________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour two...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! Delta Center, Salt Lake City, Utah 7 February 1998 [The graphics fade through to interior shots of the jam-packed Delta Center, the sea of fans cheering and waving their signs as a volley of fireworks erupts in the rafters high above the ring. Suddenly, the lights in the arena all fall to black. A huge heel pop bursts from the crowd as "Hands of Death" tolls its way onto the speakers. Announcer Dave Bacon is already in the ring with the microphone.] DB: Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you at this time the man who last week perpetrated one of the most dangerous acts in IIWF history. He is the man who handcuffed Mad Dog Watkins to the side of a steel cage and then set that cage on fire with gasoline. He is... the "Epitome of Evil" Serge Annis! [A red spectral glow now illuminates the arena creating an eerie setting. Serge Annis walks out from behind the curtains, and receives even louder boos. Annis physically looks a lot better than when we saw him last Saturday against Mad Dog Watkins. Annis' face appears to be healing nicely after the grusome lacerations placed there by J.W. Hardin in another match. A scar is still visible on his forehead, adding to his impressive collection. Annis stares at the ring as he makes his way down the aisle, wearing black loose-fit jeans and boots, no shirt. The look on Annis' face is a mixture of emotions: anger; rage; arrogance... and pain.] SR: [over headset] Something's missing here, Dross. TD: [over headset] You're darn right something's missing. After Serge Annis' outrageous actions last week, and with the creation of the "Wrestle Clean" campaign by new VP Gregg Osterhout, the IIWF has decided to take away the pyrotechnics that Annis usually receives every week. And I can't say that I blame them. SR: [over headset] You think that Serge is going to be happy about that? TD: [over headset] I don't think they care, Steve. What the man did was wrong -- legally, morally, ethically. Bottom line is that he should pay somehow. [Annis hops onto the ring apron and spins around and faces the crowd. As the crowd boos, Annis extends his arms out and proceeds to give a one fingered salute to the sea of IIWF fans. Annis quickly steps into the ring where he once more extends his arms out in his cross-like pose, and hangs his head down. Annis jerks his hands down, which normally would be the set-up for the turnbuckles to release six feet of flame... but not today. The red lights slowly turn up to the regular bright IIWF spotlight. Scars, scrapes and cuts, new and old, can be seen over Serge's battered body. Annis stands with his hands on his hips looking unimpressed as Bacon begins the interview.] DB: Serge Annis. It has been one week since the wrestling world last saw you, where you committed one of the most heinous things that the IIWF perhaps has ever seen. SA: Did I? Did I really? DB: Uhm, well, yes you did. You could have seriously injured Mad Dog Watkins, or fans at ringside -- or worse yet, even killed the man. SA: [in a sarcastic tone] And what a travesty of justice that would be. DB: Either way, Serge, it was dangerous and quite unnecessary. SA: Unnecessary? Do you know how stupid you are, Bacon? It was very necessary. I don't see anyone doubting Serge Annis any more. I promised to send Mad Dog Watkins straight into the pits of Hell, the pits which I call my home. And when the Dog avoided his damnation, I simply brought the fires of Hell itself to him. I have the power to do that, Bacon. I have the power to make that happen. It wasn't unnecessary. But... ...what _is_ unnecessary is the treatment that the IIWF officials have been giving me. I was fined fifty thousand dollars for my "crimes" last week. That's a pretty damn hefty sum of money considering what others have gotten away with. They have taken away my fireworks. That is the ultimate slap in the face. It's because "they can't trust me." Well, if you can't trust Serge Annis, just who can you trust? So far, I've been making good on all my claims. Bringing the disrespect to rest, getting rid of Creed, bringing hell to Mad Dog Watkins. The fact is, Serge Annis can be trusted. Maybe it's the IIWF that shouldn't be trusted. I don't know, I don't care. As long as I get my money... and as long as all my contractual demands are met, I'll be happy. DB: Contractual demands? SA: Oh yes... now that I think of it, the IIWF has screwed up here. When I came to the IIWF, over a year ago, I signed a contract specifically stating that I get flame pyrotechnics on my way to the ring. They can't take that away from me. I can fight this thing. DB: And just how do you intend on doing that? SA: I shall find a way. Whenever Serge Annis makes his way out here... I want each and every fan to raise their lighters up to the roof. Let the flames loose. Heh heh... oh yes. If I can't be trusted with fire... why should the fans be? DB: Switching topics over to Mad Dog Watkins, don't you feel any remorse for what you've done? SA: Nope. Why should I? DB: Because you could have ended his carrer. SA: So? DB: You could have ended his very life, Mr. Annis. SA: Yeah... and? Okay, joking aside, I feel zero remorse for what I have done. I don't feel bad at all. As a matter of fact, I am _proud_ of what I did last week! It was a victory for me... not just over Mad Dog Watkins, but over the non-believers. The sceptics. The critics. You know who I mean. Bottom line is that it had to be done. And whether it was Mad Dog Watkins inside the cage... or Dan Spreadbury, Joe Petrow, Tim Dross, Steve Kowalski, it makes no difference! It would all serve the same purpose! Things have changed in the wrestling world, and you're looking at the man who is going to make things happen. DB: You seem to have gotten the attention of several superstars here, especially Charles Sheffield, who took great exception to your actions Saturday. SA: You know what? I saw IIWF's Monday Musings... and I saw something that sickened me! Mr. Charles Sheffield made me sick! He wants to come out here and preach how what I did last week to Mad Dog Watkins was not right. He called me a coward. He said that I wasn't being "fair." [Annis runs his hand through his hair, and then suddenly explodes at the camera, shouting:] SA: FAIR? IT ISN'T FAIR?! HOW ABOUT WHAT THEY'VE DONE TO ME, SCHEFFIELD! IS THAT FAIR?! [Dave Bacon looks visibly frightened as Annis changes his tone and attitude.] SR: [over headset] All right! He's snapped, Dross! SA: All the taunting... all the ridicule... Serge Annis, The over-rated hack! The king of the minor league feds! Requiem's lackey! Was it fair that I got what I got? I had to live through each and every one of those goddamn stereotypes since I've been here! WAS IT FAIR? I DON'T THINK SO! All the B-S that I got put through... all of the blatant disrespect by wrestlers, officials and the fans... while I came out and gave each and every fan the best damn show of their lives, I didn't deserve it! If truth be known, Requiem happens to be my best friend! [The crowd releases a huge round of boos.] SR: [over headset] That's not going to help his popularity any. SA: I was never his lackey! I was his equal! Scheffield... life isn't fair. Especially mine. On Saturday, last week... I did what I had to do. I stepped out the shadow of Requiem. Charles, let me tell you something, kid... I've pulled barb wire out of my very flesh. I have been smashed in the face with beer bottles. Barb-wire steel chairs. A goddamn brick! I take all these bumps to get guys like you over... so when it's my turn to take a little something, do me a favor and butt out. But, ya see, Charlie... you can't butt out now. You're in over your head here. You've gone and you've pissed me off. I come out here and I do something to give the IIWF fans the best show of their lives. And you have to criticize me? Say that I was "going too far"? I saw you promise Mad Dog Watkins a thing or two, like getting in the ring with me and do his job for him. WELL STEP UP TO THE PLATE, SCHEFFIELD! I'll wrestle you as soon as I can. And that would be... this Wednesday. You say I endangered many people... well, you just signed your death notice with that comment. In December, I was cheated out of the IIWF World title. Now I am rectifying things. Steve Kowalski, here is your warning. When it comes time, I will see you once more in the ring. You couldn't beat me in December... and I've gotten a whole lot better. You couldn't do it in December... and you can't do it now. I want the title, Kowalski... just remember that the next time you see me in the hallway, or at the airport. One way or another... it shall be mine. [Annis' eyes widen as the psychotic look on his face increases. Annis looks over at Bacon.] SA: I am no longer gonna be held back. Not by you, the fans or the wrestlers. August. Nineteen ninety seven. The famous Otto "The Butcher" Verohoeven asked for something. [Pop for Otto's name]  He asked for the "old" Serge Annis to come back. One that had never been seen before in the IIWF. The one that tore up the minor leagues like no one else. The one that defeated the "legendary" Dan Kauffman clean. The one that took every single one of his opponents to the extreme every damn match he wrestled. Ring Wars IV, the Butcher got half of his request as I was put in the ring against the Subway Psycho and Creed in the barbed wire match. But that wasn't the "real deal". That was the day that the IIWF realized what a draw hardcore wrestling can be. Since then, every one of my matches has been filled with hatred! Blood! Intensity! Last Saturday, completed the transition! YOU asked for the old Serge Annis. The psycho-man. You guys all think Joe Petrow is psychotic? Don't mistake a psychosis for mere arrogance. Petrow knows what he's doing... but then again, so do I. When I wrap my hands around someone's neck and I chokeslam them into the mat, I very well know that I am causing pain and destruction! AND I ENJOY IT! I WANT TO DO IT MORE! I live on pain! Take a look at me and tell me otherwise. And as fun as it is to receive, it's twice as much fun to give it out to all that cross my path! MAD DOG WATKINS WAS MERELY AN EXAMPLE OF WHAT POWER I POSSESS! [Annis' eyes look as if he has snapped. Dave Bacon sees this and quickly hands Serge the mic and ducks out of the ring.] TD: [over headset] Oh dear, Annis has lost it! He's a man possessed! SR: [over headset] He's a bitter, bitter man, Dross. In his mind he hasn't had enough biscuits yet. He wants more. The strain and stress has gotten to him, that's all. SA: I am exactly what I say I am, the "Epitome of Evil." And I have more than 101 ways to prove it. I feel bad for Gregg Osterhout, because his little project "Wrestle Clean" is nothing more than B-S to me! The IIWF is now being stalked by a madman by the name of... [Serge is abruptly cut off and a low, gravelly voice can be heard over the PA.  Serge's sentence is finished in a decisive fashion when one lone word is heard... "WATKINS". Suddenly, the lights in the arena drop to complete darkness, even the video wall flickering to black. Cameras flashing around the Delta Center provide the only glimmer of light, a sort of strobe effect, as the fans give a huge, huge confused pop! In the momentary glimmers of the cameras' flashes, there is movement in the ring, but it is unclear what is happening.] SR: The lights!  What's going on here? [Out of nowhere, a brilliant flash of red, yellow and orange light explodes in the ring and the massive form of Serge Annis can be seen crashing to the mat, grasping his already scarred face in agony.  Moments later, the lights rise again. As the fans' eyes adjust to the light again, they see Serge down on the mat grasping at his face, and a figure standing over him with lighter in hand! Huge pop!] TD: A fireball! He just hit Serge Annis with a fireball! It's Watkins!  It's Watkins!  Oh my!  Watkins has arrived! [Watkins stands with his back to the camera and bends down to grab the microphone which was dropped in the chaos by a retreating Dave Bacon. Slowly he turns around, revealing the now infamous Smiley face mask from 1997.  The mask covers his whole face, turning it into an evil visage which masks the damage inflicted last week by Annis's roast...] MDW: Welcome to my nightmare, Annis. Check the mask.  I'm a smiling on the inside kinda guy too, but one hell of a roasted brotha underneath. Consider this one-percent of your payback for that little stunt last week.  The other 99% is yet to come.  Hell on earth?  You brought it to me... let me share what I've learned with you. [Watkins throws the microphone down on Annis as well as the Zippo he used to launch the fireball into the "Epitome of Evil's" face.  As the IIWF security team and paramedics hit the ring, Watkins falls between the ropes and out to the floor.  In one non-stop motion, he hops the railing and disappears into the crowd which cheer and swarm around the veteran.] SR: That's poetic justice, Dross! A fireball for the pyromaniac! An eye for an eye! TD: Mad Dog Watkins is hiding his face under that smiley face mask -- presumably as protection from the fireball, but perhaps also to hide whatever burns he suffered in last week's heinous attack... but two wrongs don't make a right, Steve Roberts -- Serge Annis may be badly burned here! [Annis, still clutching at his face, now surrounded by security and medical personnel in the ring, takes wild swings at anybody who is foolish enough to approach him, knocking many officials on their rear ends as he flails around the ring, yelling in pain.] TD: Serge Annis needs medical attention, but he is furious, Steve Roberts! SR: Hell hath no fury like an Annis burned, Dross. TD: Finally now, the officials are able to restrain Annis and are huddled around him as they ferry him back up the aisle... I do hope he hasn't suffered any permanent damage to his sight. SR: You play with fire, and you're gonna get a fireball thrown in your face, Dross. This ain't no picnic -- this is the Double Eye. TD: Folks, we still have some incredible action coming your way in this second hour of tonight's broadcast. Don't forget that the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship is up for grabs later tonight when Steve "the Fury" Kowalski defends against the Meatman, plus we will find out whether or not Joe Petrow is in any condition to partner Maurice McArthur to face the Natural Predators in IIWF World Tag Team Championship action. All that and much more coming your way over the next sixty minutes -- but first, let's get up to the ring for tag team action, as newcomers, the American Dragons, go up against the Subway Psycho and Tony Starks. SR: Okay, Dross, tell me this: why are they facing the Psycho and Tony Starks?  There's no telling what those lunatics are capable of doing to each other, to these Dragons, or worse yet, to poor Sparkplug Lee.  Starks is liable to snap and put Sparky in that Kathy Ireland hold. TD: You mean the Katha Jime? SR: My version sounds better.  Now Kathy Ireland, that's who I should be hosting this show with.  Just me and Kathy, imagine it, Dross. TD: While my partner lapses into dreamland for a while, let's send it to Sparkplug Lee for the match introductions. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Subway Psycho & Tony Starks vs. American Dragons |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: Mike Beeby [Big pop from the crowd as Sparkplug Lee once again takes his place in the centre of the ring:] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is the IIWF Saturday Night debut of one of these teams. Introducing first... [The lights go out, to be replaced by soft green lights and the opening strains of "American Nightmare" by White Zombie, the crowd, always eager for a new opening, buzz with anticipation.  Through the driving music, Sparkplug finishes the intro:] SL: ...from San Francisco and Ft. Carswell, Texas...making their IIWF     Saturday Night debut... weighing a combined 556 pounds... ladies and     gentlemen, Joe Scalercio and Bob Ivey... WELCOME TO THE IIWF, THE     AMERICAN DRAGONS! [As the music reaches a crescendo, seconds before the guitars kick in, on the Jumbotron, in green letters, appears the following slogan...                            ANY TEAM, ANY TIME ...the guitars kick in, and the crowd gives a warm welcome to Joe Scalercio and Bob Ivey as they step out from behind the curtain, the lights coming back on in force.  Joe leads the way, a young Italian man with short black hair and black sunglasses.  He wears a black leather jacket, and on the back is a green dragon, curled up, looking at the viewer with yellow eyes. Underneath is written the word DRAGONS.  Joe wears long black tights, with a green dragon down the right leg, breathing fire.  Behind him comes Bob, all smiles, in a cowboy hat and a white leather jacket.  This one has a red dragon, wings outstrecthed, breathing fire.  He wears white long tights with a red dragon down the left leg.  Both men slap hands with a couple of fans as they make their way to the ring.] SR: Just when we thought we started to see the end of the gay guys in the IIWF, with Billy Shakespeare blinded and Chickenhawk stretchered by Mishi-Mashi, we get two fresh new gay guys.  But worse yet, these are Italian gay guys. TD: Glad to see you're lucid again. SL: And their opponents... Both hailing from New York, at a combined weight of 524 pounds... the tag team of TONY STARKS AND THE SUBWAY PSYCHO! ["Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osborne begins to replace the American Dragons' music, and the crowd instantly goes from receptive to lukewarm.  To the surprise of everyone though, the pair walks out together, and seemingly cohesive.  Both men stare at the ring and at their opponents with serious expressions on their faces.] TD: If Starks and the Psycho can manage to work from the same page here tonight, the American Dragons could have a long night ahead of them. SR: You just go and give me ammo right away, Dross? [Starks enters the ring and stands up in Bob Ivey's face, after setting the towel down in the corner next to the Subway Psycho.  Both the Psycho and Joe Scalercio stand in their respective corners, while their partners lock up in the center of the ring.  Starks and Ivey test each other out, trying to gain a power advantage over the other without luck, until a failed hiptoss attempt by Ivey leads into an armbar takedown by Starks, who raises the fury of Ivey with a demeaning slap to the back of the head.  Ivey gets to his feet and goes after Starks, locking up again and falling for the same tactics.  On the third lockup, Ivey gets smart and tries for the hiptoss again, but waits for the armbar and mows Starks down with a clothesline instead.  The crowd roars as Ivey stands on the middle turnbuckle and stares out at the crowd with his arms raised up in a pumping motion.] TD: The crowd is firmly behind the American Dragons tonight, Steve. SR: About as far behind as Bill Clinton in approval ratings. TD: Haven't you heard?  The President is enjoying his highest approval rating ever. SR: Well, as a concerned citizen who enjoys dipping his daughter in honey, I'm happy for him. TD: Do you ever stop? [Tony Starks picks himself up off the mat and goes after Bob Ivey with a forearm to the back, hits him with it and then grabs Ivey in a headlock. Ivey throws Starks easily into the ropes and the two men collide in a shoulderblock in the middle of the ring.  Starks grabs Ivey and takes his feet out from under him, and tries to lock in a figure four leglock. Instead, he twists one of his legs around Ivey's and drags him to the corner, tagging out to the Psyco.  The Subway Psycho vaults to the top rope and comes off with a flying elbowdrop onto Ivey, and only after does Starks release his grip.  The Psycho bounces off the ropes and does a somersault into a handstand splash, simply falling onto Ivey's body and trying for the pinfall.  Bob Ivey kicks out at two, and the Psycho grabs him and pulls Ivey to his feet, then whips him into the ropes.  As the Psycho tries to time it right for a frankensteiner, Bob Ivey grabs him and slams him into the mat with a side suplex.  Feeling somewhat refreshed, Ivey pulls the Psycho to his feet by the hair and places him in the corner to start using his fists.  With each punch the Pycho becomes more and more staggered, and after a cross corner whip Ivey comes into the opposite corner with a gigantic clothesline.  The Psycho, despite urgings from his teammate, slumps to the mat.] TD: Bob Ivey has taken this match over, and we haven't even seen what his partner, Joe Scalercio can do.  We may not need to, at this rate. SR: Don't count Tony Starks out, Dross.  He's a mean little bugger who can pull that Kathy Ireland thing outta nowhere. TD: Katha Jime.  Katha Jime. SR: God bless you. [The crowd begins to pop as one of the cameras at ringside spots 4M, "Mister Majestyk" Maurice McArthur, in the stands.  His picture is flashed up on the video wall, and a massive crowd pop rises.  4M seems to be talking to some fans, with a worried expression on his face.] TD: Fans, it looks like Maurice McArthur might be looking to line up a new tag team partner for later on tonight.  We saw Joe Petrow carried away on a stretcher earlier tonight, and it's looking more and more likely that he won't be here later to team with 4M. SR: If he wants a partner, he shoulda come to me.  I'm the greatest partner in the world -- just ask Chelsea Clinton. [The camera returns to the match as Bob Ivey grabs the Psycho and lifts him up, holding him at bay with a headlock as he drags him to the corner and tags out.  Joe Scalercio accepts the tag and enters the ring, quickly putting the Psycho down with the Dragon Sweep.  From there Joe applies pressure to the Subway Psycho with a claw hold to the temples, and the Psycho struggles to reach the ropes.  He gets to them and forces the break, then crawls along them to the corner, reaching out to tag Tony Starks. Before he gets there he is felled by an elbowdrop to the ribs by Scalercio, and is dragged into the middle of the ring where he attempts to place the Psycho in a boston crab hold.  The Psycho strains to stay out of the hold, by rolling and contorting his body in any way necessary to stay out of it. The momentum carries him near Starks, who reaches out and slaps the Psycho's hand to get into the match.  Starks jumps through the ropes and greets Joe Scalercio with a roundhouse kick to the face.  It knocks Scalercio down, and Starks helps the Psycho up, whispering in his ear for a second.  Starks then grabs Scalercio by the hair and puts him up on the turnbuckles, superplexing him down to the mat.  No sooner does he hit the canvas than the Psycho springs up and flies off with a moonsault onto Scalercio.] TD: What incredible teamwork from Starks and the Psycho!  They've turned the tides and have the Dragons on the ropes. SR: I remember a time when I had Chelsea Clinton up against some ropes. Actually, she had me tied up with the ropes, and... TD: Please, if you value this time slot in any way, you won't finish that sentence! [Starks takes over with a Fugiwara armbar on Scalercio, but as he tries to force him to the mat the American Dragon knocks Starks into the corner and executes a quick kneelift.  Scalercio hooks Starks' leg over the middle rope and then softens it up with several kicks to the knee joint before executing a snap suplex out of the corner.  Starks gamely gets back on his feet, and this time he takes another kick to the knee before the Cherry Bomb from Scalercio plants Starks in the middle of the ring.  A tag to Bob Ivey leads to a speciality of the American Dragons, the double Dragon suplex in which each man uses a half nelson on Starks, and suplexes him backwards. Finally the Psycho enters the ring and dropkicks Ivey out to the floor, then connects on the Train Wreck on Scalercio.  The Psycho leaps through the ropes with a suicide dive at Ivey, sending both into the guardrail hard.] TD: We've got Bob Ivey and the Subway Psycho battling out on the floor,     while Tony Starks and Joe Scalercio are both down on the mat in the     ring.  Wait, Starks is getting up. SR: Experience wins over youthful crap any day of the week, Dross. [Starks manages to struggle to his feet even after the double Dragon suplex, and grabs the ropes to steady himself.  He sees that the Psycho and Ivey are fighting on the floor, and goes over to Scalercio.  With a yank of the hair Tony Starks pulls his opponent back up to his feet, and executes a set over chokeslam in the middle of the ring.  Starks applies the Texas Cloverleaf submission hold, just as Bob Ivey is sent into the ringsteps headfirst.  The Psycho climbs to the apron and springboards off into a De-Railer, coming down on the back of Joe Scalercio's head, apparently knocking the American Dragon out.  The crowd pops as Starks lets go of the hold, and the Psycho covers Scalercio after rolling him over.  Bob Ivey gets into the ring and goes to nail Tony Starks with a chair, but Starks gets the chair away from a weakened Ivey and flattens his own partner just before the three count is reached!] TD: Good god, Starks just nailed the Psycho!  The Subway Psycho is out cold -- and it's all his partner's fault! [Bob Ivey lunges at Starks and rolls him up from behind, bridging down for the extra leverage and gets the pin: 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Triumphantly he rises, but Tony Starks gets up and tosses him out over the top rope, then kicks Scalercio out of the ring as well.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners... THE AMERICAN DRAGONS! [Starks and the just risen Psycho start to jaw at each other and then go at it, fists flying from both sides.  Starks grabs the Psycho in a headlock and starts to punch him in the face repeatedly, but the Psycho gets out of the lockup and carries himself and his partner out to the floor with a bodyblock.] SR: Whoo-hoo! It's all broken loose, Dross! [Tony lands at ringside while the Subway Psycho stays up on the ring apron, his arm getting tangled in the ropes.  As he rises, Starks is hit with a flying clothesline after the Psycho launches himself off the ring apron! This time the momentum takes them into the front row of the crowd, and again both get to their feet, trading punches tooth and nail.  The Psycho grabs a chair and smashes Starks with it, the shot staggering him.] TD: Oh my! What a shot! This has gotten out of hand in a hurry! [In retaliation Starks rams the Psycho's head into the steel barrier a few times, and by now the Jobber Justice Squad starts to come through the crowd to break up the scuffle.  In the process, both of the Rotundos are laid out cold, and one of the Barnacle Brothers is inflicted to a DDT into the ground.  Officials manage to break up the now ex-partners, and the crowd noise begins to gradually die down as Starks and the Psycho are dragged backstage separately. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: It seemed too good to be true right from the start, Steve Roberts. The Subway Psycho and Tony Starks simply have too much antagonism towards one another to work together -- Starks would rather attack the Psycho when they had the match sewn up than allow him to get the pinfall. We could be in for a complete war between these two IIWF legends. SR: And I'm gonna be lovin' every minute of it, Dross. It's about time that waster the Psycho started earning his pay check. Has he done anything except get beaten up for the last year? TD: That may not be the most accurate representation of the career of one of the IIWF's long-time fan favourites, Steve Roberts, but who knows what's in store for those two men? Right now, we must move right on to our next encounter -- and what a match it's going to be, as Derek Mota and "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard team up for the first time to go up against the "Rocketman" Timothy N. Turner and Intercontinental Champion Duncan Macbeth. Plenty of bad blood here, Steve Roberts. SR: And let's hope we get to see some of it, huh, Dross? TD: Let's get up to the ring for the introductions. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Derek Mota & "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard vs. |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| "Rocketman" Timothy N. Turner & Duncan Macbeth ....................................................................... WRITER: Curt Kipp [Sparkplug Lee again stands in the centre of the ring and raises the microphone:] SL: This next bout is a tag team contest scheduled for one fall. Introducing first... ["Rocket Man" by Elton John echoes through the Delta Center.] SL: He hails from Victoria, British Columbia, Canada... standing 6 feet 2 inches tall and weighing 230 pounds... here is the "Rocket Man"... Timothy N. Turner! [Turner enters the aisle as his music plays. He's wearing black tights with silver rocket ships down the legs and black boots with "TNT" written on the outside. He gives a grin of smug self-satisfaction while receiving a heel pop from the fans.] SL: And his partner ... [The raucous beat of "Tubthumping" by Chumbawamba kicks in over the PA to a big pop!] SL: He hails from Glenfinnan, Scotland... standing 6 feet 4 inches tall and weighing in tonight at 270 pounds... he is the IIWF Intercontinental Champion... Duncan Macbeth! [Macbeth comes out wearing a tartan kilt over his blue full-length wrestling tights with a white Cross of St. Andrew emblazoned on the outer legs, and white wrestling boots with a Scottish claymore design down the outer side of each boot. The fans give Macbeth a much more positive response than they did for Turner.] TD: Fans still not quite accepting Turner as Macbeth's partner... to say the very least. SR: That's the way it is when you're a "Rocket Man" or a "Black Jesus," Dross. But you ignore it and you carry on. SL: And their opponents... ["The Great Southern Trendkill" by Sepultura plays over the loudspeakers.] SL: Introducing first... [But no one appears. The music dies. Sparkplug stops, apparently confused by the lack of anyone appearing at the aisle entrance.] TD: Wait a minute. I don't see Mota or Howard anywhere -- but I _do_ see "The Saviour" Simon Lebec on his way down the aisle. He has _no_ business coming down to ringside. SR: What? _Of course_ he has business here. Saving souls is his business, so he has a right to show up pretty much anywhere he sees fit, as long as he's doing God's work. TD: God's work. Yeah... that's what he's doing, Steve Roberts. SR: [missing the sarcasm] I'm glad you understand, Dross. [Dross rolls his eyes.] TD: Well, whatever the Showstopper, er, Savior is here for, I don't think Macbeth and Turner are terribly pleased with his presence. [Lebec calmly walks into the ring and takes out what appears to be a vial of water.] SR: Holy water! Holy water! I _told_ you he was here to save souls. [Lebec sprinkles the water on the canvas, while Macbeth and Turner look on in amusement.  When he's finished, he makes the sign of the cross.] SL: [audible without the aid of a mic] In th' name o' th' Lord Almighty. [With that, Lebec calmly exits the ring and sits next to the timekeeper, not bothering anybody.] TD: That was interesting. But where are Mota and Howard? They... [clutching his earpiece] ...Hold on. Something's going on in the back and we're trying to get a cameraman back there ... [Cut to a scene in the back. "The Intrepid" Ryan Howard is laid out on the concrete floor, and Derek Mota is standing over him holding a metal folding chair.] TD: Wait a minute. Has Mota turned on his partner here? Or was he warding off an attack on Howard perpetrated by someone else? Perhaps the new guy, the world champion we've been hearing about, did this. [Mota drops the chair and leaves the shot.] SR: I don't think so, Dross. I think the footage speaks for itself. It says, "Ryan Howard is a dweeb, and Derek Mota knows it." [Back to ringside.] SL: And their opponents... er, _opponent_? Whatever... TD: Ol' Sparkplug's a bit confused here... as well he should be... SR: Give the viewers at home some _news_, Dross... like I do. ["The Great Southern Trendkill" by Sepultura plays over the loudspeakers.] SL: He hails from Toronto, Ontario, Canada... standing 5 feet 10 inches tall and weighing 224 pounds... here is Derek Mota! [Derek Mota walks through the entrance, receiving a loud heel pop from the fans.  Mota simply raises his one gloved hand in the air in a familiar gesture to IIWF fans, raising the decibel level by another notch.] TD: I want to know what happened back there. Perhaps Mota will shed a little light here. [Derek then lowers his fist, slowly pointing it at Macbeth and Turner in the ring. With his other hand, he raises a house mic to his face and speaks.] DM: Hey boys... I'm back.     All I wanted was ta be your friend.  But ya wouldn't give me that.     All I wanted was ta go fishin' with ya, to hang out at the chalet,     to be part of the group.  But I guess it wasn't meant ta be, huh?     All I have ta say is... [BLEEP] friends.  I don't need Ryan Howard.     That Happy Days loser was just rarin' ta turn on me anyways. Friends are for losers.     And I don't need any friends ta take you out.  I'm gonna do it all     by my damn self! [Mota throws the mic down and charges to the ring, sliding under the bottom rope. He stands and starts hammering on Macbeth and Turner "with fo' fistus" as it were. Ding ding ding!] TD: Oh my! Mota taking it right _to_ Macbeth and Turner! I can't believe the hubris here. Knocking out his partner, then taking on two men like these by himself, one of whom is the I.C. champ. [Macbeth holds Mota in place and Turner NAILS him with a standing dropkick, then a slap. Mota breaks free and delivers a forearm shiver to the face of Turner, staggering him. He hits a mule kick on Macbeth behind him, then a jawbreaker. But Turner gets up and punches Mota. Turner and Macbeth then both start pounding on Mota.] TD: He's not getting the better of them, either. OUCH! I don't care if Mota _is_ the greatest wrestler the world doesn't know about. This was a bad idea. SR: You make a good point there, Dross. Not a GREAT point, like several     women tell me _I_ make with my "giraffe," but a good one. TD: Your "giraffe?" I won't touch that one. SR: Good, because I don't swing that way, Dross. TD: Let's just call the match here. Mota must be crazy -- absolutely nuts. He's wailing into Macbeth here, as the referee finally gets control, ushering the "Rocket Man," Timothy N. Turner, to his corner. SR: This isn't fair. Mota's partner doesn't have to stand in HIS corner. I think the referee is running this match under a blatant double standard here. TD: That's because Mota doesn't HAVE a partner, which, as I discussed, is his own damn fault, Steve Roberts. [Macbeth and Mota battle it out with lefts, rights and chops. Macbeth is half battling Mota and half staring at Simon Lebec as the "Saviour" sits at ringside. Macbeth is whipped to the corner. Mota runs up and monkey flips him out. He stands, scales the corner to the second turnbuckle, and comes off with a knee drop which misses. Macbeth takes advantage by grabbing the ankle and twisting it. He stands, holds the ankle and drops to the canvas in an effort to stretch out the hamstring. Then he adds some kicks to the kneepit. Macbeth tries to hook up a small package, but Mota breaks it up with an eye gouge.] TD: Mota back to his feet now -- a kick to the gut on Macbeth and hooks him up for a powerbomb. He connects! Sitting powerbomb! One ... and no. Too early in the match to successfully land the pinning maneuver. SR: Nonsense. No way is it too early. Why, on my date last night I attempted a pinning maneuver in less than 20 seconds. Nice Mormon girl. I think I'll try to collect me a whole harem worth of 'em. They'll be very impressed once they hear that I'm the "Black Je--" TD: Wait a minute, Steve Roberts. Let's go to the back, where I'm told there's another development in the Ryan Howard situation ... [Cut to backstage. Richard "Moxy" Blue is standing over the fallen "Intrepid" Ryan Howard and douses him with a bucket of water. Howard remains motionless.] TD: "Moxy" Blue, appearently trying to revive the "Intrepid" one, or... what's this? He's now trying to _carry_ Howard to ringside?! Give me a break! ["Moxy" tries to pick up Howard, but he drops him by accident. Then he makes another attempt. Same result.] SR: [snickering] Looks to me like "Moxy" can't get Howard up! TD: I'll ignore the innuendo there. SR: The way I would revive Howard, if I were Blue, would be to take a bright light and shine it off those iridescent blue tights and into Howard's face, thereby waking him up more or less instantly. That flashgun attack would be _nothing_ compared to a beam of light off that outfit of his. TD: It might be more effective than what Moxy's doing right _now_, that's for sure. [Back to ringside.] TD: Well, Mota started out well against the duo of Macbeth and Turner, but it seems they are a bit too much for him here in this situation. Turner currently in there working Mota over with an irish whip to the ropes... snap suplex! Now he has him hooked up for a piledriver, holding him by the tights... OUCH! He hits it! [Turner makes a cover: 1 -- 2 -- no! He drags Mota, who looks sluggish, over to the corner and tags Macbeth. Macbeth climbs to the top while Turner holds Mota in place. Macbeth jumps off the top and hits a sunset flip... Crowd gasp!] TD: ...sunset flip... but Mota rolls through! One... two... no! SR: Close, Dross. Mota almost pulled it out with a miraculous reversal. [Mota and Macbeth both get up -- and Macbeth levels Mota with a vicious clothesline.] TD: Yeah, but Macbeth clearly has too much left for that. He -- OUCH! Mota just pulled something out of his tights... DM: [audible without a mic] Here's seven years! TD: OUCH! Derek Mota just got Duncan Macbeth right in the forehead with that foreign object -- and the referee, Dave D'Amato, missed the boat on it completely. Didn't see it at all. SR: D'Amato's been known to let things like that go anyway. He's my kind of guy. The hell with this "Wrestle Clean" crap... can I say "crap" on an IIWF broadcast? Heh-heh... I guess I just did. TD: Macbeth is now bleeding from the forehead, and that foreign object just landed in front of us from Mota tossing it aside. Looks like it's a shard of glass -- perhaps the very one Mota used in yesterday's interview! SR: Not all the tea in China, nor all the perfumes in India, can wash away the blood on his head -- though I think that was LADY Macbeth's line. TD: [laughs] I think you're right. Now Mota stomping away on the downed     Duncan, who appears disoriented by the blood in his eyes. [Mota brings Macbeth to his feet and whips Macbeth to the corner. He runs in with a flying splash, which connects. He does another whip -- and Macbeth reverses it. Mota flies into the corner and hits the turnbuckle, while Macbeth staggers about, trips and falls outside the ring.] TD: It looks like Duncan hit hard on the mat, and... we have "the Savior" Simon Lebec pestering the blinded Macbeth on the outside here. He has that vial out... he's sprinkling that "holy water" all over Macbeth! SL: [audible sans mic] In the name o' th' Lord almighty! SR: Obviously, Lebec is making an effort to heal the gash in Macbeth's forehead! TD: Sure he is. But at least that water looks clear... not like the yellow "holy water" he used earlier in the week to baptize that child. That was one of the most sickening moments I've seen recently, and I've seen quite a few of them. [Mota to the outside, and he stomps Macbeth from behind, picks him up and rolls him back into the ring.] TD: Oh my! Macbeth is _not_ happy about what Lebec did. I think the blood's of his eyes, because he just _saw_ Lebec and is screaming something fierce at him, basically telling him to get away from ringside. He -- ouch! He should have been paying attention to Mota, who just hit a belly-to-back... the cover... one... two... no! SR: That was close. TD: Lebec is just _laughing_ at Macbeth. Like _fun_ he was trying to heal him. Well, he's done his damage and now he's leaving ringside in what I consider to be a very welcome departure. SR: Careful -- you could go to hell just for saying that. Probably WILL, Dross. TD: Back to action as Macbeth is showing that he has a lot of spunk left, if not a heck of a lot of coordination, against Derek Mota. Some punches... and he just turns around, falls down, and tags Turner. Finally. Turner's been outside for what seems like forever... [Turner into the ring, jumping over the top rope and nailing a dropkick on Mota on the way in. He grabs Mota's wrist, drapes his right leg over Mota's arm, and then brings the leg back, kicking Mota in the face. He then full-body clotheslines him with the left arm. The cover: 1 -- no!] TD: Both men getting back to their feet... no. Turner hits a drop toe hold on Mota, and now he's wrapping the leg around... and he's got Mota locked into that figure-four leglock. Quite a painful hold, obviously, as Mota is trying to reach for the ropes... [Everyone stands to look at the aisle... and walking down is none other than Richard "Moxy" Blue... sans Ryan Howard.] TD: "Moxy" making his way down the aisle. He was apparently unable to revive Howard... and referee Dave D'Amato is motioning for Moxy to get up on the apron and join the action! He's NOT scheduled to be a part of this match! SR: Not scheduled to be... but IS. I don't see why. Mota had everything well in hand here ... TD: Sure. He looks about ready, still, to give up to Timothy Turner's     figure-four leglock. But he's hanging in there, struggling to reach     the ropes and force a break. This will all be over soon if he doesn't get there. By the way, I don't think he sees Blue here yet. Mota now, reaching for the ropes...     He tags Blue! I don't know if Blue saw him or if he saw Blue -- but their hands touched and D'Amato is ruling Blue the legal man! [Blue jumps over the rope with a dropick on Turner. Then he hits Turner with a reverse knife edge chop, followed by a jumping spin kick. He throws Turner to the ropes, and runs to the opposite ropes. Both rebound and head towards each other, but Turner leapfrogs Blue. They both hit the ropes again, and this time Blue comes back with a flying lariat clothesline. The cover...] TD: D'Amato with the count... one... two... no. And Blue stands, raising     Turner. He grabs him about the middle, lifts him up... hot shot! SR: I don't think he does that move on purpose. I think he goes for a gorilla press and simply can't get the man up, let alone KEEP him up. That's a problem the Soundbite NEVER has. Just ask Chelsea. Speaking of Clinton... you know how Penthouse offered Monica Lewinsky $2 million to pose nude? She offered ME that much just to GET nude. TD: I'm sure you misheard. She must have said "get _lost_."  Blue now with a series of chops and punches on Turner... Turner with an uppercut out of nowhere! Turner ducks down, crawls between the legs of Blue, and makes the tag to -- no. Blue caught a leg and is dragging him back to the center of the ring. [Blue holds Turner in the middle of the ring in a half-crab. He leans into the hold with all of his 185-pound might. Turner finally breaks it, and the two men begin running the ropes, criss crossing, doing leapfrogs, the works -- but people are distracted once again by the sight of someone walking down the aisle. They stand and crane their necks to see who it is.] TD: Who is it this time coming down to ringside? It seems like everyone and their dog has been involved in this match ... SR: Haha! It's Richie Cunningham himself! The "Twerphead" Ryan Howard! [Howard, bloodied but unbowed, walks down to ringside, a bit upset and with a look of determination on his face. Meanwhile, back in the ring, Blue nails a dropkick on Turner, knocking him into the ropes. He falls over them and to the outside. Mota takes the oportunity to jump off the apron and work over Turner a bit with some stomps. Howard reaches ringside...] TD: Uh-oh. Well, if I was Mota, I'd look out. He didn't finish the job, and now Howard is out here to make him pay for what he did to him earlier. [Howard grabs a folding chair and heads for Turner and Mota.] TD: Mota's about to be wearing that chair for his actions of earlier, and he turns to try and escape... [Crowd gasp!] TD: OH MY! Howard just used that chair on TURNER! He doesn't realize it was MOTA who got him earlier tonight -- but he obviously thinks _Turner_ did it! SR: That Howard's about as sharp as a bowling ball. TD: You'll remember, of course, that it was Timothy Turner who put Howard out of the IIWF in September of last year. And D'Amato didn't see it because he was listening to Macbeth complain about presence on the other side of the ring! Macbeth now coming around towards Howard, Howard rolls Turner into the ring... the cover by Blue... [D'Amato drops into position and makes the count: 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Big pop!] SL: Your winners... as the result of a pinfall... the tag team of Derek Mota and Richard "Moxy" Blue! [Blue climbs the corner, arms in the air in celebration of his victory, as the words, "OH YEAH! RIGHTEOUS!" echo over the P.A. The heavy metal slide-guitar version of "Blue Moon" then comes in -- but Mota pulls Blue down from the turnbuckle.] TD: Some angry words for Richard "Moxy" Blue from Derek Mota, even after Blue just helped him win the match. It's like Mota didn't want the help... and if he keeps acting like that, he'll never GET any help from anyone. It would serve him right. Still, Mota escapes with the win somehow tonight, with his impromptu tag team partner Richard Blue, and give an assist to Ryan Howard. SR: I'd love to see Howard's face when he realizes he just helped the man who clocked him backstage with a chair right before the match. TD: Yeah, but I'm not sure I'd want to be Mota. [Meanwhile, Ryan Howard has flopped over the crowd barriers and into the fans, making a slow but determined retreat from the ring, while Moxy follows Mota up the aisle, gesticulating wildly about Mota's ingratitude. Macbeth bends over Turner and pulls him back up to his feet, the groggy Canadian feeling a little the worse for wear after Howard's chair shot. Macbeth helps Turner from the ring, and the two head back up the aisle to the locker room. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Next up we're gonna be hearing from a competitor who sent shockwaves through the IIWF last Saturday night, apparently ending the career of one of our most promising young stars, the former three time co-holder of the World tag team championship, Icehawk, and then demonstrated absolutely no remorse for his actions afterwards. Somewhat callous behaviour from the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi, Steve Roberts. SR: Bah... There's a whole buncha gay guys floating around in the IIWF these days, thinking they got a chance in the singles division. Who cares if Serbia's answer to Ru Paul falls by the wayside? TD: That's Finland, Steve, and I'm not quite sure what Ru Paul has to... SR: [interrupting] Why you keep droning on about Finland is a mystery to me, Dross man. Anyway, there's no fine, upstanding, clean cut, morally sound American guy for us to cheer for here, so who the damn hell cares? U - S - A! ["Interstellar Regions" by John Coltrane blasts out over the loudspeakers in a fury of dissonant, atonal cacaphony, as the Enigma heads down the aisle. The fan reaction is mixed to say the least, many heard to jeer Musashi for his ruthless treatment of Icehawk, others still cheering him fervently. There are even quite a few fans who remain in stony silence, not quite sure how to react to the Enigma. Musashi doesn't seem much concerned either way, his expression somewhat obscured by the silver and white stars painted around his eyes, but still demonstrating little emotion. Musashi's shimmering, polished Cruiserweight title belt is strapped around his waist, and he is attired in plain black karate style pants.] TD: Well, here comes the Enigma, perhaps ready to explain some of his puzzling behaviour in the wake of that crippling injury he inflicted upon Icehawk. Musashi is often a little hard to figure out; he has his own particular code of honour that doesn't seem to coincide with anything we have here in the West. SR: What damn code of honour? The way I see it, Musashi spouts about his grand traditions of jippykaythingjiggery, but he only ends up doing whatever he damn well pleases regardless! Code of honour my ass! TD: Please, Steve Roberts. [The Enigma grabs a mic from ringside and climbs up through the ropes and into the ring. The wild tones of "Interstellar Regions" die down, and the crowd waits in uncomfortable silence as Musashi surveys the arena around him for several long moments. Finally, he raises the mic to his lips to speak.] TM: I'm standing before you right now, as the new IIWF Cruiserweight champion. Believe me when I tell you, I descended through the pits of hell and came out on the other side to earn myself this title. Crashing through tables, battered by steel chairs and security goons, toppling from the peak of a fifteen foot ladder... Every bump, every scratch, every broken bone, every bloody wound inflicted upon my body as I fought my way to the top, is reflected upon the golden sheen of this belt strapped around my waist. That makes my position all the more grand... and all the more dangerous. Already, I have erased the stain of dishonour and cowardice cast over this belt by its previous unworthy champions, TNT and Ronnie Paris. I did that by coming out to fight last Saturday night, and putting it all on the line against the man many claimed would be the successor to my throne. Well, Icehawk... he fought well, but I demonstrated clearly to each and every one of you fans, to the officials, and to the wrestlers back there in the locker room, that the Enigma is no man to be trifled with. Step into the ring with me, and I'll drag you through the pits of hell, through every ounce of hardship and pain I experienced on my way back to the top, and I can gaurantee you, this belt won't be pried away from me without at least a dozen gallons of blood, sweat and mayhem. And Icehawk, it was too bad that you were the first to fall broken beneath the feet of the Enigma's reign. You'll learn well that along with an acrobat's agility, there must also reside the tough resilience of a rhino, and the savagery of a wolverine. You can think about that while you sit convalescing at home, wondering if you'll ever get to resume your "up and coming" career, bemoaning the fact that you're just a flash in the pan pretty boy punk, while I'm a proud fighting champion. And as a fighting champion, I'd like to issue a standing challenge right now. The Enigma's hour of glory is at hand. Step forth, if you think you've got what it takes to step into the ring with me and win this trophy strapped around my waist. I'll fight any Cruiserweight in the world right at this moment. All you have to do, is step up into the ring, and I'll take care of the rest. If anybody has the courage and the stomach for it, step into the ring with me right now! [There is an excited buzz among the crowd, as well as scattered cheering and jeering over the Enigma's words, as they all expectantly crane their necks towards the head of the aisle, waiting to see if anybody will answer Musashi's challenge.] TD: [over headset] Quite a challenge from the Enigma, and I believe there are several active participants in the IIWF's Cruiserweight division backstage at this moment... Hold on a moment... it looks like somebody is making their way down to the ring! [There is a sudden sizable pop, mixed with myriad concerned murmours, as a compact, fair haired figure struggles to make his way down the aisle. In one hand, he's holding a microphone, and the other hand is holding a wooden cane. He's wearing street clothes and a neck brace, and as he slowly makes his way to ringside, it is obvious that he is nowhere near 100 percent.] TD: Oh my goodness! Icehawk is here! Surely Icehawk should be resting up in a hospital bed, nursing his severe injury, and I have no idea what he's doing out here right now! This could be a brave, but extremely foolhardy and reckless action on the part of this young man. SR: Look at the face of the Enigma! He's getting that wild, psychotic gleam in his eyes again, and we all know what that means! Icehawk is treading on some seriously slippy ground right about now! [The camera cuts to a close up on the face of Icehawk, and in quite a contrast to his usual enthusiastic, happy go lucky exterior, the Finn now wears a snarl of bitterness, of discontent, and plain angry determination. The uncharacteristic glare of menace in Icehawk's eyes never once wavers from Takezo Musashi as hobbles down the aisle. Abruptly, the camera cuts back to Musashi.] TM: Look at this pitiable sight before our eyes! Is this crippled child the cream of the IIWF Cruiserweight crop? Look at this man - nothing more than an example of the strength flowing through the Enigma's veins. I demand a more worthy opponent than this! [Unbowed by the Enigma's words, Icehawk reaches ringside, ignoring the fans reaching out their hands to touch him, as well as the hushed whispers of concern and condecension emenating from certain factions of the crowd.] TM: Icehawk, if you have any wisdom left in your bones, you won't take one step further. This is my ring now, and only my rules apply. I'll give you one warning, for the sake of your courage, if not your intelligence... turn back now! Retreat back to the safety of the locker room and the hospital bed! Every step you take closer to my ring, you further cultivate my wrath. Even if you were a fit man, you would not nearly be capable of containing it... Turn back! TD: [over headset] As much as I'm puzzled and dissapointed in the ruthless measures the Enigma has been taking of late, I can't help but feel that Icehawk really should be taking his advice at this point. SR: That lil' runt has got a sure fire death wish, and I think the Enigma is about to fulfill it beyond his most gruesome expectations! [Once again, Icehawk appears undaunted by the warnings of the Enigma, and as the expression on his face shows, in reflection of the bitterness raging in his mind and senses, his future of glory and success now denied him, the rage overflowing in his heart for the perpatrator of his despair, he wouldn't be deterred by the most rational, soothing, persuasive of arguments at this point. Icehawk staggers his way up the ring steps, and with some difficulty -- causing many in the audience to cringe at his obvious physical incapacity -- clambers between the ropes and into the ring. The Fin hobbles determinedly up to the Enigma, standing almost chest to chest, rage burning from his gaze deep into the Enigma's own. Musashi visibly tenses, as a cougar ready to pounce, and a dangerous gleam flashes through his eyes -- perhaps a hint of violence to come. The crowd poises silently in tense expectation.] TD: This situation is growing increasingly precarious by the moment, and it could prove to have calamitous results! We must get some security down here to protect this vulnerable young man, Icehawk! SR: Aw, shaddup and let us here what they gotta say for 'emselves, Dross man! [Icehawk lifts the microphone to his lips, an angry sneer on his face.] IH: I'm not capable of containing your wrath? I don't believe that, these fans don't believe that... and most importantly, _you_ don't believe that. The reason I'm injured is because during that match, you realized that you are an old man, and I'm the young lion who has come to take everything away from you. [Icehawk painfully turns away from Musashi to face the crowd.] IH: Are you proud of your champion? This so-called legend who realized that he couldn't beat a kid who was in his third singles match, so he tried to break his neck in order to keep his belt? Is that what you want in a champion? [Anger visibly resonates from the Enigma, as he grabs Icehawk by the shoulder and whips him around so that they stand face to face once again.] TM: A real champion doesn't wrestle with a concern for his opponent's safety! The fans out there might not always like it, but to be a strong champion, you've got to be ruthless; you've got to be willing to take it to the extreme! The truth is, Icehawk, you haven't got the raw toughness to take the bumps in this sport. You're standing in my ring right now, in _my_ kingdom, mouthing off like the hot headed punk you are, without a clue about what it takes to make a man a real warrior. You're just a fragile young whelp without the guts or the resilience to make it in this game, Icehawk! IH: You keep telling yourself that. And you enjoy wearing that belt. Because it is going to take me a couple weeks to get back to 100 percent, but I _will_ be back. [At this point, Icehawk steps towards Musashi so that their faces are only inches apart, anger and intensity burning brightly in his gaze.] IH: And I _will_ take the title away from you. TM: [seething with anger] Is that so, my foolish friend? Well how about a little close up view of _my_ title right now! [The crowd begins to pop in shock as Musashi rapdily unfastens the Cruiserweight title from around his waist, Icehawk, despite himself, throwing up an arm to ward off the oncoming blow...] TD: Oh my goodness! The Enigma has just nailed Icehawk right in the face with the title belt! This situation is outta' control! SR: [laughing] I told you Musashi would give this punk kid more than he bargained for! [Icehawk staggers backwards, and, dropping his cane, is forced to fall back on the ropes just to retain his balance. Musashi, however, is unrelenting, and a fierce, wild fire now well and truly raging in his eyes, he lunges in behind Icehawk and whips the title belt across his back with a crack that resounds across the arena! The crowd begin to respond with fervent heel heat, and Icehawk attempts to stagger away, but in his present condition, without his cane, he is no match for the speed of the Enigma. Musashi hauls back with the belt again, whipping the hard metal front piece across Icehawk's spine, and a cry of pain escapes from the young man's throat! Icehawk almost keels over, but manages to grab onto the second rope, and hangs off of it for dear life. Musashi stands over the body of Icehawk, triumph smouldering in the already flaming depths of his eyes, and raises the title belt up over head, the metal edge pointed downwards...] TD: Somebody has got to stop this carnage! This could be the blow that finishes off Icehawk for good! SR: That crazy Korean bastard has well and truly snapped! That konton na tamthingy he keeps blabbering about is on the loose! [Many in the crowd turn away in disgust, others just stand gaping in slack-jawed horror, as the Enigma brings the hard metal edge of the belt crashing down, right into Icehawk's pain and nerve centre, right into the source of his brutal injury, right down into the back of his neck with colossal force. Icehawk's jaw drops open in a soundless scream of agony, his back arching, jolting upwards, then dropping numbly down to the mat. The crowd suddenly goes deathly silent, as it is apparent that there is something very, very wrong with Icehawk. His entire upper body is completely motionless, his head and shoulders totally unmoving down on the mat, as if they were simply objects that had been discarded there. And his eyes are wide open, staring up at the ceiling, perhaps for the very first time in his career, wide open with genuine fear. Not with the fear of the crazed Enigma standing before him, not with the fear that is heralded by pain, but with the fear that comes when you feel thousands of red hot pins and needles spread from the back of your neck down to your spine, and then nothing... nothing at all. The Enigma looks down over the carcass of his battered opponent, a rictus snarl of pure fury contorting his face, and begins driving hard stomps down into his chest. Immediately, the crowd explodes with jeers once again.] TD: What a calamity! What a disgusting lack of compassion on the part of the Enigma! Icehawk... [choking a little] Icehawk is finished after this! Someboy must do something! Somebody must stop this carnage! SR: Hey, what the hell was Musashi supposed to do? Stand there like an idiot while this punk kid mouthed off at him? [Abruptly, the roof tears off the arena with fervent cheering as Edmund Fitzgerald races down the aisle, dives under the bottom rope and into the ring, steel chair in hand!] TD: Fitz is here! Edmund Fitzgerald has come to save his former tag team partner! SR: Gay guys will stick together... [The Enigma catches sight of Fitz out of the corner of his eye, and ducks nimbly aside as the steel chair is swiped wildly at his head. Musashi rolls across the ring and out under the bottom rope, immediately uprighting himself on the outside and yelling threats at Fitzgerald in Japanese. Fitz, his expression a mixture of anguish and fury, takes another swipe over the top rope at the Enigma, keeping him at bay from the seriously injured body of his best friend. Musashi backs up and slowly raises his fist to the air, making a slashing motion across his throat with his other hand, perhaps signalling a future of pain for both Icehawk and Fitzgerald. Finally, Musashi turns away, heading slowly back up the aisle, and the crowd pelts paper cups at him as they jeer at him fervently. Musashi ignores them all and just stares ahead with that wild gleam in his eyes. Immediately, Fitz tosses his chair aside and goes to tend to his fallen friend, who still lays motionless on the mat, staring up at the ceiling. The look of stricken grief on the face of Edmund Fitzgerald is painfully apparent, as he fruitlessly strives to revive his former tag team partner. Finally, a team of white uniformed medics, accompanied by grey suited officials -- among them, new VP Gregg Osterhout -- hurry down the aisle and into the ring. The medics immediately begin to fuss around the body of Icehawk, placing him with extreme care upon a stretcher, as the suits confer with Fitz. Edmund, however, in his current state of grief, does not appear capable of rational discourse. The fans look on sombrely, and several young children are seen to be in uncontrollable tears.] TD: What a calamitous, painful situation we have just witnessed here tonight, and what a callous disregard for his fellow competitors Takezo Musashi has just demonstrated. Any faint hopes of Icehawk making a comeback must be well and truly dashed at this point, and this tragic young man, so enthusiastic, so much potential, might be lucky to ever walk again. Takezo Musashi has talked about that extreme and chaotic side of his nature, his "konton na tamashii" as he puts it, and it has certainly given him the edge he lacked during his waining days in the IIWF, but now it appears that it has enveloped him completely. Under the new dictates of Vice President Gregg Osterhout, Musashi is sure to suffer severe penalties for what he has done to Icehawk, but I have a feeling it just won't be enough to pay for the consequences of his actions here tonight. [While the medical team slide a back-board into the ring and begin carefully lifting Icehawk onto the board, Musashi simply picks himself up at ringside, and makes his way blankly back up the aisle, being pelted by garbage as he goes. Meanwhile, Fitz looks on, apparently close to tears, as Icehawk is gently placed on the gurney at ringside, and wheeled away by the medical team. Fans reach out to touch the distraught Fitz as he follows, almost stumbling, weak-kneed, the stretcher team back to the locker room. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside as the crowd settles.] TD: A truly disturbing scene here in the Delta Center, Steve Roberts. To see Icehawk brutalised like that... and to see the look on the face of Edmund Fitzgerald, Icehawk's long-time friend and tag team partner... well, they say far more than any words I could find at this juncture. Takezo Musashi... he needs help, Steve Roberts. That man is dangerous. SR: Aw, cry me a river, Dross. Did one of the gay guys get his ass handed to him? Serves ol' Chickenwing right for coming out here when he should be lying in a hospital bed being tended to by nubile young nurses... nurses, Dross! In the name of all things holy, why the hell would that moron come out here to get his ass kicked when he could be getting waited on hand and foot by those naughty, naughty nurses? TD: Words fail me, Steve Roberts. SR: I's gettin' all misty again, Dross. Excuse me. TD: Well, our next match is scheduled to be the tag-title match between the Natural Predators and Team Sychosys, but I can't imagine that Joe Petrow is going to be able to compete. Not after the beating that he took from Shadoe Rage earlier this evening. SR: Well, after that last beatdown, we certainly know it won't be Cold Spell taking their place. TD: You are a sick and twis... wait, I'm getting word that President Daniel Spreadbury is coming to the ring for an announcement. [Indeed, the camera picks up Our Beloved Leader making his way to ringside. He looks unhappy, especially when he passes near the Sychopaths -- one of whom is holding a large vase over his head for no apparent reason. When he reaches the ring, he takes Sparkplug Lee's microphone and addresses the crowd.] DS: Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great disappointment that I must inform you that Joe Petrow will be unable to compete in tonight's match, and therefore, the title match for Team Sychosys will _not_ take place tonight. [Huge chorus of booing fills the Delta Center.] DS: However, replacing Team Sychosys will be ... *KEEEEE_RASH* [A quick change of camera angle shows that the huge vase lies broken in the aisle. Meanwhile, a Sychopath with a large boombox hits play and the sound of "Eye Of The Tiger" by Survivor fills the air. On cue, "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur, and a fan, recognizable as the wild-eyed "Fan who once took a missile dropkick from Unique Allah", come out of the stands and into the ring. McArthur asks for the microphone.] 4M: Umm, Mr. President, if you don't mind, I have something that I would like to say. I have a letter here from Joe Petrow that I would like to read at this time. [Spreadbury seems okay with McArthur reading the letter, so he continues:] 4M: "Maurice, if you are reading this letter, I have been somehow abducted from the ring, and they are somehow trying yet again to screw us out of our title match. You know how hard we have worked for this, you must not let it happen. "Here's what you need to do. Take this letter, go to the ring with Leon - we know he knows how to take a bump - and reading the following rules, quoted directly from the unabridged IIWF Rulebook: "'Section 8, Paragraph 2, Subsection 2: To be considered a valid tag-team match, both teams MUST consist of two wrestlers.' and 'Section 8, Paragraph 2, Subsection 3: All tag teams must have two people at ringside at all times.' "Because of the wording of these two rules, I have determined that these rules are mutually exclusive. The tag-team partner of Maurice McArthur is Joe Petrow, and Leon may be used as the second person at ringside. Therefore, there is no reason why the match cannot go on." [Big pop from the Sychopaths as a frowning President Spreadbury takes the microphone from Maurice. In the meantime, the Natural Predators and Kuyler Greyson have made their way to ringside to see what is happening.] DS: I'm not very familiar with all the rules and regulations that Petrow likes to quote at me, but one thing I do know for sure is that this fan does not have a valid IIWF license, so he can not be at ringside to begin with! [More boos from the Sychopaths, but McArthur takes the microphone back.] 4M: Actually, there's one more page to read. "If somebody tries to tell you that Leon cannot be at ringside of this match, be sure to point out the emergency replacement clause. 'Section 13, Paragraph 2, Subsection 4: In the event that normal people accompanying a wrestler to ringside cannot be in attendance due to an emergency, anyone with prior IIWF match participation experience can be used as a substitute.' Leon participated in the IIWF Birthday Bash match, therefore, he is eligible under this rule." [Another pop from the Sychopaths.] 4M: "I know this a lot to ask of you, but as always, all I can say is to believe. Believe in Sychosys, believe in the Sychopaths, and believe that one day, we will overcome. Joe." [Spreadbury, seemingly resigned to the fact that another of his great impromptu plans has been thwarted, takes back the mic.] DS: Okay, okay. But I'll tell you right now, Joe Petrow is in no shape to come out here. You'll basically be wrestling the Natural Predators for the titles in a handicap match. And there's no guarantee you'll ever get a rematch if you lose. Do you really want to go through with this, Maurice? [He holds the mic towards 4M.] 4M: No. But I will. DS: Predators, do you have any objections? [Grayson, Bear and Grey Phoenix confer briefly, then Grayson turns back to the ring and shrugs. It is obvious that he doesn't feel 4M poses any threat to his men.] DS: Then we have a match. Ring the bell. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Natural Predators vs. Team Sychosys ....................................................................... WRITER: Dave Hogg [The official signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Well, this is going to be a truly bizarre match. The world champions against a member of the Jobber Justice Squad in a handicap match for the titles. SR: But McArthur has Leon at ringside! That could be the turning point. [The camera pans to Leon, who has unfortunately removed his shirt, and is now bouncing around the ring, screaming encouragement to 4M. The resemblence to the late Chris Farley is almost frightening, and more than one ringside observer wonders if Leon will even make it through the match.] TD: Well, this match is underway. It looks like Bear is going to start for the Predators, and it will be... well, obviously it will be Maurice McArthur for Team Sychosys. [Bear waits for an obviously nervous McArthur to make his way to center ring. 4M finally approaches the much bigger man, but just as they go to lock up, he ducks away and quickly steps between the ropes to the apron.] TD: I don't think Maurice is quite ready to face the tag-team champions by himself! SR: C'mon, Maurice, go in there and get killed for the fans! [The Majestyk One continues to pace around the apron, as Bear watches with some amusement. From time to time, McArthur sticks his head and torso through the ropes, but as soon as the massive Bear approaches, he ducks back out to the apron and points knowingly to his temple. When the camera zooms in for a closeup, he appears to be softly singing to himself. At ringside, Leon is bouncing around, screaming his approval to 4M.] SR: He's doing it!! He's doing it!! TD: He's doing what? SR: He's doing the Soundbite Stall! He's not doing it with my style and panache, but he has certainly watched the tapes of me at my best -- the finger-pointing, the stroll, the singing. Maurice, get over here! [Maurice hears Steve's call, hops down from the apron and obediently trots over to the announcer's desk. After a brief whispered conversation, filled with wild hand gestures from the Soundbite, 4M returns to the apron, and continues to... well, not do much of anything. But now, his pacing has become a stylish stall, his finger-pointing has a new flair, and his singing has become a baritone rendition of several disco favorites. For the first time in IIWF history, the Sychopaths and the Soundbiters chant together, their cry of "Stall, Maurice, Stall" echoing about the building. The camera switches back to the broadcast table, where Steve appears to be wiping away a tear.] SR: You know, Dross, this might be the finest moment of my career. To have an international superstar like "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur pay tribute to me like this just validates everything that I stood for during my career. Now I know that all my years of training and hard work were not in vain. In the end, that is all that anyone can ask for. TD: Steve, he's not doing anything! SR: I know. Isn't it the most beautiful thing you have ever seen? [Maurice continues to stroll, then turns away from the ring to wave happily at Steve. Unfortunately, it is at that moment that Bear decides he is getting bored. He reaches over the top rope and easily lifts 4M into the air, pressing him over his head. After holding him there for a long, long moment, he dumps him to the mat.] SR: What is he doing? You can't touch a man when he is doing the Stall. Doesn't that overgrown freak understand the mores of professional wrestling? TD: Right now, I think Bear is thinking more about getting this match over with before it gets any sillier than it is now. [Bear scoops 4M up and spends the next several moments pounding him around the ring with everything from a powerslam to a massive flying clothesline. After a while, he tires of the game and tags in the Grey Phoenix. The Phoenix takes over where Bear left off, but he hits McArthur with more scientific moves, like suplexes and monkey flips.] TD: This isn't a wrestling match, this is a massacre! SR: Maurice, you can't wrestle, you idiot! Go back to stalling! [Finally, the Phoenix catches 4M on the point of the jaw with a superkick, sending the hapless JJS member tumbling through the ropes and onto the floor. As he lies there, crumpled into a ball, there is suddenly a massive heel pop!] TD: It's Steve Manning! He has come out of the crowd, and he's charging toward McArthur! What is that in his hand! SR: It's an electric cattle prod! He's going to shock 4M back to life! TD: He could kill him! The Sychopaths are streaming out the stands to try to stop Manning, but they aren't going to be in time! Manning is going to do it... NO!! [At the last instant, Leon dives in between Manning and 4M, and takes the shock stick directly in the chest. He falls to the ground, unconscious, as the Sychopaths swarm around Manning. Manning, though, is too quick for them, and he knocks a couple over before vanishing into the crowd.] TD: Steve Manning said earlier tonight that he was going to get even with Petrow, and he just tried! But Leon saved 4M, and he's now getting back into the ring! [Maurice looks mostly dead, but not quite as mostly dead as Leon, who is now being attended to by IIWF medical personnel. In the meantime, there are still dozens of Sychopaths wandering around ringside.] TD: The Phoenix is signaling for the Phoenix Claw! It's going to be all over! [Indeed, the Grey Phoenix springs into the ropes, and off... but only slams into the mat as 4M half-ducks, half-collapses to the mat.] SR: What a brilliant counter-move! TD: Steve, he fell down. SR: Exactly. [4M rolls over, finds himself in his corner, and forgetting that he is wrestling alone, he reaches up for the tag... and Joe Petrow tags himself into the match! Huge Sychopop!] TD: My god, it is Petrow! Look at him! He's bleeding and he can barely stand up, but he has just tagged himself into the match! SR: Where in the world did he come from? TD: He must have hidden himself in this throng of Sychopaths who are still wandering around ringside! [Petrow hops into the ring, but he doesn't give his partner a chance to rest. Instead he scoops up 4M and fires him into a Majestic Star Press on Bear, while he goes after a stunned Grey Phoenix. Instantly, Petrow is all over the Phoenix, hitting him with lefts and rights, before pulling him to his feet. The Phoenix is only vertical for a few seconds, though, as Petrow hits him with a running bulldog. Pop!] TD: I don't believe this! Joe Petrow has been beaten nearly to death, but he has found a second wind! He has the Grey Phoenix in trouble, and Bear got knocked out when Petrow fired 4M into him. We could be about to see a massive upset here! [Petrow calls to Maurice, who is still lying stunned from where he collided with Bear. Somehow, his idol's voice brings him around, and he staggers to the corner, and climbs to the top rope. As he does, Petrow lifts the Phoenix onto his shoulders and faces 4M.] SR: It's going to be the Sychosyntheplex! TD: The what? SR: I have no idea. [4M dives off the top rope and clotheslines the Phoenix, but Petrow, instead of letting go, falls back into a spike Ocean Syclone Suplex! He bridges, and as a stunned Dave D'Amato makes the count, the Sychopaths rush back to ringside. One... Two... Thre...] TD: NO! The Phoenix kicked out! Oh my! That was so close -- but the Phoenix kicked out! SR: Look at Petrow! He can't believe what happened! He didn't have enough strength left to hold the bridge, and that let the Phoenix slip out. [Petrow comes up to his knees, exhaustion and despair written all over his face. McArthur, who thought the match was over, sags back onto his face in disappointment.] TD: On any other night, Team Sychosys would now be the tag champs... but that beating from Shadoe Rage was just too much. [As Petrow finally staggers to his feet, looking lost, he never sees the Grey Phoenix fly off the top rope. At first, it looks like a flying crossbody block gone awry, but as he flies over Sychosys' head, he hooks his arms and legs into a flying crucifix slam. Petrow never twitches as D'Amato counts to three. Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Your winners, and STILL tag-team champions of the world, the NATURAL PREDATORS! TD: What a courageous effort from Team Sychosys, but they just didn't have enough left after the earlier beating of Petrow. Against any other team, they might have pulled it out, but not against the world tag-team champions. [Kuyler Greyson hands the IIWF World Tag Team belts back to the Natural Predators, who stand over the exhausted and bloody form of Joe Petrow in the ring. Bear and Phoenix look to one another and nod, before stepping between the ropes, hopping down to the floor, and quickly heading back up the aisle, attempting to avoid the horde of Sychopaths now flooding the ring.] TD: Joe Petrow... I believe Joe Petrow may be unconscious, Steve Roberts. Security is out here trying to stop the Sychopaths, but they're all over the place -- the Sychopaths are in the ring. [Indeed, the Sychopaths help the sullen Maurice McArthur to his feet, and then carefully lift the lifeless Petrow up over their heads, his motionless form being borne by countless Sychopaths as they gingerly pass him down over the ropes to more Sychopaths on the floor, who then carry him out into the crowd, others supporting Maurice as he hobbles behind. Security close up the gaps in the railings around ringside, as Team Sychosys departs the area, the crowd hushed as Petrow, hoisted like a sacrificial offering, is carried out of an exit. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: There was something strangely... symbolic about all that, Steve Roberts. SR: Shambolic is more like it, Dross. I can't believe those furry morons didn't respect the Soundbite Stall. Damn. TD: Who knows what will become of Team Sychosys now, Steve Roberts. A truly shattering night for Joe Petrow -- pinned and injured by Shadoe Rage earlier tonight, and pinned again by the Natural Predators here in a match which should not even have gone ahead. Joe Petrow is determined to play by his own rules -- and tonight that worked against him. Folks, it's time for our main event -- it's time to get this crowd back into the action here, and nobody can excite an IIWF crowd quite like the two men we are about to see lock it up in the squared circle. I'm talking about Jimmy "the Meatman" Steele, and Steve "the Fury" Kowalski -- and these two men are going to be fighting for the most prestigious prize in all of wrestling: the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship! Let's get up to the ring! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Steve "the Fury" Kowalski vs. Jimmy "the Meatman" Steele ....................................................................... WRITER: Shawn Kilpatrick [Cut to a shot of Sparkplug Lee at ringside, munching away at a plate of spicy buffalo wings, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the next match is due to start. The timekeeper reaches over and taps Sparky on the arm, causing him to drop the wing in his hand, sending it tumbling down the front of his powder-blue tux and leaving a long BBQ-sauce stain on his jacket.  Sparky looks forlornly at the offending stain before shooting the timekeeper a dirty look and climbing into the ring to begin the introductions.] TD: Heh heh... goodness, what a shame.  Sparky may have to actually buy a new suit now, Steve. SR: Your taste in clothing ain't much better, Dross.  Hey, see if you can grab those wings for me, will you, buddy?  I'm starvin' here! SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is your MAIN EVENT of the evening, and is for the IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP! [Big pop form the crowd.] SL: Introducing first, the challenger - he hails from Emeryville, California, and weighs in at 274 pounds, here is "THE MEATMAN" JIMMY STEELE! [The capacity crowd in the Delta Arena goes wild, and the familiar chant of "Meat! Meat! Meat!" rings throughout the facility as the the ringside fans crane their necks for a glimpse of the affable butcher-turned- wrestler, but long moments pass by, and there is no sign of activity from the wrestlers' entrance.  The chant of "Meat! Meat! Meat!" begins to die down, slowly transforming to a confused buzz, as Steele still fails to appear after a full minute.  Lee looks to referee Dave D'Amato, who checks his watch and hastily motions Lee to continue the introductions.] TD: This is odd.  Where could Jimmy "Meatman" Steele be?  He has a shot at the IIWF World title tonight, and if he fails to show, it could seriously damage his career track here in the IIWF. SR: Well, he's seriously damaged, that's for sure, Dross.  My guess is that either Kowalski brought back his golf clubs to play the front nine on the Meatman's head backstage, or he's too busy pan-frying me a nice T-bone to come to his match.  Damn, I'm hungry. TD: We have no reports of foul play backstage, Steve, and at present, no reports of the whereabouts of the Meatman.  If he doesn't show soon, he will lose this match by forfeit, and may face serious repercussions from the front office. SR: Yadda, yadda, yadda.  It's all Osterhout's fault, Dross.  There's no better way to "Wrestle Clean" than to just not show up.  Makes for a real entertaining evening. [D'Amato continues to motion to Lee to continue, as the crowd begins to grow restless with waiting.  Lee shrugs, and raises the ring mic once more.] SL: Ummm... introducing, from Newark, New Jersey and weighing in at 268 pounds, here is the reigning IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, the "New Jersey Nightmare", STEVE "THE FURY" KOWALSKI! [Another loud pop rises from the crowd, and a new chant of "Skull-pump! Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" rings throughout the arena, threatening to drown out "Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear The Reaper", as the IIWF Heavyweight Champion appears at the head of the aisle and begins making his way to ringside.  Kowalski largely ignores the cheers of the ringside fans, looking quite annoyed at having to enter the ring first. Before he enters the ring, he stops at the announcers' table and extends his hand to Roberts, who grins at the Fury and shakes the offered hand.] SK: Congrats, Stevey.  Best Announcer.  Timmy must be pissed. [As Dross does a slow burn, obviously preferring the Best Announcer award to his own nod as Best Interviewer, Kowalski slips something into Roberts' hand and whispers in the "Soundbite's" ear before climbing into the ring, shooting a scathing look at D'Amato, and seating himself on the turnbuckles of his corner to await the appearance of the Meatman.] TD: What in the world is going on with you two?  What did Kowalski give you, Steve? SR: Ten bucks in change, Dross.  All rolled up real neat-like. TD: He gave you a roll of quarters?  What does he expect you to do with those? SR: It's a secret, baby dolls.  I'll tell you one thing though, it ain't to go up to the pop machine and get him a few Cokes. TD: Good grief.  We're still awaiting the appearance of Jimmy "Meatman" Steele, and he is fast running out of time... oh my goodness, what is that? [A harsh beeping noise cuts through the buzz of the crowd, and all eyes turn to the wrestlers' entrance, where a big white truck has begun backing down the aisle towards the ring!  The crowd's confused popping rises to fever pitch as the truck, emergency lights blinking and the incessant beeping of its warning siren, slowly inches down the aisle, finally coming to a halt at the mouth of the ring enclosure.] TD: This is most unusual!  I can't see who's driving the truck -- is it the Meatman? SR: Could be, Dross.  Maybe he had to make a few last-minute deliveries. If I'd known he'd be bringing the truck, I'd have got him to bring me some ribs!  I just hope he gets in the ring soon, so I can get something to eat!  I'm getting desperate! TD: The back doors of the truck are opening up now, and... goodness, what on earth is that? [The doors of the van open up to reveal nothing but the darkened interior of the truck, when suddenly there is a burst of flame, and the camera zooms in to reveal the grotesque picture of a flaming boar's head, seemingly floating in the interior of the van.] TD: That is just disgusting. SR: Sure smells great, though!  Man, do I love roast pork... [As the ringside fans recoil in disgust and horror at the sight of the boar's head, a voice begins to ring throughout the Delta Arena, sounding like the voice of a young boy.] VO: Once an eon, people oppressed cry out for a hero. One who can deliver them from the vain glory of their oppressor. What makes a hero? A hero neither possesses inhuman strength, courage, or wit. A hero is a man of the people. A hero is at the right place, at the right time. He delivers the people not with brawn, but with vision.  He inspires not with fear, but with beauty. The time is now, the place is here, the man has come, "The Meat" is on! [At the end of this bizarre bit of prose, the boar's heat suddenly explodes in a huge fireball, and in the resulting flare of light, we can see the Meatboy in the van, clad in black and holding the boar's head in front of him on a stick as he douses it with lighter fluid.  The crowd begins the "Meat! Meat! Meat!" chant again at the sight of the Meatboy, while Kowalski can only stare in confusion and disbelief at the strange scene from his perch on the ropes.] TD: It's the Meatboy!  But where is the Meatman, Steve? SR: There he is, Dross!  The little brat was a decoy!  Behind you, Fury! [Roberts' warning falls of deaf ears, as the Meatman suddenly storms out from the crowd behind Kowalski, springs up onto the apron, and swings away at the IIWF Champion with a forty-pound side of venison, sending Kowalski sprawling off the turnbuckles and crashing to the mat!  Huge pop from the crowd!  The chant of "Meat! Meat! Meat!" grows even louder as Steele scrambles through the ropes towards Kowalski, who is struggling to his knees, and lays out the champ with another scything swing woth the side of venison, catching Kowalski flush in the back of the head and sending him right back to the canvas!  D'Amato quickly signals for the bell to start the match - Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: The Meatman is in the ring!  He came out of nowhere and blindsided Kowalski with that side of beef, and his match is underway!  SR: I likes the Meatguy, Dross, but he may have made a big mistake, backstabbing Kowalski like that.  The Fury don't take kindly to that kind of treatment. TD: Indeed, Steve, but right now, Jimmy Steele is in full control of this match! [D'Amato is quick to issue a stern warning to Steele about the side of venison, and the Meatman reluctantly tosses the slab of meat into his corner before turning back to Kowalski, who has just dragged himself to his feet, and charging across the ring to throw a running shoulderblock at the champion.  Kowalski, though, is quick to sidestep the move, and catches the Meatman with a sdewalk slam as he flies by!  Pop!  The Fury shakes off the last of the cobwebs from Steele's attack, and drags the Meatman to his feet, hoisting him up and slamming him head-first into the mat with a Tiger Driver!  Big pop from the Furies!] TD: Steve Kowalski quick to turn the tables on Jimmy Steele, and now the Fury is back in the driver's seat, Steve. SR: Like I said, Dross, I loves the Meatguy.  Love the whole butcher schtick, love the bloody apron, really love the choice cuts of prime rib he's been sending the Soundbite's way since he showed up in the Double Eye.  But he ain't no Steve F'n Kowalski, baby dolls.  He's in way over his head here, and pissin' off the Fury ain't gonna help him one bit. [Kowalski quickly leaps upon the prone Meatman, eyes blazing with rage, and begins laying into Steele with furious lefts and rights, until D'Amato moves in to break things up.  The enraged Fury pulls the Meatman up and sends him into the ropes, bouncing off the opposite side and rushing back at Steele, arm outstretched for a running lariat.  The Meatman sees it coming and hits the brakes, catching Fury on the run and pressing him over his head!  The crowd goes wild as the Meatman stands in the middle of the ring, holding the struggling Steve Kowalski up in a gorilla press, before he strides over to the side of the ring and unceremoniously dumps the Fury over the ropes to the outside! Incredible pop!] TD: What a show of strength from Jimmy "Meatman" Steele!  He held Kowalski up there for a good twenty seconds, and just threw him out of the ring like yesterday's garbage! SR: Dumb move from the Meatman right there, Dross.  If Kowalski gets counted out, Steele gets the win, but not the belt!  He's got to keep the action in the ring! [Steele climbs through the ropes as Kowalski shakes his head and struggles to his feet again, and yanks the Fury back up, dragging him back towards the ring, but Kowalski suddenly grabs the Meatman by the back of the head, and runs him across the floor, smashing his head into a ring post!  Big pop!  The Meatman falls back, collapsing on the floor as Kowalski begins putting the boots to the big Californian, drawing a loud chorus of boos from the Meatman supporters as D'Amato begins the count on the two wrestlers.] TD: Steve Kowalski is showing incredible resilience in this match, Steve, but equally impressive has been the showing of the Meatman thus far.  For someone with his, shall we say, limited repertiore, he's had the champ in trouble a couple of times tonight. SR: But he ain't got a Skullpump, Dross.  And that's gonna make all the difference. [Kowalski picks up the stunned Meatman and shoves him back into the ring as D'Amato's count reaches seven, and rolls under the bottom rope himself to beat the count before lining up the meatman and dropping a sharp elbow right between Steele's eyes, that sends the big man bouncing across the canvas in agony.  The Fury, becoming more methodical now, stalks Steele across the ring and drops another elbow on the Meatman, this time targeting the Meatman's Adam's apple, which causes Steele to clutch at his throat, wheezing in pain.  Kowlaski quickly pulls Steele to his feet and sends him into the ropes, catching him on the rebound and hotshotting him throat first onto the opposite rope!  Huge pop from the crowd!] TD: Kowalski is asserting himself now, zeroing in on the throat area of the big man. SR: I smell that Skullpump comin' up, baby dolls.  And I also smell that venison in the Meatman's corner! TD: You know, Steve, Salt Lake City has a great Waffle House. SR: Yeah, but they don't serve tequila, so to hell with them!  C'mon Fury, pin the guy so I can get back over the state line and into a place where I can get a bottle of Sauza with my sirloin! [Kowalski grins as the chant of "Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" starts up, and the crowd pops as te Fury drags Steele up and begins to hook his arms, but the Meatman suddenly drives his head into Kowalski's solar plexus, doubling him over!  The "Skull-pump!" chant begins to compete with the sound of "Meat! Meat! Meat!" as Steele struggles to his feet, straightens up the Fury, and clutches him in a crushing bearhug!] TD: Look at the determination of Jimmy "Meatman" Steele!  He fought his way out of that Skullpump attempt, and now he's got Kowalski in that submission bearhug!  Where is he finding the strength? SR: He's one tough sonofagun, Dross, that's for sure.  And he's killin' me!  I'm gonna get me that venison right now! [Roberts begins to rise from his broadcast position, but stops as a large man begins making his way down the aisle towards the ring.  The man is wearing black boots, blue jeans, and a red-and-blue checked flannel lumberjack shirt.  He is, strangely, also wearing a big puffy chef's hat, and is carrying a bottle of HP Sauce in one hand.  The crowd pops with confusion at the appearance of the stranger, although several of the ringside fans closer to the aisle begin to whisper excitedly to one another.] SR: Who the hell is that? TD: I have no idea, Steve, but I'm guessing that it might be the "mystery champion" we've been hearing rumours about throughout this broadcast!  He's still too far away for me to see, but he seems familiar. SR: He's heading towards my venison!  I don't know who he is, Dross, but if he stands between the Soundbite and his vittles, there's gonna be hell to pay! [Back in the ring, Steele still has Kowalsi locked in the bearhug, and D'Amato moves in to check for the submission, which Kowalski vigorously shakes off.  As the Meatman squeezes ever harder, Kowalski attempts to break the hold by raking Steele's face, which causes the Meatman to wince, but he hangs on.  Finally, Steele breaks the hold himself by tossing Kowalski over and slamming him to the mat with a poorly-executed but still effective belly-to-belly suplex!  Steele scrambles for the pin, as D'Amato drops - 1 - 2 - kickout!  Big pop!] TD: Two count on Kowalski, and Steele seems to be gaining momentum once again, Steve!  What a fight the Meatman is putting up!  He may be within reach of the IIWF Heavyweight title! SR: Yeah, and that weird guy is almost within reach of my venison!  Get security down here!  And bring me that meat!  I needs some eats! [Steele pulls Kowalski and attempts to set him up for a suplex, but quick as a flash, Kowalski strikes from the apron with a vicious chop to the tender throat of the Meatman that sends him reeling!  Pop!  Kowalski lashes out with another chop, sending the Meatman staggering back again, and then drives a boot into Steele's midsection which doubles him over nd leaves him open for a lightning-quick DDT from the champion! kowalski leaps to his feet, eyes flashing, and draws a finger across his throat as the Furies pop wildly, and the chant of "Skull-pump! Skull-pump! Skull-pump!" starts up once again!] TD: Once again, Kowalski has fought his way out of a tough spot, Steve Roberts, and it looks kike he is going to attempt his Skullpump finisher once again!  From the looks of the Meatman, he just may get it this time! SR: You gotta hand it to the Meatguy, Dross, he put up a helluva fight, but he just ain't gonna beat a tough guy like the Fury at his own game, baby dolls.  He's hooking Steele's arms again, and the Meatguy ain't puttin' up a fight -- hang on, what's that lumberjack guy doing?  TD: He's got that side of venison that Steele brought in to the ring, and he's pouring steak sauce all over it!  Now he's taking a big bite... this is absurd! SR: Hey, buddy!  Don't hog it all for yourself!  Tear me off a hunk of that! [Kowalski is just moments away from Skullpumping Steele, when the man in the flannel shirt at ringside calls out to the Fury, holding the side of venison out to the IIWF champion and calling out "Hey, Killer!  Ya want a bite?  Puts hairs on yer chest, ya know!"  The champ stares at the stranger with a mixture of confusion and disdain, while the Meatman, still hooked by the arms, sees the stranger holding his venison slab, and in a burst of fury, breaks Kowalski's hold and storms over to the ropes, demanding that the stranger give the meat back!] TD: Well, now we have a truly bizarre situation.  This stranger, pardon the pun, apparently has a bone to pick with the IIWF Champion, but now Jimmy Steele is having words with the flannel-shirted stranger, demanding that he give him the meat! SR: I hear that all the time from Maggie Paris, Dross.  She's a changed lady after all that surgery, I tell ya. TD: Please, Steve,  this is hardly the time for... oh my goodness!  The stranger just splashed that steak sauce into Steele's eyes! [The Meatman reels back in absolute agony, tearing at his eyes, as the camera picks up a shot of his face doused in HP Sauce!  Steele collapses on the mat and flops about, writhing in pain, as the stranger tosses the side of venison aside, and it lands on the announcers' table right in front of Roberts as the stranger climbs into the ring!] SR: YES!  Good food, good meat, good God, let's eat! [As D'Amato calls for the bell to signal a no-contest, the stranger bolts over to the prone Meatman and scoops him up in an impressive display of power, heaving him into the air and driving him into the mat with a high-impact slam variant!  Huge heel pop from the crowd!] TD: That maneuver... I've seen that before, Steve!  Oh my goodness, it can't be... SR: [chewing] Hmmpffphh? [While the stranger busies himself with the Meatman, Kowalski suddenly turns and points down to the announcers' table at Steve Roberts, beckoning to the announcer.  Roberts quickly drops his side of venison, grabs the roll of quarters from the table, and tosses them up into the ring at the Fury!] TD: That's what he told you to do? SR: Hey, he offered me a case of Mooselips. Sue me. [Kowalski reaches out to catch the roll, but suddenly, from out of nowhere, the flannel-shirted stranger steps in front of the Fury, and snatches the quarters out of the air!  The surprise on Kowalski's face quickly changes to one of pain, as the stranger whirls with the quarters in his hand and connects with a hard right to the Fury's temple, knocking him senseless!  Incredible heel pop!  The stranger looks down at the two stunned wrestlers, laughing with malicious glee, and pulls off the chef's hat, letting his long hair spill out.] TD: It _is_ him!  Steve, that's Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines! SR: [chewing again] Whmmmphh? TD: Gunnar Gaines is a wrestling legend, Steve Roberts!  Two years ago, he was named the number one wrestler in the world by the RSPWF, he retired the EWA Heavyweight title when that reputed federation was forced to shut down... SR: I heard about that.  Probably too much "clean wrestling" going on there. TD: And now he's apparently made his way to the IIWF!  It looks like he's going to say something, let's go back up to the ring... [Gunnar "The Grizzly" Gaines grabs a cordless microphone from a ringside attendant, and, shaking his head from side to side in mock sadness over the damage he has just caused, begins to explain ... ] GG: Well, well... looks like the hottest free agent in wrestling... and     the Baddest Thang Running to boot... just RAN into the Double Eye     and went on a little rampage. [He snickers.]     Yeah, and tsk, tsk... looks like he interrupted your little World     Heavyweight Title match between Meat Loaf and... [pretending to     squint at the laid-out Fury] ..._huh_? Who's that? Is that right?     _KILLER_ Kowalski?  I thought he was retired. Nah... it COULDN'T be     Killer Kowalski. I mean, he DOES look awful old and battered all of     a sudden, but still... [He shakes his head, feigning confusion. Several ringside fans yell "Fear the Fury! Fear the Fury!" at him. Gunnar drinks it all in, nodding and smiling.]     _OHHHHH_, it's Steve "the _Fuuuuury_" Kowalski -- the IIWF     Heavyweight Champion of the world. The most popular man in this     entire promotion. I see, I see. Well... [scratching his chin]     ...you can hardly blame me for the mistake, kids, now can ya? You     see... he don't look like no "fury" right now by _my_ reckon. Does     that mess look like a "fury" to _you_? [He points at the sprawled out Kowalski.]     Hell, he don't even look like a "killer." Rather, he looks like he's     been _killed_! And this Meat Loaf, er, Meatman fellow -- he looks     more like _dead_ meat if you ask _me_. [He cups his hands to his mouth and directs it at the prone Meatman.]     Hey, Meatman -- you enjoy your steak sauce there? Or was it a little     STRONG for your taste? [He gives his trademark grin -- a squinting smirk with all of his teeth showing. A _Grizzly_ Grin, that is.]     Now, I'd hate to be the one with the huge ego and all... but I've     gotta be frank about why I'm here. I'm here to show I'm the toughest     son of a bitch in the business, and eventually to win that title     which Kowalski is wearing around his lifeless carcass right now.     So Fury... when you wake up in a few days and you're watching this     on tape, and you're asking for the license plate number of the     triple rig combo truck that just flattened you like a stinky little     possum I'm here to say it wasn't no truck, son. It was a _Grizzly_.     It wasn't just ANY Grizzly, either. It was THE Grizzly. The one     who's been ranked number one in the world. The one that you -- ALL     of you -- hoped would never, ever, EVER prowl into this territory.     The one you were hoping and wishing and praying would be nice enough     to just keep on dominating other promotions and leave you the hell     alone.     Well, too damn bad. I'm here. And pretty damn soon, the Baddest     Thang Running is going to RUN this place. You're all going to be     under Grizzly's Law, which means that I dish out TWICE the pain that     any of you fart stains try to deal out to _me_. And if any of you     don't care for Grizzly's Law, I invite you to try and do something     about it. And that one thing is -- [He thumbs to himself, boastfully ...]     Beat ME -- _if_ you can! [Gaines throws the mic down at the sprawled bodies of Kowalski and Steele, and leaves down the aisle, boasting the entire way.  Kowalski and Steele start to stir on the mat as Gaines makes his way out, answering the jeers of the fans with taunts and insults of his own as he finally steps through the curtain.  Cut back to Dross and Roberts at ringside.] TD: What a shocking turn of events here tonight, folks!  The "mystery champion" has been revealed as none other than Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines, and he has started off his IIWF career in a firestorm of controversy by attacking both Jimmy "Meatman" Steele and IIWF Champion Steve "The Fury" Kowalski! SR: I don't give a damn where he came from, Dross, if he thinks he's gonna come in here and punk the Fury, the IIWF F'n Champ, and just waltz away like that, he's got another thing coming!  Either he's got the biggest set of brass cojones known to man, or he's the stupidest sonofabitch on two legs! TD: I'm quite sure that Steve Kowalski will be looking to settle this score, Steve Roberts, but another man who will surely be looking for a piece of Gaines is Jimmy "Meatman" Steele, whose shot at the IIWF Heavyweight Title has just been scuttled by Gaines' interference. SR: Yeah, that's a bummer, Dross.  The guy may be no Lord Byron, but he can sure cure the hell out of a side of venison!  Hey, can you pass me that HP sauce, buddy? TD: We'll have all the latest developments from this shocking situation involving the IIWF Champion Steve Kowalski, Jimmy "Meatman" Steele, and IIWF newcomer Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines, as well as all the updates from tonight's action this Tuesday on "Inside The IIWF"!  Until then, for my broadcast colleague, Steve "Soundbite" Roberts, who can't speak with his mouth full, this is Tim Dross, saying: so long, everybody! [Cut back to the ring, where we see Jimmy "Meatman" Steele, rubbing the last of the steak sauce out of his eyes, rolling under the ropes and slowly making his way up the aisle to the exit, looking confused and unsure of just what happened, as the fans cheer him out.  In the ring, Kowalski has regained his wits, and his eyes blaze with the fury for which he is named as he bellows across the arena to the entrance, screaming for Gaines to return and face him, but his challenges go unanswered as the 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+