________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| | || | \ v v / | __| |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| ______ ______ \ \ / / _______ \ \ __ /__ / | ____ \ _______ __ \____ \ | | /| | / __ _____ _____ | | \ \/_ _| \ | |/ ___\ \ | | _/ | | / / \ | __ \/ ____| | |___/ / | | | \| | /\__ \ | |/ \| |/ / /\ \ | |_> | /____ | ____ < | | | \ \ |/ /_ \ \ | / /\ \ | / ____ \| __ <\____ \ | | \ \_| |_| |\ |\___\ \ \| / \ |/ / \ \ | \ \____\ \ |_| |_|____/|_| \_|______/ |_/ \_|\/ \/_| |_|______/ \ / \ / \______/ T + H + E R + A + G + E A + N + D T + H + E F + U + R + Y ________________________________________________________________________ \ / \ Saturday 21 March 1998 / / Wembley Stadium, London, England \ /______________________________________________________________________\ H + O + U + R T + H + R + E + E [Fade through to live ringside shots from Wembley Stadium as a half dozen ring technicians work on erecting a large mesh steel cage around the ring. Three of the four walls are fully constructed, and one technician climbs around the top of the cage, ensuring that it is secure. Cut to the broadcast table at ringside, at which are seated Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts.] TD: Welcome back to the final hour of tonight's Ring Wars 5 spectacular, folks! As you can see, we are nearly ready for the first of tonight's four championship matches, as this ring crew completes the construction of the steel cage that will in just a few moments attempt to contain the war between the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi and young Icehawk. From there, we'll see a Seven Tables of Fear match as the Down Boys defend the IIWF World Tag Team Championships against former holders, the Natural Predators, and Team Sychosys, plus we'll be going back live to Tower Bridge for the Thames Barge match pitting Intercontinental Champion Duncan Macbeth against Simon Lebec. SR: And then the Fury's in da house, baby dolls! TD: Indeed. In that long-awaited main event, Steve "the Fury" Kowalski will face "Savage" Shadoe Rage in a Death in Darkness exploding ring match. It's hard to imagine that we could see any more action than we have already seen here tonight -- but four more matches are coming right at you, folks! And let's kick off our final hour, as the technicians put the finishing touches to the cage, with the Cruiserweight Championship match! ________ ______ ..........................| || |\ \ /\ / /| __|......................... | || | \ v v / | __| |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP CAGE MATCH: "Enigma" Takezo Musashi [c] vs. Icehawk ........................................................................ WRITER: Chris O'Brien [Sparkplug stands in the ring, as the remaining builders tighten the final screws on the wire-mesh cage surrounding him] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the third hour of Ring Wars 5! [The crowd pops, their cheers rising in volume.] SR: It's two in the morning, Dross. Two in the morning. Do you know what I'm usually doing right now? TD: Does it involve "Troy"? SR: Nah. I have SOME heart, Dross. I sent her to Quigley as a going away present. TD: Your generosity knows no bounds, Steve. [Sparkplug Lee, enclosed on all sides by the walls of the steel cage, raises the microphone to his lips:] SL: The following matchup is for the IIWF Cruiserweight title! This is a steel cage match! The only way to win is to climb the steel cage and be the first to have both feet touch the ground! [The crowd buzzes, this being the first steel cage most of them have seen live. But also, they buzz because of the possible ramifications of this match... a match that might see a new champion, or the end of a career.] TD: There's a lot of history in this match, Steve. Takezo Musashi almost ended Icehawk's career two months ago, and he's vowed to possibly kill him tonight! SR: I've always questioned Gaylord's sexuality and his intelligence, but tonight, I have to question the boy's sanity! The little Filipino is going to destroy the Finnish fag. SL: Introducing first... from Oulo, Finland! Standing 5'10", and weighing 220 pounds! He is a former IIWF World Tag Team champion... ladies and gentlemen, I give you ICEHAWK! [The "Olympic Fanfare" plays, and the crowd gets to its feet, the fans lining the rampway reaching over to slap the hands of the young Finnish star. Icehawk steps out from the curtain, sans his normal mask and cape. Instead of his usual white trunks, he wears black tights with blue icicles. And instead of spending all his time greeting the fans, he walks to the ring, eyes on the cage.] TD: It's as if he doesn't even know the fans exist, Steve Roberts! SR: Just because he's turning heel doesn't mean I'll stop calling him Gaylord. TD: I don't sense an attitude change, Steve, just a pure intensity. [Icehawk steps through the steel door, and immediately walks to the far corner. He begins warming up, awaiting the entrance of the Cruiserweight Champion.] TD: Icehawk must be having butterflies of some sort. I don't care how intense he is, he has to be thinking of when "Enigma" almost broke his neck two months ago. SR: Musashi is going right for the neck and back, Dross, no question about that. He's going to try to cripple Icehawk. TD: How would you know what Musashi is going to do? SR: Hell, it's what I would do. SL: And his opponent... ["Stellar Regions" by John Coltrane begins to play, and the positive cheers turn to massive booing as they await the "Enigma".] SL: ...from Kobe, Japan! Standing 5'9", and weighing 210 pounds! He is the two-time IIWF Cruiserweight Champion... ladies and gentlemen, the master of the Starsault Press, and reigning IIWF Cruiserweight champion, "ENIGMA" TAKEZO MUSASHI! [Musashi comes out, dressed in his "chaos" garb. His face is painted with red pentacles, and his black karate pants are decorated with the red pentagrams, and the IIWF Cruiserweight belt around his waist] TD: There he is. The most hated man in this company, and the bane of Gregg Osterhout's "Wrestle Clean" campaign. SR: "Wrestle Clean" is dead, Dross. If it didn't die last week in the deep dark Congo, it sure as heck died tonight when Ike Sampson's urine came up positive in the drugs test. [Musashi bypasses the door, electing instead to climb the steel mesh. Icehawk watches as the champ climbs to the very top, and balances himself on the top of the cage. Suddenly, multicoloured fireworks explode from all corners, the crowd gasps in awe, and Takezo Musashi somersaults into the cage, landing on his feet, staring right at Icehawk.] TD: Two men who have been hounding each other since right after Snow Brawl. Two men who have made their mark here in the IIWF, former champions both. And two men who absolutely hate each other! This will be a match for the ages! SR: Anybody seen my pillow? TD: Icehawk's career may end here tonight. SR: Okay, now you've got me going. TD: I heard you got going once. SR: Oh? And how did it turn out for me? TD: Best weekend of your life. SR: That's my buddy, Dross. [Lee leaves the cage, managing to get out before embarrassing himself. The referee assigned to his match, Chuck Sanders, pulls a key from his trouser pocket. He locks the cage door, testing the lock to make sure it's closed, and calls for the opening bell! Ding! Ding! Ding! Huge pop from the impatient crowd! In the ring, Icehawk still stands in his corner, not moving at all, while Musashi removes his belt... and throws it in the air, over the top of the cage, where it is caught by Sanders.] TD: Icehawk motionless... and Musashi approaches him! No fear in the "Enigma's" eyes right now, he just walks right up to him. [Arms crossed, Icehawk watches as Takezo Musashi gets right in him face. Being of almost equal height, the two stare eye-to-eye, as the crowd waits in anticipation, chanting "ICE-HAWK! ICE-HAWK! ICE-HAWK!"] TD: What must be going through the minds of these two men? SR: I know. TD: Tell us, then. SR: Right now, Icehawk's thinking how much he wishes Culture Club was around to bail his ass out. TD: Well, he is the newest member of 4-D, Steve. SR: Yeah, yeah. TD: And what is Musashi thinking? SR: He's thinking... "wooha, tiki ugi woma yun yin yun yin yun." TD: I beg your pardon?! SR: It's a Jakartan battle cry, Dross. TD: He's... never mind. [In the cage, Musashi has lifted one finger... a finger which he reaches out with and runs along Icehawk's neck, in a cutting motion. A wicked smile appears on the Enigma's face... a smile which instantly disappears as Icehawk levels him with a clothesline! Musashi hits the canvas, and Icehawk leaps right on top on him, throwing vicious right hands!] TD: Icehawk's off and running! [Icehawk is assaulting Musashi... until Musashi rolls him over, pinning the Finn down, and landing several hard chops that resound throughout the arena! Musashi gets to his feet and tries to put the boots to Icehawk, but Icehawk rolls away, and he flips to his feet. A look of rage on his face, Musashi once again charges, only to be nailed by a Icehawk dropkick, which hits with such force that Musashi is knocked across the ring head over heels! The crowd roars as Icehawk waits, hands on his knees, while Musashi pulls himself up in the corner using the ropes!] TD: This crowd firmly behind Icehawk, this valiant competitor. SR: Valour and heart can only take you so far. [Musashi slowly approaches Icehawk, and the two competitors lock up in the middle of the ring. The taller Icehawk seems to have an advantage, and this is confirmed as he takes Musashi over with a armdrag! Musashi leaps back to his feet, and charges again... Icehawk tries for another one, but Musashi blocks it, and one Russian Legsweep later, Icehawk is the one on the mat.] SR: A wrestling move in a cage match, Dross. I've seen it all tonight. [Icehawk is pulled to his feet by Takezo Musashi, and whipped into the corner. Musashi comes in after him, landing a vicious kick right to the ribs of Icehawk! Musashi follows with several more, each one punctuated by a noticeable cry from the Cruiserweight champ. Finally, Musashi rears back... and lands a thrust kick right to the jaw of Icehawk! The stadium crowd reacts almost to a man with a wince as Icehawk's head snaps back!] TD: A vicious kick by "Enigma!" [Icehawk slumps to the mat as Musashi runs across the ring to the opposite corner. He dashes across the ring in a full sprint, going for a flying knee, but Icehawk manages to move, and Musashi hits the ringpost!] SR: OUCH! That'll ensure this Alaskan doesn't have any more kids! TD: Alaskan? SR: His kind held the Aluetian Islands during Double-U Double-U Two, Dross. [Musashi sits on the second turnbuckle, holding himself, and Icehawk grabs the back of his neck, dropping to the canvas in a wicked looking neckbreaker! This causes "Enigma" to be ripped from the corner, and a small piece of black fabric from his karate pants is caught on the ringpost. With Musashi down on the ground, Icehawk grabs his leg and snaps it back, causing the champ to grimace in pain. Without missing a beat, the Finn pulls Musashi to the ropes, where he proceeds to put Musashi's leg between the ropes... before jumping straight up and bringing his knee down on the leg!] TD: That could snap Takezo's leg! SR: Now we're talking! [Musashi holds his leg in pain... and Icehawk starts climbing the cage!] TD: He's going for an early escape! That could be the smart thing for Icehawk to do right here. He already risks serious injury by taking part in this matchup. The sooner it ends, the better! [Icehawk is halfway up the cage when Musashi gets to his feet, and the champion promptly begins following Icehawk up the cage! Icehawk climbs slowly, while Musashi springs up the wire mesh! Icehawk reaches the top of the cage, and he swings a leg over... Musashi grabs his other leg!] TD: Both men are teetering on top of the cage! SR: You know the drill, morons. [The L'il Soundbiters take a chant of "Fall, Icehawk, fall! Fall, Icehawk, fall!"] TD: You disgust me sometimes. [Icehawk and Musashi struggle... Musashi is at the same level now as Icehawk, and is trying to push the Finn over the top of the cage! Icehawk holds on for dear life as Musashi strains. After ten seconds of this, with the cage wall swinging wildly, Icehawk throws a fist into the stomach of "Enigma", causing him to double over the top of the cage! Hands on the steel," Enigma" is bent over the mesh... Icehawk takes a deep breath... and the first high spot of the match occurs, cameras exploding across Wembley, as Icehawk dives and takes Musashi over into a sunset flip! Icehawk keeps rotating as the two men fly towards the mat, getting Takezo Musashi over in the nick of time, slamming him into the mat in powerbomb form!] TD: HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! Icehawk went from the top of the cage and just sunset flipped/powerbombed Musashi from fifteen feet up! SR: Damn if that didn't look pretty! [Icehawk is momentarily stunned, the impact not helping his neck any... but Musashi lies on the mat, twitching a little. Icehawk gets to his feet first, and promptly rolls Musashi over onto his stomach. Icehawk sits astride Musashi and locks in a Camel Clutch!] SR: Dross... God help me... I think I just made an observation. TD: Well, share it with the class! SR: I think this is one of the first times in a while Icehawk is wrestling someone smaller then him! He might actually be helped if he used some holds on the Chinaman. TD: A very astute observation, Steve. [Musashi screams as Icehawk leans back, wrenching the champion's head back even further. Icehawk keeps reclining...reclining...suddenly, he lets go with one hand, reaches back, and grabs the leg he had been working over earlier! The crowd cheers as Icehawk grabs the leg and holds it in a half Boston!] TD: PEACEMAKER! A move made famous by Dan Kauffman, and Icehawk is brutalising the back of Takezo Musashi! SR: I suppose it's too much to ask if either the Korean or Gaylord will retire? TD: I don't think either has any quit in him. SR: That's what Chris Quigley said, Dross. [In the ring, Icehawk holds the brutal half-Boston/chinlock submission hold. Musashi's face is a mask of pain and agony, but he is silent as he struggles to break the hold.] TD: Icehawk now... he breaks off the Peacemaker! SR: And he's climbing the cage like your friendly neighbourhood web crawler! [Icehawk bonds up the cage like Spider-Man, his hands and feet finding all the right footholds. Below, Takezo Musashi lies holding his back, too strained from the Peacemaker, as Icehawk holds onto the mesh with both hands, his fingers clawed, his feet ready....once again, flashbulbs pop all around the arena, and for one moment, night is day as Icehawk hurls himself from halfway up the cage, spinning through the air and hitting a high-impact moonsault!] TD: Icehawk from 8 feet up with a picture perfect moonsault onto Takezo Musashi! [Icehawk gets to his feet, as the fans all around the arena scream their approval. Musashi is the next to get to his feet, slowly, very slowly... but suddenly he springs into action, as Icehawk has taken up the cage all again!] TD: Icehawk's trying to escape again! SR: Ah, catch him! I want to see more insane high spots that'll cause the former Potato Famine member to break his neck! [Icehawk climbs more slowly then before, trying to reach the top of the cage... he does! Musashi scampers up behind him as Icehawk throws first one leg... then the other over the top! He starts to lower himself.... "Enigma" is there, and a hard right hand causes Icehawk to let go of the cage with one hand! The crowd gasps as Icehawk pinwheels his free hand... trying desperately to maintain a grip... until Musashi reaches out and grabs him, steadying the Finn!] TD: What the... "Enigma" just saved Icehawk from a fifteen foot drop! [Icehawk looks at Musashi as the champ pulls him up... and drives a forearm into the face of Icehawk! Icehawk now lets go with BOTH hands... and for one fleeting moment, his plunge is imminent... until Musashi grabs him with BOTH arms, wrapping them around the waist of Icehawk!] TD: Oh no... SR: YEAH! FLY, BABY DOLLS! [Indeed, Icehawk's eyes grow wide as Musashi brings him over...and down fifteen feet, slamming Icehawk into the mat with a belly-to-belly suplex!] TD: FROM FIFTEEN FEET UP! Musashi is flat out nuts! SR: Dross, I have never seen anything like that. NEVER! [The impact seems to have revitalised Musashi, as he pulls Icehawk up and whips him to the ropes! Icehawk bounces back...and Musashi lets him run past, pushing the young Finn into the steel mesh! Icehawk slams into it, causing it to give... and Musashi with a dropkick, the impact such to scrape Icehawk's face against the cage wall! Icehawk falls to the mat, face scraped, cuts evident.] SR: BLOOD! BLOOD! TD: No! It's a multitude of scratches, and thank Heaven none of them are deep enough to be bleeding! SR: Spoil all my fun, dammit! [Icehawk is pulled to his feet by Musashi, who puts him back down with a body slam! Icehawk hits the mat, and now "Enigma" begins the climb up the cage.] TD: The champ is going for it! [Musashi takes his time going up the cage, and he keeps looking down, on a motionless Icehawk. Icehawk lies on his side, holding his back. With a sick smile, the "Enigma" climbs. He reaches the top of the cage, and looks down to the ring... ...to see no Icehawk. A look of puzzlement on his face, Musashi looks around the cage... until he is jerked downward a foot! Icehawk has Takezo Musashi's foot, and he's pulling on it!] SR: Icehawk's going for that loaded foot! TD: I don't think it's loaded, Steve. SR: So you're saying Gaylord's got a foot fetish? [Musashi manages to rip his foot away, but this gives Icehawk enough time to pull himself up even with Musashi. For the second time tonight, the two battle on the edge of the cage, inches away from throwing their legs over and dropping down to the ground. The two men throw punches... Musashi throws one hard right hand that stuns Icehawk momentarily, and with one fluid motion, Musashi side-steps, pinning Icehawk between himself and the cage!] SR: FAGS! [Icehawk holds on as Musashi wraps his hands around his waist. The champ puts his feet up on either side of Icehawk, and pulls! Icehawk tries to hold on... but his fingers slip... they lose their hold... And eighty-five thousand men, women, and children scream. Musashi and Icehawk fall... but Musashi lifts, even as they plunge...] SR: Aw, hot damn! [A sickening *THUD* is heard, as Musashi performs his trademark Backdriver Suplex, the fifteen foot dive driving the head of Icehawk into the canvas!] TD: [whispered] oh my.... SR: Damn... [Even the "Soundbite" is subdued, as Icehawk bounces and lands on his stomach, his face pressed into the mat. Musashi stands... and looks at what he has wrought. For one moment, a look that might pass for regret is on the face of "Enigma" Takezo Musashi... a look that asks for forgiveness for things done... a look that says, "What have I done?" That look passes quickly, as Musashi grabs Icehawk and drags him to a nearby corner.] TD: Fans... in all my years calling this sport, I have never seen a man dropped like that... Icehawk's neck has just been _compressed_, folks. Even we could see it from here. SR: For one moment, there, Dross, my old back injury flared up in sympathy for Icehawk. I may hate the guy, but I would only wish that upon my worst Quigleys, baby dolls. [Takezo has dragged Icehawk to the corner, and he lays Icehawk on the bottom ropes, the Finn suspended off the ground. Takezo, due to his small size, manages to squeeze between the ringpost and the steel mesh] TD: "Enigma" now... fans, I don't know what he's doing, but the champion is back there... and he's grabbing Icehawk! [With little room to spare, but plenty of time, Musashi begins the process...] SR: He's going for an STF, Dross! TD: But the ringpost... oh my. [Indeed, Icehawk snaps back to reality as he screams in pain and agony, the "Enigma" having locked on an STF... with the steel ringpost in the middle! Using what little room he has, Musashi pulls Icehawk's back against the steel post, bending it!] TD: Musashi has lost it, fans! If the Backdriver from the top of the cage wasn't proof enough, right here, Takezo Musashi is trying to end Icehawk's career, and possibly confine him to a wheelchair! SR: Icehawk KNEW what he was in for when he stepped in the cage with the Oklahoman, Dross! [Icehawk screams in anguish, as Musashi rattles the cage with his rocking, using the STF to maximum effect! Suddenly... Icehawk stops screaming. Just stops. The only sound throughout the stadium is the motion of the steel mesh, as Musashi continues to rock the cage.] TD: Icehawk's out! Icehawk is out cold, fans! SR: And look at Musashi! He's not letting up! [Indeed, Takezo continues his assault for ten more seconds... but no sounds come from Icehawk. Indeed, his chest rising and falling is the only sign this young man is alive.] TD: Thank heavens, Musashi is letting go. [Musashi releases the STF, and Icehawk slumps forward, rolling over and landing on his back, eyes closed. Musashi stares for a few seconds... before climbing the cage, on his way to certain victory.] TD: Fans, I hate to see such a valiant young man as Matt Keto, aka Icehawk, lose after putting up such a valiant effort. But he's out, and I'm sure he can't take any more punishment without becoming paralysed. [Icehawk moves not an inch as "Enigma" climbs to the very top of the cage unopposed. The fans being to boo as it is obvious that Takezo Musashi will win this match.] TD: A sad day for "Wrestle Clean," Steve Roberts. SR: It's dead, Dross. I know it bursts your bubble, but it's dead. [Musashi, who has climbed to the top of the cage, stands atop the very corner where he locked Icehawk in the STF. Musashi looks down to the floor... looks back at Icehawk... looks at the floor... looks at Icehawk... and his rage wins out. The fans scream, and flashbulbs pop, and viewers at home all gasp as Musashi jumps up, does a split on the corner, and bounds backwards, moonsaulting through the air and landing on a prone Icehawk!] TD: SPLIT-LEGGED MOONSAULT! Musashi had a chance to win, but instead, he flew through the air and did even more injury to Icehawk! SR: Dross, that was one of the most majestic things I've ever seen! TD: Steve, he just chose to risk losing to hurt Icehawk even more! SR: Maybe, Dross, but don't deny that moonsault wasn't gorgeous! Sure, it ain't no patch on the Asai moonsault, but even so... [Musashi stands over his foe, before driving a knee into his neck. Icehawk comes alive, gasping for breath and crawling to the corner nearest the announcer's table. Musashi follows slowly, like a cat stalking his prey. Icehawk reaches for the ropes... Musashi smiles as he reaches for Icehawk... ...and the place erupts] TD: Fans, something has happened, we can't see... [Musashi turns, slowly... and he sprints across the ring, howling, and slams into the steel mesh! He grabs it, and starts shaking it wildly!] SR: What's going on here?! TD: IT'S EDMUND FITZGERALD! [Indeed, the bulky form of Edmund Fitzgerald has come halfway down the aisle. He points a finger at Takezo Musashi, who screams in fury!] TD: Icehawk's former tag team partner has made his way to ringside! And listen to the "Enigma"! [Musashi spews out a slew of Japanese as Fitzgerald stares... and the cheers redouble, as now the Natural Predators and Kuyler Greyson make their way down the aisle, standing side by side with Fitzgerald!] TD: I knew it! I knew it! Icehawk's the newest member of 4-D! SR: Tim Dross, master of the statement of the obvious. [The four men come down to ringside, slowly, as Musashi turns and begins to charge Icehawk... before nailing the Finn right in the face! He then pulls Icehawk up... ...the crowd cheers again. Once again, "Enigma" turns... to see this time Charles Scheffield making his way to the ring!] SR: What the hell is HE doing here? [With a nod, Scheffield takes a spot on another side of the cage. Musashi stares at him, before now sending a hard knife-edge chop into the chest of Icehawk! Icehawk leans forward, but is reared backwards as another chop lands!] TD: These men just standing... and now what? [Once again, the fans scream... as now Joe Scalercio and Bob Ivey, the American Dragons, make their way to the ring. With a nod to the gathered throng, the two men begin screaming encouragement to Icehawk!] SR: Are all the idiots of the IIWF coming down here? [Musashi spits towards Bear of the Natural Predators, before jumping up and executing a Frankensteiner on Icehawk, sending him airborne and flying across the ring, landing in the middle] TD: Musashi now turning... he looks like a caged animal... and LOOK WHO'S COMING TO THE RING NOW! [The crowd has exploded... as the Magnificent Carlitos is wheeled down to the ring in his wheelchair, shouting over his shoulder to his Puerto Rican aide to push faster. Despite all the bandages, braces and casts, a gleam is visible in the eye of Carlitos -- the spark of life that even Musashi's beating could not quash! Musashi is simply beside himself in the ring!] TD: It's all of Musashi's worst enemies... AND HERE COMES THE VP! SR: And the murderer! [Gregg Osterhout, resplendent in his new high-tops, completes the crowd as he walks to the ring, a concerned look on his face.] TD: Fans, all these men around the ring right now represent the VP's baby, "Wrestle Clean." I guess it's not dead, Steve Roberts. SR: If these guys are its followers, its on life-support, Dross. And where's Ike Sampson? TD: I, uh... Let's not go there right now. SR: What are the chances that he's been given his pink slip, huh, Dross? [Musashi is enraged, pure fury on his face, as he turns to see his enemies around him... but a smile creeps on his face. A small smile... an evil smile. He picks up Icehawk... who hasn't moved at all during the last barrage. Lifting the Finn high up in the air, Musashi performs a backbreaker, but he drives his knee into the neck of Icehawk! Huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! Oh no! That may have broken his neck! [With a smile, Musashi screams, "AND IT ALL ENDS HERE!" He drags Icehawk to the centre of the ring. The camera focuses on Icehawk -- totally motionless, his body non-moving... only his eyes move, darting this way and that, staring at the blindingly bright lights of the rigging above him... and fear, pure fear, sketched in his eyes, the fear of a helpless man.] TD: Musashi is climbing the cage... but does he really want to go to the outside, with all those men waiting for him? [Musashi stops his climb to the top midway up... and stares at Icehawk. On the outside, Edmund Fitzgerald's eyes widen with understanding, and he suddenly begins to climb to the top of the cage.] TD: What the... SR: He's going for the Starsault Press! Dross, the Japanese guy is going for the Starsault Press! TD: NO! NO! That will surely paralyse Icehawk! No question about it! [Bear and Grey Phoenix have started climbing too. But they, and Fitzgerald, are too slow. Musashi has climbed to the top of the cage, and he looks down at the face of Edmund Fitzgerald, who is reaching for him... ...Musashi, in a sea of flashes, takes off, his feet just being missed by Fitzgerald, who can only watch in horror. Musashi flies through the air, body curled... three full revolutions from the top of the cage. Even as the fans watch, anticipating the worst for Icehawk, in Wembley Stadium, in the locker room monitors, in bars around the globe, in millions and millions of homes... ...not one soul can deny the majesty of the Starsault Press. Musashi careens towards the mat... towards his target... his foe... *SMACK!* Huge, huge -- massive pop!] SR: [BLEEP] ME! [BLEEP] ME! TD: HE MOVED! HE MOVED! Icehawk moved! He was playing possum, and Takezo Musashi has ploughed himself into the mat! [Musashi lies face down, motionless on the canvas, as Icehawk pulls himself to his feet. The stadium has erupted in cheers, 85,000 strong... and the relived sighs of the nine men standing around the cage, though not heard in the din of the rowdy coliseum, are evident. Icehawk stands...] TD: Icehawk has this won, Steve! I don't care how resilient Musashi is, he can't get up from that dive! SR: Gaylord's gonna win! [Icehawk looks... and he's up and running, climbing the cage for all he's worth. The fans are going nuts, the men are motioning for him to move faster... Edmund Fitzgerald moving to where Icehawk will climb down, ready to congratulate his friend... ...he pauses at the top of the cage. The fans scream in despair, and Edmund calls "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Icehawk pays all them no heed... instead calling down to the fallen Takezo Musashi. His words are picked up by ringside cameras:] IH: Remember when I said I couldn't do the Starsault Press? Well... I LIED! [And in a moment for the ages... a moment that is frozen in time... a moment that will appear Monday morning on news shows everywhere... a moment that will be on the pages of all the online newsrags... a moment that is one of the most breathtaking in IIWF history... ...Icehawk takes a deep breath, looks down at the face of Edmund Fitzgerald... and launches. ONE! Time slows... the fans are on their feet, all trying to get a good view of this spectacle. TWO! Icehawk plunges... not a plunge like the ones Musashi put him through earlier... but a dive bomb. THREE! The third rotation complete... Icehawk is just feet away from Musashi... FOUR! Four rotations from the top of the steel cage... and Icehawk crashes into... ...as Icehawk crashes into... ...the mat! The mat! Huge, huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! Oh my! Oh my! Musashi moved! Icehawk just hit the canvas... oh... SR: Hot damn, Dross. That was just downright crazy. TD: FOUR! FOUR! Four spins! SR: I'll admit... the "Soundbite" is impressed! I haven't seen a move like that since Sister Sister night at the Beaver Trap! TD: Four complete revolutions -- but all for nothing. And both men, both men are out, Steve Roberts! Oh my....he may have become a quadriplegic, Steve Roberts. He executed the Starsault Press... but at what cost? [Both men lie motionless, champ and challenger, in the middle of the ring. Whoever gets up will be champ... but will either man get up?] B: Ice-hawk. [Standing outside, Bear starts a chant:] B: Ice-hawk! [Bear turns to the fans.] B: ICE-HAWK! [The chant is soon picked up by the fans: "ICE-HAWK! ICE-HAWK! ICE-HAWK!" Everyone outside the cage, everyone in the stands, rapidly picks up the chant. All except Edmund Fitzgerald. He looks, eyes locked on his partner and best friend... and in the cacophony all around him, his words are lost to the world; but his lips say it all: "Get up, Matt. Get up."] SR: We usually don't see any emotion from the good ship Lollipop over there... but somewhere deep down inside, beneath the cockles of my heart... ah, screw it! ICE-HAWK! ICE-HAWK! [Everyone in the stadium is pulling for Icehawk. Thirty seconds go by. Neither man has moved, but the noise somehow grows louder... and Edmund Fitzgerald, the usual stony-faced man, a man who shows no emotion whatsoever... he is now shaking the wire mesh of the cage and screaming:] EF: GET YOUR BUTT UP! COME ON! ARE YOU GOING TO GIVE UP JUST LIKE THAT? YOU'RE BETTER THEN HIM! YOU'RE STRONGER! YOU'RE... [Icehawk shoots a hand up. For three seconds, Wembley Stadium is deathly quiet, all the air sucked in in one big gasp.... ...and then the proverbial roof -- for there is no actual roof -- comes off the place. Icehawk slowly gets to his knees, very gingerly. The nine men around the ring are screaming for him to get a move on...while Musashi lays motionless. Moving at a snail's pace, Icehawk stands up...and stumbles to one knee.] TD: Icehawk is hurt, Steve. SR: I never thought I would find myself saying this, Dross... but if he somehow pulls this off, I will never call him Gaylord again. TD: Promise? SR: Scout's honour. [Icehawk is on his feet... both feet... steadily. The place is rocking, fans grabbing each other on the shoulders, shaking themselves silly. Slowly, TOO slowly, Icehawk moves towards his partner... and he reaches the ropes... he reaches the mesh... and he starts climbing!] TD: Icehawk is climbing... but "Enigma" is just lying there, almost like a killer in a horror movie waiting for one last strike! [Icehawk moves very deliberately, making sure he has every foothold, every toehold... a fall of any sort, and he might never walk again. The whole stadium is on their feet, and those watching around the world also stand wherever they are. Icehawk is about halfway up, and relief is on the faces of all those gathered... Takezo Musashi sits up. For one second, he looks lost... his eyes cloudy, his face paint smudged, his pants torn... then he sees Icehawk about two thirds of the way up the cage. With that, Musashi stands up, and he makes his way, slowly, but not as slow as Icehawk, to the mesh... and now _HE_ starts climbing!] TD: I'm getting the feeling that this match is going to end with a very violent fall, Steve. SR: God, I hope so. [Icehawk tries to move faster, but he's still too hurt from the Starsault Press. Musashi gains on him, a look of pure, one hundred per cent by volume rage etched on his face:] TD: It's a race! [Icehawk makes it to the top of the cage... Fitzgerald, Bear, and Grey Phoenix wait below. Icehawk slowly spins one leg over the top of the cage... he's straddling the top of the cage... and like the creature in your nightmares, just when he thinks he's escaped, Takezo Musashi grabs his foot:] SR: It's his last gasp! [Musashi twists, turns, pulls, and tears at Icehawk's foot. Icehawk holds on for dear life, for a fall from this height will surely kill him. Musashi yanks at Icehawk for all he is worth... ...with a primal scream worthy of the "Enigma" himself, Icehawk kicks... and Musashi falls!] TD: Musashi falls! He's in the centre of the ring.... [Musashi tries to stand... but he falls down!] TD: Icehawk is gonna win! Icehawk is... [Icehawk is in trouble. He has lost his balance, and is desperately trying to hold on to the top of the cage. His eyes wide with fear again, Icehawk tries to hold on... and his hands slip. Just an inch... but enough. Icehawk falls.] TD: OH MY DEAR GOD! [The fans are shrieking as Icehawk plunges... plunges fifteen feet towards the concrete floor... the fall that will win him the Cruiserweight title... and kill him in the process. Icehawk grabs valiantly at the cage as he falls, but it's no good. The ground rushes up to greet him... ...and Edmund Fitzgerald reaches out and catches him. Icehawk opens his eyes... and looks at his partner, who gently sets him on the ground. Wembley Stadium erupts as the bell rings: Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this contest... and _NEW_ IIWF Cruiserweight Champion... ICEHAWK! [Icehawk is in shock... all gather around him, helping him to his feet... but for one second, Icehawk hugs his partner, his best friend, before being handed the Cruiserweight title belt.] TD: Icehawk has done it! He's beaten "Enigma" Takezo Musashi! What an upset! A man who was advised to retire, and now he's the IIWF Cruiserweight Champion. SR: Well, a bet's a bet... I'm sure I can come up with something else to call him! [In the cage, Musashi kneels, head in hands, as outside the ring, Icehawk is lifted on the shoulders of Edmund Fitzgerald and Bear of the Natural Predators. Holding up the belt, which almost seems too much effort for the clearly totally spent Finn, he is carried out by these two men, followed by Greyson and the Grey Phoenix, the fans still chanting, "ICE-HAWK! ICE-HAWK! ICE-HAWK!" as the entourage departs.] TD: Incredible... simply incredible. "Wrestle Clean" lives, Steve Roberts. SR: Hey, if that match was "Wrestle Clean," I want to see "Wrestle Down and Dirty"! That was nuts! [Musashi lifts his head... to see the men. Charles Scheffield. The American Dragons. And the Magnificent Carlitos. All looking at him... smiling like wolves.] TD: And here are some men who would like to settle some scores with the former champ! [Indeed, IIWF Vice-President Gregg Osterhout reaches into his pocket... and pulls out a key. He reaches for the lock... but suddenly... the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi, still on his knees in the centre of the ring, arches his back, throws his head back, and screams a blood-curdling, primal scream, a scream that cuts through the euphoric cheers of the capacity crowd. And then the ring is suddenly ablaze! The ring is totally obscured by flames which shoot up inside the confines of the steel cage, brilliant white flames which send the men at ringside skittering out of range, the fans in the front rows shielding their eyes, the video image broadcast by the cameras at ringside blurred by the extreme brightness of the flames. Two seconds, perhaps three... and then the flames disappear.] TD: My... my eyes, Steve Roberts. My goodness... where's Musashi?! SR: Where the heck are _you_, Dross?! TD: Musashi -- the "Enigma" is gone! [Sure enough, as the eyes of those around ringside regain their focus, it becomes apparent that the ring... is empty. Musashi has gone. Scheffield, Osterhout, et al around ringside pick themselves up and stare in disbelief. A ring crew descends on the scene with fire extinguishers, looking for any stray flames.] TD: What on earth have we witnessed here, Steve Roberts? Musashi may have lost the Cruiserweight Championship here tonight -- but he doesn't need a gold belt to create the kind of chaos that has seen the IIWF in his grip of terror over the past two months. Perhaps now his dominance is over... or perhaps he will return more brutal than ever. SR: That Laotian is one messed up guy, Dross. Who knows where the heck he could show up next?! [The "Wrestle Clean" contingent heads back up the steel rampway towards the locker room once more, as the ring crew sets about dismantling the steel cage as quickly as possible. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: As always, it seems we are left with more questions than answered here tonight. The ring crew is hurriedly removing the steel cage -- and another crew will soon be bringing down the seven tables that will play such a vital role in this next match. SR: It's Seven Tables of Fear time, baby dolls! TD: It surely is, Steve Roberts. Almost one year to the day since the first Seven Tables of Fear match -- which went down between Joe Petrow and the "Dirt Dog" Unique Allah in Toronto, Canada at Ring Wars III -- we will see a triangle tag team version of the stipulations, with the IIWF World Tag Team Championships on the line. SR: Down Boys, Natural Predators, Team Sychosys. Spot the odd one out, Dross. TD: Certainly Team Sychosys are an unorthodox team -- but Joe Petrow is the only man in this match with first-hand experience of just what being in a Seven Tables of Fear match can do to you. And don't forget, folks, you can only see this match right here in the IIWF! Now that the cage has been removed, let's go back to Sparkplug for our next match! ________ ______ ..........................| || |\ \ /\ / /| __|......................... | || | \ v v / | __| |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP SEVEN TABLES OF FEAR MATCH: Down Boys [c] vs. Natural Predators vs. Team Sychosys ........................................................................ WRITER: Dave Hogg [Sparkplug Lee steps back into the ring once more, looking around him at the seven tables ranged around ringside.] SL: The following match is for the World Tag Team Titles, and it will be contested under Seven Tables of Fear Rules!! [Pop!] SL: First, I want to introduce the tables! Each of the seven tables has been painted with the image of a great IIWF team of the past! First, the ROTUNDOS!!! [As Sparkplug is speaking, two IIWF road-crew members appear on camera, carrying the first table to ringside. When he announces the Rotundos, they look surprised, since their table is obviously done up in the image of Rising Sun Revolution, but they shrug and continue on.] SL: Our second table features the BARNACLE BROTHERS! [This table is actually Steamroller.] TD: [on headset] Oh dear. I think young Sparky is still using the notecards from last night's dress rehearsal. In order to keep the actual tables a secret, he was given cards featuring... well, slightly less successful tag teams. This could get embarrassing. SR: [also on headset] Why? TD: I believe that some of the teams on his list are still active. SR: [laughing] This could get a better reaction than my commentary on "Inside" this week. SL: Table Number Three is the W & W EXPRESS! [High Plains Drifters.] SL: Table Number Four shows VIOLENCE UNLIMITED! [Dark Disciples.] SL: Our fifth table depicts the ALPHABET BOYS! [Armed Forces.] SL: Sixth, we have the EQUALIZERS! [Syndicate.] SL: And our final table... the ACES OF THE DEEP! [Lost Boyz.] SR: I thought you said some of the teams were still active! I was hoping for the American Dragons or the Fabulous Ones. TD: Well, Steve Roberts, many of those teams are still active -- just not in the IIWF. But let's not let Sparkplug's honest mistake take away from a lovely tribute to some of the greatest tag teams to ever grace the IIWF. SR: But where's the Potato Famine table, Dross? How could the suits miss the greatest tag team this place has ever seen? TD: I believe that the two criteria for inclusion were that the teams had to have held the IIWF tag-team belts, and no longer be active in the IIWF. Potato Famine fell short in their only shot at the belts, and while the team is certainly no longer together, both members are still making their presence felt here. SR: They are? TD: Of course they are, Steve. Chaos and Edmund Fitzgerald haven't gone anywhere. Chaos and Terror are a highly-regarded team, and Fitz is now a member of 4-D. SR: Their careers are over, Dross. They just don't know it yet. Tragedy and Mitch Gaylord got picked to be the single stars, and those two are done. That's how the game works. Heck, even 4-D is nothing but a rip-off of Genesis, and when you have to rip-off Genesis, you are really in trouble. TD: How can you say that, Steve? The four members of 4-D are all IIWF superstars, all having held the IIWF tag-team belts -- and one of those four members is the new Cruiserweight Champion of the world. And I believe Sparkplug is ready to introduce two of them right now. SL: Our first team is the former IIWF tag-team champions... the NATURAL PREDATORS! ["Destination Eschaton" by the Shamen blares over the Wembley Stadium sound system as 4-D appears at the top of the long steel ramp. Leading the group is Kuyler Grayson, followed by Bear and the Grey Phoenix. Both are wearing black T-shirts. Bear's has a silhouette of Alfred Hitchcock on the front, with the words "Team Vertigosis" written underneath, while GP's has a window, and the words "Rear Windowsis". Both t-shirts have drawings of the Predators destroying the Down Boys on the back, with the legend "You're Going Down, Boys". Both men look calm, with the only sign of the battle to come being that Grey Phoenix has his fists taped. Behind them come Edmund Fitzgerald and Josef Tadeuscz. The group strolls confidently to ringside, acknowledging the cheers of the fans.] SR: What the hell? TD: What's wrong, Steve? SR: Didn't 4-D just come out to cheer on their little buddy, Icehawk? TD: Yes, they did. SR: Which means he's the so-called secret fourth member. TD: That's what we have been assuming all along, yes. So I understand your confusion -- you are wondering why Josef Tadeuscz is coming to ringside instead of Icehawk. SR: Exactly. If they have five members, why call themselves 4-D? TD: They can't count? SR: Oooooh. The new Dross -- no hair, new attitude. [Fitz and Josef find seats near the safety rail while the Predators toss their shirts to the crowd and take up their places in the ring. Sparkplug takes that as his cue.] SL: Our second team, Mr. Majestyk Maurice McArthur and Joe Petrow -- TEAM SYCHOSYS! [Peter Gabriel's "Come Talk To Me" blasts over the Wembley Stadium PA as Team Sychosys appears at the top of the aisle. "Mr. Majestyk" looks like the simple "Majestic" Maurice McArthur of old, dressed in his old "Majestic" blue trunks, "Majestic" gaudy robe, and a Jobber Justice Squad t-shirt. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow also is decked in trunks from days gone by: red pant length, with the words "Heartbreak Kid" written in white on each leg and on the backside. Petrow also wears a t-shirt with the familiar "Joe Petrow. Period." logo on the front, and on the back is the name of a series of cities (Portland, Mexico City, Tokyo, The Congo) with a line crossed through, and in big red letters below the words "NO MORE". Petrow and McArthur walk slowly and methodically to the ring, going to opposite sides of the aisle and taking the time to slap hands with almost any ringside fan that wants to. ] TD: A very symbolic choice in ring attire there, Steve Roberts. SR: Why? Do they really want us to remember how bad they used to be? TD: Actually, I believe they do. I think that Joe Petrow and Maurice McArthur are trying to remind us, and indeed remind themselves, of just how far they have actually come in such a short time. And now they are just one small step away from realising their ultimate dream. SR: One small step and seven wooden tables. TD: Indeed. SL: Our third team, the curr... VOICE: Wait a second! [Big pop! The camera switches to Awesome T, who stands alone at the top of the ramp, resplendent in an expensive grey suit.] AT: I'll do this introduction. Hit the music. [For a second, the Down Boys' normal theme song, "Down Boys" by Warrant starts up. However, the music quickly distorts into "Super Bon Bon" by Soul Coughing, the official sound of the Discordiacs.] AT: Ladies and gentlemen, for your viewing pleasure, may I give you your IIWF World Tag Team Champions! [The theme from "2001: A Space Odyssey" -- also known as "Also Sprach Zarathustra" by Richard Strauss -- kicks in over the PA.] AT: They are being led down the aisle by their associates, "The Crippler", Derek Mota and "Double J", Moxy Blue! [Out of the curtain come Moxy and Mota...Mota is dressed rather normally, with the exception of a black t shirt that has a large number "4" in the centre of it. Moxy, on the other hand, wears a rather large cowboy hat and suit-type outfit with flashing lights on it, especially on the hat, which has many lights flashing on the "JJ" which adorns the centre of it.] AT: They are the IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS... at a total combined weight of 457 pounds... "NATURE BOY" ADAM PETERSON... DAN "MONGO" OLIVER... they were the Down Boys, but now they're just DISCORDIACS! [With this, Dan Oliver and Adam Peterson come out from the curtain, dressed much differently than normal. Adam Peterson is wearing a bleached blond wig, a long, flowing green ring robe, and keeps strutting and saying "WHOOOOOOOO" all the time. Dan Oliver is also wearing a wig, this one black and with a ponytail. He sports a black varsity jacket with the word "CHICAGO" on the front of it in white letters. Any time the camera gets anywhere near him, he holds up 4 fingers and says "It's 4 time, baby!". He also does this to most of the fans, who look at him in a puzzled manner.] TD: Oh my. I believe this is the Discordiacs' way of mocking the Predators and 4-D. SR: I think 4-D just figured out the same thing! [Indeed, Bear and Grey Phoenix have just charged out of the ring and attacked Oliver and Peterson. The wigs, jackets and robes go flying as the two teams start brawling in the aisleway. Moxy and Mota try to help out their new team-mates, but they are immediately jumped by Fitzgerald and Tadeuscz. Referee Dave D'Amato shrugs and signals for the bell to be rung. Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: And the tag-team title match is underway! We've already got eight men trying to kill each other on the floor! SR: This is great, Dross! We don't have to spend a lot of time watching gay guys do double-dropkicks and the like. We can get right to the blood and mayhem! TD: You don't like scientific wrestling, Steve? SR: You know damn well I don't, Dross. The Black Jesus digs his whoopings. TD: Then don't look at the ring. SR: Oh?... What the hell? [While the battle between 4-D and the Discordiacs rages on outside the ring, Joe Petrow and 4M are engaged in what appears to be a scientific wrestling clinic. McArthur has a hammerlock applied to his partner, but not hard enough to do any damage. Petrow calls out that he is now going to reverse the hold, and he then does just that, rolling away from the pressure and slipping a Japanese armbar submission hold onto the Majestyk One. 4M then calls out "Monkey Flip", and performs that move, twisting his body so that he is facing Petrow and then rolling back to send Joe sailing across the ring. Petrow lands in a front roll, comes to his feet, applauds his partner and hooks back into a collar-and-elbow lockup. By this point, the entire crowd has forgotten the brawl outside, and is staring in silent wonderment at the ring. Suddenly, though, the tableau is disrupted by a loud CRASH.] TD: The first table is gone! Bear of the Natural Predators just chokeslammed Danny Oliver through the Steamroller table! The former tag champions take a 1-0-0 lead! [Bear glowers down at Oliver, who is still lying sprawled in the ruins of the table. Nearby, GP and Adam Peterson are still throwing punches, while security is forcing the other members of 4-D and the Discordiacs to separate sides of the ring area.] TD: It looks like Team Sychosys has put themselves in an early hole with their strange attempt to be cute. SR: I don't think so, Dross. The other two teams have been in an all-out brawl for five minutes, and TS is still perfectly fresh. That could be a big advantage later. TD: And here they come! [As soon as they heard the crunch of Oliver going through the wood, Petrow and McArthur broke off their farcical "match" and charged. Both stopped long enough to grab a weapon from the Sychopaths -- 4M a stool, and Petrow what appears to be a brightly-coloured bird. They throw themselves into the GP-Peterson clash, 4M smashing the stool over Peterson's head and Petrow dropping Grey Phoenix with his bird.] TD: What in God's name is Joe Petrow using as a weapon here? It looks like a stuffed parakeet or something, but Grey Phoenix went down like he was shot. SR: Isn't it obvious? TD: No. SR: It's a dead parrot! It's pushing up the daisies! That parrot wouldn't voom if you put ten million volts through it! TD: You are a sick and twisted man, Steve Roberts. SR: I might be. But that, Dross, is an ex-parrot. [Petrow continues to beat on GP with the bird, screaming something about being nailed down. In the meantime, 4M is winding up for another shot at Peterson, but is levelled by a clothesline from a charging Bear. Pop! Before Bear can take advantage, though, Petrow drops him with a superkick to the jaw then dives on top of him.] TD: Petrow with the mandible claw on Bear! He's got the big man in trouble! SR: But in the meantime, look at Danny Oliver! He's putting Grey Phoenix on the Dark Disciples table! [After placing the stunned Predator on the table, Oliver climbs onto the apron, still a little groggy from Bear's chokeslam. He shakes his head a few times, trying to clear the cobwebs, then prepares to leap. Before he does, though, 4M comes flying into the picture. He crashes into Oliver, and as they bounce off the ropes, McArthur grabs him around the waist, spins in mid-air, and drives Oliver onto GP and through the table! Huge Pop!] TD: I don't believe it! Joe Petrow saw what Danny Oliver was going to do, broke his hold on Bear, and literally threw his partner at Oliver. Somehow, Maurice McArthur had the presence of mind to use the momentum of the ropes to turn it into a belly-to-belly suplex and give Team Sychosys their first table! This match is now 1-1-0, with the World Champions still looking to get on the board! SR: Dross, it might not matter who breaks the most tables here. We've only got two gone, and half the guys in the match are damn near unconscious. Even 4M doesn't look too good after that move. TD: You are correct, Steve Roberts. There are still people who say that Dirt Dog Unique Allah was never the same after winning the original Seven Tables of Fear match, and this doesn't appear to be any better. SR: Isn't it wonderful? [With Bear still slowed from the effects of the clawhold, Petrow is the only man at one hundred percent, and he quickly goes to work. First, he scoops up Adam Peterson and sets him on the Rising Sun Revolution table. Then he screams out 4M's name. McArthur is kneeling, still woozy from the impact of the last table, but upon hearing his name, he rises. In what almost appears to be a hypnotic trance, he starts running toward Petrow, dodging debris and bodies. As he arrives, he ducks, just in time for Petrow to lift him into a Northern Lights Suplex onto Peterson. *CRUNCH*] TD: Team Sychosys has the lead with the Majestic Star Press! It's 2-1-0, and the World Tag Team Champs are being dominated here! Awesome T, Richard "Moxy" Blue and Derek Mota are all screaming out encouragement, but the Discordiacs are on the verge of digging themselves into a hole from which they can not escape! SR: Look at Petrow get jiggy with it, Dross! We've got the two hot new stables out here, and Joe Petrow's going to win this damn match with no more help than a blunt object named Maurice McArthur. TD: He may indeed, Steve. But 4M is definitely the worse for wear after going through two straight tables! He can't even stand up. [The Majestyk One isn't the only one, either. Petrow is trying to get his partner back into action, while both members of the Down Boys and Grey Phoenix are still sprawled among the remnants of the tables that they have gone through. The noise has risen to a deafening roar, with 4-D and the Discordiacs barely heard through the screams of the crowd. Most of the fans are solidly behind the Predators, but the Sychopaths are making as much noise as the other eighty thousand fans combined. Suddenly, though, a roar is heard above all of the other sounds. It is the only man standing. It is Bear.] SR: What in the name of Chelsea Clinton is that freak doing? TD: I'm not sure, Steve Roberts. It appears to be some kind of primal scream. Perhaps from his Native American heritage, perhaps just from rage. [Within seconds, all the other sound in the arena fades away, and the only noise is the howl coming from the IIWF's strongest man. Four men suddenly want to be somewhere else, and start backing off as quickly as their conditions will allow. The fifth, Grey Phoenix, seems to draw strength from his partner, and comes to his feet. And then, as suddenly as the noise began, it ends. Bear lowers his head in what almost looks like prayer... and then charges. Petrow, since he is standing, is the first target. He goes flying from a massive clothesline. Next, the massive man scoops up 4M and Adam Peterson at the same time and literally tosses them 10 feet through the air and into the steel railing. Pop! As Bear turns away from those two, his partner Irish Whips Danny Oliver toward him. Bear catches Oliver, scoops him into a bodyslam position, takes three running steps, and dives through the High Plains Drifters table in an enormous powerslam! CRUNCH! Massive Pop!] TD: Tie Match! The massive Native American has just laid out all four of his opponents to bring the Predators back into this match! It's two for the Natural Predators, two for Team Sychosys, and none for the Down Boys. The champions now need to break all three remaining tables to retain their titles! SR: To quote a great English soccer manager, "The Down Boys are lucky to have nil." I don't know what is wrong with those eighties rejects, but they have been totally outclassed in this match. [Bear quickly arises and looks around for someone else to brutalise. But before he can even take a step, Joe Petrow makes a desperate dive and grabs onto one of Bear's legs. This barely slows the massive man down, and he reaches down to fling Petrow off. But before he can do that, he's hit by a combined tackle from 4M and Adam Peterson!] TD: Look at this! There are now three men attacking Bear, and they still can't take him off his feet! [But, as strong as the giant is, he's no match for three men, and they start to push him back. Finally, they have him backed up against the Lost Boyz table, which is in turn backed up against the railing, leaving him with no place to retreat. Before they can do to much damage, though, Grey Phoenix throws himself into the battle, making the odds three-on-two against the Predators.] TD: Adam Peterson is fighting alongside Team Sychosys here, trying to keep the Natural Predators from regaining the titles! SR: That's nice, Dross. I'm a big fan of companionship. But shouldn't Dangerous Dan and Awesome Adam think about maybe trying to put someone through a table soon? They won't keep the titles by being Joe Petrow's love buddies. TD: Not exactly the way I would have phrased it, Steve Roberts, but you are certainly correct. They need to take some offensive acti.... Look at Dan Oliver! [The camera quickly switches to the ring, where the second member of the Down Boys is readying himself for a dive onto the floor. Before he can leap, though, he is distracted by his partners -- Moxy and Mota. "Catch", they yell, and they toss him the Armed Forces table. The table knocks Oliver over, but he quickly bounces back up, and wraps his arms around the table. After an adjustment for balance, he takes off at a dead sprint for the ropes.] TD: My god.... he wouldn't. SR: He couldn't... BOTH: He did!! [As Oliver reaches the ropes, he dives over them. Because of the table's weight, he doesn't clear them, hitting them with his waist. But the spring in the strands actually helps Dazzling Dan out, bouncing him toward the group of five at ringside. As tens of thousands of flashbulbs fire simultaneously, Oliver and the table slam into the back of 4M, Petrow and his own partner, sending them crashing into the Predators and the second table. Both tables explode into tiny shards of wood, and all six men end up sprawled in a pile of twisted limbs against the ring railing. The crowd pops explosively, then dies off into a total hush.] TD: [hushed] That makes the score a three-way tie with one table left. But did anyone survive? No one is moving, Steve Roberts. SR: I... I don't even know what to say, Dross. TD: I know what you mean. This could be a tragedy of unbelievable proportions. SR: No, Dross. I'm speechless because this might be the greatest moment in IIWF history. A move that spectacular, two broken tables, and to top it off, we just wiped out the entire tag-team division. TD: You are a sick and twisted man, Steve Roberts. SR: You bet your biscuits, Timbo. And I'm The Best, too. See the pin? TD: I can't believe that you are... wait, I'm told that someone is coming to ringside. An EMT crew, I hope. [The camera pans to find out that, far from paramedics coming out to help, the Prophets of Rage are coming to ringside. They head right for the pile of bodies, but before they can wreak any havoc, they are cut off by the combined forces of 4-D and the Discordiacs.] TD: I believe the Prophets were coming out to finish off their rivals for tag-team superiority, but they are outnumbered four-to-two here, and they are wisely retreating. SR: But look at the Ragers, Dross. They are flinging those fish at those gumps trying to be stables. Fitzgerald, Thumbtack, Moxy and Mota are getting buried in cod! TD: You know, Steve, I have never understood why the Ragers throw fish. SR: You've noticed that the Rage guys are... well, African-American, right? TD: Yes. SR: So, it's a sole thing. TD: A sole thing? That's awful, Steve. This is one of the biggest matches in IIWF history, we have six injured men on the arena floor, and you are cracking bad puns. Why do you do things like that? SR: Just for the halibut. [Suddenly, the camera switches from the aisle, where 4-D and the Discordiacs are ducking fish, and forcing the Prophets back to the locker room under the watchful gaze of Dave D'Amato, to the pile of bodies. A man has jumped out of the crowd, dragged Joe Petrow's motionless body of the mess, and carried him over to the last table -- the Syndicate.] TD: That's Marty Warnett! What's he doing out here? Apparently, the Fabulous Ones have gotten him to come out and attack Petrow! [Warnett lifts Petrow up and viciously powerbombs him right through the face of Casey James! He then races back to the mass of humanity, and this time he grabs hold of the Grey Phoenix. He lifts the Phoenix up, gently sets him on top of Petrow, then turns to the camera and gives the new 4-D gesture.] TD: Marty Warnett has joined 4-D! And he has destroyed the last table! [Seconds later, Dave D'Amato turns his attention back to ringside. Immediately, he sees Grey Phoenix on top of Petrow in the ruins of the seventh table, and signals for the bell. Ding! Ding! Ding! Huge face pop!] SL: Your winners, and NEW tag team champions of the world, the NATURAL PREDATORS! [Instantly, the members of 4-D start celebrating. Or at least the ones who are able to move. Both Bear and Grey Phoenix are just now getting their senses back, and still aren't able to understand that they have regained the tag titles. Within seconds, however, there is a disturbance, with all the fans watching someone race down the aisle.] TD: Apparently, someone is making his way to ringside, but we have no idea who it is. SR: I don't see anyone, Dross. Is he invisible? [After a long moment, a diminutive Hispanic man races up to Dave D'Amato and starts talking excitedly to him.] SR: Oh. It was Hugo Hugo. No wonder we couldn't see him. TD: And it looks like he is explaining to the referee what happened to the seventh table. But what a huge development -- former Intercontinental champion Marty Warnett has spurned the Fabulous Ones and joined 4-D! SR: Dammit, Dross, how the hell many members does 4-D have? TD: Well, counting Kuyler Grayson, I believe there are now seven candidates. Who the actual members are, we don't know. SR: By the time they hit double figures, do you think they might find one with charisma? And without those, you know... _leanings_. TD: Steve, how can you say that? Icehawk might be the most loved wrestler in the IIWF, and the other men are all well-respected fan favourites. SR: Tim, have you ever heard of the Magnificent Seven? TD: Certainly. SR: This is the Stone Cold Boring Seven. TD: If you say so, Steve. In the meantime, it looks like the officials have reached a decision. SL: Because the seventh table was broken by someone who was not a legal man, referee Dave D'Amato has ruled that it does not count! So this match is a TIE! [Huge amounts of booing, as this time the Discordiacs celebrate.] TD: A tie! That means that the Down Boys retain the titles! An amazing accomplishment, considering they looked to be dead and buried just a few minutes ago. Dazzling Dan Oliver saved the belts with that suicidal, double-table-breaking move. SR: Wouldn't it make more sense to declare the belts vacant? And then forget about them? Please? TD: I don't think that is going to hap... wait, I'm being told that someone else is coming to ringside. It's President Spreadbury! [The big boss makes his way to ringside, and takes the microphone away from Sparkplug Lee.] DS: Referee D'Amato, you know how much I hate to override official decisions. But in this case, I must. The fans have been waiting for much too long for this, and they deserve a decision. [Huge Pop!] DS: Therefore, there will be an eighth table! Whichever team breaks this table wins the tag titles! [Even Bigger Pop!] DS: Men, bring it out. [At the top of the aisleway appears the JJS carrying a table like pallbearers carrying a casket. Slowly, they march the table down to the ring area, and then ceremoniously set it down. When the fans get their first look at the table, the roar shakes the stadium like a Los Angeles earthquake.] TD: It's the Bulldog Brown table! Once again, Bulldog Brown's spirit is going to be a part of an IIWF event! SR: Damn, Dross. How many times has that table been broken now? It's so patched up that it looks like a Picasso painting of Bulldog. [The President starts to make his way back to the locker rooms, but as he skirts the "new" table, he is surrounded by the members of the Discordiacs and 4-D, all demanding that their team be given the belts. Even Luke Steele makes his way out to ringside to join in the chorus. Meanwhile, an EMT team has finally made it out to the arena floor, and is working on Joe Petrow, the only wrestler still laid out.] TD: This is sheer chaos! We've got a dozen men surrounding President Spreadbury, and the tempers are definitely high! [Suddenly, Derek Mota takes exception at something said by Edmund Fitzgerald, and shoves him. Within seconds, all 12 men are brawling, including Awesome T and Kuyler Grayson. Fitz squares off with Mota, Moxy Blue goes after Josef Tadeuscz, Luke Steele exchanges punches with Marty Warnett, Grey Phoenix battles Dan Oliver, and Bear starts choking Adam Peterson, bending him backwards over the table. With the help of security, the President escapes to safety.] TD: The Discordiacs and 4-D are trying to kill each other! I'm not even sure they remember the match has been re-started! And Joe Petrow is in no shape to take advantage! [The brawl continues for another minute or so, until Kuyler Grayson gives Awesome T a bulldog on the concrete floor. He quickly gets up, races to Bear, and screams at him to put Peterson the table. It takes a second for the message to get through Bear's bloodlust, but he finally nods, and lifts Adam into position for a chokeslam. Derek Mota, the closest Discordiac, tries to stop him, but Edmund Fitzgerald grabs him in a headlock, stopping him cold. Bear starts to slam Peterson... but a massive object slams into his back, sending him face-first through the table. The object is "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur. Bedlam.] TD: Team Sychosys wins! Team Sychosys wins! SR: I don't believe it! Petrow must have backdropped him out of the ring and onto Bear! TD: But he couldn't have, Steve. Joe Petrow is only now being helped to his feet by the paramedics. I don't even think he knows what has happened. SR: So what did happen? TD: I'm being told that we have a replay. [The camera set on the roof of Wembley Stadium shows the ring area, the wrestlers appearing to be the size of ants. Viewers can barely see a stunned 4M climb into the ring and stare down at his partner under the care of the medics. He then turns, sees Bear lifting Adam Peterson into the air, and groggily climbs to the top rope. Just as Bear starts to bring Adam down, he leaps. His flight is much too clumsy to call it a plancha, or even a cross-body block. If anything, it resembles a small child jumping off a dock to his father's arm in the lake below. But his 230 pounds slam into Bear, and provide plenty of force to shatter Bulldog's visage once again.] TD: [shocked tone] I can not believe what I just saw. Maurice McArthur has just won the match on his own. Maybe it wasn't pretty, but he did it. And he did it without Joe Petrow. Let's go to Sparkplug yet again. SL: Your winners, by a score of three tables to two to two, and _NEW_ IIWF Tag Team Champions of the World... TEAM SYCHOSYS!!! [Joe Petrow is still groggily making his way around the ring, but he stops cold when he hears Sparkplug's announcement. In shock, he stares dumbly at his partner, mouthing the word "Maurice?" When 4M nods, Petrow drops to his knees, sobbing like a baby. He only stops when Dave D'Amato hands him his title belt. Maurice is still staring blankly at his belt when Petrow leaps onto him, screaming in joy.] Finally, the Majestyk One realises that this time, it is real. His long journey from jobber to joke to serious wrestler to champion is over... and all the pent-up emotion of the trip comes out in one long whoop of joy. Petrow and McArthur thrust the belts into the air, and jump into the midst of the Sychopaths. But before Petrow disappears into the joyous mass, he turns to a nearby camera and mouths the words "No More".] In the meantime, the vicious brawl between the Discordiacs and 4-D is still going on. IIWF security and the JJS are trying desperately to separate the two stables, but are having little success. As a matter of fact, the fight has gotten much uglier since Sparkplug's announcement, with metal chairs and table legs flashing in the Wembley Stadium lights.] TD: Folks, we have new tag-team champions, and we have totally lost control here at the Stadium! Let's go to Larry Morton on the Thames River for the Intercontinental Title match! ________ ______ ..........................| || |\ \ /\ / /| __|......................... | || | \ v v / | __| |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP THAMES BARGE MATCH: Duncan Macbeth [c] vs. "The Savior" Simon Lebec ........................................................................ WRITER: Daniel Spreadbury [Cut to a camera positioned on Tower Bridge in the heart of London. Police escorts at either end of the bridge have closed off to traffic, which rumbles in the distance on either side of the River Thames, despite the late hour. Meanwhile, a growing crowd of fans and passers-by has gathered on the bridge, most vocally among them the two hundred or so Glenfinnan natives, all waving their tartan swatches and clutching their bottles of Scotch whiskey, their breath forming clouds of mist in the air of the early hours of this March morning. They are a rowdy bunch, and lead the rest of the gathered crowd in chants of "MAC-BETH! MAC-BETH!" as they await the beginning of the match. The voice of Larry Morton is super-imposed over these scenes:] LM: [voice-over] Thanks, Tim. This is the scene here at Tower Bridge in the heart of London, as a crowd of more than five hundred has gathered up on the bridge to watch the impending battle between Duncan Macbeth and Simon Lebec. London town has never seen a night like tonight, that much is for sure! [The camera pans down from the crowd to the river far below, the lights of buildings on either side being dimly but chaotically reflected in the dark, moving waters. In the middle of the river, visible through the mist thanks to the large temporary lighting rigging that has been erected on its decks and in support boats on either side, is the barge. The Metropolitan River Police also have boats in the vicinity, with officers manning large searchlights, which swing over the surface of the river.] LM: And there is the barge that will, in just a few moments, try to contain two months of pent-up aggression between two proud men. As you can see, we have a number of support boats in the water nearby, ready to fish out either man, should this match end with one or both of them plunging into the river. It's bitterly cold here on the Thames, and we have a highly-trained medical team on hand to ensure nobody is seriously hurt. [Cut now to a camera mounted on the barge itself, the steel deck at the bow of the boat glistening in the glare of the lights, its surface apparently dangerously slippery. The camera swings around, showing the Barnacle Brothers still in the captain's cabin of the barge, waving at the camera. Cut to another camera at the stern of the boat, where a large amount of debris is scattered: chains, ropes, oars of lifeboats long since decommissioned, barrels and crates, empty iron cylinders. And behind the back of the boat hovers the IIWF's chartered helicopter, its blades frothing up the water below and causing a white spray to be scattered every which way. Cut to the interior of the helicopter, where Larry Morton is still seated, clutching at a microphone:] LM: Everything is set for this one, gentlemen. And I can see that the match official is now on his way onto the barge from the bank of the Thames. I'm going up to join the crowd on the bridge, so I'll hand things back to you in the Stadium. [Cut to a shot from the barge as the helicopter rises into the air, all but its lights disappearing into the thickening mist. The shot swings around, and shows a small Police boat approaching the bow of the boat. Barnacle Brother Bluto grabs a rope that is thrown from the boat, and ties it around a hook on the steel deck. IIWF official big Joey Patrick nervously steps onto the deck of the barge, apparently dressed in a neoprene wetsuit -- and a black and white referee's jersey. The voices of Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts chime in:] TD: [over the headset] Thanks, Larry. Here's the appointed referee for this match, big Joey Patrick. SR: [over the headset] Neoprene isn't exactly flattering for the big guy, is it, Dross? TD: Well, Steve Roberts, this is a tough assignment -- I understood that head official Earl Alfonso was unable to persuade any of his fellow referees to officiate this match by choice, so they drew lots earlier today... and Joey Patrick drew the short straw. SR: Looks like the wetsuit was made to fit Hugo Hugo. TD: Joey Patrick now, on the deck of the barge -- and he signals for the bell! [Barnacle Brother Seadog is prepared for such an eventuality, and, grabbing a hammer, strikes a nearby barrel three times: * CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! * A big pop drifts down through the mist from the assembled crowd on the bridge high above the river, and the Gospel strains of Simon Lebec's self-penned theme song, "I'm Stuck On Heaven, 'Cause Heaven's Stuck On Me" is piped over loudspeakers from a support boat. The voice of Sparkplug Lee is similarly piped through the loudspeakers from the stadium:] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a special Thames Barge match -- and it is for the IIWF Intercontinental Championship! [Big pop from the fans! Cut briefly back to the Stadium, where Sparkplug Lee stands somewhat incongruously in the ring, clutching a microphone, while every eye in the building is fixed on the many video screens that have been erected to relay the action to the in-house crowd.] SL: The rules of the match are as follows: falls count anywhere on the barge, and the match can only end by pinfall, submission -- or by one man throwing the other over the side of the barge and into the Thames! [Big pop!] SL: Introducing first... making his way, uh, onto the barge, weighing in at 251lbs, here is... "THE SAVIOR" SIMON LEBEC! [Cut back to the river as a small row-boat is picked out by a searchlight from one of the Police tugs in the water nearby.] TD: Oh my! Is that...? That's Simon Lebec! We saw Simon Lebec leave the banks of the Thames earlier today in a row-boat, and apparently he has rowed all the way here to Tower Bridge from the Docklands! SR: He'll be exhausted before he even starts the match, Dross. Unbelievable. [As the row-boat approaches the side of the barge, Lebec becomes visible in the boat, and he is, indeed, rowing hard, his cheeks puffing out from the effort. He is still dressed in the same attire as when last seen: a cigarette hangs from his mouth, its end glowing orange in the darkness, and he wears a flimsy shirt, complete with minister's dog-collar, and a pair of jeans. Again, the Barnacle Brothers assist in tying the row-boat to the barge to allow Lebec to come aboard. Lebec does so, but not before tossing his cigarette butt into the water and grabbing one of his oars, which he leans on like a walking stick once safely on the deck of the barge.] TD: And there is the challenger, Steve Roberts. This is the man who has blindsided, beaten and brutalised Duncan Macbeth unmercilessly for the past two months. Macbeth has suffered all manner of injuries -- perhaps most seriously a series of concussions, which left him so incapacitated that he was unable to walk a straight line without feeling nauseous. And yet Macbeth has battled on. SR: And battled on better than ever, Dross. He sure put l'il Cheesecake in his place tonight. TD: Steve Roberts is, of course, referring to the attack on Timothy N. Turner by Duncan and his cousin Andrew earlier tonight at the climax of that incredible, hard-fought Highland Brawl match. It was a disgusting act -- and I have to wonder just how much the frustration of being attacked from behind by Lebec so many times played a part in that change of heart. SR: You saw it last week, just like the rest of us, Dross. You saw it: when Lebec attacked Macbeth in the aisle, Turner just stood there. He didn't go help his friend -- he probably didn't want to risk getting his tail kicked by Lebec. It was Andrew Macbeth who rescued Duncan that night. Blood is thicker than water, Dross. TD: That much is certainly true. But who knows what foul machinations are traversing the mind of this young man as he stands on the barge awaiting his opponent, Steve Roberts. Lebec's is an almost tragic story -- a career marred by insanity, a spell spent in institutions, extensive counselling, and now some kind of conversion to some form of religion, setting himself up as some kind of bogus priest. And yet -- perhaps because of these circumstances -- he remains a highly dangerous competitor. SR: Who knows whether Lebec is really two pickles short of a hero sandwich, Dross? I've always maintained that he's one of the smartest players in the game, and I think he knows what he's doing a lot more than pundits like you give him credit for. TD: That remains to be seen, Steve Roberts... but it sounds like the Champion is about to make his entrance! [A huge cheer goes up from the fans on the bridge as another boat emerges from the mist, crossing the river from the opposite bank, picked out by Police searchlights. Standing at the bow, arms crossed across his chest, is the burly figure of Duncan Macbeth, who stares straight ahead at the barge, stares straight ahead at his opponent. Behind Duncan, another burly figure may be made out: it is his cousin, Andrew Macbeth. Elsewhere on the boat, a solo bagpiper may be heard playing "Heilan' Laddie". Again, the voice of Sparkplug Lee booms out across the river via the loudspeakers:] SL: And introducing his opponent... hailing from Glenfinnan, Scotland, and weighing in at 270lbs, he is the IIWF Intercontinental Champion... he is... DUNCAN MACBETH! [More cheers from the gathered faithful high above on Tower Bridge, but Macbeth does not acknowledge their cheers, remaining focussed on the barge before him. The Intercontinental Champion is bedecked in a black neoprene body-suit, and black, thick-tread, steel-toed boots like those worn by military seamen. The gold of the IC belt glitters somewhat incongruously around his waist.] TD: Here we see Duncan Macbeth -- and he has come dressed for this match, Steve Roberts. That neoprene wetsuit should not only keep Macbeth warm out here on the deck, but it will provide a little extra friction for him as he struggles to keep his grip on the wet surface of the barge. And look at those boots. SR: Have boots, will stomp in Lebec's face, baby dolls. TD: What a road it's been for Duncan Macbeth since winning the Intercontinental Championship when 1998 was only three days old. Some -- not least myself -- have been critical of his somewhat spartan title defence schedule, legitimate reasons notwithstanding, but nobody can deny that few have deserved to wear the Intercontinental Championship as richly as this young Scotsman, Steve Roberts. SR: And what about Lebec, Dross? Sure, the guy's had his problems, he's gone a little loopy every once in a while, he used to take time off to make his little movies -- but Lebec is a guy who's been here as long as the Double Eye itself, and what reward has he ever had for that? He's never worn gold here... and while I'm as big a fan of D-Mac as anybody, it's Lebec's turn to shine, baby dolls. [As Macbeth's launch nears the barge, Duncan turns briefly to give the Intercontinental Championship belt to Andrew Macbeth, who pats his younger cousin on the shoulder and utters a few words of encouragement. Duncan nods, and then turns his attention back to the barge, where official Joey Patrick is trying to persuade Lebec to let go of the oar he has brought onto the barge with him. Once more, the Barnacle Brothers grab a rope thrown from the launch, and as the two boats attempt to line up, Duncan simply leaps the few remaining feet between the two boats, landing on the steel deck of the barge. Huge cheers from the unseen horde above!] TD: Here we go, Steve Roberts! Here we go! These two men finally stand face to face here in the middle of the River Thames in the early hours of the morning -- and we have a fight on our hands! SR: Ring the bell, baby dolls! [Sure enough, as the launch carrying the piper and Andrew Macbeth -- along with the IC belt itself -- retreats back towards the bank of the Thames, big Joey Patrick signals for the "bell"... and Seadog obliges by once again striking the barrel with his hammer: * CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! * Big pop! Lebec immediately charges at Macbeth, swinging his oar. Macbeth ducks under the charge, and hits Lebec from behind with a blow to the small of the back. Lebec, unable to grip on the wet steel deck with his flimsy shoes, is sent sprawling, sliding helplessly towards the edge of the barge... ...and rescues himself at the last possible moment by grabbing hold of one of the hooks onto which the other boats have been temprorarily moored. Lebec's body keeps going, and he ends up dangling dangerously over the side of the barge, his oar having skittered into the water with a splash.] TD: Oh my! Oh my! This one was nearly over before it even began, Steve Roberts! SR: Holy guacamole, Dross, that was close! Come on, Simon! [As Lebec begins to scramble back up onto the deck of the barge, Macbeth approaches, and moves to kick at Lebec's hands with his steel toe-capped boots -- but the Savior ducks out of the way! Lebec past Duncan on the deck, and then yanks at something! Duncan goes down hard on the steel deck!] TD: What the heck was that? SR: Chains, Dross! That's the anchor chain, and Macbeth's foot must have been caught in it... one pull, and down he comes! [Lebec stands, and begins kicking away at Macbeth's midsection as the Intercontinental Champion moves to stand once more. Lebec is unable to halt Macbeth's rise, much to the delight of the crowd above, and soon finds himself staring into the cold, furious green eyes of Macbeth. Lebec fires out with a hard right hand -- which is blocked by the Scotsman! Macbeth blasts Lebec with a meaty fist of his own, knocking Lebec back a couple of steps... but before the challenger topples, Macbeth grabs him around the waist, and _drives_ him down hard to the steel deck with a snap belly-to-belly suplex! Huge pop!] TD: Oh my! What a suplex from Duncan Macbeth -- and Lebec's head hitting that steel deck. It looks like Macbeth is out to give Lebec a concussion of his own! [Macbeth immediately starts kicking away at Lebec's head with his steel toe-capped boots, forcing the challenger to try and cover up with his arms as best he is able. Joey Patrick does his best to try and pull Macbeth away, but the Scotsman is relentless.] TD: Look at Macbeth pounding away at Lebec's head! This is bad, Steve Roberts! It looks like Macbeth has tunnel vision -- all he can see is the man that has tormented him for two months, and he is just like an animal out there! [Lebec finally manages to lash out with a fist, catching a lucky blow just below Macbeth's belt. Duncan lets out a yell, and is sufficiently winded to take a step backwards. Lebec rolls to one side, and in the harsh lighting of the temporary rigging, it is obvious that one side of his face is badly misshapen, his right eye already reddened and swelling.] SR: Aw, that ain't pretty, Dross. TD: Indeed, Steve Roberts -- it looks like Lebec may have a depressed fracture in his cheek or jaw there. Those boots Macbeth is wearing are lethal! [Lebec pulls himself to his feet using one of the lighting rigs set up on the deck as Macbeth straightens up, seeing red once again, and charges at Lebec -- who yanks on the eight-foot lighting rig, and manages to pull it over! Huge pop as the big bulbs explode in a shower of sparks on contact with Macbeth's head, the big Scotsman being felled under a heap of steel rigging!] TD: Oh my! Those lights, that glass, just shattered against Duncan Macbeth's head! They would have been very hot, Steve Roberts -- Macbeth may be badly burned here! [Lebec pulls the wreckage of the lighting rig off Macbeth and kicks it away, the debris sliding off the deck of the barge and into the water, causing the entire lighting circuits to short out! Showers of sparks from all four corners of the barge explode like fireworks, and suddenly the barge is plunged into near-darkness, the only light coming from the two support vessels which each bear back-up lights! Huge, huge pop!] SR: Aw, who turned out the lights?! TD: Good grief, Steve Roberts! That... that was a live electrical circuit -- there could be all manner of dangerous wiring exposed on that barge right now. Joey Patrick should stop this one right now! SR: Are you kidding me, Dross? We're barely even getting started! [The Police boats nearby swing the beams of their powerful searchlights onto the steel deck of the barge, illuminating an ugly scene: Lebec is straddling Macbeth, some kind of object in his hands, and is bludgeoning Macbeth's already bloody head, shards of glass from high-power lightbulbs glinting on the wet deck in the bright light.] TD: Oh my! Macbeth is busted open! All that glass -- and what does Lebec have in his hand? I can't make it out. SR: It's a chain, Dross! Lebec has a chain wrapped around his fist, and he is mashing whatever brains Macbeth has left right now! Whoo-hoo! TD: Oh, this is bad. This is bad. [Lebec finally relinquishes his grip on Macbeth, whose head lolls back against the steel deck of the barge, and pulls the Scotsman to his feet. Lebec attempts to whip Macbeth towards the hard metal of the captain's cabin some ten or fifteen feet away -- but the burly Scotsman, apparently playing possum, reverses the whip attempt, and sends Lebec for the ride! Unable to halt his slide with his flimsy shoes, the hapless Lebec slams into the front of the cabin with a loud *CLANG*, the glass of the bridge window rattling dangerously. Huge pop! Macbeth wipes the blood away from his forehead, and his face contorts into a twisted rage. He bends down and picks up a shard of glass, the sharp edges apparently cutting into his own flesh as he brandishes it, approaching Lebec across the slippery deck of the barge.] TD: Look at Duncan Macbeth! I have never seen a look of such... such... hatred and unadulterated rage in his eyes as I see at this moment, Steve Roberts. I think he's lost it. He's lost it! SR: No, Dross -- he's found it. He's found that killer instinct he's been lacking. But dammit, Lebec has to win this one! [Macbeth approaches Lebec -- who lies slumped in a heap on the deck in front of the cabin. As Macbeth stands above Lebec, clutching the shard of glass in his hand, Lebec again drives... something... into the groin of Macbeth, this time taking the Scotsman off his feet! Huge heel pop as Lebec picks himself up, and reveals that he struck Macbeth with the hard metal end of a boathook, mounted on a twelve foot pole. Lebec brandishes the pole -- and then _drives_ it hard into the gut of Duncan Macbeth!] TD: This is crazy, Steve Roberts! The deck of this barge is wet, it's covered in broken glass, there's exposed live wiring all around... and Lebec is beating Duncan Macbeth with a boathook. This is just insane! SR: Yeah, I know. And it's a thing of beauty. I can barely think of a place I'd rather be right now -- well, actually, that's a lie. I'd much rather be licking raspberry sauce from the crevice between... TD: [interrupting] OH MY! SR: My thoughts exactly, big guy. TD: Did you see that, Steve Roberts?! Did you see that?! [As Duncan Macbeth tries to rise to his feet, Lebec brandishes the boathook pole above his head -- and then breaks it right over Macbeth's head! Lebec brings the pole down over Macbeth's head, and splinters it right in two! Macbeth slumps back, his bloody head bouncing dangerously hard off the steel deck, as Lebec admires his handiwork. He rejects the section of the pole without the hook, and tests the hook for weight: now only three feet in length, it is an agreeable weight -- and he raises it above his head, apparently about to bring the hook down into Macbeth's skull. He swings the hook downwards... * CLANG! * Huge pop!] TD: HE MOVED! Duncan Macbeth moved! Thank heavens! [Macbeth grabs the other half of the pole as he incredibly rolls to his knees, and then picks himself up, while Lebec loudly curses, picking up his hook once more. Macbeth snaps the longer section of the pole over his knee, so that he too has a bat-length stick of about three feet in length. The two men stand face to face once more, each brandishing his section of the pole.] SR: Hey, this reminds me of that Sean Connery movie, Dross. "There can be only one!" TD: Although I think both of these men would love nothing more than to knock the other's head off, I doubt... oh my! [Suddenly, both Lebec and Macbeth, eyes fixed on one another, one bruised and battered, the other's hair matted with blood which runs down into his eyes... suddenly, both men swing at one another with their poles! Lebec goes high, and Macbeth goes low -- and both men strike one another, each dropping the other to the hard steel deck! Big pop! Official Joey Patrick checks on both men, as a hush seems to fall over the scene -- until Macbeth grabs Patrick by the jersey, pulling himself up to his knees again! Big pop!] TD: Oh my! Macbeth is on his feet -- and he is pulling Lebec back up to his feet... DDT! DDT! SR: Ouch, baby dolls! [Macbeth drags Lebec to his feet, and then roughly grabs him in a standing side headlock -- before dropping him viciously onto the hard steel deck with a DDT! Releasing Lebec, he rolls the challenger over onto his back, and spits on him before making the cover. Joey Patrick drops to the steel deck and strikes it with his hand: 1 -- 2... ...and Lebec gets a shoulder up! Lebec gets a shoulder up!] TD: Unbelievable! Unbelievable! Simon Lebec kicks out! I thought he was unconscious, Steve Roberts! SR: Maybe he was, Dross -- but dammit, Macbeth is going to have to kill Lebec to deny him his due here tonight! TD: The way this match is going, that would not surprise me in the slightest, Steve Roberts! [Macbeth, furious, drags Lebec to his feet again, and roughly places his head between his legs for a piledriver attempt. The fans high above on Tower Bridge cheer loudly as Macbeth applies the waistlock on Lebec in preparation for the gutwrench. But then... ...then Lebec lets out a roar as he powers out, forcing Macbeth up into the air... ...up into the air in a backdrop, up... and then.. ...then down, down... down... over the edge of the barge! Macbeth is thrown over the edge of the barge, and into the darkness, where police searchlights are unable to follow! Lebec slumps to the deck, his chest heaving! There is an almost stunned silence as the crowd high above strain to see through the thickening mist. Joey Patrick signals to the Barnacle Brothers to ring the "bell": * CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! * And then it comes: huge heel pop!] TD: Oh my! Oh my! That was it! This match is over! We have a new champion! SR: Hang on -- where the heck was the splash, Dross? We should have heard a splash! [A support boat hurriedly chugs around to the side of the barge where Macbeth was thrown overboard, casting its spotlight down on the surface of the dark water... and then... huge, huge, huge pop!] TD: Oh my! Can you believe this?! Can you believe this, Steve Roberts! [There, in the beam of the spotlight, stands Duncan Macbeth, hands on hips, blood running down his face, but his eyes staring through defiantly!] SR: Macbeth is walking on water, Dross! Unbelievable! TD: Don't be ridiculous, Steve Roberts! Macbeth... I can't believe this! Macbeth landed in the boat Lebec used to row out to the barge! Macbeth didn't end up in the River Thames! [Sure enough, Macbeth stands in the rowboat earlier used by Simon Lebec, and which is still tied to the barge by a rope. Simon Lebec, having pulled himself to his knees on the deck of the barge, simply gawps at Macbeth. Official Joey Patrick quickly signals that the match is not over -- and orders the Barnacle Brothers to ring the "bell" again! * CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! * Huge pop!] TD: Oh my! This match -- this match is going to continue, Steve Roberts! SR: But Macbeth was thrown overboard, Dross! Lebec's the new champion! TD: No, Steve Roberts! The stipulations were that one man had to be thrown overboard... and _into_ the River Thames! Macbeth hasn't been in the river -- so this match must continue! SR: Aw, what a crock of shit, Dross! Lebec's the winner! [The crowd high above the barge on Tower Bridge continue to pop like crazy as Duncan Macbeth defiantly steps back onto the steel deck of the barge, looking down at Lebec with a snarl that curls up the corners of his mouth. Lebec shuffles backwards on his knees, begging for mercy from Macbeth, who simply shakes his head as he continues to stalk ever closer to Lebec -- and then Lebec suddenly lunges out, grabbing Macbeth's legs out from under him, and slamming him down backwards against the steel deck! In desperation, Lebec leaps up, one eye now fully closed from the swelling caused by the earlier assault by Macbeth's steel toe-caps, and climbs up onto a nearby crate. Police spotlights follow Lebec as he mounts the crate, and stands atop it. He closes his eyes, as if to say a prayer -- and then launches himself from the crate... ...crashing down onto Macbeth with a full body splash! Huge heel pop from the fans high above! Lebec is clearly hurt by the move himself, but he hooks the leg of the Intercontinental Champion in a pin attempt as Joey Patrick drops to the steel deck again: 1 -- 2 -- and Macbeth kicks out! Huge pop!] TD: Oh my! Oh my! Macbeth kicks out! These two men simply will not give up, Steve Roberts! [Lebec rolls off Macbeth, both men lying side by side on the deck of the barge, their chests heaving as Joey Patrick stands above them, unable to count them out. Chants waft down through the night air from the fans up on the bridge -- apparently now split in their support of these two athletes, as massed shouts of "SI-MON! SI-MON!" and "MAC-BETH! MAC-BETH!" mingle in the mist.] TD: Both of these men look completely spent, Steve Roberts. I don't believe either man has anything left -- every impact, every blow against that steel deck, the cold air... it all takes its toll, and even athletes in such condition as these two men -- well, they are only human beings, Steve Roberts. SR: I was only human once, Dross. TD: Don't even bother, Steve Roberts. Hang on -- hang on -- both men are moving! [Indeed, the fans break out into decidedly British applause and cheers as both Lebec and Macbeth seem to simultaneously reach down, reach into their inner strength... and pull themselves to their feet! Huge pop as they stand face to face yet again -- and Lebec suddenly swings the boathook! Macbeth ducks out of the way as Lebec slams the hook into the wooden crate he jumped off minutes earlier. Lebec yanks the hook back out and again goes after Macbeth, who continues to dodge, looking for some kind of weapon of his own. Macbeth backs away, around the captain's cabin, and towards the stern of the barge.] TD: Both men now, at the stern of the barge amongst all that debris -- Lebec still swinging that sharp iron boathook! Oh my! [The occasional burst of sparks showers down from the shorted-out lighting rigging amidst the crates and barrels, casting orange glows on the two warriors as Macbeth ducks between the debris, trying to stay one step ahead of the crazed Lebec. Lebec swings the hook -- *CLANG* -- against an empty gas cylinder!] TD: Lebec has lost it, Steve Roberts! He's swinging that hook like a mad-man! [Lebec takes another wild swing -- and this time the hook becomes lodged in a nearby barrel! Again, Lebec grapples with the hook, trying to wrench it free of the barrel -- and he succeeds, precipitating a gush of some liquid to pour forth from the barrel. He finally turns around -- and is met by Duncan Macbeth, who wraps a chain around his neck, and then tosses him to the deck! Huge pop from the fans above!] TD: My word! That's... that's the anchor chain wrapped around Simon Lebec's throat! SR: Whoo-hoo! Who cares who wins this one, Dross? This is great! Going down! [Macbeth moves to the very stern of the boat, where the anchor on the other end of the chain lies. Summoning all his raw strength, Macbeth tries... tries... and manages to heft the anchor up off the deck in his arms!] TD: Oh... oh no. Oh no. Macbeth is going to... he's going to drop that anchor overboard, Steve Roberts! If it doesn't break Lebec's neck or crush his windpipe, he'll drown for sure! This has gone too far -- this would be murder! SR: Macbeth's out of control, Dross -- and I love it! Whoo-hoo! [Macbeth moves to drop the anchor over the side of the barge -- and is hit in the back of the head with a large empty gas cylinder, brandished by Simon Lebec! Huge pop from the crowd above! Macbeth drops like a stone, apparently unconscious on the deck, the anchor lying impotently next to him, as Lebec tosses the cylinder into the Thames with a smirk.] TD: Oh my! Lebec managed to free himself from that chain -- and he has just cold-cocked Macbeth with a gas cylinder! Macbeth is _out_, Steve Roberts. SR: And Lebec's lighting up, Dross! You gots to love the preacher man, baby dolls! [Indeed, rather than covering Macbeth, Lebec reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, as well as a small book of matches. As if he had not a care in the world, Macbeth lying prone at his feet, he pulls the least mutilated cigarette out of the packet and clamps it inbetween his teeth, as he fumbles with the matches in his book, irritated that they appear to be damp.] TD: Hang on... oh, hang on just a minute. SR: Aw, yeah yeah, we know, Dross -- smoking kills, sets a bad example for all the kids, yadda yadda yadda... TD: No, Steve Roberts. Oh... oh, this is bad. [Finally one of the matches catches, and flares as Lebec shields the flame, lifting it up to his mouth and lighting the cigarette. He nonchalantly waves the match with a flick of his wrist, then tosses it behind him. The heat of the ensuing blast can be felt by the fans on the bridge, more than one hundred feet above the river. A shocked silence as the explosion echoes into the night. Moments pass -- and then the crowd begins to murmur, as shouts from the river drift up through the mist, a fire raging on the back of the barge, the Police boats moving quickly to hose it down, but unable to kill the flames...] TD: Oh... my... SR: Holy shit, Dross. The barge just exploded! TD: Oh my. SR: They're all dead! London is burning to the ground! There goes the neighbourhood! TD: Oh my. SR: They'll never insure us again, you know that, don't you, buddy? This is it -- we'll be extradited. You can't blow up the capital of England and just walk away, baby dolls. TD: Steve Roberts... SR: I can see the headlines now: "London Destroyed In Fire: Church Blamed". TD: Steve Roberts -- shut up. SR: What did you say, Dross? TD: I said, "shut up," Steve Roberts. [A fixed camera on the back of the barge picks up a fire raging amidst the barrels and crates as sparks continue to shower down from the lighting rigging. Neither Macbeth nor Lebec... nor Joey Patrick... nor the Barnacle Brothers... are anywhere to be seen. Carbon dioxide foam is sprayed onto the fire by a nearby support vessel as they try to contain the fire.] TD: Folks... folks, we may have witnessed a real tragedy here tonight. I... I believe that liquid Lebec spilled onto the back of the barge was petroleum or gasoline -- or at least some highly flammable fuel of some sort... and... he threw a match, and... SR: Ka-blooey! TD: Steve Roberts, those men may be dead down there. SR: Aw, no, Dross, don't go scarin' the folks at home. This is the rasslin', buddy -- it's all a work, brother. Everything's a work. [Suddenly, there is a huge crash, the sound of glass breaking... the sound of engines rumbling... and the scene begins to shake as... as the barge begins to move. The camera rapidly cuts to a handheld shot -- and catches a most incredible scene. Simon Lebec lies sprawled on the steel deck at the front of the boat, amidst broken glass. The shot pans back to show... Duncan Macbeth, bloody and battered, standing in the captain's cabin. Off to the starboard side of the barge, the Barnacle Brothers are treading water, shouting, "ARR! Over here!" It takes a moment for the scene to sink in. And then... all the fans on the bridge... all the fans in Wembley Stadium... erupt with a huge, huge, stadium-shaking pop!] SR: See? Told ya, Dross! TD: Oh my! Oh my! I cannot even begin to explain what we are seeing here, folks! I simply cannot believe what I am seeing -- but it appears that Macbeth and Lebec both survived that explosion... and in the confusion managed to fight into the cabin... SR: And they threw those two wannabe sailors into the briny deep! Whoo-hoo! TD: And... and it appears that Duncan Macbeth threw Simon Lebec through the window of the cabin... This is simply incredible. SR: Dross, is it my imagination... or is that barge moving? TD: I believe you are right, Steve Roberts -- it would seem that in the scuffle in the cabin, the barge's engines have been engaged. [Cut to a wide-angle shot from the helicopter, which now hovers over the Thames... and which shows that the barge -- its stern still ablaze, with smaller explosions preventing the fire-fighters from getting things under control -- is slowly turning and heading for the bank, picking up speed as the engines of the old barge begin to chug away.] TD: Oh, just when you think nothing else can happen, Steve Roberts. Just when you think thing's can't get any worse... this barge is on a collision course with the bank of the River Thames. Oh my. [Cut back to the barge, as Duncan Macbeth clambers up onto the control panel in the captain's cabin, standing in the empty window frame, some ten feet above where Simon Lebec still lies sprawled on the steel deck, amidst the somewhat rearranged glass of the window. Macbeth stands in the window... ...and then he leaps. Macbeth leaps from the cabin with a splash onto the semi-conscious Lebec. Huge pop! Macbeth, clearly hurt by the suicide dive, slowly rolls Lebec over onto his back and covers him, looking around for official Joey Patrick... who appears from behind a crate, where he has been sheltering from the insanity. Spotting a chance to end this match, he drops to the steel deck, and makes the count: 1 -- 2... ...two... ...and Lebec kicks out! Lebec kicks out! Huge, huge pop!] TD: Oh... oh my. I am exhausted, Steve Roberts. SR: I can't believe that these two guys are even still alive, Dross -- but I love it! Come on, fight some more for Poppa Soundbite! TD: After all this punishment, after being thrown through a window, after being hit by a full body press by a man weighing 270 pounds... Lebec still manages to kick out. Unbelievable. [Incredibly, Duncan Macbeth and Simon Lebec, yet again, seem to draw from their deepest reserves, as yet again they pull themselves to their feet. They pull themselves to their feet and stand, almost leaning on each other to stay upright, face to face one more time. Macbeth, blood matting his hair, spattered over his brawny physique... Lebec, one eye totally closed, his face and upper body covered in scratches and cuts from the glass of the window... ...and the fight goes on! Huge, huge pop as the two men once again start laying into each other with hard rights and lefts, each man daring the other to hit him harder, to knock him off his feet, to knock him off the barge, to end this thing. ..."SI-MON! SI-MON! SI-MON!"... ..."MAC-BETH! MAC-BETH! MAC-BETH!"... Cut to the helicopter's camera once again, its spotlight now the only remaining light illuminating the bow of the barge through the thickening mist, the Police boats left in the wake of the longboat as it continues to pick up speed, as it continues on its course towards the bank of the Thames... There is a strange sense of the inevitable as Macbeth and Lebec continue to strike one another, their fury evident even from some sixty or seventy feet in the air, almost palpable even through the fog. The blaze on the stern of the barge continues as the barge, its course traced in its glowing wake. ..."SI-MON! SI-MON! SI-MON!"... ..."MAC-BETH! MAC-BETH! MAC-BETH!"... The two athletes continue to pummel one another at the bow of the barge. ..."SI-MON! SI-MON! SI-MON!"... ..."MAC-BETH! MAC-BETH! MAC-BETH!"... And then it hits the bank. There is a crash. There are several splashes. Then silence for a moment. The explosion lights up the bank, the water, nearby buildings, the underside of the bridge. The roar of the flames, crackling avariciously as they consume the barge and anything left on its decks, is audible over the silence of the gathered fans on the bridge. Sirens break the shock as numerous Police patrol cars gather on the bank of the Thames near the blaze.] SR: [long pause] Aw, damn. TD: I knew it. [Everybody watches in stunned silence for long moments as the support vessels approach the wreckage of the barge as closely as they can in safety. The Police boats continue to try and douse the flames with carbon dioxide foam as they await the arrival of the fire services. Spotlights search the water for possible survivors. Cut to a the horde of fans on the bridge, amongst whom stands Larry Morton, all colour drained from his face, and one finger to his earpiece. He clutches a microphone:] LM: ...on? Gentlemen, can you hear me? TD: [over the headset] We can hear you, Larry. LM: It's absolute chaos down here... obviously the barge has crashed into the bank of the Thames here and... there has been a huge explosion. I understand that fire trucks will be a couple of minutes getting here -- I just hope that the men on the barge were able to jump clear in time. Support vessels are down there now searching for the three men... [Cut to the helicopter's camera as its spotlight cuts through the fog, illuminating the water around the blazing barge, as the lights of emergency vehicles flash all around, foam flies from hoses, voices yell, car doors slam, fires blaze... it is a truly chaotic scene. And on the periphery, two boats appear to be fishing people out of the water. The shot zooms in closer... and the fans in Wembley Stadium erupt with a huge, huge pop!] TD: That... that's Duncan Macbeth! Duncan Macbeth... is okay! Duncan Macbeth is okay! SR: Who's that they're pulling out now? [The shot picks out another figure being hauled out of the river and into the boat, as medical staff bustle around Duncan Macbeth, wrapping him in a blanket and examining the cuts on his head. Behind him, staff crowd another man...] TD: Joey Patrick! Joey Patrick is also okay! SR: But where's Lebec, Dross? TD: I... I don't know, Steve Roberts. Perhaps he didn't make it off the barge. SR: In that case... we got a new Intercontinental Champion, Dross! Whoo-hoo! TD: Steve Roberts, if Simon Lebec didn't make it off the barge, then... well... he may not be alive right now. SR: But he'd still be the champ! TD: You are... incredible, Steve Roberts. Hang on -- hang on... the other boat has somebody... SR: It's Lebec! [Indeed, the shot pans across to show a shivering and apparently semi-conscious Simon Lebec being laid on a stretcher in the other boat. Big relieved pop from the fans in the Stadium!] TD: It's unclear how seriously injured Simon Lebec is -- but all three men made it off that barge alive, Steve Roberts. Thank heavens for that. SR: So... both Macbeth and Lebec got thrown into the Thames, right? TD: That's right, Steve Roberts. SR: Then... it's a draw? TD: I... I suppose so. Larry, what's going on down there? [Cut back to Larry Morton on Tower Bridge. Behind him, the hundreds of gathered fans are euphorically whooping and cheering, relieved that all the participants in this drama have apparently escaped! Larry manages to crack a weak smile:] LM: Gentlemen, I can tell you that I am utterly, utterly drained after just standing up here on this bridge for this match. I, along with these fans up here with me, have witnessed some truly incredible scenes here tonight... and I think it would only be appropriate to pay tribute to the Police and other emergency services here in London for all their assistance, and for responding so quickly to what was a potentially lethal situation. It'll be several hours before things are cleaned up down here -- but I'll now head off to the hospital along with Macbeth, Lebec and big Joey Patrick. Back to you at ringside. [Cut to one final wide-angle view of the scene from the helicopter, the fog below cut through by the various searchlights which now probe the darkness: the barge continues to blaze as emergency vehicles pile up on the bank of the Thames; and the support boats containing the rescued men chug away to safety and waiting ambulances. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside in Wembley Stadium. Tim Dross shakes his head in utter disbelief, while Steve Roberts is grinning broadly.] SR: Only in the Double Eye, Double U F'n' F, baby dolls! TD: Well, Steve Roberts, I would agree that the match -- if you can call it that -- which we have just witnessed is one of the most incredible spectacles I have ever seen, I believe it raises some serious questions about where the line must be drawn in the future: half a dozen lives were very nearly ended in that blaze... in the name of athletic competition. SR: Dross, the Double Eye ain't a matter of life and death -- it's much more important than that. No love, no learnin'! TD: And apparently this match... hang on. I understand Dave Bacon is backstage with the IIWF President. Dave? [Cut to backstage. Broadcaster Dave Bacon stands next to a ragged looking IIWF President, who is rubbing his face as the shot cuts to the backstage corridor. President Daniel Spreadbury replaces his spectacles and pushes them up his nose as he turns to Dave Bacon.] DB: Thanks, Tim. I'm here backstage with the IIWF President. Any comments on what we've just seen? DS: Dave, I don't think it would be wise for me to issue any statement at the moment: at least, not until I have been able to fully examine all the details of what has happened tonight. I realise that the events we have just witnessed raise important issues about safety and about just how far we should allow disputes between wrestlers to degenerate -- but I do have one ruling which I would like to announce right now. [The bespectacled IIWF President fixes the camera with a grim look.] After the events that have transpired tonight, and pending a full enquiry, I do not believe that either Duncan Macbeth or Simon Lebec are fit to be called the IIWF Intercontinental Champion -- and as such, I am officially vacating the title as of this moment! DB: You're vacating the title?! DS: That's right. I will have a further statement at a later date... but not right now. [The IIWF President steps out of the shot. Dave Bacon turns back to the camera, a look of surprise on his face.] DB: A bombshell announcement from the IIWF President! Back to you at ringside! [Cut back to a wide-angle camera shot of the sweeping interior of Wembley Stadium, where the eighty-five thousand strong crowd is now popping at deafening levels, in anticipation of the main event still to come. The camera then switches to a shot of Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts at ringside, and the two commentators look close to the point of exhaustion, both from the time difference and the incredible action of the previous two and a half hours. Dross pulls a handkerchief from his tuxedo pocket and dabs away the sweat that has collected on his newly-shaved dome, while Roberts swigs from a bottle of what suspiciously looks like Scrumpy Jack's Cider and gargles loudly before quickly stashing the bottle under the table.] TD: Oh my _goodness_, Steve Roberts! What an incredible night of action we have seen thus far, here in this absolutely jam-packed Wembley Stadium in London, England! SR: Another job well done for the Double Eye, Dross-man! This one's gonna go down in history, and you know what the best part is? It ain't even OVER yet! We still gots one match to go, baby dolls, and it's gonna be the granddaddy of them all! Whooo! TD: I tell you what, Steve, if anything can possibly add to the absolutely phenomenal events we have seen thus far both here at Wembley Stadium -- and down on the River Thames -- it has to be the reception we have received from these London fans! Just listen to this crowd! [The crowd behind Dross responds with a raucous chant of "DOUBLE EYEEEE... DOUBLE YOUUUU... DOUBLE EYE! DOUBLE YOU! [BLEEP]IN' F!" and Dross buries his head in his hands, at once embarrassed and amused as the chant grows louder and spreads until it rings throughout the entire stadium. Roberts jumps onto his chair and pumps his fist in the air, drawing huge cheers from the crowd before sitting back down beside his colleague, affectionately rubbing Dross' bald head and grinning. Meanwhile, at ringside, IIWF technicians have begun setting up more folding tables all around the outside of the ring, while several square-jawed men in military fatigues and berets crawl under the apron, each one carrying several silver-coloured metal discs with lengths of thin wire extending from the bottom.] SR: We _gots_ to come back here, Drossy. These are the Soundbite's kind of people! You know how much property damage these morons do after those big soccer games here? Even the kids, for cryin' out loud -- those sweet little English roses in their little plaid school uniforms, you put field hockey sticks in their hands, and next thing you know, the streets are filled with burning Vauxhalls. These English -- they're all a bunch of mindless, cruel savages, Dross. You gotta love that. TD: Well, I would certainly disagree with that statement, Steve Roberts, but it cannot be denied that the IIWF may not have more fervent support anywhere else in the world than right here in the United Kingdom! And coming up next, our English friends are about to see what may go down as one of the greatest matches in IIWF history! We can see the technicians are just about finished setting up those folding tables on the outside of the ring, and underneath, representatives of the British Special Air Service are assisting our IIWF crewmen as they plant those "landmines" -- which I'd like to point out, are strictly concussion mines _only_, and _nobody_ will be in danger of losing limbs here tonight... SR: Damn. TD: ...in preparation for what should be, as you say, Steve Roberts, the granddaddy of them all! Shadoe Rage, the impressive youngster from Halifax, Nova Scotia, up against the "New Jersey Nightmare" himself, IIWF Heavyweight Champion Steve Kowalski! SR: The Rage and the Fury, Dross-man. Now _that's_ what I call destiny. TD: Let's get up to the ring for the introductions! ________ ______ ..........................| || |\ \ /\ / /| __|......................... | || | \ v v / | __| |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| M + A + I + N E + V + E + N + T IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP DEATH IN DARKNESS MATCH: Steve "the Fury" Kowalski [c] vs. "Shadoe" Savage Rage ........................................................................ WRITER: Shawn Kilpatrick [Sparkplug Lee climbs into the ring to a deafening pop from the capacity crowd at Wembley, and the atmosphere is positively electric as Lee steps up onto the stairs to the ring, but does not enter the ring itself, and pulls out the line-up card for the main event. Lee arches an eyebrow and smiles, savouring the gravity of this moment, and the crowd begins to quiet down slightly to await the introductions. Sparky draws himself up to his full height, trying to lend as much dignity as he can to the announcement, but just as he is about to open his mouth, a loud grating female voice from the crowd screeches out:] FV: OY! GET YER [BLEEP] OOT, LOVE! [The crowd erupts with laughter, but incredibly, Sparky does not turn his usual scarlet colour, instead casting a sly wink in the direction of the voice and chuckling before preparing to deliver the announcements again.] TD: [over headset] I think Sparky's been enjoying his time here as well, Steve. SR: [over headset] With that? I wonder if Sparky had to close his eyes and think of America, Dross. SL: Ladies and gentlemen... it is now my great privilege to announce tonight's MAIN EVENT! [The crowd erupts in a huge pop, and Lee is forced to stand in the ring patiently for long moments while the crowd cheers on and on, finally raising the microphone again after the pop begins to die down.] SL: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is for the IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT TITLE! [Another exuberant pop from the crowd, and once again, Lee is forced to lower the microphone and wait out the cheers, as chants of "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!" and "SHA-DOE! SHA-DOE!" begin swirling throughout the vast expanse of Wembley.] TD: [over headset] Good grief! Listen to this crowd, Steve Roberts! They simply can't wait for this match to start! SR: [over headset] Yeah, but look at Sparky, Dross! I think that moron thinks they're cheering for him! [Sparky does indeed have an ear-to-ear grin, but he seems more to be enjoying the moment as he raises the mic to his mouth once more.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, this is the "Death In Darkness" Match! The stipulations of this match are as follows: the match will be contested under "locked door" rules -- any person or persons attempting to interfere with the outcome of this match, by ruling of the President, will be _banned_ from the IIWF for life! [Big pop from the crowd, as the IIWF crewmen and the SAS troops emerge from the underside of the ring, and give a "thumbs up" to Sparky, who then steps through the ropes and treads gingerly across the mat, walking as if on eggshells.] SL: Next, the underside of the mat has been _mined_ with concussion grenades. Their pressure sensors have been set so that they may be walked upon, but if they are hit with a sufficient amount of force, they will _explode_, as Master Sergeant Keith of the Special Air Service will now demonstrate! [The noise in the stadium dies down to a low buzz as the crowd cranes for a good view of the demonstration. Sgt. Keith climbs up the stairs opposite Lee carrying a hundred-pound training bag over his shoulder, the type normally found hanging from the ceiling of boxing gymnasiums. As Lee steps out of the ring for safety's sake, Sgt. Keith, a burly man as large as any average-sized IIWF wrestler, grunts and heaves the bag into the ring. As soon as the bag slams into the mat, there is a bright flash accompanied by a thundering BOOM! that resounds throughout Wembley Stadium, and the crowd pops wildly as the bag is blown into the air again and out of the ring! The camera zooms in on the spot where the bag hit the canvas, and a black, smoking smudge about a foot in diameter can be seen over the spot where the mine went off. The camera then pans down to where the bag landed outside the ring, and one side of the bag has been both blackened by the explosion, and slightly torn open at the blast point, spilling sand into the aisle.] TD: Good Lord! SR: Imagine getting Skullpumped on to one of those, Dross-man. Rage'll be going to the chiropractor for a long time after that! [The camera then moves back to Sparky, who looks at the smouldering hole in the canvas with apprehension, and elects to finish the announcements from the ring steps.] SL: As well, the tables that have been set up outside the ring are there for the wrestlers to use however they see fit, and at intervals, the stadium lights will black out periodically during the course of the match! However, the opponents must keep in mind that "virtue rules" will be enforced during this contest -- illegal tactics such as low blows, eye gouges, closed fists, and chokeholds will result in an _immediate_ disqualification, and under the stipulations of this match, the title _will_ change hands in the event the champion is disqualified! [The crowd begins to get impatient with the long list of stipulations, and the noise level in the stadium rises to near-deafening levels once again as the fans cry out for the match to start.] SL: And now, ladies and gentlemen, it's time to begin the MAIN EVENT! Introducing first, the challenger! He hails from Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada and weighs in at 248 pounds! Accompanied to the ring by his manager, Marissa Monet, here is the self-styled "Enemy Of The World", the number-one contender to the IIWF Heavyweight crown, here is... "SAVAGE" SHADOE RAGE! [A massive pop rises from the crowd, split between cheers and boos, as the lights of the stadium fade to a dull red, and "The Death March" sounds from the stadium's P.A. Several spotlights sweep the crowd before training themselves on the entrance to the aisle, barely in time to catch Shadoe Rage as he storms through the curtain! Rage, having eschewed his usual flamboyant entrance attire in favour of his normal ring tights, looks like a man possessed, every muscle in his body coiled into a tight spring, his hands clenched into hard fists, and a wild gleam in his eyes as he strides down he aisle towards the ring. Even the statuesque Marissa Monet is having trouble keeping up with Rage as he quickly covers the distance to the ring and climbs in, disregarding the presence of the mines entirely as he storms around the ring, his arms held to the sky, bathing in the moment as all 85,000 fans in the arena respond to his presence with another loud pop. Referee Earl Alfonso moves over to check Rage over, but the Haligonian brushes the official off as he spots Steve Roberts at ringside, and grabs the ring mic from Sparky, training his intense, wild gaze on the "Soundbite" from the ring.] TD: Shadoe Rage seems right on the edge in anticipation of this monumental match and... well, it appears that Mr. Rage has some words for _you_, Steve Roberts. SR: Sorry kid, I ain't got time to teach you the Asai Moonsault now. Not that it would do you a hell of a lot of good... [Shadoe Rage just stares at Roberts for long moments, as the announcer just smirks back at him, then Rage's lips curl back in a twisted sneer, and he bellows into the microphone.] RAGE: ROBERTS! Take a good look at me, "Soundbite"! Take a good look at the _NEXT_ IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION! [Roberts just rolls his eyes and waves off Rage, but the intense Canadian continues his rant against the announcer, as the crowd buzzes with excitement.] I am the FUTURE! I am the SALVATION! I am the SAVIOR of the IIWF! Today, Steve Roberts... TODAY is the day that I will REWRITE the face of this federation! I shall unleash the Rage of God himself within this very stadium, and with a wave of my hand I shall CLEAR AWAY the IIWF of old, and usher in a NEW era in the history of this league! And Steve Roberts... Steve Roberts, when I pin Steve Kowalski's shoulders to the mat tonight, when I have stripped the Fury of the IIWF Heavyweight Title, when I smash to PIECES the legend of the "Fury" with the Hammer of God... ...you WILL get up out of that seat... ...you WILL climb up here into this ring... ...and in front of this crowd, and in front of the millions who are watching all over the world tonight... ...you WILL recognise Shadoe Rage as the one, true, BLACK JESUS of the IIWF! [The crowd reacts to this with a surprised pop, and Roberts just shakes his head with mock amusement as Rage continues to stare a hole through him, then he turns and drops the mic with a loud THUNK!, moving to his corner and submitting to Alfonso's inspection as Lee scrambles to recover the mic.] TD: Well! Shadoe Rage seems quite confident of victory here tonight, so much so that he has issued a challenge, or perhaps more properly, a _demand_, of you, Steve Roberts! SR: Let me tell you something, Dross-man. Rage can go, I'll give him that, but one, he ain't got what it takes to beat Steve F'n Kowalski, so two, he _damn_ well don't got what it takes to be the Black Jesus, baby dolls. TD: So even if Shadoe Rage wins the IIWF World Title here tonight, you wouldn't be... I can't believe I'm even _talking_ about this... you wouldn't be willing to bestow upon him the title of the "Black Jesus"? SR: Dross... even _if_ Rage pins Kowalski, then goes down to the local rubbedy and downs fifty gallons of Special Brew, proceeds to beat up the entire Newcastle United side, and then goes down to the West End and shags the entire female Asian cast of Miss Saigon, he _still_ ain't no Black Jesus. TD: High standards, indeed. Let's go back up to the ring for the champion's introduction... SL: And now, ladies and gentlemen, introducing his opponent... [A chant of "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!" begins to rise from the crowd.] SL: He hails from Newark, New Jersey, and weighs in at 268 pounds... [The "SKULL-PUMP!" chant gets louder, and many fans begin screaming wildly.] SL: He is the reigning IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION! [Huge pop from the crowd.] SL: Here is the "New Jersey Nightmare", STEVE "THE FURY" KOWALSKI! [The pop from the crowd begins to approach the pain threshold as "Don't Fear the Reaper" blasts from the P.A. and Steve "The Fury" Kowalski, chewing on his trademark cigar and running a hand along the thick stubble of his chin and jaw, steps through the curtain to a massive ovation from the crowd! In the ring, Shadoe Rage turns his piercing stare towards Kowalski as the IIWF Champion takes his time in coming down the aisle, looking as relaxed as can be, the absolute antithesis of Rage, who is wound tighter than a steel spring. Across the Fury's shoulder is draped the glittering IIWF Heavyweight Title belt, and as Kowalski reaches the ring, he folds up the belt and places it on the timekeeper's table, cracking "I'll be back fer this directly" before climbing into the ring to another hearty pop from the fans. Shadoe Rage glares sullenly at the champion, but Kowalski is all smiles as he winks at his young challenger, and beckons to Sparkplug Lee for the ring mic.] TD: There is the IIWF Champion, and I have to say, Steve Roberts, that never have I seen Steve Kowalski look so cool and collected, especially in an event as monumental as Ring Wars 5. He's up against a tough challenger here, but it's as if... you know, you hear professional athletes refer to being in "the zone", well, I believe that's where Steve "The Fury" Kowalski is right now. That man is just on an incredible roll, and he's shown no signs of slowing down. SR: Absolutely, Dross. And even the Fury don't rate as the Black Jesus. Though he's damn close. Rage, you still got a _lot_ of learnin' to do, punk. [Sparky hands the mic off to the Fury, then quickly clears out of the ring as Kowalski strides to the centre of the ring and squares off against Rage.] SK: Take off the reins, Jackass, the rough rider is here! [Big Fury pop!] This is it...this is where it all happens. Are ya ready?! I'm gonna open the hurt locker door an' let yer ass in! I been sittin' back listenin' to the [BLEEP] that's been spewin' outta yer piehole! Yer brother told me once, that ya consider yerself an' enemy to the world. Is that a fact? Well, punk, ya walked into _my_ world! [Another huge pop from the crowd!] An' I am _yer_ enemy! [The crowd is at a frenzied pitch, hanging on Kowalski's every word. The Fury steps a little closer.] 'Fore we get it on, I wanna lay some advice on ya. The same advice Brody Thunder it me with after he bent a crowbar over me. He said, "Son, after what I did to ya tonight... ya'll be famous. But to walk in my boots... to wear my hat... to take my belt... yer gonna hafta be _infamous_!" [Crowd Explosion!] Let's start this right... [Kowalski snaps his fingers, and suddenly, from the announcers' table, Steve Roberts stands up and tosses him a roll of quarters! Before Rage can do anything, he is levelled by a quartered-heavy right fist! Pop! Change scatters all over the ring and Rage drops to the canvas, clutching at his jaw, as Kowalski fires off some parting comments.] SK: Jus' wanted to get that in 'fore the bell rang an' I get DQ'ed! [Kowalski then tosses the mic out of the ring as Earl Alfonso hastily calls for the bell to begin the match... Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Steve Roberts! What on Earth was THAT all about? SR: Just like last time, Drossy. I keep the Fury in quarters, and he keeps the Soundbite in Mooselips. I'm having a kegger this time around, baby dolls. TD: Well, however cheaply your "services" may be procured... SR: Hey! That stuff's brewed with only the finest Saskatchewan hops, I'll have you know... TD: Steve Kowalski has managed to get the first, and what should be the _only_ cheap shot of this match! This match is now officially under way, and any further tactics like that will result in a disqualification for either man! SR: And Poppa Soundbite's gonna be waitin' for what's got to be the world's first Exploding Skullpump! I LOVE this stuff, Drossy! [Marissa Monet quickly climbs over the guardrail and into her reserved seat at ringside, not wanting to get her man disqualified, as Kowalski circles around Rage, who has risen to his knees, trying to shake off the effects of the Fury's loaded fist, and Kowalski rushes at Rage and sends him sprawling across the ring with a vicious running knee lift! Big Fury pop! Monet is screaming at Rage to bail out, and Rage does just that, rolling under the bottom rope and landing on the outside of the ring, still trying to regain his bearings.] TD: Kowalski has rocked Shadoe Rage with those two quick strikes, and the challenger is looking for some time to regroup here! SR: The kid's not looking too good right off the bell, and now the Fury's goin' up the turnbuckle, Dross! Air Kowalski, coming up! [As Rage staggers about on the outside, the Fury rushes up the turnbuckles and launches himself off at the Nova Scotian, his arms in front of him for a flying axehandle... and Shadoe Rage catches him! The crowd explodes as Rage converts the Fury's momentum into a huge powerslam, smashing him through one of the tables at ringside!] TD: Good Lord! SR: Rage was playin' possum, Dross! He suckered the Fury! TD: Shadoe Rage just drove Steve Kowalski through the first table with incredible force, and... and they're both getting up! [Rage is the first to rise from the powerslam, grinning at Monet, and then rushing over to another table near to him and tilting it up on its side, then he rushes back to where the Fury is still pulling himself to his feet, and lays him out again with a lightning-quick savate kick to the side of he head! Kowalski snaps back to the concrete, but he's not there long, as Rage pulls him up roughly and runs him across the aisle, and drives the Fury's head into the stood-up table with a loud CRACK! Pop!] TD: Rage is asserting himself well now, Steve, and he is making full use of these tables that are set up all around this ring to punish Steve Kowalski. SR: C'mon, Fury! Don't take that crap from that punk! TD: You've got money on this one, don't you, Steve. SR: So much that you'd be sick if I told you, Dross-man. I figured it was a sure thing! Get up, Kowalski! [Monet warns Rage that his time is running out, and he grabs Kowalski and shoves him back into the ring, rolling under the bottom rope just as Alfonso counts nine. Rage immediately pulls Kowalski to his feet and sets him up for a piledriver, but before he can hoist the Fury up, Kowalski blocks the move! Big pop! Rage tries a second time... and suddenly, Wembley Stadium is immediately blanketed in darkness as all the lights in the stadium go out! Mass groan from the crowd!] TD: We have total darkness here in Wembley! SR: _This_ is where Rage and Kowalski are both gonna get around those "virtue rules", Dross. The ref can't call what he can't see, and right now we can't see anything! TD: Here come the lights again, and... oh my goodness! [The stadium fills with light just as quickly as it was blacked out just moments before, and now Shadoe Rage is squirming on the canvas, screaming and clutching at his eyes! Alfonso immediately runs over to Kowalski and begins threatening him with disqualification, but Kowalski just brushes him off, and scoops up the stricken Rage with a broad grin on his face.] TD: It looks as if Steve Kowalski did indeed take advantage of that blackout to get in an illegal shot of some sort on Shadoe Rage, Steve. SR: I don't know what Alfonso's getting all upset about. He's just as blind when the lights are _on_. TD: Big backbreaker from the Fury, and now he looks like he's setting up for a fallaway slam! [Kowalski hoists up Rage, and taking a step back, heaves the Haligonian high in the air and over his head, sending Rage flying into an opposite corner, and as the instant that Rage hits the canvas... BOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM! The explosion reverberates throughout Wembley, and the crowd's reaction rivals the nose of the blast itself as Kowalski is knocked off of his feet by the concussion, and Shadoe Rage bounces again before coming to rest, lying motionless several feet from where he landed initially! A dark red welt the size of a saucer now marks his back where the landmine exploded under him!] SR: Holy {BLEEP]! TD: Shadoe Rage is the victim of the first landmine! The blast from that mine was intense enough to knock Steve Kowalski off his feet several feet away! SR: And it's a good thing you're not wearing that ferret anymore, Dross-man, or else the guy back in the twenty-third row would be sportin' it now! [Kowalski pulls himself up, shaking his head and laughing in disbelief at the force of the explosion, and makes his way over to Shadoe Rage, who still has not moved. The Fury drags Rage to his feet, and shouts out "Hell, that was so much fun, we oughtta do it again!" and walks Rage across the ring into a corner, where he slaps a facelock on the challenger and heaves him up onto the top turnbuckle!] TD: Superplex! Kowalski's setting rage up for a superplex! SR: A superplex onto a land mine! I LOVE this match, Drossy! We gots to do this every week! [Rage slumps on top of the turnbuckle as Kowalski climbs up to the second rope, and as the crowd cheers wildly, facelocks Rage once again and prepares to heave him off of the corner. But just as Kowalski begins to pull Rage up... out go the lights again! TD: Blackout! [Suddenly, in the darkness, over the cheering capacity crowd, a loud CRASHHH! is heard!] SR: What the hell was that? TD: The lights are fading up again now and... BOTH WRESTLERS ARE DOWN! [As the lights fill the stadium once again, the camera picks up a shot of Shadoe Rage and Steve Kowalski, lying stunned side-by-side outside of the ring, surrounded by the wreckage of another table! Incredible pop from the Wembley fans, who cheer their favourites on as the two wrestlers lie motionless for long moments!] TD: Incredible! Shadoe Rage must have blocked that superplex attempt somehow, and sent both Kowalski and himself over the top rope and through that table! Both of these men have already sustained unbelievable punishment in this match! SR: And there's a lot more to come, Dross! We still got a few tables left, and a _whole_ lotta land mines! [Shadoe Rage is the first to rise from the wreckage of the table, and staggers around for a moment to clear his head before turning his attention to the still-stunned Kowalski, who looks clearly disoriented as he struggles to his knees. Rage moves over to the Fury and tries to set him up for a powerbomb onto the concrete, but suddenly, Kowalski's right hand comes from out of nowhere, with a steel table leg clenched in his fist, and he decks Rage with the object, dropping him to the floor as the crowd goes crazy!] TD: That was illegal! Kowalski just blatently violated the "virtue" stipulation! We have a new champion! SR: No we DON'T, Dross! The virtue rules don't include the use of the tables, so Kowalski can use a _piece_ of a table if he wants! TD: Earl Alfonso hasn't called for the bell... SR: Probably because he didn't _see_ anything... TD: ...so it would appear that your interpretation of the rules is indeed correct, Steve Roberts. But the presence of that loophole is not good news for Shadoe Rage, who has had difficulty sustaining any momentum in this match thus far. [Kowalski struggles to his feet, ignoring Rage on the floor, and makes his way over to the last remaining table, dragging it over to where Rage is lying on the concrete. As the crowd looks on in confusion, Kowalski begins to fold up one side of the table, unlocking the legs and pushing them against the tabletop. He then grabs hold of rage's right wrist, and jams his hand between one of the legs and the bottom of the table!] TD: What the devil is he doing? SR: He's sandwiching Rage's hand in the folding leg of that table, Dross, and now he's lying the table down on the floor... wait a second... TD: No... he _can't_ be serious... SR: [beaming] God bless you, Steve Kowalski. [As Rage still lies semiconscious, his right hand jammed under the table between the leg and the tabletop, Kowalski climbs up onto the apron, and as the crowd holds its collective breath, leaps off of the apron, and crashes into the top of the table with a senton splash! Shadoe Rage SCREAMS in agony as his right hand is crushed between the steel leg and the tabletop!] TD: Oh no, Steve Roberts! Kowalski may have just broken Shadoe Rage's hand with that manoeuvre! What brutality from the Fury! SR: That's a smart move, Dross. Kowalski doesn't want to get caught in that Hammer of God finisher of Rage's, and he knows that Rage sets up that move with his right hand. No more hand, no more finisher, baby dolls. TD: Nonetheless, that was absolute barbarism on the part of Steve "The Fury" Kowalski, and this young Canadian may suffer permanent injury as a result! [Kowalski cackles as Rage rolls around on the concrete floor, holding his mangled hand close to his chest, and the Fury takes a moment to viciously kick at the injured appendage, drawing more agonised wails from the Haligonian before quickly hauling Rage to his feet and dumping him back inside the ring. Rage lies curled up on the canvas, trying to protect his right hand, but Kowalski instead goes for the turnbuckles again, climbing up the ropes with his back to Rage! Big pop!] TD: Steve Kowalski is attempting a moonsault! SR: The Fury's puttin' on a clinic here tonight, Dross. He's got it all, and Rage is _gettin'_ it all! I'll say this for the guy, it's a miracle Rage is even still breathing! [Kowalski reaches the top, balances himself on the top ropes, checks behind him to make sure Rage is still in place, and with an awkward-looking but serviceable bounce on the ropes, launches himself into the air! The crowd pops wildly, and flashbulbs go off all over Wembley as the Fury arcs backwards through the air towards Rage, but the flashing lights are suddenly the only illumination in the stadium as the house lights cut out once again, while Kowalski is in mid-air! The blackout lasts only a fraction of a second, though, as a bright flash erupts in the centre of the ring, followed by a resounding BOOOOOOMMMMMMM! that rocks Wembley Stadium once again! Incredible pop from the crowd, as the house lights slowly fade up again, revealing Shadoe Rage curled in a corner, still protecting his injured hand, while Steve Kowalski lies face-up in the middle of the ring, an angry, smouldering welt tattooed on his chest after missing the moonsault and impacting directly on a land mine!] TD: He missed! He missed! Shadoe Rage managed to roll out of the way during that quick blackout, and Steve Kowalski landed directly on top of a mine! The Fury is now in serious trouble, he is not moving! SR: Rage is crawling over to Kowalski! He's goin' for the pin! Aw, man, there goes a cool 10 G's... [Rage manages to scrabble over to the prone Kowalski, draping his left arm across the chest of the champion! Earl Alfonso rushes over to make the count -- 1 -- 2 -- Kowalski just kicks out!] SR: Yes! TD: Steve Kowalski narrowly avoids the pin, but neither of these men look as if they're capable of much offence now, Steve Roberts. This has to end soon! [Rage manages to get to his feet, and pulls Kowalski up with him, sending him to the ropes and catching him on the rebound with a shearing clothesline that sends the Fury smashing into the canvas once again! Rage covers again, quicker now, as Alfonso drops -- 1 -- 2 -- kickout! Gaining momentum now, Shadoe Rage scoops Kowalski up and _plants_ him into the canvas with a teeth-rattling powerbomb! Another cover -- 1 -- 2 -- Kowalski gets his foot on a rope! Ear-splitting pop from the crowd!] TD: Shadoe Rage is on a roll now, and he is getting closer and closer to that pin! SR: I gotta admit, Dross, I'm in awe right now... Rage has taken enough punishment in this match to stop an eighteen-wheeler, and he's still going strong! Where does this guy get it? TD: Maybe you should rethink that "Black Jesus" thing, Steve. SR: Now, just hold on a moment... [In the ring, Rage tries to wrap his shattered right hand around Kowalski's face to set him up for the Hammer of God, but as he applies the claw, searing pain shoots through his right hand and forearm, and he quickly relinquishes the hold, letting Kowalski slump back to the canvas. Frustrated, Rage begins viciously putting the boots to the downed champion, to a chorus of boos from the Furies at ringside.] TD: Rage is incensed! He can't hold up Kowalski with his damaged hand to execute the Hammer Of God! SR: The Fury's tactics worked there, Dross, but he'd better get it together before Rage comes up with something else, and fast! [Finally, Rage pulls Kowalski to his feet and sends him into the ropes, and he dashes to the opposite ropes and bounces off, launching himself into the air with a flying double axehandle! But on the other side, the Fury manages to catch the ropes and hang on, as Rage continues to hurtle through the air, suddenly deprived of his target! Kowalski braces himself as Rage impacts awkwardly into the canvas, followed immediately by an ear-splitting BOOOOOMMMMMMM! and Shadoe Rage s blown several feet back into the air before crumpling into a corner, a black scorch mark creasing his abdomen from another land mine blast! Huge Fury pop!] TD: Another mine has gone off, and Shadoe Rage's run has been halted! SR: The Fury's gotta capitalise now, Dross! The way this rage guy's been battling here tonight, he might just keep getting up! He's gotta be thinking Skullpump now! [Roberts is absolutely right, as Kowalski looks to the audience and draws his thumb across his throat, and the 85,000 strong Wembley crowd responds with a thundering chant of "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!" as the champion slowly makes his way over to the downed Rage, pulls him slowly to his feet, and hooks both of Rage's arms! The atmosphere is electric, the crowd can sense a victory is now only moments away, and at ringside, a very worried-looking Marissa Monet leaps to her feet, biting her lip and wringing her hands, as if contemplating an irrational act in her head.] TD: Here it comes! SR: Put the tick out of our misery, Fury! TD: Tick? SR: Yeah, Rage reminds me of that Tick guy -- he's nigh-invulnerable, Dross. Except to a Skullpump. [Kowalski locks in the double undercook, and Rage now shows no sign of trying to resist the move, his energy nearly spent. The Fury is running on empty now as well, and he can be heard wheezing for breath, but he grits his teeth and marshals his strength for one last move. Kowalski suddenly coils inward, plants his feet, strains against Rage's body weight as the challenger's feet begin to rise off the mat... ...and the lights go out! TD: Good grief! We've got another blackout! SR: These things have _lousy_ timing, Dross. Who's the moron working the lights? TD: I believe the lights are actually controlled by a computer, Steve, and they're set for a random... wait a minute, did you hear that? [From up at ringside, a sharp CRACK! suddenly rings out, echoing across the vast expanse of Wembley Stadium, followed by the clanging of a metal object bouncing on concrete.] SR: Did he hit it? Did Kowalski land the Skullpump, Dross? [As the lights begin to fade up again, we see Steve Kowalski, rolling around on the canvas, clutching at the back of his head! On the mat, Shadoe Rage lies face-up, his chest heaving, but appearing to be coming around, apparently having escaped the Skullpump. A quick cutaway to the ringside area shows a shot of Marissa Monet, appearing to be climbing back over the guardrail and back into her seat!] TD: What the... Kowalski has been cold-cocked! How did Rage manage to do that? SR: Rage _nothing_, Dross! It was Monet! She must have climbed in the ring in the blackout and whacked Kowalski with one of those broken table legs! Rage ought to be disqualified right now! TD: As you stated earlier though, Steve, Alfonso can't call for the disqualification if he does not see the offence. Another loophole in this "Death In Darkness" match that has been exploited by the participants. SR: Why the hell couldn't Spreadbury issue Alfonso some night-vision goggles for this match? Of course, if the Prez could give Alfonso the power of sight, they'd be calling _Spreadbury_ the Black Jesus... [The two men lie on the mat for several moments, neither man seeming to have the energy to get up, and Alfonso, amid a rising pop from the crowd as they cheer out their support for their favourites, begins a ten count on the two men!] TD: This is incredible! Both of these men have battled to the point of total exhaustion, and it appears that this match may end in a double-countout! Neither man is moving at this point! SR: I knew the Fury was one tough customer, Dross, but Shadoe Rage? These two have traded enough high-quality punishment to beat every single man in the IIWF, and they've beaten each other to a standstill! I dunno, Dross, maybe it's just not Rage's time yet, but he's gone a long way towards impressing the Soundbite tonight. TD: Black Jesus? SR: [grumbling] He's _still_ a loudmouth... [Alfonso's count reaches six, and it is Shadoe Rage who now begins to stir, Shadoe Rage who pulls himself slowly to his hands and knees, shaking off the cobwebs and looking around the ring, trying to clear the haze from his vision and call upon whatever reserve of strength he has left to make one last attempt at a pin. Rage spots Kowalski, still holding his head, and begins to crawl over to him, as the crowd responds to his gutsiness with a loud pop, and drapes himself over the fallen champion, this time hooking a leg with his left arm. Alfonso drops down for the count -- 1 -- 2 -- Kowalski _just_ kicks out! Insane pop!] TD: Another near-fall for Shadoe Rage! What incredible fortitude from this youngster! SR: He's getting real close now, Dross, even if he might have got some help from his wa-wa down there. Kowalski looks spent, and I say "looks" 'cause the Soundbite ain't never _seen_ Kowalski spent before! I can't believe I'm gonna say this, Dross -- whoever gets the win here tonight, _deserves_ it. TD: That's an incredible admission on your part, Steve Roberts. SR: Yeah, well, it's ten to three in the morning, plus I'm jet-lagged. I can't be held responsible for what I say on this show anymore, Dross. [Rage rises to his feet once more, pulling Kowalski up to his feet with him, and for a moment, the two opponents just stand in the middle of the ring, leaning against each other as if they were literally holding one another upright. Shadoe Rage stares into the eyes of his opponent for long seconds, and Kowalski just stares back, as if the battle between the two men has suddenly gone from the physical world to the mental. The crowd is going insane, cheering wildly for the two warriors, all partisan support seemingly gone now as they voice their appreciation of the valour displayed by these two athletes. Then, after an indeterminable amount of time, Rage suddenly whips out his _left_ hand, and seizes the Fury's face in a clawhold! Huge pop!] TD: He's going for the Hammer Of God! Shadoe Rage is going for a _left-handed_ Hammer Of God! SR: No! TD: It might not be as effective a move from his left side, but at this point in this incredible match, it may be enough! We may see a new champion crowned in seconds! [Shadoe rage lets loose with an ear-splitting bellow that manages to cut through even the overwhelming roar of the 85,000 at Wembley Stadium, and with his last iota of strength, heaves Steve Kowalski head-first off the mat, snaps him over his head, and DRIVES the Fury's head into the canvas! INCREDIBLE POP! The crowd is on its feet, the cheers blurring into white noise, Marissa Monet holds her hands in front of her face and prays, as "Savage" Shadoe Rage collapses to the mat, completely spent, and crawls over to the motionless IIWF Champion! Earl Alfonso rushes over as Rage weakly drags an arm across the chest of the Fury... ...and the lights go out once more! Huge GROANNN! from the crowd, echoed by Steve Roberts, who screams his frustration to the four winds in the pitch darkness of the stadium!] TD: Good God, no! He's got him! He's got Kowalski dead to rights! SR: Alfonso can't count the pin if he can't see the pin, Dross! How the hell can this happen now? I can't take this anymore! TD: But if Kowalski is indeed finished, Rage may still get the pinfall when the lights come up! We may _still_ see a new champion! [The lights slowly begin to fade up on the ring, and 85,000 necks crane to get a better look at just what is happening on the mat. The crowd noise falls away to hushed murmurs as people squint to make out the forms of the two wrestlers in the ring.] TD: Once these lights come up all the way, we will see a new IIWF Champion crowned! I'm sure of it, Steve Roberts! [The hushed murmurs of the crowd give way to a buzz of confusion, as two faint forms can now be seen _standing_ in the middle of the ring... The lights come up a little more... And the confused buzz gives way to an 85,000 STRONG TUMULTUOUS POP, and a familiar chant begins to ring out again and again throughout cavernous Wembley Stadium... A chant of "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!' Steve "The Fury" Kowalski, incredibly, is back on his feet, and has the arms of "Savage" Shadoe Rage underhooked once again! Every single person in the crowd is on their feet, bouncing up and down, as Kowalski, sweat pouring down his face, fights off one last, valiant attempt by Rage to power out of the hold, grits his teeth, plants his feet into the mat...] SR: [whispering] Come on Fury, pull it out... [...and heaves Rage into the air! Pop! Rage is nearly six feet off the canvas before Kowalski yanks down hard, snapping Rage in the air like a rag doll... and PLANTS Rage into the canvas! BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMM!] TD: GOOD LORD! [There is a blinding flash, and both Kowalski and Rage fly back into the air, split-seconds after Kowalski Skullpumped Shadoe Rage directly on top of the final land mine! The crowd's wild popping changes to gasps of horror, as the smoke begins to clear in the ring, revealing Shadoe Rage, stunned, lying face-up on the canvas, his scalp singed and a freely-flowing wound on the back of his head staining the canvas crimson!] TD: Oh my goodness! This is terrible, Steve Roberts! Shadoe Rage was just Skullpumped on top of a mine! He may be seriously injured down there! SR: That was incredible, Dross! An Exploding Skullpump! Man, it was so much better live than I imagined it would be! There's no way Rage is gonna kick out of that! Kowalski could pin him for a hundred count now! [Nearby, Steve Kowalski is on his knees, staring across at Shadoe Rage, shaking his head both at the youngster's incredible tenacity, and at the unbelievable punishments endured by both wrestlers during this gruelling contest, but there must be an end, and Steve Kowalski drags himself over to where "Savage" Shadoe Rage lies motionless, his eyelids fluttering, his chest, scored by numerous welts and blast-marks, heaving, and after one more moment of thoughtful contemplation, Kowalski covers and hooks the leg... Earl Alfonso drops for the count... ...his hand hits the canvas once... ...twice... ...and, just before Shadoe Rage suddenly kicks out of the pin with a last, desperate gasp... ...three times. Time seems frozen for what seems like forever, as Steve Kowalski stares at Rage with a mixture of wonder, amazement, and finally, deep down... respect. Rage's eyes meet Kowalski's from the mat for the briefest of moments, then his eyelids flutter closed, and he slips into unconsciousness, finally succumbing to the incredible punishment he has absorbed, and the subconscious realisation that the day, _this_ day at least, has been lost. Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner... ...and _STILL_ IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION... ...STEVE "THE FURY" KOWALSKI! ["Don't Fear The Reaper" blasts from the P.A., but it is impossible to be heard over the 85,000 screaming fans in Wembley Stadium, cheering, crying, chanting, "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!" as Alfonso steps over to the timekeepers' table, collects the IIWF Heavyweight Title belt, and hands it to Steve Kowalski. The Fury regards the belt for a long moment, looking very tired, then finally raises it in the air over his head, parading around the ring as the fans go absolutely insane! In the middle of the ring, Shadoe Rage is just beginning to come around, and Marissa Monet quickly vaults the barricades, scrambling in the ring to attend to her fallen man. Monet is trying desperately to hold her emotions in check as she holds Rage's head up, looking for the cut in his hair, inspecting his many bruises and burns suffered at the hands of tables and land mines., while Kowalski continues to celebrate up on the turnbuckles, swinging the belt over his head in jubilation for all of Wembley to see.] TD: What an incredible match, Steve Roberts. SR: Thank God it's over, Dross. Thank God it's over. TD: Steve "The Fury" Kowalski -- has there ever been a more compelling story in the IIWF than the one currently being written by this man? -- has scored one of the biggest victories in the history of this federation here tonight, but to be fair, his accomplishment, as improbable as it sounds, has been eclipsed by the gutsiness, the tenacity, the indomitable fighting spirit of "Savage" Shadoe Rage, who absorbed more punishment in this match than any man I have ever seen, Steve Roberts, and kept on fighting right down to the final bell. This is a man who has, despite injuries, faced down the likes of Serge Annis, Mad Dog Watkins, Gunnar Gaines, but just came up a hair short tonight against the IIWF Champion. Perhaps tonight was just not his time, but after tonight's performance, you have to think that his time will come in the very near future. He gave it his all, tonight, and he certainly deserves more than to walk out of here with a loss tonight. [The wild celebrations continue within the huge stadium, the fans continue to chant and cheer, as Kowalski steps down from the turnbuckles, the fatigue beginning to wash over him now, and he turns to step through the ropes and exit the stadium, but the scene in the middle of the ring catches his eye, and he pauses to look on as Shadoe Rage and Marissa Monet are on their knees, locked in an embrace in the middle of the ring. Monet is choking back tears, trying her best to comfort and reassure Rage, but it is Rage who is the comforter here, trying to console Monet and telling her that everything's all right, even after the incredible beating he has just withstood. Kowalski seems rooted to the spot as he continues to watch this scene play out, and at ringside, Steve Roberts can be heard audibly grumbling.] TD: What a heartbreaking moment this must be for Shadoe Rage and... Steve? What are you muttering about? SR: I can't believe I'm gonna do this... TD: Do what? SR: Just remember, Dross, it's late and I'm exhausted. I'm not responsible for what I'm about to do, okay? [Roberts abruptly stands up, removes his headset, and strides to ringside, collecting the ring mic from Sparkplug Lee before climbing into the ring, standing in front of Shadoe Rage and Marissa Monet, who rise to their feet in surprise.] SR: I just got one thing to say to you, Rage. I still don't like you. [The crowd begins to boo Roberts, and Rage blinks, shocked at Roberts' apparent impudence, but Roberts holds his hands up for quiet, and continues.] Yeah, I still think you're a loudmouth, overblown, sequin-wearing freak of nature. [A single fan in the crowd shouts out "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!", and is quickly hissed quiet by the hundreds of other fans around him. Roberts nods at the fan, an continues.] SR: But tonight, you put one one of the finest displays of courage, of toughness, of guts, hell, of downright _manliness_ that the Double Eye has ever seen, baby dolls. [Huge pop from the crowd, as Rage and Monet stare at the Soundbite in disbelief, and behind Roberts, Kowalski allows a small smile to cross his lips, and silently slips through the ropes and up the aisle to the exit, deferring the moment to Roberts and Rage.] SR: Yeah, you put up a helluva fight tonight. And it ain't right that you have to walk out of here empty-handed. [Roberts grins, and rolls his eyes at what he is about to say.] SR: So, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present to you: "Savage" Shadoe Rage... ...the "BLACK JESUS" of the IIWF! [The crowd breaks out in one of the most deafening pops of the night, as Steve Roberts walks over to a stunned Shadoe Rage and raises his hand, taking a moment to relish the appreciation of the 85,000 fans in Wembley Stadium as they cheer for Shadoe Rage, the IIWF's Black Jesus, before stepping through the ropes and rejoining Tim Dross at ringside. The crowd continues to cheer for Rage, as he punches the air, holding his arms high in the centre of the ring, soaking in the standing ovation of this vocal British crowd as it washes over him, before taking Monet's hand, and the two of them raise their arms high to another big pop!] TD: Steve Roberts... I can't believe what you just did. That was... well, it was very touching. SR: Can it, Dross. Anybody can be a Black Jesus -- just look at the Dominican minor league baseball system. Only one man in history can be the "Soundbite"... and you're lookin' at him, baby dolls. Any other title would just be redundant. TD: Sentimental as always, Steve. Well folks, that about wraps it up here in Wembley Stadium, London, England! It's well after three in the morning here now, the crowd is _still_ on its feet here cheering for Shadoe Rage, and I can't remember _ever_ being this exhausted after an IIWF pay-per-view event, and I assure you that this has absolutely nothing to do with the time difference! SR: I know why _I'm_ exhausted, Dross. You know who Melinda Messenger is? TD: I can't say that I do, Steve. SR: Wait'll I get the film developed when we get home. I think you'll like her, Dross-man. TD: Whatever, Steve Roberts. Folks, this may indeed go down in history as one of the greatest, it not _the_ greatest IIWF pay-per-view event of all time! We have seen new champions crowned, we have seen old champs retain their titles, but most importantly, we have seen well over three straight hours of the finest wrestling to be found anywhere in the world! SR: Amen! Tell it like it is, buddy! TD: We are out of time, so for my broadcast colleague "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, this is Tim Dross, saying: so long from Wembley! ["Rule, Britannia" plays over a wide angle shot showing the capacity crowd at Wembley still on its feet, still cheering for "Savage" Shadoe Rage, Black Jesus of the IIWF, who has taken to the turnbuckles, pumping his fists in the air and uncharacteristically smiling from ear to ear, as Marissa Monet just looks on from inside the ring, arms folded and eyes wide. The camera pans up the aisle and comes to rest of Steve "The Fury" Kowalski, still the IIWF Champion, his title belt resting on his shoulder, watching the proceedings from the exit. Kowalski scratches his stubble, shaking his head and grinning, then finally turns and disappears through the curtain. The shot switches to a helicopter shot of Wembley Stadium, filled to capacity, glowing with thousands of lights, and louder than the FA Cup Final, as the party within the stadium rages on and the shot 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+