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Aloha Stadium, Honolulu, Hawaii L I V E! / / Saturday 17 January 1998 \ /______________________________________________________________________\ H + O + U + R T + W + O [The graphics fade through to a fast-paced montage of interior shots of the Aloha Dome, the sky above the open-air stadium beginning to redden as the evening draws in. The IIWF blimp floats just over the heads of the fans ranged over the floor of the stadium, and many jump up, trying to touch it as it floats by. Cut to the broadcast table at ringside, at which are seated Tim Dross and the bearded "Soundbite" Steve Roberts.] TD: Welcome back to Snow Brawl, folks! We've seen some tremendous action thus far tonight, and it's going to continue in the next hour with our final Lethal Lottery six-man match, the match pitting Team Sychosys against the Lost Boyz for the world tag straps -- assuming Joe Petrow is able to locate "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur, who was kidnapped earlier tonight by the Prophets of Rage -- plus the Snow Brawl Survivors match, which we already know will feature Shadoe Rage and the Meatman... but who will be the third participant? SR: You're forgetting something, Dross! TD: What might that be, Steve Roberts? SR: The leader of the Soundbite Special Forces -- the IIWF Cruiserweight Champion of the World -- my man, Ronnie Paris, takes it to that Laotian guy in a Ladder Match! Whoo-hoo! TD: Indeed, we have a potential show-stealer coming up later this hour when Ronnie Paris does battle with the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi. However, right now, we must get back to the action. This next Snow Brawl six man match should prove very intriguing, as several tag team partners on _both_ sides are currently embroiled in controversy. We have the team of Intercontinental champion, Duncan Macbeth, and former Cruiserweight champion, Timothy N Turner, who both must be severely mistrusting of their fellow team mate and former friend, Derek Mota, at this point. And opposed to them, we have the team of Mad Dog Watkins and Serge Annis, who have been at each other's throats ever since the old dog made his dramatic comeback at the Epitome of Evil's expense several weeks ago. They're going to be teamed up with "To Excess" Rick Williams, apparently the only man in the match without an axe to grind. With that kind of antipathy and general lack of team spirit, who knows who's gonna come out on top? What do you think, Steve Roberts? SR: I think that, ultimately, we're all gonna have to face the reality that we're truly alone in this world, and that if we ever hope to find a meaning for our tragic, absurd lives, it's not gonna come from worshipping any Gods or watching the sky for little grey men; we're gonna have to create it ourselves from the inside... you know what I'm sayin', big man? TD: That was very existential of you, Steve Roberts. Let's go down to Sparkplug Lee for the official introductions. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| SNOW BRAWL MIXED TAG MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Duncan Macbeth, Derek Mota, Timothy N. Turner vs. Serge Annis, Mad Dog Watkins, "To Excess" Rick Williams ....................................................................... WRITER: Robert Davison [Sparkplug Lee steps out into the spotlight, wearing a badge on his laple stating the obscure words "MLWO - You won't censor the damn initials this time!" He raises the mic to his lips.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest will be a special Snow Brawl elimination match! The stipulations are as follows: one pinfall will eliminate the opposition team; following which, each man on the surviving team will square off in a three way dance sudden death elimination match! The last man standing will advance to the true test of endurance, the Snow Brawl Survivors Match! [crowd pop] Introducing first, hailing from Toronto, Canada, and weighing in at 224lbs; please give a big welcome for the reckless, the daring, the controversial... the "Heatseeker" Derek Mota! [There is a solid level of heel heat emenating from the crowd, as well as plenty of cheers, particularly from the late teen to early twenty set, as the crunching power groove riffage of Pantera's "The Great Southern Trendkill" blasts out over the loudspeakers. Derek Mota heads down the aisle, a sullen and defiant expression on his face, and a thickly wound cast on his right ankle.] TD: What an angry young man this Derek Mota is. His behaviour has certainly been erratic over the past few weeks, first stabbing his good friends TNT and Duncan Macbeth in the back, and later asking for their forgiveness. You have to wonder just what the heck is running through his mind at the moment. SR: This is Derek Mota, the toughest, most pluckiest, most reckless young punk to be found anywhere in wrestling. Mota is always angry, and that's why he's always dangerous, injured ankle or not. So who cares if he busts a lamb like Timothy Turner in the chops or makes fun of Macbeth's penchant for wee brogue Scotish McHoot in the noog laddy? That kind of behaviour is fine by me, I just can't figure out why Mota suddenly regrets it. [Derek Mota spits on the ground, before climbing up into the ring and pumping his fists to the air, drawing a loud mixed reaction from the crowd.] RA: And introducing his tag team partners! Please give them a big welcome - hailing from Victoria, Canada, and weighing in at 230 lbs; here is the "Rocket Man" Timothy N Turner! Hailing from Glenfinnan, Scotland, and weighing in at 270 lbs, here is the IIWF Intercontinental champion, Duncan Macbeth! [A huge pop rocks the Coliseum as Chumbawamba's "Tubthumping" pounds over the loudspeakers. Duncan Macbeth and Timothy N Turner head down the aisle side by side, the Intercontinental champion wearing a twinkle in his eye, and TNT beaming smugly, as if the positive crowd response was for him alone, but of course, most of it is directed towards his partner.] TD: Somewhat symbolic of the tension, the rift torn between these three former friends, as Duncan Macbeth and Timothy N. Turner make a point of entering together, while Derek Mota entered by himself. Surely, this must cast some doubts over the capability of these three men to work together as a team. SR: What a slight! What an insult! But then again, who would want to walk with that drunken haggis and his has-been friend? If I was Derek Mota, I would launch a somersault drop toe hold plancha over those ropes right now and show just what I think about that kind of bitchiness! TD: Taking out his team mates wouldn't be furthering Mota's prospects of victory tonight a great deal, Steve Roberts. Like it or not, these three men will be forced to work with one another if any of them hope to advance. [Macbeth and TNT enter the ring, eyeing their former friend warily. Derek Mota approaches them and offers his hand, but TNT turns his back, while Duncan Macbeth just stares at him coldly. Mota looks downcast and begins warming up.] RA: And their opponents! Introducing first, hailing from Minneapolis, Minnesota, and weighing in at 257 lbs; here is wrestling's most arrogant man, "To Excess" Rick Williams! [Loud heel pop as "Local Hero" by middle-aged peoples' musical darling, Mark Knopfler drifts over the loudspeakers, and "To Excess" Rick Williams walks down the aisle. Williams chews nonchalantly on a wad of gum, managing to retain an arrogant smirk on his face at the same time.] TD: There he goes, the talented and supremely confident Rick Williams. Could be a favourite here tonight, Steve Roberts. SR: Well, the kid's cocky, and he's got the skills to pay the bills. The other five guys might be so busy squabbling with each other, that Williams could capitalise with devestating consequences. [Williams pauses at ringside, then sticks his wad of gum on the forehead of a fan weilding around a jumbo sized Billy Shakespeare ice cream bar. As the fan peels the gum off in disgust, Williams grins broadly and climbs up into the ring. Duncan Macbeth and TNT size him up from their corner, while Derek Mota stares down at the ground with a somewhat melancholic expression on his face.] RA: Hailing from Oakville, Canada, and weighing in at 290 lbs; here is the Epitome of Evil, Serge Annis! [The fans gasp and scream as the lights suddenly go dead. After several moments, a spectral blue spotlight illuminates the aisle with a dim, eerie glow. The word 'EVIL' methodically prints across the video wall in huge white lettering. A bell tolls ominously, and the letters slowly and ominously fill with oozing crimson red. The bells give way to a towering heavy metal guitar riff, and Serge Annis finally steps out of the entranceway. Immediately, a huge cheer goes up from the considerable assortment of freaks, gothic chicks, Einsterzende Neubaten fans and body piercing fanatics in the audience; while almost everybody else responds with fervent heel heat. Serge is decked out in black ring pants, one leg depicting a running red tear, the other depicting the word "DESTINY". Serge is also wearing a black leather vest, and sports a new tattoo on his left shoulder: a skull engulfed in flames.] SR: Jesus Christ... how much money are they spending on this guy's ring entrances? What the hell is going on with my application for a raise? That's what I wanna know! TD: Serge Annis, one of the biggest superstars here in the IIWF. Will he remain focused enough on the task at hand to survive all the way to the end, or will he vent his notoriously violent impulses on the man who could have cost him the World title, Mad Dog Watkins? SR: Stuff all that... the hot topic at the moment is Serge Annis' sexual orientation. I don't know about you, Timbo, but when a bikini clad babe asks me to join her for a game volleyball, I say "how about some nude twister?" TD: I really have no idea... I've never been asked by a bikini clad babe to join in a game of volleyball. Lawn bowls maybe, but not volleyball. SR: Lawn bowls? You kinky devil, you. [Serge Annis climbs up into the ring, and the rest of the participants bail out for the moment, knowing what to expect next... and indeed, Annis extends his arms in a cross position, prompting great jets of flames to shoot up from the four corner ring posts, to a huge crowd response.] RA: And finally, hailing from Detroit, Michigan, and weighing in at 269 lbs; he is a fifteen year veteran of the ring wars, one of the most respected athletes in this great sport... here is Mad Dog Watkins! [The raw bluesy rock of the early Rolling Stone's classic "Paint it Black" blasts out of the loudspeakers, and Mad Dog Watkins heads down the aisle, the spotlights gleaming off his bald dome. His bare bones entrance starkly contrasts with the previous flashy intro, and the crowd responds fervently. Many cheer in appreciation of Watkins no-nonsense style, still more jeer derisively for his heelish attitude. Watkins doesn't appear much concerned with the fans either way, instead focusing his menacing stare up at Serge Annis as he heads for the ring.] TD: Mad Dog Watkins, whether you love him or hate him, you can't help but respect him. He comes from the old school of wrestling, the time when sheer grit, on the mat grappling and hard nosed brawling was far more important than a flashy gimmick or a cork screw plancha. But, for all the success he has enjoyed in his career, Watkins has never captured a world title. Perhaps a victory in the Snow Brawl Survivor's match tonight will finally catapult him towards that dream. SR: That theme music symbolises Mad Dog Watkins right there. You have the hungry, raw, raucous sound of the early Rolling Stones; and then you have the pathetic, over-hyped, bloated rock parody that they've become today. Mad Dog Watkins IS that early sound. He's got it down like Robert Johnson, you dig? -- and he's gonna be putting the blues on Serge Annis tonight. [Watkins pauses at ringside and gives a brief, barely perceptable nod to a fan holding up a sign bearing the simple message "RESPECT" - his only acknowledgement of the fans thus far tonight - and then climbs up into the ring. Watkins and Annis are supposed to be teaming up this evening, but they stand almost chest to chest, putting the bad ass stare into each other's eyes. Williams limbers up, Macbeth and TNT confer strategies, Mota looks sullenly out over the crowd; but Watkins and Annis just continue to stare venemously at one another, the tension building to an incredible intensity as referee Earl Alfonso signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! TNT and Macbeth slap each other on the back, the Scot springing into centre ring, while his team mates retreat to the apron. Serge Annis and Watkins reluctantly tear their glares away from each other and climb out through the ropes into their corner, leaving Rick Williams in the ring to deal with the Intercontinental champion. Williams and Macbeth lock up collar and elbow, pushing their weight against one another, seeking out the advantage. Almost immediately, Williams manages to twist Macbeth's arms behind his back in a hammerlock. Macbeth grits his teeth and runs at a stagger to the corner, Williams unwilling to release the hold and thus dragged along with him. Macbeth kicks his feet up into the air, springboarding off the corner ropes and utilising the leverage to flip out of the hold and land right behind Rick Williams! Crowd pop! Macbeth clinches his arms around Williams' midsection, heaves him up into the air, and dumps him shoulders first into the mat with a belly to back suplex! Big crowd pop!] TD: Great execution there by Duncan Macbeth, utilising his agility to offset Rick Williams' wrestling acumen. Pound for pound, Macbeth ranks among the most nimble wrestlers in the world. SR: And he can brawl some too... a formidable range of styles for the Intercontinental champion. TD: Hold on a minute... what's this? [Roberts and Dross react in surprise as a figure wearing faded blue jeans and a T-shirt with the message "In reality, it's Musashi who fears Paris" scrawled across it, jumps over the guard rail and joins them at ringside.] TD: Why, it's the "Intrepid" Ryan Howard! We haven't seen you for a while... where did you come from? RH: Just signed back on the dotted line with Spreadbury this morning. I'm back from my injury and ready to roll, spudheads. SR: Ryan Howard, huh? Didja' steal that name off the guy that plays Richie in "Happy Days"? RH: That's "RON Howard," you cheap imitation of Mojo Nixon. SR: If you ain't got Mojo Nixon, then your store needs a fixin'. TD: Unbelievable, ladies and gentlemen. Steve Roberts is quoting from the Dead Milkmen, and Ryan Howard has returned from his back injury at the hands of Timothy N Turner's crowbar to provide us with guest commentary for this match up! [The crowd continues to pop as Macbeth batters Williams backwards with a series of roundhouse lefts and rights. The arrogant one staggers helplessly, and Macbeth grips him by the arm, winds up, and blasts him down to the mat with a short arm clothesline! Big pop for the champion! Macbeth cuts to the corner, and slaps the hand of Derek Mota, who immediately vaults over the top rope and into the fray.] TD: And in comes Derek Mota, ready to rumble. Williams just might be able to capitalise on that injured ankle with his scientific skills. SR: But he'll have to break down Mota's offence first... he's leaping into the air... flying forearm smash from the former Cruiserweight champion! RH: Hey, you know the real reason Macbeth wears a kilt? It's to provide TNT with some easy access... TD: Please, Ryan Howard. [Williams is rocked backwards from the impact and flies right over the ropes! He is able to grab onto the top strand, however, and utilising his athleticism, flips right back into the ring to a crowd pop! He barely has time to enjoy it, however, as Derek Mota grabs him by the head and snapmares him down to the canvas. Mota quickly places his knee against Williams' chest, and locks on an arm bar. Mota applies the pressure, Williams' face creasing in pain, but he reaches out with his other arm and thumbs Derek Mota right in the eye! Mota staggers up and away from his opponent, clutching at his face, quickly falling victim to a standing dropkick from Williams! "To Excess" wastes no time in getting out of the ring while the going is good, and tags in Mad Dog Watkins.] TD: Rick Williams escaped what could have been a very painful predicament there, and he's left the real business to Mad Dog Watkins. SR: Nothin' wrong with that. It's sound strategy for the format of the match -- let your team mates tire themselves out eliminating the opposition, then knock 'em over with ease when it's down to the nitty gritty. TD: The problem with such tactics being, however, that you run the risk of not advancing at all if each team mate is not participating to his fullest capability. Mad Dog Watkins now... charging the ring and leaping up for an elbowdrop... Derek Mota rolls aside! [Watkins strikes the mat with his elbow and jarrs his funny bone painfully. Mota kips up to his feet, runs to the ropes, and bounds off with a leg drop across the throat of his opponent! Watkins kicks his legs up into the air under the impact, and Mota goes for the quick cover: 1 - Watkins throws Mota bodily out of the pin attempt with a snarl of anger! Crowd pop! Both men leap to their feet, Watkins swiping at his smaller opponent with a big right hand, but Mota ducks aside and tags in Timothy N Turner! The "Rocketman" doesn't seem too eagre to get in the ring, however, shaking his head furiously. Watkins gives him a hand by grabbing him by the arm and launching him over the top rope and bringing him crashing down into the ring! Big crowd pop! Immediately, Watkins sets to work, stomping away repeatedly on the body of TNT until he lies motionless. Satisfied with the carnage, Watkins steps over to his corner to tag in Serge Annis. Watkins reaches out his arm, but Annis snatches his hand away at the last moment! The fans pop in anticipation... Watkins throws a hard forearm smash across the chest of his rival! Big crowd pop! Annis goes beet red with anger and leaps over the top rope to get at Watkins, but Alfonso is quickly on the case, interjecting himself between the two men and yelling at Annis to get back out on the apron.] TD: Whoah! The pent up tensions we've talked about during this match almost exploded with calamitous results right there! SR: It may still prove calamitous! Here comes TNT from behind! RH: That's nothin' new for Timmy baby. He likes to go from behind all the time, from what I hear... TD: Please Ryan Howard, this is a family show. [As Annis reluctantly retreats back to the apron, Timothy N Turner slips up behind Mad Dog Watkins, grabs him by the tights, and rolls him into a small package! Big pop! Alfonso puts the count on the startled Mad Dog: 1 - 2 - Thr... kick out in the nick of time! Awed pop! Duncan Macbeth is clearly grinning out on the apron over the dissention in the opposing team.] TD: Damn, that was close! Annis nearly cost his side the match, and Watkins is absolutely furious! RH: Jesus Christ... ain't that relic retired yet? When Watkins was in his prime, Reagan was still starring in bad westerns with Rhonda Fleming. SR: Rhonda Fleming... that brings back a few memories... [Menace burns deep within the eyes of Mad Dog Watkins as he springs back up to his feet. TNT throws a right hand, but Watkins blocks it and rocks the former Cruiserweight champion backwards with a big right of his own. Watkins lunges forward and drives in the shots repeatedly, staggering Turner across the ring. Finally, Watkins winds up and delivers a tremendous clothesline to the chest of his opponent, sending TNT up and over the top rope! Big pop from the crowd! Watkins pumps his fists to the air in triumph, then goes over to tag in Serge Annis once again. A menacing glance passes between the two, but this time, Annis accepts the tag. Macbeth helps TNT to climb back up on the apron, and then tags himself into the ring.] TD: Annis, seemingly reluctant to expend his stamina, but now stepping into the ring to take on Duncan Macbeth... oh my goodness, look at this! RH: Look at what? [Almost before Macbeth has even climbed through the ropes, Annis charges forward with his arm outstretched, screaming like a madman! Macbeth ducks under the clothesline attempt and backs up to the other side of the ring. Annis puts the brakes on his momentum before striking the corner buckles, whips around, and charges at Macbeth once again, yelling at the top of his lungs! Macbeth dives out of the way, and Annis runs hard into the corner, the ring shuddering under the impact! Big crowd pop! Macbeth rolls and springs back up to his feet, running to the ropes and then bounding off into a flying bodypress directed at the Epitome of Evil. Annis still has his wits about him, however, and catches Macbeth in midair, gorilla pressing him up overhead and then dropping him throat first across the top rope! Awed pop from the crowd! Macbeth drops and writhes about on the canvas, clutching at his damaged trachea. Annis grins sadistically and stomps away at Macbeth's hands, forcing them away from his vulnerbale throat, and then presses his foot deep into the neck of the Scot, utilising the top rope for leverage. Jeers begin to rain down across the Aloha Stadium. Earl Alfonso immediately yells at Serge to cease the illegality, and after several seconds of persistent referee badgering, Annis finally removes his foot and begins to argue the call furiously.] SR: [laughing] Get the man a strepsil, his throat is a little sore! TD: That was a blatantly illegal tactic from Serge Annis, and arguing against the referee's rules enforcement is not going to get him or his team anywhere. SR: But a chokeslam will... check out the power of Serge Annis! RH: Feel the power of the Uuuultimate War[BLEEP]. TD: Us broadcasters sign an oath not to mention wrestlers from other wrestling organisations, y'know. RH: Hey! [BLEEP BLEEP] ain't wrestling no more! [Annis has finally ceased jawing with Alfonso, and reaches down, fastening a big paw around the throat of Duncan Macbeth, dragging him up to his feet. A look of pure evil crosses the face of Serge Annis as he surveys his battered opponent, and the crowd begins to pop anxiously, fearing what is about to come next... Annis goes to jerk lift Macbeth into the air, but the Intercontinental champion digs his heels into the canvas and blocks the attempt! Big pop from the fans! Annis goes to execute his chokeslam once again, but Macbeth manages to bar the arm locked against his throat, and drops sharply to the canvas, utilising the leverage to flip Annis over and hard into the mat! Big pop for the innovative break! Macbeth immediately staggers up to his feet, retaining his grip on Annis' arm and switching to a standing wristlock. Annis begins to power up to his feet, his face contorted in agony, but Macbeth changes tactics slightly and twists the limb in a painful armwringer. Annis cannot help but emit a throaty cry of pain, but he is offered a brief respite as Macbeth whips him to the ropes. Annis bounds off, and Macbeth leaps up into the air, clinching his legs around the Epitome of Evil's throat in preperation for his Claymore Frankensteiner! The crowd pops wildly, but Annis grabs Macbeth by the legs, drops, and drives the back of his head and shoulders into the canvas with a pulverising powerbomb! Awed pops, mixed with loud jeers, emenate across the Aloha Stadium, as Macbeth lies motionless and spread-eagled down on the mat!] TD: What a breathtaking exchange of maneuvers between these two IIWF powerhouses! Macbeth's head snapped right off the mat, and the force of that powerbomb might have cracked his skull wide open! RH: Well, Duncan Macbeth has one of the hardest heads in the IIWF, without a doubt. Probably because there's not much in it... SR: I've heard it's full of McKewan's best ale, actually. [Annis pumps his fists to the air, soaking up the heel heat, as well as the considerable level of cheers greeting his every move. Watkins and Williams frantically urge Annis to go for the cover from the outside, but Annis just stares at them coldly. Finally, he drops across the motionless carcass of Duncan Macbeth for the pin. The crowd pops anxiously as Alfonso registers the count: One... Two... Thre... Duncan Macbeth kicks out to a gargantuan pop!] TD: Unbelievable! The resilience of the Intercontinental Champion, to withstand such a skull-smashing powerbomb and remain in the match! SR: Look at Serge Annis! He can't believe it, he's wild with anger! [Annis leaps up to his feet, his eyes bugging out with psychotic menace. He yells at Alfonso over the speed of the count, but Macbeth is suddenly active once again... he nimbly ducks in behind Annis and rolls him up into a small package! Big pop from the fans as Alfonso registers the count!: One... Two... Thre... Annis kicks out to a dissapointed gasp from the crowd!] SR: Damn! That was closer than the time CIA chief of staff Edward D. Hoosier burst into Chelsea Clinton's bedroom just as the Soundbite was leaping out of the window! RH: Why you'd be interested in gutter trash like Chelsea is a mystery to me. SR: Damn you, Howard! If you got to experience the joys of hearing the truth about US foreign policy whilst in the throws of passion, you'd know damn well why Chelsea is on my d[BLEEP]! TD: And Annis is in a furious, furious rage as both men leap back up to their feet! [Annis lunges wildly in at his opponent, but Macbeth manages to whip round and sock him mightilly in the jaw with a spinning superkick! A huge pop rocks the fifty thousand strong crowd! Annis goes staggering back agains the ropes, the fact that he even remains standing a testament to his ability to absorb punishment, but he blinks his eyes, shakes his head and rubs his jaw, clearly stunned by the impact. Macbeth wastes no time in cutting to his corner to tag in Derek Mota. Annis is coming back off the ropes, seemingly having shaken off the cobwebs... he charges the opposition corner, but, Macbeth has Mota positioned up on his shoulders, and launches him through the air into a flying vertical bodypress on the Epitome of Evil! Huge pop from the crowd as the bodily impact audibly registers across the stadium, and Annis topples down to the canvas! Derek Mota uprights himself across the chest of his foe, and begins raining down a flurry of fists to his unprotected head. Annis, however, appears so pumped up with adrenaline, that the punches have little apparent effect, and he begins to stagger up to his feet, lifting Derek Mota up into the air around the midsection, who, wide-eyed, continues to lay in the shots with futile effect! The fans pop in awe as Annis staggers toward the opposition corner, unfazed by the fists pummeling his face, gorilla pressing Mota up into the air, and hurling him bodily into TNT and Macbeth, sending all three men crashing from the apron and into a sprawl on the arena floor! A mammoth pop erupts from the crowd!] TD: Unbelievable! What an awesome force is the Epitome of Evil, cleaning house like a demented french maid! SR: A - Rab, A - Rab, sitting in the desert. Couldn't sell one damn canteen of water... Couldn't sell one damn... TD: What the hell are you talking about? RH: He's getting inside again... rather like TNT when Duncan Macbeth is... TD: [interrupting] Now that's enough! Both of you! [Mota, Macbeth and Turner struggle to regain their footing down on the arena floor, as Annis, having quickly tagged in Rick Williams, climbs out of the ropes, runs along the apron, and goes flying into the three of them with a crash landing elbow drop! Cheers and chants of "Bang! Bang!" go wild among the fans. Now, all four men struggle in the pile up, clawing their way up to their feet... TNT, Macbeth and Mota combining to lay in the shots to Serge Annis! The crowd roars with approval as Annis is rocked backwards, but the heat inches up a further notch as Mad Dog Watkins and Rick Williams run in from behind and tackle Macbeth and TNT down to the ground! All six men are immediately embroiled in a huge, chaotic brawl on the outside, Earl Alfonso yelling at them to take the fight back into the ring from over the top rope!] TD: Oh my goodness! Chaos has exploded with a vengeance in this match, as both sides pummel the stuffings out of each other down on the arena floor! Mad Dog Watkins finds himself in the unenviable position of having to help out his fierce rival, Serge Annis. SR: This is great stuff! Almost as great as those heady times back in 1897 when American Heavyweight champion Jack Abraham Fitzsimmons fought British Heavyweight champion Lord Admiral Charles Tweedsdale in the very first international title unification wrestling match. They went at it for forty seven days, sixteen hours and thirty two minutes, Tweedsdale finally dying in the middle of the ring from severe dehydration, and half the audience getting stretchered out of the barn in an advanced state of malnutrition. Now that's what I call a wrestling match. TD: Remarkable knowledge of your wrestling history, Steve Roberts. Did you really enjoy all of those rest holds? SR: Try locking your man in a headlock for three days straight, and then you'll know the definition of work rate. [Watkins batters Derek Mota with a right cross / left hook combination, while Serge Annis and Duncan Macbeth exchange headbutts in a determined quest to prove just who has the hardest head. Meanwhile, TNT grabs Rick Williams by the arm and whips him hard into the steel guard rail! Pop from the fans! All four men continue to brawl furiously, when suddenly, Watkins goes to deck Mota with a roundhouse right... unfortunately, however, Mota ducks and the powerful punch clips Annis right on the jaw, sending him reeling back agains the apron! The crowd collectivley draw in their breaths as Annis' expression goes black with rage. He charges in and smashes Watkins up against the steel guard rails with a ferocious clothesline! Awed pop from the fans! Williams edges away from the fight and climbs back up into the ring; likewise, TNT, Macbeth and Turner, leaving Watkins and Annis to fight between themselves, climb back up into their corner.] TD: The tension, the hatred, the rivalry between Serge Annis and Mad Dog Watkins has finally been unleashed, and now they're going at it on the outside with a vengeance! Let's face it, it was only a matter of time before somebody turned on their team mates in this match, and it's lucky for Turner, Macbeth and Mota, that it didn't happen to them first. SR: Rick Williams is gonna be left in there to fight all three men himself! He's gonna be crucified! TD: The situation is certainly stacked against "To Excess" at this point. Remarkably, his opposition have managed to remain harmonious, with fluid tag team work, but I wonder just how long that can last. RH: When you're as obviously infatuated with each other as Macbeth and Turner are, there's nothin'... I mean nothin' that's gonna break 'em apart. It makes me sick! [Derek Mota and Rick Williams, who looks more than a little perturbed at this turn of events, lock up collar and elbow in the centre of the ring. Both men twist and turn, striving to find the scientific advantage, and it is Derek Mota, who manages to shove Williams down to the mat. The "Heatseeker" quickly tags in TNT, and together, the two Cruiserweights grab Williams and whip him to the ropes, cutting him down on the rebound with a double clothesline. Mota steps back out onto the apron, as Turner drives a series of stomps into the chest of his opponenet. Williams looks hurt, and TNT drags him up, hitching him by the tights and launching him up overhead with a well executed vertical suplex! Williams gives a grimace of pain as his back slams hard into the mat. Meanwhile, on the outside, Annis and Watkins continue to brawl furiously, exchanging dozens of punches and chops with no respite, the frantic pace carrying them up the aisle. Back in the ring, Turner is going for the cover on Rick Williams. Alfonso registers the count: One... Two... Thre... kickout by Rick Williams! The crowd gives little response, perhaps certain of the arrogant one's imminent defeat at this point.] TD: Williams escaped that pin attempt, but you've gotta believe that it's only a matter of time, as these three men begin to methodically work him over. SR: Stuff the wimpy stuff going on in the ring, check out Annis and Watkins putting dents in each other's heads on the outside! Hot damn, what a shot! Annis is down at the foot of the aisle, and Watkins is going for a chair! RH: Well, nobody else would dance with him at the high school prom. [Turner gets up and makes the tag to Duncan Macbeth, who springs into the ring, and begins dragging Williams up to his feet. Turner climbs up onto the top turnbuckle, and as Macbeth hoists "To Excess" up into the air in a vertical suplex position, Turner launches himself through space with a flying cross body, crashing down upon the chest of Rick Williams as Macbeth smashes him into the mat with the suplex! Huge pop from the fans! Turner beats the DQ by quickly ducking back out onto the apron, and Macbeth goes for the cover...] TD: This has got to be it for Rick Williams... That's one... That's two... Three! No! Williams kicked out in the nick of time! What resilience from this man! SR: Jesus Christ! What a chair shot from Mad Dog Watkins! Serge Annis is laid out across the steel guard rail! RH: That big idiot probably enjoys getting metal stuffed god knows where... just like all those freaks who make up his fans. [Another huge pop rocks the crowd as Watkins brings the chair crashing down across the back of Annis' head for a second shot, sending him flipping right over the guard rail and into the crowd! The fans scatter as the towering figure of Serge Annis crashes down in their midst. Mad Dog Watkins tosses his chair aside, leaping over the barrier himself and launching upon Annis with a flurry of fists! Back in the ring, Macbeth is dragging Williams up to his feet, but perhaps enjoying the advantage a little too much and getting careless, he allows "To Excess" to agilely duck behind him, back to back, grab him around the head and smash him hard with a reverse neckbreaker! The crowd responds with heel heat as Macbeth flops motionless down to the mat, Williams getting up and about to go for the cover... Turner leaps into the ring, grabbing Earl Alfonso's attention, who tries to force him back through the ropes... Derek Mota vaults over the top strand, leaps at Rick Williams and sends him careening to the mat with a flying elbow smash, then quickly slips through the opposite ropes down to the arena floor. Immediately, Turner backs off and retreats to his corner, the dastardly deed complete. Alfonso turns back to the action to find both Rick Williams and Duncan Macbeth stretched out motionless on the canvas! The crowd begins to pop fervently with mixed reactions, many cheering Macbeth to get back up to his feet, but others, upset with the constant double teaming, actually begin to cheer Williams!] TD: That was blatantly cowardly and downright unsportsmanlike behaviour from TNT and Derek Mota! RH: You expect sportsmanship in wrestling? You crazy, muhfuh? [The crowd pops grow louder, as slowly but surely, Macbeth stirs, then rolls across the carcass of Rick Williams for the cover! The crowd chants out the count in unison: One... Two... Thre... kickout by Williams! Shocked pop from the crowd!] TD: What awesome resilience from Rick Williams, as he survives yet another near fall! How much longer can this man last out?! SR: Serge Annis has just executed a spinebuster slam on Mad Dog Watkins right amongst the crowd! That was awesome! A little revenge for the spinebuster Watkins put on Annis back in that triangle World title match. TD: We've gotta get some security down there to break that up before somebody in the audience gets injured. RH: What you mean is, the IIWF can do without the lawsuits and out of court settlements in the event of crowd injuries, right? [Duncan Macbeth staggers up to his feet, a little groggy, and tags in Derek Mota. Williams staggers up to his feet subsequently, and leans against the ropes, his breath coming hard, rivulets of sweat dripping down his forehead, and agony creasing his face. Derek Mota climbs up onto the top rope, and Macbeth lunges in at Williams once again, scooping him up and blasting him into the mat with a bodyslam! Immediately, Mota leaps from the top rope and comes crashing down onto Williams with a big flying splash! Huge pop from the crowd! Mota hooks the leg and remains atop Williams for the cover.] TD: This has got to be it. What a brave defence Rick Williams has put up against his three opponents... That's two, that's thre... No! Williams has kicked out yet again! Unbelievable! SR: Hell... I can't see much of Serge Annis and Mad Dog Watkins anymore... they're buried deep into that crowd. I don't think they're gonna get back to the ring and help out Rick Williams any time soon. [Mota slaps the mat in frustration, and gets back up to his feet. Before he can make another move, however, Rick Williams suddenly springs into life and rolls him up into a pin attempt! The fans pop in surprise as Alfonso makes the count: One... Two... Thre... Derek Mota kicks out with micro-seconds to spare!] TD: Whoah! Rick Williams almost pulled off a huge upset there! He's lunging in at Mota, but the "Heatseeker" slips out of the way and tags in TNT. SR: Ahh... Now I see Annis and Watkins again! They're brawling their way back down towards the guard rails! RH: Look at that gutter trash girl up there with her "Epitome of Evil" shirt and forty pounds of metal in her face... I wouldn't go near her even after two dozens shots of Kesslers. [TNT immediately hammers Williams across the shoulder blade with an elbow smash, and then whips him to the ropes. Williams bounds off, and TNT meets him with a powerful standing dropkick, depositing him to the canvas. Turner signals to the crowd, who pop furiously, then grabs Williams by the leg, stepping over into a toe hold... crossing over... fastening on a lock tight figure four leglock! Immediately, Williams' expression contorts in agony, and he stretches his fists out to the heavens, as if attempting to draw in the resilience to withstand the debilitating hold. Macbeth stamps and claps on the outside, getting the crowd behind TNT, who squeezes his legs down with all his might.] TD: Turner has that figure four locked on with deadly intentions, and he was Williams right in the centre of the ring. As talented as he is, I don't believe Williams has the capability or the stamina to break the hold at this point... SR: Annis and Watkins are right up against the guard rail! Annis has Watkins up in the air and... hot damn! Sidewalk slam, right across the steel crowd barriers! That had to cause severe damage to Watkin's spine. TD: By the way, how's your back doing, Ryan Howard? RH: Thought you'd never ask, Rug Man. Right now, it's aching for a little payback... as a matter of fact, I think I'll collect in full right now. [Watkins writhes in pain down on the protective mats; Williams yells out in agony, locked in TNT's figure four, as Ryan Howard throws off his headset and approaches the apron. "Hey, kilt chaser!" he yells out at TNT. Turner looks up quizzically, perhaps noticing Howard's presence for the first time. "Hey, Scot Buggerer!" Turner looks infuriated by the jibes, and releasing the hold on a relieved Rick Williams, leans out over the ropes and begins to argue furiously with Ryan Howard.] TD: Oh dear... this could prove nasty. Ryan Howard, our uninvited guest announcer, seems intent on throwing his twenty cents into this match. [Serge Annis stomps on the fallen body of Mad Dog Watkins, as Turner and Howard continue their tirade. Suddenly, Howard leaps up and grabs Turner's arm, giving it a good yank and bringing him right over the top rope and crashing down hard to the arena floor! Big crowd pop! Immediately, Howard begins stomping away at the body of TNT, laughing uproariously. Mota and Macbeth, who, until this moment had been merely watching the echange with concern, now leap down off the apron and charge Howard from behind, taking him off his feet with axehandle blows! The crowd heat now begins to build as chaos spreads across ringside!] TD: This could drastically alter the whole course of the match! Could Howard's interference have bought Rick Williams a desperate chance? SR: Watkins just grabbed Annis' leg and took him right off his feet! Look at them biting and punching at one another on the arena floor like a pair of animals! [Unbeknownst to TNT, Macbeth and Mota, Alfonso has already begun to count them out of the ring. Macbeth drags Howard up to his feet and holds him in position for a punch from Derek Mota. The "Heatseeker" hauls back his fist, drives it at the "Intrepid's" head, but at the last second, Howard ducks out of the way, and Mota's fist crashes right into the mouth of Duncan Macbeth! The Intercontinental champion begins to boil over with rage, yelling out "Ye di' tha' on purpose, didne' ye' slimey bastard!" Mota backs away with a look of remorse on his face, but Macbeth lunges in at him and decks him with a hard right cross! The fans explode into wild mixed reactions! TNT gets to his feet, and joins in with Macbeth in stomping away at the fallen body of Derek Mota!] TD: Oh my goodness! We said it would only be a matter of time, and now this! The count is getting dangerously close... these three men might soon be out of the match! [Watkins and Annis continue to roll about on the arena floor, oblivious to anything else going on around them, instead intent upon tearing each other into shreds. Meanwhile, Rick Williams, who had been exhaustedly staggering around the ring, now rests up against the turnbuckles, clearly in severe aches and pains, but now holding within his grasp the best chance yet of winning the match. Abruptly, Earl Alfonso calls for the bell! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: What the...?! have they been counted out? RA: Ladies and gentlemen, as the result of a triple count out, the team of Derek Mota, Duncan Macbeth and Timothy N Turner has been eliminated! [Wild mixed pops explode around the stadium!] TD: That's it! They're out! RA: The match now proceeds to the second stage, a sudden death elimination match between Rick Williams, Mad Dog Watkins and Serge Annis! SR: But will Watkins and Annis even be able to get back into the ring to put up a fight against Rick Williams? [Williams looks out over the carnage at ringside, his hands on his hips, sweat dripping down his torso, but his arrogant grin creeping back over his face. TNT and Macbeth, enraged over the decision, continue to vent their fury on Derek Mota, as Ryan Howard slips away up the aisle, snickering over the chaos he has wraught. Serge Annis and Mad Dog Watkins are up on their feet, apparently not even heeding of the announcement, and take turns smashing each other's heads into the guard rail.] TD: Listen to the roar from these fans! They don't know what to make of this situation! Earl Alfonso has the count on again! [Alfonso audibly yells out the count, holding his fingers up in the air, and the crowd begins to chant it out along with him in unision: Six... Seven... Eight... Nine... ] SR: Annis and Watkins finally seem to have wised up, they're making a break for the ring! TD: That's ten! They didn't make it in time! Unbelievable! [Ding! Ding! Ding! Watkins and Annis turn back and stare at each other as the bell echoes in their ears. Enraged, they throw themselves back against one another with abandon. TNT and Macbeth haul Derek Mota up to his feet and combine to hurl him bodily into the steel guard rails.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, as the result of a double count out, both Mad Dog Watkins and Serge Annis have been eliminated! Therefore, your winner of the match, and advancing to the Snow Brawl Survivor's Three Way Dance... "To Excess" Rick Williams! TD: That's it! Williams has won the match against all the odds! He didn't execute a great deal of offence here tonight, but he kept his wits about him, displayed tremendous stamina and resiliency in absorbing that triple team punishment, and with a little help from Lady Luck and Ryan Howard, came out of here with the duke! The question now is: will he be fit enough to remain competitive in that special Snow Brawl Survivor's match later in the evening? [Rick Williams raises his fists to the air, then drops down to his knees in exhaustion. The crowd pops loudly with mixed reactions, although most of them jeer fervently. Meanwhile, a squadron of security guards hits ringside to seperate the warring factions. The cameras pan the crowd, hoping to catch some of the IIWF's "eclectic" fans. As always, numerous posters adorn the security railing: "Lost Boyz are Damaged Goods", "Hey, Spreadbury, Sign Ben Ellis", "EWA = IIWF Minor League" and "I Sold My Soul to Bulldog Brown." After the cameraman gets a few good poster shots, he is forced to pull away as a semi-nude fan in a grass skirt and a Batman mask is pointing to his pierced nipples. Fortunately for us, it cuts to the announcer's table, where Tim Dross is staring at Steve Roberts, who is busy cleaning his nasal area digitally.] TD: _That_ was a pick! SR: I was scratching, scratching... and it was the outside. [A small group of kids near by start a short lived "Pick!" chant, much to the disdain of the "Soundbite".] SR: Put a lid on it, you little toads! If we weren't on camera, I'd teach you a lesson. Ever see "Sleepers"? TD: Steve! Please control yourself. The crew is setting up for the Tag Team Championship match, but we are short a tag team. Joe Petrow amazingly won the battle royal -- but he is without a partner. The Prophets of Rage extracted some revenge and... well... kidnapped him. A rather surprising turn of events. SR: Nothing short of a "Goodfellas" flashback. They're probably jabbing 4M full of holes right now. I would like my cheese and make it Swiss! TD: Ignoring that gruesome scene, we still have the problem that Team Sychosys is no longer a team. Surely, Joe Petrow cannot go it alone. It was incredible feat that Petrow won that battle royal, but that being said, he won't be able to overcome the fresh Lost Boyz -- especially as he has to face Chris Quigley later tonight in that Submission Match. Petrow's a tired man, all by himself. [The crowd boos start.] SR: I guess that little foreigner is gonna tell us. PJ is on his way. [Poutine Janois indeed makes his way to ringside, asking Sparkplug Lee to speak with him. The crowd becomes restless waiting for the news. They begin to stir more when the see the surprised look on Sparkplug's face. Janois shrugs as if to say, "What are you gonna do?" He makes his way back to the locker room area.] TD: I believe we're ready for the announcements, folks! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Lost Boyz vs. Team Sychosys ....................................................................... WRITER: Jack Hoban [Sparkplug Lee raises the microphone to his mouth:] SL: The next match up is for the IIWF Tag Team Championship! [Big pop!] The stipulations were that the current champions, the Lost Boyz, [Another Big Pop!] would meet the winners of the tag team battle royal! [Pop!] The winner was Team Sychosys [Big Sychosys Pop!] represented by Joe Petrow! SR: [over the headset] Wow, Sparky was paying attention! SL: But since Mr. Petrow's partner cannot make it to ringside... Team Sychosys will not meet the Lost Boyz tonight! [Monstrous negative pop! And the rain of garbage starts. Debris hits the ring in waves.] SR: Team Sychosys ain't getting their shot! Hell, no match! That means we got time to get some Mai Tai's! We got, about what, twenty minutes? Time for a few at the tiki bar, Timmy, you coming? TD: We aren't going any... wait a second. Sparkplug has an umbrella and has weathered the garbage storm. He's still got a few things to say. SL: Hey! Hate the message, not the messenger! [Crowd likes the comeback and stops the debris allowing Lee to continue.] Since Team Sychosys cannot compete tonight, I've been told by Poutine Janois that the second placed team will take their place... TD: But it was a double elimination because the two teams that were eliminated at that time were... SL: The Down Boyz and the Natural Predators!! [Huge Pop!] This will be a Three Way Tag Dance! SR: More bodies for the pile! Bring it on! SL: Introducing first, at a total combined weight of 625 pounds, accompanied to the ring by Kuyler Greyson, here are Bear and Grey Phoenix... THE NATURAL PREDATORS!! [The crowd goes wild as "Destination Eschaton" by the Shamen echoes out of the PA system in the Stadium. Bear and the Grey Phoenix come out first, followed by their manager behind them. Each man takes a side of the aisle and shakes hands as they walk to the ring. Bear stops and points to a little girl with a sign, "Bearhug me!", before making his way to the ring.] TD: Quite a fan following for the Natural Predators, Steve. Especially the mammoth one, Bear. SR: I got your mammoth one right here. [Crotch Cam! Crowd goes nuts. No pun intended.] SL: The next team in our championship contest... being led down the aisle by the lovely and vivacious Hoochiemama and greatest manager in the world Awesome T, at a total combined weight of 628 pounds... "Ace" Adam Peterson and "Mad Dog" Danny Oliver... DAMAGE INCORPORATED! TD: As in recent weeks, the Down Boyz seek to get under the skin of the Lost Boyz by claiming the current champs' former moniker. SR: I don't like them, even if they were Amos and Andy. Whatever happened to the Kingfish? TD: I don't feel like talking classic radio shows right now, Steve. ["Ambitions Of A Rider" by 2Pac plays until Awesome T jumps up on the ring and grabs the mic from Lee.] AT: Tupac's dead, and so's Damage Incorporated. Let's keep it that way. HIT THE MUSIC! [Just like that, "Down Boys" by Warrant kicks in. The Down Boys are dressed completely in their old outfits... acid-washed denim jackets, day-glo tights with "Keep The Faith" airbrushed on their asses, reminding us of what Bon Jovi told us to do when the chips were down. Huge pop as the Down Boys, replete with their over-styled hair, appear in the aisle!] TD: It looks like the Down Boys have returned, Steve Roberts! Perhaps they took the Lost Boyz' comments on the Free For All earlier tonight to heart. SL: And their opponents... from way down South... accompanied by their lovely manager, Jeandra... they weigh in at a total combined weight of 628lbs... Alex Porteaux and Eddie Ramos... The IIWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS... THE LOST BOYZ! [Loud boos as the curtains part, quickly turning to wolf whistles as Jeandra appears in what is literally a fifty dollar dress. A miniskirt with loosely separated silver dollars, like chainmail, covers her essentials... but not enough to cover the fact that she's wearing red lace undies and nothing above. The hoots and hollers of the largely male crowd turn to boos as she passes and her protégés, the former Damage Inc., walk to ringside.] TD: It's like canned dynamite out there, waiting to explode! SR: No, this is! [Crotch Cam two. Huge Crowd Pop!] SL: The rules of this championship match are simple! Three men legal at a time! Elimination style! [Another Huge Crowd Pop! Sparkplug makes his way out touching a few hands and dodging some debris. Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Grey Phoenix, Alex Porteaux and Dan Oliver will start the match off for their respective teams. Porteaux ducks a Phoenix right to be caught by an Oliver left! Alex is sent via an Irish whip to Grey Phoenix. Spinwheelkick! [Big Pop!] SR: I could do that, but I'd rip my pants. [The first few moments of the match are simply blows traded by each member, a smattering of hip tosses until Porteaux drops Grey Phoenix with dropkick. "Dazzling" Dan jams an elbow hard into the rising Lost Boy, turns him around and executes front faced suplex. Not stopping, Oliver bounces off the ropes for a flying forearm on Grey Phoenix. But Grey Phoenix ducks down and the flying Down Boy collides with Bear's huge boot, sending him sprawling backward.] SR: When he wakes up, tell him that was the "A Train". TD: Bear tags in and lifts up Dan, HIGH! Slam! Again! Porteaux tags in Ramos and the bug men go toe to toe! Back and forth! No quarter asked, none given. ["Dazzling" Dan Oliver stumbles over to the corner and tags in his partner, "Superstud" Adam Peterson. Peterson sits back for a moment, letting the big men wear each other down. At this point Ramos has gained the upper hand and sends Bear to the mat with a hefty sidewalk slam. Ramos is knocked off his feet, courtesy of a Dragon screw leg whip by Peterson. Like a cat, Peterson springboards off the second rope and hits a with a legdrop. Ramos rolls over in pain, beneath the stomping of Adam Peterson. Bear bum rushes the "Superstud", who sidesteps with ease...] TD: Bear is stopping! [Huge Natural Pop!] He just blasted Alex Porteaux off ringside! Alex collides with the security barrier. Jeandra is over quickly seeing to the aid of her man. Ramos' meaty paw has just taken Peterson over for an early cover! One... Kickout! SR: Big Eddy hasn't let go yet -- he's lifted him over and dropped his ass down... hard! [Just as Adam Peterson hits the mat, Bear follows with a diving headbutt. Bear and Ramos look at each other then turn to the stunned Peterson. They stand him up and both hook the tights and...] TD: They're going give him a double suplex, Peterson will be... Wait! Oliver is on the top rope! [The two huge men bring over Peterson, who flips out of their grasp. Turning around to be hit by a devastating flying double DDT by Dan Oliver! The crowd goes ape!] SR: Jesus and Mary! That squirt just dropped those freaks! He's covering both of... [Grey Phoenix makes the save as Alex Porteaux clotheslines Oliver down. At this Peterson storms the ring and joins the fray for a free for all. The referee gets in the middle and barely breaks it up into a Grey Phoenix, Oliver, Porteaux three way. Ramos is all over Oliver in the corner. Grey Phoenix kicks Ramos only to be caught by a meaty left hand. Stunned, Ramos powerslams Grey Phoenix. Phoenix tries to get up, but Ramos clubs him back to his knees.] TD: Grey Phoenix on all fours in front of Ramos. [Pop!] "Dazzling" Dan springboards off Grey Phoenix's back into a hurricana... NO! SR: I don't think so! Ex-maddog's just holding him up. I think he's gonna... Wow! [Ramos attempts to powerbomb Oliver but is brought over by a roll up by Dan. But the big man is too strong and gets out before the referee can start counting. Ramos is caught in a short arm scissors and is forced to the mat again by Oliver. Bear makes his way to the entangled duo after tagging in, taking his time. Ramos drags his way over to the rope, forcing a break.] TD: Bear gets Dan up by pulling his hair...suplex! A quick boot to Ramos' head sends him back down to his knees. Oliver to the ropes... Backdrop by Bear. No, flip over by Oliver and HUGE SUPERKICK TO RAMOS!! [Big Down Pop!] Ramos has fallen through the ropes! SR: There's only three ropes on the ring. That man needs fifteen to keep him in after that! [Bear turns for a bearhug but Oliver slips through his legs and tags in a flying Peterson who stuns Bear with a flying fist. A few chops push Bear back to the ropes. Bear reverses an Irish whip and misses with a clothesline. As Peterson hits the opposite ropes, Porteaux drives a knee into the small of the back, sending him down. Bear leads Peterson over to the Natural Predators corner. Bear tags in Grey Phoenix and they work over the "Superstud"!] TD: Snap suplex from Grey Phoenix! Grey Phoenix is climbing the ropes and Peterson is still down! Phoenix is getting up, but slowly. SR: Momma's little boy is home! [Lost Pop!] [Ramos is back with a vengeance! Shaking the tope rope, Grey Phoenix falls into an ugly crotch drop and slumps off the top rope. Legdrop on Peterson! Ramos runs over to the slumped Grey Phoenix and executes a monstrous powerbomb! Following up with a headbutt to the lower extremities. A cover... 1... 2...] TD: The save by Bear! SR: Get his ass out of there! Eddy was going to get rid of one of these jerks. Sooner it's over, sooner we get to see Quigley give up! [Bear launches Ramos with a huge belly to belly suplex and howls with joy... which is cut short by a Porteaux DDT! Things quickly get out of hand. Bear is down, Grey Phoenix is down, Ramos is down, but "Dazzling" Dan Oliver is very much up. Oliver is a house of fire! A handspring elbow crushes Porteaux's nose, a spatter of blood can be seen! Big Down Pop!] TD: Porteaux's bleeding, Porteaux's nose is bloody and he can't see! For the love of... Michinoku Driver by Peterson! A Michinoku Driver has Alex out on the mat! SR: Cover his ass! TD: He's not the legal man! The referee is telling him that. Once again clearing him out of the ring. [Bear leaves the ring as does Oliver and Porteaux. Grey Phoenix is sent to the ropes by Ramos and is caught by Peterson in a tilt a whirl backbreaker! Seeing his advantage, Ramos drives a fist to the back of the head of Peterson. Attempting a belly to back, Ramos is surprised by a quick reversal into a hammerlock. Grey Phoenix makes the tag and Bear comes in and beats on Ramos as he is caught in the hammerlock!] SR: Two on one action. Reminds me of my favorite movie... TD: Please don't. SR: "Clear and Present Dangler" [Ramos is now strung over the ropes and Bear is holding his legs up. Peterson tags in Dan Oliver who leap frogs Bear and lands squarely on the back of Big Eddy! Oliver now tells Bear for him to do the same. Oliver holds Ramos' legs up and waits for the onrushing Bear... Who stops and throws a bearhug around Oliver!] TD: Alliances only last seconds in a match like this and Bear is squeezing Oliver like a banana! The crowd is chanting "Bear! Bear! Bear!" Oliver must give up some one hundred and fifty pounds! SR: That hug really brings out the veins in "Dazzling" Dan's forehead. Lovely. [Ramos, using the ropes to get up, catches the of Bear. Releasing his hold, Oliver struggles to crawl over to his respective corner. Bear begins to club Ramos with over hand rights, but can't seem to get the big man down.] TD: Ramos has really taken some big damage here tonight but refuses to be silenced. Bear to the opposite ropes... [Monster natural Pop!] Bear clotheslines Ramos _AND_ himself clear over the top! Bear's back crashes against the floor and Ramos twists over drops chest first on the railing! The referee is starting the count... ONE! Oh my, this is bad! Grey Phoenix and Porteaux are screaming for their partners! And Oliver reaches Peterson! [FIVE! "Superstud" Adam Peterson struts his way into the ring and taunts the other corners. He steps through the ropes and sizes up Ramos. HUGE POP! -- FIVE! -- As "Superstud" Adam Peterson rebounds off the second rope and hits Ramos with an Asai Moonsault! Ramos, already hurt, is caught between the barrier and the impact of Peterson.] SR: Thief! That's my move! I patented it! [...SEVEN!...] TD: Alex has had enough! Suicide senton levels Peterson! Now Oliver is on his way... [HUGE NATURAL POP! Everyone stands up for Grey Phoenix's spinwheel kick that hits Oliver so hard he does a 270 degree flip -- EIGHT! -- that absolutely rocks the Dazzling one. Porteaux is trying to roll Ramos into the ring. Peterson is doubled over by a big Bear knee and thus tossed into the ring, roughly. Grey Phoenix is taking it to Oliver outside. NINE!] TD: Bear makes it in, just beating the count. Porteaux has tagged in, allowing his hurt partner to roll out again. Bear _and_ Porteaux lock up Peterson. [POP!] The "Superstud" is a victim of a double bodyslam! SR: Tear him apart for using my Asai Moonsault! Give him a love nut corkscrew... Wait a minute. No, that's what I order at the Beaver Trap. Y'know, Dross, I got so many notes here. Kind of lose track sometimes. You think I should get one of those electronic daily planners? You can save number, appointments and all kinds of... TD: The match, Steve! Try and focus. Oliver and Phoenix are back to their respective corners! [Bear sends Peterson to the ropes for a backdrop! Peterson rolls over the top and clocks Porteaux in his bad nose! Porteaux is covered up! Bear misses with a left... crucifix by Peterson! Samoan Drop by Bear! Huge POP! Bear tags in Phoenix. Peterson makes a dive for his corner, but is cut off by Porteaux. Porteaux goes for a DDT but gets pushed off. Peterson is taken down by a huracarana by Phoenix with a leg roll up. Ref drops for the count: 1... 2...] TD: Kickout! Barely! Porteaux drops and elbow and misses! Peterson rolls for the tag... cut off by Grey Phoenix! Peterson is exhausted and there seems little chance he will get to his corner. Grey Phoenix's snap suplex is blocked. Alex throws a mean shot into Peterson's kidneys and he softens up. [After a few more hits Grey Phoenix can execute his suplex and a cover. Again Peterson escapes with a count of two and a half. Porteaux tags big Ramos and locks up Peterson... who sits out of it and rolls to his corner! Oliver springboards over the top rope into the waiting arms of Ramos, who clasps him around the waist.] TD: Ramos caught him! Brings him over for a hot shot! And Porteaux grabs Oliver's head as he hits the ropes! SR: Look at that head snap! [Porteaux grabs Oliver's head on the way down and jerks it over the top rope, doubling the impact of the move. Oliver snaps back and bounces off the mat. Grey Phoenix splashes the down Oliver for... 1 -- 2 -- 3! Big pop!] TD: The Down Boyz have been eliminated! And they are livid! The referee can't get them to leave ringside! SR: # Nah, nah, nah. Nah, nah, nah. Hey, hey, hey. Goodbye! # [Grey Phoenix quickly tags to Bear and the two big men of the match hook up. The Down Boyz stand in the aisle, refusing to leave, yelling that they want to see who wins. Porteaux's tights have blood seared on them from his broken nose and Ramos chest has an enormous welts on his chest, while the Natural Predators have escaped any major damage.] SR: Looks like Porteaux's faucet finally turned off. TD: Yes, but the Lost Boyz have really taken some hits here in the match and... Ramos: Crotch slam! Legdrop! Cover! One -- two -- kickout! Bear is beneath Ramos' boot in the opposite corner. [Ramos lifts Bear and drops him again with a hard forearm. Ramos drops a leg, but Bear rolls away and tags in Grey Phoenix. Phoenix stuns Ramos with a standing dropkick, but not down. A hiptoss solve that and quick cover wakes up Ramos. Big Eddy pushes Grey Phoenix off after a one count. "Dazzling" Dan shouts at Grey Phoenix, getting his attention. Distracting him, as well. Ramos tags out and Porteaux races in. Porteaux and Phoenix lock up, Porteaux turning it into a full nelson.] TD: Porteaux has Phoenix locked in but the Grey one gets a foot on the rope, breaking the hold. And... hey! ["Superstud" Adam Peterson slaps Porteaux leg as he walks by. Porteaux badmouths him and gets back to business. Grey Phoenix gets an armbar on Alex and backs him into Bear, who holds him in place. Grey Phoenix dominates with a series of lefts and rights. Bear gets back in. Oliver runs to the other side of the ring and starts to argue with the referee, just as Bear whips Porteaux to the ropes.] SR: One Step beyond! Das Boot! TD: Peterson just dropkicked Porteaux as he hit the ropes, Porteaux crumbles to his knees and... [Predator Pop!] Gets a huge dropkick to the face from Bear! That nose is bleeding again. Ramos is furious and LEAPS FROM THE APRON ONTO PETERSON! [Big Lost Pop!] Ramos is crushing Peterson with fists! [At seeing this Oliver charges to help his partner. In the ring Bear powerslams Porteaux down. Cover: 1 -- 2 -- NO! The crowd is standing now. Ramos sends Oliver to the ring steps, while Peterson jumps on his back. Bear gorilla presses Porteaux up for a monstrous slam.] TD: Bear is going to break... Porteaux escapes! Drops behind...[LOST POP!] Reverse DDT!! Porteaux can barely see with that bad nose -- he's reaching out to his corner, but nobody's there! No one to make the save! Ramos is brawling with the Down Boys. Porteaux can't seem to find his... SR: Whammo! This is just like the Batman TV show! [Alex is leveled by a double axehandle from Grey Phoenix! The Down Boyz are sent packing to the locker room. Ramos races back, but is too late as...] TD: Natural Selection!! Oh my! [The referee drops to the mat and makes the count as Grey Phoenix pins the fallen Porteaux: 1 -- 2 -- Ramos climbs to the apron, but is despatched by Wolf -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Huge, huge pop!] SR: Easy come, easy... come. Sorry, that was a private moment for me. SL: The winners of this match -- and _NEW_ IIWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS... THE NATURAL PREDATORSSSSS! [An ecstatic Kuyler Grayson leaps up from his seat at ringside, grabbing the titles from the timekeeper's table, and hands the IIWF World Tag Team Championship belts to his protegés, a broad smile crossing his face. Ramos pulls Porteaux out of the ring as security usher the Down Boys away from ringside. Porteaux beats his hands on the apron in frustration as his partner and Jeandra tend to his nose, before heading back to the locker room. Meanwhile, Bear and Grey Phoenix have strapped their newly-won titles around their waists, and they climb to opposite turnbuckles, celebrating their win before fifty-two thousand appreciative fans! Big, big pop!] TD: What a tremendous win here for the Natural Predators, Steve Roberts! This team has been together for less than twelve months, and in the IIWF for less than three, but due to the guidance of Kuyler Greyson and their own hard work, they now sit on top of the World Tag Team tree! SR: Not bad, Dross. Not bad at all -- but I have a feeling the Lost Boyz will be back for their titles. TD: And quite the performance from the Down Boys, too, Steve Roberts, finally ditching their imitation of Damage Inc., uh, the Lost Boyz... SR: Gets confusing, don't it, Dross? TD: It certainly does, Steve Roberts. Nonetheless, the Down Boys are back to their inimitable selves -- and they will surely have a good claim for a title match with the Predators in the near future. I understand that right now we're scheduled to go backstage to Larry Morton, who is there with "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard, who played such a major role in the third of our Lethal Lottery matches earlier tonight, single-handedly managing to eliminate the team of Timothy N. Turner, Derek Mota and Duncan Macbeth -- when he wasn't even competing. Larry? [Cut to one of the many locker rooms behind the scenes, the walls tiled a pale yellow, royal blue lockers adorning the walls, several wrestlers' apparel scattered within them. Larry Morton stands imposingly, his microphone raised, garbed in his tuxedo.] LM: A superb Snow Brawl so far folks, and boy, I'm sure you all saw what happened out there a little earlier, especially to a man that goes by the initials of TNT -- the "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner! [Like a cobra sneaking from its camouflaged brush, "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard comes suddenly from the right of the camera view, a smile perched high on his lips, his pristine teeth bared past pinkened lips. His hands poised at the waist line of his jeans, he shouts exuberantly into the microphone.] RH: Yer damn right, that was superb! "Rocket Man" my ass, because it seemed like these fists shuttled you around, and it sure as hell wasn't some high-octane, number ninety-nine propane fuel that sent your stupid carcass zippity-zappin' right into that steel guardrail! [Howard eyes the camera, offering a satirical sneer before turning around, his steps carrying him in a routine pace around Larry.] LM: Yes... as you can see, with me is "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard, who, if you will recall, was sidelined by Turner months ago after an attack with a metal pipe... [Cut to a still frame of the attack, Timothy N. Turner connecting hard with a sidewards swipe, taking out Howard's knee.] RH: Yeah, I remember it all too well, Lar. But you know what? It sure as heck didn't keep me down! Turner, when you did the job, you should've done it right... but that was your fatal flaw, because you didn't run over me again... and again... and again... with some hot doggin' Ford pick-up, until I started coughin' and hackin' my insides up. Now you have to pay for your sin, and _I_ get to take on the role of giving you the chance to apologise. But not right away... you see, I'll do it the way it was meant to be. I'll climb the ratings until the critics and those internet freaks say we're an even match. Until this match _must_ happen. And then, in front of everyone who could, or couldn't give a damn about you... ...and then again, maybe I'll do what you did to me when _I_ first came here. I'll be all over you like Macbeth on one of those Highland sheep. [He chuckles sparsely, dark sienna eyes razing for a mencaing stare into the camera, a short moment of seriousness before the mock of a wild beast rings out.] RH: Baaaaaa-aaaaaaaah! Welcome to the year of the Intrepid, studs. [Swatting the microphone from his face, he disappears off camera, a laugh lighting his leave. Larry Morton simply shakes his head as he watches Howard depart.] LM: There you have it, folks. Back to you at ringside, Tim. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Folks, what a night it's been so far here in the Aloha Stadium, and things are about to get absolutely wild as we continue with championship action -- it's the Ladder Match between new Cruiserweight champ Ronnie Paris and the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi up next! This one could steal the show here tonight, Steve Roberts. SR: Damned right, Dross. U-S-A! U-S-A! Come on, morons, chant with daddy Soundbite! U-S-A! U-S-A! TD: Let's get up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP LADDER MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Ronnie Paris vs. "Enigma" Takezo Musashi ....................................................................... WRITER: Shawn Kilpatrick [Sparkplug Lee climbs into the ring, and receives a huge ovation from the Aloha Stadium crowd as he strips off the jacket of his powder blue tuxedo, revealing an extremely loud flower-print Hawaiian shirt underneath.  Lee draws further applause and some laughs as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pair of Ray-Bans, giving him the perfect Hawaiian tourist look.  Grinning, Lee raises the ring mic and begins the announcements.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is for the IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP! [Big pop from the crowd, as an IIWF crew begins to make its way down to ringside, carrying a long steel stepladder.] SL: The rules of this bout are as follows.  If you would all please direct your attention to the lighting rig above me, you will see the IIWF Cruiserweight title belt has been suspended at a height of twenty feet above the centre of the ring! [Cut to a shot of the Cruiserweight title belt, glittering in the television lights as it slowly spins on its tether in the rigging.  The shot then pans down and picks up Lee, standing in the ring twenty feet below the hanging belt.  Behind him, the work crew can be seen erecting the stepladder in the middle of the aisle.] SL: The first man to successfully retrieve the belt, making use of the ladder that has been provided, and touch the canvas with both feet will be declared the winner of the match!  No pinfalls, submissions, countouts or disqualifications will be recognised! [The crowd pops again, the excitement of the fans beginning to build.] SL: And now, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce the challenger! He weighs in at 210 pounds and hails from Kobe, Japan, here is "THE ENIGMA" TAKEZO MUSASHI! [The Aloha Stadium erupts in a massive pop as "Stellar Regions" by John Coltrane soars from the P.A. and the mysterious Musashi appears in the wide aisle, glancing around him like a wild animal as he slowly but deliberately makes his way down to the ring.  Musashi's eyes are painted with flaming red pentacles, and his tights bear the same pentacle patterns against a flaming yellow background, adding to the Japanese star's already imposing appearance.  Musashi pauses a moment to inspect the tall ladder in the middle of the aisle, and grunts in satisfaction as he continues on and enters the ring, walking right by referee Joey Patrick and pacing back and forth, whispering to himself, completely shutting out the cheers of the fans.] TD: There is Takezo Musashi, looking about as intense as I have ever seen him, Steve Roberts.  Musashi's behavior has been quite unstable in recent weeks, and if his ring garb and face paint are any indication of his mind-set, Ronnie Paris could be in for some particularly ferocious opposition tonight. SR: All that mumbo-jumbo ain't gonna faze the second-in-command of the Soundbite Special Forces, baby dolls.  My man Ronnie's got a special costume of his own for tonight that'll show up the Tibetian and his symbolic crap. TD: And what exactly would that be, Steve? SR: Wait and see, Dross.  Wait and see. SL: And his opponent, hailing from El Paso, Texas, and also weighing in at 210 pounds, here is the reigning IIWF Cruiserweight Champion... RONNIE PARIS! [The crowd erupts with a sizable heel pop for the much-maligned Paris, but strangely, no music begins to play.  Long moments go by, and the fans begin to buzz in confusion as the lights in the Aloha Bowl suddenly cut out, blanketing the stadium in darkness.  Suddenly, high above the bowl of the stadium, a cascade of red, white, and blue fireworks explode in a deafening volley, filling the sky with dazzling light, and when the lights in the stadium come back up, Ronnie Paris is standing in the middle of the aisle, surrounded by his cadre of security guards!  Paris is dressed in a full-length bodysuit which has the patterns of the American flag printed diagonally across his body, the blue field of white stars decorating his left shoulder and arm, and blue and white stripes running across his right side from shoulder to toe.] TD: That's... interesting.  Paris is obviously trying to play the nationality card here to get the crowd on his side, but they don't seem to be biting, Steve. SR: I sure as hell am!  [Roberts stands and snaps off a salute in Paris' direction.]  God bless you, son! [This garish display of patriotism only seems to stoke the crowd's dislike of Paris, and the heel heat grows in intensity as Paris raises a cordless mic to his mouth and barks "Hit the music!".  Instantly, the P.A. cranks out "We're An American Band" by Grand Funk, and Paris, grinning from ear to ear, continues on down the aisle towards the ring. Musashi does not take his eyes off of the Cruiserweight champion as he approaches, his eyes burning a hole through Paris as he passes the ladder, gives it a shake to test its stability, and steps to the front of the ring on the outside.  Paris' "theme music" finally begins to die down, and the champion calls all four of his security guards forward to speak to them. The men move to do so, seeming to have some difficulty with the concept of a single file lineup. Hell, these guys definitely weren't hired for their brains. Paris raises his cordless mic up to his mouth again and addresses his men.] TD: It seems Mr. Paris wants to take a moment here to say a few words to the troops, Steve. SR: That's _Lieutenant_ Paris to you, Dross. RP: Last week, I went out and did what no one thought I ever could do... win the IIWF Cruiserweight Title. I did that on my own, with no help and in fact quite a bit of hindrance from you four bumbling idiots! It seems to me, except for that brilliant initial attack that wouldn't have worked without my orchestration anyway, you guys have been totally useless since I hired you. What the hell have you done to earn your money, huh? What have you done that I couldn't do myself? In short... you may consider your sorry asses fired! Get out of my sight! [The four look on in shock at their now former employer, not really processing the information. The one on the end starts to shuffle off a bit, but overall the guards just stand around looking like deer caught in a car's headlights. Paris grows angrier by the second, and as he does slips into the mannerisms of a mock drill sergeant.] RP: YOU ARE DISMISSED!  YOU MAGGOTS MAY CONSIDER YOURSELVES DISHONOURABLY DISCHARGED!  GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! [With that, the four guards quickly start to turn and walk away, their heads bowed in shame and the jeers of the IIWF faithful following them as they go.] TD: Well, it seems that Ronnie... er, _Lieutenant_ Paris has dismissed the entire bulk of the Soundbite Special Forces right here on worldwide pay-per-view television!  Paris is obviously feeling quite confident following his title victory, perhaps a bit _too_ confident.  As commander-in-chief, Steve, what do you have to say about that? SR: They're grunts, Dross.  Fodder.  Pawns on a chessboard.  They exist to be used up, and now that Ronnie's got the gold, they're expendable. War is hell, baby dolls. TD: I don't suppose you've ever heard of the Geneva Conventions... OH MY GOODNESS!  Musashi hits Paris from behind with a plancha dive from the ring!  Paris is down!  This match is underway! [From out of nowhere, Musashi, who has had enough of waiting, launches himself through the ropes, sending both Paris and himself sprawling into the aisle!  Huge pop from the crowd!  As Musashi throws himself on top of the surprised Paris and begins whaling away with lefts and rights, Paris' ex-bodyguards pause for a moment in the aisle, watching the scene and debating whether they should get involved, but one by one the guards turn away, leaving Paris to deal with the Enigma on his own.] SR: Hey, you morons!  Get back here and help your superior officer!  Are you maggots just going to walk away and let the Tongan cheat against one of our boys? TD: Steve... Paris fired them, remember?  You know... grunts, fodder, pawns? SR: I don't care!  Get back here, slimebags!  That's an order from the Soundbite! [The guards fail to comply with Roberts' "order" as Musashi, eyes balzing, continues to rip into Paris on the arena floor, but a face rake from Paris soon breaks up the fisticuffs, and both men struggle to their feet.  Musashi whirls on Paris with a lightining-quick savate kick, but the Texan is quicker, and ducks the move!  Paris isn't quick enough a split-second later though, as Musashi converts his spinning momentum into an enzuigiri that sends Paris reeling into a steel crowd barrier! Big pop!] TD: Takezo Musashi with a nice heads-up move there, and look at the intensity on the face of the Enigma!  He is all business in there, Steve Roberts, as opposed to Paris' grandstanding, and it is paying off early for him! SR: Those bastards betrayed an officer, and left Ronnie at the mercy of that sneaky Fijian!  Hey Dross, isn't treason still punishable by death in this country? TD: I believe that's correct, Steve, but I hardly think that law applies here. SR: Well, it ought to.  Treacherous bastards. [As Paris slowly picks himself up from the floor, Musashi suddenly scrambles up the tall ladder, and the crowd pops with excitement as Paris rises to his feet, turns, and sees Musashi launch himself off the top of the ladder with a Shooting Star Press!  Paris, thinking quickly, takes a step back, cradles the Enigma as he hurtles downward towards him, and drops him onto his outstretched knee with a crushing stomachbreaker!  An audible rush of air escapes from the mouth of the surprised Enigma as all the wind in his body is suddenly driven out of him, and he collapses to the floor in agony, struggling to catch his breath!  Loud heel pop!] TD: What a move from Ronnie Paris!  He read that move perfectly and countered it with a stomachbreaker that has Musashi in real trouble! He's having trouble breathing, and may have suffered a rib injury from that incredible impact! SR: Attaboy, Ronnie!  Show that Filipino menace who be da man!  U-S-A! C'mon, America, let me hear ya!  U-S-A!  U-S-A! [Roberts tries to lead the fans behind the broadcast table in the "U-S-A" chant, but they're all too busy booing Paris to take notice of the Soundbite's cheerleading, with the exception of one small octogenarian lady who raises a frail, liver-spotted thumb and lets loose with a thin, cracking "Hoooooo!"  Exasperated, Roberts slumps back in his seat beside Dross.] TD: Are you quite finished? SR: Ingrates.  [Paris rises to his feet, contemplating another attack, but Musashi is still curled up on the floor in obvious pain, gasping for breath, and the Texan instead turns his attention to the ladder, and begins dragging it down the aisle towards the ring.  Musashi's chest heaves as his diaphragm struggles to fill his lungs, and the Japanese star turns to see Paris pullung the heavy ladder along the floor, the steel legs chattering along the concrete, and begins to pull himself up to his feet!] TD: Musashi is getting up! SR: And Ronnie doesn't see him!  Look alive, soldier! [Paris' eyes are fixed firmly on his destination, the ring, and does not see Musashi rise up, take a deep breath, and sprint down the aisle full-tilt towards him!  The crowd goes insane as Musashi launches himself into the air once again with an arcing drop kick, striking the ladder halfway up and causing it to clooapse on top of the unsuspecting Paris!  There is an incredible clatter as Musashi and the steel ladder come down hard on top of Paris, who lies stunned on the concrete underneath the heavy ladder!  Big pop from the crowd!] TD: The ladder is down!  And Paris is underneath it!  What a daredevil move from Takezo Musashi! SR: That sneaky Mongolian sonofabitch! TD: Will Musashi now attempt to set up the ladder in the ring, or will he look for insurance against Paris?  He's getting to his feet... and he's picking up the ladder!  [Musashi lifts the ladder off of Paris, but instead of heading for the ring, he lets it drop, and picks up Ronnie Paris from the floor! Musashi moves behind the groggy Texan, and clutches him around the waist, setting up for his Backdriver Suplex!] TD: Musashi's attempting to Backdriver Suplex Paris onto the ladder! Here it comes... no!  Paris grabs the Enigma's head and counters with a guillotine neckbreaker!  What tenacity from Ronnie Paris! SR: Just good ol' fashioned American ingenuity, baby dolls. [Paris now turns his attention back to the ladder, lifting it up from the floor, but instead of heading to the ring, he carries it over to where Musashi is lying on the floor, clutching at his neck, and slams the heavy steel onto Musashi's outstretched right knee!  Huge heel pop from the fans!  Musashi's whole body jolts with pain as the ladder smashes into his knee, and Paris is grinning sadistically as he picks up the ladder and drives it a second time right across the Enigma's right patella!] TD: There's ingenuity for you, Steve Roberts!  Paris is attempting to cripple Takezo Musashi with that ladder!  This is absolutely barbaric! SR: This is _exactly_ what you do in a no-DQ situation, Dross!  The Nepalese freak likes to fly all over the place, and there's no better way to ground him than to introduce those springy legs of his to a hundred pounds of Pittsburgh's finest.  He can't jump, he can't fly, and best of all, he can't climb a ladder!  Smart wrestling right there. TD: I'd hardly classify that thuggish behavior as wrestling, Steve, but your point is well taken.  Musashi is in serious trouble out there, and now Paris is carrying the ladder to the ring! [Paris finally reaches the ring with the ladder, and heaves it up onto the apron, struggling to slide it under the bottom rope.  Paris scrambles into the ring and pulls the ladder all the way in, trying with some difficulty to unfold the ladder and set it up in the middle, underneath the Cruiserweight title belt dangling above the ring.  As Paris fusses in the ring with the ladder, Takezo Musashi begins to drag himself towards the ring!  The crowd cheer him on urgently, sensing that Paris may be mere moments away from victory!] TD: Musashi's on his way to the ring, but he's been severely hampered by that ladder shot to his knee, and Paris... Paris has the ladder unfolded, and is now positioning it under the Cruiserweight title belt twenty feet above the ring!  Musashi's on the apron... will Paris get up that ladder in time, and can Musashi stop him? SR: C'mon, Ronnie, haul ass!  That Taiwanese moron's right behind you! [Paris finally gets the ladder set up under the belt, just as Musashi rolls himself into the ring!  The crowd pops as Paris begins to climb up the ladder, and Musashi limps across the ring and grabs Paris around the legs halfway up!] TD: He caught him!  Musashi caught him! SR: Keep going, Paris!  Kick the Indonesian off and keep going!  That's an order, soldier! ]Paris does try to kick Musashi off, but the Enigma hangs on, and continues to climb up Paris' torso!  Paris desperately tries to hang on to the ladder, but Musashi works his arms in around Paris' trunk, and with a ferocious burst of power, tears Paris away from the ladder and drops him ten feet down to the mat with a Backdriver Suplex!  Huge pop from the fans!] TD: What a move!  Musashi dropped Paris right on his head from that incredible height, and now both men are laid out on the canvas!  Both of these men are throwing caution to the wind in this match, and it has produced some mind-boggling action here tonight at Snow Brawl, folks! SR: Ronnie sure got _his_ mind boggled right there, Dross.  I gotta admit, that was a gutsy move from the Burmese freak, but he may have just spent himself. [Both men lay on the mat for long moments, as Patrick just waits, unable to apply a count under the match stipulations, and the crowd buzzes to see which of the two will be the first to rise, and a huge pop explodes from the fans as Musashi begins to stir!  A few moments later, Paris shakes his head and pulls himself up to his hands and knees.  The Enigma is the first to his feet, and he limps unsteadily over to where Paris is crouching on the canvas, and is met with a stiff right hand to the solar plexus!  Musashi doubles over as the Cruiserweight champion pulls himself to his feet, and lays out Musashi with a clothesline!  Heel pop!] TD: You may have been right, Steve Roberts!  Musashi pulled out a beauty of a move earlier, but he may be running on empty now! SR: What'd I tell you, Dross?  No Surinami can hold a candle to a home-grown American boy like Ronnie!  What heart, what mettle -- he reminds me of me in my younger days, only not as devastatingly handsome. TD: Paris is back to his feet, and it appears that he is going to keep on Musashi this time!  The champ pulls the Enigma to his feet and... Dragon suplex from Paris, and a beauty!  Musashi appears to be out cold! [The crowd lets loose with a raucous heel pop as Paris rises to his feet, measures the prone Musashi, and drops a sharply-executed elbow to the back of Musashi's head that send a jolt through the Enigma's body, but he does not stir afterward.  Paris looks up to the rigging where his Cruiserweight title hangs, looks back down at Musashi, and moves to the corner, climbing up the turnbuckles!] TD: What's Paris doing?  He has a clear opportunity to grab that belt, why doesn't he just go for the ladder? SR: The Sri Lankan caught him once, Dross.  Ronnie's not gonna let him do it again. TD: Steve... SR: Yeah? TD: [exasperated] He's Japanese. SR: Who? TD: [trying very hard to maintain his composure] Takezo Musashi.  He's from Kobe, Japan.  _Japan_, Steve.  "The Enigma" Takezo Musashi is _Japanese_. [Roberts squints up at the ring where Musashi is lying on the mat.] SR: No, he's not. [As Paris climbs up the turnbuckles, his back to the ring, there is a pop from the fans as Musashi suddenly rolls over onto his back and kips up to his feet, facing Paris from behind!] TD: Look at that!  Musashi is on his feet! SR: He was playing possum!  Ain't that just like a... where'd you say he was from, Dross? TD: _Japan_, Steve. SR: [squints again] Nah, you're way off, baby dolls, but wherever he's from, they raise 'em with snakes!  Paris still doesn't see him!  Turn around, Ronnie! [Paris does turn around, balancing on the second turnbuckle, and his confident expression turns to shock as he sees Takezo Musashi bolt across the ring and spring into the air scissoring his legs high as he flies at Paris!] TD: Musashi in the air... hurricarana from Musashi off the top turnbuckle!  What a move! [Musashi snaps the hurricarana off, sending Paris tumbling outside the ring and crashing through the Guatemalan announcers' table, sending papers, cups of coffee, and splinters of wood flying into the air!  The Guatemalans scatter for cover, but quickly return to the area, where Paris is on the verge of unconsciousness amongst the remains of the broadcast position.  Instead of offering aid to the Cruiserweight champion though, they let loose with a verbal volley of Spanish, cursing Paris on live television as the nearby fans howl with glee.] TD: Paris is out!  Paris is out!  And Musashi fell back inside the ring! Musashi now has a chance to become the new IIWF Cruiserweight champion! SR: He's Guatemalan, Dross!  Don't you see?  He's in cahoots with those broadcasters!  Do you think it was just a coincidence that Musashi threw Ronnie through that particular table?  It's a Central American conspiracy, I tell you!  They're trying to get back at us for that whole Contra thing! TD: You've really got to stop watching those late-night local access programs, Steve.  Musashi is pulling himself to his feet... and he is making his way to the ladder!  [Musashi reaches the ladder, and slowly begins to pull himself up rung by rung, as the capacity crowd in the Aloha Bowl cheers his every step. Musashi's eyes are firmly locked on the Cruiserweight title, now only a few feet away from his grasp.  But then, Musashi pauses, as if mulling something over in his head, and he looks back down from his high vantage opoint to where Ronnie Paris has just begun to stir on the arena floor.] TD: Musashi checking to see where Paris is, and he certainly is no danger to the Enigma now, Steve Roberts. SR: I can't believe it, Dross.  January 17, 1998 - a day that will live in infamy. TD: [sighs] Well, you're in the ballpark now, anyway.  Musashi is now standing on top of the ladder!  He can almost touch the belt now, and is only seconds away from becoming the new Cruiserweight Champion!  He's... he's looking back down at Paris!  What's he doing... oh my goodness, you don't think he's going to... SR: No way.  No {BLEEP]in' _way_. [Musashi turns around on the top of the ladder, facing Paris twenty-five feet below who is just about to get back to his feet.  The Enigma stretches his arms out wide, and the crowd catches its breath, not believing what it knows it is about to see, as Musashi closes his eyes, the hint of a smile crossing his face before he snaps himself into the air, tucking his legs in as he rotates through the air like a pinwheel, hurtling downward faster and faster towards Ronnie Paris, who looks up just in time to realise that it's too late to get out of the way! Musashi lays out at the last split-second, and impacts into the Cruiserweight champion like a falling bomb!  The crowd explodes with a thunderous pop!] TD: STARSAULT PRESS!  STARSAULT PRESS!  Musashi hit that move from twenty-five feet off the floor!  He must have gotten six, maybe seven rotations on that move, and he has utterly demolished Ronnie Paris!  But can he get up from it himself?  Both men are out cold on the outside again! SR: Someone's coming down here, Dross!  It's... it's... Jesus Marimba, it's a babe! [Confused pop from the crowd, as a voluptous and strangely familiar young lady begins to make her way slowly down the aisle, looking a little uncertain of herself as the ringside fans hoot and whistle at her.  The woman is wearing a form-fitting black leather minidress that is cut very low in the front to show off her ample cleavage, and she is carrying a leather riding crop.  As Musashi begins to pull himself to his knees, the woman creeps down to ringside, behind the back of the Enigma.] TD: That woman... oh my goodness, it's Maggie Paris!  I never would have recognised her in a million years with that hairstyle... and that outfit... and those... those... SR: Hooters, Dross.  Knockers.  Big, ripe, round, firm, fully packed gazongas.  Looks like Ronnie got his championship bonus and took the little woman on a trip to Silicon Valley. TD: I can't believe the difference, Steve!  That sweet young lady's done up like a... well, like a wrestler's valet!  I can't believe it! SR: Believe it, baby dolls!  I think it's a _huge_ improvement!  # Wake up Maggie / I think I've got something to say to you...# TD: Please, Steve!  Mrs. Paris could be getting herself in an awful lot of trouble here, especially if she draws the anger of Musashi, who can be quite unstable at the best of times! [Maggie slips up behind Musashi as he finally rises to his feet, and shocks the crowd as she lashes out with the riding crop, catching the Enigma across the right ear!  Musashi reels back in pain, whirling to face his attacker, and is genuinely surprised to be facing the wife of his opponent!  Musashi's angry countenance strangely begins to fade as he sees what has become of Maggie, and he just stares at the woman for long moments, his rage draining away to disappointment and finally, to pity.  Maggie's eyes falter under the grave stare of the proud Japanese, and for a moment, she looks as if she is about to burst into tears.] TD: This is just wrong, Steve Roberts!  This is no place for Maggie Paris!  The way she's dressed, the... the things she'd done to herself, and now this half-hearted attack on Musashi -- what does Ronnie Paris think he's going to accomplish? SR: Look, Dross! [Suddenly, from behind, Ronnie Paris springs to his feet, a wooden leg from the Guatemalan broadcaster's table in his hands, and while Musashi is preoccupied with Maggie, swings the leg like a baseball bat and connects with Musashi's right temple!  The Enigma drops like a sack of potatoes, as Paris walks over to his wife and plants a big kiss on her lips!  Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh, this is absolutely despicable, Steve Roberts!  Ronnie Paris using his own wife to distract Takezo Musashi?  That's just... SR: Brilliant, Dross.  Nothing like a bit of wa-wa to give you an edge in a tight match.  Actually that was one of my favourite tactics in my wrestling days, except the girls I used came with their headlights pre-installed.  No way was I gonna pay those bills, baby dolls.  Easier just to find another bimbo. TD: At any rate, Takezo Musashi has been cold-cocked, and now it seems Ronnie Paris is sure to retain his Cruiserweight title.  All he has to do is get back in the ring and climb up that ladder... but hang on, what's going on down there now? [As Paris turns and makes his way towards the ring, with Maggie in tow, one of the Guatemalan broadcasters who was particularly offended by Paris' unannounced arrival through their broadcast table moves behind the couple, and Maggie screams as the Central American journalist lifts the back of her leather skirt right in front of a ringside camera, exposing her rear end on worldwide television!] TD: Did you see that? SR: I sure did, Drossy!  Whoo-hoo! TD: What a filthy thing for that man to do, and now Paris is screaming at that Guatemalan broadcaster!  This is a bad situation, Steve! SR: Hey, just be thankful Maggie remembered to wear underwear, Dross. [Paris and the Guatemalan come nose to nose, hurling epithets at each other, Paris proving to be as capable of cursing in Spanish as he is in English, and suddenly Paris lashes out with a roundhouse right and sends the broadcaster to the floor!  The journalist's partner steps in to break things up, but the incensed champion tackles him to the floor as Maggie just looks on from the side of the aisle, looking very uncomfortable.  Paris is like a wild man on the floor, throwing lefts and rights at the two commentators, who fight back gamely but are no match for the furious Cruiserweight champion!] TD: Paris is absolutely cleaning house down there on the floor!  Here comes the security team, and about time, too!  Paris' plan to use his own wife as a distraction has backfired miserably, Steve!  She's causing more trouble parading around in that leather get-up than Paris banked on! [The security team pours down the aisle and swarms the three men, separating Paris from the Guatemalans, who fight back against their saviours to try to get back at Paris, who continues to hurl threats and oaths in Spanish at the two men as they are dragged off.  Paris moves over to check his wife, who is unhurt but clearly distraught, then turns his attention back to Musashi - who has disappeared!] TD: Takezo Musashi is gone!  In all that excitement at ringside, the Enigma seems to have vanished into thin air! SR: Dross...? TD: Yes, Steve? SR: Look in the ring. [Dross and Roberts look to the ring area, and the shot quickly switches to Ronnie and Maggie Paris, who are also looking up at the ring, and the look on all four of their faces is exactly the same. Disbelief. In the ring, at the top of the ladder, "The Enigma" Takezo Musashi is standing tall, glaring down at Paris, the fire in his eyes burning brighter than it has ever in his entire career in the IIWF... And the IIWF Cruiserweight title belt strapped around his waist! TD: He's got the belt!  Musashi slipped away in the confusion, climbed up the ladder, and has strapped the Cruiserweight title belt around his waist!  It is all over! SR: No it's not, Dross!  He's got to touch the mat with both feet to be declared the winner -- and Ronnie knows it!  Look at him go! [As Musashi looks on from his perch, Paris screams in anger and frustration, and bolts toward the ring!  Musashi begins to climb down the ladder, as Paris sprints up the ring steps, climbs up the turnbuckle, and launches himself through the air, straight for the ladder!] SR: He's gonna do it, Dross!  Musashi can't get down!  Paris is gonna knock him off! [The scene seems to slow as Paris soars across the ring, setting his shoulder for the impact... Musashi eyeballs Paris' approach, doing a quick calculation in his head... Paris only inches away from the ladder... Musashi stops his downward climb, shooting back _up_ the ladder... Paris, crashing into the ladder about three-quarters of the way up... Musashi, stepping to the top of the ladder as it begins to shift under his foot, arching his back as he springs up and over... Paris shooting by underneath the Enigma, taking the ladder out from under him and carening towards the ropes... Takezo Musashi, the Cruiserweight Title sparkling around his waist, flipping backwards through the air in a tuck position... Paris, crashing into the ropes with the ladder, and tumbling over the ropes and back out of the ring as Takezo Musashi pulls out of the tuck... and _plants_ a perfect two-footed landing right in the middle of the ring!  Thunderous pop from the crowd, as Joey Patrick calls for the bell - Ding!  Ding!  Ding!!] TD: HE MADE IT!  HE MADE IT!  TAKEZO MUSASHI IS THE NEW IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION!  SR: No! TD: Yes, Steve Roberts, YES!  After months of disappointment, Takezo Musashi has finally recaptured the Cruiserweight Title!   What a match!  The "Enigma" has landed, folks, and this capacity crowd here at Snow Brawl in Honolulu is going crazy! SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner... and NEW IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION, "THE ENIGMA" TAKEZO MUSASHI! ["Stellar Regions" by Coltrane once again sounds throughout the Aloha Bowl, as Takezo Musashi bows politely to all four sides of the ring, his proud demeanour unmarred by his tumultuous victory, and then, slowly, the "Enigma" breaks into a huge grin, the like of which has never been seen on Musashi's face throughout his tenure in the IIWF.  Meanwhile, outside of the ring, Paris picks himself up, spots Maggie at ringside cowering against a rail, and strides over to her.  Maggie looks up at her husband, who is beside himself with anger and frustration after losing his title, but Paris just glares at his wife for long moments before shaking his head, grabbing her by the arm and pulling he up the aisle and out of the stadium.  Back in the ring, Musashi allows himself a few more moments of celebration before he too drops over the top rope to the aisle, the Cruiserweight title still srapped around his waist, and makes his way up the aisle and out of the Aloha Bowl as the fans continue to cheer him out. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Are you excited, Steve Roberts? SR: I'm still cooling down from that ladder match. Yowza! TD: Well, don't cool down too much, because we have the Snow Brawl     Survivors Match coming up! Three men who, to me, all seem to have been underdogs to advance given their relative lack of IIWF experience will battle for the right to challenge any IIWF star in the month of February! SR: None of these guys are "underdogs" in the Soundbite book, unless he's comparing them to that cartoon dog. He was the shit, Dross. TD: Quite. SR: You see, anyone who beats on Pukespeare is okay in my books, so Rick     Williams belongs. Anyone who escapes the tag ranks and aserts his     non-gayness like Shadoe Rage has belongs. And we all know what I     think of the Meatman. [Behind him, many of the by now totally tanked Lil' Soundbiters begin an enthusiastic, if not totally in concert, chant of "Meat! Meat! Meat!"] SR: Morons. TD: Morons or not, they just can't wait to see this incredible Triple     Threat match! Sparky, you have the honours. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| SNOW BRAWL SURVIVORS MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| The Meatman vs. "To Excess" Rick Williams vs. "Savage" Shadoe Rage ....................................................................... WRITER: John deWolfe [Our intrepid, if not terribly talented ring announcer stands up to introduce the next match. He obviously forgot to pick up sunscreen with a high enough SPF rating, as he's starting to burn noticeably around the neck.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, this following contest is a Triple Threat Elimination match, it is the Snow Brawl Survivors match, and it is to determine the _King_ of the Snow Brawl! [A big pop breaks out for this rather enthusiastic selling of the match, while Steve Roberts slips into a rather bad attempt at a "hood" accent.] SR: I AM YOUR KIIIIIING! TD: I don't get it. [Few do, and those who have heard the Soundbite and seem to understand just groan. Sparky hadn't heard, so he just gets up and continues with the introductions.] SL: Introducing first, hailing from Minneapolis, Minnesota, and weighing     in at 257 pounds, he is one of your three survivors, "To Excess" Rick Williams! [A loud round of boos breaks out as Mark Knopfler's "Local Hero"  plays, prompting the still cocky, yet quite a bit staggered, Rick Williams to walk into the aisle. He's trying to make a trademark cocky entrance, but it's difficult considering how little time he's had to recuperate from his earlier beating at the hands of Turner, Macbeth et al. Mostly Rick just walks as best as he can in a straight line towards the ring, but he does his best to taunt some particuarly vocal and/or ugly fans.] TD: There is a man, on his way to the ring right now, that redefines what cocky is. Granted, he was good enough to make it this far, but the style he wrestles can really put you in trouble against a top-notch opponent. That incessant gum chewing can't help either! SR: No apologies are needed when you know you're good. TD: That explains your lack of penance, does it? SR: Hell, God should be apologizing to me for making everyone else so     inferior. [Despite any God complex at the announce table, Sparky is ready to go on and announce the next opponent while Williams limbers up in the corner.] SL: The second survivor, hailing from Emeryville, California, and     weighing at at 274 pounds... he calls himself the "Meatman", here is     Jimmy Steele! [The chants of "Meat!" begin anew, but this time pretty much the entire audience has joined in. The ever-increasingly popular Meatman burst into the aisle as only a butcher can, holding a huge rack of lamb in his hands, raised into the air above his bloody smock. Williams looks on with a mixture of amusement and scorn on his face as the Meatman plays to his fans, going so far as to reach into one of his big pockets and start tossing strips of beef jerky into the crowd. Many fans begin scrambling for the salty and possibly carcinogenic treats, and the giveaway certainly isn't hurting the Meatman's popularity here in Hawaii.] SR: How about that? Product giveaways at a wrestling pay-per-view... what a businessman! TD: His wrestling skills are on test, not his ability to exploit the     proletariat. SR: Where'd you pick that one up?! TD: Dave Bacon... he has the most interesting book collection. SR: Bacon a Marxist? Who woulda thunk it? [Finally, Steele has made it to the ring and the chants are beginning to die a bit, so Sparky can step up to introduce the last of our three competitors.] SL: The third and final survivor is a former World Tag Team champion, he     weighs in at 248 pounds and hails from Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada, he is "Savage" Shadoe Rage! [The "Death March", trademark to Shadoe Rage, begins to play as the Haligonian strides confidently into the aisle, flanked by the stunning Marissa Monet. The fans are somewhat less decided on their attitude towards Rage, some booing, but some supporting his viciousness of late. Rage doesn't seem to concerned about any of them, though he does keep an eye on the Sychopaths from time to time just to be on the safe side. The Soundbiters switch their chants from "Meat!" to "Fish!", causing a few chuckles out of our veteran ring announcer.] TD: Let's have a prediction, Steve. Who wins this match? SR: You know how I dislike you putting me on the spot, but... I can't go     against the power of the Meat. All three of these guys are great, but it's the Meat. [Rage has by now made it to the ring, so the bell is sounded to start things off. Ding! Ding! Ding! Immediately all three men run to the center of the ring, on a direct collison course. None of them are ready to give way, so the three just kind of run into each other and bounce back a few steps. Rage is the first to react, legsweeping the Meatman to the mat and hoping back up with deftness to plant a spin kick in Williams' face, kncoking him back against the ropes. All of this is done in one swift motion, allowing Rage to drop back down onto the Meatman with an elbowdrop while his lovely valet, Marissa, nails an incoming Williams to the head with her high-heeled shoe.] SR: A woman's shoe! Williams just took a woman's shoe to the head and     he's still standing! What stamina! TD: Shadoe Rage has made a good move starting off in taking this fight to the other men. They're all tired and he might just score a quick victory. [That's exactly Rage's plan at this point, as he covers the Meatman for: 1 -- 2 -- easy kickout, just as Williams dives in for a save! "To Excess" nails the Meatman with a diving elbow, but instead of lamenting his mistake shrugs it off and tries for his own cover. He has 1 -- 2 -- and Rage makes a save, nailing him with a knee to the face! Rage rolls over the downed Meatman to grab Williams, hauling him to his feet and whipping him to the ropes. The move is done fast enough that Williams doesn't have much time to counter, running right back in as Rage sets up... sets up and nails a tilt-a-whirl piledriver! Shadoe gets right up to his feet, gloating for a second, and then turns around to see the Meatman charging in with a clothesline!] SR: Shadoe Rage is flattened by that clothesline! This thing is going     back and forth faster than a yo-yo! TD: Yo-yos go up and down, not back and forth. SR: Don't confuse me with facts once I've made up my mind. [With the momentum now in Jimmy Steele's hands, he is able to pick Rage up to his feet, setting him up in power-bomb position. He hauls upwards on the lone Canuck in this match, pulling him up for the move, but holds him up there for a second as Rick Williams tries interjects himself. Williams jumps from behind the two as Rage is in the air, timing it so that he grabs around Shadoe's neck as the Meatman is driving forward into the power bomb, driving Rage's head into the canvas! An overly trusting Meatman gets to his feet and offers to shake Williams' hand for the double team, so Rick accepts... only to drive a requisite kick into Steele's gut! The Meatman backs up a few steps, doubled over, allowing Williams to run back off the opposite ropes for momentum and come back in as Steele was starting to stand straight again. It proves to be short-lived, as Williams nails him with a dropkick that pushes him back towards the ropes, falling back, back... and finally over, toppling down to the canvas.] TD: To Excess is in charge! SR: Not for long, Drossy, here comes the Savage One. [Williams stands pointing at the downed Meatman, making some kind of a snide comment regarding pork belly futures, when the forgotten Shadoe Rage nailed him from behind with a dropkick, knocking him out of the ring in the same direction Steele had gone. Rage doesn't take time to admire his handiwork, instead climbing right up to the top rope to size up his slowly rising opposition. The two men on the outside are getting to their feet at about the same rate, and are oblivious to the danger, so Rage just leaps off towards both of them without a second thought.] TD: My goodness, did you see that! Shadoe Rage just threw himself like a     projectile at those two, and all three are down on the floor! SR: This is the right way to start a new year of wrestling, Dross. This     is the right way to run a triangle match. TD: One or more of those men could be seriously hurt out there! SR: Why do you think I like it? [Some concern rises from the crowd, as none of the three are moving immediately from the big mid-air collision. However, the concern breaks as Rage starts to stir a little bit, struggling to his feet. The Meatman follows suit, having had more time to recover after the initial shot to the floor. Rage sees someone else up, so he fires a punch in only to have it blocked. Shadoe tries again, and again the punch is blocked. Before he can try to throw a third fist, Steele is wailing away with body shots, backing the surprised Rage up. Steele continues to gain ground with his haymakers, finally having Rage cornered against the ring, so he drives an elbow into his gut before tossing him into the ring less than gingerly. He's about to fall in when Marissa again makes her presence felt -- there being no possibilty of a disqualification -- and barrels into the small of his back. Steele is momentarily paralyzed, so she takes advantage by hurling him facefirst towards the steel ring steps.] TD: The Meatman is in trouble on the outside, but Rage isn't much better     off in the ring. SR: And it's getting worse for him, Rick Williams is up and somehow he     snuck into the ring! [Rage slowly gets to his feet, wondering why the Meatman hadn't pursued him in, and finds out a reason when he gets kicked in the stomach by Williams. Rick then sets the surprised Nova Scotian up between his legs, hositing him up in a crucifix position on his back before falling forward to complete the move.] TD: Crucifix powerbomb! That has to hurt! SR: You can't see something like that and not be impressed. If     thoroughbred racing is the sport of kings, then surely wrestling is... uh, a very good sport indeed. TD: The Meatman is re-entering the ring! How did he recover so fast? [Williams has little time to capitalize on the move, as he sees Steele re-entering the ring and decides to change targets. Minnesota's favourite son -- or at least one of them -- charges to stop the Meatman before he can do anything, but somehow Steele is ready for him, and nails a big powerslam! Meat stays on the offensive, whipping Williams back-first into a corner, and then trying to follow in afterwards for an avalanche. The ever wily Williams is ready though, as he gets his feet into the air for defense. Much like the meat truck he drives on occasion, the Meatman is lousy at quick stops and has no alternative but to run into the boots face first, falling back from the impact. Williams decides to try for an elimination, going for the pin.] SR: Shadoe has a chair! Look out, guys! [No one, including referee Dave D'Amato, is aware that while the pin is going on Shadoe Rage has climbed to the top rope with a steel chair in hand, ready to wreak some havoc. He dives off at the one count... is in mid-air at the two count... and smashes the steel into Williams' back at two and a half. The loud crash of metal on flesh resounds throughout the arena and, due to the lack of enclosure, possibly throughout all of Oahu. Williams rolls off the Meatman, badly hurt, and Rage seems not to have landed all that well himself. The upshot of this is that Steele, who's operating on instinct for the moment, has a chance for a pin without interruption.] TD: This could eliminate Rick Williams... we have one, we have two... SR: And this match is going to go on! I love it, Dross! Whoever's booking this kind of match, tell him to give me more! TD: We're setting the tone for a whole year right here, folks, and that     tone looks to be an intense one. [With Williams still in a lot of trouble, it appears to be time for Shadoe Rage and Jimmy Steele to square off again. Rage moves faster, firing a chop across Steele's chest, but this serves to do little more than anger the Meatman as he fires one right back. Both look on in shock, as if insulted, and Rage again fires off a chop only to receive another just as hard. Rage winds up for a third, but when Steele gets ready to take it the move turns out to be a decoy, and he's hit with a low reaching kick instead. The Meatman stumbles back a bit, a rather tender region having been further tenderized as it were. Rage continues to advance, underhooking one of Meat's arms under his legs, to which he is offered little resistance from a still stunned opponent. He then lifts up into a crotchslam attempt, not getting much elevation on it due to the weight disadvantage but still having some effect. Rage is about to continue the assault when he is surprised by a tap on the shoulder. He turns around, and is promptly dropped with a jawbreaker out of an instant cravat hold!] TD: Excess Express! SR: You're a poet and you don't even know it. TD: Williams with a cover, and... he got him! No, so close! [Williams remained in charge for a while, having learned his lesson by briefly checking to see that the Meatman was still out of operation before going on offense. He promptly nails Rage with a European style uppercut to target the just injured jaw and neck, and knocks him over with a stiff elbow to the face. Another check shows that the Meatman is just rising, so he knows he has to finish this quickly if possible. With that in mind, Williams sets up Rage in a side headlock and spins around, looking for an inverted neckbreaker...] TD: Excessive Force! He nails it, and that has to be all she wrote for     Shadoe Rage! SR: Oh no, not him! I'm gonna puke! TD: Listen to those fans, here comes Marty Warnett! [Williams continues to go for the pin, oblivious to the Party Maniac and occasional kayfabe breaker rushing towards him for a bit of revenge. Just as D'Amato's hand is coming down for a third time, Warnett dives into the ring and, more specifically, right at Williams. The hand is falling, the Welshman is flying, both at about the same speed. Warnett makes the save! Dave D'Amato shoots to his feet with two fingers raised, indicating that Marty Warnett has made the save!] SR: That guy gives Wales a bad name. TD: No, Prince Charles gives Wales a bad name. SR: I can't argue there. [An incensed Rick Williams gets to his feet and sees the friend of an enemy, therefore also an enemy. He charges right at Warnett, getting into an immediate excahnge of fists which D'Amato is watching intently, hoping to break up. The two topple right over the top rope as they brawl, landing on their feet thankfully so that they can continue to fight their way up the aisle. D'Amato has stopped paying attention to the other two men, instead counting Williams out as he goes on with his private war, being dragged ever farther from the ring.] SR: Come on, Rick, get back to the ring! TD: It certainly looks like he's going to be counted out... he only has     two seconds now to get back to the ring. SR: Well, he... wait, turn around ref! Meat has a pin! Meat has a pin! [We're not quite sure how he got on top, as the camera hadn't been watching, but the Meatman was indeed in a pinning position on top of Shadoe Rage. D'Amato was just finishing his count-out on Williams, and then at ten turned around to see the cover. A ref's duty is never done, so he dives right in to see if there's a second and final elimination. Meat hooks a leg. One... Two... NO! Shadoe Rage kicks out at the last possible second he could have! Both men just lie next to each other, trying to get their breath back, as Sparkplug Lee sees a chance to interject with the first elimination.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, "To Excess" Rick Williams has been eliminated     by virtue of a countout! The match will now be Jimmy "Meatman" Steele versus "Savage" Shadoe Rage! [The roles are reversed from the last pin, as now Rage is draping a limp arm over an even limper Meatman, hoping for a win. D'Amato again dives in to count: One... Two... Thr... KICK-OUT!] TD: These men have both taken incredible punishment, wrestling in effect     two matches earlier just to get here, and now putting their bodies     through fifteen solid minutes of torture against two other men. It's down to two, now. SR: They've both turned in great performances to make it this far, and I     like both of them, but one of these guys is a Packer and one is a 49er. We're about to find out which is which. [Amazingly, Jimmy Steele is starting up to his feet, somehow powering himself up where Rage cannot, even with the exhoratations of the stunning Marissa Monet on the outside. Steele is to his feet now, the chants of "Meat!" almost deafening, as he drops a big, erm, meaty elbow onto the downed Rage. He gets back up, a second wind definately in effect as he brings Rage up to his feet and sends him careening towards the ropes. As Shadoe came back, pretty much out of it, Steele blasts him with a big spinebuster, hanging on for yet another pin attempt and... and yet again getting only two.] SR: How does he do it? Has Shadoe been saying his prayers and eating his     vitamins? TD: Everyone in the IIWF is in great shape and has incredible stamina,     but he should have been pinned there. Shadoe Rage is really showing     us something, but he can't seem to get back on offense. [Not terribly concerned yet, the Meatman just goes about contiuing his offensive, firing in a series of hard kicks at Shadoe's exposed ribs. After a few shots, he seems to think he has the area worn down sufficiently, so he picks up Rage again and lifts him off his feet, locking his hands behind Rage's back as he does to complete the bearhug. We can see the strain start to develop on Shadoe's face as he starts to go red, the pain evident. The Meatman lets out a low, guttoral bellow as he redoubles his efforts to apply pressure, and Rage redoubles his efforts to stay concious.] TD: Shadoe Rage has no way out! He just has to hold on as best he can and hope for a miracle. SR: I see something pretty miraculous, and that's Marissa's great pair of... TD: [interrupting] You try to squeeze this one in every week, Steve. SR: I was going to say shoes. She used one before, she looks like she may try again! [Marissa was indeed entering the ring with one shoe in her hand when the Soundbite had pointed her out. She was now just behind the Meatman, but somehow he's spotted her out of the corner of his eye and drops the suffering Rage to turn his attention to the would-be Ragette. In desperation, she brings the shoe down towards him, but he catches her wrist and holds her at bay thusly. A smile breaks out upon the Meatman's face as the young lass decides to back away, struggling to get her wrist free. He lets go to turn back to business at hand, but is surprised to see Rage up again Shadoe puts all he can behind a big, knockout punch, firing right at the Meatman's chin... and it's not enough. Steele absorbs the shot, and sees that Rage has almost nothing left to offer. A simple shove knocks him off his feet.] TD: The Meatman is headed off the ropes... I think we know what's coming up. SR: Smothered in onions! Goodnight, Shadoe Rage! [After hitting his signature crotch drop to the face, Steele again tries for the win, covering for: One... Two... Kickout?!] TD: He did it again! Where's he getting it from? [Astonished, the Meatman gets to his feet and mouths "What do I have to do?" Deciding another go at the Smothered in Onions should be enough, he runs off the ropes again... and is tripped up by Marissa. The femme fatale reaches back as he's getting up for the chair long since forgotten, and is about to bring it down on him when Meat grabs it in one swift motion and uses his power to yank it away. He stands up, and turns around angrily, looking to finally finish things off. He never sees the superkick from Rage that drives the chair into his face.] TD: Good God, we have a cover! One... Two... Three! SR: I don't believe it, Dross! [Few others do either, as a shocked murmur passes through the crowd while Rage just stumbles right out of the ring, barely able to stand. Marissa immediately begins carrying her man away, knowing the Meatman will be looking for him when he gets up and also knowing his last ounce of energy went into the kick and subsequent pin.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this bout and King of the Snow     Brawl is... "Savage" Shadoe Rage! [The shock quickly turns to boos as Rage is almost carried away. The Meatman slowly starts to rise, which increases the urgency of the Rage camp to beat a hasty retreat. While they disappear beyond the entrance curtain, a groggy but still beloved Meatman gets to his feet, and his anger is quickly mellowed just a smidge by the loud "Meat!" chants.] TD: Shadoe Rage somehow, some way, won this thing, scoring, I believe, the first pinfall ever on the Meatman -- and now he gets personal booking rights for the whole month of February! SR: Don't sell the Meat short, he deserved to win and all, but... Shadoe     Rage is a Packer. He proved today that he deserves to be mentionned when you talk about IIWF superstars. TD: Well, this night of upsets and great bouts goes on, at least for two     more matches... and it's our double main event -- Petrow vs. Quigley and Thunder vs. Kowalski -- coming up after these short messages from our sponsors. Don't move a muscle, folks! [Cut to a wide-angle view of the Aloha Stadium as the Meatman retreats up the aisle, slapping hands with the fans as he goes. The IIWF blimp continues to float over the stands as the shot fades.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Jim Jividen | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | brokeback@webtv.net | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+