C + O + U + N + T + D + O + W + N T + O ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/..............\........|...|.......|....| with Larry Morton January 30 1998 [The shot opens with a new look for the countdown set. The familiar IIWF logo still stands prominently at the back of the scene but the forefront is a little different. It is a more homey feeling with a couple of comfortable chairs along side a low round table with copies of the IIWF Magazine scattered on it. In the left chair sits Larry Morton; the right chair sits vacant.] LM: Welcome to Countdown To IIWF Saturday Night! The first of the new format where I will be welcoming a member of the IIWF community to join me on the program to take a look at the following night's show. For those fans of Victoria Von Edward... I'm sure there were one or two of you... she has been fired from the IIWF staff. It seems that when she ran off the set two weeks ago she broke the probation that both of us were put under after the New Year's debacle. All of this is water under the bridge now as I welcome the first co-host for the new show... the man who was partially responsible for Victoria's removal... the Heatseeker... Derek Mota! [There is a short silence as Morton looks to the wings expectantly. Finally Rusty Priske, the producer of the show, walks onto the set.] RP: There's been a slight problem. LM: Where's Mota? RP: He was here but all of a sudden he ran out the door saying something about betraying his friends or something. LM: Well, he has been under a lot of stress lately. RP: We have found a replacement though. LM: Who? RP: Me. LM: You? RP: Sorry, Larry, but I'm all we've got. Why don't we just get on with the rundown and we'll just have to deal with it as it goes. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| PREVIEW: IIWF Saturday Night - 30 January 1998 |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... LM: Okay, well, we've got a great card coming up this Saturday, with two title matches and a big steel cage grudge match! RP: Uh, not to mention lots of other great matches. Cue the titles! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Steel Cage Match: "Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis vs. Mad Dog Watkins ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: This has been an incredible war and this could finally decide who the ultimate victor is! RP: Ratings go up when Annis is on the show. Watkins' numbers have been so-so since his return but he has great potential. The match tomorrow should kick the figures into orbit. LM: That's, uh, interesting, Rusty. I'm sure the fans are very interested in our rating share. RP: Who wouldn't be? Cue the Annis clip! [The camera fades into blackness. Serge Annis' voice is heard speaking. There is an echo to the words, as if spoken deep in the catacombs of a building, where sounds bounce off pipes and hallways.] SA: They say you can't see the face of death creeping up behind you... [The camera slowly fades in to a dark and murky setting. Water drips. The dripping echoes through the endless corridors. There are pipes everywhere, and surrounded by two small brick walls. Leaning against one of the walls is Serge Annis. He is wearing basic black jeans and a black muscle shirt with a flaming skull on it. Several long scars and scrapes are visible over Serge's chest and forearms. His face however, leans back against the wall, and out of the light thus making his face unviewable.] SA: And Mad Dog Watkins, it isn't time yet to look into my eyes. Not yet. Saturday Night, we shall gaze eye to eye... nose to nose inside the confines of a fifteen foot high steel cage. People call steel cage matches the roughest, toughest matches in the business. I quite protest... barb wire matches are the way to go. Just ask Creed. Watkins, you have been gone for months. Nursing your neck injuries. Strengthening your back. Whilst I have been working through the injuries. Through the scars. Through the pain. "Whatever does not kill me shall make me stronger." Hell, I must be the strongest man in the world then... because every day of my life I discover a new pain. [Annis runs his hand over the two inch scar over his neck.] And right now, the biggest pain of all is Watkins. Dog, you promised to resume your spot as the best. But you have to get by me. Something you can't -- and won't -- do. Your time is up Old Dog. Perhaps while you were resting those neck injuries, you should have taken some time to clear your head injuries because wanting to get into the ring with the Epitome is insane. [The words "insane" seem to bounce heavier than the last few, off the walls of the catacomb.] Dog, I had my spot once at the opening of the card. I had the spot in the middle. But now... things have changed. Serge Annis has changed. Do you see Genesis anywhere around? I sure don't... heh heh... the time has come, Old Dog, for you to realize that you've been replaced. Beaten out. I have no problem with you coming back to IIWF. I do have a problem with calling me out as a mere stepping stone. I am the Epitome of Evil. I put out that one eyed rookie Creed, whom you couldn't seem to get rid of. Everything you couldn't get done, I moved in and destroyed it all. And then... my time came. The IIWF World Championship... and you took it all away. I can't exactly take that away from you Old Dog. So instead, I shall take away your soul. I've damned you to Hell, Old Dog, and one way or another you shall burn with the bodies of the sinners... you shall melt with the murderer's and madmen of this world... and you damn sure are going to cry... like the battered old mutt that you are. I owe you, Watkins, and a steel cage is the perfect place for a little payback. [Annis turns around and starts walking along side the wall. His footsteps echo. His frame is made up, as it the back of his head, but his face still is not visible.] SA: It isn't time yet, Watkins... but come Saturday, when you look in between my eyes, you're going to see that your time has come and gone, and I shall play the part of the reaper... and bring your soul to Hell. Heh heh... [The camera stops as Annis keeps walking and soon dissapears into darkness, as he continues to laugh. Fade to black.] [SCENE: A darkened corridor of the IIWF Coliseum. The camera shot pans down the corridor, what little light available dancing in wicked manner across the tile floor. In the distance, the sound of heavy footsteps can be heard. Slowly, a large shadow comes into view...its size growing ever so slowly as it approaches to camera. Half way down the hall, the figure slowly emerges from the shadow...it's Mad Dog Watkins. Through the dim lighting, it can be made out that Watkins is wearing black jogging pants and a black IIWF jacket that covers his burly frame. He has a taboggin pulled low to the brim of his eyes, and has his duffel bag thrown over his right shoulder. As he becomes aware of the camera's presence, he locks his eyes on it and approaches with a calm intensity. Slowly he begins to speak his low, gravelly voice...] MDW: I'm not going to run my mouth for you guys this week. You want endless prattle that sounds like something, but really ends up being nothing but hot air then you go find Annis. I'm sure he's got hours of crap to spew. Me, I'm doing my talking in the ring. [Watkins slows up briefly then keeps walking, the camera shot slowly panning as Watkins walks by and into the other end of the darkened corridor.] MDW: I'm giving a seminar come Saturday... Whippin' Ass 101. You come and watch and you might learn something. I know Annis will. And it'll be one for the ages 'cause the Old Dog's finally home.... Back in the IIWF... Back in the main event... Back to laying a hurting on someone... [As Watkins' finishes he goes through a door marked "Weight Room" and disappears into the darkness...the only sound that can be heard is what sounds like the words "Ain't life grand?!" Fade.] [The studio comes back into view with Larry arguing with Rusty.] LM: ...I just don't think that ratings updates are what the fans are... Hi! Welcome back! RP: The Annis/Watkins cage match could surpass the Kowalski/Thunder match for viewers! Of course it's free, but... LM: This is just one of the many reasons to tune in tomorrow night! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Intercontinental Championship Match: Duncan Macbeth vs. Derek Mota ------------------------------------------------------------------------ RP: This is a match the fans have been waiting for! LM: Finally we agree on something! RP: We're going to get a 4.0 easy! LM: I thought you wanted to beat out Inside as the top weekly commentary show! You're not going to do it by quoting ratings! RP: I'm not going to do it with you as the host! I want Roberts! Why can't I have Roberts? Just talk about that match. I don't even feel like queuing the clips. LM: As all the fans know, Mota turned on both Macbeth and Timothy Turner and then, just as quickly, said he wanted to be friends again. Macbeth and Turner are having none of it! How this will affect the big championship match on Saturday is anybody's guess! RP: Of course... with the show's new format... LM: IIWF Saturday Night is a show with three main events! How can you dare miss it! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Cruiserweight Championship Match: "Enigma" Tazeko Musashi vs. Icehawk ------------------------------------------------------------------------ RP: I can have whatever announcer I want! Shawn! Take over! I've got some calls to make! [Rusty dashes off the set and is replaced by Shawn Kilpatrick, his assistant. Shawn is a young looking blond guy who has the looks of great star of the stage.] LM: O'kay, welcome to the show, Shawn. You aren't going to talk about ratings are you? SK: Nah. I get paid no matter what our ratings are. Besides, who would talk about ratings when there is a match on tap between Musashi and Icehawk! I love the Cruisers! LM: That's the spirit! Icehawk was the last man to come close to winning the belt before Ronnie Paris took it from the Rocket Man. SK: True as that may be, none of those guys can hold a candle to the Enigma. He's got the moves to burn! I'd like to see one of those triangle matches that the IIWF has put on in the past! Kowalski... Thunder... Musashi! It would be great! LM: Indeed, there's something to think about -- but the Enigma has also given us something to think about. Let's go to his comments: [SCENE: The shot opens on a close up of the magnificient silver and gold of the IIWF Cruiserweight championship. The camera lingers on the highly polished belt for several moments before panning out and revealing the scene in its entirety. The "Enigma" Takezo Musashi sits calmly on a locker room bench, lacing up his boots in preperation for a match at one of the IIWF's numerous "unlisted" house shows. Light dimly filters into the room from a slat high up on the bare concrete walls, the ray reflecting in glitters from the championship gold, and in turn, from the shimmering silver stars painted around the Enigma's eyes as he lifts up his head to speak.] TM: It was truly a battle for the ages. Indeed, Ronnie Paris, you had almost earned yourself a little of my respect for the depths of fight you displayed at Snow Brawl... fight I never would have granted as flowing within your veins previously. But unfortunately... the valets, the soap operas, the dramatics... there is no end to the circus parade. I am living proof that discipline and fighting spirit is the true mantle of the honourable warrior, not some cheap gimmickery in the guise of strategy. [Musashi sighs and shakes his head in disgust.] And now I have the trophy that seals my words. [Musashi picks up the Cruiserweight strap, hauls it over his shoulder, and pats the centre piece. His face now wears a faint expression of pride.] This is the true mark of skill and determination in the IIWF. A belt sullied for many months by unworthy champions and men of cowardice. Now, it has returned to its rightful owner, and it can take on the mantle of honour afresh. In my hands, this belt will never become a mockery. In my hands, this championship will never be stained with dishonour. Let no man call the Enigma a wrestler who rested on the laurels and prestige his championship brought to him - I will never stoop so low as to duck my challengers. To fight is my calling, and thus, I can be nothing but a fighting champion. [Musashi's expression now changes to one of bold determination.] Icehawk, upon you falls the honour of my first challenge. There will be no easy path for the Enigma's reign as champion - for I thrive when when faced with adversity - and in you, I expect a difficult and worthy opponent. You have impressed the critics with your talent as an acrobat, Icehawk... in fact, some even have the presumption to list your name above my own in the aerial stakes. Well... beware that the praise does not go to your head, Icehawk. You are but a novice, an amateur, a prospect for the future when compared with the full blooded master that is the Enigma. My blood and sweat have stained the mats of arenas across the world. Three wrestling crowns have being placed upon my brow, and are held sacred for it. Across the wrestling world, my name is spoken with fear and respect. Tomorrow night, young Icehawk, the cocky upstart challenges the master, and as must always be the case with such a breadth of distance, the master will prevail. We can both soar above the ring - you as the hawk, but the Enigma as the comet... and Icehawk, comets fly further, faster, more majestically... I pray that you shall learn from our encounter, Icehawk, for some day, it will be your turn at the heights. But for now, as it shall be until the end of my career, it is the Enigma's time to shine. [Musashi nods to the camera, gets up, and heads out of the locker room and on towards his match.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "To Excess" Rick Williams vs. Christopher Stonebreaker ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Here's another match that could headline any card! SK: No doubt! Williams and Stonebreaker are both ready to break free from the pack in the IIWF! If I was Macbeth of Kowalksi I'd be watching these two guys! They are going to be fighting for titles in no time! LM: Let's look at comments from both of them. [Scene opens to a dark and almost eerily silent attic. Several large cardboard boxes are seen as the camera pans across the room. In one corner, a figure sits against the wall, his face illuminated by the almost intrusive brightness provided by the attic's skylight. His identity immediately recognizable, "To Excess" Rick Williams again chews the seemingly ever-present stick of gum. Dressed entirely in black, his face is noticeably expressionless, as he begins to speak.] RW: They said it couldn't happen... It happened. They said the legend was too great... It wasn't. They said it couldn't be done... I did it. [A proud and satisfied grin appears on Williams' face, as he basks in the glory of his supposed triumph.] They all tried it... every last one of 'em, but they failed, and failed miserably. And now, after all the attempts, we've found ourselves a winner... Take a bow, Mr. Rick Williams -- You're the guy who's just done the world of professional wrestling one of its great services... you've ended the career of Billy Shakespeare... the man who didn't know when to quit. And doesn't it just bring a smile to your face? So, where are you today, Bill? At home... with tears streaming down your face at the sight of all those belts, watching those tapes of better times, where you were cheered and respected? And have you come to the tragic realization yet, Bill? Those days are gone. Lost and gone forever. [Waising his eyebrows, as if to wait for a response, he proceeds.] Or is there still a glint of hope in your eye, Bill? Hope that maybe the doctors have done such a good job that you'll be able to "perform" again someday... Hope that maybe your little buddy, Marty, can repair some of the damage by putting that nasty Rick Williams in his place... Or, is it merely hope against hope... a false belief that "To Excess" hasn't already attained the ultimate victory over the IIWF's most well-worn doormat? I think we both know the answer, huh Bill? But Bill, I know you can hear me right now. So, I want you to promise me one thing. I want you to tell Marty Warnett to wreak a terrible revenge on your conquerer... Tell him to do it in your honour... Tell him whatever you have to, because I'll be waiting. Doesn't matter where, doesn't matter when, but you can damn sure know that I'll be waiting. I'm not stopping with you, Bill. You were the only tip of the iceberg, and I guess that makes Warnett little more than an icicle. [Williams spits out the stick of gum before quickly replacing it with another. With an idea seemingly forming in his mind, an all too familiar devious grin appears on his face.] In fact, Bill, they tell me I've got a match tomorrow night. It's against a guy you and Marty might know from the Saps Anonymous meetings... calls himself Chris Stonebreaker. So, why not send Marty down to join in the fun. As I always say, there's nothing quite like killing two saps with one Stone... And Chris, I know you like to see it the other way, but after tomorrow night, you'll be the guy who's very much in need of a hero. Still, I guess you'll have a lot of time to listen to all those Bonnie albums during your recuperation. But alas, Christopher is not my primary concern, which is of course, Billy Shakespeare's remaining time. But don't you go worrying about it, Bill... I'm gonna make it my _duty_ to see that you and Marty are consigned to the same retirement home. Just think about it -- You can talk about the "good ol' days" when you beat Quigley... and of course, the final hours, at the beginning of '98, when "the times, they were a-changing"... and not for the better. Sounds good, doesn't it... _doesn't it_? [Fade to the sound of Williams' laughter.] [The camera opens again on the home of Christopher Stonebreaker, and seated on the front steps of the porch is the man himself, leaning back against one of the porch railing posts, and standing with it's head planted firmly into the ground is the sledgehammer that Chris carries around with him. One hand of Chris' is rested on the bottom of the handle, and Stonebreaker just turns his head to look at the camera, almost as if he was looking past it] CS: It's amazing. I could have almost considered myself a "seer" after listening to Steele's comments. Luke, it seems that the man who wasn't going to be calling out any names, seems to have done exactly that. Crying once again about the fact that you were defeated in the center of the ring. Not only were you beaten, but you submitted as Snow Brawl. And now we're supposed to believe that it never happened? You know there are only two kinds of men in the world Steele. There are the men who take their shots and get up and fire a few of their own back. Then there are....well, then there are the Luke Steele's of the world. You take your shots, and you get up and claim you were never touched. [Chris lets out a hearty chuckle as he drops his head back against the wooden post and lifts the sledgehammer up with one hand.] You know, there were always kids like you back in grade school. We all had them. The ones who swore they were never tagged, or found, or out at the plate. And the strange thing is.... I never liked them much. Kids that couldn't face the facts of life. And that, Lukey, is you. You see, the fact of life is that nobody put you in your little "slumps". Nobody said that "I'm going to screw Steele's entire career". No, Luke, the only man who could have possibly screwed your own career was you. Now, it seems that you want to take your anger out on the whole world because you can't face the truth. You've stepped up and said that you challenged any of the men that were in that Snow Brawl match. When Lukey, you better be ready to face another fact. You see, Steele, I'm going all the way to the top of the IIWF, and you, well, you're one of those individuals I'll be more than happy to throw back down to the bottom rungs of the ladder, and then when you want to blame one man for ruining your career, you'll actually be able to say the name. Because I will do whatever I have to do to show you, Steele, this is a man's sport, and the kids who go running home to momma and crying their tears out.... Well, you just might as well head on home now. [Chris picks the sledgehammer up and sits up with the hammer on his lap, and he turns to face the camera.] As for you, Excess, you and the cajun step up in the ring Saturday night. You and the man who has fought through all sorts of obstacles to get to where he is in this sport. Excess, Saturday Night is your opportunity to prove to me and everyone else in the viewing audience that you aren't the same type of man as Luke Steele. The opportunity to prove that you aren't the man who is going to take his bleeding body and run off and hide and throw out the excuses. You have the opportunity to prove Williams, that you are the better man. But the simple facts are, Williams, that you won't. [The camera fades out as Stonebreaker rises to his feet, and pushes the sledgehammer up over his shoulder and a sneer crosses his face] LM: Could these two men been making the mistake of over-looking their opponents on Saturday? SK: I don't know -- but I'm sure that Luke Steele and Marty Warnett better watch out! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Down Boys vs. the Harlequins ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: This is one of the two great tag encounters on this card! The tag team situation has really been heating up as of late and these two teams are right in the thick of it! SK: The Down Boys are much batter off without that Damage Inc. schtick. They're one of the top teams in the whole sport! This doesn't even mention the Harlequins, who are in a league of their own! LM: Let's hear from the Down Boys now! ["It's A Beautiful Morning" by the Rascals plays in the background, as we view the hotel rooms of the Down Boys. A split-screen shot of both Adam and Dan in their respective beds sees the two get up, shower, scratch themselves in various "naughty" areas, then get dressed. They then head to their respective bathrooms and begin to use the numerous cans of hairspray that it takes to maintain their beautiful hair. The shot then cuts to a single shot of Dan knocking on Adam's hotel door, and Adam letting him in. The two sit down at a table, where room service has prepared the Down Boys' favorite breakfast... Cap'n Crunch Crunch Berries cereal. The two men, very cordial to each other, pass the milk and the cereal to each other, fill their bowls up high... ...then proceed to drop their heads on the table, and cry.] AP: I can't believe we lost! DO: WHY, GOD, WHY!!! [Suddenly, the phone rings. Adam goes to put it on speakerphone while Dan does the only thing he can do in order to make his cereal more appealing... he puts ketchup on it. Surprise, surprise, who's on the other line but Awesome T, and he's none too pleased.] AT: Where the hell are you two? DO: [with a mouthful of Crunch Berries, milk, and ketchup in his mouth] We're still at the hotel in Hawaii, drowning our sorrows. AT: DAMMIT! Can't you get over the fact? Y'all lost, plain and simple. You went to Japan and won SJPW's World Tag Titles, didn't you? AP: Yeah... AT: Well, can't you be happy for that? DO: No... AT: Why not? AP: Because the IIWF cameras are here, and Mr. Spreadbury told us that his IIWF World Tag Team titles were the only tag team titles while his cameras were rolling. AT: Oh. Right. I guess. Besides the point. You two know you've got a job to do, don't you? DO: We do? AT: Hell yes, son! You and the Preds stand for something that many of the tag teams in this federation don't understand. You have morals. You play by the rules. You guys...are role models. And it's your job to clean up the scum in the IIWF that doesn't conform to those rules. YOU HEAR ME?! AP & DO: YES SIR! AT: Your first mission is the tag team The Harlequins, Terror and Chaos. These two have been running ragged over the IIWF for some time now, and they need to be stopped by the lethal kind of justice that the Down Boys can dish out. Do you accept the challange? AP & DO: We're on our way! AT: Hey, and Boys... be careful out there. [Dan and Adam get up and run out of the hotel room, come back momentarily to put more hairspray in their hair, then run out the door again. Outside the hotel, we see them jump into a 1965 pink Buick convertible, and spin tires out of the hotel parking lot. The scene then shifts to a map of the United States. A pink Matchbox car rests on the map where Hawaii is. A hand comes out of nowhere and pushes the car to California. The scene then shifts to the parking lot outside of Qualcom Stadium. Two men, dressed like the Harlequins but not looking like them in the slightest, are "beating up" Scott "The Whine" Bloom and "Nifty" Ned Norton. It appears that Harlequin Chaos is actually famous actor Don Knotts. Suddenly, the pink Buick pulls into the picture and the Down Boys jump out, standing with their hands on their hips, looking at the confrontation.] SB: [monotone] Won't someone please help us. DO: HARLEQUINS! Stop this tomfoolery this instant! HC: Back off, Down Boys, or you'll get my vicious karate chop! HEY-YAH! [Don Knott... er... Harlequin Chaos takes a deep breath, hikes up his wrestling tights around his armpits, and charges Adam Peterson with his dreaded karate chop. Peterson catches him and applies a Diamond Cutter, which Knotts no-sells. Knotts hits Peterson with his chop to the back of his head and knocks him cold. Dan Oliver, seeing this, gives a stiff kick to Knotts, which doubles him over and makes his eyes bug out of his head. "Harlequin Terror" then charges Dan Oliver, but gets nailed by a spin kick that stuns him, then "Terror" is dropped by Oliver's devistating S.Y.P., which knocks him senseless.] NN: [monotone] You have saved us. My heroes. DO: [helping Adam Peterson to his feet] No problem, citizen. Wait a second... I don't think that's really Harlequin Terror! [Cue "duh duh DUH!!!!" plot change music] DO: It's really... [Oliver pulls the rubbery mask off of Terror to reveal...] ALL: BOBBY B. GOODE! BBG: And I would have gotten away with it two, if it weren't for those meddeling kids. [Everyone laughs as Bobby gets up, kicks the tire of the Buick, and runs away crying.] NARRATOR: And so another case comes to a close, thanks to the combines efforts of Dan Oliver and Adam Peterson, better known as... [Both Adam and Dan spin to the camera, point to it, and say...] AP & DO: THE DOWN BOYS!! [Scrolling credits, then fade.] SK: As the Boys just said, they won the tag titles in Japan and they won them from a team familiar to long time IIWF viewers... LM: Whoa! Whoa! Sorry Shawn, you'r enew here so you don't realize that we don't talk about other federations on IIWF shows. SK: Oh. Sorry. So I can't say that it was Timothy Turner's brother, Tom, and Akira Saito? LM: I guess it doesn't matter now, does it? ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Tony Starks vs. "Real Deal" Luke Steele ------------------------------------------------------------------------ SK: Here we've got a couple of guys who have been a little aimless the last little while...but all that is changing! LM: Steele has unveiled a great new finishing move and Tony Starks... well, he quickly became a force in the tag ranks and just as quickly left them! What will Starks do now? Let's listen to his comments and find out! [SCENE: Somewhere in uptown New York City at night. Vehicles and humanity flood the streets. The shot moves down to a city bus and moves to show Tony Starks in the bus looking out the window. Now, inside the bus the shot goes to Starks, he continues to look out the window but begins to speak.] TS: I have been a New York boy all my twenty six years. I have seen a lot of things, I have been a lot of things. [As Starks speaks, the people on the bus look a bit un-nerved as he is seemingly talking to himself.] A few years ago, I was the definition of being cold-blooded. Some say that I am bitter about the lot in life that I drew. Suffering and pain. Am I bitter? Yeah, I was. Dont know anymore though... Now...now, I am beyond being bitter. Now, I am the pain. [The people continue to look nervous around him. Starks just keeps peering out the window. The bus finally reaches one stop and Starks gets off somewhere in Harlem. Starks walks to a street corner and stares down at the concrete.] Right here...this is a spot of powerful memory. Right here... This is the spot where I first saw someone die. He was my older brother, died in my arms. All we were doing was going to a show at the Apollo. We didnt have the money to get home so we started to walk. Someone stuck us up and they shot my brother 'cause he didn't have any money to give them. Have you ever seen someone die? Not that Faces of Death junk either. I mean really die, their blood on your coat. That whole night is burned into my memory. The only thing was that I couldn't see who exactly was the shooter. Coward couldn't even show his face. Luke Steele, have you seen someone die? I bet not. The fans are gonna see something just as bad when I wrestle you. When I look through you I think I see the shooter... I know there is no chance of that, but who cares. I said that I am the pain. My therapy is ending peoples careers. It will feel good to wipe that smug grin off your face... It will good to feel your windpipe crush. [Starks still stares down at the concrete. He looks up and begins to walks down the street into the New York night. Fade.] SK: Wow. LM: Yeah. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Prophets of Rage vs. Fabulous Ones ------------------------------------------------------------------------ SK: Another great tag match! I love this stuff! LM: Its also another instance of the IIWF veteran team taking on one of the up and coming teams! SK: The Fabs are a pretty good team...but the Prophets could be one of the top teams in the history of wrestling! LM: Isn't that overstating the issue? These aren't the same Prophets who were once rated the number one team in the sport. Let's see what they had to say? [Fade in: The Prophets stand before a blank brick wall. Nothing fancy, nothing exotic. Nothing remotely interesting at all. They wear matching black T-shirts and jeans. Even Unique's hair is styled in an unremarkable caesar cut. He looks sober and grim. Derek looks grim.] DR: Since the Prophets of Rage shook up their roster it seems people have been content to forget us. We look at the tag-team standings and we aren't even ranked as contenders. We beat everybody you put in front of us. We've been on the down low the most charismatic, the hardest working team you've ever seen. But no, you choose to snub us. Well, I promise you, we aren't staying out of the spotlight any more. DDUA: See, you're trying to see what you want to see, which is the most dangerous team in the whole of the IIWF just fade away and disappear because when it came right down to it, we was the baddest muhfuhs ever in the sport. Couldn't nobody mess wit' the Prophets. Couldn't nobody hang with the Dirty Doggie. But yo, there was that damn problem again, wasn't there. There was that damn problem that you needed to bring us down a level, make us all equals, stick Starks with us. Yo, you can't keep the Black man down. You can't keep us apart. And there ain't no way that we'll let you do that. So, you muhfuhs, we's gonna just see how bad you's be. The Fabulous Ones? They bring some muhfuh named Paul Wong to the dance? Well, they better bring Ms. Miki too, cause I'm a start bitin' people on the ass and there better be someone with a cute one to gnaw on. You hear me on that? There better damn well be. DR: Forget what you heard. We don't get recognition. We start playing by our own rules. You saw what happened to 4M. This is the year of the Rage again and we're coming back for our number one spot. You better damn well believe it. [Fade out.] SK: Allah sounds positively... sober. LM: This commentary brings us back to the question...what happened to McArthur? SK: Don't you watch "Inside", Larry? Maurice McArthur has been reunited with Joe Petrow, shaken but apparently not stirred. We'll hear from Team Sychosys tomorrow night in a special interview! I can't wait! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Deathbringer vs. Charles Scheffield ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: If we want to talk about match between one of the old guard and one of the new stars...this is that match! SK: Hey, I like Scheffield...but Deathbringer! We're talking about a former IIWF Champ here! LM: Both competitors had comments so let's cut to them now. [SCENE: The mortuary. The stone built hall is illuminated by the several torches which are hanging from the walls. A number of caskets, some lined up along the walls, some just standing in the middle of the room, have been opened and though all of them are empty, each one looks as if it has been prepared for use in the near future. The camera moves around the location and discovers Deathbringer sitting behind the old wooden table that has been placed in the rear left corner of the mortuary. The Blind Guardian is standing beside him, and the two mysterious figures obviously talk to each other, both sometimes pointing at some sort of book lying upon the table. As the Blind Guardian sees the camera approaching, he moves towards it and begins to speak] BG: Welcome to the mortuary, my friends! I'm sorry to say so, but I have to leave right now as there're some very important things to do. Then again I'm sure you'll be more than satisfied when listening to the 'Bringer himself. See you later! [With these words, the Blind Guardian moves out of sight and just the fraction of a second later, the camera's microphones pick up the sound of a squeaking door which is opened and closed again. Deathbringer, who meanwhile has taken the book from top of the table and put it somewhere underneath it, stands up and walks around the wooden construct until he comes to a halt right in front of the camera. The mere sound of his growling voice seems to make the camera shake, but as this only lasts for the blink of an eye, it might as well be an illusion.] DB: Greetings, mortals. [Deathbringer's words echo through the hall as he pauses for just about a second, a second that seems to last for eternity, before the Dark Destroyer continues to speak] DB: I want to make this plain and simple. At Snow Brawl you saw Death himself with his worst performance ever. At Snow Brawl you saw Death himself being humiliated by some preliminary mortal wrestlers. At Snow Brawl you saw Death himself losing in a kind of match which should be a perfect match for the man from the Dark Side. You saw the Master of Darkness failing to do his job. And you saw the Master of Darkness leaving the arena with his head hanging down... [Deathbringer lowers his head as he continues to speak] DB: I let you down, Soldiers of Hell. I let you down, fans of the IIWF, I let all of you down, mortals... I should have been the one to dominate the competition like I did since the beginning of time, but instead of that, I just... failed. [Deathbringer raises his head again, and this time his piercing red eyes become visible, which couldn't be seen before.] DB: But this belongs to the past. The old Deathbringer - and I mean the Deathbringer who destroyed Requiem, who forced Dan Kauffman and Otto Verhoeven to leave this league, who won the IIWF Championship title with ease - is going to return to the wrestling rings... Yes, I found him deep within myself [Deathbringer points at his chest with his right hand] and I am going to let him out again. It will be the same Deathbringer who was betrayed by the Coroner and came back... It will be the same Deathbringer who was jumped from behind by the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin and came back... It will be the same Deathbringer who was taken out of action by Requiem and came back... So tell me, mortals, what do you do against a man that cannot be hurt or wounded? What do you do against a man who comes back again and again and again? What do you do against a man who has been walking on the Dark Side for all eternity? Maybe we will find out this Saturday night. Charles Scheffield... My mortal friend, I do not know what you know about me... and I do not care. Just let me tell you something. Sure, your teams have defeated my teams twice... But as you should know, Scheffield, one cannot always chose his teammates. And instead of being proud to have carried away a victory about a team led by the Dark Destroyer himself, you run back to the head office of the IIWF and want a match against the man that strikes fear into the heart of every mortal? Scheffield... Shall I tell you, what I think of you? I think you are quite like Dan Kauffman, Otto Verhoeven and Requiem. Maybe you possess some of their wrestling skills. Maybe you even possess a portion of their courage. But they, each and everyone of them carrying a big name, all had to learn that there is no bigger name in the wrestling business or anywhere else on this planet than the name of Death himself. The Reaper taught all of them a painful lesson, and today they are no where to be found amongst the names of this league's roster anymore. Do you want to join their fate, Scheffield? Do you really want to mess with a creature which possesses powers far beyond your imagination? Whether you do or not, on Saturday night the two of us have to meet in the squared circle, and Scheffield, I will show the whole wrestling world, that the old Deathbringer has returned to the rings. So whatever happens... Do not take it personally... [Deathbringer laughs in his mysterious way for a few seconds before continuing to speak.] DB: This Saturday Night I will spell history. And after that... Well, I am really curious as to what force will dare to step into my path... Yes, I wonder what force will be the next to be destroyed by the Reaper... IIWF, your worst nightmare is going to return. The nightmare which you all call DEATHBRINGER... Wrestlers of the IIWF, prepare to meet your maker! [Fade as Deathbringer turns around and walks towards the wooden table.] [The screen fades to a shot looking up at a large home. It is lavishly constructed with an expensive looking water fountain in the middle of the front yard. There is a long marble stairway leading to the front door of the house. On either side of the bannisters of the stair way are sculptured statues of lions which appear to have blue gems of some sort embedded into the eye sockets. The house itself appears to have been built of stones of varying shapes and sizes sealed very closely together. It is almost a dreary looking abode... but that is simply due to it's austerity. Almost incongruous with the seemingly medieval scene is a white, double stretched limousine parked along the well manicured green lawn in front of the fountain. It appears that even the driver is not residing within the vehicle as the untinted front window reveals no one is in there. Apparently, it is simply there for looks. The shot then cuts away swiftly to a view which is apparently atop the stone structure. Looking away from the camera is a man wearing an impressive looking black pants with matching sports jacket with ever-so-slightly extended tails. His long blond hair is tied back with an elegant black ribbon. He is resting one hand on the stone masonry overlooking the grounds... seeming to be captivated by the view. Finally, the man turns around, and he is recognized as Charles Scheffield, with his trademark confident expression... yet the almost disturbingly calm look in his eye... disturbing because one can only appear to be that confident, yet calm if that person has everything very convincingly under his control. It is a very real and sobering expression to those who are not around high class, powerful men often. It is the look which seperates common people from the people who have amounted to something their entire lives. It is a look which makes anyone not of like stature feel very insecure, and constantly checking themselves to make sure that they themselves are not violating the order in which a man of that stature lives in. In other words, the average man would feel like plain trash when standing toe to toe with Charles Scheffield.] CS: Greetings, once again. This week, I welcome you to my wonderful home in Connecticut. I know what many of you at home viewing this must be thinking... and that is "Just how do you keep your lawn that green in Connecticut in the middle of winter?" [Scheffield chuckles after he says this. Again, the way he says this makes the average person feel like an outsider... a simple joke from a high class person rarely lightens the mood for a commoner... it normally makes them feel uneasy... unsure if it is right to laugh with the man... afraid it may be an insult. Scheffield is the kind of man who can even exude this kind of aura of class through television... to an extent that people watching the IIWF feel very privaleged to have a man such as he on their side.] CS: No... seriously. I realize that most of you are wondering just why it is I eliminated Byron in our Snow Brawl matchup. I am sure many of you are falsely jumping to the conclusion that I am turning against Byron. Anyone who may believe _that_ isn't correct in the least. You see, there are times when a man must use others to attain a goal for himself. Byron happened to be the man I had to beat to move foreward. He has had his time in the "limelight", so to speak, so it was time for him to step aside and take a bow of humility to Charles P. Scheffield. I accepted graciously by eliminating him from the ring. I realize many of you see it much differently... but my career hasn't even begun here in the greatest organization on the planet... that being the double eye, double you, "F". I have had to bow in humiliation to others many times before. There was Richard Blue, Stonebreaker, and of course Luke Steele. All great competitors... no doubt... but I must say none of them have the will to become great to the extent that I do... and perhaps that is because they need not try very hard to succeed. They have been in this business much longer than I have... and have been more successful than I have thus far. I am merely getting my feet wet. So I must continue to strive for excellence... and that meant I had to purely seek out the win. Getting redemption over Steele just moments earlier wasn't quite enough for me... I had to add one more casualty to the battle. Byron would have done the same to me... and I would have understood... now I must do it again. [Scheffield begins pacing further along the spacious balcony.] CS: This Saturday, I face a man who came to my aid once before. Deathbringer, I was very thankful at the time when you came to aid myself in thwarting the shameful attack on Byron by Luke Steele. They were getting the better of me, but you saved the day that night. Now we are on opposite corners and I am afraid I am going to have to throw all of that away. I am interested in only one thing from here on out, and that is forewarding my own career at _all_ costs. Deathbringer, it is truly a shame that our friendship... or whatever you may want to call it must end now. I definitely respect your abilities inside the ring... but now we must pit ourselves against eachother in battle. You will be my first step towards greatness no matter what the cost. This Saturday will be the beginning of what will hopefully be my climb to the top. I may never make it... but I have to try. [Scheffield now looks into the sky. A hardened look crosses his face.] CS: Now if there is one thing I would like to address on a personal level, that would be cheating and backstabbing! If there is one thing I cannot stand in the world of professional wrestling, that is another wrestler ruining a great match through interference... especially when no other wrestler will come out to his aid! Therefore, I make this proclamation that when it is in my power to do so, any wrestler in the IIWF can count on Charles Scheffield to come to that person's aid. Friend or foe matters naught to me. It doesn't seem that there is another wrestler here that is willing to take a stand against injustice in the ring... and the men in charge cannot do anything about it... it is much too sporatic. Since that is the case, be prepared to see myself as the man who saves other wrestlers from the hands of others who believe there is safty in numbers. I realize that there is a lot of risk on my part to do this, but I feel that true one on one combat, or whatever combat there is within the rules should be what is stuck to during the match. Afterwards, the combat should discontinue forthright! Whenever that is breached, be prepared to to see the breach duly remedied. [Scheffield straightens the sleeves on his coat before he continues.] CS: Finally, I would like to congratulate Jim Steele on being a dependable partner in our match. I greatly appreciate you sticking to the rules and keeping our common goal in mind. Perhaps all this hype about you being Luke Steele's brother shouldn't have bothered me so much. I wouldn't let relations stop me from climbing to the top... so I never should have believed that you would have. Giving up one of the most powerful rights without possibly another chance at it ever for a relative would be foolhardy in the greatest of ways, so I apologize for putting you in with that lot. Good luck in your future endeavors, Meatman. Hopefully the next time we cross paths, I can prove to be a much greater challenge. Until next time... carry on. [Scheffield walks out of view of the camera, then the camera fades out.] SK: If this is the bottom of the card... what a card it is! LM: There is no night on free television like IIWF Saturday Night! Don't miss it! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| New Blood |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... LM: We have a number of competitors who have things to say as we round out this edition of Countdown. The first two are newcomers to out ranks! In the last few influxes of rookies we have seen Rick Williams, Christopher Stonebreaker, Timothy Turner, Derek Mota, Duncan Macbeth. Will the American Dragons or Battalion become the next stars of the IIWF? [The shot opens on the IIWF interview area, IIWF banner proudly displayed in the background. Standing in front of the banner, arms crossed, are two young men. The one on the left is obviously Italian, with short black hair and a clean shaven face. He is clad in a black leather jacket with no visible logos visible on the front and long black tights with a green dragon down the right leg, breathing fire. The man on the right is tan, with shoulder length dirty blond hair. He is also clean shaven, and is wearing a white leather jacket and white long tights with a red dragon down the right leg. As the viewers take this all in, the man on the left speaks.] JS: Good evening, IIWF. Allow us to introduce ourselves. I'm Joe Scalercio, and the man on my left is one Bob Ivey. [Bob tips an imaginary hat to the folks at home, and speaks in a Texas twang.] BI: Howdy. JS: What you find yourselves currently looking at is the newest tag team to enter the tag teams ranks here in Portland. After a month of gruelling tryouts, the IIWF has decided to sign me and my partner. And believe me, it's one of the best moves this federation has ever made. BI: I know, right now, every one of y'all at home watching on the tube is thinking the same thing: "Who are these two yutzes?" Simple. We're the rebirth of actual tag team wrestling in this fed. JS: What Bob is saying should be taken with emphesis on the word "wrestling". I mean, let's be honest here...does anyone in the tag ranks WRESTLE anymore? Everywhere I look, all I see is brawling, brawling, chair shots, table shots, people charging the ring to interfere in matches... BI: And a few weeks ago, one of those painted Harlequins used a damn CHAINSAW! JS: What we represent is something the IIWF needs to return to... wrestling without weapons, without interference. Just four men locking up to see who's the best. BI: Don't get us wrong...me and Joe ain't afraid to mix it up with any varmint who wants to go "extreme" on us...but there's something more satisfying when you pin someone, one, two, three, WITHOUT having to resort to slamming the poor bastards with a steel chair eight times in a row. JS: I was raised to wrestle like REAL men do...getting up close and personal, taking a man down with your own two hands. And Bob here was raised in the same tradition. Hard work equal success...just look at the Natural Predators. BI: But we're not here to throw around names in a poor effort to get matches with the teams around here. What we are here to do is make every tag team here come to US...because they want to wrestle the best. We're not saying we're the best right now. Hell, this fed does have some of the best tag teams around. What Joe and I want to accomplish is to make such an impression that teams that want to challenge themselves will come to us, two-on-two. No jumping from behind. No cage matches, no barb-wire junk...unless it comes to that, of course. JS: We don't back down from anyone. We want nothing more then good, solid wrestling...except for the 1, 2, 3. That's this tag team's list of 'things to do'...and we're going to get cracking on it. BI: IIWF, take a good long look...what we have here is a wrestling standout at Oregon State, and one old Texas Army brat. American born, American made. JS: Any team, any time. [Scalercio and Ivey turn around and show the back of their jackets to the camera. Joe's has a green dragon curled up on the back, staring out, while Bob has a red dragon, wings outstretched, breathing fire. Underneath both pictures is, in white on Joe and black on Bob, the word DRAGONS.] JS: IIWF, meet the American Dragons. [The Dragons keep their backs turn and their logos onscreen as the camera fades out.] [Cold and heartless darkness fills the screen. The wind whispers sorrowfully in the background, and a low hum on a guitar is heard. The sounds of an M-16 going off breaks the silence, screams of soldiers as they charge into battle. A tank shell goes off with a loud explosions, and bombs drop like flies, yet the darkness remains. A roaring thunder follows as sounds of jet fighters, speeding from the distance, approach at breakneck speeds. The screen brightens a little, and the F-16 Falcons fly by in the crimson haze. The nozzle of a tank cannon appears, firing off shells. Then, and only then, a deep rumbling voice cuts in as the screen goes black once again.] VOICE: From the battlefield to the grave, I was there. From the war to the winter, I survived both. I've seen the blood of a fellow soldier on my hands. A soldier I killed myself, but who was on the wrong side of the war. I was the one man wrecking crew in the War, I was the most powerful of them all. I was, and am, a Battalion. [The massive cloaked figure steps out from the darkness and the soft tunes of a war song begin playing. He stands about two meters tall, his broad shoulders and enormous arms betray his size. Cold blue eyes stare unemotionally at an object which looms in the distance. The short brown hair is brushed to one side, the jagged features of his face are illuminated by the only light source, a candle. The figure wears a bomber jacket, indigo, with a patch of a the USA flag attached to the left breast. Under it is worn a simple black shirt. Camouflage pants adorn his legs, and combat boots cover his feet. An assault rifle is strapped across his back.] BATTALION: My name is Battalion, and I have witnessed the murders of many, the deaths of many, the senseless slaughter of many. I have killed many with my hands, many with my feet, and many with my blood. I have no aspirations but one. A goal... to eliminate all my opponents. My name, Battalion, represents my strength. I have the power of an entire military unit coursing through my veins. I could crush an opponent with my amazing choke hold, or send them to their grave with my Apocalypse Bomb! Yes, I have come to the IIWF for one reason, and one reason only. It is no longer for the fame, or for the glory, it's for the win. Beware, for Battalion is here. [The candle light goes out as the war tune comes to the end. The crimson letters "Battalion: January 1998" flash across the screen, just as the final flickering lights fade from the remaining sparks of the candle.] ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Trash Talk |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... LM: Before we get to the rest of our Trash Talk, first let's go to a special video package featuring Ike Sampson, who has just recently returned from the extended tour of Japan that kept him out of Snow Brawl. Here's a little recap of Ike's journey: [A computer-generated plane flies above a map, a la Indiana Jones movies. The plane leaves Portland, Oregon, and travels across the Pacific Ocean, touching down in Tokyo.  "Kiss" by Prince plays in the background. A voice-over provides the commentary:] VO: It has been said time and time again in our sport, that to be a true superstar, you've got to get it done in Japan... [Shots of "Showboat" Eddie Cannon locking up with Hiro Nogami... "Dirty" Doug Simpkins clotheslining Mitsuhara Konaga... Christopher Fantasy with a sleeper hold on Akira Hashimoto...] VO: And nobody wants to be a superstar more... than Ike Sampson.  [Furious montage of Sampson brawling his way through his Japanese tour: Bodyslamming the Black Samurai... Shoulderblocking luchadore El Dorado... Clotheslining Hiro Nogami... Landing an amazing plancha on Akira Nagasaki... and then a series of Deep Freeze piledrivers:  Samurai, Dorado, Nogami, Nagasaki, Konaga, and finally, a slow-motion one on Hashimoto.] VO: After dominating the stars of the Pacific Rim... [Scene of Ike chatting with Japanese reporters in the locker room, posing for publicity photos...] VO: And earning the respect of their media... [Scene of Ike being mobbed by Japanese children, signing autographs and laughing and carrying on with them...] VO: And the fans... [Scene of Ike getting off a plane at Portland airport, complete with a handful of reporters and photographers.] VO: The Big Dog has returned home. [Ike poses for a couple of photos, turns, and spotting the camera, comes over for a few words.] IKE: The Big Dog's back, Double-Eye Double-You F.  And he's got a bigger bite than ever.  [Ike winks at the camera.] Ike: Watch out... [He then turns and walks towards the snack bar, mobbed by a group of young Portland fans.  Fade.] [The camera abruptly turns in with very little technical etiquette. When it comes into focus, the scene appears to be a long forgotten room of IIWF Towers, perhaps an out of date editing facility. There is a thick layer of dust on nearly everything, the sparse few tables in the room, the reel to reel sound tapes, the beta VCR's. The lighting is not dim, but tinged with age. The room contains approximatly 5000 inhabitants... 4998 dust bunnies, the stoic Stone, hair slicked back as usual and wearing a blue leather jacket, and his compatriot, the rebel without a clue, Richard "Moxy" Blue. Blue wears a neon pink T-shirt and orange jeans, and his trademark faded denim jacket and crescent moon sunglasses. He is a living smile as he leans back on a rickety chair.] RMB: Sooooooooo. I betch you're all wondering. _What_ could possibly be the motivation for kicking Icehawk's hiney for a third time? Why would I give up the chance to have my pick at any opponent I wanted this month? Well, I'll break it down for ya. First, I have a confession to make. I'm an obnoxious little twerp who was screaming for attention. But does that make me a _bad_ person? Of course not! Second, I'm gonna be getting all the matches I want anyway. [Stone nods emotionlessly. He picks up some bristleboard from an offscreen table.] RMB: Not yet Stoneman! Anyway, like I was saying... what was I saying again? STONE: ... RMB: [Theatrical] What we have here is a failure to communicate. ANYWAY, uh...OH YEAH! I'm gonna get lotsa matches I want cause I got _BIG_ plans, boys and girls. I'm talking Unibomber strategy. I'm talking "Whoa, those are some big plans!" type of plans. And mark my words... [Blue's childish face takes a serious tone. In this light, the battle scars on his forehead and under his nose are quite visible, when they usually aren't.] RMB: Before 1998 is over, Richard Blue is gonna be a major player in IIWF's game. People will speak the name of Richard Blue out of acknowledgement of my achievements. People like Petrow, people like Thunder, people like our distinguished champion. They will all be forgotten. The "Big Deal" in IIWF will be Richard Blue. And it all begins Saturday. And finally, all the IIWF fans will get what they want... and what they need. [Blue's tone changes spontaneously, and we see the happy go lucky little nimrod we already know.] RMB: So without further adoodeedoo, let's sing the song everyone will be singing New Years Day, 1999! Hit the music, Stoneman! [Stone turns on a reel to reel four track machine, with a version of Joan Jett and the Blackhearts "I Love Rock 'n Roll" with the lyrics edited out plays. Moxy grabs an out of date mic -- not plugged in either -- and sings. Stone turns over the bristleboard, revealing the first "new lyric", and continues to turn over cards so all you kids can sing at home.] # Here comes a guy who's really not all there A scrawny little guy and he's got blue hair He always brings a smile In righteous Moxy style # # And you'll never find another guy like him (NOT HIM!) Now you're subjected to his all bizarre whims! (Sing it!) # # We love Moxy Blue # # Even though we know he's a little crazy # # We love Moxy Blue # # We wouldn't want him any other way! # # He's done more weird stuff than the Pope And worst of all we know that he's not on dope! # # He really likes his ass His favourite fish is bass # # You got nowhere to go now that he's here (OH YEAH) So why don't you be a good boy and get him a beer? (Sing it!) # # We love Moxy Blue # # Even though we know we know he's a little crazy # # We love Moxy Blue # # We wouldn't want him any other way! # [Solo while Blue does his infamous Moxtrot dance. Stone continues to throw away lyric cards, and Blue scrambles to pick them up again before the music starts.] [Out of sync] # Yes it's Moxy Blue And that's good news for you # # He asks the all hard questions (HE DOES TOO!) # # "If one synchro swimmer drowns, do they all drown, do they all drown too?" (SING IT!) # [The music takes on a surreal effect as Moxy no longer sings... but the sounds of a large phantom crowd sing instead, perhaps representing RMB's delusions of grandeur. The camera seems to slow down a bit as well...] * We love Moxy Blue * Even though we know he's a little crazy * We love Moxy Blue * We wouldn't want him any other way! [The chant fades as Blue frolics off camera, kicking his heels. Stone removes the last card, and the last one reads "Parking Meters". Perhaps Stone is a Dylan fan. Poorly edited cut to next clip.] [Timothy N. Turner sits in a Range Rover, looking over the fields of Kentucky. He looks a little wistful.] TNT: What a week. In the space of a few short days I have discovered that two friends of mine were in a bad car accident and another two friends are in danger of losing their marriage. It makes my problems seem a little inconsequential. However, I will perservere. Mota...you will be dealt with. Duncan is more than capable of taking care of you. Do yourself a favour after that...vanish. Don't make me face you. Ryan Howard. You are nothing but a homophobic fool with one knee. Run along and play. Stay away from the big boys. [Fade] [Handheld camera approaches farmhouse. Elsie Steele, wife of the Meatman, wrings her hands. The Meatboy, the 14 yr. old son of the Meatman, huddles next to her.] ELSIE: Thank the Lord, you've come. I don't know what to do. He's changed, horribly, and I fear it's this god-forsaken wrestling. [Elsie and the Meatboy enter home. On the outside the house appears to be rustic and plain, but on the inside it is a rather tasteful country manor. Elsie stops in the entrance hall, and turns to the camera.] ELSIE: All was just hunky-dory 'til a few weeks back. He'd work at the plant, then wrestle in the IIWF. It wasn't never meant to be nothin' but a pleasant respite for the man. I first noticed things were amiss when he was ganged up in the ring by that nice Lord Byron and that dreadful Dead... MEATBOY: Deathbringer. ELSIE: ...Deathbringer. He didn't lose or nothin,' he was just, you know -- he didn't like what happened. He came home and was real quiet, wouldn't talk -- just hung his head and muttered. Then, after he went so far at that Snow-Show thingamajig... MEATBOY: Snow Brawl, Mom. ELSIE: ...Only to lose because some wrestler cheated! MEATBOY: Shadoe Rage, Mom. ELSIE: Well, he came home and his eyes were blazin' with fire! Now, all he does is train. He doesn't work, he doesn't sleep. He just dives into this -- regimen, hour upon hour, day and night until he topples over! Look at him! [Camera pokes around a corner into the dining room. The Meatman sits at a large wooden table, lit by a massive iron chandelier. His face is low, his brows furrowed, as he methodically shovels fork fulls of pork roast into his drooling mouth. The camera surreptitiously returns to the hallway.] ELSIE: Weight training. Says he's too light. Chicken parmesan, salisbury steak, ham hocks, Kielbasa, ice cream, pie, cake... the man is in agony. Make him stop! [Camera peeks around corner again. The Meatman, a look of intensity drilled into his face, stares at a twelve pack of Budweiser beer. He grips the first bottle and downs it, then takes a towel from around his neck and wipes sweat from his brow. Camera returns to Elsie, still whispering in the hall.] ELSIE: Now, he has the Meatman Challenge coming up. A test of endurance and "meatiness" between himself and another IIWF wrestler. Now, I understand no one's stepped forth to take him up on the challenge. Thank you! Thank you, gentlemen. Don't indulge him! I know some of you men are crazy but none of you are THAT crazy. Hopefully this whole thing will go away. MEATMAN: Ma, he's gonna put in a late night agin. Wrasslin' school. ELSIE: You mean...? Oh lord. He never cared too much about wrestling. He used to just be content to fight. Now, this intense, excruciating schedule is gonna kill him! [Camera enters rec room. The Meatman sits in a feather down sofa, two feet from a wide screen T.V. Mountains of wrestling tapes are piled in the room amongst bottles of beer and bags of Cheeto's. An IIWF house show blares from the set.] ELSIE: [whispers off camera] Look at him, gentlemen. Look at Jim Steele. Have you ever seen such discipline? Have you ever seen such sacrifice? He's like a man possessed! I don't know what to do! I want my husband back! [Camera cuts back to Elsie who breaks down in tears. Fade.] [Scene comes up on Kuyler Greyson, standing in the middle of an empty arena, smiling...as the camera cuts to a closeup of him, the smile is even more evident...and as the camera pulls back, two figures move to stand on either side of him, Bear and Grey Phoenix, the Natural Predators...both are wearing their tag team championship belts...and both are also smiling.] KG: Some walked out of the ring... unable to take the stress. [clip of the Fabs leaving the ring to chase Simon O'Neal] KG: Some fell apart in the ring... [Clip of Starks/Psycho fighting, knocking the Drifters over in the process.] KG: And some came out on top... [Clip of Petrow, Bear, and Peterson in the ring...then Petrow standing in triumph] KG: And some came out of it... living up to their potential. [Clip of Bear and Grey Phoenix holding the belts up to the crowd amidst the cheers.] KG: The future is today. Enough said. [Fade to black.] [Simon O'Neal walks into a locker room, grabs a chair, unfolds it, and sits down in it, staring straight into the camera.] SO: Let's assess the situation, shall we? I'm a short, small wrestler who is too slow to really run with the other cruiserweights. I'm all right in aerial maneuvers, but nothing special. Same with technical moves- I'm all right, but no expert. I'm a tag team wrestler whose partner just dumped him. And I've got a personality disorder that, to quote my second ex-wife, makes me "A complete asshole." [He pauses] SO: So, should I cry? Should I whine, or bitch, or moan my fate? I don't think so. The world's nothing but a toilet, and it just dumped on me. [He shrugs] SO: Not that I'm complaining. I've been screwed over, now I'll screw someone else over. That the way the world works. [He stands up and leaves.] [SCENE: IIWF Interview Area. Marty Warnett sits on a chair, wearing his usual jeans and T-shirt combination, with a pair of sunglasses tucked into the top of the tee. He sports two days growth of stubble, and is rubbing his chin as Dross arrives, takes a chair and sits down.] TD: Marty, it's good to see you back full-time within the IIWF. MW: Well, hello there Timmy-dude. Yup, it's great to be back in the IIWF, I'm looking forward to the future, I guess that bout with Billy gave me my desire to compete back. There'a a belt out there with my name on it, I mean, I've beaten Kowalski, I was cheated out of the Intercontinental belt, I have nothing to fear, except for a worldwide shortage of alcohol, and extensive DNA tests. TD: That bout at Snow Brawl... it's rare that the IIWF pits fan favourites against each other. Your thoughts? MW: Well, Billy wanted the bout, and I think it speaks volumes for us that we put on a great bout. I guess the crowd just got bored at seeing great wrestling. I knew I should brought out a barbed wire candy floss for all those hardcore freaks out there ... TD: Speaking of Billy, how is he? [Marty looks down at the ground, sweeps his hair back, then replies. ] MW: I guess he's about as well as can be... he had to have emergency surgery back in Portland, that light burned his retina pretty badly. I was there after the surgery, he was kinda confused from the anaesthetic. When he awoke, he held my hand, and you know what he said? TD: Marty, that's private, if you don't want to say... [Marty wipes a tear from his eye.] MW: I'm sorry... you know, Tim, he thought I was his dad? His words ...they really moved me. "Dad, dad, tell Marty ... tell him, it's not his fight. Williams is my problem, not his. I don't want him to get sidetracked in a meaningless feud. Let him fight for titles. I want Williams, but I need a few weeks, a few warm-up bouts." TD: Billy wants to return? To in-ring action? MW: Yeah, I know. His vision will always be affected, I just don't know, no, I didn't know. I do now, though. Dross, I'll honour his wishes. Get on with my career, but, make sure he's ok. Billy, if you want Williams, you can have him. I'll be behind you every step of the way. I'm sorry, Dross, can we stop this? [Fade.] [The scene is a featureless interview area. Across the back wall is a grainey black and white photo from Snow Brawl: Billy Shakespeare about to lauch the "Curtain Call" on a prone Marty Warnett, "To Excess" Rick Williams in the background, the flashgun he holds exploding in what appears in the photo as a white-hot flare. At the table are seated a woman, at one time attractive but beginning to show some age, recognized by some as former women's champion Mistress Quickly, trainer to Billy Shakespeare. Seated to either side of her is "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare and noted optical surgeon, Dr. Biggs] MQ: [It is obvious that she has been crying] Cards and letters have been pouring into the Portland offices showing concern for Billy Shakespeare. This will be our only official announcement. Doctor. DB: [Holding up a chart and a number of x-rays of Billy's skull] We performed operations to remove internal scarring from the retina's of one Billy Shakespeare. The type of light that his eyes were exposed to was not meant to be directly viewed by human beings. We consider our operation to have been a success. However, 100 percent recovery is not to be expected, and it is believed within the scientific community that Mr. Shakesepare will be fortunate if he regains even 10 percent of total sight. MQ: Right now, Billy can see only the faintest images with hie left eye, and he can't see anything with his right. [She sobs dramatically] Billy Shakespeare is blind...he will never wrestle again! BS: Nay, says I! [There is am excited murmurr from the unseen media present.] BS: I will not finish out my days blinded and staggering like King Lear, led about by a fool. Wrestling, like acting, is instinct. Billy Shakespeare will return again! DB: This is highly against recommendations, sir. MQ: Billy, accept it, you're blind! BS: Yea, I will not be the same Billy Shakespeare for some time. When I suffered the blow to my head, they said I would never wrestle again. They told me stop when mine ribs were cracked and shattered. But Billy Shakesepare returned. He will return again. Indeed said Lear "I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course." MQ: Think of what you are saying. You are addled. Wasn't Lear also blind to the truth of his own demise? BS: I will not be Billy Shakespeare for some time. An the fans only expect the best from Billy. So for that time when I recover...when I surmount this next challenge... I will go masked so as not to defame mine own image. [From beneath the table Billy pull sout a black, eyeless hood which he pulls over his face.] BS: Creed wrestles with only one eye. I shall wrestle with none. The fans want me in the ring...I want to be there. For the moment I am "Blacklight" Billy Shakespeare. [He abruptly leaves the table] MQ: I fear he has gone insane again. DB: This is most irregular. [Cut back to the studio.] LM: That's all we have tonight! Make sure you tune in tomorrow for the best two free hours of wrestling on the face of the planet! SK: I'll be there! It'll be hot! LM: And don't forget to tune in again next week for Countdown when my co-host will be... a surprise! SK: I'll do it again. [The lights in the studio fade as Larry and Shawn continue to talk to one another. 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+