[Cut to footage captioned, "IIWF Saturday Night: 27 December 1997." "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder, Steve "the Fury" Kowalski and Serge Annis are wrestling in a three-way dance for the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship. The match is well advanced, and all three men look exhausted. The original crowd noise is dimly heard under a voice-over:] VO: In the heat of the battle, all is fair. And when the smoke clears, only one man can stand victorious. The others... must fall. [Annis reaches down and pulls Brody Thunder away from Steve Kowalski, and hurls him bodily into the turnbuckles! The ring shudders under the impact, and Steve Kowalski is up, rushing the corner, dragging Brody Thunder out of it... He places the champion's head between his legs, hooks his arms behind his back... the crowd begins to scream... the original commentary is heard:] 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 chiselled 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...] SR: Spinebuster Slam! Watkins nails Annis with the 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: 1 -- 2 -- 3!] TD: Brody Thunder is eliminated! Brody Thunder has lost the World's Heavyweight Championship! Brody Thunder is out! SR: [sputtering] But... But... Mad Dog Watkins! [The crowd continues unabated in perhaps the loudest mixed pop that has ever been heard in the IIWF Coliseum. Mad Dog Watkins slips back out of the ring and heads up the aisle, leaving the motionless carcass of Serge Annis behind him... Steve Kowalski rolls off Brody Thunder, and quickly drops atop of Serge Annis for the second pin. D'Amato registers the count: 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! The shot freezes as Kowalski stands, raising the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship above the form of Annis, laid out by Watkins' spinebuster. The soundtrack to Serge Annis' subsequent comments fades over this scene:] SA: The next time I see you, Watkins, you'd best cover up and run... because you are the only reason I am not wearing the IIWF World Championship right now! And for that, you must pay. [Cut to footage captioned, "IIWF Saturday Night: 3 January 1998." Mad Dog Watkins stands in the ring with Tim Dross, giving an interview in front of the IIWF Coliseum crowd:] MDW: So get angry with the Mad Dog for "causing you to lose the belt".  Get angry with the "old man who doesn't know his spot".  'Cause, son -- you're going to need every bit of that anger and more if you hope to get past the Mad Dog alive. [The screen flashes a brilliant white, the pounding riff of "Paint it Black" accompanies footage captioned, "IIWF Snow Brawl: 17 January 1998." Mad Dog Watkins and Serge Annis come to the ring as team-mates... but soon end up brawling all over the arena! Cut to various shots of the two brawling all the way up the aisle, into the stands... over which comes the voice-over once more:] VO: Sometimes, even true warriors forget what they are fighting for, lost in the glory of the fight. Tonight, Mad Dog Watkins and Serge Annis will meet inside a fifteen foot steel cage. Tonight, one man will stand victorious, and the other... shall fall. [As Annis and Mad Dog Watkins continue to unload on one another with vicious rights and lefts, the opening graphics burst onto the screen:] ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour one...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! Qualcomm Stadium, San Diego, California 31 January 1998 [The opening graphics fade through to a wide-angle shot of the massive Qualcomm Stadium, jam-packed by a crowd of around seventy thousand excited fans. The IIWF blimp floats over the heads of fans in temporary bleachers on the floor of the open-air stadium, the sky above clear and the air warm. In the centre of the stadium is the ringside enclosure, raised above ground level by ten or twelve feet, with a huge lighting rig constructed above the ring, supported by four large scaffolds at each corner of the enclosure. Two figures are in the ring, and as the opening music fades out, a rant can be heard already in progress. The voice is none other than that of "Sychosys" Joe Petrow:] JP: ...heard me, Dross, I said get your non-award winning ass up here and hold the mic for us, 'cause we ain't got all night to spend on this! [The Sychopaths cheer, as "Sychosys" Joe Petrow and "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur have prematurely entered the ring, and Petrow can be heard yelling to Tim Dross at the announcer's table.  Petrow is dressed in blue jeans, and a blue "United States Olympic Curling Team" jacket, holding the large garden hoe he commandeered at Snow Brawl, flanked by a decidedly unhappy McArthur, absent-mindedly holding a small trophy in his right hand, wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and a slight scowl on his otherwise cold, expressionless face. Both men also sport "Quickstrike" style sunglasses.] TD: [over the headset] Well, this is not... SR: [over the headset] Go on Dross, I don't think you want to make Crazy Joe wait! [On the advice of the Soundbite, Tim Dross grabs the microphone, and heads into the ring to meet with Team Sychosys, addressing a wild-eyed Petrow.] TD: Well, Joe, in the wake of your impressive performance at Snow Brawl two weeks back, I suppose the first question to ask would be... JP: [interrupting] Dross, when did I say you could talk?  The only reason you're up here right now, is because as the... NUMBER ONE... ranked actively competing wrestler in the sport today [pop from the Sychopaths], it is beneath me to hold the microphone for myself anymore.  You get to ask anything you want on Friday, but now, this is OUR time to further OUR agenda, capiche? TD: [slightly annoyed] Very well, Mr. Petrow, what would you like to talk about tonight?  And what's with the hoe? JP: [placing the hoe over his right shoulder] Thought you'd never ask. They say they call me "Crazy Joe", well now they can call me Hoeman!  And what I'd _like_ to talk about is how Team Sychosys won the big tag team battle royale at Snow Brawl, and then went on to defeat the Lost Boyz to become the NEW IIWF World Tag Team Champions! But I can only talk about half of that now, can I? We won the battle royale alright.  And then... the same forty security officers who would _surround_ the ring for my match with Chris     Quitley, the same forty security officers who would hold me at _gunpoint_ to keep me from making that title match later in the night, those same forty officers stand idly by, as the Prostates of     Rage assault my injured partner, and abuse him in... [Petrow makes     a disgusted look, while McArthur remains stonefaced] ...I can't     even say it Dross.  You remember what a carefree, happy guy Mr.     Majestyk used to be.  Now look what the Prostates did to him! TD: Mr. Majestyk, your... JP; No, to you, it's the "AWARD WINNING Mr. Majestyk," Dross! TD: [sighs] ...the award winning Mr. Majestyk, your comments on the events of Snow Brawl. [McArthur stands firm, the fury in his eyes almost escaping from behind his Quickstrike shades, as he speaks... slow... calculating:] 4M: ...dark and lonely...on a summer's night...kill my landlord...kill my landlord....watchdog barking...do he bite?  kill my landlord...kill my... [Petrow steps in to put a stop to the spectacle.] JP: It's all right, 4M, I think they've heard enough. TD: Well, Joe Petrow, you turned in one of the greatest single night performances in the history of the IIWF, and I have heard that Team Sychosys will be granted the first shot at the new IIWF champions the Natural Predators, can't you at least find some satisfaction in that? JP: [turns sharply to look at Dross] Satisfaction?  You're easily satisfied, Dross -- all-you-can-eat day at the Waffle Barn, that's     good enough for you.  But take... a look... at me!  I am the top ranked wrestler in the entire IIWF, _bar none_!  We go out there two, three times a night just to keep this damn company solvent. I _am_ the one true showstopper, the one true savior, the one true ICON... of this sport!  And what do I have to show for it, Dross? [Petrow stares down at his waist, then looks back at Dross] Not a god-damned thing down there!  The only thing I have from all this, [Petrow brings his hoe down from his shoulder] is this old, washed up hoe.  What kind of fun can I have with an old, washed up hoe, Dross? TD: Joe, I... JP: Oh wait, I shouldn't be asking you.  I should be asking Brody Thunder!  I hear he's going to be spending the next sixty days at home with an old, washed up hoe.  I'm sure he can think of ways to get some satisfaction from his hoe! TD: Joe Petrow, you're starting to cross the line here! JP: Oh, I'm only _starting_ to cross the line now, huh?  Well, pilgrim, I reckon you oughta quit flappin' ya gums right now, so's I move a little faster then!  Brody Thunder was on his way to becoming the most respected IIWF champion of all time. Then in under the month, he loses the belt fair and square to Kowalski... where the hell is Kowalski ranked again? [The Sychopaths respond with the chant, "THIRTY-EIGHT! THIRTY-EIGHT! THIRTY-EIGHT!"] JP: Thank you.  Anyway, he loses to Kowalski, then wins the belt back by running over the guy after fighting in a garbage can. Then he loses it again by falling off the IIWF's crowning engineering achievement!  Thanks to you, brother, the IIWF World Heavyweight belt... isn't even worth the tin it's printed on.  In record time, Brody Thunder, not even counting the way you chickened out of fighting me, you have become the second biggest disgrace this sport has ever seen! TD: Now, Joe, I think I see where this is going, and I agree you had a tremendous victory at Snow Brawl, but there is no need to kick a guy when he's down! JP: [smirks] Dross, I gave the man a chance.  I stood there in the center of the ring, I offered my hand, and I offered a chance for him to keep his dignity and honor.  And he walked away from that.  Now... Chris Quitley, will only be known for his last great hurrah... losing the Intercontinental title to Quadruple M... losing the Intercontinental title to Duncan M, and most importantly... [Petrow speaks the last part in a quiet monotone] being so thoroughly, and utterly defeated every step of the way... for a full six weeks by Joe Petrow. Other men have beat you, Chris.  I did far worse.  I crippled you.  You ain't a star no more.  You ain't even in that "top level" of IIWF superstars no more.  You ain't even a man no more.     Get out of here, Chris.  Go away.  Maybe your friend Mark still wants you back.  You leave now, maybe you can still get a backhanded compliment when they put your name down under the also-rans on the IIWF web pages.  Your whole glorious career, summed in a tidy little zinger:     "Chris Quigley.  He finally got the job done." [McArthur finally cracks his first smile of the night.] TD: Now, Joe, there is nothing productive that can come from this diatribe, we all want to know where Joe Petrow is going from here! JP: Now _that_ is a question, Dross!  Where is Team Sychosys going from here?  We're going everywhere!  Next week, we're going in the ring to face the Natural Predators for the belts.  Bear, Phoenix, Greyson, we got nothing against you. In fact, since you guys look somewhat honorable -- well, at least the brief glance I got of you guys as you were flipping over the ropes after me at the battle royal made it seem like you were -- I'll give you guys a chance to go down with honor as well.  Meet Team Sychosys under Locked Door rules!  Anybody but the five of us shows up at ringside, he's gone for life!  Don't think too long about it, just sign the match and sign over the belts to us. TD: Now Joe Petrow, it's been things like dictating terms to other wrestlers that have gotten you into hot water in the IIWF as of late.  Some people have even gone so far as to say that you shouldn't be allowed to compete as both a tag wrestler and a singles wrestler! JP: Oh, they've been saying that, have they?  I'm the best wrestler in the flamin' world, dadgummit, and I'll do what I want, whenever I want to do it.  But you know what?  If Spreadbury comes to me and tells me I have to choose between the singles and tag teams, I know just what I'm gonna do. [Petrow removes his Quickstrike shades, and stares into the camera]     I'll look that fraud in the eye, and I'll say, "Fine.  I hereby retire from singles competition." [Shocked pop from the crowd, as Petrow places his glasses back on] JP: Well c'mon, what the heck is left for me Dross?  You're not gonna insult my intelligence by telling me to go after the Cruiserweight or Intercontinental titles now, are you?  And as far as Steve Kowalski, the garbage king of the garbage wrestlers goes... heh... you don't have the busted guts to actually wrestle Joe Petrow... even if I wanted to wrestle you.  So tell me Dross, what the hell do I have going for me as a singles wrestler anymore? TD: Well, I know one guy who's been calling you out for the past several weeks, and per the stipulations, you may indeed be _forced_ to wrestle the King of Snow Brawl, "Savage" Shadoe Rage! JP: Oh please, Dross, now you're really digging for straws!  I mean, this guy has booking rights, so he books himself an interview for tonight?  What kind of moron would do that? TD: The self-booking privleges for Shadoe Rage do not begin until February, and today is January 31st. JP: Really?  Wow, it sure feels like February to me!  But anyway, if he wasn't a moron, then he would spend the entire month of February wrestling Steve Kowalski for his title.  Sure, he'd never actually win it, but at least he'd keep his name in the papers for a month.  But just suppose, that son of a bitch wanted to wrestle me!  First of all, as I'm sure all the people who call your hotline already know Dross, I am the alternate member of the United States Olympic Curling team.  In fact, I'd like to take this opportunity to dedicate our tag title match next week to vice-skip Mike Peplinski,     who in May will be receiving a life-saving kidney donation from his own mother!  Here's to you, Maw, and stay off the moonshine for a while, eh?     Anyway depending on our situation, I may not even be available for your petty little fantasy war.  But assuming no one drops a rock on our skip's foot, and that you are actually stupid enough to believe that you can make your way into the upper echelon via _me_... then you must be one hell of a macho man, huh, Savage?  Well I'm standing right here big man, I'm as hard as a diamond, and I'm waiting to turn not just the page, but the whole back cover on the book of your all-too-short career.  And if Madusa thinks _she_ can do anything about it, then [Petrow _slams_ his hoe into the mat, to a big Sychopop] I got no problem with smacking that bitch up with my hoe!     And Prostates... thank you so much.  Thank you so much for reminding me... [looks back at McArthur] ...reminding us... something very important that I'd almost forgotten.  We are the most wanted men in the IIWF, and the officials have no concern for our safety.  There's no redemption for us.  Not in wrestling, not in life, not in the afterlife.  The only hope for us, is sanctuary.  And I sure as hell know we ain't gonna find it in the locker room.     So we ain't going back to the locker room no more.  There ain't gonna be another Mexico City, there ain't gonna be another Tokyo, and there ain't gonna be another Aloha Stadium! And I swear, that even if I do nothing else in my career, that Sychosys, Mr. Majestyk, the Sychopaths, and MY HOE, are gonna be looking after each other, and we're gonna make sure that nobody ever... EVER... hurts us again! [The official Olympic version of "The Star Spangled Banner" plays over the public address system, and Sychosys holds his hoe aloft... when suddenly the crowd let out a huge mixed pop -- as a figure drops out of the rigging above the ring and plunges thirty feet down to the canvas! The music is immediately cut, Dross nearly drops his microphone in shock, and leaps backwards, Petrow looks startled, McArthur ducks behind his partner for cover...] SR: [over the headset] It's the _other_ crazy son of a bitch! It's Steve Manning! [Indeed, as the crowd look on in shock, Steve Manning leaps from the rigging above the ring, a thin bunjee cord attached to a harness about his waist. Manning disappears upwards back towards the rigging, and then comes down again, up, down, up... down... all the while laughing like a maniac and giving Petrow a pair of single-fingered salutes. Petrow brandishes his hoe like a weapon, but as he takes a swing at the hanging Manning, the "Sanguinary" one nimbly detaches himself from his harness, drops to the canvas and rolls out of the ring, hopping over the steel crowd barriers and disappearing into the sea of fans. Dross finally regains his composure, and offers the microphone to Petrow -- but Team Sychosys have already left the ring, Petrow shaking his head, and are climbing over the barriers on the other side of the squared circle to join their hordes of Sychopaths. Dross leaves the ring, and rejoins Steve Roberts at the broadcast table. Roberts is wearing his trademark leather jacket, and looks all the better for being clean shaven once more.] TD: [adjusting his headset] Whoa... what an unexpected start to tonight's broadcast. Howdy, folks, and welcome to another live edition of IIWF Saturday Night! I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my broadcast colleague and tag team partner, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. SR: I can tell you're a little thrown, Dross, so I'll forgive you for missing out the "Black Jesus" shtick. Just this once. TD: Folks, we are coming at you live from the magnificent Qualcomm Stadium here in beautiful San Diego, California, just one week removed from that tremendous Superbowl weekend. We've got all the excitement and pageantry of the Superbowl coming up right here tonight... SR: ...and fewer commercial breaks. TD: Things have certainly kicked off with a bang here, as the IIWF hits the Road to Ring Wars V, a journey that will take us through three continents over the next seven weeks, taking us finally to Wembley Stadium, London, England, for our next pay-per-view spectacular. And some highly controversial comments from Joe Petrow to start things off, Steve Roberts. He just couldn't wait to get out here. SR: Time waits for no man, and nor does Crazy Joe, Dross. But much as I love the crazy guys, Dross -- there ain't nothing, no way, that's gonna persuade me that Petrow could kick the Fury's ass. Steve "the Fury" Kowalski -- he is _the_ man, Dross. TD: Indeed, the new IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, will be here a little later tonight to address his fans all over the world in the wake of that simply breathtaking victory over Brody Thunder at Snow Brawl just two weeks ago. The sight of that cage roof collapsing, and both Kowalski and Thunder crawling out of the debris... that is an image that will remain in my mind for ever and a day, Steve Roberts. SR: It was a match and a half, Dross, no doubt about it. And how sweet it was to see Quigley finally shown to be the fraud he really is. TD: That's a downright slanderous characterisation of a man who has proven time and time again that he is one of the most competitive Champions the IIWF has ever seen. Chris Quigley is a man of integrity -- but a big question mark hangs over his status in the IIWF. He has not been seen since he walked out of the Aloha Stadium in Hawaii two weeks ago at Snow Brawl, and although we know Steve Manning is here tonight, Quigley did not travel with the rest of the IIWF's tour party to be here in California tonight. SR: He's gone, Dross. Chrissie made a solemn _vow_... he swore on his life that if he ever uttered those two magical, magical words -- he'd retire. TD: Well, we'll bring you any news on the status of Chris Quigley as and when we get it, folks, but for now, let's talk about what we have in store for you tonight. We'll also see two of the IIWF's titles on the line tonight, as the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi defends his newly-won Cruiserweight Championship against Icehawk, and Intercontinental Champion Duncan Macbeth squares off against former friend Derek Mota. SR: What is it with Canadians, Dross? Are they all predisposed to insanity? I mean, Mota -- he's a tough little bastard, but he's really not all there. He's a couplea cans short of a six pack, if you know what I mean, Dross. TD: Indeed, Derek Mota has been showing some considerable signs of strain in the past few weeks, but he has apparently been given medical clearance to compete here tonight. One man who has also had to seek medical clearance to wrestle this week is Serge Annis, who is set to meet his nemesis, Mad Dog Watkins, in tonight's huge main event. Less than seven days ago, Annis was involved in a brutal, brutal cage match with former IIWF Hall of Famer the "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin in another promotion -- and he is certainly feeling the effects of that bout. SR: These bush leagues and their damned unsafe working environments, Dross. Every week the IIWF sends some guys to bolster the crowds in their pokey bingo halls and gymnasiums, and what happens? A damned steel cage collapses on them. It just ain't right. TD: I believe you're getting a little confused, Steve Roberts, but still, Serge Annis is by no means at one hundred per cent tonight, and we hope to get brief comments from him ahead of the main event. Other big matches scheduled up tonight include the "Ragin' Cajun" Christopher Stonebreaker taking on "To Excess" Rick Williams, an athlete who had a very eventful night at Snow Brawl -- not only making it as far as the Lethal Lottery final, but also blinding Billy Shakespeare with a flashgun in a totally heinous attack. SR: So let me get this straight, Dross: is Blitzsphere still with the promotion? TD: Billy Shakespeare is currently on the injured list, Steve Roberts, and is almost completely blind at the present time, despite surgery. It would be a miracle if he ever wrestles again. Our thoughts and prayers go out to Billy and his family as they struggle to come to terms with his disability. We also have tremendous tag team action coming up tonight... SR: Mutually exclusive terms, baby dolls. TD: ...as the Down Boys, who so narrowly missed capturing the IIWF World Tag Team Championships at Snow Brawl, take on the Harlequins, and the Fabulous Ones, hot off a big win over the Machines, and now with Paul Wong in tow, face the unpredictable Prophets of Rage. Speaking of the Rages, we'll also hear from "Savage" Shadoe Rage tonight as the "King of Snow Brawl" announces his first opponent. Shadoe, don't forget, has booking rights for the whole of February, and may meet any IIWF superstar he chooses right here on IIWF Saturday Night for the next four weeks. SR: He's gonna pick the Fury, Dross. What kind of an idiot would he be if he didn't pick the Fury? TD: It's going to be a great night here from the IIWF Coliseum, but before we get up to the ring for our opening match, can we get a camera over there? We can? [The shot cuts to the front row of ringside seats near to the aisle, in which are seated two well-built guys in street clothes. A caption appears on the screen: "JOEY SCALERCIO & BOB IVEY: American Dragons". Joe is Italian, with short black hair and a clean shaven face. He's in very good shape, with little body fat.  Bob is tanned and he too looks to be in very good shape. He smiles from behind his long, dirty-blond hair.] TD: [over the headset] This young team has just recently signed with the IIWF, Steve Roberts. The American Dragons have just completed contract negotiations to join the tag team ranks here in the number one wrestling organisation in the world today, and I can promise you that they are two very promising young athletes. They're here tonight to get up close and personal to the IIWF's action, and they'll be making their debut very soon indeed. SR: [over the headset] I'm sorry, Dross, I think you must be confusing me for somebody who would care about another gay guy tag team joining the Double Eye. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, on behalf of the IIWF, allow me to welcome the American Dragons and wish them every success here. Folks, it's time for tonight's opening encounter, and what a match it is going to be! Charles Scheffield, who made quite a stir at Snow Brawl by managing to eliminate his mentor, Lord Byron -- who has apparently torn a bicep in his first match in Japan and will be sidelined for up to two months -- in their Lethal Lottery match two weeks ago, will tonight square up against one of the most intimidating, dominating forces in IIWF history: the dark destroyer, Deathbringer! Let's get up to Sparky for the introductions! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Deathbringer vs. Charles Scheffield |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: CK [Sparkplug Lee walks to the ring, dressed in a red disco suit with a ruffled shirt. Several fans yell "Disco Fever!" at him, while others simply snort, cackle and guffaw. He finally makes it to the ring without having too much thrown at him, though someone's half-empty beer does hit the floor right behind him and splatter him with foamy shrapnel. He takes the mic:] SL: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!  Welcome... to IIWF Saturday Night! [Fans cheer loudly, IIWF pop!] SL: Let's get ready to wrestle! Introducing first... ["Scythe, Rage and Rose" by Dark Tranquility booms out over the stadium loudspeakers...] SL: He hails from "The Dark Side"... standing 6 feet 10 inches tall and weighing in tonight at 324 pounds... and accompanied by his manager, The Blind Guardian... here is... DEATHBRINGER! [The Blind Guardian appears at the top of the ramp. Then, the curtain at the entrance to the aisle flies open as Deathbringer marches out to the cheers of the crowd. Deathbringer wears a cowl and carries a scythe to the ring. Underneath he is dressed in black clothing. He is wearing a mask, through which one can see a pair of piercing red eyes.] TD: This man is truly a legendary figure in the IIWF, Steve Roberts... only people who can say they are going somewhere have managed to defeat him. The question is, can Charles Scheffield include himself among that elite cadre? SR: Dross... the only thing Scheffield can include himself in is the group of people who worship one of those guys out of Connecticut. But this faux-Triple H is going to find himself Single-D dead at the hands of the Double-D, the man we call the "Dark Destroyer," Deathbringer. This is DEATHBRINGER, Dross. The monster from the dark side. The former IIWF heavyweight champion of the world. He'll make quick, quick, QUICK work of this poor little rich boy. Look at his face. He's pissed off already. [By now Deathbringer has finally completed the long walk to the ring at the center of the former Jack Murphy Stadium, now Qualcomm Stadium.] TD: I'm not sure, Steve Roberts. We shall know very shortly... as here comes Scheffield now. SL: AND his opponent ... ["Fur Elise" as written by Beethoven plays loudly over the stadium loudspeakers.] SL: ...hailing from Lordship, Connecticut... standing 6 feet 1 inch tall... and weighing in tonight at 231 pounds... he is... CHARLES... SCHEFFIELD!! [Scheffield enters through the curtain. The fans cheer him and reach out to touch him, but he walks slowly and straight ahead, no expression on his face. He looks to either side of the aisleway with a piercing gaze. One fist is clenched and held behind his back, as he walks in an aristocratic fashion. He is wearing a black sports coat with long tails in the back, black tights that could easily be mistaken for slacks at a glance, black wrestling boots that look to have just received an expensive, high-gloss airport shoe shine, and a white dress shirt with ruffles.] TD: This rather young and rather rich and well-dressed young man seems rather focused tonight, Steve Roberts... SR: Yeah... I had that look about myself once too. It was seven years ago, back when I was here at Jack Murphy Stadium to sing the national anthem. The fans were demanding that I perform my Asai moonsault, but I refused to do it without a proper ring set up. TD: Is this story going anywhere, Steve? SR: Yeah. Anyway... it was time to do the anthem, and I suddenly realized I had to take a massive dump. But I couldn't! I had to sing. I couldn't disappoint my many fans, particularly the lithe young female ones. TD: You -- singing the national anthem, Steve? Shades of Roseanne Barr spring to mind. You didn't grab your crotch and spit, did you? SR: No, I didn't grab my crotch. And Joan Kroc, the Padres owner, wanted to, but I refused to let her. So, anyway... I marched out there to the pitcher's mound, with that microphone awaiting me on the field. And I had much the same look of determination that this Richie Rich clone, Charles Scheffield, is showing right now. I mean, I just gritted my teeth, sang the anthem, took a bow, then ran into the locker room, unzipped my fly, and unleashed the BIGGEST -- [Dross holds a hand up.] TD: Please, Steve. [But Roberts ignores Tim. Instead, he stands and faces towards the aisle, where Scheffield has just finished the journey to the ring. Roberts cups his hands to his face and yells.] SR: HEY CHARLES! JUST GO UNDER THE RING! IT'S JUST GRASS UNDER THERE! YOU WON'T HURT IT ANY! IT'S LIKE FERTILIZER WHEN YOU DO THAT! IT'S GOOD FOR IT! [Tim Dross shakes his head and buries his face in his hands, flabbergasted. Scheffield glares briefly at the Soundbite before scaling the ring steps and entering the ring. Scheffield then stands in the corner, removing his suit jacket and ruffled shirt and handing them over to a ring attendant. He grabs the corner turnbuckle, leans back to stretch out, and then turns around to face Deathbringer with a look of concentration. Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: And here we go. Deathbringer and Scheffield in a bit of a staredown here... two VERY popular athletes here in the Double Eye... and Scheffield _lashes_ out with a flying shoulder block! But Deathbringer is unmoved! [Scheffield backs to the ropes, comes back with a clothesline -- Deathbringer still unmoved! And to the ropes for yet another clothesline... but again, the same result. Scheffield to the ropes again...] TD: ANOTHER CLOTHESLINE! Oh my! SR: This ain't working for the young... TD: And Scheffield with a DROPKICK -- and Deathbringer is DOWN! [Big pop as Deathbringer crashes to the mat like a felled oak! Scheffield now grabs the leg of the face-down Deathbringer, puts his boot inside the kneepit... and a huge stomp!] TD: That can _really_ scramble up the ligaments in there. And another one! Now for a -- SR: Ouch, Dross. TD: Oh my! Deathbringer just powers out of that with a kick that sends Scheffield flying back a few steps. SR: He just kicked him right in the wedding tackle, Dross. You know... the nads. TD: I don't think that was intentional; he was just trying to power out of the hold. Besides, it was a glancing blow. SR: Scheffield can't be hurt there, anyway. TD: Um... Deathbringer now, back to his feet and facing off against Scheffield. [Deathbringer charges with a clothesline! But Scheffield gets right back to his feet. Now Deathbringer with another! And Scheffield down. Deathbringer now with an elbow drop -- it hits the target! And another -- he scores again! A third one -- and Scheffield out of the way! He's back up! Deathbringer to his feet, he charges... armdrag takedown by Scheffield!] SR: I'd sure like to execute one of those on the first daughter. But what I'd _really_ like to hit on her is the Thesz press. Ooooooh, la la! Or better yet, how about a threesome with her and that Monica Lew... TD: I apologise, as ever, for the comments of Steve Roberts. It may have escaped your attention, Steve, that we have a match going on here. Scheffield with another armdrag takedown, and Deathbringer's being called to the outside by the Blind Guardian. Deathbringer looks at Guardian, Guardian looks at Deathbringer -- and now the Guardian leaves. How odd. SR: I think the Guardian is displeased with Deathbringer's performance, Dross. He looks as unhappy as Clinton did when he had that "accident" on Lewinsky's dress ... TD: I don't think it's something that obvious, Steve Roberts. I think there's something much more subtle going on here... what it is, I really don't know, but it's just my gut feeling. SR: Gut feeling? TD: Don't go there, Steve. SR: Where? TD: You know where, Steve. You know where. Guardian is out of here now, and Deathbringer is greeted on his return with a kick to the head. He doesn't look happy... Oh my! A punch to the face! Now a _vicious_ backhand slap! Another one! Scheffield is knocked back out of his shoes! But he gets back up! Quite a lot of determination being shown tonight on the part of Charles Scheffield, and -- ouch! Deathbringer punishes him with a BIG uppercut! Come on, ref! That was a closed fist! SR: I knew this wouldn't stay scientific for long. TD: Another one -- no! Scheffield ducks! [Scheffield dives right in for a double-leg takedown on the big man! Scheffield up, he scissors Deathbringer around the lower calf, and -- drives the leg of Deathbringer down into the canvas! Scheffield turns Deathbringer over into a half crab, applying pressure once again to the ankle and knee.] TD: Sound strategy from Scheffield to wear the big man down, and -- Deathbringer again just kicks out of this, showing us the power for which he has long been famous here in the IIWF. SR: See? I told you. TD: Deathbringer now locks up with Scheffield in a collar and elbow tie-up, and... no, Scheffield releases it. Scheffield challenging the big man from the darkside to a little _mercy_, a little test of strength... Deathbringer can't believe it. Okay, he says, he'll play mercy. They lock up, and... _attempted_ low blow by Scheffield, Deathbringer out of the way. Too much of a veteran presence to fall for that one. And Deathbringer now charging... takes Scheffield _down_ with a vicious lariat clothesline! SR: But not the Scythe. Just a lariat, right? TD: He didn't fly, did he? A Scythe is a _flying_ clothesline, Steve Roberts. _You_ know that. Deathbringer now straddles the prone Scheffield and just _pummels_ him with rights and lefts! Elbow smash! Uppercut! [Crowd pop!] TD: Oh my! Reverse knife edge chop! And he pushes Scheffield's shoulders     down! [Referee Chuck Sanders slides in for the count: 1 -- 2 -- kickout!] SR: This Scheffield... he doesn't seem affected by these punches as much as one would expect. TD: Indeed, still showing a look of determination. Deathbringer now with a headbutt. He follows up with a slap, and now he puts his hands on Scheffield's shoulders, raises himself up almost into a handstand, and... ouch! He brings all 324 pounds of his body crashing back down onto the prone Scheffield. He's using his weight wisely here, Steve, trying to wear down the much lighter Scheffield. SR: That's the strategy I've used against Chelsea. So far she seems to be enjoying it... TD: Scheffield's shoulders are down once again, and Sanders counts... one... two... oh my! [Scheffield kicks out, bringing his legs up and flipping over a reversal! Sanders counts: 1 -- 2 -- no! Deathbringer kicks out. The two men get back up, and Deathbringer with a HUGE clothesline to take Scheffield right back down. But Scheffield pops back up again and nails a BIG drop kick on Deathbringer to knock him down -- and _Deathbringer_ springs right back up!] TD: _Both_ athletes are showing great endurance and toughness here, Steve Roberts ... SR: Yes, they are, Dross... TD: Deathbringer backs into the ropes, comes running at Scheffield... and he misses the Scythe! Scheffield ducked it! Scheffield grabs the arm of Deathbringer, tucks his head under Deathbringer's armpit from behind... SIDE SUPLEX! That was solid, Steve Roberts, and most of all the fans really appreciated it. This young wrestler is really showing us something on the technical side here tonight. Deathbringer back up... belly to belly on Scheffield! OUCH! [Fans cheer for Deathbringer.] TD: He nailed that move _with authority_, Steve... but I don't believe this, Scheffield gets right back up and is ready for more. This doesn't exactly seem like the typical rich little brat with a silver spoon in his mouth. Somewhere along the line this young man has learned to deal with some adversity. [Now Deathbringer charging... and BOTH MEN spill out over the top rope to the outside! Big, big pop!] TD: I don't believe this! Scheffield pulled the rope down! Scheffield actually CHOSE to duke it out on the outside against Deathbringer! Not a very smart idea, in my opinion. Now duking it back and forth... kick to the gut by Scheffield! DDT on the mat! SR: Rookie mistake. He should have pulled back the mat first -- THEN applied the DDT. More skull damage that way. TD: I think that Scheffield has too much respect for his opponent to do a thing like that. [Deathbringer stands and picks up Scheffield! He carries him over and drives him BACK FIRST into the ringpost! Scheffield slumps to the floor! Deathbringer rolls back into the ring to break the count -- then rolls right back out.  He sets the limp Scheffield up in a chair, backs up a bit, runs up to him...] TD: Oh, this is bad. This is _really_ going to hurt... and Scheffield jumps out of the way! He was playing possum! Deathbringer hits the guardrail! SR: He just got himself a mouth full of metal. I imagine kissing Chelsea a few years ago would have been like that, but I don't believe in robbing the cradle or violating any of the statutory rape laws. Need a tip that will keep you nice and legal, Dross? Well, here it is. When roses turn red, they're ready for plucking. When girls turn eighteen, they're ready for ... [Dross clears his throat.] TD: Deathbringer is back up, recovering slowly from that encounter with the guardrail. He charges Scheffield and goes right for the neck! He has him up -- Chokeslam! Chokeslam! Right on the outside padding! He rolls Scheffield into the ring... Scheffield is just wasted here, folks. I mean, he's just out of it. Deathbringer now rolls in behind him... and Scheffield rolls on his side to the adjacent edge of the ring and right back to the outside! SR: He really IS out of it, Dross. The kid's not sure where he is, who he's wrestling, or which planet he's on. [Deathbringer shrugs and follows Scheffield back out. Deathbringer picks up the limp Scheffield... and he hooks him up for a vertical suplex. He lifts him, and -- it's blocked. Reversal by Scheffield! Big pop!] TD: OUCH -- what a move! Oh my! SR: Seems like he had you fooled, Dross. But not the Soundbite. No -- the Soundbite knew he was playing possum aaaaaalll along. [Roberts nods smugly, his arms folded.] TD: Right, Steve. And now the two break out into an utter full-tilt brawl on the outside! Look at them go! Rights! Lefts! [crowd pop] Oh my! Backhand smash by Deathbringer! And now the right hook -- Scheffield dodges! DOUBLE DROP KICK! But Chuck Sanders counting off the time... [Both men rolling back into the ring... and Chuck Sanders calls for the bell! Ding! Ding! Ding! Sparkplug Lee shrugs his shoulders and looks at Sanders.] TD: Steve, I think Lee wants to know why Sanders told him to ring the bell. [Lee and Sanders are seen conferring at the edge of the ring.] TD: Did both of them make it in in time? Did just one? Did neither? [Lee nods at Sanders, then steps through the ropes and is handed a cordless microphone.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... your winner, as a result of a count-out... CHARLES SCHEFFIELD!! [Fans cheer for Scheffield and Deathbringer both. Deathbringer looks at Scheffield, who stands in the ring... but then Deathbringer turns around and walks off down the aisle.] TD: Quite an encounter here, but it seems that Scheff was a little quicker in getting back into the ring. No doubt his presence of mind and his better mobility played a role in that. This was definitely a close one, and certainly a notable achievement in the career of Scheffield. He really took a huge step forward tonight by defeating one of the IIWF's all-time greats. Your comments, Steve Roberts? SR: Well, I certainly ... TD: Never mind, Steve. Charles Scheffield, the blueblood with what seems to be an All-American heart, wants the microphone. SR: Spare me your jingoistic drivel, Dross ... [A ring attendant hands Scheffield a microphone with astounding sleight of hand that is nearly unnoticeable.  Scheffield surveys the audience with that calculating look of his, holding the microphone just below his chin.] CS: [Speaking in an almost disconcertingly calm voice] May I have your     attention please? [Pause.] Thank you. Now, I believe I made the     declaration that my rise to the top was starting tonight.     Deathbringer was a quite a challenge for me to overcome... but I did     it. I have finally made the most important step I shall _ever_ take     in my wrestling career. [Big pop from the appreciative fans!]     This, however, is nowhere near enough. It isn't that Deathbringer     wasn't a challenge... he has been my single greatest challenge in     singles competition to date. The point is I cannot stop here. For     all of you people around the world... my fans... my friends... this     is for you. I solemnly _promise_ you that I shall continue my climb     into the stratosphere. I shall not stop until I reach my goal. I may     fall along the way... but you have my word that I shall pick myself     back up and continue to fight! I shall _never_ be conquested or     destroyed... until I make my mark. Then... only God himself knows     what is ahead of me. Until next time... carry on. [Scheffield exits the ring to a big pop from the fans. He heads up the aisle, shaking hands with as many fans as possible, before disappearing into the locker room. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: What an opening encounter here on IIWF Saturday Night, Steve Roberts! A truly impressive showing from both Deathbringer, and especially from Scheffield, who has shown that he's a tough nut to crack -- far tougher, I believe, than we have previously given him credit for. But I can't help wondering whether the Blind Guardian leaving ringside was somehow the determining factor in this match. What do you think is going on there, Steve Roberts? SR: You know what these old guys are like, Dross. Prostate trouble. He probably had to take a leak. TD: Thank you for that delightful mental image. Folks, what action we have still to come here tonight -- we'll be hearing from the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, who has, I am told, two important announcements to make here tonight. We'll also be hearing from the King of Snow Brawl, "Savage" Shadoe Rage, a little later on in this hour -- but before all that, let's get back up to the ring for tonight's next encounter, a tag team attraction pitting the unpredictable Prophets of Rage against Japanese superstars, the Fabulous Ones. Let's get back up to Sparkplug for the introductions! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Prophets of Rage vs. Fabulous Ones |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: Daniel Spreadbury [A wide-angle shot shows the huge expanse of temporary bleachers on the floor of the stadium, surrounding the raised platform housing the ringside enclosure, the ring a tiny blob in the middle of a sea of humanity. Cut to a close-up shot of Sparkplug Lee as he raises the microphone to his mouth:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team attraction is scheduled for one fall, and has a time limit of fifteen minutes. ["Kiss of Death" by Dokken kicks in over the PA system as Ms. Miki, dressed in a kimono-style dress, but which differs from the kimino by virtue of being barely below waist length, revealing her long and shapely legs, which draw appreciative whistles from the crowd. On Miki's arm is Paul Wong, a jealous scowl on his face as the fans let Miki know what they think of her. Wong even yells at some of the fans to shut up as they move down the aisle, but Miki seems to enjoy the attention, and waves to the fans. She is clutching a cordless microphone in one hand, and readies herself to speak, when suddenly the video wall behind Miki and Wong flares into life, displaying a scene backstage. Huge pop! Miki and Wong turn around, and nearly jump out of their skins at the sight that greets them!] TD: Oh my! Oh my! The Prophets... the Prophets of Rage have attacked the Fabulous Ones backstage! SR: Aw yeah, Dross, the homeys is gettin' medieval on those Japanese pretty boys! [Miki and Wong look on in shock as a handheld camera captures the riotous scenes backstage. Sho and Agito have apparently been jumped from behind as they await Miki's usual introductions, and they are being brutalised by the rabid Prophets, the huge 7'2" Derek Rage attacking Sho with a fire extinguisher, driving it into the small of his back repeatedly with a dull *CLANG*, and the Dirt Dog apparently gnawing on Agito's head! Any official who strays towards the melée ends up being shoved by one or other of the vicious Prophets, as Agito and Sho try to put up some form of defense against their assailants. The crowd are going berzerk!] TD: Oh, this is bad, Steve Roberts! I believe the Prophets are sending out a message here tonight -- they've made comments that any team who ignores them does so at their peril, and the Fabulous Ones are finding out just how true that is right now! SR: Hey, is that the entrance curtain? They're comin' out here, Dross! Whoo-hoo! [Suddenly, the entrance curtains at the head of the aisle are thrown aside as somebody is thrown through them -- it's Agito who is bodily hurled out from backstage! Huge pop! Agito, bleeding from a laceration to his forehead, staggers to his feet, and Miki and Wong dash back up the aisle towards him, only to be stopped in their paths by a wild-eyed Dirt Dog Unique Allah, who leaps out from behind the curtain, brandishing a chair! Wong makes a run at the Dirt Dog, but is felled by a side-swipe with the chair that sends Wong flying into the steel crowd barriers on one side of the aisle! Big pop! Allah wields the chair once more above his head, ready to club Agito with it and mash him into the concrete aisleway... but he hesitates a moment as Miki flashes even more of her thigh at the hormonally-tempestuous Dirt Dog -- which is long enough for Agito to deliver a closed fist to Allah, way south of the border!] TD: Oh my! What a low blow! SR: That'll cool the Dirt Dog's ardour, all right. Hey, Dross, look at Sho and Derek Rage -- they're still backstage! Derek's got a table! [As Miki stomps away at Allah with her stiletto heels, leaving red weals on Allah's torso and rib area, Wong picks himself up, as does the groggy Agito. Meanwhile, the video wall shows Derek Rage brandishing a table above his head -- he brings it crashing down on Sho, not breaking the table, but sending Sho back hard to the hard floor of the backstage area. Derek turns, and again grabs the fire extinguisher, which he _throws_ at Sho -- but the big man rolls out of the way, the heavy metal extinguisher hitting the floor with a loud *CLANG!*] TD: Oh, this is out of hand here early on, Steve Roberts! Wong now, pulling Miki away from the Dirt Dog -- Deadly Venom! Wong just took the Deadly Venom to the face! [Huge pop as Wong staggers back, clutching at his eyes, clawing at the foul-smelling liquid which has blinded him temporarily. Big Joey Patrick, the match official, finally makes it to the scene of the brawl in the aisle, and tends to Wong. Dirt Dog, a small trail of his venomous spray trickling down his chin, wipes it away with his forearm -- before shaking loose one of the steel crowd barriers, and pulling it over on top of the felled Agito. Miki tends to Wong, while the video wall shows Sho fighting to his feet and driving a shoulder into Derek's midsection, before taking him down with a double-leg take-over, Derek's head bouncing off the hard floor.] TD: What's Allah doing? He's got Agito under that crowd barrier -- oh my! Oh my! Did you see that?! [Huge pop! Quick as a cat, Allah leaps up onto the steel barriers on the opposite side of the ring, and uses it as a springboard, seemingly in a single motion, to launch a reverse moonsault _onto_ the felled crowd barrier, under which is trapped Agito! Allah rolls off the barrier, himself injured by the move!] SR: Now that's what I call putting your own body on the line to hurt somebody else, Dross! Whoo-hoo! The Rages are runnin' wild here tonight, baby dolls! [On the video wall, Sho is straddling Derek Rage and pummelling him with clubbing forearm blows, rights and lefts, lefts and rights, preventing Derek from rising to his feet... when suddenly, there is a scream from outside the shot, and suddenly, Pizzazz streaks into view, apparently with some kind of cable or wire -- which she proceeds to wrap around Sho's throat and choke him with! Sho clutches at his neck as he is dragged off the groggy Derek by Pizzazz!] TD: Oh my! Sho is being choked out backstage! Paul Wong still can't see -- Agito is still under that barrier, and he's not... hang on, Agito is moving! Agito is crawling out from under that barrier! SR: Oh, he's busted open bad, Dross. Not so much of a "Universal Heartthrob" now, is he, huh? TD: Agito's face is busted open pretty badly here, folks -- he'd already sustained a cut to the forehead, apparently from being chewed on by the Dirt Dog... but it looks like he now has a broken nose, he's bleeding profusely. What a mess! [Agito pulls himself to his feet to a big pop from the crowd, and asks one of the fans to stand aside. Several fans vacate their seats, as the furious Agito rips one of the seats from the temporary bleachers out of its mounting, and folds it up, smacking it against the nearby barrier, part as warning of impending doom for the Dirt Dog, part to feel its weight. Allah, meanwhile, has again dragged himself to his feet, and is apparently reaching for something in his tights. He remains with his back turned on Agito, who brandishes the chair above his head as he approaches Allah from behind.] TD: Allah doesn't seem to know Agito is behind him -- the fans scream for him to turn around -- POWDER TO THE FACE! Oh my! Agito drops the chair and staggers backwards... this is bad! [Agito clutches at his eyes, his face plastered with fine powder which sticks to his bleeding wounds, quickly taking on a pinkish hue. The Dirt Dog grabs the chair from the ground, and moves to swing it at Agito -- but it is grabbed by Miki! Big pop as the plucky valet grabs the chair!] TD: Oh, this could be bad! Miki should get herself out of there, Steve Roberts. SR: She's welcome to come to a party on my lap, Dross. TD: Look at the Dirt Dog -- he likes what he sees in Miki here. He's dropped the chair, and he's going after her! [The Dirt Dog reaches out as if to grab at Miki's behind, but the beautiful valet unleashes a hard slap to the face, and then brings her knee sharply up into Allah's groin, doubling him over. Just then, Wong arrives on the scene once more, now able to see again, and blasts the Dirt Dog with a double axe-handle to the back, sending him hard to the floor. Meanwhile, backstage, Derek is pummelling away on the torso of Sho with hard rights and lefts, while Pizzazz attempts to keep the cable tightly around his neck. The Jobber Justice Squad finally arrive on the scene, and pull Pizzazz away from Sho, who lashes out with a wild kick, catching the stringy Derek hard to the jaw, and sending the big man sprawling! Pizzazz is dragged back towards her locker room, knocking over Bobby B. Goode and El Super Gecko as she goes, screaming in her French accent, while Sho staggers to his feet, and looks up at a monitor. He sees the scene of carnage in the aisle, and heads towards the entrance curtain!] TD: Can you believe this, Steve Roberts? Can you believe that Sho is still on his feet after being brutally double-teamed by Derek and Pizzazz? It looked like they were choking the life out of him! [Big mixed pop as the curtains at the head of the aisle are thrown aside once more, and Sho half-runs, half-staggers out into the aisle, where he immediately bends over his partner, who is still trying to blink through the powder that stings his eyes, mingled with the blood from the cut to his forehead. Meanwhile, the Dirt Dog is duking it out with Paul Wong, having fought back to his feet, and Allah _rams_ Wong's head into the steel barriers, throwing him down the aisle towards the ring. Meanwhile, the video wall shows the lanky Derek Rage rolling to his knees, and then to his feet. He shoves the handheld camera out of his way as he too heads for the entrance curtain.] TD: And here comes the giant! Here comes Derek Rage! [Big heel pop as the massive Derek Rage, his black and purple basketball strip looking the worse for wear as the result of his brawl with Sho, strides purposefully into the aisle, almost having to duck as he comes out of the entranceway. As Allah rams Wong into another barrier with another loud *CLANG*, Sho helps Agito to his feet. Miki shrieks at them in Japanese, and they turn around, only to be met by the huge Derek Rage! Acting quickly, Sho plants a boot deep in Derek's lower abdomen, doubling the big man over, and then yells a command to Agito. Together, the two men each sling one of Derek's arms over their shoulders -- and then suplex the huge Rage into the stands! Big pop!] TD: Oh my! Derek Rage has just been suplexed into the stands! Those chairs are bolted down -- they are by no means a forgiving landing! SR: Just as well some of them still had fans in them, Dross. Wouldn't want the big guy to get hurt out there. TD: Indeed, we have security coming out here to tend to the fans -- Agito and Sho now heading towards the ring... Allah has Paul Wong up against the ringpost... what's he setting him up for? SUPERKICK! No! Wong dodged out of the way! SR: Aw, the Dawg just broke his foot, Dross! This ain't good! [The Dirt Dog hollers as his foot connects with nothing but steel ringpost, Wong wisely slumping to the floor as Allah unleashed the vicious kick. Wong rolls to his feet, and as the Dirt Dog hops away from him, makes a football charge, taking out Allah's other leg, and crumpling the Dirt Dog to the ringside matting. Big Joey Patrick tries to force Wong away from Allah, but finds himself shoved out of the way. Wong bends over Allah... and is monkey-flipped! Allah monkey-flips Wong up and over, and Wong lands hard, his back catching the steel ringsteps! Big pop as Sho and Agito finally make it to the bottom of the aisle, and gang up on Allah, who pulls himself to his feet, and appears to beg for mercy. As Sho and Agito converge on him from opposite sides, Allah gets out the only way he can -- he reaches up, grabs the top rope, and in a display of superb upper body strength, pulls himself up and flips into the ring! Big pop! Big Joey Patrick rolls into the ring under the bottom rope, and tries to force Allah away from the ropes, where he stands over Agito and Sho on the arena floor. As Patrick forces the Dirt Dog back, Agito and Sho roll into the ring, and yell at the official to get out of the way.] TD: Dirt Dog could be in a whole world of trouble here, Steve Roberts. Sho and Agito have him in the ring -- they want the referee to call for the bell! After all we've seen here, Sho has been battered with a fire extinguisher, he's been choked, Agito has had powder in his face, he's been bitten, he's been crushed under a section of steel crowd barrier -- and the Fabulous Ones want this match to start! SR: Patrick's gonna do it, Dross! He's calling for the bell! [The timekeeper hesitates, but finally signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! Agito and Sho converge on the Dirt Dog, and then suddenly head to opposite sides of the ring. Allah looks confused as Sho and Agito bounce off opposite sides of the ring... and catch him in the middle of the ring like a rabbit in the headlights of a car! Allah is caught by a clothesline from each side, leaving him standing woozy in the ring! Huge pop!] TD: Oh my! I recognise this move, Steve Roberts -- Agito and Sho bounce off the ropes a second time, Agito goes low from behind, Sho high from the front -- oh my! Dirt Dog Unique Allah has just been sent flying! What impact! [Allah is sent pinwheeling into the canvas with tremendous force by the impact of Sho and Agito hitting from opposite sides! Big pop from the fans!] TD: That was the Panku, folks -- translated, it means "flat tyre"... and the Dirt Dog is looking pretty flat right now! Agito makes the cover -- this match could be over! [Suddenly, a steel chair flies into the ring, causing the referee to break the count! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! It's Derek Rage! Derek Rage has thrown a steel chair into the ring -- and he's got a chair of his own in his hands! SR: Swat the gay guys like flies, Derek! Do the business, brutha! [Sho dives for the chair on the canvas, but Rage is quicker, and catches him with a vicious, side-swiping chair shot that connects against his head and shoulders with a *CRUNCH*, bending the chair and sending Sho sprawling. Big Joey Patrick immediately signals for the bell once more -- Ding! Ding! Ding! -- as Agito gets to his feet to aid his partner... only to be met by a chairshot of his own! Huge heel pop as both Fabulous Ones are laid out in the ring! Derek drags the Dirt Dog to his feet, and helps him from the ring, the Prophets' interest in the match apparently over.] TD: Oh my -- this match barely lasted ten seconds once it got in the ring, Steve Roberts. SR: Best length for tag matches, if you ask me, Dross. TD: I believe we have a disqualification here -- let's get the official word from Sparkplug Lee. [Sparkplug stands at one corner of the ring, and raises the microphone to his mouth:] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the winners of this match, as the result of a disqualification: the Fabulous... urk! [The microphone is unceremoniously grabbed from the announcer by the huge Derek Rage, who yells into the microphone:] DR: LET THEM HAVE IT! [Suddenly, the ringside area is being pelted with fish from every direction! Huge pop! Derek helps the Dirt Dog away from the ring, Allah pausing only to spit on the woozy Paul Wong, who nurses his sore back on the arena floor, while Agito and Sho lie amidst piscine portions on the canvas.] TD: What a disgusting display from the Prophets of Rage, Steve Roberts. This was all an orchestrated plan to humiliate the Fabulous Ones and throw the match. SR: It sure worked, Dross. Somebody had to take those two Japanese morons down a peg or two, and who better than the innovators of the extreme in the IIWF, the Prophets of Rage? TD: Agito and Sho more than held their own, given the fact that they were attacked from behind, Steve Roberts. They absorbed all that punishment, and had this match won with the Panku on the Dirt Dog -- but instead of getting that pinfall, Derek Rage leaves them laid out once more with a chair. Unbelievable. Something has to be done about this, Steve Roberts. SR: Yeah, we need to see this more often. Except for the fish part. As if you didn't smell bad enough already, Dross. [Ms. Miki's arrival at ringside seems to quell the rain of fish, as she first tends to Paul Wong, helping him to his feet on the outside, and then enters the ring, helping the groggy Agito and Sho to their feet. Agito is a mess, his hair matted with blood, and his face caked with a mixture of powder and blood. Sho clutches at his left shoulder, his face contorted in pain, as he bends to leave the ring. The fans give the Fabs a big pop as they collectively head away from the ring, a ring crew armed with buckets passing them in the aisle to clear up the fish in the ringside enclosure.] TD: The Fabulous Ones have nothing to be ashamed of here, Steve Roberts. They have been brutalised by the Prophets of Rage, and yet they are able to walk away from the ring. There aren't many teams who can say that -- and I'm sure they'll have plans of their own to get some measure of revenge on Derek Rage and the Dirt Dog. SR: Quite a match, Dross. Some day, all tag matches will be built this way. A ten minute brawl, a ten second match. Whoo-hoo! TD: A ring crew is clearing away the worst of the fish, while the Fabs head backstage to receive medical attention. Folks, we'll just try and sort out this mess before we get back up to the ring for our next match, which pits Tony Starks against... [Suddenly, Dross and Roberts are interrupted by a background noise.  As the sound gets louder, it becomes apparent that what is being heard are the vocal ululations of a Gospel choir.  As the camera directs its attention to the curtain, a choir of prancing folk enter through the curtain, singing a catchy, yet familiar melody:] CHOIR [all at once]:  "I........I.........just want a God!" "Put your arms around His Greatness!" "Put your arms around His Greatness!" "I........just want.......a....God!" [The choir continues singing while making its way to the ring.  In the background, a brown-haired white male sticks out like a thumb in the all-black choir.  The white man sings and dances about as he makes his way to ringside:] SR: What in the Hell is this?! TD: I have... no idea.  I don't think that... OH MY! SR: What? TD: It's... it's "THE SHOWSTOPPER"!! [The camera focuses in on the white male, who upon review, does somewhat bear an uncanny likeness to the superstar formerly known as "The Showstopper" Simon Lebec.  Lebec appears to have quite the different look, wearing a monk's robe as he enters the ringside area.  He has also dyed his hair brown, as opposed to his former golden blond locks. The top of his head bears a bald spot, which appears to be self-shaven to go with his new friar style.] SR: That's not the Showstopper, Dross. Lebec's cool! Who the hell _is_ this guy?! TD: THAT'S LEBEC!  I know madness when I see it, Steve Roberts. After all, I sit next to it every Saturday Night. [An air of disbelief hushes the stunned crowd, as the choir finishes their number and Lebec steps into the IIWF ring for the first time since he was dragged out by armed guards months ago.  Lebec, always with a grin on his face, takes off his robe to reveal that he is wearing the most impossible of impossibles... full-blown minister's apparel!  Lebec calls for the mic as he straightens his collar:] SL: [speaking in a Southern accent] SAVE ME JESUS CHRIST, SO HELP ME LORD -- AMEN! [Choir hollers out an "AMEN!"] SR: When did he move to the south? [Lebec drops to one knee.] SL: I don't think the good Lord Almighty heard you, brothers and sisters of the colored nation!  I said... AMEN! CHOIR:  AMEN! SL: One more time for the good people in this audience!  Can I get an  "AMEN"? CHOIR:  AMEN, BROTHER SIMON! SL: Now can I get an "AMEN" that'll crush the damned and crucify the damnedest? I ASK YOU... CAN I GETTAN "AMEN" FOR THAT LITTLE BABE FROM NAZARETH WHO SAVED YOU FROM THE DEMONS THAT BE?  I ASK YOU... GIMME AN A-M-E-N FOR THE SON OF THE LORD SO HELP ME GOD!! [Lebec falls to his other knee and flails his arms in the air as the choir gives a final "Amen" that shakes the building.] SL: AMEN, JESUS CHRIST SO HELP ME LORD ALMIGHTY, THE SON AND DADDY OF THE GOOD-SHIP LOLLIPOP THAT WE CALL "HEAVEN!!"  And I say the son and daddy is doin' their thing, 'cause he's a Lord and he's a son of a Lord! And we're God's children so we're sons and daughters and lords and ladies of the house of heaven and Jesus is our brother and we're all brothers and sisters in God's eyes so raise your hand to the main man in the universe who gave us life, I say... GIVE OUR DADDY AN "AMEN!"... LORD JESUS CHRIST, SO HELP ME LORD! CHOIR: AAAAAAAMMMEEEEENNNN!! SL: Amen, brothers and sisters! [Lebec breathes heavily] Gimme a minute. [Lebec continues to huff and puff until he catches his wind.  He clambers back to his feet, and continues:] SL: And the Lord said, "Let there be light."  And there was.  A marvelous light, radiating the most glorious of all heat! [Lebec pauses, looking upon the dazed crowd.] SL: And I've seen the light! CHOIR: OH YEAH! SL: I've seen... THE PROMISED LAND! CHOIR: THE PROMISED LAND, BROTHER SIMON!  AMEN! SL: I'VE SEEN... THE EVILS OF MAN AND THE GOOD OF REPENTANCE! CHOIR: REPENTANCE, HAVE MERCY! SL: Have mercy!  I've been... TO THE WELL OF DISPAIR AND I'VE HAD MY FULL SHARE OF DRINK! CHOIR: DRINK OF DESPAIR, HAVE MERCY!  HALLELUIA! SJ: I'VE BEEN TO HEAVEN AND I'VE BEEN TO HELL!  WHERE I HAVEN'T BEEN IS TO THAT WAFFLE HOUSE ON THE INNERSTATE THAT SELLS 'EM TEN FOR A BUCK! CHOIR: TEN FOR A BUCK, PRAISE LORD JESUS!! [Lebec pauses and bows his head as sweat beads begins to form on his forehead.] SL: But enlightenment, brothers and sisters, took time.  I was a bad seed... planted by Mephistopheles and watered by his minion soldiers! CHOIR: MINION SOLDIERS, LORD HELP ME JESUS! SL: But I been saved.  Touched... by the hand of God!  Fed through the very nipple of the Virgin Mary! [Lebec raises his head, a teardrop trickling down his left cheek.] SL: Durin' my time at the "Leaky Beaver Asylum for the Criminally Insane", them doctors didn't find my mind.  But me?  I found my inspiration.  INSPIRATION BY THE NAME OF BIG DADDY JESUS! CHOIR: JESUS BE THE INSPIRATION!! SL: An' I felt down.  Wantin' ta end my existence.  An' one night, I almost did just that!  A shoelace was my exit from this world.  An' as I lay there, lyin' in an unconscious state, I floated along a tunnel.  A WONDEROUS TUNNEL FILLED WITH WARMTH AND LOVE!  An' at the end of that tunnel, I found him.  In all his glory and majestic serenity!  And for the record, he does have a long white beard!  So I said to him, "God, where did ya get that there robe?"  And he looked down upon me with a stern glare... the kinda glare your daddy'd give ya for a messin' around in his tool shed when you're not supposed ta be! And he replied, "Simon, where I got this here robe is irrelevant.  But ya can be damn sure that J.C. Penney has a spot on Heaven's water polo team."   TD: [over the headset] Huh? SL: And with those there words, I was enlightened.  But he continued.  He said, "Simon, your life is not finished, for you are my servant.  There is a man, who must be stopped.  Must seek repentance, or be destroyed. He is an evil man.  He is a fornicator.  He is an instigator!" And I looked at Him and said, "But God, I was those things, as well as a stock speculator and a part-time navigator!" An' he looked at me an' said, "But at least you were good at it!"     [Lebec smiles] An' he sent me on, back to da land of mortal men.  An' I awoke.  Awoke wit' da insight of what was yet to come.  An' I read the Bible.  Read... to keep me from doin' away wit' myself!  An' I found what I was so desperately lookin' for.  A place of belongin', in the Church of the Heavenly Beagle!  An' they took me in, when the good people at Leaky Beaver chose to let me out. An' I found my callin', when the Lord spoke of this evil man by the name of Duncan Macbeth.  An' when I heard of this man, I knew that it was my duty to either save him, or send him TO THE FIERY PITS OF HADES! This so-called champion is not a role model, and he's not a Christian. So, as my role as a tool of good, I will turn him... or I will turn him inside-out IN THE NAME OF GOD! CHOIR: IN THE NAME OF GOD, SO HELP ME!  PRAISE JESUS! SL: "The Savior" Simon Lebec has been born, brothers and sisters. An' Duncan Macbeth, I'll leave you wit one little 'ol note.  When a man's been to the End... there ain't nothin' he can't accomplish! [Lebec drops the mic as the choir gives one more "Amen" to the end of his speech.  The choir begins singing once again, as Lebec and company leave ringside to a still-puzzled crowd. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside as the Gospel singing fades amidst a background of confused murmurs from the crowd.] TD: Oh my. Folks, we apologise for any offense caused by the comments of Mr. Lebec, which certainly do not reflect those of the IIWF at large. He has _lost_ it, Steve Roberts. SR: Hey, I dunno, Dross. He makes a lot of sense if you ask me. I think I'm gonna get me some Gospel singer action. TD: Steve Roberts -- you're incorrigible. Folks, Simon Lebec is apparently back in the IIWF... and he's crazier than ever. Right now, we must continue with our next match, as two tremendous athletes, Tony Starks and the "Real Deal" Luke Steele, mix it up one on one in the squared circle. The next match pits two men with the hottest finishing moves on the circuit. Tony Starks' Kataha-jime vs. Luke Steele's floating DDT. SR: Thug life vs. Get a Life. It has promise. TD: Let's go up to Sparkplug Lee for the introductions. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Tony Starks vs. "Real Deal" Luke Steele |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: Jack Hoban ["Me, Not the Paper (Dirty Remix)" by Jeru the Damaja cranks out on the PA system, as Lee takes the microphone to his lips.] SL: Our first competitor... Making his way to the ring... Weighing in at 269lbs... Hailing from the badlands that is Staten Island, New York... Here is the master of the Kataha-jime! Toooonyyyyy Starks!! [Starks is a well built black male, wears black trunks, knees pads and boots. Low cut fade haircut, and he wears, as always, a towel draped over his head -- except this time Starks is wearing it like a poncho, with a hole cut out for his head, so that it covers his chest and back. The crowd give him a pretty good pop, but Starks takes no notice.] TD: The intensity is just pouring off him tonight, Steve. Steele could be in for a tough one here. SR: Hey I just realized something. This is the dirty remix of "Me, Not the Paper." I gotta get a copy. I only have the Chocolate Thunder remix. TD: Chocolate Thunder? Never mind. Hello... Starks just nabbed the mic from Sparkplug and I guess he has a few words for us. [The crowd settle down as Starks, his face beaded with water droplets from a pre-match shower, grabs the microphone and addresses the crowd:] TS: Ayo, Psycho... I know you're in the back. I got somethin' that I want to say to you, baby. I am really sorry about what happened at Snow Brawl. I should have never went into that match with ill feelin's to you. Our team got messed up and we blew a chance to get the tag team gold. I want you to know that I still want to be a team... I want us to wrestle together next week. I want to prove to you exactly what my intentions are. What do you say? [Starks throws the mic back at the ring announcer and stalks to a corner, removing the towel from his head and throwing it to a ring attendant on the outside. Starks fixes his eyes on the head of the aisle and begins performing stretches as he awaits his opponent.] SR: I don't trust him -- so why should the gutter king? TD: Everyone deserves a second chance, Steve. SR: Vanilla Ice? TD: You got me. I was wrong. ["I Am The Man" by the Philosopher Kings starts up. Big pop!] SL: And his opponent... Coming toward the aisle... Weighing in at 275lbs... Making his home at Cleveland, Ohio... Innovator of the Floating DDT... Here is "The Real Deal" Luuuuke Steeeeeeeellle!! [Big heel pop as Luke comes to ringside, knocking down posters and slapping hands. Steele has shoulder length dark brown hair, and eyes of the same color, almost a chocolate brown. His ring attire consists of basic red pant-style tights, with the simple word "Steele" down the left leg.] SR: That kid needs to invest in a wardrobe. [The official signals for the bell: DING! DING! DING! The two men circle around like sharks closing in on prey. Steele is jawing a little, while Starks ignores this. The Staten Island sensation calls for a test of strength, but the Real Deal looks out at the crowd warily. After some jeers from the crowd and obliges. They lock up for a brief second, allowing Steele to double Starks over with a knee to the gut. He subsequently drops the elbow across the back of Tony's head. Luke applies a hammerlock, which is reversed by Starks, who spins his opponent around and lays a massive chop that can be heard to the last row!] TD: Oh my! Steele's eye's almost popped out on that one. Starks isn't here to play games and he is letting the Real Deal know it. SR: I feel the pain of a black man. Me and my brothers... TD: That's not funny, Steve. Society has to learn that we can not just ignore the past indignities of the... SR: The match. TD: Oh yes. [During that little conversation, Starks has lofted Steele up for a slam. Reaching over to lock on a knee lock submission, Luke rakes the eyes and rolls away. With a burst from the ropes, Steele plants a furious dropkick to the chest of Starks. The Real Deal is up and dancing about, throwing mock punches in the air, yelling something to the effect of "Bring on Tyson!" As Starks readies himself, he goes for a clothesline... which Steele ducks and runs to the ropes. Starks misses again with a round house right. Steele comes off the opposite ropes with a Thesz Press which is... POP!] TD: Caught in mid-air by Starks! He spin it around... Fallaway slam! Starks is pulling Steele to his feet via the hair. Drops him again with a snap suplex! Starks is on the second turnbuckle, howling like an animal! SR: Or like one of President's interns! TD: You meant the President of the United States, right? SR: Oh yeah. Him too. [Caught up in the momentum, Starks whips Steele to the ropes and connects with a jarring fist to the gut. Steele, trying to muster up any offense, tries to kick at Starks. Starks, feeling it, grabs the leg and executes the dragon screw legwhip! In a blur of motion, Starks has Luke belly down and locked in an STF! Steele has the presence of mind to reach for the ropes, forcing the referee for the break. Starks is reluctant, but does so just before the five count.] TD: Tony's in the referee's face! Saying he will break it when he wants. Well, the rules don't work that way. SR: This guy can't read. How can he know the rules? He only knows how to hurt -- and that's good enough for me, Dross. TD: That may be, Steve. But if you want to win in the IIWF, you don't get disqualified. The referee gets to five and it's all over. [After arguing with ref, Starks turns around to a low blow. There is a collective male groan throughout the audience! A European uppercut rocks the Staten Island native back. Steele, locks his arms around the waist and hits with a belly to belly suplex. The groggy Starks starts to get up as Steele retreats a few steps waiting for him. Halfway up, Steele rolls Starks up with a sunset flip... collecting a two count, until Starks scissors the legs around his neck and brings him over.] TD: Steele with the near pin there, but Starks is too cagey a veteran. SR: I believe he was caged for assault and battery. Speaking of assault, here comes that momo with the sledgehammer. [As Steel locks on a step over toe hold, a familiar figure makes his way down the aisle. Christopher Stonebreaker, sledgehammer and all, comes walking to ringside. Merrily, he makes his way over to the opposite corner of the ring and takes in the action. Steele, just noticing him, breaks the hold on Starks and starts yelling at Stonebreaker.] TD: What is Stonebreaker doing out here. He should be worrying about his upcoming match with "To Excess" Rick Williams. SR: I don't know -- but I hope that hammer hits someone. Maybe a fan. [Starks buries a forearm to the back of Steele's head, driving his face into the turnbuckle. Big Pop! Stonebreaker looks to be checking the turn buckle, as Starks pulls the Real Deal back to his feet. Stonebreaker can be heard saying, "...can't blame the ring this time, Luke." Steele, feeling a fire, belts Starks right in the chops! Starks returns the favor! The two men are bludgeoning each other! Crowd is going wild!] TD: Steele can't go toe to toe with Starks! SR: Why not? [Big pop as Starks blocks Steele's last blow and hits with a reverse atomic drop!] SR: Oh, I see. [One of the cameras is on Stonebreaker, who is pushing against the ropes now. The mic now clearly picking up his comments...] CS: Come on Luke, I've got the sobbing towel, right here! [Starks with a devastating sidewalk slam!] CS: Oops, I guess you'll have to blame the invisible banana now, huh, Steele? [Starks spins the arm around and locks on the fugiwara armbar, Steele is screaming in pain and trying to drag himself to the ropes.] CS: You ready to go home and cry this one off too? TD: Referee, get him off there! He has no place here. SR: I don't know, Timmy. This guys is starting to win me over. Hit with the hammer! I've got cash! [At this point, Steele turns to desperate measure and _bites_ Starks, forcing him to release the hold. The referee is now arguing with Stonebreaker to leave the area. Steele is slump against the corner. Starks charges for a splash only to find...Big Steele Pop!] TD: Steele moved out of the way! Starks is stunned! He is dazed! Sling shot suplex from Steele! A cover... SR: Sit down! It's just a two count! [Starks kicks out and Steele rolls over, obviously the match showing the damage done to him. Both men are on their backs and the ref is counting and Stonebreaker is jawing...] CS: I guess that we'll just have to blame the Great Salt Lake too? You know, when the salt gets in your eyes, what can you do? [This time the referee has had it, he threatens Stonebreaker with a fine if he doesn't leave the ring area. Steele also wants to get some of Stonebreaker's attention too but is cut off by the Kataha-jime! Huge Starks Pop!] TD: Kataha-jime! Kataha-jime! Steele can't get out! SR: Yeah and the best part is that the ref don't see it! He's still yakking it up with Chris Ballbreaker. TD: Turn around, referee! Steele is turning blue! [Steele's eyes are rolling back in his head as he frantically taps out to no one. Stonebreaker backs off slowly up the aisle, stopping halfway to watch the rest of the match. The referee turns around to find a livid Starks screaming that he had the win. Steele is coughing on his knees, trying to get some air in his lungs. Starks pushes the referee, but stops there when he looks to slap him a good one.] SR: Starks is treating everyone like his bitch! TD: Steele is in no condition to go on. He is barely able to breathe as it is. [Pitiless, Starks tosses Steele to a corner and works him over with kicks to the gut. Steele escapes with a thumb to the eye. As Starks covers up, Steele lances his throat with a cross chop. Steele giving what he can, grabs Starks by the throat... steps behind the left leg and... Choke slams Starks to the mat!] TD: Steele, really digging deep here, but doesn't have the energy to cover. And Starks is getting up already. Steele send Starks to the ropes leap frogs... NO! [Monster Pop!] SR: Holy [BLEEP]! Starks caught him and laid on a spinebuster on his ass! Bartender, give me a bottle of what that madman's drinking! [The crowd loves it and Steele is prone. Starks calls out for one more move. The crowd thinks its the Kataha-jime! The announcers think it's the Kataha-jime! But we all find out that he instead uses a... POP!] TD: Floating DDT! Starks used Steele's move against him! Steele has nothing left, barely moving his fingers. Here is the cover. One! Two! Thre... What?! SR: Can't he count! [One the near third count, Starks lifts Steele's shoulders and gets up. He looks at him and disgust and starts to climb out of the ring. The referee is yelling at Starks but the Staten Island Sensation flys him the bird! HUGE HARDCORE POP! Starks walks past Stonebreaker, who backs off as the menacing Tony walks by. An aisleway camera catches Starks comments just before he goes through the curtain.] TS: I'll beat his ass, when I want. _Not_ when you tell me. SL: The winner of this match... As a result of a countout... "The Real Deal" Luuuke Steeeellle!! [There is a mixed reaction to this decision. Steele is helped up by the referee, only to catch Stonebreaker waving to him before he leaves.] TD: Strange turn of events here, Steve. Luke Steele is the victor here, but he sure doesn't look like it -- he allowed the presence of Christopher Stonebreaker to distract him from the challenge at hand, and against somebody as ruthless and as vicious as Tony Starks, you simply cannot allow that to happen. [Steele receives a mixed pop from the crowd as he shrugs off the help of the official, groggily making his way back up the aisle under his own power. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, folks, we're rapidly approaching the end of our first hour, but we still have one more blockbuster encounter coming your way before we hear from the King of Snow Brawl himself, "Savage" Shadoe Rage. It's tag team action scheduled up next, as the Down Boys, who some regard as the rightful owners of the IIWF World Tag Team Championships after their performance at Snow Brawl, do battle with the Harlequins. This could be a real mismatch, Steve Roberts -- both the Down Boys combined are barely the same size as that behemoth, Harlequin Terror. SR: Gonna be squished like bugs, Dross. Except for their hair, of course. That hair's so over-styled, I doubt a jackhammer could dent it. It's like those Mexican guys who wear those crazy masks with horns on them... I mean, ignore the obvious symbolism of those things, Dross -- they just look downright stupid. TD: Steve Roberts, wrestling critic, ladies and gentlemen. Let's get up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| The Down Boys vs. The Harlequins |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: Andre Dec [Sparky adjusts his tie, and taps his handheld microphone to be sure it's on, much to the amusement of the capacity crowd.] SL: Uh... Ladies and gentlemen... this next match is a tag team match... scheduled for one fall. Introducing first... led to the ring by their manager Awesome T... from Miami, Florida, and Malibu, California, respectively... weighing in at a combined weight of 457lbs... SR: Tonnage! TD: No, you idiot... a team... SR: Oh... thought the slab of flab was back.... SL: "Superstud" Adam Peterson and "Dazzling" Dan Oliver... THE DOWN BOYS! [The crowd erupts into a huge Down Pop, as Awesome T leads his charges to the ring. "Down Boys" by Warrant plays as the two tag team vets make their way to the ring, dressed in black leather jackets with "Down Boys" written across the back and full length pants, Dan's red and Adam's yellow, with music lyrics airbrushed across them... on Dan's pants the quote "Be good to yourself", from the Journey song of the same name... and on Adam's pants the quote "One Step Beyond" from the Madness song of the same name... the fans erupt as they walk down the aisle, slapping hands and boosting children over the guardrail to dance with them in the aisle.] TD: No doubt in my mind the Down Boys have got the crowd in their pocket... SR: Please, Dross... Down Syndrome here, tonight, is proving one thing     once and for all... retro is not a good thing. Two words about your     hairdos, freaks... "Ozone Layer." [The Down Boys finally enter the ring and remove their jackets, passing them on to Awesome T.] TD: These two are in line for a tag title shot, Steve... I have to think they would make champions par excellance.... SR: Well, I think they'd be just par... now the clowns... SL: And their opponents...led to the ring by Tragedy, Comedy, and Melody.... SR: Not to mention Dopey, Sleazy, Horny, and Doc... SL: From Parts unknown and Elgin, Illinois, respectively... weighing in at a combined 608lbs... Terror and Chaos... THE HARLEQUINS! [Crowd boos a little as the harlequin entourage makes their way to the ring... Killing Joke's "Mathematics of Chaos" playing in the background... both Harlequins are focused on the ring, pointing at the Down Boys, with Melody and Comedy trying to keep Terror from rushing the ring... as the Down Boys continue to mock the Harlequins, Terror breaks free and rushes the ring, followed quickly by the others.] TD: Sparky getting out of there as the atch is underway with a bang! SR: All four men fighting inthe middle of the ring now... and the Down Syndrome taking the beating of their lives here from the Clowns. Terror just lobs Peterson over the top rope.... [The crowd gass as Terror follows with a topé over the top rope onto Adam Peterson, who is now fallen on the outside... meanwhile, Chaos focuses on Dan Oliver, and grounds him with a headbutt.] TD: The American Dragons seem to have drawn the attention of Terror... SR: Well, two buff freaks in the front row... who wouldn't notice? You notice how I give a little speech on the DDT a few weeks back and now we got Arsenic and Old Lace over there joining the IIWF? TD: What do you mean? SR: Think about it. Phoenix Claw, Cattlebuster, Steele's finisher... we need more originality... not more people who can do a DDT. [In the ring, Chaos has manuevered Dan Oliver for a piledriver... instead of a piledriver, he boosts him up over his shoulder into a standing single shoulder backbreaker... Oliver yells out in pain as Terror jumps up and down in the Harlequin's corner, begging to be tagged in.] TD: Looks like Peterson just getting back to his corner... and the Harlequins at ringside merciless in pelting him with empty cups, paper, what have you... SR: I think I have a lawn dart on me somewhere... oh wait... my mistake! [Crotch cam!] TD: Please, Steve Roberts. Chaos tags in Terror... Terror to the top rope! [Terror dives from the top rope onto the stomach of Dan Oliver, as Chaos drops to his knees. Terror covers for the pin.] SR: Two count... that was a fairly efficient move there... TD: No one can doubt the efficiency of the Harlequins.... SR: Or doubt their insanity... TD: Terror picking up Oliver and an Irish whip to the ropes... Oliver with a crucifix rollup! SR: Terror kicks out on the two, you won't get these two that easily... This is the IIWF, Dragons... learn what won't work now. TD: Oliver up, Terror reaches for him, but he tags in Peterson! [The crowd erupts as the Superstud, Adam Peterson vaults over the top rope with a dropkick, sending Terror across the ring. Chaos comes in and is met with a kick to the gut and...] TD: What a show of power! The Three hundred plus pound Chaos lifted in     a vertical suplex! Brain Buster! SR: That's a lot of power in a small package.... [Crotch cam! Laughter pop!] SR: Hey, who the hell's in the video booth? That's not funny... TD: Look at the monitor, Steve... In the ring now, Terror lifted and the Michinoku driver! Pin! SR: Ah, only a one count... you woke me up for that? Okay, I'll play along here... [flatly] Peterson's really impressing my goodness a huracanrana here comes Chaos and Peterson is tackled to the mat, pounded by Chaos, here comes Oliver with a diving headbutt that's gonna hurt him in the end and.... TD: Steve, would you grow up?! SR: [like a kid] Whatcha gonna do? Tell Mom? Cry to your mommy? My Daddy..? No, daddy, I wasn't... I mean I... I was just... stop it daddy... Leave Mr. Peabody alone! TD: Oh my. [Oliver is now double teamed by Terror and Chaos with a double stomach breaker... Terror climbs to the top rope as Chaos holds Dan Oliver's legs... until...] TD: Adam Peterson jogs the ropes! Terror in the crotchbuster! He's climbing the ropes to get behind Terror! SR: Chaos releases Oliver's legs... moving to the ropes... TD: Kip-up by Oliver! Chaos turns and is caught by a Dragon Screw Leg Whip! SR: Who screws dragons anyway? Down Boys... probably play Dungeons and Dragons too. "Roll to hit the huracanrana on the troglodyte... saving throw vs. lack of talent minus sixty two..." TD: Peterson with a bulldog from the top rope! [HUGE DOWN POP!] SR: Oliver and Peterson with the double dropkick to knock Chaos out of the ring... both to Terror now... Ah... [Male groan pop as Terror drops to his knees and drives a shot to that area all men don't like to see hit... lucky for the ref's nerves, he didn't see it... unlucky for the Down Boys.] TD: Double DDT! Terror with the pin! SR: He's on the wrong boy! Waiting for the count on Oliver! TD: "Superstud" is slowly getting up... he's dragged Terror off! SR: Now running in Terror from Terror... TD: Comedy and Melody trying to help Chaos up... looks like he hit the steel railing hard... SR: Looks like Melody forgot to wear underwear again today. What do they SEE in those clowns? TD: Peterson with a kick to the midsection... he's hooked Terror for a fisherman's suplex! He has him over! SR: No... they can't win! TD: One... two... three! He got him! [The referee signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding! Sparkplug Lee grabs the microphone to announce the official decision.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners, as the result of a pinfall... Dan Oliver and Adam Peterson... THE DOWN BOYS! [As "Down Boys" begins, Awesome T enters the ring, pointing at his protegés:] AT: Tag titles, here we come! SR: Sparky sounds like an operator on a 1-900 line. TD: I have to agree with T on this one. SR: Oh, don't give those two idiots another catchphrase.... [The Down Boys exit the ring, and the Harlequins move to Chaos's side, where he is still woozy... and requires the aid of the lady-quins and his brother Tragedy to help him to the back.] TD: He may have a concussion from that hit... SR: Aw, he'll be fine, Dross. He's no Quigley-licker... and besides, we all know there ain't no brain in that uggerly head of his. TD: Folks, we're almost at the end of our first hour -- but before we take a break, it's time for comments from the King of Snow Brawl, "Savage" Shadoe Rage, as we find out just who he's chosen as his first opponent. Just who will he meet right here on IIWF Saturday Night next week? SR: Well, get up there and find out, Dross! TD: Whatever you say, Steve Roberts. [Tim Dross gets up and leaves the broadcast table, picking up a microphone as he climbs the ringsteps and enters the ring once more. He waits for the crowd to settle before raising the microphone to his lips:] TD: Ladies and gentlemen... at this time I would like to announce to you... the winner of Snow Brawl... the man with his own personal booking rights for the entire month of February... the man who outlasted seventeen other IIWF superstars!  I give you... "SAVAGE" SHADOE RAGE!!!! ["The Death March" is blaring over the PA as the curtains part.  A troop of women in kente cloth blouses and skirts troop to the ring, strewing rose petals along the path as strong black men bear Shadoe and Marissa down the runway on a royal sedan.  Shadoe Rage is decked out in a black sleeveless robe with gold chain links sewn onto it.  His head is wrapped in a turban and his fingers are adorned with long, clawed rings.  He scratches his chin with one hand at the exquisitely barbered pencil slim beard he's sporting.  Marissa is radiant in an orange, black and gold kente cloth skirt and matching bandeau.  Her hair is free to fall over her broad, bare shoulders.  As they take the ring, Dross just looks on in bewilderment.] TD: You certainly know how to make an entrance, Shadoe Rage! SR: [grabbing the mic] And I sure know how to make a hell of an exit, too!  I'm planning to make an exit for four little superstars of the IIWF.  I'm planning to make that leap into the upper echelon of the IIWF and depose all the pretenders who dared overleap their positions. TD: You are talking about the FWLI competitors again! SR: The FWLI, the bane of my existence.  You're damn right I'm talking about that.  Those were the men that ruined that fine federation.  And those are the men that are going to pay during this special month of February.  There is no way around it.  There is no question about it.  And first up to bat is my old pal, Joe Petrow.  You're doing double duty the first week of February, pal.  So, you better let McArthur carry the load of Team Sychosys.  Because man, I've been waiting to expose you for the fraud that you are for over a year now!  Seven Tables of Fear?  They think that's the match?  No, this one is.  This one is all about the survival of the maddest.  You think you're clever.  You think you're tough.  What they don't know out there is Joe Petrow ain't crazy.  He calculates everything he does.  It's all about that push to get one more shot at the World Title, isn't it.  You figure you can do it your way right to the top?  It didn't work last time, Joe, and you ran and hid.  And every last bit of respect I had for you disappeared right there.  So we're gonna do it like real competitors, Petrow.  We're gonna do it like warriors are supposed to.  We're gonna step into that ring, no tricks, no gimmicks, no special little sidekicks.  We are gonna stay in there together and we are gonna fight! You hear me, Petrow? This is about respect.  Two men, one filled with the Rage at the pretensions of another.  And that's when the Savage Shadoe is at his best!  This is _MY_ month right here! [The crowd boos negatively.  They start to throw things at the Snow Brawl winner.  Shadoe merely smiles as he raises his microphone.] SR: Well, there goes your main interview... [wicked chuckle] That's what I call a Petrowism, a clever reference to something everybody already saw.  Yeah, it's all about the inside game, ain't it?  That's what it's all about.  But you're dealing with an outsider now.  I'm the guy that looks at all those impossible wins and says... "Crap."  I'm the guy that speaks for all the other wrestlers out there that say you're nothing, your schtick is tired.  And you, you are a wrestling anomaly, a talentless hack who can actually inspire the fans.  They're now talking about you as the icon of the IIWF?  Marissa, did you hear that?  Joe Petrow, the icon of the IIWF? [Marissa shakes her head in disbelief.] SR: Well, in February, you meet the Iconoclast!  I'm gonna shatter your image!  And I'm gonna break you.  I'm gonna break you exactly like you need to be broken.  And then your little partner in crime, Chris Quigley, the whiningest champion in the history of wrestling.  Quigley, you may ask why I even bother with you.  Our paths have never crossed.  Our ways have always been different, but the fact is, Quigley, you've always made me sick.  I hate Newfoundland and Newfoundlanders.  You think we come from the same spot?  No.  You're garbage.  You're fundamentally flawed and you will never be anything in anybody's eyes.  Not while I have the power to change it.  And I do have that power.  And I do empower myself to bring you into the ring with me and I'm going to take out my hatred on you.  I'm going to rip off that arm and that stinkin' sidekick of yours.  The one I knew could walk.  Steve Manning.  You bring him too and I'll prove that genetic reject isn't worth the eight pints of blood coursing through his veins! [Marissa begins to rub Shadoe's shoulders.  He's wild.  He's intense.] SR: I want everybody here to look at me, right now.  This is Black history month dawning on the horizon.  And Black history month shall be my time.  So take a look now.  Because when March comes, you are going to see something amazing.  You are going to see something that you never saw before.  You're going to see a radical shift in power.  You're gonna see me positioned as the number one contender and the number one threat to _EVERY_ man in the IIWF!  I am not using this month as a springboard to titles.  I am _not_ using this as a moment of self advancement.  No, my name is not Creed.  My name is not Tony Starks.  My name is not Mad Dog Watkins.  You are dealing with the God on Earth.  The man with the vision, with the benevolence and the _WILL_ to bring forth a new era in the IIWF.  I am going to sweep aside all your icons, all your false Gods and open the upper echelons of the IIWF to all those below.  Wear black for the month of February.  For that is the month that the old guard in the IIWF shall.... CROWD: [chanting] DIE... IN... DARKNESS!! [Shadoe passes the mic to Dross.  He reaches into his robe and pulls out a kiwi.  With a sinister smile he crushes it in his palm and hurls it into the crowd.  The "Death March" plays its dirge and Shadoe and Marissa retreat backstage as the crowd continues to chant: "DIE IN DARKNESS!"] SR: [over the headset] That's it for our first hour, morons! Stay tuned, we'll be right back with more "Soundbite" Saturday Night after these messages! [Cut to a wide-angle of the Qualcomm Stadium as Shadoe Rage and Marissa head back up the aisle, fans on either side clamouring to touch the pair as they retreat back to the locker room. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Gregg Osterhout | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | ghost@frii.com | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+