________      ______                           | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|                           | || | \ v  v / | __|                           |_||_|  \_/\_/  |_| @@@ @@ @@ @@@ @@ @@ @@@@ @@@@ @@@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@@ @@@ @@ @@@@@ @@ @@ @@@@@ @@ @@ @@@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@ @@@@ @@@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@@ @@ @@ @@@@@ @@@@@@@@ @@@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@@@@@ @@@@@ @@@ @@ @@ @@@ @@@@@@ @@@@ @@ @@ @@ @@ @@@@@@ @@@@@ ________________________________________________________________________ \ / \ L I V E! Aloha Stadium, Honolulu, Hawaii L I V E! / / Saturday 17 January 1998 \ /______________________________________________________________________\ H + O + U + R T + H + R + E + E [The graphics fade through to a shot of the darkening sky above the Aloha Stadium, panning down past the IIWF blimp, which still floats just over the heads of the fans on the floor of the arena, who reach up in fruitless efforts to pull it out of the sky. The shot eventually comes to rest on the ring, where Tim Dross now stands with a microphone.] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to introduce my tag team colleague, the hardest working man in the rasslin' business... the two and a half Grapple Award Winning Steve "Soundbite" Roberts! [Van Halen's "Running With the Devil" kicks in as the Soundbite eases his way out of the announce position and climbs his way up into the ring... the pop from the fans is resounding as the bearded Roberts slowly shakes his head and picks from the canvas his own mic.:] SL: Are you serious, Dross? TD: Steve Roberts, regular watchers of "Inside the IIWF" are aware that you made a wager.  You wagered that if "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley made it right here, to Honolulu, Hawaii for Snow Brawl, that you would stand in the middle of this ring and recite a poem to a lifesize cardboard cut-out of Mr. Quigley... and do all of this while your horrible, horrible mess of a beard is shaved from your face once and for all! [A "Shave, Soundbite! Shave!" chant begins.] SR: Dross, after all I have done for you... after I have carried your lame ass on that joke of a program for damn near a full year... after I allowed you to stand in the refected glory of the Magnificence that is Me... after I have let you share in the sunshine that surrounds the Soundbite day... and night... Are you saying that you would turn on me like this, that you would force me to read some poem, that you would shear me of my beautiful, beautiful facial locks?  In front of all these damn morons? TD: Absolutely, baby dolls. [The crowd roars with laughter, a "Dross!...Dross!..Dross!" chant begins as the P.A. now plays Lionel Richie's mid-80's anthem, "Truly". Another big pop as the 500 pound The Smooth, wearing his Soundbite Special Forces t-shirt, makes his way to the ring.  He is carrying the Chris Quigley cut-out and a large pink electric razor.] SR: Et tu, Smooth? TD: Steve Roberts, on behalf of all of us with IIWF programming, I present you with this poem... and ask that you look directly into the eyes of the cardboard Quigley and read this while The Smooth returns your face to its original upright and locked position. [Roberts sighs, looking at his protegé Smooth and his broadcast partner Dross... then examining the sea of faces who eagerly anticipate being able to cash in on his misfortune... Roberts rubs his enormously wild beard and says...] SR: Screw it.  Cut me, Smooth.  Cut me. [Big Pop!  The "Shave, Soundbite! Shave!" chant beginning again as the whir of the electric razor suddenly kicks up, Smooth attacking Soundbite's beard like a landscaper devastating runaway foliage.] TD: And the poem, Steve Roberts.  It is Untitled and the poet is known only as TAP. SR: Makin' hay while the sun shines, ain't you, buddy? All right... let me at it. [Roberts takes the piece of paper as the beard continues to fly, he addresses the carboard Quigley.] SR: "Pain and plaster and glitter and gold A silver tiara two thousand years old I shatter the bottle, asleep in the rain and wonder if truth and confession's the same. Am wondering, blundering, telling him lies you want back your jacket and she wants your size. But Little Miss Muffet don't like to confess and spiders are crawling around in your dress." [Roberts affects a quizzical expression.] SR: What the hell is this, Dross?  Masterpiece Theatre?  Don't we have a double hell match coming up next? TD: Quigley/Petrow... Submission. SR: Christ. TD: Read. SR: "Well, wax me and tax me, I come out the same Alone and forgotten and calling your name But I don't recognize and I can't hear a thing I asked for a Prince and He sent me a King. Prolific pretender, a motorboat man, will drive me through water while taking my hand. His fancy advancing, his diligent drum, will beat on my heart, thump, thump thumpety, thumb. The witchy old woman who lives in a shoe with yellowing teeth she is looking for you No, I don't recognize, yes it must be a dream... This love is for you - and you are not what you seem." The End. [The razor clicks off and Smooth brings forth a mirror for the Soundbite.  Roberts checks his newly discovered visage... one side... both sides... then retakes the mic.] SR: Damn, who could possibly be prettier than me? [Big Pop from the crowd as Roberts bursts into a smile, pausing only to spit once more on the cardboard Quigley as the three men wave to the crowd and return to the announce position.  Smooth deposits the razor on the table... and with a meaty wave makes his way back up the aisle. In the ring, they are replaced with Sparkplug Lee who, oddly, places his thumb to the side of his nose as he gives a furtive glance to the bearded IIWF executive at the timekeeper's table.] ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| SUBMISSION MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Chris Quigley vs. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow ....................................................................... WRITER: Jim Jividen [Sparkplug Lee takes the microphone as spotlights probe the darkening sky above the ring.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... the following contest is the first half of your Double Main Event... A Locked Door Submission Match! [Big Pop from the fans, the charged Snow Brawl atmosphere palpably picking up a few notches as a familiar clapping sound begins... and then the PA blasts out the sound of some oddly familiar voices.] JP: Everybody's talking about Joe and Mac, Sychopath, Sychosys, near     miss, Mooselips, 4M: PORKCHOPS! JP: titles stripped, kiwi lips! Sychopaths: ALL WE ARE SAYING             IS KICK QUIGLEY'S ASS!             ALL WE ARE SAYING             IS KICK QUIGLEY'S ASS! JP: Let me tell you now,     Everybody's talking about Brody's son, Manning's fun, who got     screwed, pay your dues, Quickstriker, Quigstriker, win the match,     KIWI AT LAST! Sychopaths: ALL WE ARE SAYING             IS KICK QUIGLEY'S ASS!             ALL WE ARE SAYING             IS KICK QUIGLEY'S ASS!             ALL WE ARE SAYING             IS KICK QUIGLEY'S ASS!             ALL WE ARE SAYING             IS KICK QUIGLEY'S ASS!             [repeat ad infinitum] [Joe Petrow walks stoically to the ring, he is in all grey, boots, tights and a t-shirt on which is pictured Chris Quigley being taken out of a wrestling ring on a gurney.  One word adorns the back of the shirt... "Die."] TD: Here is the "Sychotic" one himself, and what a night it has already been for Joe Petrow.  He promised that he would keep his IIWF battle royal unbeaten streak intact -- and so he has, defeating 18 other men to win the Tag Team Battle Royal earlier tonight. SR: And he's feeling every one of those eliminations right now, Dross. Petrow's nuts -- but he ain't superhuman.  That battle royal took the starch clean out of him, you know, Dross... you know... the best thing that happened to Joe Petrow tonight was not having to wrestle in that tag title match.  If he has to go twenty minutes, basically two on one, with the Lost Boyz -- it's Petrow who would be taken out of here on that gurney. [Petrow stands in the ring, quiet... almost contemplative as he soundlessly shadowboxes... keeping his effort to the barest minimum. Petrow is brought from his concentration, however, as a sound he has prepared weeks... maybe even months... to hear kicks in over the P.A. It is "For Those About To Rock". And Chris Quigley is coming to the ring. The heel pop is wild as the lightning bolt clad "Quickstrike" confidently makes his way down the aisle.  Quigley has a subtle smile on his face as he slips out of his trademark leather jacket prior to stepping through the ropes.... Enormous... enormous Heel Pop as Quigley moves to a midbuckle... flashing the "I Love You" sign to the fans, almost in mockery of his longstanding pre-match demonstration.] TD: And here is the "Quickstrike", Steve Roberts.  Love him or hate him -- and the feeling has always been decidedly mixed -- you cannot deny that Chris Quigley is a man who always brings the full busload, who brings everything he's got for a fight like this.  SR: Oh, I'm sure he'll bring all of it, Dross.  All the whining, all the posing, all the alibis after Petrow squashes his jobber ass right in the center of the ring.  This ain't no contest, Dross.  You can hype it all you want for the people... but Chris Quigley has brought the proverbial knife to a gunfight.  And everyone but him knows it! [Neither Petrow and Quigley even so much as glance at each other as they continue their pre-match rituals, each man being examined thoroughly for foreign objects by surprise referee Big Joey Patrick.  The capacity Aloha Stadium crowd, all 52,000+, now stand and clap as Sparkplug once again takes the mic.] SL: Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a Locked Door Submission match.  You will notice that Head of IIWF Security Grif Griffing and his Morality Squad are lining the perimeter of the Arena.  If _any_ man makes his way to ringside to interfere in this matchup in any way... that man will be _immediately terminated_ by the IIWF! [Big crowd pop as they notice the brownshirted security forces, some four or five dozen strong and apparently armed, making their way to the tops of all possible avenues of entry into the ringside area.] TD: He did mean, that anyone who might interfere would have his contract terminated, right?  SR: The Double Eye is hardcore, Dross.  Anything is possible. TD: What's also possible is that Joe Petrow might get his hair cut following this matchup, Steve Roberts.  And if you thought it was humiliating to have your beard shaved... imagine the sight of Chris Quigley not only forcing "Sychosys" to give up... but then shaving his head as well. SR: Haircut?  I don't know what you're talking about, Dross.  Do people know about this? [The clapping by the standing fans continues, the pressure of the impending moment building to a crescendo...] SR: There will be no pinfalls... no coutout... and no disqualification. The only way to win this match is by Submission! Introducing the participants.... First, weighing 227 pounds and currently residing in Tokyo, Japan... he is ranked as the Number Three rated wrestler in the entire world... he is the one... the only... "SYCHOSYS" JOE PETROW! [Huge Sycho-Pop as Petrow gives a brief nod to acknowledge what perhaps are the most rabid fans in all of wrestling, the Sychopaths.] TD: You know, I heard that fifty of Joe Petrow's fans were involved in the recording of that theme song to which he entered the Stadium just a few moments ago. SR: Yeah, but don't be fooled, Dross... this ain't the sixties and this sure ain't no bed-in... Joe Petrow ain't here to make peace with Chris Quigley: he's here to come together with each and every right thinking wrestling fan and finally get over that Quickstriking fraud. [Petrow's movements remain sparse, as if he is aware exactly at what point his tank will hit Empty.] SL: And, his opponent... he weighs 238 pounds and hails from Corner Brook, Newfoundland in Canada... he is the former IIWF Intercontinental Champion of the World... "QUICKSTRIKE" CHRIS QUIGLEY! [Another loud heel pop aimed at Quigley, he appears more amused than bothered by the wild antagonism which he has engendered in IIWF fans as he smirks in the direction of the camera.] TD: Well, the moment is at hand, Steve Roberts.  Two men who represent entirely different wrestling styles, entirely different ways of life. Two men who are each convinced, each deadly certain that he will be the one to walk out of this ring with one of the biggest victories in the history of the IIWF.  And each certain as well that he would never, under any circumstances, be the man who would voluntarily walk out of this matchup... each man steadfast in his belief that he would not -- could not -- leave the arena today having uttered the words, "I Quit." SR: Are you feelin' it, buddy?  Are you feelin' it?  We got fifty thousand morons screaming their damn heads off... we got two guys who couldn't hate each other's guts more... and we got guys in brown shirts packing heat all around the stadium!  Hell, Dross... I've had more fun, but usually not with my pants on... Let's Get It On, Baby Dolls!  Let's Get It On!!! [Referee Patrick, a man known almost as much for having a short fuse with the wrestlers as known for his considerable girth, waves to the timekeeper... Ding! Ding! Ding! And then to the wrestlers, making the big match officially underway. Quigley moves to lockup collar and elbow... a move which Petrow feints, then backs away, shaking his head and then his hands, seemingly needing just another second before becoming engaged. Quigley offers again, Petrow making contact this time -- but again backing away.  Petrow moving a good foot away from the motionless Quigley now, Petrow making a large exhalation of breath as Quigley impassively stands dead in the center of the ring. Once more... Quigley.  This time, Petrow dives into the lockup... and it is Chris Quigley who backs away.  Quigley making a show of shaking his hands and breathing deeply in an exaggerrated show-up of his opponent. Petrow raises a hand, making a quick "let's go" motion... and the two men lock up. It is Quigley who gains the first advantage, wringing the arm and establishing a wristlock.  Petrow goes behind, countering into a hammerlock -- standing switch -- and Petrow rolls forward into an armwring of his own followed by a quick wristlock takedown.  Quigley pops to his feet, and quickly drops Petrow with a single leg takedown, Petrow flips to his stomach and Quigley floats over, grabbing an inverted chinlock and riding with Petrow as he moves back to a vertical base. Petrow attempts a backslide... but Quigley rotates completely over, remaining on his feet and grabbing a waistlock.  Petrow runs to the ropes, grabbing the top and shrugging Quigley off.  Petrow sprints toward the center of the ring -- Quigley drops down -- and on the next pass Quigley shoulderblocks Petrow hard to the canvas... POP... Petrow is up, off the ropes and quickly into a Quigley waistlock -- standing switch -- it is Petrow with a released German suplex -- and it is Quigley who remains on his feet, whirling the confused Petrow around and felling him with a drop toe hold!  Quigley moves to the back, vining the leg and grabbing an ankle lock as Patrick checks Petrow for the submission.]  TD: An early clinic in technical wrestling offered by these men.  You know, Steve Roberts, there are those that question a certain sensibility in the IIWF... those who have decried an excessive use of, for want of a better term, garbage matches.  I have a feeling, Steve Roberts, that we are in for a match of a decidedly different color tonight. SR: No barbed wire thumbtacks? TD: No. SR: No exploding bomb, baseball bat, remote control killer robots? TD: No. SR: No? TD: No. SR: Ah, hell.  You're no fun sometimes, Dross.  No fun at all. [Petrow does not submit, instead pushing up to a one foot standing position, seeming to maneuver for an enzuigiri... but Quigley quickly sweeps the leg, only to then be caught in a Petrow head scissors counter... and both men are back on their feet. Quigley is, once again, first off the mark, nabbing a side headlock and taking Petrow over, only to again be countered by a head scissors that brings each man to his feet.  Quigley, once again goes to the well with a side headlock takeover -- and once again Petrow head scissors... but this time Quigley stops the momentum with a quick chinlock... a hold from which Petrow finds release by jabbing his right shoulder into Quigley's chin and then maneuvering down to Quigley's ankles, vining them together much like a ribbon on a Chrstmas package... The bow... well... that would be Petrow's head, as he places it between Quigley's ankles and _elevates_... Petrow moving into a headstand right in between Quigley's ankles! Big ergonomical pop from the crowd... particularly as Quigley moves to a seated position... and is kicked in the face by the still headstanding Petrow! Quigley drops, and then sits again... only to be met again by the feet of "Sychosys"!  Quigley sits up again... and again... and again... but Petrow is now on his "bicycle" and peddles away at the mush of Quigley, repeatedly knocking the Canadian back to the canvas! Quigley, however, is able to formulate a counter, keeping his head down and his hands up, he grabs at the feet and then legs of Petrow, _yanking him_ from the headstand all the way to... all the way to Quigley's own shoulders! Petrow unsteadily rides Quigley's shoulders as the "Quickstrike" makes his way to his feet, Quigley staggering aroound the ring with Petrow perched precariously... until "Sychosys" pulls himself down with a press flip into Quigley's body that brings the Canadian down to the mat and in a seated position, from which Petrow eagerly looks to apply the stump puller! -- but Qugley is able to roll free.] TD: There you see a good example of the differences between these two men, Steve Roberts.  Chris Quigley is a textbook mat wrestler, there is not a maneuver in his arsenal which he has not practiced and repracticed since he was a small boy... Joe Petrow, on the other hand, sometimes seems to be making it up as he goes along... the headstand bicycle kick... I don't think you'll see that in any IIWF highlight reel before this matchup.  Where Chris Quigley is like a mathmatician, calculating precise geometric angles, Joe Petrow is a jazz musician, extemporaneously letting the match flow through him.  Two men who could not be more diverse... and they are about to lock up again! [Petrow slyly smiles in spite of himself as his Sychopaths giggle with glee, the sight of their man peppering Chris Quigley with kicks having taken some of the tension from the building. But... it will return soon enough as Petrow offers a top knucklelock... Quigley accepts and the two men are quickly chest-to-chest.  The fans enjoy the brief test of strength, which is won with surprising ease by Quigley, who uses his more developed upper torso to leverage Petrow to the canvas Greco-Roman style.  Petrow monkey flips away... but Quigley maintains hold of the knucklelock, sufficient that as Petrow rolls to his back, he is, in one continuous motion, dragged above Quigley who has applied a leg vine and has flipped Petrow clean over his head with a picture perfect bow and arrow submission!  Big Waikiki Pop!] TD: Right here in Honolulu, Chris Quigley is hanging ten, Steve Roberts!  Quigley with the modified surfboard and Joey Patrick is once again checking Joe Petrow for a submission in this matchup! SR: Quigley ain't the Kahuna, Dross!  He doesn't have the Great Tiki and he ain't gonna get a tap out from Petrow!  Come on, Petrow, show me somethin'! [Petrow laboriously flips his way out of the hold and to his feet, where he is quickly able to establish a top wristlock... which Quigley maneuvers into an armwring and then thrusts Petrow's right arm over his shoulder and down with an armbreaker... armbreaker... armbreaker... The pain is evident on the face of "Sychosys" as he reverses the armwring and goes behind for a hammerlock.  Quigley swings a back elbow which Petrow ducks, grabbing the arm for a double hammerlock takedown. Quigley hits the ground with purpose, however, floating over into a crucifix armbar across the back of Petrow that he then joins with an arm scissors for a shockingly fast double armbar submission that brings the concerned Sychopaths to their feet as their hero clearly writhes in pain!] TD: A double armbar submission!  And once again, once again Chris Quigley gets the jump on Joe Petrow and applies a quick finishing maneuver!  There are a couple of themes which are beginning to clearly develop as we move more deeply into this match, Steve Roberts.  One is that Chris Quigley really is a submission machine... he is countering every single thing which Joe Petrow does with a submission attempt... and the other is that Joe Petrow looks to be a step slow early on.  Did that battle royal take too much out of "Sychosys"? SR: Or maybe it's gamesmanship, Dross.  Until you see Petrow quit, you don't know if he's playing this cautiously out of exhaustion or because he is lulling Chris Quigley into a false sense of security.  Either way, you're right, Dross, it's Chrissie who is building up the early points advantage.  I'm sorry... this ain't Dan Gable against Iowa St... this is professional rasslin'!  Somebody gonna hit someone out there before this night is through! [Petrow now demonstrates concern, just able to jerk a leg over the bottom rope and cause Joey Patrick to break the hold.  The two men go back to their feet and perhaps Chris Quigley, the "wrestler's wrestler" senses blood in the water because that shark attacks.  Quigley driving at an unaware Petrow with _rocking_ European uppercuts back to the ropes! Quigley whips Petrow nearside and greets his return by leaping up with a hurricanarana that drives Petrow to the mat and leaves Quigley perched on his chest... Quigley pounds, conspicuously enough, not at the head of "Sychosys" in these moments, but instead at the right shoulder, Quigley battering away at the shoulder until Petrow _shoves_ him from his chest... Petrow then rearing back with his legs to hook up Quigley and bring him back over into a seated position... exactly where Petrow wants him as he leaps quickly to his feet and again attempts to maneuver for the stump puller... ...and again Quigley rolls free... moving into a crouch from which he leaps to the ropes and then back with a springboard flying arm scissors that explosively _rips_ Petrow to the mat once again and easily into the crucifix armbar... Petrow, seemingly making his shoulder move from one location to another, lets out an audible yelp as he quickly pops Quigley to the face allowing him to get back to his feet... ...only to be driven back to the canvas with a snap suplex by Quigley! Petrow gets back to his feet... and is then snapped down once more, Petrow landing solidly on his back as Quigley grabs a single leg and thrusts it backwards, in a kind of inverted half crab, or modifed Achilles tendon hold!  Huge Technical Pop as, one more time, Joey Patrick checks Joe Petrow for a submission.] TD: There we are again!  There we are again!  Joe Petrow appears a day late and a dollar short at every turn, while Chris Quigley is taking every conceivable opportunity to unearth another submission variant.  SR: I'll agree with you, Dross.  You lucky son of a bitch, you.  If Petrow's got another keg lying around someplace tonight, he'd damn well better tap it soon or he's gonna be tapping something else, because this one's getting out of hand. [Petrow is able to scramble to the ropes, using that right shoulder to bear his full body weight as he scampered across the canvas to get clear of Quigley.  Petrow then, surprisingly, ducks through the middle of the ropes... and hops down to the floor. Petrow stands, hands on hips, as he stares in at Quigley.  "Sychosys" is silent, but his eyes betray his thought processes as they dart across the arena... Petrow seeming to take in the full breadth of the surroundings... Petrow seeming to realize his place within the spectacle, his role on this gigantic stage... And with a nod to his rabid fans, who have begun a raucous sing-song chant of "Kick Quigley's Ass", Petrow hops back into the ring... ...Where he is met by Quigley... Quigley greets Petrow with a boot to the midsection, a whirl around and a very deliberate inverted neckbreacker that sends Petrow again crashing to the canvas.  Quigley hops to a midbuckle, diving at Petrow with a kneedrop that catches "Sychosys", again, on that right shoulder.  Quigley's momentum never stops as he rolls from the drop to the ropes from which he bounces into a spinning forearm that _drills_ Petrow right between the eyes and sends him careering wildly over the top rope!] TD: Spinning Forearm!  My goodness!  My goodness!  Chris Quigley is like a machine tonight... and folks... the tempo is picking up in this one... you can feel the tempo picking up in this one... here comes Petrow! [Petrow leaps immediately back to the apron and slingshots himself toward Quigley... whose timing is impeccable as he meets the hurtling Petrow with a flying armdrag takedown! Petrow kips up, charging right back at Chris Quigley, who uses the Petrow momentum against him, this time with an over-the-shoulder armdrag that sends "Sychosys" _thwacking_ to the canvas... From which he kips up. Big Sycho-Pop as Petrow charges again... even with more purpose this time, but unactualized as Quigley leapfrogs... each man bounces from his respective ropes into the center of the ring where Petrow grabs a front waist and _drives_ Quigley over the top with a belly-to-belly brainbuster suplex that brings an enormous roar of pleasure from his fans! Quigley is back to his feet, staggering a bit as he is Irish whipped hard by Petrow, "Sychosys" now is able to utilize the Quigley momentum, stopping the Canadian in his tracks... underhooking the arms... lifting... ...and spinning... and _driving_ Quigley's head clean into the mat!] TD: Good God!  That's a Double Underhook Corkscrew Piledriver!  Good God! SR: A Spinning Skullpump!  Joe Petrow just hit a Spinning Skullpump! Oh, there's a guy in the next match who might have something to say about that, Dross.  A Spinning Skullpump! [Petrow is clearly pumped up... the endorphine rush as he sees Quigley _finally_ laid out in front of him is tremendous... Petrow quickly moving to the ropes... ascending the turnbuckles... measuring and diving down for a flying headbutt...] TD: Missed!  Missed!  Quigley rolls away... And now Quigley rolls back! What's... Quigley's got his leg up around Petrow's neck?!  It's over that weakened right shoulder of Petrow's!  What the blazes is that? SR: Octopus hold!  Grounded octopus hold.  Petrow's stuck again, Dross... one more time Joe Petrow is left to fight for his life in this match! [Petrow is momentarily stuck -- not just physically stuck, which is obvious to all of the 52,000 fans, and more importantly to referee Patrick who remains in Petrow's face asking for a submission -- but, more importantly, he is mentally stuck... seemingly with no idea as to how to release himself from the... and then... yet again... Petrow sacrifices the right shoulder, crunching the leg of Quigley in between his head and the aforementioned shoulder... jabbingjabbingjabbingjabbing at the leg until Quigley relaxes sufficiently for Petrow to roll free, Petrow, moving with the purpose of a man who perhaps can now hear the faint... tick,                      tick,                             tick, of this match escaping him, bounces off the nearropes and, as Quigley sits up, _dropkicks_ Quigley with a slidekick to the face!  Petrow continues fluidly, hitting the backropes as Quigley again moves to a seated position, _rips_ Quigley's head to the canvas with a rolling necksnap!] TD: Petrow's going back to the corner!  Petrow's gonna move back... NO! Quigley's to his feet!  Petrow doesn't see Quigley!  Petrow doesn't... OH MY!! [Petrow staggers to the corner, immediately folowed by Quigley... from some deep, beyond sensory place, Petrow becomes aware of the onrushing Quickstrike, as Sychosys suddenly leaps to the midrope while in the same motion reaching behind himself to grab a facelock... Petrow springboards not just off... but up and out from the ropes, taking Quigley's head along for the ride and then driving it __down__ to the mat with a midrope swinging DDT that drives Quigley to the mat and brings the Sychopaths to their feet! Petrow follows up, seeing that Quigley again moves, almost despite himself, to a seated position, Petrow looks to move to the shoulders for the stump puller... but Quigley sweeps the knee and rolls Petrow into a cross knee scissors that not only brings Patrick checking for another submission but has eagle-eyed fans noticing that Petrow's shoulders are cleanly on the canvas.] TD: Another... another opportunity gone for Joe Petrow!  How many times have we seen "Sychosys" get the advantage and look for that "Quiglinator"... or "Quigstriker", or whatever it is he is calling that stump puller -- only to be thwarted by Chris Quigley? SR: He's getting frustrated, Dross... look at the way he's sitting in this hold, this ain't one of Quigley's money holds... Petrow's probably not even feeling this hold, but he is really starting to get worked up about this matchup... it's like that guy who had to push that boulder up the hill... and every time he got to the hill he had to go again and again... what was that guy's name, Dross? TD: Sisyphus. SR: You call me that again and I will bop you, Dross.  I will bop you right on that fat nose of yours. [Quigley releases the hold, as he is clearly woozy from the high impact Petrow assault of the past several minutes -- Quigley needing to collect his bearings, acting as much on the instinct of a man who has spent more time in the ring than has he in all of his other life endeavors combined.  Quigley able to find the submission combination with computer-like precision from almost any predicament... And he is certainly in a predicament, Joe Petrow has gotten to his feet and maybe the... tick,            tick,              tick, has grown more pronounced as he attacks Quigley with the fury of a lion let loose upon a safari, Petrow snapping off thrust kicks, a spinning back kick, a running back elbow and then a series of devastating palm blows that THWACK across Chris Quigley's skin with such force that even the brownshirted, gun-toting security force has members who wince at the sound of the shots. Petrow drives Quigley back to the corner, continuing to rain down stabkicks to Quigley's sides and knife edge chops -- "Whoooooo!" -- to the "Quickstrike's" chest.  Petrow monkey flips himself out of the corner, hitting the canvas hard and then surging right back at Quigley with a bone-crunching lariat that nearly takes the former Intercontinental Champion's head clean from his shoulders. Actually, it wasn't that sharp.  But that would be a helluva sight. Petrow does not relent even momentarily, his body attacking with a fusillade of knees, feet, chops, elbows, claws... perhaps even teeth as with a savage, ugly... primal fury he imposes his will... his essence on that of Chris Quigley. tick,      tick,       tick Petrow, his brutality leading to calls for blood from many of his fans, the Sychopaths now all on their feet and responding to the Petrow assault in their own, singularly rabid way, lets out a scream and whips Quigley viciously cross-corner... Quigley hitting the buckle and bouncing backward with incredible velocity as Petrow follows up from behind, grabbing the lifeless Quickstrike as he bounds back, lifting him high in the air for a vertical suplex... and _squashing_ him to the canvas with a square driver that has his fans roaring... ROARING... his name as Petrow maneuvers Quigley to a seated position... And Quigley topples over. And Petrow moves Quigley again to a seated position as he once again tries for the stump puller...] TD: NO!  Quigley with the rolling leg scissor!  Quigley with the rolling leg scissor!  Petrow is down!  Petrow is down! SR: Jesus Christ, Dross!  Whaddyou gotta do to this guy? [Petrow screams the same question, "What the [BLEEP] do I have to do to you?", even as Quigley maintains hold of a crucifix kneebar that has Petrow completely bottled up. The sight of Quigley _again_ countering the Petrow attempt at the stump puller now brings an involuntary roar from a good percentage of the crowd... people who have been booing Quigley throughout the matchup now pump their fists in the air at the sight of Quigley maneuvering into the kneebar.] TD: It is an extraordinary sight, Steve Roberts.  Joe Petrow, bad shoulder and all, has stepped up the tempo considerably and is taking control of this matchup... but as he moves for that stump puller... Chris Quigley, again and again and again and again, applies a continuous stream of submission moves.  SR: Goddamit, Dross.  Goddamit.  I'm getting a bad feeling about this. [Petrow begins swearing again, cursing Quigley as he sits up, and swings a right hand that strikes Chris dead in the mouth... Petrow re-vines the four entangled legs that separate the torsos of each man... and then rears back...] TD: Figure Four!  Figure Four!  Petrow with the figure four! SR: Quigley's turning it over, Dross!  Good lord, damn Quigley is turnin' it over! [Almost as soon as as Petrow flipped back for the figure four, Quigley was turning it into his own maneuver.  The fans again emit an almost unintentional roar as Quigley has another submission hold on Joe Petrow. Petrow grabs frantically for the bottom rope... and referee Patrick orders the break. Petrow staggers to his feet, slumping near the ropes, not even remotely aware of Quigley's having moved far more quickly than anyone could have expected off the back and into a somersault bodyblock that takes Petrow up... and over... the top rope... But Joe Petrow remains on the apron. Petrow slides back in underneath as the POP goes from one for Quigley to one for Sychosys as Petrow now stands again, in between a baffled Quigley and the ropes and backhooks the arms...] TD: We're gonna see a tiger suplex!  We're gonna see a tiger suplex! Joe Petrow is going to tiger suplex Chris Quigley all the way to the outside! [Petrow hears the roar... and responds... with a tiger suplex that takes Quigley high... and over the top rope... But Chris Quigley remains on the apron. Quigley shoulderblocks through the ropes, trying to get Petrow to yield him some room... Quigley shoulderblocks again... but Petrow maintains his position... Petrow then grabs the top rope... flipping himself over... Joe Petrow flipping over and grabbing Chris Quigley's waist with a sunset flip... ...all the way to the floor...] TD: Sunset Flip Bomb!  Sunset Flip Bomb! SR: Yes!  Yes!  It's over!  We're outside... and this damn bad boy is over!  Toss him in and uncle him up, Petrow! [Huge Petrow Pop as an invogirated Sychosys leaps back to the apron and springboards off the midrope... coming _crashing_ down hard on the fallen Quigley with an asai moonsault that is more for show than for dough... Petrow giving a brief nod to the announce table as his fans are now all on their feet and have resumed their sing-song version of the today's version of Joe Petrow's theme... # All we are say-ing / is kick Quig-ley's ass # Petrow gives his right shoulder a rotation, a noticeable grimace of pain evident as he picks Quigley from his feet, cradling Quickstrike to his breast and then yelling out... "Incoming!!" Petrow then begins running... running along ringside with Chris Quigley's carcass in tow.  tick,    tick,   tick Petrow runs the full length, hurling himself into the air along with his "parcel", the two men _SPLINTERING_ through the timekeeper's table as the crowd goes apoplectic!] TD: GOOD GOD!  A Liger Bomb! A... A... SR: A Running Liger Ass Bomb through the timekeeper's table, Dross!  A Running Liger Ass Bomb through the timekeeper's table! I-I-W-F... I-I-W-F... I-I-W-F... [The crowd agrees, a wild chanting of the name of the best damn wrestling federation there ever was sweeping through the fifty two thousand strong. Petrow emerges from the rubble, absentmindedly rubbing his right shoulder even as he accepts the chant of "Pe-trow... Pe-trow... Pe-trow", which is music to this vagabond's reluctant ears. Petrow drags Quigley out, the former Intercontinental Champion, defeater of men like Thunder, Kowalski, Verhoeven and Kauffman, now completely enfeebled, the destruction by Joe Petrow so devastatingly thorough that he looks less like a wrestler on the wrong end of a match... and more like the man bringing up the rear of the Bataan Death March. Petrow tosses the remains of what was once Chris Quigley into the ring, setting him up, one additional time... tick,  tick,  tick  ...for the stump puller.  Petrow pausing to take a final breath as Quigley...                ...out from nowhere... ...launches his legs into the air and grabs... and grabs... A fujiwara armbar. On Joe Petrow's right shoulder.]    TD: FUJIWARA ARMBAR!  FUJIWARA ARMBAR! SR: It's over, Dross!  Damn Damn, Damn! That piece of Quigley's got him! [The pain screams through Joe Petrow's right shoulder as the toll of Quigley's offensive thrust has become all too clear on the face of Sychosys.  Petrow's face is grotesquely contorted in the mask of a man clearly close to blacking out.] TD: This is the maneuver... this is the maneuver that Chris Quigley used to defeat Dan Kauffman... this is the maneuver that Chris Quigley used to win the greatest submission match in IIWF history some ten months ago at Ring Wars 3... it was this armbar that forced Dan Kauffman to leave the IIWF... and Joe Petrow is locked in! [The fans are roaring while Quigley cinches back with his every remaining energy, ripping and shredding away at the right arm of "Sychosys" Joe Petrow... Petrow's violent shaking of his head... now grows more still... tick,  tick,  tick as the seconds turn into minutes and as Big Joey Patrick checks one more time for any sign of submission... for any sign of life at all from Petrow... and then Patrick turns to what used to be the timekeeper's table, raising his finger...] TD: Patrick's going to call... Petrow's... Petrow's... JOE PETROW HAS STARTED TO SPIN!  JOE PETROW HAS STARTED TO SPIN!! [Petrow, summoning up reserves beyond that of even his God-given allotment, begins to rotate his body... Petrow rotating his body around... and around... and around... and around... Chris Quigley maintains the armbar, moving along with Petrow, both men moving in a circle now their momentum building faster and faster and faster and faster until...] TD: PETROW'S FLOWN CLEAR!  PETROW'S FLOWN CLEAR! SR: He's broken this hold, Dross!  Damn Crazy Joe has broken this unbreakable hold! [Tumultuous Sycho-Pop as Petrow lies face down on the canvas, an audible whimper of pain evident as Petrow remains motionless... Quigley, pausing only the briefest of moments to reflect on opportunity lost, bounces off the backropes, launching himself through the air with a flying forearm...] TD: STANDING DROPKICK!  STANDING DROPKICK!  Joe Petrow just met Chris Quigley in mid-air with a standing dropkick!  And both of these men are down!  Both of these men are down! [The crowd begins a round of rhythmic clapping, trying to will one... or the other... or both... of these warriors to his feet. And they rise. Petrow smacks at his right shoulder, mouthing the words, "It's gone... It's gone!" to referee Patrick, who offers a glance at the timekeeper... and then backs away.  Quigley sends a vicious European uppercut that rocks Petrow in his tracks... Petrow responds with a lefthanded palm blow that meets its target and crackles the skin of Quigley... Quigley, again with a Wuropean uppercut that nearly takes Petrow out of his boots... Petrow, again with the palm blow... the fans' clapping increases in intensity... 52,000 fans clapping in an intense display that would give even the most embittered, jaded ringside observer goosebumps as the two men continue to trade shots... now picking up the pace... European uppercut.... palm blow... uppercut.... palm blow.... uppercut, palm blow, uppercut, palm blow, uppercut, palm blow...] TD: And the fists start flying!  Each men with wild lefts and rights! Petrow getting the worst of it!  Petrow getting the worst of it... he is one armed and he is being rocked back to the ropes! [Quigley with the whip, lifting Petrow up high for the vertical suplex... but Petrow floats all the way out the back...] TD: Full Nelson!  Petrow with the full nelson!  SR: Yes!  Yes!  Aw, Dross... that right arm is just hanging there... Petrow's arm is just... [Huge Pop as Petrow drives the escaping Quigley clean over the top with a dragon suplex!  An enormous, enormous roar as the one armed Sychosys picks Quigley to his feet, whipping him nearside -- leapfrog -- Quigley halts his momentum and readies for the Russian leg sweep...] TD: Cobra Clutch!  Petrow counters the Russian leg sweep attempt with a cobra clutch! SR: Call it what you want, Dross... a Million Dollar Dream... a Triangle Sleeper hold... Petrow's got that bad boy locked on... and now... now... this match is over! [Petrow's arm is however, too weakened, Quigley once again beginning to move from the hold, running to the ropes as Petrow follows along... Quigley running up to the midropes -- and Petrow remaining with the hold as he keeps pace, Petrow then swinging his way back toward the canvas... maintaining hold of that precarious cobra clutch... HUGE, HUGE POP!] TD: SWINGING COBRA CLUTCH BULLDOG!!  Joe Petrow has hit the swinging cobra clutch bulldog!  Quigley is out!  Quigley is outer than out! SR: That's a mid-rope three-quarter bulldog for Joe Petrow... and he's gonna get that stump puller, Dross! He's gonna get that stump puller! [With the deafening chants of "Kick Quigley's Ass" ringing throughout the stadium, Petrow sets Quigley up again, maneuvering around the neck as he prepares for the stump puller one... more... time...] TD: NO!  NO!!  NO!!!  QUIGLEY STANDS UP!!  QUIGLEY STANDS UP!! SR: He's got Petrow up in the air, Dross!  Petrow's gettin' the frequent flyer miles... and Quigley didn't bring any complimentary peanuts!! [Big Pop as Quigley, shockingly, rises... Petrow dangling from his neck, one leg flapping about the air as he once again attempts to press down as Quigley falls first...] TD: HOTSHOT!  QUIGLEY HOTSHOTS PETROW OVER THAT TOP ROPE! [Wild pop as Petrow falls from the standing Quigley's shoulders neck first over the top rope -- Petrow literally bouncing from the top rope back into the ring... back into the ring where Quigley sets him up... crosses the legs... the fans roaring to their feet... As Chris Quigley then steps over with the toe hold... And Chris Quigley then turns... BIG BIG POP! TD: NO!  NO!  Petrow pulls Quigley over the top!  Petrow pulls Quigley over his head!  Quigley's seated!  Quigley's seated!  Petrow to his feet... to Quigley's neck... he's gonna yank that leg!  STUMP PULLER! STUMP PULLER! [Petrow rears back on the leg of Quigley as the crowd roars its apoplectic approval and the "Quickstrike" clearly begins to break... not just physically, the terrible pain being evident... but psychologically, as well... as Quigley must be contemplating... must clearly be contemplating the possibility of submitting to another man... Of submitting to Joe Petrow... Petrow continues to pull the leg, stretching as if Quigley were made of some special space aged polymer as opposed to flesh, bone, tendon, muscle and ligament... all of which must be yielding to the enormous pressure as Chris Quigley _refuses__to__give__UP!] TD: Chris Quigley will not submit, Steve Roberts!  This man absolutely will not say the words "I Quit" to Joe Petrow -- and listen to these fans... listen to these fans as Chris Quigley begins to... POWER FROM THE HOLD! [The roar is deafening as Chris Quigley begins to separate his body from Petrow's, perhaps it is the enormous compact power of the former Intercontinental Champion... perhaps the incredible exhaustion of a man in Joe Petrow who has wrestled for well over an hour on this evening... and now with one arm... tick,  tick,  tick Or maybe it is as simple as a warrior's will.... But Chris Quigley breaks the stump puller... and each man again falls away.] TD: That's... this is... there are no words. [Chris Quigley staggers to his feet, grabbing a Joe Petrow who seems less shocked that resigned, a man for whom the words "I Quit" seem more evident on his countenance than could they ever from his lips. Quigley sends a less-than-brutal European uppercut that nonetheless moves Petrow back... Quigley Irish-whipping Petrow into a side Russian leg sweep that plants him to the canvas... Quigley moves to a midbuckle... slowly... deliberately... and drops a deadly sharp elbow to the barely functional Petrow... Quigley splits Petrow's legs, dropping the point of his knee into the "Sychosys" midsection, a blow that Petrow takes squarely, and then rolls off to the side, seemingly ready to read his next line in what is becoming an all-too-familiar script for the tragic hero known as "Sychosys"... tick, tick, tick Quigley picks Petrow up... whipping him cross-corner...   Petrow hits the buckle, Quigley following directly behind... tick,tick,tick Petrow's momentum carrying him up... up and over the top rope as Quigley continues... continues with a clothesline that hits... nothing As Petrow is not there!  Petrow is on the apron, Joe Petrow is on the apron... Joe Petrow is on the top rope... Joe Petrow is in the air... Joe Petrow is around Chris Quigley's neck with a gorgeous hurricanarana that snaps the "Quickstrike" through the air and leaves him heels over head, upside down and hooked up in the corner!] TD: OH MY GOD!  Petrow with the hurricanarana and Quigley's in the Tree of Woe! Quigley's in the Tree of Woe! SR: He's ass over teakettle, Dross!  And Petrow's fixing to make himself a little lemon delight! [The crowd squeals as Petrow slides back underneath the bottom rope... moving to the apron and to Quigley's head... Petrow wraps his legs around Quigley's head in a sankaku jime leglock and then grabs the flailing arms of the Quickstrike, thrusting them through the ropes in a butterflied double hammerlock... and then cinches back!] TD: Quigley's... Quigley's impaled!  Quigley's impaled against the buckle!  Upside down... nowhere to run... nowhere to hide... Chris Quigley is locked up by Joe Petrow!! [Petrow rears back for all he is worth, fifty two thousand men, women and children screaming as one, while Chris Quigley silently goes through a kind of torture rarely seen outside of prison camps... Petrow yells out as his own devastated right arm is now forced to support his weight, Petrow standing on the apron and ramming his full weight into the air... Petrow hanging outside the ring as Quigley becomes more... and more... and more compressed into the buckles... Quigley attempting to maneuver his legs... his arms... his... his... his... tickticktick Petrow screams.  Quigley screams.  Quigley's scream is two words.  Two words that ring like a shot throughout the wrestling universe.] TD: HE QUITS!  QUIGLEY QUITS!  IT'S OVER!!!  IT'S OVER!!  PETROW WINS!! PETROW WINS!! [The crowd roars in a mixture of shock and exhaustion as Petrow, breaks the hold and slumps down to the apron as Chris Quigley falls broken to the canvas.] SL: Ladies and Gentlemen... your winner... as a result of a submission... "SYCHOSYS"  JOE PETROW! [The Sychopaths are wild with their response to their icon as he gingerly makes his way back into the ring, allowing his left arm to be raised even as he doubles over in tremendous pain from the damage done to his right shoulder. Chris Quigley... Chris Quigley the brave, valiant Champion, understanding all too clearly what he has done here tonight, picks himself from the canvas and stares hard at the emotionally and physically exhausted Petrow. "Sychosys" turns to his opponent... and offers a handshake!  Petrow offers a handshake as the fifty-two thousand fans, fans who came into this stadium to boo Chris Quigley and were then won over by the gallantry of both men, begin to wildly encourage "Quickstrike" to take the offered hand... Quigley pauses... looks Petrow dead in the eye... And exits the ring. Petrow shakes his head and then makes his way to a midbuckle, thrusting his left arm in the air to the roar of his fans while Chris Quigley quietly makes his way from the ring.  The chants of "Pe-trow! Pe-trow! Pe-trow!" resounding throughout the Stadium.] TD: It is over, Steve Roberts.  Joe Petrow has shocked the wrestling world, defeating Chris Quigley cleanly in this submission match here at what has got to go down as one of the most remarkable wrestling events of all time, Snow Brawl. SR: I'm tapped out, Dross.  I ain't never seen anything as damn wrenchingly exhausting as this thing... and I don't wanna hear any excuses: Chris Quigley quit... he quit right there in the middle of the ring, and you and everybody here saw it. TD: Not an ounce of dishonor fell upon Chris Quigley tonight, in fact, even with a submission loss and a refusal to shake the hand of the victor, he may have won back the respect of these IIWF fans with what was certainly one of the great performances IIWF rings have ever seen... tonight was just Joe Petrow's night... I don't think any man in the history of this great sport could have stopped "Sychosys" tonight. [Petrow accepts one final roar from the capacity crowd as he exits the ring... Petrow pauses in the aisle... slowly turning toward the ring... turning toward the massive crowd as it continues to roar its approval, Petrow drinking in the adulation, scanning the Stadium as if taking a mental picture, framing forever this moment... etching for all time in his mind the day when he became not just Joe Petrow, the man who "could have been"... but Joe Petrow -- Legend. The briefest of smiles escapes his lips as he turns to leave, Petrow laboriously raising even his injured right arm as he makes the Quadruple M hand sign to the tumultuous approval of his fans as he disappears back up the aisle. Cut to a shot taken from the IIWF blimp, which is now in the upper reaches of the stadium, floating just below the rim of the building. The camera looks down on the sea of fans sprawling out underneath, now more or less indistinguishable from one another as the Hawaiian evening continues to draw in. Skyward searchlights probe the air above the stadium, occasionally swinging their beams towards the camera and causing glare to cloud the shot. The cheers of the excited crowd can just be heard as Tim Dross speaks over this footage:] TD: As you can see, folks, the evening is really drawing in here in Honolulu -- and we are ready for the second half of our double main event. We are ready for Brody Thunder and Steve Kowalski, sealed inside a steel cage. Two men enter... one man leaves. Let's take a look at what's at stake in this historic match. [Cut to monochrome footage of IIWF Champions of the past: the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin points skywards to where his three compatriots in the Horsemen are suspended above the ring in cages to prevent their interference, before hitting a near unconscious Dan Kauffman with a third Cattle Buster DDT. Cut to a shot of Hardin raising the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship above his head. Over this footage comes Tim Dross' voice-over:] VO: The most prestigious championship in all of wrestling has certainly had a storied past. Its pedigree was assured from the first, the inaugural holder being none other than the legendary "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin. Since then, in the past twenty months, the IIWF title has been around the waist of many men. Some of them villains... [Cut to Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven raising the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship after slamming a casket lid shut on Deathbringer, with Hardin and Cadaver standing at ringside. Cut to Casey "Blackheart" James, wearing the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship and a cocky grin, flanked by Brian Lau and Tiger Claw. Cut to Requiem, bathed in a pale blue spotlight, standing at the head of the aisle in a darkened arena, his Genesis stablemates ranged about him like footsoldiers, and the gold of the belt glinting in the darkness.] VO: Some of them heroes... [Cut to footage of the Subway Psycho launching himself at Hardin with a crucifix and rolling him up for the pin. The Psycho climbs atop the turnbuckles and thrusts the gold belt into the air, accepting the adulation of the fans. Cut to Dan Kauffman, barely able to stand, wrapping the gold belt around his waist to the cheers of a capacity crowd.] VO: Some of them enigmas. [Cut to an exhausted Deathbringer raising the World Championship belt, flanked by the Subway Psycho and Dan Kauffman, after triumphing over eight other men in a single match.] VO: But none of them... [Cut to footage from the infamous triple cross, Brody Thunder dropping Requiem with a Cattle Buster DDT and subsequently nailing not only Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, but also Casey James, Tiger Claw, and the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin, to stand tall in the centre of the ring, alone, and with the gold belt slung over his right shoulder.] VO: ...has matched up to the man ranked as the number one wrestler in the world today. [Cut to Thunder scoring a pinfall victory over Otto "the Butcher" Verhoeven, rapidly followed by another pinfall over "To Excess" Rick Williams.] VO: None of them has matched up to the only man to hold the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship on more than one occasion. [Cut to Thunder scoring a second pinfall over Requiem in the ring at Disneyland in Anaheim, California, rapidly followed by the climax of his match with Billy Shakespeare several weeks later, Thunder hoisting Shakespeare into the air and then driving his skull into the mat with his devastating Widowmaker suplex DDT, after which a pinfall is merely a formality.] VO: None of them... until now. [There is an explosion as the screen flash cuts to footage captioned, "IIWF Saturday Night: 27 December 1997". Brody Thunder, Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, and Serge Annis are battling it out in a three way dance for the title. Kowalski drags the groggy Thunder out of the corner of the ring, places the champion's head between his legs, hooks his arms behind his back... the crowd begins to scream as the original soundtrack fades in:] SR: Skullpump! Skullpump! [Kowalski hoists Brody Thunder up into the air, rocking backwards... Serge Annis combines for the spike... Thunder's skull is driven into the mat with punishing force! The fans are going crazy with mixed reactions!] TD: Steve Kowalski is going for the pin! Hold on a second... hold on a damn second! Who the... I don't believe my eyes! SR: It's... it's... it's... [The fans are in an uproar, as a familiar bald and chiseled black man dives beneath the bottom rope and into the ring...] SR: It's Mad Dog Watkins! TD: Mad Dog Watkins is here! Unbelievable! [Watkins rushes up behind Serge Annis, whips him around, grapples him, hauls him up into the air... and Watkins nails Annis with a spinebuster slam! Steve Kowalski is completely unheeding, however, as he goes for the cover on Brody Thunder... D'Amato is equally unheeding as he registers the cover: One... Two... Three! The shot freezes once more as Steve Kowalski, drenched with sweat, raises the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship above his head before an apoplectic crowd. Tim Dross resumes his voice-over as the crowd noise fades:] VO: Now comes Steve "the Fury" Kowalski. The trash-talking, tough as nails New Jersey Nightmare. With that pinfall victory over Brody Thunder, Kowalski became the only Triple Crown winner in IIWF history. In the last twelve months, Kowalski has captured the Intercontinental, Cruiserweight... and World Heavyweight Championships. Can he now be no longer regarded as the "Next Big Thing"? Was he now the number one man in wrestling today? [Cut to footage captioned, "IIWF Saturday Night: 3 January 1998." Brody Thunder makes his way down to the ring, dressed in blue jeans, black boots, black hat and his "EVIL, MEAN & NASTY" t-shirt. Dross' voice-over continues:] VO: Not yet. [The original soundtrack fades in, Thunder's vituperative words echoing around the jam-packed IIWF Coliseum:] BT: I ain't askin' ya fer a rematch, son... I'm demandin' one. One on one. Jus' you an' me with the strap on the line. An' jus' so's ya know, Kowalski... ...I ain't waitin' fer Snow Brawl to get it. [Flash cut to footage captioned, "Later That Night." Steve Kowalski is met in the parking lot by Poutine Janois, and the two men argue -- until Brody Thunder rushes onto the scene, immediately muscling up to Steve Kowalski. Janois strips off his IIWF blazer, revealing a black and white striped referee's shirt underneath.  The IIWF stars stream into the parking lot, forming a circle around Kowalski and Thunder. The original soundtrack is once again heard:] TD: [over headset] We've got a rematch!  We have a rematch out in the parking lot! SR: [over headset] The Fury and the Lone Wolf -- no rules, no ring, no holds barred!  God bless America, Dross! [Flash cut to various moments from the rematch: Kowalski dumping a trashcan over Thunder's head; Kowalski sent flying headlong into the side of a huge steel dumpster; the two men brawling amidst garbage inside the dumpster; Kowalski snap suplexing Thunder onto the hood of his own truck, before Skullpumping him right through the windshield! Moments later, Thunder guns the engine of the truck, flicks the headlights on full beam -- and attempts to run Kowalski down, clipping him with the front wing as he smashes the truck into a parked pick-up. Cut to Thunder dragging Kowalski from the concrete. Again comes the original soundtrack:] TD: Here's the facelock... will we see the Cattle Buster? SR: No, he's heaving him up... it's the Widowmaker! TD: Kowalski kicked out of that move last week -- I doubt he'll be able to do it this time! [Thunder summons all his remaining strength and hoists Kowalski into the air, bellowing with the strain and pain of the effort, and then kicks his legs up, _slamming_ Kowalski's head into the hard asphalt!  Thunder picks himself up, on the brink of exhaustion, and drapes an arm across the chest of the Fury, as Janois scrambles over and applies the count: 1 - 2 - Kowalski stirs, and weakly pushes a shoulder up, just a split second _after_ Janois brings his hand down on the pavement for the third time!] TD: [shouting]  THREE! THREE!  HE GOT HIM!  BRODY THUNDER IS ONCE AGAIN THE IIWF WORLD CHAMPION! [Cut once again to Brody Thunder, his face caked in dried blood, cuts, scratches, road burns and abrasions marking his chest, head and arms, but the fire in his eyes undimmed, raising the glittering belt high over his head. The shot freezes and Dross' voice-over resumes:] VO: Brody Thunder and Steve Kowalski -- two men united by the burning desire to be the best. The stakes are high. [Cut to footage captioned, "IIWF Saturday Night: 10 January 1998." Brody Thunder stands in the ring, clutching a microphone. He grins, rubs his jaw, and fixes the camera with his steely gaze.] BT: In my time in this sport I've fought the tough guys. I've fought     the cocky pretty boys. I've fought with champeens an' I've fought _legends_. An' the one thing they all had in common was... [Thunder pauses and leans on the top rope looking past the ringside close-up camera and straight to the back of the aisle.]     I beat 'em. Every last flamin' one o' 'em. This time... it's fer real. This time I'm puttin' ya out fer good. An' if I don't... if I can't beat you... [Thunder's smile disappears.]     ...then I'll leave the IIWF. [Stunned silence from the assembled fans! Cut to footage of Steve "the Fury" Kowalski standing in the squared circle with Tim Dross that same night:] SK: If Thunder can raise the stakes, so can the Fury. I want a cage match. [Big pop from the crowd! Kowalski gives a wry grin and waits for the noise to die down before continuing.] SK: An' on that cage I want a fence so no one climbs out. [Another big pop from the crowd as they imagine Kowalski and Thunder battling it out in a closed steel cage!] SK: An' hanging on the top of the cage, in the middle, I want the IIWF belt. I want the winner to climb 'cross for it. If I can't beat Brody this time... [Kowalski pauses for a moment, obviously thinking about what he wants to say, the fans hushing and waiting for his words of wisdom:] Then I won't _ever_ meet him for _any_ title again. Whether he's the Heavyweight champ, or the IC champ, or a tag champ, I won't wrestle 'em for any strap again if I can't do it. [The chants of "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" are now joined by another chant -- "WE WANT THUNDER! WE WANT THUNDER!" Kowalski walks around the ring, and puts his hand to his ear, as if to encourage the new chant. "WE WANT THUNDER! WE WANT THUNDER!" Suddenly, there is a huge pop as the entrance curtain is thrown aside again -- and Thunder enters the aisle to a huge pop, the IIWF World title belt slung over his right shoulder. Kowalski sits on the middle rope and parts the ropes for Thunder to enter the ring, but the big cowboy merely tips his hat at Kowalski, gives a wry smile, and steps through the ropes on another side of the ring. Thunder and Kowalski square up to one another in the centre of the ring, going nose to nose, close enough to feel the warmth of the other's breath. The shot freezes once more, Dross' voice-over resuming again:] VO: Two men. One title. Only one man... can be the best. [Fade to black. Cut back to a live wide-angle shot of the arena, the fans cheering in anticipation of the main event they are about to witness. The shot cuts back to the broadcast table in the ringside enclosure.] TD: High above us, Steve Roberts, is the massive one and a half tonnes of steel and chainlink fence that will cage Brody Thunder and Steve Kowalski. In just a few moments, that construction will be lowered, covering not only the ring but also a good deal of the ringside area. That cage is going to be just inches away from us, Steve Roberts. SR: Just close enough for me to pass foreign objects through the cage to the Fury, Dross. TD: After all we've seen tonight, it's almost impossible to believe that we could see anything more -- but, folks, this is going to be a truly unique encounter. Sparkplug Lee is ready to make the announcements, so let's get up to the ring for the second half of our double main event! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP CELL MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Brody Thunder vs. Steve "the Fury" Kowalski ....................................................................... WRITER: Daniel Spreadbury [Cut to a shot from one corner of the ring, looking up at the massive chain link cage suspended high above the ring, ready to be lowered into position. The steel gleams in the glare of the huge spotlights suspended from the lighting rig above the cage. The shot pans down to eye level once more, revealing Sparkplug Lee standing in the centre of the ring, one arm behind his back, ready to make the announcements:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a very special cell match for the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship... and it is the second half of your Double Main Event of the evening! [Huge pop from the fifty-odd thousand fans in attendance. The camera swings wildly over the ringside and aisleside fans, catching the emotions of the crowd running at fever-pitch after an incredible evening's action. Cut back to Sparkplug in the ring as the noise dies down:] RA: The rules for this match are as follows. Once both competitors are in the ring, the cage will be lowered, and the match will begin once technical staff are satisfied that the construction is secured. Thereafter... anything goes! [Huge pop from the Furies in the crowd, a huge "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" chant filling the evening air. Sparkplug almost cracks a smile as he waits for the crowd to settle once more.] RA: There will be no disqualifications... no countouts... no pinfalls... and no submissions. IIWF head referee Earl Alfonso will be on the outside of the cage, but the match will continue until one man has retrieved the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship belt from the top of the cage, and stands with both feet on the canvas. [Another big pop! Sparkplug pauses once more.] RA: In addition, each of the two combatants has requested extra stipulations of their own. Firstly, if Steve Kowalski does not win this match... he will never challenge Brody Thunder for any IIWF title, ever again! [Jeers from the crowd, who obviously do not relish the prospect of not seeing any more battles between these two warriors.] RA: And secondly, Brody Thunder has stipulated that if he does not defeat Steve Kowalski in this match... he will leave the IIWF for sixty days! [Another huge pop! Now the chants of "Thun-der! Thun-der!" begin, the crowd apparently split evenly in its support.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, will you now please welcome the President of the IIWF, Mr. Daniel Spreadbury! [Sting's "Jeremiah Blues (Pt. 1)" kicks in over the PA as the bespectacled President of the IIWF appears at the head of the aisle, carrying the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship belt across his chest. He is flanked by a pair of burly security guards, and the gold sparkles in the glare of the spotlights as Spreadbury makes his way down the aisle, fans on the other side of the steel crowd barriers straining to reach out and touch the belt.] TD: This is what it's all about, Steve Roberts. Here is the most prized title in all of professional wrestling. We saw Brody Thunder give the belt to Poutine Janois during the Free For All earlier tonight, and in order to wear that belt again, he has to go through possibly the most dangerous, most career-shortening -- potentially career-ending -- match of his life. [The IIWF President climbs the ringsteps and enters the squared circle, joined by a jumpsuited technician. The President hands the gold belt over to the technician, who looks up as the cage is slowly lowered ten or fifteen feet. Huge pop from the crowd as the cage begins to move! The technician hooks the belt on the end of a long pole, and every eye in the arena looks on as he hoists the title up into the air, skilfully latching it onto a hook in the centre of the roof of the cage, which is now perhaps ten or twelve feet above the canvas, about eighteen or twenty feet from the raised floor of the ringside enclosure. The crowd cheers as the technician lowers his pole and ducks out of the ring once more, closely followed by the IIWF President, who moves to take up a seat at ringside next to a bearded executive. The cage remains looming over the ring as Sparkplug takes up his microphone once more.] RA: And now, ladies and gentlemen, introducing the combatants! [Huge pop, "Skull-pump!" and "Thun-der!" chants mingling in the air into a cacophany.] RA: Introducing first, the challenger... [Sparkplug is almost drowned out by the combination of the riotous opening of the Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear The Reaper", and the huge, gargantuan pop from fifty thousand excited fans, big foam hands -- shaped like a fist clutching a can of Mooselips -- shooting into the air, cameras flashing all over the arena.] RA: ...hailing from Newark, New Jersey, and weighing in at 268lbs, here is the only Triple Crown winner in the history of the IIWF... here is... Steve "the Fury" Kowalski! [A huge bank of multi-coloured spotlights on the side of the rigging facing the aisle swing their beams down to form a trail down the walkway for Kowalski. The entrance curtain is thrown aside, and out steps Steve Kowalski, his wet rusty-brown hair pushed back away from his face, revealing green eyes that flash with intensity. Wearing his traditional denim jacket open, Kowalski's skin is covered in droplets of water that catch the light, and Kowalski seems to glisten as he stands at the head of the aisle, nodding his head slightly and acknowledging the reception of the crowd.] TD: Just two months ago, Steve Roberts, this man was rehabbing after terrible injury sustained at the hands of Brody Thunder in that infamous triple cross -- but the Los Angeles Coliseum came apart at the seams when Kowalski appeared to get his revenge at the climax of Ring Wars IV... and what a roll Kowalski has been on since then! SR: He's the man, Dross, no question about it. Tonight is Kowalski's last as the "Next Big Thing". Tonight, a new king is gonna be crowned -- and he's one tough son of a bitch. [Kowalski takes a few steps towards the aisle, turning to look above the entranceway from which he has just emerged, where fans ranged up to the sky like a wall of humanity chant "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" Kowalski turns once more, looking towards the oasis of light shed by the lighting rig over the ring some fifty yards away, countless thousands of fans covering the sprawling floor of the Aloha Stadium.] TD: This has to be an overwhelming moment for Steve Kowalski, Steve Roberts. Here he is, in front of fifty thousand people, to put an end to a war -- a war in which there can be only one winner. We've seen three way matches marred by outside interference, we've seen crazy Parking Lot brawls, but we have not seen Kowalski and Thunder in the ring, just one on one. Tonight, that is just what we are going to see! SR: Fury's gonna put the hurt on Thunder, Dross. These two guys will never be the same after this match. [Kowalski finally begins to make his way down the aisle, eager hands reaching out to him on both sides of the walkway, the odd fan managing to pat the Fury on the back in encouragement as he determinedly looks ahead, apparently fixated on the massive cage that still hangs over the ring. Kowalski makes a circuit of ringside, absent-mindedly allowing the fans to reach out to him as he cranes his neck backwards, looking up at the huge steel construction. As he passes the broadcast table, Steve Roberts stands and shakes the Fury's hand.] SR: Go get 'em, tiger. [Kowalski gives a quick smirk, and then walks up the steel ringsteps, stepping through the ropes and reaching up to touch the bottom of the cage with his fingertips as he takes his place in the ring, removing his jacket and tossing it out to ringside. Kowalski performs a few stretches as his music fades, leaving just the tumultuous chants of "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!"] RA: And his opponent... [Suddenly, Sparkplug Lee is interrupted by a familiar booming voice that echoes over the PA:] VOICE: Hey Kowalski... can ya feel it? [The Fury turns to see the image of Brody Thunder on the jumbotron mounted by the scoreboard, high in the mezzanine. Thunder appears to be walking in the hallway on his way to the ring as he speaks.] BT: Can ya feel that churnin' in the pit o'yer stomach knowin' that in just a few short minnits yer in fer the toughest night o'yer life, ace? Well, don't be scared, amigo...     ...it won't hurt fer long.         Tonight I'm provin' why I am the best in this business. An' tonight I'm gonna end yer career, my friend. Believe it, 'cuz tonight... the myth o' "the Fury" ain't gonna ta rise ta new heights. _Tonight_... the myth o' "the Fury"... [Thunder pauses and grits his teeth.]     ...is goin' _down_in_flames_. [Thunder puts his hand over the camera. As he does so the lights go out in the arena. Huge, huge pop! Flashbulbs pop like crazy in the darkness. Suddenly, a stream of flames ignite in the ring. The lights come back on and Brody Thunder stands in the ring holding a flaming baseball bat! Massive Thunder pop!] TD: Oh my! Thunder is here! Brody Thunder is in the ring, and -- look out! SR: Where the hell did he come from, Dross?! TD: I can only imagine Thunder came out from under the ring -- but goodness knows how he got there! SR: Don't tell me he's been there all night! TD: I don't know, Steve Roberts -- but he's here, and... Thunder charges Kowalski! [He charges Kowalski, who ducks away. Thunder swings the bat at the Fury, who wisely ducks out of the ring to the floor. Thunder rolls out of the ring after him. He raises the bat above his head to strike the fallen Kowalski when the Fury turns and sprays Thunder with a fire extinguisher! The bat's flame is out and Kowalski nails the blinded Thunder in the head with the extinguisher. Sparkplug Lee has already bailed out of the ring, and referee Earl Alfonso signals for the cage to be lowered as Thunder and Kowalski battle it out on the outside!] TD: This place has just gone nuts, Steve Roberts! Just listen to these fans! SR: What, Dross?! I can't hear you! TD: Thunder is blinded -- Kowalski with that fire extinguisher, he swings... and Thunder just ducks out of the way! [The fire extinguisher crashes into the steel ringsteps as Thunder rolls away, Kowalski dropping the heavy object and turning to the still disorientated Thunder, who continues to clutch at his eyes. Kowalski drops to the floor and begins to choke Thunder out with a length of cabling he rips up from between the floor mats! Meanwhile, the cage continues to lower slowly...] TD: Oh my! The cage is still being lowered -- and look, Steve Roberts, if somebody doesn't stop it right now, it looks like Thunder's head is going to be crushed under the edge of that cage! SR: I don't think Alfonso sees, Dross! I don't think Alfonso realises! That half-crazy, blind old bastard is gonna get Thunder killed! Whoo-hoo! [Kowalski's attention seems completely focused on Thunder as he continues to choke out the Champion, apparently unmindful of the bottom of the steel cage which is now passing in front of his down-turned face, just three feet from the floor -- just three feet from Brody Thunder's skull! The fans gasp as they picture Thunder's head being crushed by the heavy steel cage!] TD: Oh, folks -- this is horrible! Somebody has to do something! [The cage continues to be lowered, inch by inch, the winches on the rigging above the ring taking the strain of one and a half tonnes of steel and chain link fencing as it is lowered slowly towards the ground -- towards the blinded Brody Thunder, who seems to know nothing of his impending doom as Kowalski continues to choke the helpless Champion. Suddenly, Thunder reaches up and jams a thumb in Kowalski's eyes, forcing the challenger to reel backwards, and Thunder rolls out of the way -- just moments before the cage comes to rest on the floor with a loud *CLANG!*] TD: Oh... oh my, Steve Roberts. Oh my. SR: Breathe easy there, Dross. I have a feeling we're gonna see a heck of a lot worse in this match. [The crowd seems to exhale collectively in relief as Thunder rubs at his eyes, looking blearily for the downed Kowalski, who is now rummaging around under the ring once more. Meanwhile, on the outside of the cage, a ring crew busies itself with locking the support brackets on the four corners of the construction. Satisfied with the cage, Alfonso signals to the timekeeper, who rings the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: The officials are apparently satisfied that the cage is safely erected, Steve Roberts -- and we are underway here! [Thunder stands, and, for the first time in the match, the crowd gets a good look at the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion. His wrists are heavily taped, the wound black tape reaching halfway up his forearms, and he wears his usual black trunks, kneepads, elbowpads, and boots, as well as a black t-shirt, which reads on the front: "Hell hath no Fury..." As Thunder rolls into the ring, the camera gets a shot of the back of the shirt, which reads: "...After tonight." Thunder stands in the squared circle and motions to Kowalski to follow him in. As the Fury rolls in under the bottom rope clutching a microphone stand, Thunder removes his t-shirt -- and throws it right in Kowalski's face! The Fury moves to throw the shirt aside, but is distracted long enough for Thunder to grab the mic stand away from Kowalski. He whips Kowalski into the ropes... and swings the micstand like a baseball bat as Kowalski bounces back off the ropes!] SR: Strike one! TD: Oh my! Kowalski ducks under that mic stand -- he rebounds off the opposite ropes... and kicks Thunder in the midsection! That was a low blow, Steve Roberts -- Thunder is bent double! SR: We're going to Skullpump city early here, Dross! [The Fury roughly shoves Thunder's head between his legs, drinking in the chants of "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" ringing around the Aloha Stadium. He hooks an arm -- no! Thunder powers out, backdropping Kowalski to the mat! Big pop! Thunder grabs the microphone stand once more, and taps it on the mat like a ball player testing the weight of his bat. The fans begin to stamp their feet as Thunder waits for Kowalski to rise once more, measuring his opponent.] TD: Kowalski uses the ropes to pull himself back to his feet -- Thunder sizes him up, and... [*CLANG!* Huge, huge pop as Thunder swings with the mic stand, bringing it crashing down on Kowalski's head!] SR: Strike two! TD: Oh my! Oh my! Kowalski just went down like a ton of bricks! And look at that mic stand, Steve Roberts! [Thunder stands over the downed Kowalski, looking at the now bent mic stand, as if admiring his handiwork, before tossing the misshapen metal aside.] SR: Kowalski's busted open, Dross! We got the red stuff a-flowin', baby dolls! [A camera mounted in one of the corners of the cage shows Thunder standing over Kowalski, from whose forehead blood is already running, the blow from the stand apparently having reopened an old wound. Thunder moves to drag Kowalski to his feet -- and receives an elbow to his lower abdomen! Huge pop! Thunder groans as he staggers backwards, while the groggy Kowalski stands, his eyes wild as blood begins to run down his face -- and launches himself at Thunder with a vicious lariat! Thunder goes down hard! Big pop! Kowalski drags the Champion to his feet again, and sends him for the ride into the ropes. Kowalski sweeps Thunder into the air on the rebound, and sends him crashing to the mat with a spinebuster! Huge pop! The "Skull-pump!" chants pick up volume again!] TD: A powerful spinebuster from Kowalski has Thunder laid out here, Steve Roberts -- and the Fury is rolling to the outside! SR: He's grabbing something from under the ring, Dross. [Kowalski reaches under the apron again, this time bringing out a large wooden folding table. Huge pop from the Furies as Kowalski slides the table into the ring, Thunder just beginning to stir on the canvas.] SR: Aw, we're gonna get hardcore now, Dross. TD: I understand that a number of tables have been stashed under the ring for this encounter, Steve Roberts, to be used as aids for reaching the belt, some fifteen or sixteen feet above the canvas. But Kowalski's going to need more than one if he's going for the belt... SR: I don't think the Fury even cares about that title right now, Dross. He's tasting his own blood -- and he's gonna teach Thunder that the only blood he should be smellin' is somebody else's. [Kowalski sets about erecting the table, turning it on its side and pulling the legs into position, before righting the table on the canvas. Kowalski slaps the middle of the table, as if to test its strength, as Thunder drags himself to his feet. Kowalski yells at Thunder, his words being picked up by a microphone inside the cage:] SK: Get the hell up, Brody! I wanna give ya that two month vacation yer ol’ lady’s been bitchin’ about! [Thunder does indeed pull himself back up to a vertical base as Kowalski approaches him once more. The two men begin slugging it out in the centre of the ring, and the crowd again launches into opposing chants of "Fu-ry! Fu-ry!" and "Thun-der! Thun-der!" Fists fly, and punches are traded -- Thunder blocks a right hand from Kowalski, and fires back with one of his own. Kowalski is staggered, and Thunder begins backing him into the corner with a series of hard reverse knife-edge chops to Kowalski's chest, each one sending a *CRACK* reverberating around the arena, and drawing a "WHOO!" from the ringside fans. Thunder soon has Kowalski trapped in the corner, and begins laying into him with hard rights and lefts to the head and torso. Suddenly, Kowalski grabs Thunder by the head, and switches places! Huge pop as Kowalski lets loose on Thunder!] TD: Oh my! Kowalski has snapped! SR: He's getting medieval on Thunder's ass right here, Dross! Whoo-hoo! TD: Thunder is absolutely reeling here, Steve Roberts. Kowalski now with the hiplock take-over out of the corner -- and Thunder lands on that table! Thunder is lying on that table! [Kowalski wipes the blood away from his eyes with a grin as he sees Thunder lying on the table. He ducks through the ropes onto the apron, and then points skywards. Huge, huge roar from the crowd, who begin to chant: "Moon-sault! Moon-sault!" Kowalski nods, and climbs nimbly up to the top rope.] TD: Make no mistake, folks, Steve Kowalski hasn't notched up any frequent flyer miles -- this man is more effective on the ground, and we've seen some pretty horrible moonsaults from the Fury in the past... SR: Moonsault! Go, Fury! The Soundbite wants to see the moonsault! ["MOON-SAULT! MOON-SAULT!" Kowalski balances himself on the top rope, facing out into the corner of the cage, the crowd almost invisible behind the walls of steel... Kowalski poised on the top rope... and he leaps! Flashbulbs pop all over the Aloha Stadium as Kowalski flips through a decidedly non-graceful moonsault... ...and Thunder rolls off the table! Thunder rolls off the table, and Kowalski crashes through the wooden table face-first, sending wood splintering in every direction! Huge, huge mixed pop from the crowd as Kowalski lies amidst the wreckage of the table!] TD: Oh my! Kowalski just went straight through that table! Unbelievable! SR: Aw, damn, Dross. That was a sight to behold. Hey, what's Thunder doing? TD: Now it's Thunder's turn to rummage under the ring -- and he's got a two-by-four! Thunder has a two-by-four! [Thunder runs the wooden plank against the chain link wall of the cage as he stands on the outside of the ring, making a clattering noise that fails to rouse the Fury. Thunder climbs back to the ring apron, and then keeps on going -- all the way to the top rope! He holds the two-by-four high into the air, and receives a tumultuous pop from the fans!] SR: What the hell's Thunder doing up there, Dross?! I don't think I've ever seen Thunder on the top rope before! TD: I believe both of these men feel that they must take risks they've never taken before in this match -- Thunder now, readying himself -- and he leaps! Oh my! [Huge pop as Thunder launches himself from the top turnbuckle, placing the two-by-four under his outstretched leg in mid-air -- and crashing down on Kowalski with a legdrop, the two-by-four sandwiched between Thunder's leg and Kowalski's throat! The Fury thrashes about on the canvas, grabbing at his throat, as Thunder pulls himself to his feet -- with one half of the now broken plank in each hand! Huge, huge pop!] TD: Oh my! Thunder just broke that plank right over the Fury's neck! This is unbelievable! SR: This is great, Dross! Where has this match been all my life?! [Kowalski rolls to the ropes, and pulls himself to his feet, gasping for breath, blood running down his face. The Fury's back is to the ring, his torso heaving with the strain of filling his lungs with oxygen. Thunder drops the two halves of the two-by-four, and approaches Kowalski from behind -- but somehow the Fury senses the Champion's approach, and drops him to the mat with a hard jawbreaker! Huge Fury Pop!] TD: Kowalski with the jawbreaker on Thunder... I'm amazed he's even able to stand, Steve Roberts. SR: The Fury's as tough as they come, and then some, Dross! There's no stopping the New Jersey Nightmare tonight! [Kowalski slips out of the ring under the bottom rope once more, shoving the intrepid cameraman whose job it is to shoot events from inside the cage, and grabs a steel chair from under the ring! Huge pop from the fans as Kowalski threatens to hit the cameraman with the chair when he doesn't get out of the Fury's way fast enough!] SR: I would not want to be the cameraman in there, Dross. TD: Indeed not. The IIWF's personnel once again risking life and limb to be in there with Thunder and Kowalski to bring you fans closer to the action! Kowalski brings that chair back into the ring... and drags Thunder to his feet. [Kowalski opens up the steel chair, and places it carefully over the groggy Thunder's head.] TD: Oh my... what on earth is Kowalski doing?! Kowalski now, grabbing Thunder by the back of his head... [Kowalski positions the disorientated Thunder in one corner of the ring, and then climbs up behind him onto the second turnbuckle. Thunder staggers out towards the centre of the ring, trying to remove the chair from around his neck -- when Kowalski leaps off the buckles, hitting Thunder with a bulldog! Huge, huge Fury pop! Thunder lies in a mangled heap on the canvas, the bent chair still wrapped around his head!] TD: Oh... oh, this is bad, Steve Roberts. That move might have broken Thunder's neck right there. Thunder's not moving... he's completely motionless. SR: Aw, who cares, Dross?! Go get that belt, Fury! [Indeed, Kowalski rolls back to the outside, and once more begins rummaging around underneath the ring. He tosses his finds into the squared circle -- first, a coiled length of extra ring rope; next, a huge wrench, which narrowly misses Thunder as it bounces dangerously across the canvas; a second steel chair, which Kowalski tosses over the top rope into the ring... and finally, two tables, which he slides into the ring under the bottom rope.] TD: It's like a scrapyard inside the ring, Steve Roberts! Thunder is lying there with mangled metal around his neck. I think he's busted open -- I really believe we need medical assistance here. SR: We can get the EMTs in _after_ Kowalski's got that belt, Dross. This is the Double Eye, Double U f'n F, Dross! No love, no learnin'! [Kowalski rolls back into the ring, and begins setting up his two tables, unmindful of the still motionless Champion on the canvas. One table is successfully set up, and Kowalski positions it in the centre of the ring, looking up at the belt some sixteen feet above the canvas. The fans are chanting, "Thun-der! Thun-der!", willing the tough Arizona native to stir... but still Brody Thunder remains motionless, the mangled chair wrapped around his bleeding head. A second table is erected, and Kowalski places it carefully on top of the first.] TD: Kowalski's going for the gold, Steve Roberts! He's getting up onto those tables... I have never seen anything like this in my life! SR: Hey, Dross -- I hate to say it, but... look at Thunder! TD: Oh my! Brody Thunder is moving! Folks, the Champion is moving! [Thunder groggily pulls the chair off his head, revealing several nasty-looking lacerations on his head, his left eye already beginning to swell from an unpleasant cut underneath it. Despite the excited cheers of the crowd, Kowalski does not seem to notice Thunder moving, as he stands precariously atop his pair of tables, the whole make-shift platform wobbling with Kowalski's every movement. "Thun-der! Thun-der!" come the chants, ever louder, as the IIWF Champion drags himself to his feet using the ropes...] TD: Thunder is on his feet! Brody Thunder is on his feet, and... oh my! SR: Holy smoke, Dross! [Thunder suddenly launches himself headlong at the two tables in the centre of the ring as Kowalski reaches upwards for the belt -- but finding himself a good few feet shy of the strap in any case. Thunder clatters into the pair of tables... knocking Kowalski off his perch! Cameras flash all over the arena as Kowalski and tables are sent flying, the Fury tumbling down... and landing straddling the middle of the top rope! Kowalski finds himself crotched horribly on the top rope, drawing a sympathetic gasp from the crowd... and the Fury then tumbles over the ropes to the arena floor, apparently scraping his head on the chain link of the cage as he falls! Thunder, meanwhile, lies amidst the wreckage of upset tables in the ring.] TD: Oh my, Steve Roberts! Kowalski may never father any little Furies after that fall. Unbelievable! SR: Two tables isn't enough, Dross! Did you see that? TD: I did indeed -- these two men are going to need a stack of at least three tables in the middle of the ring if they are going to reach that belt. What a match, Steve Roberts! [Cut to a shot from the camera mounted in one of the corners of the cages, showing Thunder lying amidst the carnage in the ring, and Kowalski on the arena floor between the ring apron and the cage. The fans again begin to chant "Thun-der! Thun-der!" and "Fu-ry! Fu-ry!", trying to encourage the two warriors to get up once again!] TD: The punishment being dished out here is simply phenomenal. These two men are prepared to sacrifice their bodies -- apparently at any cost -- just to get their hands on the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship... and each other. SR: This is the Soundbite's kinda match, Dross -- but only if they get up and carry on fighting. [On the outside of the cage, Earl Alfonso bends down near where Kowalski has fallen on the other side of the cage wall, trying to ascertain whether the match needs to be stopped. Finally, as the opposing chants once again reach a fever pitch, both men begin to stir. Thunder is the first to pull himself to his feet in the ring, the tough cowboy grabbing a steel chair as he slowly rolls towards the side of the ring, where Kowalski is seen in close-up thanks to the cameraman inside the cage. The gash on his forehead continues to bleed, blood running down his face, into his eyes, and matting his brown hair. Kowalski grits his teeth, and pulls himself to his feet using the ring apron for support. The shot moves back up to eye-level -- and suddenly, there is Brody Thunder, on the arena floor... brandishing a steel chair!] TD: Thunder swings that chair and... oh my! [The hand-held camera catches sight of Steve Kowalski ducking out of the way as Thunder takes a wild, clubbing swing with the chair -- and hits the cameraman! The picture jumps and the camera drops to the floor! Cut to another shot from outside the cage, showing Thunder standing over the downed cameraman, chair still in hand. Huge, huge mixed pop!] TD: Oh my! That cameraman is out, Steve Roberts! He is _out_! SR: Gotta love the Fury, Dross, ducking out of the way at the last possible moment! TD: Thunder looking down on the cameraman -- he can't believe what he's just done. But behind him -- Kowalski is behind him, and he has that camera! Turn around, Brody! [Kowalski rises behind Thunder, grabbing the camera from the floor, and clutching it with both hands, waiting for Thunder to turn around. Fans at ringside scream at the Champion to turn around, and Thunder wheels around to face Kowalski -- and is hit hard by the camera, which smashes into bits over his head! Huge, huge pop!] TD: Thousands of dollars worth of equipment just bit the dust, Steve Roberts! Kowalski just smashed a camera over Brody Thunder's head -- and the Champion is out! SR: Hey, producer, can we get a look at what that camera just filmed before it was smashed to bits? TD: You're incorrigible, Steve Roberts. SR: We can? Great! Get a load of this, morons! [Cut to a split-screen: on the left, live action continues, as Kowalski drags the apparently near-unconscious Thunder to his feet and rolls him roughly back into the ring under the bottom rope; on the right, we cut to a view from the dropped camera of Steve Kowalski's feet as he picks up the camera, which is then roughly spun around to show a view of the back of Brody Thunder's bald face. The warnings of the front row fans are heard, and as Thunder wheels around, the shot blurs, before the screen is filled with static, and the camera goes dead. Cut back to a normal shot.] SR: That was great, Dross! Did you see the look on Thunder's face?! Whoo-hoo! TD: You're disgusting, Steve Roberts. Back to live action, folks -- Steve Kowalski has Brody Thunder back in the ring. Both of these men look to be in terrible shape, both are bleeding from the head. Thunder's left eye looks particularly bad -- I believe it is now totally closed due to the swelling from that cut. [Kowalski drags Thunder back to his feet, and whips him across the ring into one of the corners of the ring, which shakes from the tremendous impact of Thunder's 267lbs frame. Thunder manages to turn himself around so that he is facing into the ring once more... as Kowalski charges! Kowalski charges across the ring to splash Thunder -- but the IIWF Champion ducks his head... ...and backdrops Kowalski clean over the corner of the ring, sending the Fury ricocheting off the corner of the cage -- rattling the huge steel construction to the alarm of the nearby fans. Kowalski crashes down shoulder-first on the ringsteps! In the ring, Thunder slumps back down to the canvas! Huge, huge pop!] TD: A tremendous leverage move born of desperation by Brody Thunder -- and Steve Kowalski is in big trouble on the outside! Another horrible fall for the Fury. SR: Get up, Fury! Get up and whip that cowboy's ass! TD: Kowalski is just sprawled over those steps on the outside, Steve Roberts. I think he landed on his shoulder -- he may well have separated it right there... or perhaps broken his arm. Both of these men are going to be spending the night in hospital when all's said and done here, Steve Roberts. [Thunder once again drags himself into a sitting position in the ring, his open eye glinting with determination to retain his title and prove himself to be the best wrestler in the world. He moves to the two tables upset some time earlier, and rights them once more. He places the second table on top of the first, as Kowalski had done, and then uses the coil of ring rope to lash the two tables together! On the outside, Kowalski rolls off the ringsteps, but makes no attempt to get up.] TD: Thunder has lashed two tables together -- and now he's moving to the outside, perhaps to find another. Three tables might do it, Steve Roberts -- three tables might be all Thunder needs to reach that belt and win this match. [Thunder fails to find a table on one side of the ring, so he makes his way around one corner of the ring to look under another apron. This time he strikes gold, and drags a table out from under the ring, sliding it into the ring and rolling back in himself.] SR: Come on, Fury! Damn, I got to go and help my man Fury, Dross! TD: You'll stay right there, Steve Roberts. Besides, there's not even a door on this cage -- no way in, no way out. [Thunder sets up the third table, pulling its legs into position, and looks up at the stack of two tables, one end of the tables in the corner, and the other pointing towards the opposite corner, extending out into the centre of the ring. Thunder wipes the blood out of his eyes, flicking it in spatters to the canvas, and then hoists the third table up on top of the other two. The "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" chant once again competes with "Thun-der! Thun-der!" as Thunder laboriously steps through the ropes onto the apron, and begins the slow, unsteady climb to the top turnbuckle to reach the top table.] TD: Oh my, Steve Roberts. Brody Thunder may have the match won right here, if those tables support his weight. Every step he takes, they seem to wobble dangerously -- what risks these two men have taken in this match. Steve? Steve Roberts -- where are you going?! [Steve Roberts has left the broadcast position clutching a can of Mooselips, and makes his way over to where Steve Kowalski still lies, more or less out cold. To the cheers of the fans, Roberts pours the beer through the chain link cage wall, onto the face of Kowalski -- who splutters through the liquid, apparently revived! Huge Fury Pop as Roberts returns to the broadcast table.] TD: What on earth are you doing, Steve Roberts? SR: [replacing his headset] I couldn't just stand by and watch Thunder get up there and grab that belt, Dross. Come on, Fury! [While Thunder completes his climb to the top rope, Kowalski rolls to his knees, once again hearing the chants of "Fu-ry! Fu-ry!" He pulls himself to his feet, and slumps on the apron, looking across at the ring at Thunder, who is now tentatively testing his weight on the top table in the stack of three.] TD: Are those tables going to be steady enough to support the weight of Brody Thunder? Is the Champion going to make it? SR: Not if the Fury has anything to do with it, baby dolls! [Kowalski rolls into the ring, and drags himself to his feet, crossing to the stack of tables, upon which Thunder is now trusting his weight as he inches precariously closer to the centre of the ring, closer to being able to grab his title from the hook on which it is dangling, sparkling at the top of the cage. Thunder takes another step...] TD: Kowalski is shaking those tables! Kowalski is trying to unbalance that stack of tables! Brody Thunder is trying to keep his balance... oh my! [Kowalski continues to violently jog the two trussed-together tables, while Thunder teeters on the top table, high above the canvas... the fans are once again split, many chanting "Thun-der! Thun-der!" while others belt out "Fu-ry! Fu-ry!"... flashbulbs pop all over the Aloha Stadium as... as Brody Thunder tumbles from the top table, crashing down to the canvas many feet below! Huge pop!] TD: Oh my! Thunder is down, Steve Roberts, but somehow that pile of tables is still standing -- and Kowalski is pulling it closer towards the centre of the ring! SR: It's time to end this baby, Dross! Kowalski's gonna get that gold! [Kowalski looks up towards the roof of the cage where the belt slowly spins teasingly on its hook. He checks that the tables are as soundly stacked as they can be... and then begins to hoist himself up onto the tables. Suddenly, there is a huge pop -- and the sickening crunch of metal against bone!] TD: Oh, that was horrible, Steve Roberts! Kowalski turned his back on Brody Thunder, and the IIWF World Champion just clobbered the Fury right in the back with something -- something heavy. SR: It's a wrench, Dross! It's the wrench the grease monkeys use to tighten the ropes and the turnbuckles! [Kowalski crumples back to the mat, the stack of three tables still remarkably remaining intact in the centre of the ring, directly under the belt. The bloody Thunder still brandishes his wrench over the Fury, who winces with pain as he rolls over onto his back -- and belts Thunder in the abdomen with a hard boot! Thunder drops the wrench as he is doubled over, and Kowalski is able to grab the heavy metal tool -- which he then uses to choke Thunder! Kowalski drags Thunder to a standing position, and chokes him with the wrench! Thunder flails with his arms, clutching at the wrench, trying to pull it free from his throat. In the end, he is only able to lean backwards and back Kowalski into one corner of the ring as hard as he is able. The jolt of hitting the buckle causes Kowalski to loosen his grip -- and now the two men are involved in a tug-of-war, each bruised, battered and exhausted athlete with one end of the wrench!] TD: These two men are fighting over this wrench as if it were the key to the Federal gold reserves, Steve Roberts! SR: Lo, as it was written, he who holdeth the wrench shall beateth the brains out of he who holdeth it not. TD: Very poetic, I don't think. [The two men continue to fight over the wrench, neither man apparently willing to give it up -- until suddenly, Thunder lets go of his end, and it flies out of Steve Kowalski's hand, smashing into one corner of the cage -- and breaking one of the brackets holding the huge construction together! Big shocked pop from the crowd! A ring crew immediately moves to that corner to inspect the damage -- but so too do both Thunder and Kowalski, who spot an opportunity.] TD: Oh my! One corner of this cage has been damaged by that wrench, Steve Roberts! I think the officials are trying to ascertain whether its structural integrity has been compromised -- but look at Thunder and Kowalski! I think they want to get out of this cage! [The crowd is once again whipped up into a frenzy as Thunder and Kowalski roll to the arena floor and converge on the damaged corner -- where the immediately begin a huge, wild slugfest! Punches and kicks are thrown, much to the excitement of the frenzied fans, until it becomes apparent that Thunder has Kowalski in a standing side headlock! Thunder rubs his knuckles into the top of Kowalski's skull to add insult to injury -- and then rams the Fury's head directly into the damaged corner of the ring! *CLANG!*] TD: Oh my! Oh my! Thunder -- he's trying to bust open this corner of the cage... using Steve Kowalski's _head_! [A second *CLANG!*, a third, as Kowalski's skull is repeatedly rammed into the corner of the cage, each time widening the gap between the two sides of the construction ever so slightly! The fans chant "Thun-der! Thun-der!" as the champion viciously rams Kowalski into the cage again and again, each blow opening up new and deep gashes in the forehead of the Triple Crown winner. Finally, Thunder literally throws Kowalski at the damaged corner -- and Kowalski bursts through the cage wall, somehow dislodging the edges of the chain link fence, and into the ringside enclosure! Huge, huge pop!] TD: Oh, this is getting crazy, Steve Roberts! These two men have broken out of the cage! SR: Is the match going to continue, Dross? What do the rules say about getting outside the cage? TD: It's my understanding that the _only_ way to win this match is to retrieve the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship from the roof of the cage, and then land with both feet on the canvas of the ring -- so this match must continue until that happens! SR: Here comes Thunder out of the cage, Dross! [Indeed, Thunder kicks his way out of the cage to join the prone Kowalski outside the construction. Ringside fans lean over the crowd barriers to touch Thunder and shout encouragement at the dazed Kowalski, but Thunder warns them all back, kneeling over the form of Kowalski and muttering something about the Fury needing a wake-up call. Thunder roughly grabs Kowalski's head, the blood running freely down his face from cuts on his forehead and an apparently broken nose -- and then plunges it into a Gatorade bucket full of iced water which was standing next to the cage! Water splashes out of the bucket as Thunder roughly holds Kowalski's head under the surface of the freezing liquid, the Fury flailing but unable to shake free!] TD: Thunder is trying to drown Kowalski, Steve Roberts! This is horrendous! SR: Anything goes, Dross -- and you can bet the Fury's not going to take this lying down! [Referee Earl Alfonso is finally able to make his presence felt in the match, physically removing Thunder's hand from the back of Kowalski's head, and allowing the Fury to breath once more, his chest heaving as he fights for breath, blood quickly beginning to seep once more from his newly-cleaned wounds. Thunder stands, towering over the official, and threatens to nail him, causing Alfonso to back away quickly. Meanwhile, Kowalski lies on the arena floor, panting for breath, his chest heaving as he tries to overcome the shock of having been plunged into freezing cold water.] TD: Thunder now, dragging Kowalski to his feet -- these two men are just a few feet away from us now. What's this? Thunder yelling to the Spanish broadcast team to get out of the way as he hoists Kowalski into position for a bodyslam... oh my! SR: Thunder slams Kowalski onto the Spanish table -- but it doesn't break! It didn't break, Dross! [Kowalski lies sprawled on the table amidst damaged equipment, while behind it, two terrified Spaniards gibber loudly in their native tongue over their headsets, backing themselves as close to the steel crowd barriers as they are able. Thunder clears off some of the equipment from the table, taking one of the announcers' headsets with it as he sweeps off a sound unit -- before moving to stand on the table himself! Cameras flash around the arena once more as Thunder stands on the Spanish broadcast table above the prone form of Steve Kowalski. The IIWF World Champion bends, dragging Kowalski to his feet by the hair -- and then roughly shoves his head between his legs. Huge, huge pop!] TD: What are we going to see here, Steve Roberts? SR: Come on, Fury -- get with it! [Thunder links his arms around the Fury's waist, and hoists him up into the air with a gutwrench -- before bringing him crashing down through the table with a vicious powerbomb, smashing the Spanish announce table and sending equipment scattering! Huge, huge pop!] TD: Oh my! Thunder just powerbombed Kowalski through that table! SR: So it's goodnight to the whole of Mexico! TD: Both champion and challenger are just exhausted, Steve Roberts. Kowalski certainly took the worst of that move, but Thunder is down too. This is just carnage! [Once more, it falls to the fans to try and rouse their heroes, the chants once again rising into the evening air, and feet being stamped on bleachers and way up into the mezzanine... "Thun-der! Thun-der!" mingles with "Fu-ry! Fu-ry!" at almost deafening levels!] TD: Just listen to this, Steve Roberts: more than fifty thousand fans, to a man on their feet, and clamouring for these two warriors to pick themselves up and finish what they have started here! SR: Whoo-hoo! Come on, Fury! ["Thun-der! Thun-der!"... "Fu-ry! Fu-ry!"... "Thun-der!"... "Fu-ry!" The chants continue, as both champion and challenger lie amidst the wreckage of the Spanish announce table, blood running from their wounds and into their eyes and mouths, their chests heaving with the sheer effort of sucking oxygen into their exhausted lungs.] TD: I just don't know how much these two men have left -- after their previous matches, and what we've seen tonight... tables, microphone stands, terrible spills. I'm not sure that these two men haven't put so much into this match that there simply isn't anything left to give! SR: Are you kidding, Dross? This is the Double Eye -- there ain't no stopping these two guys! The World title is at stake... Thunder's career is at stake... TD: Everything is on the line here, that much is certain. SR: I had everything on the line once. Best weekend of my life. [Suddenly, a cheer goes up from the crowd!] TD: Hang on -- hang on! Both men are beginning to move! Both men are dragging themselves to their feet! SR: This ain't over, Dross! Whoo-hoo! [Both Thunder and Kowalski roll to their knees, trying to pull themselves to their feet. Kowalski supports himself on the new Guatemalan broadcast table, the foreign announcers jabbering excitedly as the Fury pulls himself to his feet, while Thunder drags himself upright using referee Earl Alfonso for support. Kowalski turns to face Thunder, the two men on their feet once more -- and the Fury swings a punch at Thunder! It connects with a loud smack, and Thunder is staggered... but he fires back at Kowalski, and he too connects with a hard right hand to the Fury's jaw!] TD: Wow! Just listen to those shots being fired by these two men, Steve Roberts! [Kowalski and Thunder continue to blast each other with stiff fist shots, drawing gasps of sympathy from the nearby fans who can hear just how much impact each blow is packing. Kowalski slows Thunder down with a shot to the gut, and then drops him to the floor with a hard kneelift. Thunder hits the ground with a hard *SMACK!* as the Fury rips up a length of cable from the matting on the floor, which he wraps around his fists -- and with which he proceeds to begin choking Thunder! Huge Fury pop as Kowalski wraps the cable around Thunder's neck, the veins on the champion's head beginning to stand up, his face reddening as he clutches at his throat, trying to snatch a breath. Earl Alfonso attempts to pull Kowalski away from Thunder, but finds himself grabbed by the throat by the challenger. Huge pop! The colour drains from Alfonso's face as he sees the furious expression on Kowalski's visage -- but he is not given much time to contemplate his fate, as Kowalski whirls around, hoists Alfonso high into the air, and... Huge, huge pop!] TD: Oh my! Kowalski just chokeslammed Earl Alfonso through the Guatemalan announcers' table! That's the second time those announcers have been attacked tonight! Oh my! SR: Whoo-hoo! Referee down! Referee down! [Kowalski stands towering over the carnage at his feet, two announce tables reduced to little more than splinters, equipment scattered around the floor, Alfonso lying apparently unconscious amidst the wreckage, and Thunder groggily removing the cable from around his neck. The fans are apoplectic, chanting: "Fu-ry! Fu-ry!" Kowalski pushes his bloody, matted hair out of his face, and points skywards. Huge, huge pop!] TD: What... what's Kowalski doing, Steve Roberts? SR: He's gonna climb the cage, Dross! He's gonna climb onto the top of the cage! TD: Oh my! He's crazy! That cage is twenty feet high -- oh my! [Kowalski moves around to another side of the ring, where a ladder used by the ring crew to check the safety of the cage is lying against the steel crowd barriers. To the cheers of the crowd, Kowalski places the ladder against the side of the cage -- and begins to climb! Flashbulbs pop all over the Aloha Stadium as fifty thousand fans watch Kowalski begin to scale the ladder, which reaches three quarters of the way up the side of the cage.] TD: Brody Thunder is just beginning to pull himself to his feet over here in front of us -- but meanwhile, Kowalski is moving to the top of the cage. This is crazy, crazy stuff, Steve Roberts! [Kowalski reaches the top of the ladder, and grabs hold of the top of the cage, pulling himself up onto the top of the huge steel construction. He tentatively stands on the roof of the cage, and then walks to the centre of the roof, thrusting his arms open wide, and revelling in the cheers of the fans!] SR: Look at this, Dross -- Kowalski is on top of the world right now! TD: But perhaps not for long... because here comes Brody Thunder! The Champion is climbing that ladder, Steve Roberts! [Kowalski slowly turns through a complete circle on the roof of the cage, enjoying his new vantage point as he looks out over the sea of fans in the Hawaiian evening, the sky above now a deep purple. Brody Thunder pulls himself up onto the top of the cage as stealthily as possible, trying to sneak up on Kowalski from behind. He crouches in a football stance, apparently about to charge Kowalski... and then he does charge, the roof of the cage bouncing dangerously under his feet! Huge pop as Kowalski turns to face Thunder, instinctively putting his head down -- and then lifts, backdropping Brody Thunder... ...backdropping Thunder clear over the edge of the cage!] TD: Oh my! Oh my! Thunder just managed to grab onto the edge of the cage -- and saved himself from a potentially lethal fall! Oh my! This crowd is holding its breath, Steve Roberts! [Thunder dangles dangerously from the side of the cage, his fingers desperately clutching at the chain link on the roof, preventing him from falling to the arena floor some twenty feet below. Kowalski walks over to the edge of the cage -- and stamps on one of Thunder's hands! Thunder lets out a yell of rage as he is forced to let go with one hand. His feet scrabble desperately on the side of the cage for a foothold, but he is barely able to get the toe of his boot through the gaps in the chain link fencing. Kowalski leans over the side of the cage and looks down at Thunder, the microphones picking up his words:] SK: Goin' down, champ? [Just then, Thunder reaches up with his free hand -- and slaps Kowalski across the face as the Fury leans down to taunt him! Huge pop! Kowalski's face darkens with rage, and he turns his attentions to Thunder's remaining hand!] TD: Oh my! Kowalski is going to drop Thunder right to the floor! This is horrible! SR: No, Dross! No, look! Kowalski is pulling Thunder back up onto the roof of the cage! [The fans cheer wildly as Kowalski grabs Thunder's arm and begins helping the IIWF Champion back onto the roof of the cage. As Thunder finally lays on the chain link of the roof once more, his fingers bloodied from the unforgiving fencing, Kowalski does not attack -- instead, he backs away from the champion. Again, microphones pick up his words:] SK: They say ya gotta die wit’ yer boots on... an’ who am I to argue? Git your ass up, champ! [Kowalski stands in the centre of the cage, waiting for Thunder to pull himself back to his feet, his eyes fixed on the champion as the two men prepare to do battle once more, on the top of a cage some twenty feet above the arena floor! The crowd's chants once again mingle in the evening air -- "Thun-der! Thun-der!"... "Fu-ry! Fu-ry!" -- as the Arizona native begins to pull himself to his feet once more. Kowalski looks up, and notices that the lower-most section of the rigging supporting the cage and containing some of the lights is almost within reach. As Thunder approaches, Kowalski jumps into the air -- and grabs a boom microphone! Kowalski grabs hold of the boom, and swings towards Thunder, hitting him with a dropkick as he swings wildly, using the boom like Tarzan uses a vine! Huge pop!] TD: Oh my, look at Kowalski swinging up there! Thunder hits the roof of the cage hard -- and... oh my! SR: That boom just broke, Dross! Holy smoke! [Kowalski's flight is suddenly cut short as the boom he was swinging on detaches itself from its mounting on the rigging above -- and he tumbles back down to the roof of the cage... only just avoiding rolling off the side! Huge pop as the Fury checks himself just inches away from the edge of the cage!] TD: Oh my... oh my. What else can we see here, Steve Roberts? SR: I don't know, Dross -- but I love it! [Both men again pull themselves to their feet, Thunder apparently having started unwinding some of the tape on his right forearm, and has an object in his fist. Kowalski staggers towards Thunder, who swings out with a hard right hand, which connects, sending Kowalski hard back to the roof with a frightening jangle of chain link -- and sending a shower of coins into the crowd! Huge pop!] TD: Look out! What the heck was that?! SR: Hey, look, Dross -- a silver dollar! Thunder just nailed Kowalski with a roll of _dollars_! TD: Unbelievable! Well, I guess some of the ringside fans have an extra souvenir to take home now. [Thunder stands over the prone form of Kowalski, and yells at the challenger, the overhead mics still able to pick up his words:] BT: Don’t go out on me yet, Stevo. You ain’t paid the price! From now on, you watch me carry the belt an’ just bow out! [Thunder drags the groggy Kowalski up to his feet, and locks him in a standing front facelock. The fans immediately erupt with a huge chant as they recognise this set-up: "DDT! DDT! DDT!"] TD: Oh my! Thunder is going to DDT Kowalski right up there on the roof of the cage! No... he hoists him up in the air -- it's going to be a Widowmaker! Oh my! [Thunder hoists Kowalski high into the air -- and then kicks out with his own legs, sending both men crashing hard down onto the roof of the cage, Kowalski's head bearing the brunt of the impact against the chain link. At the moment of impact, the sound of shearing metal is heard, and the cage creaks dangerously as both men lie on the top of the cage.] TD: Did you... did you hear that, Steve Roberts? I think -- I think one of the remaining support brackets on that damaged corner of the cage just sheared right off! SR: They're even smashing the cage apart, Dross! These two guys are crazy! TD: Kowalski looks to be out cold -- I imagine his face must be mangled from being driven so, so hard into that chain link roof. Thunder is picking himself back up again -- and he's dragging Kowalski back up with him! [Thunder continues to jaw with Kowalski as he drags the Fury to his feet:] BT: Time to attend a funeral, boy! [Thunder hooks Kowalski's head in a front facelock again, apparently preparing for a second Widowmaker, but as he prepares to hoist Kowalski into the air, the Fury counters, backdropping Thunder to the roof! Again, the chain link jangles and bounces dangerously, and the construction creaks with the strain. Kowalski pulls himself back to his feet, his face now even more bloodied from his close encounter with the roof of the cage, and stands over the dazed Thunder, yelling down at the champion:] SK: [Coughing] I didn’t claw my... [cough] ...way back so ya can black out, cowpoker! Yer in no man’s land now... AND YER NO MAN! [Kowalski roughly drags Thunder back to his feet, places his head between his legs... and then drives him back into the roof of the cage with a vicious tiger driver! Huge pop, which drowns out the sound of the cage creaking, and more shearing metal!] TD: Oh my! What a move by Kowalski -- but Steve Roberts, I'm not sure that this cage isn't getting highly dangerous. The supports in one corner have all been broken, and by the looks of the ring crew, two others have just been damaged. SR: They're gonna take the whole arena with them, Dross! Evacuate! TD: I don't believe Kowalski and Thunder are aware that the cage is unsafe... this could turn into tragedy, Steve Roberts! SR: The only way this is turning into a tragedy is if Thunder manages to retain that title, Dross! [Kowalski refuses to let Thunder lie, instead dragging him back to his knees, and then to his feet, the roof of the cage wobbling under their feet, the reinforced steel struts apparently beginning to buckle under their weight. Kowalski places Thunder's head between his legs, and the fans yet again burst into a huge chant: "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!"] SR: Here it comes, Dross! Here comes the Skullpump! TD: Kowalski has one arm hooked... he hooks the second... jumps, and... oh my! [Huge pop as Kowalski _drives_ Thunder's head into the roof of the cage with his patented double underhook piledriver! The noise of the crowd again disguises the creaking and buckling of the cage as its structure takes increasing strain. On the floor, ring crews watch in great trepidation as yet more brackets shear off, the cage becoming ever more dangerous.] TD: This is a death trap, Steve Roberts! With every high-impact move these two men execute, the cage is becoming less and less safe... the whole thing could collapse! [Kowalski rolls to his feet once more, apparently unaware that with every step he takes, the roof of the cage now creaks dangerously. He rolls Thunder onto his back, the champion's facial wounds reopened once more and blood flowing freely into his eyes. Kowalski looks down at the champion and taunts him once more:] SK: Hell hath no... [BLEEP] it. I’m too tired to talk trash. I jus’ kick ya. [Kowalski drags Thunder to his feet yet again, once more placing the champion's head between his legs, the centre of the cage now sagging dangerously as the supports continue to buckle under the weight of these two warriors. Thunder looks set for a second Skullpump, but before Kowalski can hook his arms, Thunder grabs the Fury's legs, pulling them out from under him and slamming the New Jersey Nightmare's head against the roof of the cage, hard! Again, the huge cheers from the crowd seem to prevent the two athletes from hearing the cage creak, the roof now seriously bent and support brackets on all four corners of the ring barely able to take the strain.] TD: I think the roof of this cage is going to collapse, Steve Roberts -- and I think it may take the rest of the cage with it! That's one and a half tonnes of steel struts and fencing -- this match has to be stopped! SR: Then somebody get the hell on top of the cage and tell Thunder and Kowalski, Dross. These guys aren't gonna stop until they kill one another! [Thunder drags himself back to his feet, once again hearing the chants of the fans -- "Thun-der! Thun-der!" -- as he drags Kowalski to his feet, and then hoists him up... hoists him up for a piledriver! Huge, huge pop as Thunder plants Kowalski's head on the roof of the cage, which shakes dangerously under the impact! Huge Thunder pop!] TD: What a piledriver! Steve Kowalski must be out, Steve Roberts! Brody Thunder has to get down from the roof of that cage and grab the belt... this match has to be stopped! SR: I don't think Thunder's interested in the belt, Dross -- he's dragging the Fury up one more time! [The fans continue to cheer wildly as Thunder yet again drags Kowalski to his feet, the Fury bloodied anew from new cuts to his head. Thunder mutters something to the challenger that the microphones cannot discern over the frenzied noise from the fifty thousand fans packing the Aloha Stadium, and appears to be ready to setting Kowalski up for another Widowmaker, the cage creaking loudly all the while. Kowalski, however, lashes out with a swing of his fist that flies very low, catching Thunder in the lower abdomen. Thunder is bent double, and Kowalski takes control, shoving Thunder's head between his legs, and rapidly hooking both arms! There he stands, in the centre of the increasingly buckled ring, as the fans once again unite in their chanting: "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!"] TD: Oh my! I can barely hear myself think in here -- Kowalski has Thunder set for a second Skullpump, both arms hooked, and... OH MY! [Kowalski drives Thunder's head into the roof of the cage with a Skullpump, and suddenly there is an almighty crash... ...as the roof of the cage collapses! The roof of the cage collapses, and Kowalski and Thunder suddenly disappear from view, falling into the ring under debris twisted steel and chain link. The huge shocked pop from the fans rapidly diminishes to silence, as no movement in the ring is discernible.] TD: Oh... folks, we have... the roof of the cage just collapsed, folks, and both Kowalski and Thunder fell into the ring -- it looks like they went through the roof of the cage, through those three tables... but the roof of the cage is on top of them... I have no idea whether these two men are even conscious... oh my. SR: What a goddamned bump, Dross! Have you ever seen anything like that in your life?! TD: Steve Roberts, this isn't anything to be excited about... this is... oh, this is bad. SR: Are you kidding me, Dross?! They're gonna be talking about this for years to come! [The fans remain quiet as the ring crew surrounds the cage, instructions yelled by the technicians echoing around the arena. Finally, the remnants of the cage, the four walls just about held together by the remaining brackets, is slowly raised once more.] TD: There's still no movement in the ring as the cage is raised once more so that EMT personnel can get in there and tend to these two men. What a terrible way for this incredible encounter to end... SR: No, look, Dross -- look! TD: Oh my! [As the cage is raised back above the ring, there is suddenly movement in the ring, as a figure is apparently trying to crawl out of the wreckage... a figure crawling out of the wreckage. The fans explode with a huge, huge pop!] TD: It's Steve Kowalski! Steve Kowalski is crawling out of the ring! [Kowalski pulls himself clear of the wreckage... and he is clutching the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship belt!] SR: He's done it, Dross! Kowalski has the belt! TD: Oh my! Ring the bell, somebody! This match is over! [Kowalski rolls to the floor outside the ring, and drops to his knees, clutching the leather strap to his chest. The timekeeper rings the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! "Don't Fear The Reaper" kicks in over the PA as the crowd explodes into tumultuous cheers, security having to prevent ringside fans from leaping over the barriers to congratulate the Fury.] TD: Still no sign of Brody Thunder, Steve Roberts... I'm being told that we have an instant replay of the closing moments of this match. [Cut to a split-screen: on the left, live action as the Fury leans against the apron of the ring, completely exhausted by the match, while a ring crew moves into the ring to clear the debris and find Thunder; on the right, a slow-motion replay of Kowalski driving Thunder's head through the cage. The metal buckles, the chain link becomes detached, and the two men fall through, taking the belt with them, and smashing through the stack of three tables, before they are buried amid the wreckage by the roof. Cut back to live action.] TD: What an unbelievable climax to this incredible match, Steve Roberts. I have simply seen nothing like it in my life -- and now Brody Thunder has clambered out of the wreckage, and he is on his feet! Brody Thunder is on his feet! [The battered and bloody Thunder shoves away an official who is trying to tend to him, slowly gets up and slumps in a corner, half-standing, half-leaning -- but very much bleeding. He grabs one of the mics in the debris-covered ring and begins to speak:] BT: Cut... cut the music. [Kowalski's music rapidly fades over the PA, and the fans quieten as they struggle to hear Thunder's raspy words:] BT: Kowalski... ... hey son... ... I... ain't done yet. If there's... a gut left in yer body... then you get... yer _sorry_ _ass_... back in here... _right _now_! [Thunder's arm slumps down onto the top rope. Huge pop from the fans!] TD: Oh my! Thunder is challenging Kowalski to get back in the ring -- after all they've been through, Thunder wants more! [Kowalski, who has dragged himself to his feet, looks at Thunder, and then rolls back into the ring, slinging the IIWF World belt over his shoulder as he goes. He gestures as if to be saying, "ya wanna go some more?". Thunder smiles a slow evil grin. He pulls himself to his feet and goes nose to nose with the Fury once more as he raises the mic again.] BT: I said... it'd be one helluva fight... I don't think I was wrong. [Thunder wipes blood from his crimson-covered face and wipes his hand on his trunks.] BT: But I got me... jus' one more move ta give ya, runt. [Kowalski doesn't blink, and continues to stare at Thunder. Thunder slowly moves towards Kowalski who steadies himself for the coming blow.] TD: Oh my... this isn't over yet, folks! [Thunder raises his arm and then... extends a hand to the Fury. Kowalski eyes him hard but Thunder's stare never wavers. Kowalski shakes his hand as the mic picks up Thunder's words: "Yer the best... _today_. Ya got sixty days. Enjoy 'em." They release their grips and stare once more into each other's eyes, the respect now obvious. Thunder nods and then limps out the cage and up the aisle, leaving Kowalski in the ring.] TD: What a show of respect from this great champion, Steve Roberts! The IIWF has tonight lost one of its greatest competitors -- but there is no shame in defeat for Brody Thunder. This was simply a match quite unlike any other I have ever seen in my career. SR: You kiddin', Dross? Down in Texas I'd be in a match like this every other week. Once we even demolished the damned stadium at the end. Good times. TD: Steve Kowalski standing in the ring, watching Thunder leave -- it's incredible that Brody Thunder is even able to walk, but he is leaving this arena on his own two feet... and Kowalski is applauding Thunder! Steve Kowalski is applauding Brody Thunder! [Thunder pauses one final time at the curtain and looks back at Kowalski, who nods at Thunder as he applauds his opponent. Without another glance, the "Lone Wolf" turns and walks through the curtain. Kowalski continues to celebrate with the Furies as fireworks go off to thunderous pops, clambering up onto the turnbuckles and thrusting the belt high into the air.] TD: This is where it all begins for Steve Kowalski, folks. Steve Kowalski has captured the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship for the second time here tonight -- and I have to believe that great things are in store for the Fury from here on. SR: What a match, Dross! What a night! TD: Indeed, it's been an unbelievable night of action here at Snow Brawl, folks. Thank you for joining us, and I hope you have enjoyed the action of this tremendous pay-per-view. For all of us here in the Aloha Stadium, in beautiful Honolulu, Hawaii, this is Tim Dross, saying: so long, everybody! [Cut to a shot from below of Kowalski thrusting the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship into the air, as fireworks erupt high in the dark sky above the arena. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Jim Jividen | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | brokeback@webtv.net | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+