________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour two...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! Qualcomm Stadium, San Diego, California 31 January 1998 [Fade through to wide-angle shots of the Qualcomm Stadium, the IIWF blimp floating over the seventy thousand strong crowd as the evening begins to draw in, the sky shaded a wintery pink as the sun sets over the Californian skyline. The shot cuts rapidly between various sections of the crowd, fans waving at the cameras, holding aloft their signs and showing off their merchandise. Eventually, the shot comes to rest on the broadcast table in the raised ringside enclosure, at which are seated Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts.] TD: Welcome back to the second hour of tonight's blockbuster broadcast, folks. Coming up over the next sixty minutes, we have... hang on. Wait just a minute... [The shot cuts to the aisle, the crowd beginning to murmer as... "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley emerges from behind the curtain wearing jeans, and a "The Mighty IIWF!" t-shirt.  He is also wearing his usual Quickstrike leather jacket and silver shades.  He pays no attention to the fans, who begin to give a much more positive pop than he has received in the last few months.] SR: Oh for... I suppose we're going to find out that Maurice McArthur learned how to throw his voice and Quigley never really did say, "I quit." TD: Be quiet for a minute, Steve. Chris Quigley is here tonight, folks! We thought we'd never see him again in the IIWF, but Chris Quigley is here! [Dross is silenced as Quigley saunters past the broadcast table. He takes a microphone, and walks into the ring.  He looks around at the fans, seemingly trying to look each and every one of them straight in the eye.  He conspicuously looks for some time at Joe Petrow and at the Sychopaths at ringside, who break the hush of the fans with a chant of "Na-na... na-na-na-na... hey Quitley... goodbye!" Without any trace of anger on his face, Quigley simply waits for the chants to die down. He slowly raises the microphone to his mouth.  His words are slow and sombre.] CQ: I think... well, I think I said it best when I said, "If the time comes when I give up a match on my own will, my career means nothing to me." [Quigley stares at the mat for a moment, then continues...] CQ: I don't know, maybe when I screamed "I quit!" at Snow Brawl, with fifty-two thousand fans watching... maybe I was speaking metaphorically.  I didn't just give up the match.  I gave up a lot more.  And I think I probably gained something as well. [The fans grow dead silent, intently listening on.] CQ: When I walked into the IIWF almost two years ago, I walked in a proud fighter.  A stickler for wrestling and tradition and honour, and everything that goes with being a hero, but I never really was.  I've said that I was the best.  I've claimed to be a legend.  But it gets a little lonely when you're the only one saying those things. [Long pause.] CQ: I've never been really good at expressing emotions.  I've never been good at accepting my limits either.  I've learned a lot of things in the IIWF.  I've learned that despite all my efforts, I'm only human.  I've learned that loyalty and integrity don't always equal success, but not to let up because there's always someone out there somewhere who appreciates your efforts.  I've also learned that all good things must come to an end. [The fans begin to speak amongst themselves, obviously picking up on whatever point Quigley is trying to make.] CQ: The IIWF.  The _mighty_ IIWF.  Where you have to work your ass off for hours just to beat a mid-carder.  I came in here thinking I was doing everyone some kind of favour, I was allowing them to wrestle Chris Quigley. Now that I look back, I'm grateful the IIWF allowed me to wrestle at all. I've had my ups and downs, that much is for sure.  I lost to some of the finest athletes in the world.  And every now and then, I managed to beat one of them.  You get this idea in your head that you can't be touched, that you can't possibly improve on your style, and then you lose to a Marty Warnett or a Duncan Macbeth, and you realize you're not as infallible as you've made yourself and your fans believe. [Quigley shrugs.] CQ: But this isn't a time for self-pity.  It's a time to recognize that the IIWF is home to the finest in the world.  When you've got at least fifteen guys who deserve to wear a World Title belt, you know you've got something special.  Brody Thunder, Steve Kowalski, Joe Petrow, Duncan Macbeth, Billy Shakespeare, Marty Warnett... anybody else I may have left out, whether your opinions of me are low or high, and I realize they're probably low, I've always shown you the utmost respect when we're in the ring.  And you've always done the same for me.  Despite me being a loner during my career, despite me never talking to many people behind the scenes, despite me refusing to carpool to the airport, or refusing to go out for drinks with the rest of the guys, I think we can agree that there's a common bond between wrestlers and we can sense what the other is thinking most of the time.  If that's the case, maybe some of you can identify with what I'm saying right now.  Mr. Emotionless is taking off the mask for a minute, and letting everyone know that wrestling was my life, and being the best wrestler in the world was my goal.  [Pause.] CQ: I guess it's evident how little the fans know about me, when I'm now telling you for the first time that I'm engaged to be married.  I want to have a family.  I want to be able to show my kids how to play hockey, how to throw a ball, and definitely, how to wrestle.  When Joe Petrow was crushing me against the turnbuckles, when my arms were being ripped out of their sockets and I couldn't breathe, my only thoughts were, I either quit and leave the sport, or I don't quit and be _forced_ to leave the sport, on a stretcher.  That was the first time I ever questioned what was more important to me.  Winning a match or my future goals.  That's when I knew what the answer to the referee's question would be.  That's when I realized that "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley had died, and Chris Quigley had taken over. [The deafening silence in the arena continues, every eye, every ear focused on the man in the ring.  The man who hid his emotions, denied his own mortality, and gave up his life to the sport he loved.] CQ: I'm probably the only person in the IIWF, or hell, the only person in the world, who thought that I was the best, or that I was _legendary_.  But that's nothing new.  I guess I'll walk out of the IIWF the exact same way I walked in, and the exact same way I spent these two years: alone.  But whether I should or I shouldn't.  Whether I even deserve to at all... I'm going to walk out with my head held high.  Nobody can convince me that I wasn't the best, and more importantly, nobody can convince me that I didn't pour my heart into each and every match, whether it was against Maurice McArthur or Dan Kauffman.  I know a lot of people watched that match at Snow Brawl, and literally jumped for joy when I said those two damn words. For those of you who missed it, or for those of you who just want to hear it again... [Quigley removes his shades and flicks them into the crowd, and looks straight into the camera.] CQ: ...I quit. [The fans silence suddenly explodes into a shocked, somewhat negative response.  However, as Quigley removes his leather jacket, and drops it over the IIWF symbol silk-screened onto the mat, then marches out of the ring, wearing his "The Mighty IIWF!" t-shirt, his head held high, they let it all out.  Every fan in the building who ever felt the slightest hint of liking Chris Quigley rise to their feet, and they cheer.  They clap 'til their hands are sore, an emotional outcry that would make any other man fall to his knees in tears. But Quigley, ever the soldier, walks around the guardrail, shaking hands, without the slightest sign of emotion on his face, without the slightest shakiness in his legs, and without turning back, Chris Quigley walks back down the aisle, pausing once to raise his hand in his famous "I love you" gesture, which every fan in attendance return. And the man they called "paper champion," the man they called "an over-rated whiner," the man they called "Quickstrike", disappears.  As the fans continue to show their respects, the camera pans in on Quigley's discarded leather jacket, laying in the ring.  The proud Quickstrike Symbol, like a permanent tattoo on the IIWF mat.  Then it slowly fades back to the announce table, where Tim Dross and Steve Roberts sit, in silence.] TD: [stammering]  I... I don't know exactly what to say at this juncture, ladies and gentlemen... SR: Allow me, Dross. TD: Oh, please, Steve Roberts.  Don't ruin a posit... SR: Shut it for just a second.  I'll never be a Quickstrike fan, Dross.  For too long he stood for everything that I was against.  But tonight, he demonstrated to me that underneath it all, he is a class act.  I thought the day Chris Quigley left the IIWF would be the happiest day of my life, but I'm kinda mixed at this point.  Gimme time, I'll think of a few ways to burn Quigley in the coming weeks, but for now, I'll just say, whether ya loved him or ya didn't, the man knew how to get your attention. TD: A fitting tribute from a surprising source, I must say. It's certainly proving to be quite a night for the unexpected here in San Diego, folks, but as the evening draws in, so must we continue with our great action. Four more matches coming your way, including two championship defences, and that huge cage match -- so let's get straight back up to the ring for our next encounter! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| "To Excess" Rick Williams vs. |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Christopher Stonebreaker ....................................................................... WRITER: Mike Beeby [Sparkplug Lee enters the ring once more, and raises the microphone to his mouth:] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, from Lafayette, Louisiana and weighing in at 265 pounds, the master of the Rockslide Suplex... CHRISTOPHER STONEBREAKER! ["A Country Boy Can Survive" by Hank Williams, Jr. begins to play over the PA system, as Christopher Stonebreaker makes his entrance at the top of the aisle.  Stonebreaker walks down the aisle towards the ring, the crowd giving him a hero's welcome along the way.  He makes it to ringside and steps up onto the ring apron, then points out at the crowd which draws a louder pop than before.] SR: Sellout!  Sellout! TD: What on earth are you talking about? SR: Stonebreaker used to be a mean S.O.B. and now he's gone and stooped to pandering to these simpering twits.  The only good fan is a Souundbite fan. TD: Well, that eliminates most of them. SR: Watch it, Dross. SL: And his opponent... Weighing in at 257 pounds, and hailing from Minneapolis, Minnesota, he is a former NLWP Heavyweight Champion... "TO EXCESS" RICK WILLIAMS! [As "Local Hero" starts up over the PA system, the crowd begins to boo. Rick Williams makes his way down the aisle slowly, taunting a few fans every ten feet or so.  As he gets halfway down the aisle, the lights around the ring fade out.  Obviously with the open-air stadium the scene isn't plunged into total darkness, but a voice rings out:] VOICE: The Spotlight is upon you. [One by one a spotlight begins to shine, each one covering one of the ringposts.  Rick Williams looks around nervously, then rolls into the ring to start the match.  Stonebreaker greets Rick Williams with a series of punches to the head as he tries to enter the ring, and then pulls him through the ropes by the neck.  Williams attempts to get free and pushes Stonebreaker away, but the cajun star comes right back on him and sends him into the ropes for a backdrop.  Stonebreaker grabs Williams by the hair as he gets to his feet and levels him with a forearm shot, then sets him up for a powerbomb.  Williams backdrops Stonebreaker out of position, and then falls to his knees, trying to catch his breath.  As he kneels, Stonebreaker thinks quickly and rolls his opponent over for the pin attempt, and almost gets it.  The crowd, on Stonebreaker's side, cheers as Williams gets to his feet only to be mowed down with a clothesline, and the process is repeated twice more.  On the third time the clothesline sends him straight over the top rope to the floor.] TD: Christopher Stonebreaker is on a roll tonight, he's had the match well in hand so far.  Rick Williams is back on his feet, and he's arguing with Bill Ivey of the American Dragons!  Ivey doesn't look like he wants to get into it right now, but Williams is picking a fight with the young man. Stop it! SR: Boys will be boys, Dross. [Christopher Stonebreaker exits the ring and grabs Williams from behind, sending him into the steel ringsteps to another crowd pop.  He picks his opponent up by the hair and tosses him back into the ring and then follows, climbing to the middle turnbuckle and jumping off with an axehandle to the forehead.  Williams hits the mat and Stonebreaker tries for the cover, but the cagey wrestler kicks out at two and rolls to his feet immediately.  He sits on his knees and takes several elbowsmashes, not falling over at all, and then is mowed down to the mat with a running kneesmash to the face. Stonebreaker covers again, and the same result as before, with Williams rolling up a shoulder at the two count.  Stonebreaker picks Williams up and tries to throw him into the ropes, but Williams reverses, then grabs the cajun and snaps his neck off the top rope with a desperation hotshot!] SR: What a move!  What a move!  To Excess, baby, To Excess! TD: Like it or not, that hotshot has really turned the tide quickly. Christopher Stonebreaker is down, and this could be it. [Williams grabs Stonebreaker by the legs and executes a half boston on him, but Stonebreaker reaches for the ropes easily and finds them, breaking the hold.  As Stonebreaker rises Williams comes off the ropes with a flying forearm and connects, sending him back to the mat, and now in a pinfall attempt.  Stonebreaker manages to kick out, and Williams brings him to his feet and hooks him in position for a fisherman's suplex.  Stonebreaker uses his power to simply break out of the hold, setting his foot down and standing upright again.  He grabs Williams and executes a belly-to-belly suplex, covering Williams but unable to get the three count thanks to another kickout from Williams.  Each man rises to his feet at the same time, and they lock up in the center of the ring.  Stonebreaker gets a headlock on Williams, but a back suplex changes things drastically for Williams.  With the crowd looking on and booing, Williams taunts them before pulling Stonebreaker up and setting him up for the Excessive Force reverse neckbreaker.  He stands back to back with Stonebreaker, a hand around the front of his opponent's head, when he sees the emergence of a man wearing wrestling tights and a black, eyeless hood from the locker rooms.  The crowd bursts into cheers as the man stands in the aisle, and Williams releases Stonebreaker.] TD: It's Billy Shakespeare!  It's Billy Shakespeare! SR: Hey, who ordered the gay guy?  I specifically said _no_ gay guys! [Williams is completely taken off his game as he sees the figure, which allows Christopher Stonebreaker to strike, rolling Williams up from behind into an inside cradle.  The referee counts, and gets the three count as the crowd roars.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner... CHRISTOPHER STONEBREAKER! TD: Stonebreaker wins a highly competitive match against Rick Williams, but Williams doesn't seem to care at this time.  He's charging after Billy Shakespeare! [Williams ducks out of the ring, and heads up the aisle, after the disappearing figure wearing the eyeless hood. Meanwhile, Stonebreaker mounts the turnbuckles and salutes the fans, celebrating his pinfall victory.] TD: Folks, I understand that Dave Bacon has finally caught up with Serge Annis backstage. Annis will be going up against Mad Dog Watkins in a steel cage later on tonight, but he's already been through a war this week. Dave, over to you. [Cut to backstage, in front of a makeshift interview set with an IIWF backdrop. In front of the logo is broadcaster Dave Bacon, who stands with the 6'8" "Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis. Annis looks a complete mess. On his face he wears a black protective mask. His hair is out and visible, but his face is covered and held in place by straps. However, several scratches and the ends of cut are barely made visible just above the mask on Annis' forehead. Serge's ribs are also noticably taped.] DB: Thanks, Tim. I am standing backstage with the Epitome of Evil, who shall wrestle Mad Dog Watkins a little later on tonight in a steel cage -- but Serge, I think the top question is: what happened to you? SA: See, I did something that not many men dare to do. I messed with an "Outlaw". The marks smeared across my face is the aftermath of a steel cage Texas Death match with the IIWF legend himself, J.W. Hardin. I don't like 'im, but he can fight. He's as crazy as me. He pitched -- not lobbed, tossed or smacked -- but the guy _pitched_ a goddamned brick at my face. And it damn sure hurt. Cut up my face pretty badly. I am not allowed to wrestle without this here mask. Doctor's orders. DB: What about the taped ribs? SA: If you go into a match with Hardin and expect only one injury, you're nuts. I'll full well admit it: I'm hurting. But that doesn't matter to me. See, two steel cage matches in the matter of a week. Watkins, you haven't been back in the ring long enough, let alone a cage, to walk out with a win. Serge Annis is your road block, stopping you from resuming your rightful spot in the IIWF. Simply because, I stole it. And you aren't getting it back, Old Dog. My body may be hurt, but what's left of my mind is one hundred percent intent on destroying you, Watkins. I've already sentenced you to damnation in Hell. You refused to go... so tonight, I will literally bring Hell to you... heh heh heh. [Annis walks off the interview set. Bacon watches him depart, and then turns back to the camera.] DB: Back to you guys at ringside. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside. Christopher Stonebreaker's music has finally faded from the PA, and the "Ragin' Cajun" has departed for the locker rooms.] TD: Well, folks, the first of tonight's two championship matches is up next. It was just two weeks ago at Snow Brawl that the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi recaptured the IIWF Cruiserweight Championship from nemesis Ronnie Paris, almost exactly one year since he first won the belt back at the first Snow Brawl. The "Enigma" is sure to be a tremendous champion, and he now has an extra edge he lacked twelve months ago -- a more, shall we say, extreme side to his personality that manifests itself occasionally. SR: He blows hot and cold like the wind, Dross. If he wears blue, we're in for a snooze-fest... but if he wears _red_, he's one hot little momma. TD: The "Enigma" certainly seems to have two distinct frames of mind, Steve Roberts -- but which "Enigma" will we see tonight when he takes on young Icehawk, a former three-time IIWF Tag Team Champion just starting out in the singles arena? SR: That crazy little Norweigian guy... TD: He's Finish, Steve. SR: What? The match hasn't even started yet. TD: Never mind. Let's get up to the ring for the introductions. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| "Enigma" Takezo Musashi vs. Icehawk ....................................................................... WRITERS: Shay Bockmann & Daniel Spreadbury [The camera works its way across the crowd, long shadows engulfing most of the crowd which seems quite enthusiastic as the camera pans across them. Signs, foam fingers, and other paraphenlia are quite apparent in the crowd which is still abuzz, and begins to cheer a touch louder as the familiar Sparkplug Lee makes his way into the ring.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, this next match is scheduled for one fall, and is for the IIWF Cruiserwight Championship! [Sparkplug pauses for a beat as the fans pop for the title at stake.] And introducing first, the challenger who hails from Oulo, Finland and weighs in at 220 pounds, I give you, ICEHAWK! ["Olympic Fanfare" washes over the audience through Qualcomm Stadium's speaker system, and it seems that everyone in the stadium cranes their neck at once to try and catch a glimpse of Icehawk making his way to the ring. Most settle for the video wall monitor set above the entranceway to get their first look at the pale star clad in a white cape and mask, offset by the ice blue iceicle pattern which adorns both boots and trunks, and the blue cross patterned atop cape and mask.] TD: Icehawk could almost be mistaken for a member of the victorious Denver Broncos team as he sprints down that aisle. And one has to wonder if tonight will be a moment for him like it was on -- SR: The spread Drossie, betrayed by the spread? Or was it a benefit? The men in Vegas might just know something more than we thought... TD: No matter what your opinion is on this great competitor, Steve Roberts, I'd suggest that you keep your attention focused here on this man, and indeed, on this match. [Just before making his way into the ring, the visibly exuberant Icehawk pauses to chat with the American Dragons as he removes his cape and mask. After a few quick words the trio give each other a mutual encouraging word and pat on the back before Icehawk makes his way up the steps to the apron, then vaults over the ropes.] SR: A suggestion, Dross, a suggestion. Don't drop your soap around those three. Better yet, just buy the liquid kind. [Sparkplug Lee steps aside to allow Icehawk to climb one turnbuckle and pump his fists over his head to the cheers of the crowd. Lee makes his way to the center of the ring as Icehawk tours the corner turnbuckles to fire up the fans.] SL: And now, introducing your IIWF Cruiserweight Champion... He hails from Kobe, Japan and weighs in at 210 pounds. Here is the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi! [The video monitors flicker to life with the images of the Engima as he slowly makes his way down the entranceway. He strides slowly towards the ring, his black pants would be entirely plain but for a single white Japanese character on the side of the right leg. His face is expressionless, and the only thing which breaks up the monotony there is a simple white star painted around his left eye.] TD: It is certainly interesting that through this man's entire tenure here in the IIWF, that his nickname of the "Enigma" still holds true. SR: Sure, Dross. Sure. [As the bell rings to signal the start of the match, the two competitors warily circle each other, each hunkering down a bit to present as little a target as possible to the other man. As the Enigma reaches out one hand for an arm of Icehawk's, he finds it slapped away. As if he'd been expecting it, Musashi executes a shoulder roll towards Icehawk, his other hand sweeping behind Icehawk's knee to drop him to the mat. As Musashi moves in to follow up, Icehawk is quick enough to roll away, and regain his footing once more.] TD: Both men getting a feel for the other here, and I must say that Musashi does seem impressed with the speed of Icehawk. SR: Two strikes against, Dross. One, existing in a tag team and making me miserable. Two, trying to make it in the jumping bean division here and making me even more miserable. You know what policy our friends here to the south have Dross? Three strikes and you're in prison for life. Icehawk would be right at home, whether he prefers his soap in liquid form or not. [The pair circle each other once more, each man looking for an opening, until Icehawk feints a legsweep and quickly takes Musashi to the mat with a quick armdrag takedown, though both men are quickly on their feet, each still looking suitably impressed with the speed of the other. It is the Enigma who next tries a legsweep feint, but as before, it is Icehawk who takes him down with a fast armdrag. Before the crowd can even finish cheering the second armdrag takedown, Musashi is back on his feet, and taken down for a third time, which has Musashi rolling away after, and a fired up Icehawk shaking his fists to a moderate pop from the crowd.] TD: And perhaps Icehawk is getting the morale boost he needs from this early encounter? It is one thing to have the gifts to compete, but it is sometimes another to put everying together into a new arena of competition. Of course, we've seen the former Olympian make a successful transition before. SR: I'm sure he would make a wonderful transition with a cellmate named "Bubba" as well. Or whatever they call those ridiculous gymnastics moves. [As the exuberant Icehawk moves towards the still stoic Musashi, his takedown is countered by a quick armdrag takedown by the champion, who is quick enough this time to convert it into an armbar on the downed Fin. Musashi only holds it long enough to glance about the ring before releasing the hold and stepping back, his eyes still unreadable. As Icehawk quickly makes it to his feet, it is Musashi who proves faster on the next exchange with an armdrag takedown, following it up with a figure four armlock.] TD: And this match now appears to be truly underway, both men now quite certain of the speed the other posesses. Icehawk now looks to be in a great deal of pain. [Chuck Sanders drops to the mat for a moment, conferring with Icehawk who struggles against the hold even as the Enigma cinches it in a bit tighter. Sanders leans in close once more, Icehawk making it quite clear that he has no interest in giving up, no matter how painful the hold might be. The Fin's feet begin to smack the canvas as he continues to work his way out of the hold, but to no avail. Icehawk eventually forces himself up to his knees, upsetting the Enigma's balance, and the Fin is able to hook the bottom rope with one of his feet. Big pop as Sanders calls for the break!] TD: And Icehawk showed a great deal of fortitude there, Steve Roberts. No matter what your opinion is on the man, you have to admire his fortitude. SR: I've seen corn flakes with more fortitude than this man. Now there's something I forgot to mention earlier. Soap flakes. [While Icehawk uses the ropes to lift himself from the canvas, clearly concerned about his shoulders, Musashi moves around behind the young athlete, waiting for him to turn around -- and as Icehawk does so, he grabs him with a snap suplex that sends the Fin skidding across the mat! 'Hawk pops up, and is this time caught in a belly-to-belly suplex, Musashi planting his opponent to the canvas with authority! Big pop from the fans!] TD: Oh my! What a series of suplexes we are seeing here from Musashi -- wow! A hard, hard Northern Lights Suplex has Icehawk's head bouncing off the canvas! [Musashi now hoists Icehawk up as if he were about to execute a belly-to-back suplex, but instead of dumping him shoulders first, Musashi lifts 'Hawk into a more vertical position -- and drives him head first into the mat! Huge pop!] TD: That's the patented backdriver suplex! This one could be over! [The "Enigma" drops for the cover, and Chuck Sanders slides into position: 1 -- 2 -- Icehawk gets a shoulder up! Big pop for the Finnish athlete! Musashi quickly bounces off the ropes and attempts to halt any immediate Icehawk comeback with a windmill elbow from the ropes -- but 'Hawk moves out of the way, and pops back up to his feet! Musashi also gets back to his feet -- and is met by an excellent standing dropkick from Icehawk! Musashi goes down, but again pops straight back up once more. 'Hawk rushes at Musashi, and clotheslines him over the top rope, the two men tumbling to the outside... and both landing on their feet! Icehawk looks momentarily surprised -- and that is all the time the Enigma needs to suddenly charge at the challenger, flooring him with a short-arm clothesline! Big Enigma pop!] TD: What agility from these two superstars! That certainly caught Icehawk by surprise, and he paid for it! SR: Being able to tie his own bootlaces would take Icehawk by surprise, Dross. [The "Enigma" drags Icehawk back to his feet, softens him up with a couple of European uppercuts, and then rolls him back into the ring. Icehawk instinctively tries to rise to his feet, while Musashi hops up onto the ring apron. With his back to his opponent, Icehawk groggily stands -- and suddenly finds the "Enigma" on his shoulders! Musashi launches himself onto the ropes, and then springs off the middle of the top rope, cat-like, landing atop Icehawk's shoulders, and rolling forwards, trapping Icehawk in a cradle!] TD: Victory roll! A victory roll off the ropes! Musashi has him! [Sanders again drops to make the count: 1 -- 2 -- Icehawk just kicks out! The two men are untangled, and both head straight back to their feet. Icehawk, who still seems to be running purely on instinct, goes for a lockup with Musashi -- but the "Enigma" floats over, and drops the Fin with a double-arm DDT! Huge pop!] TD: Oh my! What a DDT from the Champion! Icehawk may be out here -- and the "Enigma" now, going to the top rope! SR: Are we gonna see the Starsault Press, Dross? [Musashi balances on the top turnbuckle, poised momentarily with cameras flashing all around the Qualcomm Stadium... and then launches himself with a Frog Splash! Big pop as Musashi again connects! Sanders drops to the canvas again, and makes the count: 1 -- 2 -- kickout! Big pop from the seventy thousand strong crowd!] TD: What impressive intestinal fortitude from this youngster, Steve Roberts! Icehawk is showing us right here why he has already had three titles to his name in his short career to date, and... oh my! [The "Enigma" again attempts to halt Icehawk's rise with an elbow from the ropes, and this time is successful. Again, Musashi springs to the top turnbuckle, this time climbing up the inside. He positions himself on the top buckle, facing into the ring, then bounces, spinning through one hundred and eighty degrees as he does so, before launching himself with a reverse moonsault at the challenger... who dodges out of the way! Musashi careens into the mat as Icehawk rolls out of the way at the last possible moment! Big Icehawk pop!] TD: This is Icehawk's chance to capitalise, Steve Roberts! The Enigma went for one high risk move too many, and if Icehawk can make the most of this opportunity, he could win this thing! [Icehawk appears to be trying to shake off the cobwebs of the damage he has sustained, and rises to his feet as the Enigma begins to stir. Musashi pulls himself up into a sitting position -- and is surprised as Icehawk bounces off the ropes, leaps over Musashi, and then hits him with a low dropkick to the face as he comes back off the ropes, the Champion's head bouncing hard off the canvas. Icehawk quickly picks himself up, leaps to the mid-rope -- and launches himself with an Asai moonsault on the Enigma! Big pop!] SR: Hey, that's my move! TD: Icehawk is in control here, Steve Roberts! He has the cover -- one... two... no! So close, but the Enigma kicks out! [Icehawk acts quickly to prevent Musashi getting back to his feet, placing his head between his legs, locking his arms around Musashi's waist for a gutwrench, hoisting him up... and _driving_ him down to the mat with a powerbomb! Big pop! Icehawk steps out of the ring onto the apron through the ropes, and almost seems to run up to the top turnbuckle, where he opens his arms wide, drawing further cheers from the crowd... and then launches himself with a textbook shooting star press that connects with full force! Another big pop!] TD: Shades of the Enigma himself there, Steve Roberts! Icehawk again with the cover... and again, Musashi kicks out with a fraction of a second to spare! What a match this is! SR: They're like a couple of Mexican jumping beans in there, Dross. I can barely keep up. Hey, the "Enigma" is Mexican, right? Or is that the Chickenwing guy? TD: Never mind, Steve Roberts. Icehawk again, pulling the Enigma to his feet, whipping him into the ropes... hurricanrana! No! Musashi manages to counter -- with a powerbomb! [Musashi stops dead in the centre of the ring and catches Icehawk as the young athlete throws himself towards the Champion -- and _drives_ him down into the canvas with authority! Huge pop from the fans as Icehawk's head bounces off the mat, and the "Enigma" slumps backwards, glad of the momentary respite in the action.] TD: I think the momentum Icehawk had building for him may have just disappeared in one single move, Steve Roberts. The Enigma is such a dangerous competitor, able to turn things around in the blink of an eye. SR: Sorry, Dross, I blinked. Did I miss something? Hey, the Chickenwing guy's out on the mat! What the heck happened?   [Musashi stirs after a few precious seconds of rest, drags Icehawk back to his feet, and places his head between his legs, as if setting up for a second powerbomb. He hoists the Fin into the air -- and Icehawk slides out! Icehawk slides out over Musashi's back, spins around, and rushes the "Enigma" into the ropes, pulling him over backwards for the roll-up... but Musashi is able to keep the roll going, and ends up on top of Icehawk, sliding his legs over the Fin's shoulders to lock him up! Sanders drops to the mat again: 1 -- 2 -- no! Somehow, 'Hawk gets his shoulders out! Big, big pop!] TD: Both men now, back to their feet -- each seems to sense blood in the water, Steve Roberts, and each man wants this victory! [Musashi and Icehawk stare at one another for a moment, a look of total determination in the eyes of both men, before they lock up, Musashi sending Icehawk for the ride into the ropes. Musashi attempts to hit a savate kick as 'Hawk runs back at him, but the Fin is able to duck under. As the challenger straightens up, however, Musashi, in a single fluid motion, launches a kick with his other leg that catches the Fin flush on the jaw, and sends him crashing back to the mat. Big pop! Musashi leaps over the ropes to the apron on the far side of the ring, and then bounces up onto the ropes, using them as a springboard to launch a flying splash at Icehawk, which connects! Huge pop! Again, Musashi makes the cover: 1 -- 2 -- no! Again, Icehawk is able to kick out!] TD: This is one of the fastest-paced matches I think I've ever seen, Steve Roberts. What a show these two men are putting on for this capacity crowd! SR: It ain't a patch on Naughty Nun night at the Beaver Trap, Dross. [Musashi bounds back to his feet, and again climbs to the top turnbuckle. He waits for Icehawk to get to his feet... and then launches himself with a cross-body block... only for Icehawk to catch him in mid-air and slam him to the mat with a modified piledriver, dumping him hard on his head! Huge pop as Icehawk makes the cover: 1 -- 2 -- the Enigma kicks out! Both men are now slightly slower to their feet, but the look of determination in their eyes is undimmed. Musashi opens his arms wide for another lock-up... but then gouges Icehawk in the eyes! Heel pop!] TD: Oh my! Did you see that, Steve Roberts? Musashi just gouged Icehawk's eyes -- and, oh my! A palm thrust to the throat! That kind of move is completely illegal -- I don't think the referee saw it! [Icehawk gags and clutches at his throat, stunned by the illegal move, while Musashi runs to the ropes and hits him with a flying cross body -- but he overshoots with the velocity a little and both men go flying over the top rope! Huge pop from the fans as they hit the floor hard!] TD: Oh, this could get out of hand right now, Steve Roberts! This could get out of hand in a hurry! Musashi is back to his feet, dragging Icehawk up, and... oh my! Right into the ring steps! [Musashi whips Icehawk into the ringsteps with a loud *CLANG!*, and then charges at him... but the Fin rolls out of the way, and the "Enigma" goes careening over the steps! Big pop as the groggy, and still a little choked, Icehawk gets to his feet once more. He climbs to the top of the ringsteps, and launches himself with a legdrop at Musashi -- and connects! Big pop! In the ring, meanwhile, referee Chuck Sanders' count has reached three. Icehawk drags Musashi to his feet, but lets the "Enigma" get a little far away from him, and the Champion lets loose with a vicious savate kick, again catching Icehawk in the throat, and dropping him to the floor! Big pop!] TD: Oh my! Right to Icehawk's injured throat! This is vicious, vicious stuff! Musashi, now -- he's laying Icehawk out on the steel guard rail at ringside... and now he's getting back into the ring. What's going on here? [The crowd are going crazy as Musashi climbs back up into the ring, breaking Sanders' count, runs to the strands, bounds off, and comes flying over the top rope with a somersault plancha down upon the groggy body of Icehawk, whose back is driven hard into the steel under the impact. Huge, huge pop! Musashi goes back to climb back to the apron for a second dive... but something is wrong. The crowd's cheers begin to die away as Chuck Sanders hurriedly leaves the ring and bends over Icehawk.] TD: Oh... oh my. This arena has just gone silent, folks, and it is because Icehawk is clearly seriously injured outside the ring. His back -- and possibly his neck -- was driven into that steel barrier mighty hard, and... well... this is awful. We have a medical team on the way down to ringside now. [Where only seconds before the entire Qualcomm stadium had cheered enthusiastically for one of Musashi's somersault planchas, it is now quiet. Ominously quiet. The video screens have zoomed in on the medical team which is hovering around Icehawk, but have yet to move him from where he lies on the floor. Collectively holding its breath, the audience begins to buzz with murmuring as a pair of EMTs dash down the entrance tunnel with a mobile gurney, a back board atop it.] TD: Edmund Fitzgerald has also made his way out to see the condition of his friend. And I would venture a guess, and mind you this is only a guess, that Icehawk's neck may have been injured badly here. Indeed, there seems to be a great deal of caution on the part of the medical team there, that I can only imagine something is seriously, seriously wrong. [The "Enigma" Takeza Musashi continues to watch the commotion outside the ring, his face remaining quite expressionless. As the medical crew finally gets Icehawk onto the backboard, a number of other IIWF stars, some no longer in their wrestling gear, trickle out into the aisle: Intercontinental Champion Duncan Macbeth, Bear of the Natural Predators, Marty Warnett and Charles Scheffield all appear in the aisle, and Harlequins Tragedy and Comedy also make their way down towards the ring. The concerned wrestlers surround the gurney as it is wheeled up the aisle, obscuring any view of Icehawk. The arena is still eerily silent... but a smattering of almost apologetic applause breaks the ice, and soon the applause builds into a huge, huge cheer of appreciation for Icehawk as he is wheeled up the aisle and out of sight. All the while, the "Enigma" stands in the ring, his face devoid of any discernible emotion.] TD: Well, folks, an extraordinary show of appreciation from this crowd for an extraordinary athlete -- I have no idea how serious Icehawk's injury may be, but we have excellent medical staff on duty here tonight at the Qualcomm Stadium, and he will receive the best treatment possible. This is... well, this is tragic, Steve Roberts. Icehawk was wrestling the match of his life out here tonight -- there is every possibility that he could have upset the champion in this match... but fate has dealt the young Finnish athlete a cruel hand indeed. SR: Did you hear the crunch, Dross? Did you hear that bone-breaking, spine-snapping crunch? TD: Please, Steve Roberts, have a little respect. We may have witnessed the extremely premature end of a promising young career -- and you're interested in sound effects? [The applause once again dies down as the gurney is long gone, leaving just the "Enigma" standing, blankly, in the ring. Finally, he rolls out of the ring under the bottom rope, and makes his way up the aisle, still apparently emotionless. The fans give a hushed response to his departure, some puzzled or disturbed by his apparent coolness, and others nonetheless applauding him for a tremendous match. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts... we've seen some incredible, and some unfortunate, occurrences here tonight -- but the show must go on, and we have our second championship match coming up right now, as IIWF Intercontinental Champion Duncan Macbeth defends his title against a man who was first his enemy, then his friend... and now most definitely his enemy again. I'm talking, of course, about the "Heatseeker" Derek Mota, the former Cruiserweight Champion, who tonight has the opportunity to add a second piece of gold to his trophy cabinet. Let's get up to the ring for this one! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Duncan Macbeth vs. Derek Mota ....................................................................... WRITER: Mike Sonby [Sparkplug walks into the ring and catches a glance at himself on the video screen.  He stares, lost in his own huge image.] TD: Sparkplug looks mesmerized by our surroundings. SR: Big deal.  He's mesmerized by small shiny objects. [Sparkplug breaks out of reverie, shakes his head, and begins the announcements:] SL: Ladies and Gentlemen, this match is for the IIWF Intercontinental Title!  [The crowd explodes in cheers]  Introducing firrst, the challenger.  He hails from Toronto, Ontario, and weighs 224 pounds.  He is a former Cruiserweight champion... DEREK MOTA!!! ["The Great Southern Trendkill" by Sepultura begins playing, and Mota walks up the tunnel to a huge heel pop.  His right ankle is still strapped, but the cast has been removed, and he does not limp.  He looks around and motions that the belt will still be around his waist as he rolls into the ring.] SL: And his opponent is the current Intercontinetal Champion! Weighing 270 pounds and hailing from Glenfinnan, Scot... [Sparkplug is interrupted as Scotland the Brave begins playing, and the crowd explodes as Macbeth walks up the tunnel into the stadium.  The cheers are tempered, however, as Timothy N. Turner walks out with him. Duncan wears the Intercontinental around his waist over his tartan.] TD: It's an odd pairing.  The fans love Macbeth, but are less than thrilled by his partner Turner.  SR: Who cares?  They're both winners.  That's all that matters.  That and buscuits. [Macbeth points his finger at Mota and shakes his head before climbing into the ring.  He removes his tartan and threatens to throw it at Mota, but the referee is there with a warning.  Instead, Macbeth hands over his tartan and belt to the referee.  The ref holds the Title belt over his head for all to see.  He motions for the bell to ring when a commotion starts from the tunnel.] SR: What's going on? TD: I'm not... we've got a visitor! [The crowd cheers again, this time without any reservation, as Ike Sampson walks through the tunnel.  Ike is dressed in streets clothes and is holding a cordless microphone.  Ike pauses a moment to soak in the cheers of his fans, crazy over the return of their hero.] IKE: Hey Mota!  Hey MacBean!  Remember me?! [The crowd pops.  Mota and Macbeth now turn their attention to the big man in the aisle.] IKE: Sure you do.  I remember you.  Both of you.  Well, in case you don't, let me refresh your memory... [Ike points to the giant video wall behind him.  Footage subtitled "IIWF Birthday Bash: 10 May 1997" shows Ike defeating both Macbeth and Mota in the "Future Bowl" triangle match.  The crowd pops big-time as Ike gets the win.] IKE: You see that?!  I beat you both.  Fair and square.  Proved I was the better man.  Now, I may have been away for awhile, but not that      far.  They get the Double Eye over in Japan.  I checked you out,      every Friday night, talking about the Future Bowl, how both of you      came out the winner.      But that ain't the way it happened.  _I_ won.  Middle of the ring.      One-Two-Three.  And if I won the damn thing... both of you came out      losers. [Big crowd pop.] IKE: Since then... I got a little sidetracked.  Misplaced my priorities... start worrying about "family"... first Creed and the      Dog... then Starkey and the Prophets... but I don't need them.  I      got all the family I need... [Ike points to the crowd.] IKE: Right here. [Huge pop.] IKE: Meanwhile, Mota wins a belt... Macbeth wins some gold... and I'm      proud of you boys... I really am.  Those wins meant a lot to you...      you showed you'd _arrived_.      But they didn't mean nothing to me.  'Cause I know, no matter how      many belts you ever win, that _I'm_ the better man.  And deep down      inside... you know it, too.      'Cause I beat you.  Both of ya.  And you ain't got _nothing_ on me. [Big pop.] IKE: So here's an idea:  Both of you think you came out ahead at the      Future Bowl.  Well, the whole world saw me win the damn thing.      Well, I'm a sporting man:  just last week, the Packers came in here      and defended their title.  And I'm ready to do the same.      Whaddya say, boys?!  Future Bowl II?! [Huge pop as Ike drops the cordless mic in the aisle, and heads down towards ringside.  Both men are a little distracted, but Mota recovers more quickly and stuns Macbeth with a dropkick, then goes for a quick cover.  Macbeth kicks out before the referee gets in position, then locks up with Mota.  Mota grabs him in a headlock, but is shoved into the corner by Macbeth.  He charges out with a clothesline, but Macbeth ducks. Mota keeps running and bounces off the ropes.  Macbeth shows surprising agility by leaping over Mota as he leaps over a charging Mota, but Mota ducks under Macbeth, stops in his tracks, and catches Macbeth with a superkick to the back of the head.] TD: A lot of early action in the match. SR: Looks like we've got company. [Ike Sampson takes a headset, puts it on, and sits down next to Tim Dross.] TD: Ike, it's great to see you back here.  You really look like you're ready to head back into the IIWF. IS: Thank you, Tim.  I thought the fans might appreciate some comments from a man who has beaten both of them in the ring. [With Macbeth on the mat, Mota slows things down and grapevines the leg, then stretches out the leg and drops a knee on Macbeth's leg.  He twists the leg, then flips over and add even more leverage.] TD: Mota with the early advantage. IS: He ain't too bad for a little guy.  Looks awfully cute in that leather jacket.  Maybe he'd like some Streisand tickets. SR: Why, do you have any you want to sell him? [Mota continues to twist the leg, but makes the mistake of coming too close to Macbeth's arms, and the Scot rolls him up in a small package. The referee only counts one, but Mota is forced to break his hold.  As he approaches Macbeth, the champion lashes out with a forearm shot, then clotheslines Macbeth to the mat.] IS: Now Macbeth's a tough guy, I'll give him that.  Toughest thing in a skirt since Grandma Sampson.  I'd like to see him take her on in a flyswatter match.  I think I'd be betting on Grandma. [Macbeth slams Mota to the mat, then drosp an elbow on the challenger.  He then picks up Mota, and slaps him across the face as Turner encourages him from the outside.  Mota responds with a punch across Macbeth's mug.  A few more punches are exchanged, with the larger Macbeth winning the battle.  A kick to the stomach doubles Mota over, but a DDT attempt is failed as Mota reverse it into a Northern Lights Suplex.] TD: Nice counterwrestling by Mota. SR: Hey, Sampson, what're your plans now?  Re-form the Black Pack?  TD: [hastily]  Ike, what's been going on with... SR: Maybe you and Mad Dog can have a gangsta meeting and work it all out, then talk it over the Prophets, and... IS: Roberts, there's a few lines you shouldn't cross -- and you're approaching one now. SR: Yeah, but... TD: Okay, enough.  There is a match going on here. [Mota grabs Macbeth in a headlock, then runs up the turnbuckles and hiptosses Macbeth over... but as Mota comes down, he twitches and grabs his ankle.] TD: Mota might have aggravated that ankle injury! IS: Mota's a tough little bastard, but he can't spot Macbeth an injury like that and expect to win. TD: Nice color commentary, Ike.  Are you interested in a full-time job? SR: Over my dead body. [Turner jumps up and down, yelling at Macbeth about the ankle.  Mota notices, and as both men get to their feet, Macbeth kicks at the ankle. Mota grabs Macbeth in a headlock, but Macbeth lifts Mota up and crashes Mota's shin across Macbeth's knee.  Mota drops the headlock and grabs his ankle in pain.  Meanwhile, another guest appears.] TD: There's Moxy Blue coming down the aisle... riding on Stone's shoulders!  IS: That is one strange little fellow. [Blue is being carried on the Massive Stone's shoulders and watching the match through a pair of binoculars.  He gets a good look as Macbeth puts Mota's ankle over the bottom rope, then leaps up and sits on it with his weight.  He then twists the ankle, but Mota shakes his head when the referee asks for a submission.] SR: Mota is not going to quit.  Macbeth might as well just rip the ankle off, he ain't going to get a submission. TD: Mota has proven to be stubborn in the past, but with his injury, he might be in real trouble. [Both Blue and Turner are actively applauding Macbeth's efforts.  Blue then turns towards the fans and starts pestering them for popcorn. Macbeth turns around and tries to apply a figure-four leglock, but Mota reaches up and rakes Macbeth's eyes.  Blue gets his popcorn and immediately starts pestering the same people for a soda to wash it down with.] TD: Mota standing up now... Macbeth charges, but Mota snaps on a Japanese Arm Drag, then snaps on an armbar.  [Turning to Sampson]  Ike, how was your trip to Japan? SR: Oh, nice segue, Tim.  That was really amateurish. IS: [ignoring Soundbite] It was great, Dross, the fans there really took to me. And I really loved them, too.  A lot of respect for wrestlers over there.  And I respect them for that. [Mota tries to work on the arm, but Macbeth stands up, and his six inch height advantage hurts Mota's leverage.  Macbeth scoops Mota up and slams him to the mat, drops a leg across his throat, and covers for a two count. As Mota gets up, Macbeth bounces off the ropes with a bulldog, then hops up the turnbuckle.] TD: He leaps off with a flying headbutt... he connects!  The cover... one... two... Kickout!  Hey, stop that! [Tim's last comment was directed at Moxy Blue, who tried to grab Dross' headset.  Turner watches both Sampson and Blue anxiously from his corner. Macbeth whips Mota into the ropes.  On the rebound, Macbeth goes for a tilt-a-whirl suplex.  Mota uses his speed to pivot out of the tilt-a-whirl, then grabs Macbeth, lifts him upside down, and plants him with a tombstone piledriver.  He covers, but Macbeth kicks out at two.] IS: I'm surprised that both men have wrestled so cleanly.  Both men have broken the rules in the past, but they're staying within them tonight. [Mota climbs out of the ring and stands on the ring apron.  Using the ropes, he delivers a springboard legdrop on Macbeth, and covers for another two-count.  Outside the ring, Richard Blue is trying to start a "Moxy" chant, but only a few people are chanting with him.  Mota drags Macbeth to the center of the ring and signals for the Main Attraction.  He jumps onto the middle rope, quickly turns arounds to face the Champion, and delivers a somesault splash... that hits Macbeth's raised knees.  As Mota rolls around the ring in pain, Macbeth grabs him in a small package for a count of: 1 -- 2 -- Kickout!] TD: I thought Mota was finished there. SR: Toughest little bastard in the business, Dross.  [Stone, still carrying Blue, takes a few more steps toward the ring.  This brings Turner to head over towards the pair, not-so-politely telling them to leave.  Blue waves at Turner, then continues to watch the match through binoculars, even though he's at ringside.  Macbeth picks Mota up and throws him into the corner, then charges with a splash that misses as Mota rolls out of the ring in time.  Mota turns around and stands face to face with Blue, who give Mota a golf clap for his efforts.  A frustrated Mota yanks the binoculars from Blue's neck and throws them to the ground, then re-enters the ring.] SR: Bad move, Mota.  Forget about the guys on the outside.  You need to concentrate on the man in the ring.  Even if these morons do like him, Macbeth is almost as tough as you, and Turner's there to help him out. [Mota re-enters the ring and starts choking Macbeth out, breaking at the four count.  Then he picks Macbeth up and sets him up for a suplex... but his ankle gives out, and Macbeth lands on top of him.  The referee covers for a count of: 1 -- 2 -- kickout!] TD: A close call for Mota. [Moxy Blue, on the outside of the ring, is on his own feet and grabbing his binoculars, almost sobbing in his concern for them.  Some actual tears form when he sees that one of the lenses is cracked.  Macbeth lifts Mota up for a powerslam and another two count, then whips him into the ropes.  An attempted spinebuster is turned into a Thesz press by Mota, and Macbeth falls to the mat for a count of: 1 -- 2 -- Kickout!  Mota then straddles Macbeth...] TD: Please, no comments, Steve. [...and begins punching Macbeth continuously.  Mota then gets up, bounces off the ropes, and delivers a somersault legdrop for a count of: 1 -- 2 -- kickout.  Moxy Blue hops up to the apron, which brings TNT up to the apron on the opposite side.  The referee notices Turner first, and heads over to that side of the ring to order him back down.] TD: Mota with another legdrop on Macbeth, followed by an elbowdrop... Mota stands up and sees Moxy, who is screaming at him and waving those broken binoculars at Mota.   [A furious Mota heads over to Blue and grabs the binoculars from Blue's hands.  As he does so, Turner drops back to the floor, and the referee turns around.  He sees Macbeth on the mat, Mota with a pair of binoculars in his hands, and makes an (incorrect) logical deduction.  He calls for the bell.] TD: No... this is a travesty. SL: Ladies and Gentlemen, the referee has disqualified Derek Mota! The winner of the match... and still Intercontinetal Champion... DUNCAN MACBETH! [Mota turns to the referee to protest the decision, but Earl Alfonso points at the binoculars, still in Mota's hands.] TD: Mota turns around and faces Moxy Blue... SR: Blue is waving at him with the biggest [BLEEP]-eating grin on his face... I've got to admit, the little guy's got some style.  And he's got Stone to hide behind when he gets in trouble. [Mota whips the microphonw straight at Blue, who jumps to avoid getting hit.  Mota storms out of the ring and starts stalking Blue.  Moxy and Stone decide to head back for the locker room, but Mota is chasing them back.] IS: Mota cost himself the match.  I don't know if he could have beaten Macbeth, but he threw away the chance.  I'm looking forward to defending my Future Bowl Crown against those two.  Thanks for having me here, Tim. And Soundbite... don't call me. SR: Don't worry, I won't. [Timothy N. Turner is in the ring, explaining what happened to Macbeth. The champion quickly assesses the situation, and laughs out loud.  The referee hands him the title, and Duncan raises it above his head to a cheer from the audience.  Meanwhile, another disturbance comes from the tunnel area.] TD: Who is it this time? [The crowd starts booing as Simon Lebec, still dressed in his outlandish monkish garb, walks out with the Holy Bible to the ringisde area.  Without any fear or hesistation, he rolls into the ring.  Turner and Macbeth are in shock as Lebec walks straight up to Macbeth, grabs him by the forehead, and starts screaming "Demon, be gone!"] TD: Has Lebec lost his mind?! SR: I don't get this one.  There are lots of pieces of Quigleys that deserve a good mindgame from Lebec -- but Turner and Macbeth aren't two of them. [Macbeth looks confused at Lebec, then gets angry and shoves him to the mat.  Lebec jumps up to his feet and screams into the camera: "Ya see? God's word was correct!  He just struck a man of the cloth!"] TD: What man of the cloth? SR: Simon himself. TD: Lebec is not a man of the cloth!  He's not even religious. SR: Sure he is!  He's even got the book to prove it. [Lebec grabs the Bible, charges at Macbeth, and starts pummeling him with the book, screaming "Back demon!  Back!"  Turner yanks Lebec off of Macbeth, but catches a Bible in the face for his troubles.  Turner charges at Lebec, but misses, giving Lebec another few shots at Macbeth before the JJS charge into the ring.] TD: Lebec's lost it. SR: You might be right for once, Tim.  Attacking both Turner and Macbeth is bad. Using a book is very bad. [The JJS, led by the Barnacle Brothers, enter the ring and pull Lebec off Macbeth.  Macbeth isn't hurt so much as surprised by the blows, but he glares at Lebec with an angry stare.  It takes the Barnacle Brothers, Scott "The Whine" Bloom and the Rotundos to hold off Lebec, leaving El Super Gecko and Ned Norton to beg TNT and Macbeth to leave.  The JJS wave security over, and a pair of handcuffs are produced.  Lebec is handcuffed and dragged away by security, screaming "The Lord is my Shephard, I shall not want!"] TD: Macbeth with a win, but there was a lot of event in that match, from Ike Sampson's return to Moxy Blue's interference to Lebec's surprising but ineffective attack on Macbeth.   SR: Macbeth's still got the belt, though.  My favorite haggis-eating rassler gets to keep his belt.  That's the important thing. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: We've seen some wild, wild action here tonight, folks, but in just a few minutes, this place is simply going to come unglued, when Mad Dog Watkins and Serge Annis lock it up inside a fifteen foot high steel cage. That's our main event, and it's coming up right after we get some comments from the brand new IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Steve "the Fury" Kowalski. SR: Aw, the Fury's in the house, Dross. It don't get no better than the Fury. TD: Somewhat unusually, the IIWF President himself will be conducting this interview. SR: I heard he's thinking of firing you and doing the play-by-play himself, Dross. Even the great and the good of the IIWF want to sit next to me and have me make them look good. TD: I don't believe that's the case, Steve Roberts -- but there's nothing President Spreadbury likes more than coming out here to meet and greet the IIWF's great fans... and there are seventy thousand of them in attendance tonight here at the Qualcomm Stadium! [The fans are already chanting "FU-RY! FU-RY! FU-RY!", aware of their Champion's impending arrival. There is a mixed reaction as the President of the IIWF makes his way to ringside. Waving to the crowd, the bespectacled President is subject to a "Spreadbury Fears Women" poster, at which he frowns. Carefully, he makes his way up the ring steps and enters the ring between the top and second rope. Sparkplug Lee gives the head man a handshake before offering up the mic.] DS: Are we the greatest show on earth or what!? [Major crowd pop!] SR: That's the circus, dim-bulb. TD: A little restraint for the top man if you don't mind, Steve. DS: This has been a wonderful show so far, but it's going to get better. We have a special guest tonight! He is the only triple crown winner in IIWF history! He is the current IIWF Heavyweight Champion... he is STEVE "THE FURY" KOWALSKIIIIIII!! [The ominous "Don't Fear The Reaper" kicks in as the fans jump to their feet, waiting for the arrival of the New Jersey Nightmare. Never in a hurry, the champion makes his way out of the curtain. Clad in the faded denim jacket and torn jeans, he hasn't spent much on his wardrobe. Work boots carry the rugged man down the aisle. The Furies are in force tonight and are shaking the guard rail. Just as the champ gets to ringside, the lights catch the belt around his waist. The IIWF World Heavyweight Championship belt shines like a star under the hot light. Kowalski, taking the quickest route, rolls into the ring and hops up. After holding the belt up to a rousing pop, the Fury makes his way over to the President.] DS: Steve, I want to thank you for coming here tonight. After the IIWF's short hiatus, I'm sure the fans want to know what's next for the reigning champion. [Kowalski looks to answer but has to stop and grin at the massive "SKULLPUMP!" chant that has surfaced. After a few moments, it dies down enough for Kowalski to speak.] SK: Well, Danny. Now that the injuries have healed an' all from Snow Brawl... Y'know I was pissin' blood fer a week? [Spreadbury, uncomfortable with Kowalski's comments, just sighs.] SR: [over the headset] Preach on, K! SK: Hah, I jus' wanted to get a rise outta ya, Danny. But yeah, I did need a few days to put the ol' bones back in place. But now, I feel like endin' a few careers. An' the list goes on an' on an' on.... [Pop!] I noticed a lotta guys been either leavin' or jus' gettin' tossed outta the Double Eye lately, so I figure I gotta pick me some newbies to slap around... an' I got me one in mind. He may not deserve a title shot, he may not live up to the moment. Hell, he may not live past the first five minutes! But I gotta ask. Jimmy Steele, is the Meatman ready to get carved up? [At the mention of the popular wrestlers name, the famous "Meat! Meat! Meat!" chant starts.] SR: [over the headset] Meat! Meat! Meat! TD: [over the headset] Oh, shut up. DS: Steve, I don't doubt Mr. Steele's ability, but he is not next in line for a... SK: Title shot? He is now. My belt. My rules. Meatman, if my memory is still straight, you gotta pin on me in a six man tag a few weeks ago. I don't ferget. I'm like a [BLEEP]in' elephant. I stampede an' I don't ferget. Not that ya took me out, but ya were there for the pin. So I gotta save face an' dump yer ass upside down. Jus' in case ya didn't follow me... next week... Saturday Night on the IIWF, tune in! The Fury's gonna give out a shot at greatness to a Meatman! TD: [over the headset] Amazing, Steve Kowalski just gave Jimmy "The Meatman" Steele a title shot next week! What a gift! That is, if you can call meeting the Fury in the ring, a gift. SR: [over the headset] This is a dream match. Who am I gonna root for?! DS: Steve, as always dropping those bombs, eh? SK: I'll drop a bomb on ya if ya don't get that [BLEEP] eatin' grin off yer face an' ask me 'nother question. I got plans. DS: [gulping] Okay. A huge inter-federational event known as the IIeW will be taking place in March from the Skydome in Toronto, Canada, and the IIWF is going to be represented by a World Championship defence. What I, and all these people, want to know is if we are going to get that match done. SK: Fer those of ya that don't know what Danny is talkin'' about, he's been beggin' me fer a top notch hook up at the IIeW special. I said okay, but no stiffs. So I hadda pick a winner. An' I picked me a dog! A _Mad_ Dooooogggggggg! [Big Watkins pop!] That's right! Me an' Watkins... Progressive Death Match! Oh, an' the kicker... for the Double Eye belt! [The crowd goes berserk at the announcement, conflicting chants of "Mad Dog! Mad Dog!" and "Fu-ry! Fu-ry!" rising into the California air!] SR: [over the headset] He's the champ for two weeks and already he's signing the best damn matches money can buy! SK: Yeah, the ol' dog gets a shot. He's been droolin' fer it an' I'm a kind champion. All that time he was lyin' in that hospital bed, dreamin' o' being me. Now he gets to come face to face with the master! He got my 'ttention when he rocked Serging Anus. An' now... he gets a shot! [Again the crowd goes wild. Waiting a bit, Kowalski contuse.] I know yer pissed... Serge. I know ya must be screamin' and yellin' backstage now. How the hell could I give Watkins the shot that _you_ deserve. Well, I tell ya... 'cause I said so! But, I've had a few drinks an' fellin' good tonight. So... I tell ya what. We'll make the Watkins/Fury winner face Annis the following Saturday on IIWF Saturday Night! [At this point the crowd is almost hoarse from the announcements.] DS: What a second, Steve. We have to... SK: Interview's over, Danny. I want these matches, the fans what these matches... make 'em happen. [And with that Kowalski rolls out of the ring, leaving President Spreadbury noticably flustered at the announcements. The champ will hear none of it, as he leaves to a sea of cheers, the strains of "Don't Fear The Reaper" almost being drowned out by the chants for Kowalski as he heads back up the aisle, turning to face the ring and waving mockingly at the IIWF President, who pushes his spectacles back up his nose, shakes his head, and leaves the ring. IIWF technicians descend on the area, hastily bolting together the tall fifteen-foot sides of the steel cage as they are lowered from the rigging above the ring.  Above the bowl of the Qualcomm Stadium, the sky has turned a deep indigo and stars are beginning to appear as the crowd begins to buzz with anticipation for the coming match.  Cut back to Dross and Roberts at ringside.] TD: Some blockbuster announcements from the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion ahead of our main event here tonight, Steve Roberts, and as you can see, the ring crew is busily constructing the fifteen foot high steel cage that will, in just a few moments, attempt to contain the war set to rage between Serge Annis and Mad Dog Watkins, two men who, according to Steve Kowalski, will play an important role in the future of the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship! SR: A Progressive Death Match, Dross?! Hot damn, you ever see a Progressive Death Match? TD: I am familiar with those stipulations from their history in the Independent Supercards down south, the very events in which Steve Kowalski -- not to mention his father before him -- and Mad Dog Watkins cut their teeth. It's a best of three falls match: the first fall must take place inside the ring; the second must take place _outside_ the ring... SR: ...and the third fall can take place any damned where it wants to, plus -- and this is the good part, Dross -- it's Texas Death rules! So the match doesn't end until a guy has been pinned and he can't answer the referee's ten count! Whoo-hoo! TD: It's going to be a tremendous match, folks, if indeed it is signed, set to take place on Monday 2 March, live from the Skydome in Toronto, Canada, only on pay-per-view. SR: Now you're hyping other peoples' pay-per-views, Dross?! Give me a break. TD: Well, you and I are going to be there, Steve Roberts, calling all the action in that World Heavyweight Championship Progressive Death Match! SR: What a ring to it that has, Dross. And we're gonna be there! Whoo-hoo! TD: We'll be quite the jet-setting pair that weekend, since the Road to Ring Wars V will be swinging through Nagano, Japan for a live IIWF Saturday Night broadcast to close out the month of February, and we'll also be hitting Puerto Rico, and the wilds of deepest Africa... SR: Rumble in the Jungle, Dross. TD: Indeed, all on the Road to Ring Wars V, a road that leads to London, England, and the twin towers of Wembley Stadium, for the IIWF's next pay-per-view spectacular. Right now, however, we have a tremendous main event coming your way, folks. The ring crew is just finishing up with the cage, and in a few moments, Serge Annis and Mad Dog Watkins will come out here in front of seventy thousand screaming fans for what is sure to be a brutal, brutal encounter. SR: I don't care, Dross. TD: You don't... Steve, this is a cage match!  On national television, _free_ television, I might add!  How on earth can you not care about a great match like this? SR: Two reasons, Dross -- Serge Annis and Mad Dog Watkins.  Over-rated hack meets over-the-hill pensioner.  They could meet in a best-out-of-three-falls-count-anywhere, razor-wire, dog-collar, bungee-jump-from-the-roof-under-the-ladder-and-through-four-out-of- seven tables match, and the Soundbite still wouldn't give a good goddamn, baby dolls. TD: I think you may have just come up with the main event for Ring Wars V, Steve. SR: Nah.  One of those backwoods hillbilly feds already did that on local access cable last week.  Some people will do anything for ratings, Dross. [A wide-angle shot shows a few members of the ring crew climbing up the outside of the cage and checking that it is stable, before jumping down to the ground and giving the thumbs up to Sparkplug Lee, who nervously stands beside the side of the cage.] TD: Indeed.  Well, folks, what's sure to be a knock-down, drag-out barnburner of a cage match is just moments away, so wake the kids, call the neighbours, and let's go up to the ring! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| STEEL CAGE MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Serge Annis vs. Mad Dog Watkins ....................................................................... WRITER: [Sparkplug Lee stands outside the ring, now surrounded by the steel mesh of the cage, and raises the ring mic as the capacity crowd in the Qualcomm Stadium starts to grow restless, popping loudly and looking to the wrestlers' entrance for a glimpse of the competitors.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is your MAIN EVENT of the evening! [Loud pop from the fans, who by now are on the edge of their seats.] SL: The stipulations of this contest are as follows - the match will take place within the steel cage which surrounds the ring, and the man who is able to exit the ring, either through the door or by climbing over the top, and place both feet on the floor outside will be declared the victor!  No pinfalls, submissions, countouts or disqualifications will be recognised! [The capacity crowd is on its feet, cheering wildly, the atmosphere within the stadium positively electric.] SR: [over headset] Pipe down, morons!  How'm I supposed to sleep with all this racket? TD: [over headset] You're not supposed to be sleeping, Steve. SR: [over headset] Look, Dross, the only way I could possibly be entertained by this match is if Annis and Watkins hurt each other so bad, they'll both have to retire.  Otherwise, wake me up when "Baywatch Nights" cuts in, okay? SL: Introducing first, from Oakville, Ontario, Canada, weighing in at 293 pounds, here is the "Epitome Of Evil"... SERGE ANNIS! ["Hands Of Death" by Rob Zombie and Alice Cooper thunders from the P.A. and the stadium lights fade out, except for an eerie crimson glow that illuminates the aisle and the ring.  At the wrestler's entrance, a thin ribbon of flame ignites in the centre of the aisle and quickly snakes down to ringside, dancing around the ring in a flaming circle.  The crowd explodes with an appreciative pop as the hulking Annis steps through the curtain, his trusty Zippo lighter in hand, and follows the flaming path down to ringside.  Annis is clad in black trunks with a crimson blood-track down the left leg, and the word "DESTINY" written down the right in blood-red letters.  Annis is wearing his trademark sadistic leer and flicks the Zippo incessently in his right hand, around which a length of steel chain has been tightly wrapped, but Annis himself looks curiously as though he's just been in an automobile accident.  Annis' face is all but obscured by a black protective facemask, which is strapped tightly to his head, but a deep stitched cut on his forehead can be seen venturing out past the edge of the mask, and beneath the bridge, we can see that his nose has also been stitched up.  Both his eyes appear to have been blackened as well, and the exposed flesh of his arms and chest are marked by cuts, scratches, bruises and abrasions.] TD: For the benefit of those who may just be tuning in now, it should be noted that just a few days ago, Serge Annis was involved in a match in a rival federation in which he wrestled the IIWF's own "living legend", "Outlaw" J.W. Hardin.  Annis sustained considerable injuries to his face and ribs during that contest, but the rugged Canadian was adamant that he fulfill his contractual obligation to wrestle here tonight.  I, for one, have to question the logic of that decision, given the extent of the damage done to Annis' face in that match, necessitating his use of that protective mask.   SR: What did you expect, Dross?  Ol' J. Dub Hardin tried to flatten out Serge's face with a brick!  Now _that's_ a match I'd stay up late for, but no, tonight we get to watch the hospital case duke it out with the rest-home reject.  If this keeps up, Dross, you're gonna be on local access cable before too long. TD: Me?  What about you? SR: I'm gonna parlay my RSPWF Best Announcer award into a colour job for women's beach volleyball.  Surf, sand, babes and biscuits, baby dolls.  [Annis doesn't appear to be in any discomfort as he walks down to ringside and pauses to snicker at the cage, but a slight twinge causes him to grip his ribs as he climbs up the platform and staps through the door of the cage.  Annis stands in the centre of the ring, arms outstretched in a crucifix position as the crowd continues to pop wildly, then he suddenly slams his hands down to his sides, and four huge explosions rock the four corners of the ring, causing bright fireballs to blossom into the California sky, temporarily turning night into day within the stadium.  The crowd cheers wildly at the pyrotechnic display, and Annis takes up a position in the far corner facing the cage door to await Mad Dog Watins.] SL: And his opponent, hailing from Detroit, Michigan and weighing in at 269 pounds, here is... MAD DOG WATKINS! [Keith Richards' chiming introduction to "Paint It Black" rings throughout the Qualcomm Stadium, and the crowd responds with another hearty pop as the song kicks into full gear and the grizzled, black-clad veteran Watkins emerges from the entranceway, looking as if ice water ran in his veins instead of blood.  Watkins is absolutely cool as he strides down the aisle towards the ring, staring straight at Serge Annis, who crouches down in the corner inside the cage and returns the stare, grinning with anticipation.  Watkins pauses at the door, nods to referee Earl Alfonso, who is manning the door, and warily steps into the ring, the cheers of the capacity crowd drowning out the sharp *CLANG* of the steel door being slammed shut behind him!] TD: Mad Dog Watkins looks pumped for this encounter, Steve Roberts!  He has to be liking his chances here tonight, being in a no disqualification match against a man who has so many physical debilitations to take advantage of. SR: Big deal.  All Annis has to do is take his walker away from him, and they'll be even. TD: Earl Alfonso has locked the cage, and we're underway! [Annis rises to his feet in the corner and advances into the middle of the ring, taunting Watkins, who stands his ground silently, burning a hole in Annis with his dark eyes.  The two circle, then move in for a lockup, which is suddenly broken when Watkins drives a sharp uppercut into Annis' ribs, causing him to bellow in pain!  Watkins drives another fist into the vulnerable area, then scoops up the big Canadian and drops him across his outstretched knee with a modified backbreaker that further punishes Annis' ribs!  Big pop from the crowd as Annis lies on the match, clutching his side in agony!] TD: Mad Dog Watkins is off to a blistering start here in this match, Steve Roberts!  Serge Annis is clearly in no condition to wrestle here tonight, and the wily veteran is taking full advantage of his opponent's physical condition!  Annis is in enormous pain already, and appears to be having difficulty breathing! SR: Yeah, but Watkins better get out of that cage soon, 'cause he won't be able to keep that kind of pace up for long.  This guy could kick the bucket shovelling snow in his driveway, let alone tangling with a big guy like Annis in a steel cage. [Watkins clearly has no intentions of making an early exit, as he picks up Annis again and sets him up for a suplex, but Annis blocks the attempt and slips the facelock, lashing out with a big scything right hand.  The surprisingly quick Watkins slips the fist, spins Annis with the momentum, and drops him to the canvas with a beautiful belly-to-back suplex!  Annis, despite the pain in his ribs, leaps to his feet with rage, whirling angrily in search of Watkins, who meets him with a lariat that takes the Epitome Of Evil right back to the mat!  Pop!] TD: Serge Annis' physical limitations are becoming more and more apparent, Steve.  His mobility has been severely hampered, he's much slower than usual, and he is just plain being outwrestled by Watkins in there! SR: The Old Dog's putting on a clinic in there, but it ain't gonna be fancy moves that win this match, Dross.  This is a cage match, and the only thing that matters is how ruthless you can be, not how many suplexes you know.  And Serge has got ruthless in spades. [Annis lies on the mat, gasping for air and looking to be in serious discomfort, and Watkins wastes no time in dragging him to his feet again and attempting to Irish whip him into the side of the cage, but Annis reverses the move, and sends the Mad Dog face-first into the steel mesh! The Annis supporters cheer wildly as Watkins reels back from the impact, and is met in the middle of the ring by Annis, who lays out the veteran with a vicious headbutt!] TD: Oh my goodness!  Serge Annis just used that facemask of his to cold-cock Mad Dog Watkins! SR: And Serge didn't feel a thing!  Ain't technology great? [Annis stands over the fallen Watkins, who clutches his face in pain, and drags him up to his feet with one hand.  Annis measures the dazed veteran, and a glint of light flashes from the chain wrapped around his right hand as he drives his fist right between Watkins' eyes!  Watkins drops like he'd been shot, and Annis takes a moment to measure him again before he hits Watkins again with a vicious fist drop, driving his chain-wrapped hand into the forehead of the Mad Dog!] TD: This is terrible!  Serge Annis is blatently making use of that foreign object to batter Mad Dog Watkins in there, and Watkins is busted open!  How can the officials allow this to go on? SR: You know, Dross, you always say that, and I always give you the same answer -- it's a no-DQ match.  If Annis decided to fly into that cage with a Harrier jump-jet and take out Watkins with a Sidewinder, it'd be perfectly legal. TD: Um... local access cable? SR: Not yet.  None of those dimwits could scrape together the budget for something like that.  But I hear Tim Turner has his private pilot's licence, and he has connections with the Royal Air Force. TD: Good grief. [Mad Dog Watkins drags himself to his hands and knees, a trickle of blood from his forehead spattering on the canvas, as Annis leers at him from above, and pulls him up to his feet once more, but Watkins suddenly digs in his heels, and drives a shoulder into Annis' ribcage!  Annis doubles over in shock and pain, and Watkins follows up the block with a high-torque DDT that smashes Annis' face into the canvas!   Big pop! Watkins immediately leaps upon Annis, and angrily smashes his face repeatedly into the mat, before turning his attention to the straps holding Annis' protective mask onto his head!] TD: Mad Dog Watkins is incensed, Steve Roberts!  He's trying to get that mask off of Serge Annis' face, and if he succeeds, Annis will be in a world of trouble! SR: Hey, do you think Annis can sing? TD: I have no idea, Steve.  Why? SR: With his face all messed up like that, he'd be a lock to play the Phantom Of The Opera. [Annis realises what Watkins is up to, and flails away madly, trying to grab at Watkins behind his back, but Watkins has got two buckles loosened already, and before Annis can fling him off his back, manages to get his fingers under the third and pull it free!  Watkins backpedals as Annis springs to his feet, the mask now hanging loose and crooked on his face, and he angrily tears it away, revealing the horrific injuries marking his features!  The crowd quietens noticibly at the sight, and even Watkins catches himself staring, but Annis' eyes are blazing with fury as he charges across the ring and levels Watkins with a thundering clothesline!  Pop!  Annis stomps away at the fallen veteran, kicking him into a corner, and drags him to his feet, seizes him by the back of the neck, and runs him across the ring, wedging Watkins' head into the corner of the steel cage at the far end of the ring!  Watkins collapses backwards into the middle of the ring as Annis' supporters cheer wildly!] TD: Mad Dog Watkins may have made a huge error in going for that facemask, Steve.  He had a clear technical edge in the early goings of this match, but now he has raised the ire of the Epitome Of Evil, and Annis clearly has the advantage now.  SR: When Serge gets pissed, it doesn't matter if he's got broken ribs or a fractured cheekbone or if he's just plain ugly, he'll kill himself for a chance to hurt you.  Of course, it might be a different story if he wasn't in there against a senior citizen. TD: Annis is now removing that chain he has wrapped around his right hand... oh my goodness, what is he doing? [As Watkins lies stunned on the mat, a fresh pair of lacerations marking each side of his face where his head was wedged into the corner of the cage, Annis unwraps the chain from his hand and holds it high for the crowd to see.  A closeup reveals that the chain has a heavy steel ring at either end, one slightly larger than the other, and Annis, grinning manaically and looking even more frightening with his jigsaw-stitched face, passes one ring through the other, creating a steel noose with the chain.] TD: That's not just a simple chain!  That's a dog's choke-chain!  Annis is going to choke out Watkins with it!  This is terrible! SR: Are you kidding, Dross?  This is just getting good!  Annis is going to take the Old Dog to obedience school!  Ha! [Annis quickly passes the chain over Watkins' head, and pulls up on the free end, tightening the chain around Watkins' neck!  Watkins struggles wildly for breath, clutching at his throat to try to work his fingers under the chain, but Annis pulls up on the chain even harder, dragging Watkins up as he fights to breathe!  As Watkins tries to find his footing as he struggles against the choke-chain, Annis kicks his feet out from under him, causing him to fall back to the canvas only to be viciously jerked up again by the chain!  A loud heel pop begins to rise from the crowd, as they begin to cheer on Watkins!] TD: Mad Dog Watkins is fading fast, Steve!  Serge Annis is giving absolutely no quarter with that chain, and he is quite literally choking the breath out of Watkins! SR: Let's just hope the old guy doesn't have a heart attack before Serge crushes his windpipe.  That would be a pretty cheap victory for Annis. TD: You're disgusting, Steve Roberts. SR: You bet I am, Dross, and you know what?  [Roberts pulls out his RSPWF Best Announcer Award and sets it on the table in front of Dross.] SR: The people LOVE me for it!  Say... _you_ don't have one of these, do you? TD: [frustrated] Let's just get back to the match, shall we? [Annis continues to pull up on the chain with all his might, but as Watkins begins to fade out of consciousness, he makes one last-ditch attempt to break the choke, gathering himself on the mat and springing up with all his remaining strength, driving his head into Annis' face! The *CRACK* can be heard across the stadium, as both men collapse back to the mat, Watkins' chest heaving as his breath comes out in ragged rasps, and Annis rolling on the mat in agony, his hands covering his damaged, unprotected face.  Watkins manages to roll over and pull himself to his knees, the chain still hanging around his neck, and sees Annis lying across from him, blinded by the pain throbbing in his facial area.  As the fans cheer him on, Watkins rises to his feet, staggers over to Annis, and summoning his reserves, pulls the big Canadian to his feet and heaves him into the air, driving him back to the mat with a facebuster suplex!  Huge pop from the crowd!] TD: Watkins is rallying!  He's got Annis on the ropes with that facebuster slam, and without that mask, Annis is extremely vulnerable now! SR: He should get out now while he's still able, Dross!  He's lucky he hasn't broken a hip, or had a stroke!  TD: It would appear that he feels the same way, Steve - about getting out, that is!  Mad Dog Watkins is signalling to Earl Alfonso to open the cage! [Alfonso turns the heavy handle securing the cage door and pulls it open as Watkins slowly makes his way across the ring towards the exit, the fans cheering him wildly.  Watkins' face is bloody from three different cuts on his forehead, and he wipes at his eyes as he weaves unsteadily towards the far corner, squinting through the sting of his own blood. Behind him, Serge Annis takes his hands away from his face, and sees Watkins is only mere feet away from the open door!] TD: Mad Dog Watkins is at the door!  This match is over! SR: No it isn't, Dross!  Here comes Annis! [As Watkins prepares to step through the door and set foot on the floor outside, Annis rushes up behind him, grabbing the choke-chain that still hangs around Watkins' neck and jerking him back roughly!  Alfonso slams the door shut again as Annis swings Watkins around the ring by the chain, spinning him round and round before letting him go and sending him flying into the cage at the far side of the ring!  Huge heel pop!] TD: Serge Annis has prevented Watkins from exiting the ring with that chain, and Mad Dog Watkins is out cold!  Annis now has a chance to get out of the ring but... he's reaching into his boots!  Annis could get out now, but he's not going!  What is going on here? SR: He's pulling something out of his boots... they look like handcuffs! Serge must have spent the night at Becky's! TD: I doubt that, Steve, but this cannot be good news for Mad Dog Watkins! [Annis quickly fixes one of the cuffs to Watkins' left wrist, and drags him over to one of the sides of the cage.  Watkins, still senseless, cannot prevent Annis from dragging him to his feet and cuffing him high up on the cage.  Annis slaps the other pair of cuffs on Watkins' right wrist, and hauls him roughly up by the arm, fixing the other end of the cuffs onto the highest point on the cage he can reach.  The heel heat in the stadium rises to fever pitch as Annis stands back, grinning, and admires his handiwork - Mad Dog Watkins now hangs from the side of the cage as if he had been crucified, the toes of his boots barely touching the mat.] TD: This is unbelievable!  Serge Annis has handcuffed Mad Dog Watkins to the cage!  It seems certain that Annis has this match won now, but will he exit the cage, or take this opportunity to inflict more punishment on Watkins? SR: He's climbing up the side of the cage, Dross!  Annis is going over the top!  It's all over, baby dolls! TD: Why is he climbing over the cage?  He could have walked out the door just as easily, and Watkins can't stop him now!  This is absurd! [In the ring, Watkins begins to shake himself out of his stupor, and realising that he is chained to the cage, begins to struggle against the cuffs, but to no avail.  Meanwhile, Annis reaches the top of the cage, lifts a leg over the top, and then looks up into the lighting rig above the ring and draws a finger across his throat.  Instantly, all the lights in Quallcomm Stadium cut out, plunging the stadium into total darkness!] TD: What the hell is going on here?  All the lights have gone out! SR: Where's Annis?  He was just about to win the match!  Can't those crew morons get the emergency lights on or something? [As if on cue, a single red spotlight over the ring begins to glow, bathing the ring area in a dull crimson light.  Outside the ring, a dark figure can be seen rushing around the ring like a demon, carrying a large container of some sort.  The camera can't quite make the figure out in the low light, but the ringside microphones are picking up a chilling, cackling laugh, accompanied by the sloshing sound of liquid.] TD: Thank goodness we can at least see something now, but... that man at ringside... Steve, can you make out who that is? SR: I think it's Serge Annis, Dross!  Serge made it out!  He won the match! TD: I believe you're right, Steve, but what the devil is he doing now? He seems to be carrying some sort of can, and he's... do you smell that? SR: That's gasoline!  Holy [BLEEP], Annis has gone loco! [Outside the ring, Annis can now be seen wielding a large red gas can, and he is busily soaking down the perimiter of the ring, starting to the left side of where Mad Dog Watkins has been chained to the cage, and working his way around the ring to the other side!  The crowd, confused at first, now pops with anger and fear at Annis' actions, some fans at ringside screaming insults at the Canadian, while others scramble to get away from ringside.  Through it all, Annis continues to cackle with glee, throwing gasoline all over the apron of the ring and the cage, dripping down the steel mesh and pooling along the floor of the stadium!] TD: Get security down here!  And call the fire crew, too!  Annis has gone absolutely berserk, and Mad Dog Watkins could be seriously injured here, not to mention the ringside workers and fans! SR: Someone's coming, Dross!  We're gonna have to get out of here before Annis lights that stuff up! TD: IT'S IKE SAMPSON AND CHARLES SCHEFFIELD!  Thank goodness!  Maybe they can put a stop to this madness! [The crowd pops wildly as Sampson and Scheffield storm down the aisle to ringside, surrounding Annis, and they attempt to grab the gasoline can away from the big Canadian, but Annis sees them comoing a mile away, and he swings the can at Scheffield, catching him in the temple and dropping him to the concrete floor!  Sampson charges, but Annis brings the can around and drives it into Sampson's solar plexus, doubling him over, and then brings it down again on the back of Sampson's head, sending him sprawling to the floor beside Scheffield!  The crowd recoils in horror as the grinning Annis douses Sampson and Scheffield in gasoline, then pulls out his Zippo lighter, flicking it at the two men!] TD: _Where_ are those security guards?  Mad Dog Watins is in serious jeopardy in that ring, and now Serge Annis has soaked Ike Sampson and Charles Scheffield in gasoline and is threatening to set them ablaze! SR: Can I say something, Dross? TD: What, Steve? SR: I hate to admit it, but I was wrong.  This match is a hell of a lot better than "Baywatch Nights". TD: Please, Steve, not now! [Sampson and Scheffield waste no time in clearing out after being threatened with immolation, leaving Annis alone again at ringside. Watkins continues to strain against his bonds, the urgency showing in his eyes as his struggles become more and more frantic.  For a moment, the two adversaries lock eyes -- Annis on the outside of the ring, Watkins chained within, and Annis can be heard to shout "I promised I'd bring you Hell on Earth, Watkins!  And I'm a man of my word!" before he flicks his Zippo lighter to life once more, and raises it high over his head!] SR: He's gonna do it, Dross!  Annis is gonna fricassee Watkins! TD: Here comes the security team!  I just hope they'll make it in time! [The IIWF security team, led by Dennis "Griff" Griffings and accompanied by members of the Jobber Justice Squad, bolt down the aisle towards Annis, as the crowd shrieks for them to hurry!  Annis looks over his shoulder, noting their approach, and then turns back to Watkins, whose wrists have begun to bleed from his struggles.  The security force is a split-second from tackling Annis to the ground as he grins his manic, toothy leer at Mad Dog Watkins one last time... ...and tosses the lit Zippo lighter at the ring! The ringside fans scream in real fear as a sheet of fire climbs up the side of the ring, spreading arund the steel cage until in engulfs a full three-quarters of the ring!  Annis, buried under a mountain of security guards, allows himself to be dragged of by the team, the blaze at ringside sparkling in his eyes as he keeps his attention fixed on the flaming pyre in the centre of the stadium.  Inside the ring, Mad Dog Watkins, who is chained to the side of the ring not engulfed in flames, doubles his efforts to free himself from the cage, the metal cuffs slicing into his wrists as he pulls with all his might, but the incredible heat and the lack of oxygen are begining to take their toll on him, and his struggles slowly become weaker and weaker!] TD: Get the fire crew down here!  NOW!  Someone's got to get Watkins out of there! SR: WE'VE got to get out of here, Dross!  Our table's on fire!  We gotta bug out! TD: Ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid my broadcast colleague is right! We have to abandon our broadcast position, because it's just not safe to stay here!  I have no idea what the outcome of the match was, but one thing is for certain -- Serge Annis has just committed possibly the greatest atrocity in the history of the IIWF, and you can be sure that he will answer for it!  Fire crews are on their way now, and hopefully they'll be able to get Mad Dog Watkins out of that inferno before he is seriously injured!  We'll give you a full update on this incredible turn of events on this Tuesday's "Inside The IIWF" but until then, this is Tim Dross, for "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, signing off!  We've got to get away from ringside!  That's it!  Cut it! SR: Dross!  Grab my biscuits! [Cut to a shot of ringside, where Dross and Roberts can be seen hastily evacuating the ring area, as behind them, the frightened ringside fans are literally climbing over themselves to escape the incredible heat and sparks being thrown off by the balze at ringside.  A squad of fire fighters, carrying fire extinguishers and trailing a water hose behind them, charge down the aisle towards the ring as the camera picks up a shot of the now-unconscious Mad Dog Watkins, chained to the steel cage in an almost Biblical pose, his head slumping to one side as tall pillars of fire seemingly lick at the cage all around him, threatening to close in on the trapped veteran as this Rapture-like scene slowly fades to black.]       +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+