivalry between Joe Petrow and Chris Quigley is hotter than ever -- and it is all going to come to a head in just seven days at Snow Brawl! Contact your local cable operator right now and order this incredible event! SR: He may have escaped this week, Dross, but next week -- it's gonna be like a dance routine from one of those "Golden Age of Hollywood" movies... more tapping than you can shake a stick at. TD: That remains to be seen, Steve Roberts. Folks, we're very nearly out of time here tonight, but before we go, we have to get comments from Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, as he addresses the comments made by Brody Thunder at the top of our show tonight. Let's go back and take a look at the bombshell announcement from the IIWF Champion. [Cut to footage captioned, "Earlier Tonight." Brody Thunder stands in the ring, clutching a microphone. He grins, rubs his jaw, and waits for the crowd to settle before fixing the camera with his steely gaze once more.] BT: Now I know Steve Kowalski's here tonight. I know he's listenin' ta my voice right now somewhere in the back. An' if yer smart, runt, you'll stay in the back an' keep what teeth ya got left 'till Snow Brawl. But while yer sittin' back there, I want ya ta listen -- an' listen good -- ta what I'm gonna say right now.     In my time in this sport I've fought the tough guys. I've fought     the cocky pretty boys. I've fought with champeens an' I've fought _legends_. An' the one thing they all had in common was... [Thunder pauses and leans on the top rope looking past the ringside close-up camera and straight to the back of the aisle.]     I beat 'em. Every last flamin' one o' 'em.     An' come January 17th, at Snow Brawl, l'il man... I'm gonna beat _you_. [A paper cup bounces off the cowboy's shoulder. Another just misses his face. Thunder shakes his head and smirks. His gaze returns to the entryway in the back.]     Now, Kowalski... I ain't out here ta sugarcoat things. You don't     like me. I don't like you. I ain't plannin' on leavin' that ring     without a few more o' these. [Thunder rips off the bandage on his forehead, exposing the stitches. A slight stream of blood seeps out and trickles down his brow, ignored by the cowboy.]     But you... you shouldn't plan on leavin' that ring as champeen. Hell, you shouldn't plan on leavin' that ring _conscious_, never mind as a champeen. This time... it's fer real. This time I'm puttin' ya out fer good. An' if I don't... if I can't beat you... [Thunder's smile disappears.]     ...then I'll leave the IIWF. [A collective gasp goes through the crowd at the shocking statement just made by Brody Thunder.]     No tricks. No gimmicks. No masked returns. You beat me...     ...I'll walk. [Stunned silence from the assembled fans!]     I've had ol' Spreadbury incorporate a standard "loser leaves town" stipulation into the contract. It says that if you beat me, then fer the next sixty days, I can't wrestle, announce or appear at an IIWF card or event. It's plain an' simple. All ya gotta do is put my shoulders ta the mat fer three seconds.     But... I'm tellin' ya right now... ya ain't gonna do it. That's not bein' cocky, Kowalski. That's bein' confident. Not over-confident.     Jus' plain confident. I've proved I can beat ya man-to-man. An'     at Snow Brawl I'm gonna prove one more thing, ace. I'm gonna prove that the toughest man in this business _ain't_ "the Fury," Steve Kowalski.     It's Brody Thunder. [Big pop once more! The fans awake from their daze and resume chanting and cheering the names of their heroes, now louder than ever. Cut back to live action, as Tim Dross stands in the squared circle, clutching a microphone. The fans are already chanting, "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!"] TD: Folks, we've just heard that announcement from Brody Thunder again. We've just heard that if Brody Thunder cannot successfully defend his IIWF World Heavyweight Championship next Saturday at Snow Brawl, he will leave the IIWF for sixty days! Now, let's hear from the man who hopes to regain the title -- the man who has beaten Brody Thunder for the championship once already. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome... Steve "the Fury" Kowalski! [Huge, huge pop as the opening of "Don't Fear The Reaper" by the Blue Oyster Cult kicks in over the PA, and the lights in the arena drop. A single spotlight illuminates the head of the aisle as the entrance curtain is thrown aside, and the bulky frame of Steve "the Fury" Kowalski appears in the arena! Wearing his battered denim jacket, which still sports spatters of blood from the parking lot brawl just seven days previously, Kowalski grins as he walks down the aisle, hearing his name chanted by twenty thousand excited fans. His green eyes glint, and the stubble on his unshaven chin also catches the light as he makes his way down to the ring. Eventually, he takes his place next to Dross, who looks up at the New Jersey Nightmare with a mixture of respect and trepidation. The lights in the arena rise once more as Dross begins to speak.] TD: Steve... it's a week later and you're a belt shorter. The second title confrontation between Kowalski and Thunder was more explosive than the first one. I have to admit, I couldn't believe my eyes after you put the belt up in the parking lot. You must regret your decision in retrospect. SK: As a matter o' fact, I _don't_. I have no problem puttin' up the belt anywhere, anyhoo. It's all a part of bein' a champ. That wasn't my mistake. Ya touched on it last time we chewed the fat. Ya asked if I was ready to be the champ... if I really appreciated bein' number one. TD: And? SK: I'll tell it like it is, Timmy. I didn't -- an' Brody taught me a val'ble lesson. Greatness is fleetin'. TD: Fleeting. SK: I jus' said that. Cut me some slack. I'm paid to make heads roll, not to teach English. Anyways, I was not appreciatin' the position I was in an' didn't act 'cordingly. TD: Meaning what? Waiting until Snow Brawl for the title defense? Or just avoiding Brody altogether? SK: It's not jus' one thing. It's a combo of a lot of stuff. I shouldn't have put myself in that position. I was in charge, not Brody. I shoulda made him sweat... wait a couple of weeks. Wait 'til I was healed. TD: Wait a second! You're hurt?! Is this going to threaten the second re-match at the Brawl? No one was notified that... SK: Take a pill, Junior. The match's still goin' on. Ain't nobody gonna stop the head on collision that's gonna happen on January 17. An' yeah, I'm hurt. My whole body's screwed. My neck's throbbin' from an asphalt Widowmaker. My back gets spasms every night I sleep, 'cause Serge likes to drop my ass on the ringside steps. I get dizzy. Doctors say it's from a few t'many crowbar shots. Bruised ribs, stress fractures, tear in my abdominal, it goes on an' on. [BLEEP], I got everythin' 'cept turf toe. [Big pop from the Furies!] TD: You can't wrestle like that. Move the championship match back a few weeks. "Fury", you might be as tough as leather, but even you are never going to survive this. Even a young man such as yourself has his limits. SK: Yer right. But I know Brody's in the same type of shape. An' I refuse to let'em go an _inch_ farther than me. He can't go any more an' I can't go any more. If we don't settle it at Snow Brawl... someone's career is gonna end. I mean it. I ain't shootin' my mouth off here. If we can't end it, someone's gonna be hurt permanent-like. TD: And you're betting that this chapter in Fury/Lone Wolf Story will be the last. A two-time rivalry that has taken this sport to the next level. Given the past between you two, this match may not be enough. SK: It better be. If Thunder can raise the stakes, so can the Fury. I'm tellin' Spreadbury _tonight_, right here, right now... that I want a cage match. [Big pop from the crowd! Kowalski gives a wry grin and waits for the noise to die down before continuing.] SK: An' on that cage I want a fence so no one climbs out. [Another big pop from the crowd as they imagine Kowalski and Thunder battling it out in a closed steel cage!] SK: An' hanging on the top of the cage, in the middle, I want the IIWF belt. I want the winner to climb 'cross for it. [Huge pop from the fans! "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" chants echo around the arena once more.] TD: What? An enclosed cage match with the belt suspended above the ring? One of you, after beating the other senseless, has to climb for it? That's worse than a ladder match! The attempt to reach the belt itself could break a leg. Neither you or Thunder will be able to make to the top after the matches you've had. SK: Well... we'll find out. If I can't beat Brody this time... [Kowalski pauses for a moment, obviously thinking about what he wants to say, the fans hushing and waiting for his words of wisdom:] Then I won't _ever_ meet him for _any_ title again. Whether he's the Heavyweight champ, or the IC champ, or a tag champ, I won't wrestle 'em for any strap again if I can't do it. TD: Bombshell! You will not take another title shot against Brody Thunder if you cannot win at Snow Brawl! Why are you doing this? SK: 'Cause I learned that if ya aren't willin' to go the distance, ya ain't gonna get the brass ring. An' if I can't get it done now... then I might not be everythin' I said I was. Love me or hate me, I want to be 'membered as a the man that got it do when he said he would. Brody's been my biggest hurdle an' I gotta clear it. TD: You would bow out to Thunder? You would make that challenge to yourself... to your career? SK: If I don't, somebody else'll. I'm at point in my career where I can go forward or backward. There ain't no sittin' still in wrestling. If ya ain't climbin' the ladder, someone's kickin' ya down. I don't like gettin' kicked so I gotta move on. I think Serge said it best, "Kowalski, what the hell have you done to earn a shot?" I guess it's about time to show'em why. TD: My goodness... this is going to be the biggest match in IIWF history. The only two-time IIWF champion meets the next possible two-time IIWF champion in a closed cage match. If you lose, you will deny any future title shots against your opponent. Win, and not only do you conquer the #1 wrestler in the world, for the second -- and hopefully last time -- but Brody Thunder must leave the IIWF for sixty days! [Kowalski nods, and the fans once again give a huge pop!] TD: Of course, Steve, the front office is billing next week's match as Kowalski/Thunder III, but in fact, it will actually be your fourth meeting. SK: Yeah, I beat'em in a non-title match a while back. Mad Dog was around for that one too. I'm sure the cowpoker expects the worst... inter'ference, that is. Well, it ain't gonna happen. Far as I'm concerned, me an' Brody are 1-1 in one-on-one hook-ups. Rubber match's comin', Brody. I got the address. TD: I asked the same question of Brody Thunder earlier tonight: Steve Kowalski, what can we expect to see in just seven days, when you and Thunder meet one last time? SK: Ya can expect hurt. A whole lot o' it. Ya can expect two men on their last legs wearin' their hearts on their sleeves. It'll be long an' dangerous. There'll be points were ya'll be yellin' to stop it... we won't let ya. Win, lose or draw, we'll be carried from the ring. We may be permanently hurt, but I'll take that chance. Simply said: Epic Bloodbath! There's nothing left to say... I'm tired of the talk. [The chants of "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" are now joined by another chant -- "WE WANT THUNDER! WE WANT THUNDER!" Kowalski walks around the ring, and puts his hand to his ear, as if to encourage the new chant. "WE WANT THUNDER! WE WANT THUNDER!" Suddenly, there is a huge pop as the entrance curtain is thrown aside again!] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, here comes the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... here comes the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! [Thunder enters the aisle to a huge pop, the IIWF World title slung over his right shoulder, and makes his way quickly down the aisle, ignoring the rain of soda and balled-up cups hurled in his direction. Kowalski sits on the middle rope and parts the ropes for Thunder to enter the ring, but the big cowboy merely tips his hat at Kowalski, gives a wry smile, and steps through the ropes on another side of the ring.] SR: [over the headset] We have another face to face confrontation, morons! Don't touch that dial! [Thunder and Kowalski square up to one another in the centre of the ring, going nose to nose, close enough to feel the warmth of the other's breath. Dross tries to stand between the two men, each of whom towers above the slightly rotund announcer, forcing his microphone up between their faces.] TD: Gentlemen -- let's keep the hostilities until next week, please, but do you have any comments? [Thunder and Kowalski both take their eyes off one another for a moment to look down at Dross, who swallows hard -- and is then knocked on his behind by two burly hands, one belonging to Brody Thunder, and the other belonging to Steve Kowalski! Huge pop as Thunder and Kowalski muscle up to one another once more, while Dross rolls from the ring, his face flushed and his hair ruffled. He returns to the broadcast table and replaces his headset as Thunder and Kowalski continue to stare at one another, nose to nose, in the ring.] TD: [over the headset] Well, that was completely unnecessary, Steve Roberts. Folks, we are right out of time here tonight -- but don't forget to tune into IIWF programming over the next week for all the latest news on Snow Brawl. And next Saturday night -- it's Thunder and Kowalski, in a covered steel cage, for the IIWF Championship... and for the final time! Until Tuesday, this is Tim Dross, for "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, saying: so long, everybody! [Cut to a wide-angle shot of the arena as Thunder and Kowalski continue to stand at a stalemate, nose to nose, in the centre of the squared circle. The fans are split in their chants of "Thun-der! Thun-der!" and "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" as the shot fades.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+