[A montage of video images flips past the screen, alternating between shots of ice and snow, and shots of blazing heat. We see arctic blasts and Hawaiian beaches. The images switch back and forth faster and faster until it all seems to explode in a mass of letters, flying into place until they form:] C + O + U + N + T + D + O + W + N T + O                           ________      ______                           | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|                           | || | \ v  v / | __|                           |_||_|  \_/\_/  |_| @@@ @@ @@ @@@ @@ @@ @@@@ @@@@ @@@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@@ @@@ @@ @@@@@ @@ @@ @@@@@ @@ @@ @@@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@ @@@@ @@@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@@ @@ @@ @@@@@ @@@@@@@@ @@@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@@@@@ @@@@@ @@@ @@ @@ @@@ @@@@@@ @@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@@@ @@@@@ with Larry Morton and Victoria Von Edward January 16, 1998 [As the logo fades we see a temporary set gracing the sunny beaches of Hawaii. As we see Larry Morton, clad in a incredibly loud shirt, and Victoria Von Edward, in a beautiful, sexy, yet tasteful sun dress, there are a succession of lightly garbed and incredibly well built young men and women frolicking around.] LM: This isn't just Countdown to IIWF Saturday Night! It's Countdown to IIWF Snow Brawl! I'm your host, Larry Morton, and I'm accompanied by the ever cheerful Victoria Von Edward! VVE: What are you so happy about? I realize that the IIWF is about to kick off the greatest year in wrestling history with one of the best cards ever assembled... but you seem absolutely chipper! LM: That's because I've already had a chance to see the clips we are showing tonight. VVE: What's the big deal? Is Chuck Norris making a guest spot? LM: I'm not telling! I'm not telling! VVE: Well, as Larry finally completes his descent into juvenile ridiculousness, let's get on with the show. Snow Brawl is filled top to bottom with exciting matches and thrilling feuds so let's get down to the run-down. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF Heavyweight Championship Cell Match "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. Steve "The Fury" Kowalski ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: An impressive number of wrestlers have graced the IIWF with comments this week... but none from the champion! VVE: Thunder has kept quiet since Monday but the fans certainly haven't! This is the match they want to see! Thunder/Kowalski IV! LM: This has been such a volatile feud that this match has been put in a sealed cage! The championship belt will be suspended from the roof of the cage and the winner will be the one who retrieves the belt and touches the mat with both feet! VVE: Let's hear from the challenger, and recent champion, Steve Kowalski! [Segment opens.] SK: I whipped me some major legend ass in the past... [As the obvious voice of Steve Kowalski starts the segment, the screen goes black and fades back in. Coming back in is a scene that has Dan "Flash" Kauffman devastated by a vicious SKULLPUMP from Kowalski. Hands raised, the New Jersey Nightmare steps over the fallen ex-champ, exiting the ring.] Hell, I whipped some mid-card ass too... [A burst of whiteness and a cut to the Fury clocking Mr. Damage from behind with a ring bell. The background is a wild, screaming house crowd getting a taste of what Kowalski is all about. The referee is confused as to how to ring a bell that is stolen. Shrugging his shoulders, the referee says "ding" through the mic.] No, I didn't ferget the JJS... [The screen flips over to show the now classic scene in President Spreadbury's office. "Nifty" Ned Norton upside down on the desk caught in the seldom used Texas Clover Leaf by Kowalski. Spreadbury is freaking out as Kowalski is having a ball.] Or the front office group of stiffs... [The screen blurs into the next scene of Kowalski and a vertical Poutine Janois. Janois hits the concrete via a SKULLPUMP with a sickening thud. The Fury is laying the badmouth on the prone suit, getting plenty of help from the degenerate Furies at ringside.] I 'ccomplished alot over a year an' a half... [The tri-split screen show Kowalski with all three singles titles: Cruiserweight, Intercontinental and Heavyweight championship belts. The words "Triple Crown Winner" float across the screen.] I also got m'ass put inna sling plenty of times... [A quick montage of brutal moves and tactics executed on Kowalski burst onto the screen: Mr. Damage breaking a cricket bat across the Fury's head... the Sandman clotheslining Kowalski off a stunned Warnett... Petrow sending him through the Bulldog Brown table at Birthday Bash... Serge Annis slamming a bloody Fury across the ringsteps... the White Phoenix coming off the top rope and spin kicking Kowalski across the chin... the infamous triple cross!] 'Specially by one guy... [Numerous Cattle Busters, Widowmakers, punches, clotheslines, kicks, stomps, chairs, a crow bar, everything! Screen fades into something else. Photos taken from fans at ringside are being tossed on a poker table, littered with poker chips. Each photo has a beaten, bloody and broken Kowalski at the feet of "Lone Wolf". After five photos drop, two burly arms reach out and collect the winnings, pulling the chips to his pile.] I've gambled wit' Brody fer too long an' I got one more hand to play. [The screen goes a little white and comes back in to Kowalski standing with arms crossed. Dressed casually, as usual, in jeans, boots, and a T-shirt. The shirt reads, "Scars? Got a couple." The usually upbeat Kowalski looks a little tired... a little haggard. Instead of the wild-eyed young man that crashed in on the IIWF in 1996, here is a steel-eyed pillar of cool intensity. Cool... calm... collected.] Yer probably tapin' one o' these promos... talkin' how yer gonna take me 'part... how the "Next Big Thing" ain't never happened, it jus' passed by. Well, yer right, 'bout that. The Next Big Thing did pass us by. It lasted only a week. A car crash, a Widowmaker and some asphalt took care of that. But when I think about it. I beat me jus' as much as ya did. [Scratching his head, a crooked sideways grin makes its way to his face.] I'm not really sure what it'll take fer me to get the belt back. I don't really know what it'll take fer me to hold on to it if I do get it. I played all my tricks an' I broke all the rules to get it an' I still lost it in a week. Only ya, Brody, can tell if I'm two weeks wiser -- an' only ya can put me to the test. [Kowalski put his paw out and someone off camera tosses him a Mooselips. He cracks it open...] Here's to me to take the belt... [He downs a gulp.] Here's to ya fer lettin' me in the door fer one last dance... [Gulps again. Pausing for a second as he sees how much beer he has left in the can.] There's two drinks left... [He downs the rest of the beer.] They're both fer me... 'cause I'm gonna be twice the man ya ever faced, Brody. [Fade.] LM: Well, Kowalski was wrong about Thunder taping a promo -- at least for tonight, since I understand we will hear from the Champion ahead of his big match on tomorrow night's Free For All -- but is he wrong about being a better man? VVE: I'm going to have to say no. The Fury has something that Thunder just doesn't have... heart. LM: The Lone Wolf has no heart?! That's preposterous! Brody Thunder has got to be one of the best champions that the IIWF has ever seen! Kowalski is a tough wrestler but Brody Thunder is the man! VVE: Now, now, Larry. Don't get excited. LM: One thing I'm sure we can agree on is that this match will go down in the record books as one of the greatest brawls of all time! VVE: This whole series will. Do you remember the parking lot brawl? That match sent chills down my spine! LM: Wait until you see the video I was talking about. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Submission Match "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley vs. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: While Larry gloats about some scrap of knowledge that he is holding onto like it was the last beer at a pretzel festival, let's look at the submission match between the two most over-rated wrestlers in the federation. LM: Over-rated? The uncanny hatred of Chris Quigley by certain members of the wrestling community is well known, but why are you calling down Joe Petrow? VVE: Petrow is feuding with Quigley. Their matches are getting billing over title matches both on IIWF Saturday Night and Snow Brawl. That's over-rated. LM: Whatever your opinion on the status of the billing of this match, it has certainly grabbed the attention of the fans. The combatants had some choice words for each other this week. [SCENE: Parking Lot of IIWF. Tim Dross is climbing out of his '78 Volkswagon. He carefully steps over a bloodstain left on the pavement from the Thunder/Kowalski war and walks towards the entrance. At the same time, Chris Quigley and Steve Manning walk out of the door, Quigley wearing jeans and a "Do or Die!" t-shirt, a leather jacket covering it partially, while Manning is ignoring the cold in jean shorts and a t-shirt reading "I <> blood." Quigley clics a remote start button, and a Ford Explorer starts up in the background. Dross spots Quigley and Manning, and quickly, at least for Tim Dross, runs up to greet them.] TD: Gentlemen! Giving yourselves a last minute work-out before Snow Brawl? [Manning lights up a cigarette, and blows smoke in Dross' face before answering.] SM: Who're you, Sherlock Holmes? Just testing Quig's resistance against the most painful of all experiences. We sat down and watched tapes highlighting the Shakespeare/Warnett angle. But I'm proud to say, he did _not_ give up! He kicked the TV screen in, but he did _not_ submit! [Manning laughs, and blows another cloud of smoke in Dross' face.] TD: [coughs] Yes, that's nice, Steve. Mr. Quigley, if I may, can I ask you how you've been preparing for your huge submission match with "Sychosys" Joe Petrow? [Quigley reaches into his pocket, takes out a pair of shades, and slips them on.] CQ: Dross, I've gotta say, you're getting a bit predictable. I _knew_ you were going to ask that question. So I've got a nice, well-rehearsed answer for ya. I've been training 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I've been travelling to the pits of hell and back to build up my resistance to any and all pain. TD: Well, that sounds greulling! CQ: It's total bull[BLEEP], Dross. I've been doing the same thing to prepare for this match as I do for all my matches, I watch tapes, I study moves, I try to improve on perfection, but I do _not_ need any special drills to help my resistance to pain. I don't care how much a hold hurts, my spine will be snapped, my arm will be ripped from its socket, my leg will be cracked at the knee, and I _still_ won't say those two words that everyone seems to want to hear me say. It never happened before, Dross, and it ain't about to happen at Snow Brawl. Joe Petrow asked for the big fight, and that's exactly what he's gonna get. TD: There's no one doubting your threshold for pain, Chris. What people are doubting is your ability to make Joe Petrow submit. What people are doubting is your ability in general. Is this man standing before me the same man who defeated Dan Kauffman? Is this the same man who defeated Otto Verhoeven? Is this the same man who defeated Brody Thunder? Steve Kowalski? Marty Warnett? The list goes on and on. [Manning pokes his head into the scene.] SM: No, I was the one who beat those guys. Quigs just took all the credit... [Manning laughs as Quigley shoves him away.] CQ: Yeah, this is exactly the same man who took it to Kauffman, and Thunder, and Kowalski, and the rest of 'em. People say I've changed, but I'm the same man I've always been. For the first time in almost 15 years, I've got a true ally to give me a hand in my ring wars. Besides that, I haven't changed a bit. TD: That's the exact point I'm trying to make. Maybe you could've defeated Duncan Macbeth by yourself. Maybe you didn't need Manning's help at all... SM: [interupting] HEY! TD: ...but the thing is, we'll never know! CQ: [rolls his eyes] I kicked out of three Slaughterslams in a row, I think I coulda kicked out of a damn Frankensteiner. Macbeth and I will cross paths again real soon, and I'm gonna kick his plaid ass straight to hell. [Quigley turns away in disgust, as Manning applauds.] TD: But Chris, about Joe Petrow. I've got one simple question! Can you beat him? CQ: Trust me, Dross. If you want to write a submission dictionary, you just stay tuned to Quigley vs. Petrow. I'm going to show _everyone_ exactly what submission excellence is about! TD: I'm sure you could do exactly that, Chris. Do you have last comments for your opponent, Joe Petrow? [Quigley removes his shades, and looks dead ahead into the camera.] CQ: Bring a gun, Petrow. Bring a gun. [Quigley slides his shades back on and walks toward the Explorer, as Manning leaps into the view of the camera.] SM: [screaming] And McArthur! At the Free For All, I'm gonna give the scumbags their money's worth! I'm gonna annhiliate you so quick, the IIWF will have to give refunds! Seeya soon, pal! [Manning laughs like a madman, and then quickly turnstail and runs after the Explorer that Quigley is now driving away in. Dross simply shrugs and walks away as the camera fades.] [Inside of a rented Nissan Maxima, Joe Petrow is about to cross the boundary between late night and early morning. Petrow's car is nearly alone, as he heads windward on the Pali Highway. Petrow reaches down to the radio and tunes in KKLV 98.5, Hawaii's Classic Rock Station:] PB: # We can't AFFORD to be innocent! Stand up and FACE the enemy! It's a do or DIE situation! We will be...# JP: Awww, MAN! Here I thought Quigs actually came up with a clever slogan on his own, and all he was doing was ripping off Pat Benetar?! Heh, that's why I like you so much, Quigs. You're cool! [Petrow switches to KORL 99.5, Hawaii's Japan Tourist Information station, and picks up "White Love," the newest release from SPEED.] JP: Ah, now that's more like it! [As the pubescent j-pop girl group squeaks out their soprano high-tempo fluff, Petrow quickly turns to address the camera.] JP: How you doing over there?...Yeah, I'm talking to you! Don't shut that camera off either, I don't give a damn about that "don't talk to the cameraman" keyfabe crap. Everyone knows somebody's gotta be here with me! [Petrow his attention back to the road, as they begin their upward ascent into the mountains.] JP: Maurice isn't here, He went out to the North Shore, said he had some "special training" he wanted to do. Hah! [Petrow laughs] You want to know what his special training is? He saw something in a movie we rented last night, and said he was so inspired he wanted to do that himself! Hell, I bet him $100 it wouldn't work. It's too stupid to work for real, but he wouldn't listen! Anyway, it's his fight, so he's gotta do it his way. And this time, I'm damn sure gonna be in his corner to make sure he doesn't get blindsided again. And as far as Team Sychosys goes, don't think for a second that we're going into that battle royal out of focus. Neither of us are gonna call Snow Brawl a complete success unless we walk out of there with the IIWF World Tag Team titles. Maybe *then* some team will find the gumption to challenge us. Maybe *then* we can actually get a match from time to time. Saturday night, every tag team from the Lost Boys to the Barnacle Brothers will get a taste of what the future of tag team wrestling is all about. [The song ends, and Petrow turns off the radio entirely to allow himself to be heard better.] JP: Now, the topic can turn to Chris Quigley. And just in time, we're almost there. [Petrow turns off a very dark offramp, the high-beams catching a sign that reads "Pali Lookout. Open 8am to Sundown" Suddenly, Petrow speeds up, and turns off the headlights altogether! A slight "What the!?" is heard from somebody other than Petrow, before Petrow resumes his talk, completely hidden in blackness.] JP: Don't worry, I've driven this path many times before. But don't turn the camera light on, ya might blind me! What...it's closed? Of course it's closed! It's closed to everyone but me! Because I have to talk to a power. [Petrow is going nearly 50mph down the pitch black roads, twisting and turning, narrowly missing trees, yet somehow continuing his journey, as if he really has driven this road a million times before...] JP: An entity that built these islands, and controls everything on them. I'm not stupid enough to ask these powers to "Bring me the head of Chris Quigley!" That match is gonna be ours and ours alone. The ultimate match, with only one way to end. No DQ, no countout, no pinfall, no outside wrestler interference, no stopping for blood or unconsciousness. Not even a tap-out. I don't like that, it's a weak way of giving up, and it's degrading to both of us. One man will say, "I quit." One true winner...one true loser. Period. But Chris...I'm a man who knows all about the infinite possibilites in this universe. And even I realize that, somehow, someway, there's a universe that exists, in which it is you, Quigs, who makes ME say those words. I can think of nothing else in the world that would pain me more right now than to see that come to pass. But through every single infinite possibility that could come of that night, there is one constant that I and my Sychopaths can take comfort in. When Snow Brawl is over, I will walk out of that ring a man. A true man. Chris Quigley...will you be able to say the same? Anyway, I just want to make sure that all the other forces of man and nature are put on hold for our brief little dance. And that the only forces involved in this match are those of you, me, and the combined will of the hearts and souls of everyone that witnesses this event. [Petrow hits the breaks hard, but not enough to squeal the tires, eventually coming to a hard stop. He turns off the car, and opens the door.] JP: Come on! Oh, you can turn the light on now if you must. [Petrow walks out, and the camera (and cameraman) follow. They are apparently at the end of a large parking lot, and Petrow heads down a pathway, the picture jerking slightly as the cameraman hurries to catch up, the bright spotlight the only light piercing the blackness of the cloaked nightime destination. They walk down this pathway for around 30 seconds, until they turn a corner, and see the lookout point. The closer they get, the more powerful the wind seems to pick up, and the more striking seems the lookout scene of the lights of a still-sleeping Oahu. As Petrow nears the edge, the wind blows towards them at near hurricane gale, Petrow's long, unkempt hair flowly wildly in every direction, as if desparately trying to escape from his head. The camera jerks wildly, and fails to catch a steady image for several seconds, until the cameraman has found a place to steady himself. As the sound is filled by nothing but the raging winds, Petrow stands at the edge of the lookout...then attempts to climb up the short waist high stone wall that separates him from a 300 foot drop, but is knocked back by the wind. Undaunted, Petrow tries again, this time compensating for the wind by actually leaning OVER the edge! After a slow, tedious climb, Petrow is standing on the rock ledge, literally leaning off the edge, as if doing an impersonation of an Olympic ski jumper. Despite the fact that the slightest drop in the wind might send him plunging to his death, Petrow stands his ground, apparently carrying on a type of communication with something, somehow... Finally, after a minute that seems like an eternity, Petrow stands straight up and jumps, and is instantly knocked backwards about 10 feet, landing hard on his back. Rolling over, Petrow slowly pushes himself off the ground, and to a standing base. The camera catches a heretofore unseen look of wild revolution in the blazing eyes of Sychosys. The cameraman senses the need to zoom, and his efforts soon reward the viewer with a full face and torso shot of a man who looks to have channeled the rage of every restless spirit in the universe into his body. They appear to be trying to escape out of his hair, propelled in all directions by the wind. Suddenly, Petrow spreads out his arms, and screams out so as to be heard over the gale:] JP: QUIGS....HERE I AM! ROCK ME LIKE A HURRICANE!!! [The cameraman decides that this bizarre scene should end now, as show fades to black.] LM: As those comments made clear, there is more than one match tomorrow night that concerns these warriors. VVE: That crazy Manning faces off with Maurice MacArthur on the Free For All and Team Sychosys is taking part in the tag team battle royal! LM: More on those matches later. What is your take on the submission match? VVE: I've got to go with Petrow. Quigley has already shown that he is willling to fold when the chips are down. He gave up when Duncan took the Intercontinental Championship from him... he'll give up now. LM: There is some question whether Quigley really quit in that match but we're going to find out for sure whether he will quit this Saturday night! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Cruiserweight Championship Ladder Match Ronnie Paris vs. "Enigma" Tazeko Musashi ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: What was shaping up to be an amazing match between two bitter rivals has turned into an absolute farce! LM: A farce? How can a match between two men who despise each other and are willing to put thier bodies on the line for the Cruiserweight Title be a farce! VVE: That's what makes it a farce! The Cruiserweight Title belongs to neither of these men! Timothy was robbed! LM: Hold on! You promised the producer that you wouldn't constantly sneak references to Turner in the show! VVE: Well he... I, uh... fine. Tell Rusty I'll be good. LM: Musashi and Paris have been building to this moment for over a month! This match could rival the great Musashi/Chow ladder match that is a legend in the IIWF! [Scene: The shot opens on a wide pastoral field, rapidly closing in on the profile of "Enigma" Takezo Musashi, who stands in its midst aiming a Japanese compound bow. His face is etched in focused concentration, his body is as tense as a tightly coiled spring, as he draws back an arrow on the string of his weapon. The bow tautly curves, the string quivers ominously, as the Enigma prepares to release its deadly emissiary with devestating velocity. Musashi adjusts his aim, his eye fixed firmly forward, then, as he releases the arrow, the camera rapidly cuts to a trailing shot upon its razor head, carrying the viewer's eye along at blistering pace as the arrow covers a span of a hundred or so metres, before thunking directly into its target: a poster board upon which is prominently displayed the arrogantly grinning face of Ronnie Paris. The camera focuses for several moments upon the quivering arrow lodged directly in the centre of Paris' skull, then cuts back to the Enigma.] TM: Ronnie Paris, the final dance of our deadly waltz is upon us. Like the last reel of a horror movie, like the final act of drama played out upon the stage, we shall dance when the lights go dim, when the hall has been emptied, when the foot echoes upon the floor... and the devils are ready to play... There will be no security goons to trod on our toes and cost us the contest. There will be nobody to disturb the flow of our footwork or the flourish of our pirouhettes. The cast has been stripped to its barest essentials, to the spine that binds us togethor in all of our malice and hatred, in everything that we stand for as opposites and enemies... We danced this far through the shadows, now we stand in tense expectation as the final duo. Tomorrow night, Ronnie Paris, the spine snaps, and we both spiral outwards in chaos. One to plummet to his doom upon the grime and sweat of the mat, one to climb that ladder and rise tall in glory and valour. Our dance is the most spectacular of all... it is the warrior's dance. Few dancers have the skill or the heart for it, and for those who do, honours and glory follow in their wake. It is the most poetic of dances, and the most violent... Our artistry is in our ability to inflict pain; our steps are designed for the kill... Blood coating the fist. Bones breaking beneath the skin. Cracks inscribed upon the skull... that is the tapestry our dance weaves. Pray that you have the stomach for it, Ronnie Paris. [Musashi turns back to the target, putting another arrow to his bow and lining it up with his steel blue eye. There is a twang and a hiss as the arrow springs forward, streaking outward and then burying itself in the target, positioned approximately where Ronnie Paris' heart would be. Musashi whips back around towards the camera, and this time, there is anger flashing in his gaze.] TM: You ripped me off, Ronnie Paris. You denied me the gold that was surely mine. Nearly a year of chasing my own tail, of spilling my blood and sweat, of fighting with all my heart to win the recognition that should be mine... all thrown away by one act of cowardice on your part. I had Duncan MacBeth beaten. The Intercontinental title was within my reach. The whole world stands as my witness... And you... you took it all away from me, and now YOU'RE the one with gold around your waist! It burns me deeply to witness such a tragic state of affairs... to see such an unworthy, cowardly, feeble man as yourself strap on a title belt that I once held with pride and honour. You stain the Cruiserweight championship with your dishonour, Ronnie Paris, but soon it shall be stained with your blood. The Enigma has become a walking time bomb. He has focused his disgust and his hatred for you into a blast furnace of intensity! To come within one metre of me any time between now and Snow Brawl's aftermath, Ronnie Paris, will be the last fatal chance you ever take... the last explosion in a rampage of violence. As I pull back the string on my bow, the tension grows ever stronger. Now, it is stretched beyond breaking point. When the string is released, the tension is unleashed to the full, and the arrow is propelled to its deadly conclusion. The string: my hatred for you, Ronnie Paris, in the sum of your misdeeds. The arrow: the Engima as he launches himself into battle, his soul raging in fury. And the deadly conclusion?... Well, I'll let that one fester in your imagination, my nemesis. Tomorrow night: Snow Brawl - the host of my greatest ever victory - shall be both an ending and a beginning. The beginning of the Enigma's second reign as the IIWF Cruiserweight champion, and a new path of glory. The ending... it shall be the conclusion of our hatred, Ronnie Paris... ...and the moment you persish within its frenzied depths. At Snow Brawl, lightning _will_ strike twice. [Musashi stares deep into the camera, intensity burning through the lens, as the shot fades.] VVE: Musashi is a man on a mission. He won't be denied until he gets his revenge. This is not only revenge against Paris causing him the Intercontinental Title, but it's also revenge against his loss to Shinja Chow in that classic ladder match. LM: Will Ronnie Paris still be the Cruiserweight Champion after Saturday? There's only one way to find out! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Tag Team Battle Royal IIWF World Tag Team Championship Match ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: This pair of matches will help to pave the way for who is going to lead the tag team ranks in the IIWF for 1998! LM: We first have a battle royal featuring all of the teams in the IIWF. When the dust settles one team will stand victorious. That team will face the IIWF Tag Championship Lost Boyz for the gold! VVE: We will see more flying bodies than we saw in the twelve man match last week! LM: We have the Down Boys, Team Sychosys, the Fabulous Ones, High Plains Drifters, the Machines, Licensed for Devastation, the Harlequins, the Natural Predators, the Prophets of Rage, Tony Starks and the Subway Psycho, the Barnacle Brothers, and the Rotundos! VVE: We've got comments from a number of the teams. Is one of these videos the one you were babbling about? LM: No. [Camera opens on a large wooden desk in a spacious office. Sitting behind the desk is Awesome T. T looks presentable for a change. He has a dress shirt on, and his long blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail. He does not wear a hat. Standing next to him is an older man, who looks to be in his late fourties, holding a breifcase. He wears a conservative grey suit and glasses.] AT: Welcome to my office. I put this nice office in my beautiful house in the Hamptons so I could actually get some work done, serious work, but still enjoy myself and relax. Relaxing can be the best way for your mind to flow, and to get new ideas. [T looks up to see the man standing next to him, and acts surprised as if he just appeared.] AT: Well, this rather handsome individual next to me is Abel Nutzbaum, my personal attorney. I had to hire Abel here full time after that nasty hospital incident. Anyway, Abel here tells me that the powers that be here in the IIWF don't want me on so much any more. They want to see more wackiness from Adam Peterson and Dan Oliver. They want to see Danny flex and all of that stuff. Well, all in good time, my friend. But first, I'd like to address some wrestlers that have been annoying me a great deal as of late. Those teams would be the Machines and the Fabulous Ones. [T stops momentarily to take a sip of a nearby beverage, then reaches into his desk, pulling out IIWF action figures of the Fabulous Ones and the Machines.] AT: Here's two teams that seem to riding Adam and Danny's case, recently, and I can't seem to understand why. Two teams, that have faced Adam and Danny six times, and have as many victories over them as Louis Farrakhan has white men on his Kwanzaa card list: none. Yet, the Fabulous Ones start blabbing to the Japanese media about how easily they defeated the Down Boys, who are better known in Japan than these two Chippendales rejects, and Simon O'Neal is jumping into our damn business because he isn't getting laid. Cripes, Simon, if you stop bitching about your damn personal problems and started figuring out how to use that lump of dead weight you call a tag team partner to your advantage, you might be successful. [T pushes over the Paul Wong action figure, then looks over at the Fabulous Ones action figures.] AT: Ugh, Japan. I love Japan. Best wrestlers on the planet. Yet, here's a team, the Fabulous Ones...using a very familar name, by the way. Anyway, two Japanese wrestlers, who have no knowledge of moves. No style, no gimmick...they're just pretty. Adam Peterson and Dan Oliver were never gifted with great builds or anything like that. All they did was start as a team, got good, went to Japan, got much better, and learned everything they could from those better than they were. The Down Boys are an American team that's smart enough to wrestle the very advanced Japanese style. The Fabulous Ones are a mediocre, low-brow bunch of wannabe male strippers who can't even get the American style down. Could you imagine if they went to Japan? They'd be eaten alive, and booed out of every arena. It practically makes me ill that a team that has so much at its disposal refuses to do anything with it. [T smacks the Fab Ones action figures off the table, then turns his attention back to the Machines action figures. He grabs the Simon O' Neil figure, and proceeds to attempt to melt its head with a lighter.] AT: Simon O'Neal throws a friggin' fireball at Adam Peterson. We had nothing against the Machines...they were just pissed off at us because we used them as a stepping stone. He throws a fireball at Adam Peterson and watches with glee as Paul Wong tries to kiss the DB's ass knowing what would be in store for them if we really ever got pissed enough. These are two teams that can't admit they're massive failures, and attempt to take it out on us. And then, of course, there's the Lost Boyz. [T shakes his head, then faces the camera again] AT: In a highly intelligent attempt to raise themselves up a level, the Lost Boyz attacked Adam and Dan as they were on their way to win another match. It's a very simple concept. Lower beings, when faced to use their smaller brain, get frustrated, and become aggressive. Eddy... Alex... we understand that you had to take the short bus to school. We know all the kids laugh at you...hell, they still laugh at you when you wear those Saints jerseys. It's okay... you don't have to take it out on us. There's good places where you can get therapy, and let it all out. Eddy...Alex...it's all right to cry. I do it every time I see that Kenny kid get killed on South Park. So sad. [T smirks, finally, then holds up a tape.] AT: Now, for those of you who enjoy the entertainment part of our segments, have I got a treat for you. But you'll just have to wait and see. [T throws the tape to someones awaiting hands offstage.] AT: Because I just want to say one more thing. At Snow Brawl, the whole IIWF is going to realise how good Adam Peterson and Dan Oliver are. Doug! Play the tape. [T sits back in his chair as the tape begins to play. Footage is of two men who have their back to the camera. Suddenly, Adam Peterson and Dan Oliver turn around to face the camera. Both men wear dark glasses, and give the thumbs up sign when the camera hits them. Loud, bass-filled music starts to play, as Adam Peterson starts to dance around. He does the "Running Man" while Dan Oliver attempts to do the "Cabbage Patch". Finally, Adam Peterson grabs a microphone] # "Teams in the Double-I ain't no joke..." "Come in unprepared, and yo' ass gets broke..." # [Peterson stops for a moment, bopping his head, then motions for the people watching to "raise the roof" with his hands. He returns to the mic.] # "Me and Dan came in, and Damage Inc. was felt..." "But some punk bitches done got our belts..." # [Peterson starts to bop his head again, and tosses the mic over to Dan Oliver. Dan looks at it for a second, then begins his own rap] # "YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO FEEL THE TOP ROPE POWERBOMB, HUH??? SOMEBODY'S GONNA DIE!!!!!!" # [Peterson stares at Dan, then snatches the mic away from him. Then, he begins to bop his head again, with a cheesy smile] # "Come Snow Brawl, that'll be in the past..." "Gonna win the battle royal and kick some ass!" # [Peterson bops once again, and maybe this song will come to an end] # "Lost Boyz better go run for cover..." "'Cause you'll go down as easy as we fuc..." # [With that, the tape suddenly goes black] [The eve of Snow Brawl approaches....and as the sun sets on a Hawaiian paradise, the Natural Predators and Kuyler Greyson, along with his wife Karen, are found relaxing by the oceanside. Grey Phoenix is involved in a game of volleyball with a beautiful young woman, his fiancee, and two beachcombers, while Bear, wearing a pair of forest design swimming trunks, flexes for all the pretty young and scantily clad objects of Soundbite Steve's every waking thought. Kuyler and his wife, Karen Morris-Greyson, both looking tremendously happy, watch the sunset from a patio near the beach. She laughs a little and takes his hand in hers] KG: [to cameramen] Like paradise, this....hard to believe in a few hours the only thing that will be on everyone's mind is Snow Brawl... KMG: I just wish I could have more time here with you, Kuy.... KG: Well, one of the perks of being in the IIWF... you get paid vacations like this just because you're part of it all... KMG: How are Michael and Dan taking it? KG: Well, this promises to be the hardest fight of their lives...every team that has an eye on Porteaux and Ramos also has an eye on the number one contenders. I admit, I don't envy them tomorrow. KMG: Do you ever miss wrestling yourself? Do you regret giving it up for me? KG: No... not really. Came to a choice. If I wanted to be with you...or if I would have rather spent my nights stepping into a ring with folks like Ramos and Steele....and afterwards, a night alone. KMG: You make it sound like I'm the only one who ever chased after you. KG: Nah. Just the only one I ever let catch me. Besides, look at those two. Two young fresh talents. [Camera pans to Grey Phoenix, who does a wicked spike of the ball, then to Bear, who by now is doing pushups with three women sitting on his back, giggling] KG: Few months back... a year back... no one would have expected greatness from them. And by just sitting back, managing, scouting... I get to spend more time with you... and time helping these youngsters get started. Means a lot more than just grappling and ranting. KMG: Colin and Vic both called...they'll be in attendance tomorrow. [Kuyler smiles, hugging his wife tight.] KG: I'm glad. Might just be a bunch of wrestlers...but we're still like family. KMG: And tomorrow? KG: Tomorrow, Michael and Daniel will get dressed in their wrestling outfits, get pumped, and business as usual. But for a few nights, anyway, it's good to see them just relaxing...and have some time in Paradise with you... KMG: Little sappy, isn't it? KG: It's a wrestling show, Karen...every other interview will be a "I wanna maim you and yo mama" type. I think one of these will not be such a terrible thing... [She laughs a little as the lights fade to black.] [Fade in: Derek and Dirt Dog stand before the screen, smiling confidently into the cameras.] DR: Snow Brawl, the day when the most successful tag-team in the IIWF comes back one more time for their glory. Seems people have forgotten us, left us out of contention in favour of some image stealing Down Boys and what not. Well, how the hell can you forget former champions? Just because ol' Dirt Dog is new doesn't mean he doesn't have that bite. DDUA: 'Cause I got bite! I'm like that root beer, Barq's. And every tag team in the IIWF is gon see what we mean when I says ish like that, right. 'Cause I know you figure I'm just some silly little clown. And I is. [chuckles aimlessly] But I'm also the craftiest dirty bastid on the circuit! Ain't none of y'all that can outthink me. Ain't none of y'all that can outdo me. So that means it's Prophets vs. Damage Inc. one more time. Second verse. DR: Same as the first. Just a little bit louder. DDUA: And hella worse! [Fade out.] [Scene: A snowy Staten Island. The shot shows a group of men sitting and standing outside. As the shot gets closer, we see that two of the men are arguing: Tony Starks and Subway Psycho. Both men are up in each other's faces:] TS: What the hell was that, huh? You all of a sudden can't wrestle worth a damn? SP: Me? I was doin' fine... we had those two beat and those tag team belts won. You're the one who screwed up. TS: I screwed up? Who the hell here lives in the damn sewer, huh? Your ass has been down under too long -- been breathin' those fumes. You just better get your ass in line for this pay per view. This is our shot to screw up, you know that? SP: What the hell are you gonna do? Talk my ass to death? [Starks becomes even more agitated at this remark and tries to lunge at Psycho. Starks is caught by his boys who are aware of the situation. Starks is restrained, the Psycho looks even more agitated when Raheem Coles steps between them.] RC: Look here...you two is supposed to be boys. You two, you seen all types of misery. You lived it, breathed it. You gonna let one screw up mess up the best team in the IIWF? Huh? [Starks and Psycho seem to begin to calm as if thinking about Coles' words.] Psycho, you and my man here... ain't nothin' gonna stop you. You hear me? The only damn thing that can possibly do it is if you two mess it up yourselves. Not them two Lost Boy cats or any other damn team. [Psycho seems to agree and walks over to Starks who is beginning to be released by his boys. He pounds Starks on the chest, nods his head and walks off camera. Coles then turns to Starks and gets up in his face.] You... you know what time it is. Keep your eye on the prize, baby, and rise. You know what you gotta do. TS: Word. [Starks nods and the shot widens to the scene of the men continuing to talk amongst themselves as the snow falls.] [Bluto and Seadog, the Barnacle Brothers, stand in front of a simple IIWF backdrop] BB: Arr, it be just like out on the open seas! Just a buncha stowaways we gots to throw overboard! Then we takes the treasure from The Lost Boyz, and sail with ye riches far, far away! Tell 'em Seadog! BS: YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO FEEL THE TOP ROPE POWERBOMB?! HUH?! SOME MOTHER[BLEEP]ER IS GONNA DIE! BB: Ar? BS: Arr, me hearties! Arrrr! [The Barnacle Brothers "Arr!" some more for the camera, as the shot fades out.] [The Rotundos stand in front of an IIWF backdrop, each with an open bag of Portland Pork Rinds. They continue stuffing their face while they talk, spraying pork rinds everywhere] R1: Schnow Brraw Battle Royau! We been trainin day and nigh to get... [munch, as crumbs fall from the Rotundo's mouth] weady for dis mathh! Good luck frowin UTH out! R2: And DEN Roth Bothz, you gonna find out wha a THQUATH MATHH is like! [Both men laugh, then Rotundo #1 starts to choke. Rotundo #2 attempts a Heimlich manuever as the shot fades out.] LM: And this is only half of the teams entered! VVE: I figure that the Barnacles are a shoe in. LM: Really? VVE: No. It's got to be the Harlequins... or the Down Boys... maybe the Fabulous Ones. LM: The true winner of these matches will be the fans. VVE: What a cliché. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Snow Brawl Survivors Matches ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: We are going to see three incredible six-man matches with a twist... the teams were selected randomly and they will fight to a finish. Once one of the teams is eliminated, the three wrestlers on the winning team will turn on each other and fight until only one remains. The winning wrestlers from each of the three matches will face off later in the program to find who the ultimate Snow Brawl Survivor! VVE: After that long-winded intro... at least tell them what they will win. LM: The final wrestler wins the right to face anyone he wants for the entire month of February! VVE: An entire month of full booking control! That is true power! LM: We start with eighteen men, but only one gets to win the big prize! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Duncan Macbeth, Derek Mota, & "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner vs. Serge Annis, Mad Dog Watkins, & "To Excess" Rick Williams ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VVE: The first of these matches features men who have a lot to prove against each other. Duncan and Timothy are fighting with Mota, Annis and Watkins are as mad as hell at each other, and Williams doesn't like anybody! LM: I guess Williams never took up your offer to have him join up with Timmy. VVE: His loss. Duncan and Timothy have a clear advantage in this match. They are the only two who have any chance of working together. They are the easy winners. LM: Most of the participants in this match had comments... and I suggest you pay close attention to the last one. [The scene fades into a traditional shot of the Hawain coastline. Clear, blue waters, with sandy beaches, and several girls playing volleyball. The camerman slowly pans around, and we see children playing in the sand, making castles and anything else their imagination desires. People are shwon walking allong the beach, surfing in the waters, and just relaxing on blankets or lawn chairs. As the shot pans to the right, we see a giant building, which is a waterfront hotel. A voice can be heard in the background.] SA: What the hell do you mean "speak Canadian"? Damnit, I am speaking Canadian you Hawain beach bum! It's called English! Get out of my way! [Serge Annis walks past the camera now, on his way to the hotel. Annis is wearing his black sunglasses, and looks to be really out of place in the beach image, as he is wearing his black leather jacket along with black jeans and t-shirt. Annis is carrying a duffel bag, and a carry bag.] SA: How do these people stand the heat here? [Someone passes by Annis, and hears the question.] Person: We don't wear black, silly man. SA: Silly? Silly? I've snapped mens' necks for less than that. Get out of my sight! [Annis continues walking as the man just shrugs his shoulders and begins a jog, off out of view. As Annis follows the pathway up to the hotel, he speaks to the camera.] SA: If Spreadbury or Janois expect me to be participating in half those lame brain IIWF Hawaiian theme ideas, then they can think again. You aren't going to be seeing Serge Annis participating in some lousy tug of war, or volleyball game. I hate the beach. I hate the heat. I hate Hawaii! As soon as I win Snow Brawl, I'm going... now wait a minute. What the hell are we doing in Hawaii for a pay per view named Snow Brawl? Those idiots up front must think it's cute. We'll see how cute it is when half the wrestlers melt into a pile of muck... [Suddenly, a large volleyball flies onto the trail from the beach. It hits Serge square in the face, knocking off his sunglasses, and making him drop his bags. A bunch of giggles follow as three young, attractive women come running over to Serge wearing traditional "Baywatch"-esque bikinis.] Girl-1: Te he he. Sorry sir. We're just playing volleyball. Girl-2: Marsha here doesn't seem to know how to hit the ball very well. Girl-3: Leave me alone, Janice. Girl-1: Marsha! It's always about Marsha! Marsha Marsha Marsha! I'm sick of it! [The first girl turns and runs away, out of the camera's sight. The two other girls both exchange confused looks, and scratch their heads. All the while, Annis looks even more peeved off than ever.] Girl-2: What's her problem? Girl-3: Oh sugar. Now we are down a body. Hey Mister, would you like to play volleyball with us? You're awfuly big and we could use a big, strong powerful man to help us out. [Annis' face of stone slowly cracks as he lets out a small smile. Serge slowly bends down and picks up the volley ball. The girls smile.] SA: You mean... you want... _me_ to play with you? Girl-2: Yep, sure do. [Annis cracks a heavenly smile, as if this were the happiest moment in his entire life time. Suddenly Annis' smile is deleted from his face and replaced with a typical furious one.] SA: You want me, one of the IIWF's biggest stars to waste my time playing a stupid game in the [bleep]'ing heat, with a bunch of skimpily dressed girls, who don't have a half a brain about them to get the damn game right?! _AFTER_ hitting me in the face with your goddam' ball?! [Annis grips the ball between his two monstrous hands, and squeezes the ball in, until it pops. The girls' ditzy smiles are wiped off too, and replaced with sad looks.] SA: Get the hell out of my sight and find something worthwhile to do instead of flipping and flopping around the beach like couple of high school [bleep]'s! [Now the girls look insulted.] SA: Get a job or something! Get money! And most of all, get the hell out of my way! [Annis drops the ball, literally at least the remains of it, and puts his sunglasses in his pocket. Annis bends down and picks up the two bags and brushes past the girls who look angry now.] SA: Snow Brawl. I am here for one thing: to fulfil my destiny. And the road to the IIWF World title is paved for me, starting here. If I win Snow Brawl, then I'll be put into contention for the title. Remember this... while Brody Thunder and Steve Kowalski trade off wins and losses, neither of them has beaten the Epitome. First round, I go against the _true_ Culture Club of the IIWF, Derek Mota, Duncan Macbeth and that disgrace to Canada, Timmy boy Turner. It wouldn't surprise me if your hatred was all a ruse, but frankly I don't care. I don't care what you three do to each other. Because all three of you will end up losers. Bottom line, losers. No former Cruiserweight champion is going to stop me, and Duncan Macbeth... well, there is a form of talent there, but Macbeth, even you can't match against The Epitome of Evil. No... my real problem will be with my own team mates. Rick Williams, I don't give a flying [bleep] about you. You can work with me, or against me. Either way it won't make a difference. I'm out there to win the match. If you want to help, fine. But if you have a problem, well... let's wait until the three way match to finish it off. And Mad Dog Watkins... you've had your week of rest. Prepare for Serge Annis part two. Something you won't like one bit. Everyone is cheering on the returning Mad Dog Watkins, saying he's the saviour of the IIWF. Get real. The saviours are the Serge Annises, Ronnie Parises, Duncan Macbeths... the true workers. Not old hacks who can't cut it anymore. Dog, that means you. I wouldn't care as much if you chose to came back... but you chose to piss me off and that is a mistake that even a flea-bitten mongrol like you shouldn't make. Dog, tonight I'll finish the job, one way or another... Winning this thing is my chance... and I'm going to do everything humanly possible, to get ahead... [Annis arrives at the hotel now, and before he enters the revolving doors, he turns around and faces the camera.] SA: If Spreadbury wants me before Snow Brawl, tell him to call me in my hotel room. I sure as hell ain't leaving this building. [Annis spins around and disappears through the hotel's revolving doors. Fade to black.] [Scene opens to an overhead shot of the Aloha Stadium in Honolulu Stadium. The huge arena is almost eerily silent, save for the footsteps of a dark-haired figure, whose identity is obscured by the distance. As the figure sits in one of the thousands of seats, the camera shot switches to a ground-level view, immediately revealing the figure's identity. Dressed in black jeans, a blue shirt, and a red baseball cap, "To Excess" Rick Williams sits with his arms behind his head and his feet positioned on the seat in front. Wearing an arrogant smirk and chewing a stick of gum, he begins to speak, his tone relaxed and confident.] RW: So this is it, huh? My first IIWF Pay-Per-View appearance. I feel like I should be overcome with pride, a deep sense of honour and maybe even a few nerves... but alas, I'm not. I guess it's because I know how worthy of this oppurtunity I am... and I guess it's because I know that this is but the first of many. "To Excess" ain't headlining it yet... but deep in the hearts of everyone involved with the IIWF, I know they all realize it's only a matter of time. But for now... [His smile disappears as Williams shakes his head slightly.] Now, I'll have to accept being part of another of Spreadbury's little jokes, and tag with "Mr. Overrated", himself, Serge Annis and "Mr. I desperately want to be a somebody after all these years" Mad Dog Watkins... Gee, I hit the jackpot on this one, didn't I? [Williams shrugs his shoulders as he unhappily accepts his fate.] Serge, I wanna tell you this -- I _reallly_ enjoyed your little speech last Saturday. You know, it got the blood pumping, the adrenaline flowing, yadda yadda. Just do me one favour, _partner_... Cut the crap! You've gotta realize, _partner_ that "To Excess" helps out those who are worthy of his help... nobody else. You want me to work with you to help you get your little title privileges? Well, maybe I will... but then again, maybe I won't. Maybe I feel you're such a jerk off, it'd be worth sacrificing my own oppurtunity at the present moment to cost you something you desperately want. Now, _that_ would be a whole lot of fun, don't ya think? [Grinning the most evil of grins, Williams spits the stick of gum on to the ground, before quickly replacing it with another.] Or maybe my mind is elsewhere, Serge. Maybe my entire focus of concentration is on another match -- that pitting Billy Shakespeare against Marty Warnett. Yeah, gotta tell you, that's got me _real_ interested. Maybe that's the only thing at Snow Brawl that I've got any interest in... after all, I know that I can earn a title shot any time I want... It's just a matter of timing. You want my "help", Serge? I might just be of service to you... but _partner_... don't bet on it. [Fade as Williams laughter echoes throughout the arena.] [SCENE: The Aloha Bowl in Honolulu, Hawaii, where work crews are making the final preparations for tomorrow night's IIWF Snow Brawl spectacular. The mammoth stadium is spotless, as technicians work high in the lighting towers to secure and check the megawatt bulbs that make night seem like midday in the Aloha Bowl, and television personnell are working to coordinate their camera positions, set up in over a dozen different spots in the stadium. In the centre of the stadium is the official IIWF ring, the Snow Brawl logo silkscreened on the canvas, and the components of the cage to be used in the PPV's main event can be seen suspended just under the ring's lighting rig. The bustle of the crews as they work to make the stadium ready for Snow Brawl suddenly ceases, and the technicians stop what they're doing and look to the entrance of the Aloha Bowl, where an ominous rumbling can be heard approaching. The rumbling increases in volume, and the crews on the floor of the stadium setting up chairs jump back in surprise as a motorcycle bursts through the entranceway and throttles down the aisle towards the ring! The TV crews swing their cameras around to find the cause of the disturbance, and as the motorcycle circles the ring, one camera near ringside manages to catch a shot of Intercontinental Champion Duncan Macbeth, helmetless and ruddy hair flying, as he rides around the ring, inspecting the progress of the crews. Macbeth brings the bike to a halt, and as he dismounts, we see that the bike is not his trusty BMW, but a beautiful black Harley-Davidson Softtail Classic. The Intercontinental Champion regards the cruiser balefully for a few moments before turning to the camera.] DM: Hmph. Underpowered, shaky, an' makes every wee bump in th' road feel like ye've run over a bleedin' boulder. I dinnae undersand why folks go daft o'er these oil-burnin' nightmares. Still... she _is_ easy on th' eyes, wha'. I'd be ridin' me own bike if Spreadbury hadn't booked us all on tha' penny-ante airline tha' does no' have cargo service... hell, we did no' even get free _peanuts_... [Macbeth turns around, surveying the grand sweep of the Aloha Bowl, then turns back to the camera, hands on hips.] But we're here, an' tha's all tha' matters. An' tomorow nigh', th' IIWF is goin' t' see its greatest possibility, an' its greatest disappointment, in one match. Tim Turner an' Duncan Macbeth - a well-oiled, devastating combination tha' has worked together fer years, an' takin' both singles and tag team gold in every single federation in which they've joined forces. Two men tha' have already found championship singles success 'ere in th' IIWF, an' haven't won th' tag belts only because they haven't bothered t' try fer them. Yet. A team like Tim an' me would have absolutely no problem at all takin' on th' likes o' Serge Annis, th' overrated pyromaniac blowhard, Mad Dog Watkins, th' washed up hack who should hae stayed in th' retirement home, an' Rick Williams, who apparently cannae chew gum an' wrestle at th' same time. Th' two o' us are perfectly capable o' handlin' these three tossers unaided, but who do they give us t' even out our side? Derek Mota. A former Cruiserweight Champion. An aerial specialist t' rival th' greatest high flyers th' IIWF has e'er seen. A crafty, cunning tactician who can think on 'is feet wi' th' best of 'em. A man who's no afraid t' sacrifice 'is career t' get one win. In short, th' toughest S.O.B. in' wrestlin'. Period. [Macbeth's expression hardens, and the familiar glint in his green eyes flashes in the Hawaiian sun.] Duncan Macbeth, Tim Turner, an' Derek Mota could hae been th' most dominant group o' bastards e'er t' be seen in th' IIWF. Greater than Genesis, greater even than th' Syndicate, maybe. Because we had somethin' tha' those two groups never had, th' one thing tha' kept them from realisin' their full potential. Friendship. Genesis was nothin' more than a group o' midcarders tha' banded together t' accomplish wi' thuggery wha' they couldn't wi' ability alone. An' it worked fer awhile, but in th' end it all fell apart 'cause not one o' 'em gave a damn about th' other. Th' Syndicate was all about Casey James an' Brian Lau, an' guys like Thunder couldn't stand havin' t' take a back seat t' th' teacher's pet all th' time, an' even havin' t' save James' arse knowin' 'e'd ne'er get a title shot 'imself. These are th' petty differences tha' keep good groups from bein' _great_. We could hae been different. Tim an' I don't need hangers-on at ringside, helpin' us fight our battles fer us. Oh, dinnae get me wrong, I'm no' sayin' we've ne'er helped each other out, but only when th' circumstances called fer it. What I _am_ sayin' is tha' I will fight any man in th' IIWF one-on-one with th' confidence tha' I will find a way t' beat 'im. An' Tim's th' same way, although 'is methods may differ from mine. We respect tha' quality in each other, an' tha's one reason why we've been friends fer o'er a decade now. We saw tha' quality in ye, Mota. A man who wasn't afraid t' stand alone on 'is own merits. A man who would do whate'er 'e needed t' to t' win. Tim an' I have both seen good times an' bad, won our share o' titles, an' even taken titles from each other, an' even _then_ we ne'er turned on each other, or let petty jealousies affect wha' we do in th' ring. We ken tha' friendships in this line o' work are few an' far between, an' tha' we'll accomplish more as allies than we e'er will as adversaries. [Macbeth shakes his head in disappointment, then glares into the camera again.] Too bad ye'll ne'er understand tha', Mota. 'Tis a rare thing indeed t' find three men in a fed who are so similar, who work together as well, an' who are as compatible in personality as they are in ability. We could hae been great together, Mota, truly great, maybe th' greatest _ever_. But ye threw it all away, 'cause if ye cannae be th' best man, ye don't want t' play. Ye ken, it's funny. All three o' us have won titles here in th' IIWF. Ye' and Tim will wear gold again, I ken it. I'll lose th' Intercontinental Title someday, tha's a certainty, but I'll win another title, an' _tha's_ a certainty, too. It seems stupid t' be envious o' somethin' as temporary as a title, doesn't it? "Tis too bad tha' yuir jealousy o' Tim an' I got in th' way o' th' greatest stable in IIWF history. "Tis a real shame, tha'. [Macbeth takes another look around the vast expanse of the Aloha Bowl, back at the ring, and then turns back to the camera again, his words tinged with a hint of nostalgia.] Sae tomorrow nigh', th' team o' Macbeth, Mota, an' Turner will give its farewell appearance in th' IIWF. Th' whole world will witness th' devastation we would hae been capable o' wreakin' as we take Annis, Watkins, an' Williams apart like cattle in th' slaughterhouse. We will work like clockwork, we will wrestle wi' fire, speed, skill, an' authority, an we will absolutely _destroy_ th' other team, of tha' I have nae doubt, as th' stable wi' th' greatest potential ever in this federation says goodbye t' th' IIWF. An' then, Mota... [\Macbeth's jade eyes narrow, and his whole countenance darkens as he glowers into the camera.] Tim an' I are goin' t' say goodbye t' YE. Permanently. [With that, Macbeth climbs back aboard the Harley and kicks the big bike into life, the coughing and spluttering quickly giving way to a throaty roar, with a distinct rattle emanating from somewhere in the tail. Macbeth looks back in search of the offending noise, his sigh unheard over the rumbling engine, and then guns the throttle, launching the bike back down the aisle and out of the Aloha Bowl, as the floor crews watch him depart and the scene fades to black.] [The camera fades in on Timothy Turner sitting in a shady beachfront bar, loking out over the sand and the sunbathers.] TNT: This Saturday I am going into a match without my piece of gold for the first time since Ring Wars IV. This doesn't bother me because I know that I will get the opportunity to face off with the man who cost me the title. Not Ronnie Paris. I already know that I have his number and could beat him handily at my whim. In fact, I probably will if I get the booking rights in February. No. The person I'm talking about is Derek Mota. People wonder if I will work well with him. I will for one reason. If we win, Duncan and get to kick the crap out of the little traitor. That's enough motivation for anyone. [Fade] [In near darkness, we follow a man through the forest. The cameraman's teeth are chattering, as the cold is almost preventing him from keeping a steady hand. The man leading the crew is wearing all black. Jeans, leather jacket, and ... a dark fingerless glove, which adorns his well worn hands.] CA: Are you sure you wanna do this? MAN: Hey man, we don't pay ya to ask questions. Just keep your mouth shut and keep filmin'. [We recognize the dark clothed man as Derek Mota almost instantly. Both men continue their trek through the ankle deep snow, until they finally reach a log cabin near the top of a hill.] DM: Stop right here. This is the one... [Upon closer inspection, we discover that this is the ski chalet of Timothy N. Turner, the Rocketman himself. Mota stares at the outside of the building in admiration for just a few short minutes, and then wraps a cloth around his hand, punching a hold in the window, giving him a chance to open the door to the chalet. The place is almost completely dark, only a flashlight by Mota keeps the room in the slightest bit of illumination.] DM: Hey, looks like I've finally made it back to my second home. The place that me and Tim and Duncan used to go ta hang out on our weeks off. The place where we started our cross country motorbike trip. Man, we're the best of friends. Only the best. [Mota walks to the fireplace, where a number of photos rest in frames. Mota shines the flashlight on them. We see a picture of Duncan Macbeth and Tim Turner ... skiing down a mountain. The flashlight shifts over, and there's a picture of Macbeth, Turner and Victoria Von Edward all toasting each other at a party. And the flashlight seems to twitch just that much faster to the next picture, perhaps trying to cover up in some way ... to a picture of Macbeth and Turner, showing off a huge fish they caught on the nearby lake. Mota quickly removes the flashlight from the pictures.] ... Best friends. [The camera remains on Derek Mota for several seconds, and nothing registers on his face. Time keeps ticking by, with nothing happening for an almost painfully long time, and finally Mota takes a fleeting look back at the pictures ... and throws his arm out, sending them all flying off the fireplace to shatter on the floor, along with his dreams.] CA: What the [BLEEP]? [Mota turns around and strikes the cameraman quickly, knocking him to his knees. The cameraman, 100% faithful to his job, manages to keep tracking Mota within seconds, albeit from a lower angle. Derek simply turns around and walks down the hallway ... into a bedroom. And then he stops ...] CA: Oh no ... [In the bedroom, lying peacefully underneath the sheets are Tim Turner and Victoria Von Edward, not having been woken up from the sound of broken glass only seconds before. Derek Mota just stands beside the bed, staring at them with an empty look. He raises his hand ... his blood covered hand, where only one remnant of the broken pictures remain ... a jagged piece of glass. Mota holds the spike towards them, wavering. The look on his face changes from nothingness to desperation, as Derek is only seconds away from making the transition from wrestler to ... something much worse. A single drop of blood drips from his hand onto the silk sheet, pooling there. Mota raises his arm ... and turns around, walking out of the room. The cameraman keeps following him and we only pick up one more line before Derek steps out the door and runs off into the forest alone ...] DM: One more chance ... [The cameraman is left alone, not knowing what to do, almost having witnessed something brutal. He just stands there, just outside the chalet, doing nothing ... and the picture suddenly changes to static.] [The IIWF set comes back into view and we see Larry with a big grin on his fce and Victoria with a mixture of anger and shock on her features.] VVE: He... he... he! I can't believe that little.... I'll sue! Where is security?! Where's the police?! Keep that little sicko pervert away from me! You knew about this, Morton, you weasel! That's it! I quit! Until the IIWF can ensure my safety, I'm out of here! [Victoria storms off the set. Larry laughs the whole time.] LM: That's priceless! She is right about one thing though: Mota's sick! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Lord Byron, Meatman, & Charles Scheffield vs. "Real Deal" Luke Steele, Deathbringer, & Christopher Stonebreaker ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: This match also has some interesting match-ups. The two Steeles are on different sides... Byron and Meatman are teammates... the two new "C.S."'s are on different sides. Half of the wrestlers had comments this week. [Tim Dross stands in front of a loading dock. Men in blood -spattered "Meatman Industries" work aprons load a meat truck with frozen flank.] TD: Hello, this is Tim Dross reporting from Meatman Industries in Emeryville, California. I was to "meet the Meat" as it were, but he hasn't shown. I... don't know what to do. I guess I'll have to terminate... [Dex Gilbreath, a white male, 40, in lab coat and spectacles, jumps from the loading dock. He has tousled black hair and a wiry frame.] DG: Mr. Dross, Dexter Gilbreath, head of R&D for Meatman Industries. Would you and your camera like to come through? Mr. Steele has been delayed on the poultry eradication project in China. TD: We've seen the plant. My intent was to... DG: You haven't seen the plant like this, Mr. Dross. Not even Mr. Steele has seen the plant like this. [Camera dollies behind the two men as they walk through a warehouse and into a large bay where scientists are busy with beakers and flasks.] DG: Normally, we busy ourselves with the study of salmonella, mad cow, and preservatives; but now we prepare for "The Meatman Challenge." TD: Yes, the -- what is it -- a tournament? Between the Meatman and one IIWF wrestler. What is that all about, Mr. Gilbreath? [Camera trucks past a battery of welders who work on metal grids and hoists.] DG: Originally, Mr. Steele had planned on a "club the cow," "grease the pig," kind of event, Wide World of Sports material -- but the men and I said "You want a fair contest, you can't know what's going to happen." So, we have a real test for him and his opponent. One neither will know about, nor ever forget. [A blinding flash erupts in a nearby glass booth. The camera strobes out.] TD: This is elaborate. Has anyone responded to the challenge? DG: Let's see... [Camera regains composition. Clara Carranza, 39, a Spanish American woman with a light frame and a ferret-like demeanor, approaches. She carries a clipboard stocked with notes.] DG: Clara, these men want to know who accepted the Meatman's challenge. CC: Let's see. [Rifles through papers] Here we are. Steele Family Farms Presents bla bla... all proceeds bla... nobody. TD: You mean not one IIWF wrestler has agreed to compete against Jim Steele? CC: That's what I said. Now, get out of my way. [Whacks Dross with clipboard and exits. There is silence except for the sound of a chicken clucking in the background.] TD: [addresses camera] On that note, let's go back to the studio. [We find Charles Scheffield sitting at a desk with a person who is apparently some sort of reporter. The man is in fairly casual wear contrasting sharply with Scheffield's rather extravagant attire. This is obviously going to be some sort of interview session.] JW: Hello, Mr. Scheffield. For the record, I am Jerald Wallace... here to interview you on the upcoming event known to the wrestling world as Snow Brawl. Some are saying you are in over your head this time around. CS: Perhaps that's true... but when has Charles Scheffield not been in over his head? I have to wonder if I am even worth your time to interview. You have nothing to do with the IIWF, therefore you needn't be here in the first place. I mean what do your colleagues care about Charles Scheffield? JW: If you must know, we think investing in your career would be profitable. You seem to have it all to tell you the truth. CS: Listen... I have dealt with your likes before... pathetic men who live their lives trying to butter up those they see as greater than they themselves. I do not have time for this... JW: Let us simply get back on track here, Scheffield. Remember, this is also your chance to tell everyone what your thoughts are on Snow Brawl. Just forget about me for now and focus on the questions. CS: Have it your way. JW: Thank you. Now, as I was saying, what is your outlook on this match coming up? I mean you are going to be in the ring with a man who seems to be a good friend of yours and another man who just may choose to side in with the opposing team. Then if you go on to victory, you must face your team mates to move on to the finals. Then you must defeat two other men on top of that to declare yourself the victor. How do you feel about this? CS: Well, to tell you the truth, I really cannot feel much for this match. You see... this is wrestling. It is life that you may have to team up with an enemy, and then turn on a friend to get ahead. I am prepared to do this... see... I am accustomed to the live and let die attitude of the business world... I will be ready to do it in this business as well. JW: So your approach to this match is that of participating in a dirty business transaction? Would you care to share with us your strategy for this match to clear things up a bit for us? CS: Actually, I am not really approaching this match like anything I may have seen or done before. In fact, I am going into this match _without_ a strategy whatsoever. JW: What? That is ridiculous! In such an important match where you would have a whole month to do whatever you want with the federation pretty much... and you are just going to let it slide by without a second thought? You are going unprepared? CS: Unprepared? I scoff at your understanding... or lack thereof where it preatains to the wrestling industry. This is a match unlike any other... how do you prepare for it? You prepare for one intricacy... and you are caught off guard by another. You prepare to win... and you lose. You prepare to make it past stage one... and you find yourself in stage two. You prepare for everything... then end up with nothing... how would _you_ prepare yourself for that? I would like to hear your ideas. JW: Well, that certainly is an interesting way to look at it. CS: You see, an attempt to prepare for something like this could lead to ending one's career... in an extreme case, of course. There is no single strategy that can take care of every scenario. We are speaking of any combination of six teams... a total of eighteen different participants. Do you have any idea how many combinations that amounts to? It is not humanly possible to devise a scheme which effectively snuffs out any possibility of coming out behind. Therefore I am going to just take the "let winds take me wherever" attitude. I normally would not let myself succumb to such a chaotic strategy... yet in this case I find to be flexible may be to overcome. Being rigid with such a random thing can cause one to crack. That should be obvious. JW: It seems to me you know what you're doing... I really don't know how to answer that. CS: You're supposed to be asking questions anyway. JW: Right. So, since you seem to hope to win this thing... what are your thoughts on facing Lord Byron... a person whom you have definitely aligned yourself with? CS: Lord Byron happens to be a man I respect a great deal in this sport. In my estimation he is one of the best technical wrestlers ever to come out of England... if not the best. Now you take a man such as myself who is relatively new to the sport and pit me up against him... and it is easy to say that I don't stand a chance. Now, I do not want anyone to take this wrong... but though I do respect him a great deal, I am not afraid to give it my best shot if I face him. Once we are facing eachother... you may not like what you see. I may fail... but I will not go down without a fight. Byron... I intend to show you that if we get by phase one that I am willing and able to put up a good show against you. May the best man win. JW: So this is kind of a challenge to Byron? CS: A professional challenge. I do not expect to lose my friendship with him over this... I just want to prove that there is another technician from a different hemisphere who may someday be his equal. JW: I see... so you are more of an aspirant. CS: I guess you could say that... but I am in no way modeling my career after his. In fact, I could get along just fine without all the wealth I possess. I'm not the choir boy many think me to believe... I'll go as far as to say that those who think of me in that league... _bite_. JW: A veiled blow. CS: Listen... are you here to call play by play or conduct an interview? JW: Sorry about that. So anyway, why don't you at least prepare for that? I mean it seems you have thought about it a great deal. CS: Again... you fail to realize there is more to it than that one confrontation. There's Meatman in the mix as well. I have no idea just what he may decide to do in the ring... I cannot really focus on either one. Then if I don't make it... it will feel like a failure... as if I missed out on the chance to prove myself. I just would like a failure at this point to be an elementary part of my development... perhaps a defining moment that teaches me something. On the other hand, if I do not fail at this point... I'll be ready for bigger and better things. No strategy allows me to change at an instant. It will be impossible to know what I may do in the ring... because even I don't know. I do not think I should voice how ridiculous it would be to prepare for part two when I don't even know what the final round will be like. That is an impossible thing to forsee... there are too many combinations. Therefore... focusing on any one part would be sheer folly... let us move on. JW: Definitely. There is really only one more important question left... what do you intend to do if you make it past the final round and win? There is a large reward ready for you at the end of all that work. Just what do you have planned for the IIWF? [At this point a grin slowly forms over the countenance of Charles Scheffield.] CS: Well... if I do win... I intend to show the IIWF just why it is I am an up and coming star. See, this isn't a match for the old generation. This is a match for the new guys. This is a match for men like Jim Steel, Stonebreaker, and myself. The other guys have had their chance... they don't need something like this to move foreward. They have been there already. I don't think any of them will have the desire to win as the new breed does. If I were to win the final round of that match... I would strategiecly choose my matches with people who would allow me to prove myself. I can have _any_ match I want on _any_ given night. I would prove to the IIWF and the world why I, Charles Scheffield, am the premier rookie to enter the IIWF. This whole time I have been nothing. I am not proud of any of my accomplishments thus far... but if I were to win the grand prize of the IIWF... I would show the world just what the future of wrestling is. And I plan to do it for a long time to come. Even if I don't win... I'll find another way to do it. But if you know me at all... you know I won't take anything sitting down. I believe you have enough... now if you would kindly leave me, it would be greatly appreciated. [After such a harsh dismissal, Jerald Wallace leaves the room... seemingly disgraced. Scheffield just looks at the door as it shuts behind the exiting man... with a look almost of content... and confidence. The camera then fades.] [Fade up to a locker room inside Aloha Stadium. It's a modest looking locker room, bare concrete walls, small mirror up on the wall, and grey metal lockers. One of the locker doors is open, and hanging from a hook is a red and blue t-shirt with the message "1 Year Down ... And Still Going Strong". Off to one side of the room is a copy of the Snow Brawl 1998 official program, with Brody Thunder and Steve Kowalski sharing the cover. The magazine sits atop a desk, face up. Suddenly Luke Steele bursts through the door, fully aware of the camera.] LS: There you are, I've been looking for you. Well how about this, baby dolls? One year since the Real Deal burst onto the scene here in the Double Eye. Who could have guessed that only one short year later, Luke Steele would be the hottest thing going? Well, J.P. Steele could have told you that after I ducked his pathetic little spinwheel move. Let's just say the Jackhammer was lucky that I didn't have the Floating DDT back then, or he wouldn't even have had the chance to use his little finisher. But another pay per view event has come up, and once again I find myself on a team that has had little to no experience together, even as allies. Status quo, eh? It's funny, I had to fight a Steele at Snow Brawl 97, and I'm facing one on the opposite time here at 1998's version. Jimmy Steele, the Meatman, you proved that you're a heck of a competitor and a heck of a teammate last weekend. Lord Byron and Scheffield are lucky to have you on their team, and that's why it pains me to be forced to face off with you. And then there's the guys sided up with the Real Deal. Namely the Deathbringer and Christopher Stonebreaker. I'd like to address my partners for a moment. 'Bringer, you and I both know you were the main event last year, and this year they've got you stuck in this match. You want a shot at the World Championship more than anything else, and you'll do anything to get it. Big man, do what you have to do to get that shot, and that means eliminate Byron, Scheffield, and the Meatman. After that, I realize that it's all friendships off, everyone for themselves. But to get to that point, we need to work together. No funny stuff, okay, big man? Now, Christopher Stonebreaker. You're kinda the wild card in this match, aren't you? Nobody knows exactly where you're coming from, or whether you'll be what puts our team over the top, or sinks it before it has a chance to succeed. Being a newcomer at this time last year, I know what it's like to face huge odds in the face of a tremendous opportunity. I have to admit, I like you kid. You've got tremendous potential, just don't let the suits get you stuck in a rut like they did me. You also want the spot in the triangle match, but to do that, we've got three guys staring across the ring at us that would like nothing better than to beat our brains in. We take care of them, and after that we can settle any differences we may have. When this night is over, the Real Deal, Mr. Stonebreaker and the 'Bringer are going to be victorious over the pansy, the Meatman and [starts to speak in a high, whiny, nasally voice] Mr. Scheffieeeeld... After that, Luke Steele will show why Snow Brawl has always been his favorite event. And then the championship committee will have to give me the respect I deserve. See you in a few hours, baby dolls. [Fade down to black.] LM: The clear favourite to move on after this match has got to be Deathbringer. There is a lot of talent in the ring but 'Bringer is a former World Champ and he has what it takes to outlast the other five participants. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Icehawk, Richard "Moxy" Blue, & Ike Sampson vs. Edmund Fitzgerald, Tragedy, & "Savage" Shadoe Rage ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The final six man affair includes some former tag competitors who have been having quite a time of it lately. Icehawk and Fitz are friends... and are on different teams. Rage and Fitz have been fighting... and are on the same team. Blue is just loonie, Tragedy is an under-rated star, and Ike Sampson has been in Japan. What is going to happen in the match? No one will know until tomorrow night and only if you order IIWF Snow Brawl! Call your local cable operator! [SCENE: The Don Ho Suite at the Oahu Hilton. Icehawk, dressed in cutoff shorts and a Chicago Bulls jersey is sitting on the couch and drinking something out of a coconut. Edmund Fitzgerald is sitting in a recliner, wearing workout clothes and drinking a Diet Coke. The third member of the group, also in a recliner is Tim Dross. He's wearing white pants and a hideously ugly Hawaiian shirt.] IH: Before we get started, I have a question. TD: Yes? IH: Why do otherwise normal people come here and suddenly feel the need to wear shirts that look like exploded Crayola boxes? TD: [winces] Because their bosses told them to make sure people know we are in Hawaii. IH: Oh. TD: Anyway, I'm here to talk to the two of you about Snow Brawl, where for the second PPV in a row, you will be facing each other in a match. That has to be a strange feeling. IH: [laughing] No, no! It's great! Trag and Chaos couldn't deal with wrestling each other last time, so we never did find out who the better man is! I had Fitz in big trouble, you know. EF: [smiling] Kiddo, you have no idea what you had gotten yourself into. It's only a shame that the world never got to see the true power of Potato Famine. [At this point, Icehawk reaches deeply into his mental bag of tricks for a response... and sticks his tongue out at Fitz.] TD: Fitz, I must admit that you look like a totally different man today. For the past few weeks, you have alternated between bloodthirsty viciousness and what has almost appeared to be a nervous breakdown. But now you seem totally relaxed. EF: I wouldn't go quite that far, but yeah, I'm back to something resembling normal. I just have a hard time dealing with the way that the IIWF turns their back on the talented wrestlers in the promotion, and turns everything into a circus. Every damn match has a run-in by someone, so the truly-skilled guys who work hard at their craft end up losing to talentless stiffs who can't do anything but hit people with chairs. So if that is what the IIWF wants, that is what I was going to give them. But not Saturday. TD: Not Saturday? What do you mean? EF: I'm tired of the IIWF playing games, and coming up with these "random" matches where I have to wrestle the kid. The fans got to see that at the last PPV, they aren't going to see it again. He [pointing to Icehawk] has a tremendous future in this sport, and I'm a tough guy with an oar. Do you really think I'm going to help two morons like Tragedy and Shadoe Rage, when I could be helping him achieve some of his dreams. The hell with that. TD: So are you saying you aren't even going to try to win the match? EF: Tim, if I have told you once, I have told you 100 times. Icehawk and I are a team. That hasn't changed just because we stopped wrestling in tags. If he wins the match, that's good enough for me. TD: Icehawk? What do you think about all this? IH: I told him it was crazy, and that he should try to win the match himself so that he can get a shot at a title. But he won't listen to me. He never really does. [Fade.] [A quiet street in your average American suburb subdivison, where all the houses look the same, all the dogs reply to each other and cars stay within the speed limit so children can play safely. Okay, so maybe it's not so average, it's the exception to the norm. Regardless, there is a certain serenity to it, like everything is safe, forever. The snow is lightly packed on the ground and all the driveways are shovelled.] DING A LING!!!! [Onto this palette of peace drives an uncharacteristic vehicle for the winter months, a bicycle. A bicycle of enormous proportions, looking to have been reinforced in its frame. The reason is its pilot, a man almost as wide from chest to back as he is shoulder to shoulder, a man whose knees almost graze his chin when he pedals. He is dressed in a drab brown winter work coat and skiing pants. Wide sunglasses hide his eyes from the reflection of the snow. The man is the stoic and emotionless Stone, breath visible in the cold. He applies the breaks on bike, which skids on the almost icy roads.] RMB: Wheeeeee! [The ever rambunctious Richard Blue can be heard off camera, as he skips through the snowbanks. He gets to the curb and makes one last leap, but catches his foot on a branch as he crashes to the pavement with painful looking velocity. Stone gets off the bike, and makes his way down to pick the Righteous One up.] RMB: Lemme alone! I meant to do that! Because I was gonna... gonna... uh... [changing subject] Did you bring it Stony? [Stone reaches his ham sized fist into his pocket and pulls a crumpled object that look to have been something resembling wicker. He stares down at it and unfolds it slowly, placing it on the front of the bike's handlebars as he re-erects the bike, now apparent that it is a bicycle basket. Blue wipes himself off. He is dressed in a neon green parka and bright orange skidoo pants. He wears a blue scarf around his neck, and a pink toque which has the initials "RMB" embroidered in blue. ] RMB: Then let's rock. Oh yeah RIGHTEOUS! [RMB climbs into the basket, easily ample size to hold him considering the size of the bike, and the camera pans as Stone peddles down the street. He looks rather silly, to say the least, and Blue sticking his arms out to the sides making aeroplane noises doesn't help.] RMB: Neeeeeaaaarrrrrrooooommmm!! Man, Stony, I'm glad I found you working at that bar. Isn't hanging around with me more fun? [Stone says nothing] RMB: For all you folks at home, that's a yes. If he was saying no, he woulda chokeslammed me. Ya see, in case you din't know, every Moxy Blue fan isn't a psychotic little 12 year old. I appeal to all walks of life. Screaming teenage girls, newborn rabbits, chartered accountants, flying nuns, used toasters and yes, even 400 pound musclemen. And it's all natural too, right Stony? You're a beefcake, not a 'roid cake! [Stone snorts as he switches into a lower gear.] RMB: Gee man, we gotta work on your people skills. C'mon, say it with me... BEEFCAKE! [Stone snorts again. He doesn't look displeased, but he doesn't look happy. He doesn't look much of anything, which is just how Moxy likes it, more attention for him.] RMB: Well as long as you keep all those folks who are out to turn my innards into some strange Italian dish away, I'll still love ya. Stop here bud? [Stone stops abruptly, causing Moxy to tumble out of the basket onto the ground.] RMB: Ohhh... [German] mein leben! [Moxy picks up some slush off of the road, and rolls it into a little ball. He throws it in a random direction. A cat can be heard screeching off camera. He looks up at Stone from the ground.] RMB: So that's the kind of stuff you and Reed used to do, eh? General disrespectful tomfoolery? Stone, you're going to have to learn, that stuff is wrong! [Moxy gets up, brushes the slush off of his jeans. He and Stone continue to walk, nonchalantly] RMB: Did I ever tell you about Scotty? He was cool. We used to go around spitting on telephone poles and watching it freeze on days like this. Cool, eh? While I suppose you and Brad just spat on old ladies off the tops of buildings. [Stone looks to the ground as Moxy speaks. He is still emotionless, but now it appears he is trying to hide... shame?] RMB: It's okay Big Guy. Everyone will love you now! You're with Moxy Blue!! You'll be popular! You'll have your own fanclub! There's no stopping Stone now! Hell, I bet you I can get you a date with LaRue if you want! She just loves guys with big legs like yours! I dunno why, if I wasn't already taken, I'd be upset she didn't like my award winning ass! Ah well. [Stone is now hiding a different emotion, and it sure ain't shame! Moxy gets up, and Stone gets off the bike, letting it topple over.] RMB: Nope, nothing can stop us now, buddy o' mine! Snow Brawl strategy, one more time. So, if Chickenhawk decides to try that illegal move again, or Ike wants to use me as a stepping stone comeback, you choke the living hoobajoobs outta them, 'kay? And don't worry about the other team, they'll lose, cause our team has Moxy Blue, and THEIRS doesn't! Yep, I betcha we'll be seeing a few less guys in IIWF after Snow Brawl! Say it with me Stone... GOLDEN BOOT! [Stone says nothing, adjusting his sunglasses. Moxy takes a cue and puts on his own crescent moon sunglasses. They walk, well Moxy sort of struts Shaft style, down the street, leaving the bike behind. They almost walk over a young child who trots home from school.] Kid: Hey! I know you! Aren't you one of those guys that always loses in IIWF? [Moxy laughs in sincerity.] RMB: [super friendly to the point Kathie Lee Gifford would vomit] Nah, little bud, I'm Moxy Blue and this is... Kid: Hey! That's that big mean guy who took ice cream from us a few months ago! Him and his dirty friend! [Stone turns his head away, pretending not to notice the child.] RMB: Stone, he's a good opportunity! [Blue points to the child defiantly. Stone gets his hands in a position to the throttle the youngster and kneels over to do so!] Kid: AAAAAAAAHHHH!! Mommy! Mommy! RMB: NO STONE, NO! BAD BODYGUARD! BAD BAD BODYGUARD! I meant give him your autograph. [From one of the houses comes a middle-aged woman in a housecoat, yelling obscenities at the tandem and carrying a rolling pin.] RMB: RUN!! [Stone turns around and gets ready to throttle the woman. Blue grabs him by his belt and hauls him off camera. The woman throws the pin and it just misses Stone, hitting the camera. Static.] [Fade in: Shadoe Rage stands shirtless in the icy bitter winds sweeping down the streets of Halifax, Nova Scotia. He is seemingly oblivious to the cold turning his pale brown skin a sickly yellow and red. Instead he just stands there, head thrown back, eyes closed. Soaking in the weather.] SR: Snow Brawl, that's life in Halifax. And you better recognise that. I've been fighting in the cold and in the dark for years. It doesn't bother me one little bit. No, it's just been an indecipherable, shifting pattern of abuse, made different only by the variety of bruises. [A car screeches past him, cursing him out as he nimbly sidesteps it. Another just misses knocking him down by a coat of paint. Shadoe seems oblivious to it all.] SR: Snow Brawl is my chance. My opportunity to finally corner the self-centred Chris Quigleys, the Joe Petrows, the disappearing Scott Rogers of the IIWF and make them recognise and bow down to the greatest new force in wrestling. While some of you may see this as a golden opportunity to get your precious title shots in reality this is a means of getting all that I want, all that I need. It is going to be the birth of the Rage. My finest hour. I promise you that. And they've begun by partnering me with Tragedy and Fitzgerald. They want to see the fireworks fly, don't they? Well, that doesn't matter. I'm ready to fight with them and I'm ready to fight against them. I just pity their poor opponents. Icehawk may have Fitzgerald figured out, Ike Sampson and Blue may know how to cope with Tragedy. But nobody on the face of this frozen earth knows what to do with Shadoe Rage. Nobody at all! And I like it like that. [Fade out.] LM: I'm going to pick Edmund Fitzgerald to advance in this one. He seems to poised to break out from the pack in the IIWF and he could use this opportunity to do just that! Tragedy also has the ability but I think that in a match like this, his size will count against him. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare vs. Marty Warnett ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Many fans were upset when these friends came to blows. There were words said that could not come back. Fists thrown that left thier mark. Ill will that led to this confrontation. This match isn't about standings or titles. It is about anger. It is about revenge. It is about justice. [The camera opens on a pile of mail. A great, heaping mound of letters which suddenly begins to move as if of its own volition. But it is not an ambulatary stack of corrospondences, rather, Billy Shakespeare pops up from the bottom of the pile clutching a shet of paper and a photograph.] BS: Cried Macbeth "I have done the deed!" Indeed, overwhelming is the word I would use to describe the support of all the Johnny Jones's in the world who want to come ringside in Hawaii with Billy Shakespeare. [He grabs letters at random, holding them before the camera.] I heard from Juans and Johanns. One gentleman just celebrated his 83rd birthday...another was only 8 months old, his parents ready to pack him along. I had to pass on that one, I understand "Baby Thunder" packs a mean piledriver. But I have persevered and suffered the slings and arrows -- and papercuts -- that this mound of missives has offered. I have found the Johnny Jones who typifies the average fan who felt betrayed, as I did, when Marty Warnett broke his crutch over my back. That one fan, amoung thousands, who most desires to see Marty punished and the great balance restored. Let me read: [Billy produces the letter he brought out earlier:] "Dear Billy. My name is Johnny Jones. I liked Marty Warnett a lot. I am number 348 in the 'Marty Warnett Birthday Party' Club. I was very mad when Marty hit you. I missed school the next day and I missed a math test. Ms. Knowles, my math teacher, won't let me take a re-test and I'll probably fail because I was so mad at Marty. I would be okay if you beat Marty at Snow Brawl. Signed, Johnny Jones. P.S. I'm a big Billy Shakespeare fan too." [Billy wipes away an imaginary tear and clutches the letter to his chest.] BS: Yes, Johnny... there is a Billy Shakespeare, and he will beat Marty at Snow Brawl. For indeed, aren't we such things that dreams are made of? On the subject of fantasies, "To Excess" Williams, don' delude yourself into believeing that you are the future of the IIWF. Didn't Shakespeare write of Henry "Hotspur" longing for the throne and destroying himself along the way? Or of Macbeth, willing to commit murder for the crown only to be revealled as an abject failure? Need I continue? I gave you only the basest taste of the spotlight and you squirmed, trying valiantly to hide and turning to devises to escape it? Whatcha' gonna do when the big beam falls on you? As always, this is "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare... Born to Perform. And to all the Johnny Joneses in the world... this next one is for you. [Billy promptly does a spectacular reverse sommersault, landing in the pile of mail, exploding a shower of pages and envelopes into the air.] [SCENE: The IIWF Interview Arena. Marty walks in front of the IIWF logo, hanging slightly crookedly on the wall. His hair is tied back, and he wears a ripped "IIWF Icon" T-Shirt. ] MW: What can a man do? Come out here, rock n' roll? Strut and stroll? Friendship is everything in life, not just in this little tangled microcosm of society we call the IIWF. Billy, you were correct; what kind of role model could I possibly be for little Johnny when I nailed you with that crutch? Or you, if you retaliated the same? All I hear is how great the technical wrestlers are... Lord Bunian for one. How did he win the Intercontinental belt from me? I've faced some of the top technical wrestlers; Quigley, Byron et al. Tomorrow night is the greatest test. To see if... I can face you, Billy, one on one. Let the people rejoice, for verily the spotlight doth shine upon us. Billy, I'll wrestle within the rules, as I know you will. Let's show everybody what the "W" in "IIWF" stands for... let the no-talents like Thunder and Kowalski mistake toughness for ability. One last thing, for all the IIWF wrestlers out there, and for all the fans. Over the last year, Party Mania has been on a rollercoaster ride of disappointments; opponents leaving, momentum being lost. I guess I've taken one step forward and two steps back. Nineteen-Ninety-Eight will be my year, because it's taken this whole Reed, Shakespeare business to get my focus and desire back on track, babes. It will be the year I reclaim what was taken from me, and if any of you think otherwise, then I guess you didn't hear your momma's comments about playing with fire. Later. [Fade] LM: Who will stand after the dust settles? Will either of these former friends ever be the same? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Machines vs. The Fabulous Ones ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: In addition to an amazing line-up on the pay-per-view itself, there is a Free For All show with two exciting matches! One of which includes two teams who also feature prominantly in the tag team battle royal. THese two teams have long-lasting disagreements that have really come to a head here in the IIWF. Will the Machines be able to keep themselves together long enough to overcome thier opponents? We will see on the Free For All! [Paul Wong and Simon O'Neal of the Machines have stopped in a bookstore at a mall. Paul is purchasing a Sports Illustrated magazine, while Simon is at the magazine stand, looking over the latest issue of Playboy.] SO: Hey, Paul. Take a look at this. [Sure enough, a cheesecake picture of Ms. Miki is shown on the pages: http://www.erols.com/bfrankel/MsMiki.html] Nice legs. Bertha has a better ass, but I'll say that Miki has better legs. [Paul walks over and yanks the magazine out of Simon's hands, then places it back in the rack.] PW: Enough, hormone-boy. We've got the Fabulous Ones for Snow Brawl, and I don't want any of your antics. SO: Antics? Me? PW: You. We are wrestling Sho Satsuma and Agito Nakjima, not Miki. For once in your life, concentrate on the opponents, not on the girl. SO: Fine. Here's the plan. First, we'll destroy the geisha boys during the Free-For-All. Normally, I'd complain about being on so early, but it's only the Fabulous Ones. Second, we enter the battle royal, and smoke all of these other teams. Harlequins, Down Boys, Predators... they're all just obstacles that won't even stop us. Finally, the Lost Boys. They're going through the Machine, and it's going to cost them their belts. PW: Sounds like a plan. SO: [Grabbing the magazine again] Of course, Miki will undoubtedly want to dump those losers and join us after our match. We don't need her, but... [opens to the centerfold] Nice, very nice. Maybe she can show me how... PW: [Grabbing the magazine from Simon's hands, almost ripping it in the process] Simon, ENOUGH! No more cracks, no more jokes about their manager. We have a match to prepare for. SO: Calm down, Pualie! Stop trying to make me act like a damn uppity Boy Scout like you. This is me... deal with it. [Simon grabs the magazine and goes over to pay for it. Paul just shakes his head.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Sanguinary" Steve Manning vs. "Mr.Majestyk" Maurice McArthur ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: This match is the reflection of the Quigley/Petrow match at Snow Brawl. Their sidekicks go at it on the Free For All to settle who is truly the best...sidekick? King of the Jobbers? Anyway...we already heard from Steve Manning -- so let's hear from Mr.Majestyk. [The first light of day, creeping out ahead of the sun, on a secluded beach somewhere on the North Shore. "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur approaches the camera, dressed only in a pair of Speedos, looking as if he is merely taking a break in a very long "training session" for his match with Steve Manning.] 4M: Got some time for myself for a change. Joe's somewhere else on the island, said he wanted to "talk with a god," or something like that. I don't question the guy anymore. He's gotta prepare for his match his way. Team Sychosys has already gotten ready for the battle royal their way. And now, I'm getting ready for my match. My way. Steve Manning, this whole thing with our main guys has been going on for awhile now. But there's still the little side issue of you and me. We've both got a LOT to prove, and a pay-per-view win will go a long way towards proving those things. Manning, I hope you haven't been studying tapes of my old matches. That would be a big mistake. I'm not the same man I was a year ago. Or a month ago. Mr. Majestyk is not just a crazy mannefestation of Petrow's mind. It's a new outlook. A new beginning. I already know I'm not as good as Chris Quigley. Maybe I can never be. But for the remainder of my career, I'm dedicated to finding out just how good I can be. And Manning, after all I've seen of you, and my special training of the mind and body today, I think I can beat you. And Saturday, I'm gonna try to prove it. [The sun itself finally peaks out on the horizon. McArthur turns around to walk to the sea. The camera just picks up McArthur stopping and beginning to spread his arms out as the camera fades out.] LM: What we have here is the greatest pay-per-view in the history of wrestling! Any wrestling fan who misses this card will be kicking himself for months to come! This is the one that sets the standard, not only for the IIWF, but for the entire wrestling world! [Victoria walks back onto the set.] VVE: Just keep Mota away from me, or I'll call the police! LM: Are you afraid to have your love life exposed to the world? VVE: That's not my love life! Timothy isn't... anyway, I'm not Becky! I don't sit idly by while I'm turned into some sex slave! LM: I didn't get that impression from the clip... VVE: Keep Mota away or you lose the top reporter in the history of the IIWF! LM: We're out of time! Don't forget to order IIWF Snow Brawl now and we'll see you in a couple of weeks for another edition of "Countdown to Saturday Night"! [Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Jim Jividen | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | brokeback@webtv.net | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+