________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour one...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon 11 April 1998 [The opening graphics fade through to interior shots of the jam-packed IIWF Coliseum, fireworks shooting out from either side of the huge video wall above the entranceway at the head of the aisle and streaking up into the rafters above above the ringside enclosure, seemingly triggering further fireworks, and sending a rain of white sparks down into the ring. Finally, flames shoot up from each of the four corners of the ring from pyros mounted on the ringposts. Huge pop from the twenty thousand plus fans crowding the floor seating and filling the mezzanine, lining the entire arena. The shot pans down past row upon row of excited faces, young and old, many bedecked in IIWF merchandise, and most waving home-made signs. Over these scenes comes the voice of Tim Dross, his words being carried over the PA system:] TD: Welcome everybody to Portland, Oregon! [Huge hometown pop!] TD: Welcome everybody to the home of the world's number one wrestling organisation! [Another huge pop, and a chant of "I-I-W-F! I-I-W-F!" erupts. The shot pans over the fans once again, to a man each and every one pumping his or her fist into the air in time with the rafter-shaking chant. Dross has to shout even louder over this huge noise:] TD: Welcome... to the IIWF Coliseum! [Another big pop, the chants of "I-I-W-F!" continuing.] TD: Welcome... to another _live_ and _loud_ edition of IIWF Saturday Night! [Another huge cheer goes up from the fans as the shot swings over the crowd, multi-coloured spotlights in the rigging above the ring casting their bright beams over the sea of humanity ranged over the floor of the hall. As the showers of sparks subside, the shot cuts to the ring, where Tim Dross, bedecked in his usual navy blue blazer and IIWF necktie, his bald pate shining in the bright overhead lights, is standing with a microphone.] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, will you please welcome my guest at this time... the IIWF President... Mr. Daniel Spreadbury! [Sting's "Jeremiah Blues (Part One)" kicks in over the PA as the lights above the ring cast spinning IIWF logos onto the canvas, and in a haphazard trail up the aisle. The curtains part, and out steps the IIWF President, dressed smartly in a blazer, and carrying a briefcase. He is accompanied to ringside by a pair of orange-shirted IIWF security staff, one of whom is Coliseum Security chief Dennis "Griff" Griffing. The fans give a mixed reaction as the head honcho of the IIWF makes his way down the aisle, climbs the ringsteps, and joins Tim Dross in the ring. The President hands the briefcase to Griffing as the music dies down, and Dross prepares to begin the interview.] TD: Welcome, Mr. President, to the IIWF Coliseum. [Pop from the fans! Spreadbury smiles.] DS: We've travelled all over the world in the past two months, but it certainly is good to be back here in Portland, the home of the greatest wrestling fans on the planet! [Big hometown pop from the twenty thousand packing the Coliseum!] TD: I understand you have some major announcements to make here tonight as the IIWF begins preparations for its next pay-per-view event. DS: Indeed I do, Tim Dross. In just five weeks' time, the IIWF will celebrate its second birthday, and we intend to celebrate in style -- right here in the IIWF Coliseum! [Pop!] On Saturday 16 May, we will proudly present the second annual Birthday Bash, only on pay-per-view. And I'm here tonight to announce two of the matches that will headline that card. Tonight sees the start of two tournaments taking place over the next five weeks as we head into Birthday Bash. The first of these is the sixteen-man invitational "King of the Cruisers" tournament, jointly promoted with Super Japan Pro-Wrestling... and the final of that tournament, the match to crown the undisputed finest cruiserweight in the world, will take place right here at Birthday Bash on May 16! [Big pop!] TD: It's an impressive field battling it out for that prestigious title, Mr. President. DS: Absolutely, Tim. We're deeply honoured and privileged to have superstars from all around the world, from many organisations, here in the IIWF for this tournament. We have representatives from EMWC, from SJPW, from MLWO, from ESWP, from SOW, and a great many other promotions. And of course, the IIWF will be represented by its Cruiserweight Champion, Icehawk... [Huge pop for the mention of the plucky Finn!] ...and "Sanguinary" Steve Manning. [The cheers turn almost instantly to jeers, with the exception of the Sangui-Knights, who whoop and holler wildly.] TD: And the other tournament? DS: Due to the controversial circumstances surrounding the conclusion of the Thames Barge match at Ring Wars 5 in London, England, three weeks ago, I decided to vacate the Intercontinental Championship... [The crowd begins to boo loudly. President Dan stops speaking, and looks at Tim Dross.] TD: I think you can hear that your decision wasn't a popular one with the fans of the IIWF, Mr. President. DS: Sometimes the right decision isn't the popular one, Tim Dross. [More jeers from the fans.] TD: How do you answer critics who state that, since the Thames Barge match was officially ruled a draw, Duncan Macbeth should still be the Intercontinental Champion? [Big mixed pop at the mention of Duncan Macbeth!] DS: It was the decision of myself and the Special Concerns Committee that the conduct of both Duncan Macbeth and Simon Lebec was not befitting of a Champion of the IIWF. [Yet more jeers. The President shakes his head and continues, raising his voice over the dissent.] The men who carry the IIWF's prestigious championships are supposed to be role models, to be ambassadors for this sport. It was decided that two men who were basically attempting to kill one another, and ended up injuring both themselves and other IIWF employees in one of the most dangerous situations I have ever witnessed, were not worthy champions. TD: But how do you answer criticisms that the blame for the almost tragic circumstances at the end of the Thames Barge match, as the barge exploded against the river bank... with no disrespect, Mr. President, how do you answer criticisms that the blame lies squarely at _your_ feet? After all, wasn't the signing of this match cleared through _your_ office? [Big pop from the fans! The IIWF President shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and pushes his spectacles up his nose.] DS: The decision to sign the Thames Barge match was made after full consultation with the authorities in London, with the IIWF's Executive Committee, and after lengthy petitions by both Duncan Macbeth and Simon Lebec for the stipulations. Believe you me, I'd much rather see the fate of an IIWF Championship settled inside these ropes... and now, it will be. [Mixed pop from the fans. Dross waits for the noise to die down once more.] TD: So you have sanctioned an eight-man tournament to crown a new Intercontinental Champion, which will begin with a battle royal featuring all the eligible wrestlers right here tonight? DS: That's right. In tonight's main event, all of the wrestlers eligible to contend for the Intercontinental Championship will participate in an over-the-top-rope battle royal, until there are just six men standing in the ring. Those six men will then go on to participate in the eight-man single elimination tournament, which will begin right here next Saturday Night. TD: Six men, Mr. President? DS: Six men, Tim Dross. It was felt by the IIWF Championship Committee that since both Duncan Macbeth and Simon Lebec have strong claims to the Intercontinental Championship, they should be granted a bye past tonight's battle royal into the tournament brackets. TD: Despite the fact that both Macbeth and Lebec are considered unfit to hold the Intercontinental Championship by your office -- they will be receiving a bye into the first round of the tournament? DS: This decision was... VOICE: Th' decision was crap on crap... an' more crap on top o' that crap! [Suddenly, the fans erupt with a huge mixed pop as a figure emerges into the aisle.] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, Simon Lebec is on his way down to ringside. [The IIWF President turns to face the aisle, a look of resignation on his face, as his two security guards move to protect him in case of an attack from Lebec. Lebec is on crutches, hobbling out. His face is still badly bruised and scarred from the River Thames match. Lebec coldly stares at the IIWF President, a look of intensity radiating from the glare of his eyes. Lebec wears a zipped-up sweatshirt, with the words "Honest Ed's Used Cars" written on the back. He slowly enters the ring, eyeing the security guards cautiously before stepping iN. Lebec calls for his own mic, balking back Tim Dross before he decides to move. Handed a mic, Lebec points at Spreadbury and begins to speak] SL: Dear Lord, Grant me th' serenity ta accept th' things I cannot change. The courage ta change the things I cannot accept... [Lebec comes nose to nose with the IIWF President] ...an' th' wisdom ta hide th' bodies of those people I have ta kill today 'cause they pissed me off! [HUGE pop from the crowd, as Spreadbury steps back] An' also, help me ta be more careful o' th' toes I step on today, as they may be connected ta th' ass that I might have ta kiss tomorrow. Amen. [Another pop from the crowd as Lebec continues] Only... I ain't never kissed an ass, an' I sure as hell ain't gonna start with yers. So... th' question is... just where here in Portland am I gonna hide th' body? [Another pop from the crowd, as Lebec begins walking toward Spreadbury, stalking him like prey. Spreadbury backs into the corner, as Lebec closes iN. Before he pounces, the two security guards grab the arms of Lebec. Lebec, quick to react, withers his way out of the hold and with the one-two punch quicker than Florida lightning, Lebec drops the two security guards on the spot. Another pop from the crowd as Lebec kicks them both out of the ring, leaving only Spreadbury, Dross, and Lebec standing in the ring. Spreadbury grabs the mic from Dross, both of whom are huddled in the corner of the ring] DS: Mr. Lebec, one more step, and you'll find yourself with a heavy fine and suspension. [Lebec laughs, looking to the crowd, shaking his head] SL: I got me lots o' money, Danny Boy. An' by golly, I'm due fer a vacation too. Yer threats don't scare me. Yer position don't scare me. An' you don't scare me neither. Only thing that scares me... is seeing how far I can shove this here crutch up yer ass wit you still enjoyin' it. [Another HUGE pop from the crowd] I got me some stuff ta say, an' I'm gonna damn well say it. Now, if ya don't wanna be known from now on as th' "Human Woodpecker", I suggest that ya don't int'rupt me no more. [Spreadbury nods, letting Lebec have the floor] Ya say that I ain't no role model? That I ain't no ambassador ta this here sport? That's a load, 'cause I ain't never been what ya wanted me ta be. I ain't never been a "Wrestle Clean" kinda guy. I ain't never kissed yer ass fer a main event spot. Why? [Lebec takes out a cigarette and lights it] 'Cause as messed up as I am... I ain't out pumpin' 'roids like yer poster boy Sampson, an' I ain't out praisin' th' IIWF ta th' rasslin' world like so many others. I still got me some integrity left in there somewhere. An' I'm tryin'... tryin' ta reform. Tryin' ta make a life that's better. Tryin' ta look in th' mirror an' likin' what I see. An' Danny Boy, if that ain't what bein' a role model's all 'bout... then I don't think I wanna be no role model. [Lebec silences, taking a drag of his smoke. Spreadbury is about to say something, when Lebec cautions him not to.] An' th' thing 'bout it is, Danny Boy... I think I am a role model. When I was out on that River Thames, fightin' fer my life... I heard somethin'. Somethin' I ain't never heard 'fore. [Lebec nods] I heard cheers, Danny Boy. Cheers from yer fan base. Cheers o' _MY_ name! Now, unless there was another barge match goin' on that I don't know 'bout, I'm guessin' that them cheers were fer me. I'm guessin' that people wanted ta see me win... become a champeen. [Lebec points his smoke at Spreadbury] But you ain't never wanted that, have ya, Spreadbury? Ain't never wanted ol' Lebec ta get ahead, 'cause th' fate o' yer precious little fed would be placed on m' shoulders. An' who wants a loose screw who doesn't butter yer berries runnin' th' show? [Lebec smiles, pointing to the audience] Fact is... they do. They wanna see me succeed. We all know who came out o' that water last... an' we all know who should be called champeeN. The fans know what sells, Danny Boy. They wanna see a hardcore match involvin' barges, fires, a Scotsman an' a loonie. [Fans pop! Another chant of "I-I-W-F! I-I-W-F!" begins. Lebec looks around at the capacity crowd, and nods before continuing.] An' th' sooner ya realise that, Danny Boy, th' yer gonna see no more debates 'bout who th' best rasslin' fed in th' world is. Th' fact'll be obvious. [Pop from the crowd, as Lebec continues:] I knew th' risks o' th' match. I ain't no dummy. But Danny Boy, some risks are worth takin'. An' if I came out o' that match th' winner, I would have considered th' risk factor zero. Why? [Lebec pauses once more] 'Cause we're rasslers... an' that's what we do. Fight... bleed... sweat... pray... an' DIE... fer th' chance ta be considered th' best at what we do. "Born ta Perform"... till we ain't got nothin' left. It don't mean "Wrestle Clean"... [Lebec unzips his sweatshirt.] It means "Wrestle Hard"! [Lebec takes off his sweatshirt, revealing his own shirt, with the words reading "Wrestle Hard".] An' that's what I do, Danny Boy. I "Wrestle Hard". Rassled hard fer you over two years now. An' so did Macbeth. An' fer it, what did we get? [Lebec looks at Spreadbury in disgust.] A bye in a tourney that shouldn't be goin' on in th' first place. [Lebec shakes his head.] Nope, that ain't right. Ya can't bribe me off wit a bye 'cause I don't take no handouts, an' ya ain't gonna win my respect. But I'll win yers... [Lebec looks down upon Steve Roberts and points:] ...an' yers too, ya malignant lil' bastard! [Pop from the crowd.] SR: [over the headset] Who, little old me? Why, nobody's ever said anything that nice to me. SL: I'm fightin' that battle royal tonight. An' I'm gonna win it too! Then, I'm gonna take th' tourney belt as well. Prove ta ya that I can do it. Prove ta Roberts that I wasn't picked outta no pumpkin patch. Most o' all... prove ta myself that I'm one o' th' best at what I do. So yeah, crutches an' all... you ain't stoppin' me from gettin' in that ring tonight, Danny Boy. 'Cause like th' shirt says, I "Wrestle Hard". [Pop from the crowd as Spreadbury looks around the arena] An'... if Duncan Macbeth is half th' man that I believe he is... he'll rassle tonight... an' "Wrestle Hard." VO: Why dinnae ye tell th' crowd somethin' they DON'T already ken, ye tosser ye? [An incredible pop rises from the crowd as the curtains of the wrestlers' entrance are suddenly flung open, and a dark figure begins to advance down the aisle towards the ring. As spotlights sweep the crowd and train themselves on the newcomer, a mix of cheers and boos threatens to deafen the group in the ring as the imposing figure of Duncan Macbeth becomes visible to the sold-out Coliseum crowd.] SR: [over headset] Here comes D-Mac, and he ain't lookin' too happy. But I gotta say, he's lookin' pretty sharp... nice threads! [Macbeth pauses at the top of the aisle for a moment, allowing the crowd to get a good look at him before he begins a long, deliberately slow trek to ringside, his jade eyes levelling a corrosive gaze not at his old foe Lebec, but at President Spreadbury himself. As Macbeth advances down the aisle, his supporters and detractors alike stop in confusion at the new outfit that the fiery Scot is sporting. His traditional blue-and-white saltire cross tights and red Macbeth tartan kilt are gone, and instead Macbeth is wearing a black Olympic-style wrestling suit with the crimson Lion Rampant of Scotland emblazoned on the chest and red "thistle" stripes about the waist and running down the outside of each leg, resembling a black-and-red version of the Scottish Standard, with black wrestling boots with the lion emblem on the outers. The kilt he is now wearing seems to be made up of several shades of black, and his familiar black motorcycle jacket with the Lion Rampant on the back completes the new ensemble, adding an extra air of menace to the Scot's already fearsome countenance. Jeers of "Traitor!" and "Backstabber!" shouted by fans of Timothy N. Turner can be heard over the cheers of the crowd as Macbeth reaches ringside, but Macbeth either doesn't hear, or doesn't care, as he steps through the ropes, shoots a withering glance towards Lebec, then trains his intense glare on the IIWF President, who gamely tries to meet Macbeth's stare but can't help but glance away after a few seconds. The pop quiets down as Dross tentatively makes his way over to the scowling Scotsman, and offers the mic to the former Intercontinental Champion.] TD: Um... welcome, DuncaN. I can't say that we're surprised by your appearance here, but... [Macbeth holds up a hand to cut Dross off, and he keeps his gaze focused on Spreadbury as he hisses into the mic.] DM: Where's me belt, Mr. President? DS: [glancing down at the security guards] Well, Mr. Macbeth, I really don't think that's any of your concern at the moment... [Macbeth's eyes narrow, and takes a couple of steps towards the President, who stands his ground in the corner, but seems to be looking for the quickest exit out of the ring. Simon Lebec looks on at this scene with amusement, and grinning, even makes a "go get him, boys" gesture to the hapless security guards outside. The guards, having already been embarrassed by Lebec, want absolutely no part of the seething Scotsman at all, and stay outside. Dross tries to calm Macbeth down, but Macbeth just grabs the mic out of Dross' hand and steps to within a few inches of Spreadbury's face, drawing himself up to his full height and glaring down at the bespectacled executive, rage rumbling in his voice.] DM: I'll no' ask ye again, wee man. WHERE'S... ME... BELT? [The crowd pops as Spreadbury merely arches an eyebrow at Macbeth's threatening tone, but shrugs and nods to Dennis Griffing, who opens the briefcase, revealing the IIWF Intercontinental Title in all its glittering glory. The royal blue strap that Macbeth wore as champion has been replaced with its usual black leather, the significance of the change not lost on the Glenfinnan native as he regards his former title with mixed emotions, then turns his attention back to the President.] DM: There it is... th' belt tha' ye say I'm no' "fit" t' hold. 'Tis ironic, is it no'... tha' this wee, four-eyed bean counter was th' only man in th' whole IIWF who could take tha' strap away from me. [Macbeth hands the mic back to Dross, but does not move away from Spreadbury as he folds his thick, sinewy arms in front of his chest and regards the IIWF President with a cold, judging look.] DM: Now, 'tis been a while since Ring Wars 5, an' I've been in Glenfinnan all th' while, sae I'm no' really up t' speed on yuir reasons fer relievin' me o' me title, Mr. President. Would ye care t' enlighten me now -- I'm sure tha' th' people 'ere tonight would like t' ken th' REAL reason! [Pop from the crowd!] TD: Now, Duncan, I think that the President has made himself quite clear... DS: No, Mr. Dross. I'll answer that question. [Spreadbury pushes his glasses up on his nose again, and takes a deep breath before looking up at the tall Scot in front of him.] DS: The men who hold championship titles in the IIWF are expected to act as our ambassadors to the sport of wrestling. The _sport_ being the important word here, Mr. Macbeth. It is the policy of the IIWF to promote _athletic_ excellence, and while I don't deny that you rank among the finest athletes in the IIWF, the image of the Intercontinental Champion standing on the deck of a burning barge, swinging boat-hooks and anchor chains at his opponent, is _not_ one that we wish to display to the wrestling world. I felt that this match could have done irreparable harm to the repute of both the IIWF Intercontinental Title and the IIWF itself. I simply could not allow two men who would willingly participate in a match of this type to be rewarded for their atrocious behaviour with an IIWF title. [Macbeth seems to mull this over as Lebec shakes his head and spits in indignatioN. There is an uneasy silence in the Coliseum for long moments. Then, Macbeth looks up from his pondering, his eyes glittering with pent-up fury, and he grabs the mic away from Dross once again.] DM: Tha's yuir reason? THA's why ye took th' title from me? DS: In a nutshell, Mr. Macbeth, yes. DM: BOLLOCKS! [HUGE pop from the crowd, as Macbeth finally seems to lose his cool, and his exclamation echoes around the Coliseum as Spreadbury shakes his head in a mixture of exasperation and anger at Macbeth's flagrant disregard for the network executives, and Dennis Griffing takes a step forward, ready to intervene as Macbeth's demeanour becomes more and more mercurial. Even Simon Lebec begins to look wary, but he stays in the ring and looks on as Macbeth paces around the ring, trying to sort the chaotic thoughts in his head before looking out over the vast Coliseum crowd.] DM: Would yis like t' ken th' REAL reason why I'm no longer th' Intercontinental Champion? [The crowd responds with an overwhelming affirmative pop, and Macbeth turns back to Spreadbury, jade eyes blazing. The President raises an eyebrow.] DM: Th' REAL reason has NOTHIN' t' do wi' th' reputation o' th' title, or th' league, or th' health o' Lebec or meself. It has NOTHIN' t' do wi' a barge match, or an Explodin' Ring match, or any other kind o' match ye'd care t' name. It has t' do wi' THIS. [Macbeth reaches into the pocket of his leather jacket, and pulls out a crisp new dollar bill, holding it up for everyone in the Coliseum to see. Lebec grins and shouts "Amen, brother!", and the crowd pops wildly as Macbeth crumples the dollar up and flings it at Spreadbury, bouncing it off his chest.] DM: 'Tis _all_ about th' Almighty Dollar, is it no', Mr. President? DS: I fail to see your point, Mr. Macbeth. I think that I've explained myself... DM: [cutting him off] Tell me, Mr. President... wha' were th' final ratin's fer Ring Wars 5? How many people ended up buyin' tha' show? DS: [confused] Well... Ring Wars 5 was certainly a successful event for the IIWF. We did gain quite a good viewer foothold in Europe as a result of the card being held in LondoN. While I don't have the exact figures in my head, I do know that it was the most-watched IIWF event ever. DM: An' I'm guessin' tha' if ye get more viewers, ye get more complaints as well, do ye no'? DS: [beginning to see where Macbeth is going] As a matter of fact, the Thames Barge match set a new record for viewer complaints. People were just appalled at the actions of Mr. Lebec and yourself during that match, Mr. Macbeth. Appalled. DM: 'Twas a _mistake_ for ye t' sanction tha' match then, would ye agree? DS: In retrospect, I would have to say... [long pause] ...yes. It should not have been allowed to go ahead. DM: [raging into the mic] But ye DID allow it, didn't ye? YE let tha' match go ahead, kennin' FULL WELL tha' Lebec an' I weren't goin' t' give quarter, an ye very nearly LOST all those new viewers out there in TV land tha' ye were salivatin' over when they called in an' complained about a wee bit o' blood! So ye had t' DO somethin', didn't ye, t' show wha' a responsible President ye were, t' make yuirself look like a humanitarian, instead o' th' miserable, money-grubbin' weasel ye ARE! Ye [BLEEP]ed up, Spreadbury, an' ye made ME pay th' price! [Incredible pop from the crowd, as Macbeth paces around the ring and the IIWF President shakes his head once more.] DS: I think you're being quite unfair, Mr. Macbeth. This has absolutely _nothing_ to do with money. DM: [bristling] Don't ye DARE presume t' tell me wha's "fair", wee man! [Big pop!] DM: I battled away in this fed fer o'er a bleedin' YEAR, spilt gallons o' me sweat an' blood, put EVERYTHIN' on th' line t' win an' defend tha' title, an' finally ended up puttin' meself in th' hospital t' keep th' Intercontinental Title out o' th' hands o' this Johnny-come-lately 'ere [gestures to Lebec]. An' ye rewarded me fer me pains by STRIPPIN' me o' th' title! Ye dinnae do tha' t' a fighter, Spreadbury. It cheapens 'is efforts, an' it cheapens th' title. [Macbeth raises an eyebrow, and strangely, he grins.] But why dinnae ye PROVE t' me, an' Lebec, an all these people 'ere, tha' vacatin' th' title WASN'T a business decision? [The crowd pops wildly again, and Spreadbury and Dross excange confused looks as Macbeth whips up the crowd, when returns to face off against the President.] DS: I'm afraid I don't understand, Mr. Macbeth. What proof could I possibly offer you? [A thin-lipped smile crosses Macbeth's face.] DM: I heard wha' ye said earlier, about how ye wanted th' Intercontinental Title t' be settled in this ring. An ye've got th' two top contenders fer th' title standin' righ' 'ere in front o' ye. [The crowd pops excitedly as Macbeth gestures to Lebec, who bows mockingly to the President, then turns back to Spreadbury and fixes him with a cold stare.] Sae why dinnae ye jus' ferget about all this "tournament" bollocks, an' let Lebec an' I settle this righ' 'ere an' now? Jus' a simple, no-frills wrestlin' match, regular rules, one fall, an' th' winner takes all! Wha' say ye, Mr. President? [The crowd goes absolutely wild at this suggestion, and very quickly a chant of "RE-MATCH! RE-MATCH! RE-MATCH!" rises from the crowd, reaching deafening levels as Macbeth and Lebec look at each other, and nod. The chant goes on for long moments, as President Spreadbury looks out over the cheering crowd, looking very uneasy, and it is Tim Dross who eventually manages to quiet the crowd somewhat as he steps over to the President and holds up the mic.] TD: Well, Mr. President? What _do_ you say? Will you sanction a rematch for the Intercontinental Title between these two men right now? [Spreadbury and Macbeth stare at each other for what seems like an eternity, the IIWF President obviously very resentful at having been put in this position by the acerbic Scot. The atmosphere is electric as the crowd waits for Spreadbury to speak, the Coliseum quieting down to low whispers and murmurs.] DS: I will do no such thing, Mr. Macbeth. I have made my decision, and that decision is final. [The crowd explodes in a chorus of jeers, and Spreadbury looks around the Coliseum incredulously, then down to the canvas as Macbeth gloats, nodding his head. Lebec utters something derogatory in the President's direction, unheard over the catcalls and boos, and lights up another smoke. Macbeth steps forward, and gestures to Dross to hand him the mic.] DM: I understand, Mr. President. I really do. After all, ye'll no make a DIME if ye have a rematch right now, will ye? No time t' alert th' networks, call TV Guide, get all those fancy adverts on th' telly... from th' business end, havin' a rematch now would be a bleedin' DISASTER! No' t' MENTION all th' money ye'd lose if ye had t' CANCEL yuir big Intercontinental Title tournament! All these people 'ere tonigh' WANT t' see this match, but ye don't give a good goddamn, 'cause th' ticket revenue in this firetrap is barely enough t' keep th' lights on! [More jeers form the crowd, as Spreadbury just stares at Macbeth, obviously too frustrated now to respond to his allegations.] DM: Sae Duncan Macbeth has t' give up th' title so tha' th' great IIWF money machine can keep rollin' along. Well, maybe ye can strip me o' a title, but there's no' a DAMN thing ye can do t' keep me from WINNIN' one! [Pop!] An' startin' TONIGH', tha's EXACTLY wha' I plan t' do! [Big pop!] I'm tellin' ye righ' now, Mr. President, an' everyone 'ere in this building, an' everyone in th' whole IIWF -- soon, VERY soon, I WILL wear IIWF gold around me waist once more, mark me words! [Huge pop from the crowd, as Macbeth hands the microphone back to Tim Dross, and folds his arms in front of his chest again.] TD: So, Duncan, does that mean that you will be following Simon Lebec's example, and fighting in the battle royal later this evening? [Macbeth looks at Dross as if he'd just asked him if the sky was purple.] DM: "Followin' LEBEC's example"? Aye, as if I NEED t' follow th' example o' a syphilitic scunner who can't tell th' difference 'twixt cheerin' an' th' ringin' in 'is ears from bein' under me boots, an' who thinks tha' "Wrestle Hard" is some revolutionary new concept! Let me tell ye, th' LAST person on Earth who needs t' tell Duncan Macbeth how t' "Wrestle Hard" is tha' tosser there. By th' way, nice disappearin' act ye pulled before Ring Wars, "Showstopper". I can only assume ye were in kirk, prayin' t' God t' save ye from me, wha'. O'course, if I knew then wha' I ken now, I'd have taken it easy, as well. [Macbeth looks back to Dross, and then across the legions of fans that pack the IIWF Coliseum, perhaps not believing what he is about to say, but he then looks Dross straight in the eye, and makes his next statement in a strong, confident baritone.] Th' answer t' yuir question, Tim Dross, is NO. I'll no' be wrestlin' in th' battle royal tonigh'. [The crowd responds to this revelation with a loud, disappointed pop, as Macbeth turns his scathing gaze back to President Spreadbury. Lebec shakes his head, audibly calling the Scot "gutless", and some jeers from the crowd can now be heard, but Macbeth takes no notice as he continues to glare at the IIWF President. Dross waits for the commotion to die down, then raises the mic once more.] TD: Well... that's certainly your own choice, Duncan, and even thought I'm inclined to agree with the President on this matter, it's understandable that you'd want to save your strength for the tournament itself. But I must say, I find it hard to believe that someone like you, who's based his entire career in the IIWF to date on rising to the challenge, would actually accept a bye into the tournament! [Macbeth only smiles, and takes the mic from Dross, stepping to within a foot of President Spreadbury before delivering his next bombshell.] DM: Aye, well ye'll likely find THIS hard t' believe as well, Dross. I'm no' takin' th' bye, either. [SHOCKED pop from the crowd, as the implications of this statement hits the fans like cold water! An excited buzz quickly fills the Coliseum as the fans immediately begin speculating on what this means to both the I-C title's future and Macbeth's career. Macbeth's loyal fans stare up at the ring in disbelief, while others, particularly TNT's followers, jeer at the former champion for pulling out. Tim Dross appears utterly flabbergasted, while Simon Lebec is positively beaming, sensing that his chances of wearing the Intercontinental Title have just significantly improved. Macbeth remains standing in the middle of the ring, massive arms folded before him, grinning smugly at Spreadbury, who returns the Scot's mocking gaze with stony silence. Dross finally steps up to Macbeth, gingerly plucking the microphone out of the Scot's grip.] TD: I... well... oh my goodness, are you serious? After everything you went through to win the Intercontinental Championship, you're now _giving up_ your claim to the belt? You just pledged moments ago that you would win it back! How do you explain this? DM: Simple, Dross. I'm no' a trained animal, existing t' do th' bidding o' Mr. Spreadbury there. I'm SURE tha' Danny-boy would LOVE t' have me in tha' tournament, wha' wi' all th' layabouts an' whiners that're infestin' th' I-C division at th' moment. He probably reckoned tha' betwixt Kowalski an' meself, NOBODY'd be winnin' a World or I-C title fer a lang, lang time, sae th' Thames Barge match was a guid excuse fer 'im t' hold up th' title, get a lot o' publicity fer th' IIWF in th' process, an' give all th' sooks, who were all too yellow t' challenge me, a faint hope tha' they may actually get t' wear a title in th' IIWF before they die! An' Duncan Macbeth, 'e's a real battler, 'e is, an' 'e'll SURELY be in there tearin' th' ring apart t' get 'is title back, an' if 'e does, wha' a GREAT story it'll make fer th' press, no' t' mention all th' people who'll buy Birthday Bash t' see 'im do it! [Macbeth shakes his head in disgust, and his expression visibly darkens.] Th' Intercontinental Title was me goal from th' moment I set foot in this league, Dross. Winnin' tha' title was th' proudest moment o' me career. But I dinnae give a DAMN about tha' belt anymore. 'Cause now, th' Intercontinental Title is WORTHLESS! [Pop from the crowd!] An' it's all th' fault o' THA' man righ' there! [Macbeth gestures to President Spreadbury, and the insinuation draws a momentary flash of anger from the executive.] DM: Y'see, Dross, th' only way t' BE a champion is t' BEAT a champioN. None o' this "I won me belt in a bonnie wee tournament" bollocks -- wha' makes a title GREAT is no' th' HAVIN' o' it, but th' GETTIN' o' it! Steppin' into a ring, one-on-one, wi' th' best wrestler in th' game, an' tryin' t' prove t' th' world tha' ye're BETTER! THA's wha' gives a title its prestige -- th' line o' great wrestlers who beat th' champ fer th' belt, an' are beaten fer th' title by someone else. But now, th' line ends wi' ME, Dross. 'Cause I've NEVER been beaten fer th' Intercontinental Title. Th' Intercontinental Champion should be th' best o' th' best. But without ME, th' next champ'll only be th' best o' th' leftovers. An' whoe'er th' next man t' wear tha' strap is, he'll NEVER be able t' say tha' 'E beat a CHAMPION fer th' title. NEVER. [Dross, feeling the impact of Macbeth's words, steps over to Spreadbury, who seems to be struggling to keep his own temper under the blistering accusations of the former champion.] TD: Uh... Mr. President? What is your reaction to Duncan's decision to relinquish his claim to the Intercontinental Title? [Macbeth glares at the IIWF President as Spreadbury takes a moment to compose his answer in his head, then looks up sharply at the tall Scot, a genuine look of chagrin crossing his face.] DS: Ahem... Duncan Macbeth's decision to give up his standing as the number-one contender to the Intercontinental Title, as well as his place in the upcoming tournament, while... regrettable, is his and his alone to make. If Mr. Macbeth feels justified in dropping out of the tournament, I have no control over that. [The injured pride of Duncan Macbeth is evident to everyone in the Coliseum now, as the Scot's eyes narrow to green slits, his face twists into a bitter sneer, and his rich baritone becomes raspy as he sticks his face within inches of Spreadbury's own.] DM: Aye, Mr. President. Ye have no control o'er tha'. Or ME. Wha' ye did t' me at Ring Wars 5 was a JOKE, Spreadbury. Ye turned a YEAR o' me bleedin' LIFE in t' a joke. An' now, as a result, yuir precious Intercontinental Championship is a joke. Sae ye can take yuir tournament, an' yuir title, an' SHOVE 'EM UP YUIR ARSE! [Incredible pop! Spreadbury flinches at the words, as if he had been flicked on the nose.] But dinnae ye worry yuirself about it, wee man -- ye'll soon have th' opportunity t' strip me o' ANOTHER title! [As the crowd roars with a deafening mixture of cheers and jeers, support for Macbeth's decision clearly split, the black-clad Scot makes his way to the ropes, ignoring Lebec completely as he brushes past the French-Canadian, and flips over the top rope to the floor below, his head held high as he strides up the aisle towards the exit. He stops short as he sees a familiar figure walk into view.] TNT: Don't think for one minute that you're getting out of here without hearing from the Rocket Man! [The crowd pops as Timothy N. Turner, clad in his former finery, strolls down the aisle. Macbeth slips back into the ring and holds the ropes open, in the famous "inviting" gesture.] TNT: Duncan, you come out here and act like you own the concession on testosterone and "graciously decline" the honour of fighting for the Intercontinental title. YOU DON'T DESERVE THE CHANCE! [Turner quickly calms his anger and gestures towards the Jumbotron.] TNT: Let's take a quick look at what happened at Ring Wars. [The screen shows Turner hitting Andrew Macbeth with a thundering TNT elbow drop off the top of the Jumbotron.] TNT: Okay, so there was a time limit that ran out but don't think for a second that anyone had any doubts about who won that match! [There is a big crowd pop to that as the footage continues in the background.] TNT: Now the Rocket Man is a changed man... and I'll show you why. [The screen shows Turner getting laid out by Derek Mota.] TNT: Backstabbed by a friend... [The image switches to the Masked Terror pulling off his mask and revealing Andrew Macbeth.] TNT: Backstabbed by a friend... [The image switches to Duncan and Andrew Macbeth levelling Turner at Ring Wars.] TNT: I think the pictures speak for themselves. So what does Timothy Turner do about it? Let's take another look... [Now the screen shows Turner hoisting the Cruiserweight belt he just won from Derek Mota.] TNT: He wins... [The screen switches to Turner hitting the TNT elbowdrop off the Jumbotron on Andrew Macbeth.] TNT: He wins. So what am I going to do about you, Duncan? [The crowd pops as they see a confrontation in the offing.] TNT: No, I'm not going to challenge you. [Disappointed pop.] TNT: Instead, I'll do something you could never do... win the Intercontinental Title. [Confused pop from the crowd as Duncan starts to laugh in the ring.] TNT: You forget, "old pal," that I was at ringside during that match when Joe Petrow raised your hand. I know what Joe knows... I know what Chris Quigley knows...I know what _you_ know. Chris Quigley never quit. [Macbeth's face contorts in anger and a series of epithets spew from his mouth.] TNT: That's right... you never won the belt and you never deserved to hold it. That's why, when I win the belt, my first act will be to find Quigley and give him a match! [Huge crowd pop] TNT: That way everyone will know that Timothy N. Turner deserves that title in a way that Duncan Macbeth never did! [Turner stops and seems to enjoy his new-found popularity... if only for a moment.] TNT: Don't think for a second that this gets you off the hook, "old pal". For you see, I would like to introduce you to a couple of other old friends. Earlier this week the contracts were signed and the IIWF get the top international team in the industry. Let me formally introduce... "Constable" Tom Turner... "The Immolator" Akira Saito... this is the NorthPac Coalition! [Mixed pop as only fans of Japanese wrestling are truly familiar with this team, as Tom Turner and Akira Saito join Timothy in the aisleway. Tom is wearing black jeans and a red and white jacket bearing the Canadian flag while Akira is wearing similar attire but with the flag of Japan. Timothy hands Tom the microphone.] CTT: Wow, I never thought I would actually be in the IIWF! This is truly the big time! Honestly, we never even considered it, but those two Scottish oafs practically forced our hands! Ever since I made my debut back in the old UWA in '89, I have stood for something. I don't know if all of you great American fans know what it means to use the title "Constable". In Canada, and before that in Great Britain, it means that you are upholding the law. I have always stood for justice and, quite frankly, what I have seen has made me ill! Vice-president Osterhout tried to bring a little fair-mindedness and sportsmanship into the league and it was considered a failure! Why? Blame Musashi if you want, but I think it comes down to people like Duncan and Andrew Macbeth who think that it is great fun to turn on someone who trusted them, and put that man in the hospital! [Tom pauses as he stares daggers into Duncan Macbeth, who doesn't even blink as he meets the elder Turner's gaze with a corrosive stare of his own, and grins ominously at the Canadian.] CTT: Well, no more! There is justice back in the IIWF and its first order of business is taking down the Macbeths! Count on it! [Huge crowd pop as Tom hands the mic to Akira Saito.] AS: I have prided myself on helping people reach their potential. In Japan I helped Tom until we were able to win the prestigious All-Asian tag belts. Here in America I was able to help Timothy break free from his depression and stand victorious over Andrew Macbeth...but this moment was snatched from his grasp. This was the time for the Rocket Man to soar and that was stolen by these craven villains. This was no honourable act. I swore an oath to Timothy as he was helped into the ambulance. This is an oath that I will uphold...on the heads of Duncan and Andrew Macbeth! VOICE: I've had meself just aboot enough o' this steamin' load o' CRAP, aye! [The burly Andrew Macbeth steps out from behind the curtain, his brand new wrestling gear and Black Watch kilt an exact replica of his cousin Duncan's, but without the motorcycle jacket. The crowd seems to tense up, anticipating trouble. Fans of Timothy N. Turner yell obscenities at the big man as he starts walking down the rampway. Some noisy fans hold a sign in front of Andrew that reads "SCOTLAND SUCKS!" The elder Macbeth swats the sign away in disgust and yells at them.] AM: Ye shut yuir festerin' Yankee gob! [The crowd boos lustily as Andrew's demeanour takes a nasty turn. As Andrew pauses for a moment and lets the crowd heat sink in, a wry smile appears, then turns to a scowl.] AM: [pointing at President Spreadbury] YOU! Ye miserable sack o' sheep dung! I hope ye're bleedin' satisfied! Sweet thunderin' Jaysis, I'm tae auld fer this, aye! All I came 'ere t' do was t' make sure tha' pathetic Canuck tosser kept 'is blasted nose out of Macbeth business, an' now look at wot ye've done! Ye put me cousin on a barge in th' middle o' that sewer ye call th' Thames, ye make 'im fight this 'ere flamin' reject from th' Spanish Inquisition sketch, blow th' lot tae kingdom come, and wot do ye give th' Clan Macbeth in return? Ye STRIP Duncan o' th' IC belt, ye take ME oot o' semi-retirement, an' ye put us in th' most godawful pathetic tag division since th' Ding Dongs were fightin' th' bleedin' Dynamic Dudes! [The crowd murmurs as the full extent of the situation begins to dawn on them.] AM: Wot, ye halfwit dough-head fans STILL don't get it? Th' Black Watch is BACK! [COLOSSAL mixed pop!] AM: An' it makes me SICK tae me stomach! [The crowd again becomes subdued in its confusion. Macbeth rolls his eyes heavenward and shakes his head, then makes his way into the ring.] AM: Sweet thunderin' Jaysis! This is EXACTLY wot yer bleedin' IIWF President wants! 'E gets an IC tourney to jack oop th' ratings, an' 'e pulls th' coup o' th century by reforming the best damn tag-team there ever was. Duncan Macbeth should be oot there tonight fighting th' best an' th' brightest th' Double-I has t' offer... an' I should be back home in God's Country, restin' me bones! But nae. Look wot we get instead, aye. This wee ponce who makes Moxy Blue look like Th' Smooth brings in... ooh, I'm shakin' now... th' bleedin' NorthPac Coalition. [Andrew jabs his finger into Tim Turner's chest.] AM: You, ye could nae win an apartment wrestlin' match against th' Queen Mother, much less the I-C tourney. [The crowd boos as Andrew faces Tom Turner.] AM: YE, "Constable", ye say ye stand fer "justice"? Ye could nae e'en hold up Jobber Justice! So why don'tcha go on back to Canada an' yer auld day job, cleanin' oop after th' Musical Ride? [The boos increase, as Andrew turns to Saito.] AM: An' YE, ye swore an' oath t' yer companion Timmy, eh? Well, let me tell ye somethin', lad. Yer oath isn't worth JACK-SQUAT! I spent half me life in yer neck o' th' woods. An' there's one thing I ken... Th' Japanese are a bunch o' subway-gropin', rape-manga-readin' PEDOPHILES who are more interested in th' Emperor's GEKETSU than their own pathetic little lives! [The crowd explodes with a massive pop as Saito, eyes flashing fire at this incredible insult, lets loose with a chilling scream and suddenly rushes at the elder Macbeth, but he gets no further than a couple of steps before he is cut down with a vicious clothesline from out of nowhere from Duncan Macbeth, who nearly takes the Japanese star's head clean off! Simon Lebec just looks on with amusement as President Spreadbury and Tim Dross high-tail it out of the ring, while Andrew Macbeth and Tom Turner begin trading roundhouse rights and lefts and Duncan Macbeth jerks Saito back up to his feet and sends him sprawling across the mat with a vicious knee lift to the face! Pop!] TD: [rejoining Roberts] Oh my goodness! We were lucky to get out of there before all hell broke loose! SR: I'm lovin' this, Dross-man! The Black Watch is back in town, and now the Double Eye's got something we ain't had around here since the Syndicate -- an all-tough tag team! Just a couple of pissed-off Scotsmen goin' to town on all these nancy-boy tag teams, and it looks like these NorthPac punks are gonna be first on the bus! [As Tom Turner and Andrew Macbeth continue to hammer away at one another, Duncan Macbeth hauls Saito up once again, but before he can deliver another blow to the Japanese, he is suddenly struck down from behind with a flying elbowsmash from Timothy N. Turner! Big pop! Duncan hits the canvas hard, and Turner and Saito immediately begin putting the boots to the stunned Scot! TNT is red in the face with anger as he kicks away at his former friend and partner.] TD: Andrew Macbeth and Tom Turner are still trading blows, but the larger Scotsman is gaining the upper hand... now Tim Turner and Akira Saito are viciously double-teaming Duncan Macbeth... and Simon Lebec is just standing there, watching it all! SR: Which guy does he help, Dross? He hates D-Mac with a passion, but Turner's in his way for the Intercontinental Title! He should just get out of there before he reopens his stitches or something! [Up in the ring, Lebec is indeed looking on with interest as Saito and Tim Turner kick away at the downed Duncan, who is trying valiantly to ward off the blows and scramble to his feet. TNT, glancing over to the French-Canadian, grins and beckons him to come over and join in! Lebec flicks away his cigarette, calmly begins to stroll over to where the two men have finally got Duncan Macbeth pinned into a corner, and slaps Tim Turner's outstretched hand with a grin.] TD: Oh my. This does not look good for Duncan Macbeth, Steve. SR: Here comes the payback, Scotty! Hope they kept your bed in the hospital warm for ya! [But suddenly, Lebec whirls on his "allies", and clotheslines both Turner and Saito to the canvas! HUGE pop from the fans, as Lebec pounces on the surprised Turner and starts driving hard fists into the Victorian's face!] TD: Lebec just took out Saito and Timothy N. Turner! And now Lebec is hammering away at TNT on the canvas! Saito scrambling to help... and is caught from behind with a running bulldog from Duncan Macbeth! This is chaos! SR: Lebec's a smart guy, Drossy! He's focused on that belt, and now that MacBean's taken himself out of the running, he's looking to take out Cheesecake now! [Three separate brawls are now going on in the ring as President Spreadbury looks on wearily from the outside, as TNT and Lebec smash away at each other, Duncan Macbeth and Akira Saito duck under each other's scything spin kicks before Macbeth takes the low road and drives a blade hand into the Japanese's throat, grabs Saito by the hair and roughly smashes him face-first into the mat, and Andrew Macbeth rocks the ring with a huge DDT on Tom Turner! The crowd is going crazy as the JJS floods into the ring, and quickly pull TNT and Lebec outside. Tim Turner is furious, and he screams epithets at Lebec, who just cackles at the Victoria native as the jobbers struggle to separate them and herd them up the aisle.] TD: Lebec and Turner are out of the ring now, but I'm sure this isn't the last meeting we'll see between those two in the near future, but look in the ring, Steve! The Macbeths... or should I say, the Black Watch... are not only battling the NorthPac Coalition, but the Jobber Justice Squad as well! [Duncan and Saito are the first to get swarmed by the JJS, but as soon as Saito gets dragged away, Duncan slips out of the grasp of Rasputin and nails Bobby B. Goode with a superkick to the jaw before taking the big Russian to the mat with a lightning-quick leg sweep, then kicks both wrestlers out of the ring! Big pop! Andrew Macbeth pulls Tom Turner to his feet and whips him into Jumpin' Jack, sending both men tumbling through the ropes to the outside, then whirls and seizes El Super Gecko and Barnacle Brother Bluto by the throats, smashes their heads together, then sends them flying through the ropes to the outside as well! As Saito and Tom Turner are hustled up the aisle, shouting insults and vows of revenge at Andrew and Duncan Macbeth, the two cousins meet in the centre of the mat, and turn to face the final member of the JJS still in the ring, the huge, 500-pound Smooth, who stares wide-eyed at the two snarling Scots.] TD: Oh my. I can't believe what's happening here, Steve Roberts. SR: C'mon, Smooth! Remember what Poppa Soundbite told ya -- hit first, hit hardest, and keep hitting! [Despite Roberts' coachings, as soon as the Black Watch begins to slowly advance, as Duncan cracks his knuckles and Andrew rubs his massive hands together, the Smooth suddenly bursts into tears and quickly waddles through the ropes and up the aisle. The Macbeth cousins jeer sarcastically as the big Mexican flees the ring area, and the crowd begins to boo the two black-clad Scotsmen as Andrew recovers the abandoned ring mic lying on the canvas, and rejoins his cousin in the centre of the ring, glaring down at President Spreadbury, who has remained at ringside throughout this chaotic scene.] AM: Ye want ratin's, Spreadbury? Well, ye're goin' t' get 'em. But no' in th' manner ye THOUGHT ye would. 'Cause from this nigh' on, people are goin' t' be tunin' in all over th' bleedin' WORLD t' watch Andrew an' Duncan Macbeth -- t' watch th' legendary Black Watch -- tear apart th' IIWF's tag teams six ways from Sunday! [Duncan takes the mic from his cousin, and takes a step in the President's direction, fixing his jade eyes on the official and jabbing a finger at him.] DM: An' Spreadbury, I'm goin' t' take particular satisfaction, when I'm strappin' th' IIWF Tag Team Title belt around me waist, an' when I make ye EAT wha' ye said about Duncan Macbeth no' bein' fit t' hold one o' yuir precious titles. Ye cannae stop me from winnin', Danny-boy. Ye cannae stop th' Black Watch from winnin'. 'Cause there's no' a tag team in this whole fed -- th' Predators, th' Dragons, th' Fabs, Team Sychosys, ye name 'em -- tha' th' Black Watch cannae chew up an' spit out like raw, bloody MEAT! An' tha's EXACTLY wha' we're goin' t' DO! [With that, Duncan lets the mic fall to the canvas with a loud, amplified THUD which reverberates throughout the Coliseum, and the two cousins step through the ropes and make their way up the aisle, hurling insults at the ringside fans who jeer the two Scotsmen as they pass by. Duncan Macbeth the former fan favourite, is particularly verbal, seemingly revelling in the hostility of the fans as he gets right in the faces of several ringside individuals and lets loose with a torrent of comments about the sexual habits of the fans' mothers before Andrew pulls him away and the Black Watch exits the arena. The renegade tag team is followed out soon after by Spreadbury, who appears very tired as he is escorted up the aisle by his less-than-reliable security escort. As the fans settle, cut to the broadcast table at ringside, at which are seated Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, who wears his trademark leather jacket over a plain t-shirt which bears just one word: "me".] TD: I have a feeling it's going to be a long night for the IIWF President, folks. What an explosive start to another huge edition of IIWF Saturday Night! We are coming at you live from the jam-packed IIWF Coliseum, right here in Portland, Oregon, and what a show we have in store! I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my broadcast colleague and tag team partner, the hardest working man in the rasslin' business... "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. SR: Sweet mother of god, it's good to be home, isn't it, Dross? Back here with all the morons, and those hotdogs. I swear they've been boiling these beauties since the last time we broadcast from here, back in the New Year. TD: Indeed, there's no place like home... and there's no action like IIWF action! The administrative staff of the IIWF have been working overtime this past couple of weeks, clinching deals and setting up new initiatives -- and the result is that we have some big, big matches coming at you right here tonight! SR: Just hold up there a second, Dross, ol' buddy. The Soundbite has something to say. Poppa Soundbite has something to say to that bush-league down South who run their shows out of gymnasiums in California or wherever the hell it is... he has something to say to all those morons on the internet. There ain't nothing like the IIWF anywhere in the world, baby dolls. Just 'cause a stand-up guy like Steve "the Fury" Kowalski needs a little chump change in the two weeks off since Ring Wars 5 and agrees to go kick some bush champion's ass, just 'cause you got more guys who couldn't hack it here in the big time down there living off their past glories than the Soundbite has notches on his bedpost... just 'cause you can put a guy on the mic and let him shoot his load about "Portland this" and "Portland that"... that don't make you the IIWF. Accept no imitations, baby dolls. _This_ is the Double Eye, Double U f'n F... and there ain't no love, there ain't no learnin'. TD: Steve Roberts, ladies and gentlemen. Now we have that out of the way, could we talk about what we have coming up over the next two hours? SR: Be my guest, baby dolls. TD: Well, folks, you heard it from the IIWF President: tonight's main event will be a battle royal to decide the "elite eight" who will participate in the tournament to crown the new Intercontinental Champion, which will begin right here next week. And just listen to some of the participants in this one: we have "Savage" Shadoe Rage, Christopher Stonebreaker, Serge Annis, Derek Mota, Harlequin Tragedy, Charles Scheffield... plus we have just heard that Simon Lebec will be taking a spot, and that Timothy N. Turner will also be in the field. I understand that we will see at least sixteen top IIWF superstars in the ring... and that field will be narrowed to eight by the end of the night. SR: So why not just draw lots for the eight spots, Dross? Why have a battle royal? I mean, Poppa Soundbite loves the battle royals as much as the next man, but I don't get it. TD: In fact, Steve Roberts, the battle royal will continue until there is just _one_ man left standing -- but the last seven men to be eliminated, plus the eventual winner, will be granted entry into the tournament, and the tourney brackets will then be decided based on the final placing in the battle royal. So the winner will face the man who finished eighth, the runner-up will face the man who finished seventh, and so on. SR: And who gets to wrestle Harlequin Melody, Dross? Huh, who gets to wrestle the ladies? TD: I'll ignore that question, Steve. We're also set to see the first two first round matches in that big, big "King of the Cruisers" tournament -- including the match that has absolutely everybody talking: up-and-coming Mexican sensation El Hijo Del Satanico goes up against former IIWF great, three-time Intercontinental Champion, Tiger Claw. SR: Aw, you know the crowd has to be fired up about that one, Dross-man. The last time we saw Tiger Claw in this arena, he dumped the IIWF President on his ass and slung the IIWF World Tag Team Championship belts in the trash. You have to think that ol' Dictator Danny is gonna be looking over his shoulder here tonight. TD: Absolutely, Steve Roberts. While I make no secret of the fact that I deplore the attitude of Tiger Claw, there's no questioning his athletic prowess, and that he truly deserves a berth in this prestigious tournament. The other match we'll be seeing tonight pits the IIWF's own Steve Manning against the "Real Deal" Shawn Harrison, who comes to us from the UEW. SR: Who? TD: Steve Roberts... SR: Just kidding, Dross. I'm sure the UEW's a great promotion, full of top talent, yadda yadda yadda. TD: Regardless of my colleague's scepticism, we are extremely honoured and privileged to have superstars from a whole host of top wrestling federations from around the world participating in this tournament. And don't forget that tomorrow night, live from the Osaka Furitsu Gym, in Osaka, Japan, we will see two more first round matches, live on SJPW Ring Wars. And if you miss that great broadcast, we'll have all the action this Wednesday on our very own "War Room". SR: I's gettin' sleepy, Dross. When can we see some wrestling? TD: There's action aplenty coming at you tonight, folks. In just a moment, we'll be kicking things off with the first title defence of the new World Tag Team Champions, Team Sychosys, as they face the Machines, who won that big four-way match at Ring Wars 5 to become the number one contenders to the titles. We'll also see the debuts of two new tag teams here in the IIWF -- the Benjamins, one of the most exciting young prospects in the sport, will take on the experienced European duo of Robert D'Artois and Reiner Ver Magnusson -- and the American Dragons will face Brenda Hawkings' Night Patrol right here later on. SR: What is this, tag team night or something?! TD: As well as those tag team contests, and that huge battle royal, we will also see the most unlikely IIWF Cruiserweight Championship match in history, as the new champion, Icehawk, goes up against the three hundred pound-plus monster, Eddy "Flap" Jacks, who won the "King of the Mountain" match back at Ring Wars 5 to earn the right to challenge any champion in the IIWF. SR: And he picked Chickenhawk? TD: He did indeed. Who knows what else we're going to see here tonight, folks! We're scheduled to hear from Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines, who wishes to hold some kind of service to commemmorate the tragic death of his new-born son, Justin Lawrence Gaines, later on tonight... and yes, folks, he will be here! The IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, will be in the house later on tonight, and he's sure to have some words for his fans here in Portland! SR: Enough, already. Let's have some blood! TD: It's going to be a huge night of action! Let's get up to the ring! SR: Christ, Dross, you're gonna make me break out the pillow already?! Damn, this is gonna be a slow night. TD: What is your problem with tag teams? SR: Hey, I gots NO problems with tag teams. [Pause] Provided the team is made up of Tammy Parks and Julie Strain. TD: Steve, nobody knows who you're talking about except for people who have nothing better to do than read "Femme Fatale" magazine or watch low-budget films. SR: Gee, that's funny. You seemingly know who they are! TD: Hey, look, Sparkplug's in the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Team Sychosys [c] vs. The Machines ....................................................................... WRITER: Dan Kondziela [The crowd goes nuts, seeing everybody's favourite inept ring announcer for the first time in a while. The pop causes Sparky, who was not expecting it, to jump. As he goes to announce the competitors, he notices a wet spot in his pants. He leaves to try and dry it. As he comes back, he wipes himself with a dry cloth. But, as he raises the mic, a murmur arises.] TD: What do the Prophets of Rage want? They seem to be carrying signs with them. SR: Remember, Dross? They said they were picketing until they got a title shot. HAHA! Look at Allah's! [Indeed, the four are carrying signs with them. Medusa's says "Respect your division, Spreadbury. Respect the Rage." Pizzazz's says "Prophets of Rage _are_ contenders." Derek Rage's reads "How Quickly They Forget." And DDUA's, as Steve referred to, says, "Give us a title shot, muhfuh! Who beat us? No F'N body! Damn, that's a lot of words on a l'il ass sign... Aw damn."] TD: Security making them sit behind the guardrails. Another in a long list of presidential pains for our esteemed President. SR: Hey, don't try to make that dictator look innocent. I caught him with Becks in an alleyway last week. At least Osterhout finally got Sampson banned. Sure, he banned him for the wrong reason, but, hell, he still banned him. Hey, let's make Osterhout the President! [Turns to a hulking L'il Soundbiter] Hey, Rocko, go make us some "I don't like Ike. Osterhout in '98" buttons! SL: [Clears his throat] As I was... [Clears his throat again, this time because of mucus] ...about to say, ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to the U.S., welcome back to Portland, welcome back to "IIWF Saturday Night"! [Enormous pop!] SL: Our first match is one fall with a regulation time limit, and is for the IIWF World Tag Team titles! [Pop!] Introducing first, the challengers, at a combined weight of 503 lbs., THE MACHINES! [Deafening boos for the actions of the team as of late.] TD: The crowd does NOT have any respect for these two, and I can't blame them. What they did to Miki was unforgivable. SR: Normally, I'd be laughing my ass off. But YOU DO NOT take away the eye candy away from the 'Bite, ya damned gay guys! I hope you choke on his... TD: STEVE!! SR: What?! I was going to say his chalk from that damn chalkboard they always use. TD: Sure. And Hoss is sleeping with my wife. SR: Oh, so you finally found out. Let me guess, worst weekend of your life! [The Machines are having a good laugh at the crowd's reaction.] SL: And their opponents, at a combined weight of 457 lbs., the NEW IIWF World Tag Team Champions, "Sychosys" Joe Petrow and "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur, TEAM SYCHOSYS!! [Monster pop for the champs, who hop over the rails to Jimmy Hart's "Girls In Cars", and are wearing matching white "Team Sychosys" trunks and "Sych Force" jackets. Their straps are a freshly painted white.] SR: Gee, wonder who they're supposed to be. Hey, Dross, doesn't the "S" in "Sych Force" look a lot like that piece of Quigley's lightning symbol? TD: Steve, we can't mention former employees. SR: He's gone? Oh yeah, it's Manning who's still around. Sorry, but between all the bitching the two of them do, I forgot which was which. So, Quigley's the cripple, right? TD: Look, I'm not even going to... Wait, that's the Natural Predators! The Natural Predators are standing in front of the entryway with their arms crossed. SR: Hey, since when did Moose and Squirrel become cops? I thought Night Patrol were the cops. Dammit, this fed's starting to confuse the living hell out of me. I need a pay rise. TD: A lot of people are saying that Team Sychosys don't deserve the belts. I guess the Preds are there to ensure a clean match. The thing is, whose side are they on? SR: Each other's. Now, can we please get to the stinkin' match already? [Ding! Ding! Ding! Joe Petrow and Simon O'Neal start off for their respective teams. Collar and elbow lockup. Petrow grabs O'Neal in a headlock. O'Neal lifts "Sychosys" and drapes him on the top rope, but the match has barely begun, so Joe has enough power to elbow Simon and then flip backwards off the rope onto his feet, only to get dropkicked in the back by O'Neal. Petrow flies over the top where he lands on his feet where he comes face to face with DDUA. They exchange a glare before Petrow rolls back in. Derek Rage coughs and immediately, the "Disciples", the Prophet fans, go into an uproar. Dirt Dog wipes his nose on his jacket. The Disciples cheer even louder. Some start chanting "Joe sold out!", with even a few Sycopaths joining in.] SR: The Disciples? They were here LAST year. TD: Not the Dark Disciples. Just the Disciples. SR: Hey, you don't think their leader is a guy with loads of facial hair who likes to steal other people's moves and chant "Yes! No!" every once in a while, do you? TD: Please. Who the hell would believe something like that?! [Paul Wong has now tagged in.] SR: WONG! WONG! WONG! WONG! TD: What in the world are you doing? SR: I like the way his name sounds. WONG! TD: Wong lifting the lighter Petrow into a gorilla press, but Petrow slides out and kicks Wong right in the kidneys! SR: WONG! TD: Steve! Petrow bends Wong back. He tags "Quadruple M" in. Maurice climbs to the top. He comes off with an axehandle to Wong's outstretched chest. Ouch! SR: WONG! TD: STEVE! McArthur is now kicking away at Wong's ribs. SR: WONG! WONG! TD: [losing his temper] WOULD YOU SHUT THE HELL UP?! SR: [looking at Dross in shock] Jeez, you don't have to be so testy about it! [4M is now punching away at Paul's head. He gets up and stomps on Paul's head before tagging back out.] SR: Wow, that was some offence there. Petrow's really been a big help to "Mo". [On the outside, Allah is frantically scratching his hair. The Disciples go crazy. Derek yawns. The Disciples are in a state of bliss.] SR: Damn, these people are easily amused. I can imagine these people staring at lint and thinking that it's the greatest thing on earth. Just remember, like Pedro says, "Monkeys WILL eat dirt... IF you make them." TD: What in the hell are you talking about? SR: Nothing. Christ, you're in a bad mood. What happened? Hey, did you find one of Moxy's cameras in your office too? TD: What do you mean by "office"? Since when do broadcasters get offi... SR: Uh-oh. Hey, Spreads, cat's out! TD: You need a pay rise? Give me a break! SR: Speaking. The other one's not out here yet. He'll be out later in the battle royal. His brother's here though. That's better than nothing. [By now, Petrow has executed a spinebuster, a running bulldog, and is in the process of slapping on a mandible claw.] SR: Do you think he's got several personalities? TD: Even more than the guy you're thinking of. SR: Yeah, but now Maurice has got to dress like a lumberjack robber who swings a chainsaw around like he's been hit in the head with a redwood. TD: Please. That wouldn't work either. I know that no old legend from Texas would ever agree to do that. SR: Hey. Just an idea. You don't like it? Fine. [Wong bites down on Petrow's fingers. Petrow screams like a guy who likes to wear brown and enjoys ripping his hair out. Wong gets up and kicks Petrow in the stomach. He pulls Petrow up and then hurls him down for a powerbomb. A primal scream can be heard coming from the back. The Predators turn around just in time to see the Harlequins storm out of the archway, Terror screaming for "Binky". The Predators start brawling with the Harlequins. Meanwhile, Paul powerslams Joe to the mat. He then leaps for a standing splash. He connects. Paul tags Simon back in. Simon drops a knee on Joe. He picks him up and executes a spinning neckbreaker. Again, he picks him up and executes a piledriver. AGAIN, he picks him up and lands a DDT. But, when he raises Joe for a vertical suplex, Joe slips out and tags in Maurice.] TD: Hey, here comes the newest stable in the IIWF, the Discordiacs! Well, most of them. [Moxy leads the way for Luke Steele, Stone, and the Down Boys, down through the crowd. Since the Predators are occupied, no one sees them. Moxy talks to the camera:] RMB: To serve and protect, cats and kittens, Oh Yeah Righteous! [Steele just shakes his head with a grin. Stone obviously does nothing. The Down Boys make goofy faces into the camera.] SR: Aw, sheesh. These guys have been together for only a couple of weeks and already I'm sick of them. [Meanwhile, Maurice is firing away with a salvo of punches that bounce off O'Neal. O'Neal laughs the futile effort off... until he gets kicked in the jimmy. Maurice grabs O'Neal for a Perfectplex, but bounces down into a...] TD: Oh my... oh my! McArthur just executed the Bullet Train To Hell! I don't think he got all of it, but... oh my! SR: Holy smoke, Dross! [The crowd is raising the roof as McArthur is pumping his fists in the air. Petrow just stares at Maurice like a deer staring at headlights, totally in disbelief. You can't hear what he says, but the words "HOLY [BLEEP]ING [BLEEP]!" can be read. Maurice suddenly gets a devilish look in his eye. He raises O'Neal up. He grabs him under the armpits and lifts him up...] TD: KNIGHTMARE! Oh my! SR: What the heck is going on here?! This is just plain wrong, Dross! TD: Steve Roberts, I'm not sure -- it was sloppy, but it was still a Knightmare... it's almost as if Maurice McArthur is actually able to hold his own in there! Is this supposed to be happening? What in the world? [Maurice picks O'Neal up... and lariats him over the top! Even the normally impassive Stone has a look on his face that can be described as incredulous. O'Neal lands at the feet of the Discordiacs.] TD: I don't understand. Is Maurice McArthur becoming a man? SR: My God, I may have to treat him to a dance at the Beaver Trap! [Someone taps Steve on the shoulder and hands him a box.] Jesus, Rocko, you got the buttons already? You're a good man, but it's gonna have to wait. McArthur is becoming a man. [On the outside, O'Neal starts jawing at the Discordiacs. The Discordiacs do absolutely nothing in response. In frustration, O'Neal grabs Adam Peterson and hurls him into the ring. O'Neal comes in after him. Peterson can't see, because his jacket is covering his face. Peterson thrashes all around... and just happens to hit Maurice McArthur. The referee calls for the bell.] TD: Wait! What just happened? Who won? SR: I'll tell ya who! McArthur! Man, oh man! SL: The referee has ruled that your winners, as a result of a disqualification, are.... TEAM SYCHOSYS! TD: Well, they win their first defense. Too bad it was a DQ. Unbelievable scenes already! The Prophets of Rage picket, The Natural Predators brawl with the Harlequins, The Discordiacs come from the crowd, and Maurice McArthur is showing wrestling ability! Who knows what else we'll see? Well, the Harlequins and the Predators are herded back to the lockers. The Machines have to be restrained back to the lockers. The Discordiacs are headed back to the stands. Wait, Joe Petrow is grabbing a microphone. What's he got to say? [Petrow stands in the ring and clutches at the microphone, looking down at Mox at ringside.] JP: Hey Moxy! Hey, little Moxy Blue! I know you needed the money, but listen to me now. I know what your little band of goons and thugs is all about! I've been through the ringer once before, and I'll be damned if I let you guys do it again! Are you proud of yourself, Moxy? Are you proud of being the biggest joke in now only the IIWF, but in wrestling history? You know of course, that there was a typo on your Grapple award, right? You don't have the Best Ass...you ARE the BIGGEST ass! You're so pathetic, your picture appears on a milk carton because your mom WANTS someone to kidnap you and put her out of her misery! Bottom line twerp, no matter what your band of geek wannabes does, the master geek was a nothing, is nothing, and will remain a nothing forever more. And if you don't like what I'm saying, drag your crippled ass in the ring and do something about it! [Joe drops the microphone and eggs Moxy on. Mox is about to head to the ring to accept without words, when Vice-President Osterhout arrives on the scene, looking upset, with mic in hand.] GO: Richard, what do you think you are doing? RMB: [sarcastically] I'm making a grape leaf and kitten soufflé, what does it look like? GO: You shouldn't even be in the building tonight. You don't have a match. RMB: But Dan and Adam don't either, but they're free to be here? Why aren't I? GO: Richard, listen... RMB: No! Tell everyone why I'm not supposed to be here. Tell them! [There is a long pause as Gregg and Richard look at each other. Gregg turns his head away before addressing Blue, his voice filled with exasperation.] GO: Because you've been released from the IIWF, and you know it. Richard, please go home. [Dan and Adam look at Mox in shock, Peterson grabbing him around the shoulders. Mox avoids eye contact and gently pushes Adam's arm down, sighing. Oliver grabs the mic, infuriated.] DO: You better have DAMN good reason for this...this guy just formed a group that is going to make this fed the place to be again, he the one to lead... GO: This _guy_ has enough drugs in his system to kill a German shepherd. Richard, the amount of painkillers you've been taking for your neck injury has reached excessive amounts, unhealthy and not befitting an IIWF representative. You know this, we've discussed this, you can no longer compete in IIWF! [Crowd boos!] TD: This is a major turn in the stable wars... this may be the end of the Discordiacs right here! I can't say I'd like to see it end this way... RMB: Look, Osterhout, you knew I was on them when I joined this federation, and you had no problem with it then. There's nothing illegal I'm taking. The only reason I'm being let go is because you're making me an example of your "Wrestle Clean" policy, which has become an absolute _farce_. [Osterhout's face darkens as he take quiet offence at Blue's words. The Down Boys cross their arms in unimpressed fashion.] RMB: And this is your attempt to break up the Discordiacs, 'cause you're afraid. You're afraid that we'll become Genesis. Well, you know who you can blame for the Discordiacs? [Blue takes a step towards Gregg, and points a slow finger at his chest...but quickly points it to Joe Petrow in the ring!] RMB: Him. [Blue turns to Team Sychosys, the Down Boys looking on with concern. It is quite clear now that Blue's intelligent side has completely taken over at the moment, much to Dan and Adam -- and Gregg's -- confusion.] RMB: You see, I tried to "Wrestle Clean". When the outside interference of one Takezo Musashi... [Heel pop!] RMB: ...caused me to play my part in it and come to the defence of another superstar. I thought I was "Wrestling Clean". And who, I SAY WHO comes out to bring the beat-down on the Mox? That's right, those two boys right there! [For the first time in a very long while... Team Sychosys is booed.] RMB: How was I rewarded? I got my neck shaken up by my good old tag partner the next week, causing me to further "indulge in unhealthy amounts of medication." Was he reprimanded? No. But he's on our side now, so no matter... but how were these two rewarded? GO: Blue, this has gone far enough... RMB: Don't mess with a man who has nothing to lose, Gregg...what are you gonna do, FIRE ME? Answer me this... how were these two backstabbers rewarded? With the most BLATANT ACT OF FAVOURITISM I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY CAREER! [Mixed pop, but it gets a large reaction from the DB, who begin mouthing off at Team Sychosys!] RMB: Eighth table my _ass_. Dan realised that, "Hey! Someone who's associated with Blue might hold gold!" and well, _gee!_, we couldn't have _that_, now, could we? Sure, he's "dedicated to the fans"...then why doesn't he stop things like my neck injury from happening? Wouldn't that be commitment? Keeping major stars like me in good condition, or least let me get injured in the... GO: No offence, but you're far from a major, star Blue... RMB: And you guys like it that way, don't ya? [Blue points to Joe.] RMB: And dangit, YOU like it that way, I know. I'm glad these shades have mirrors in them, so you can look yourself in the face and realise how much of a _hypocrite_ you are, Petrow. I formed the Discordiacs for protection... I didn't want what you did to me to happen to ANYONE else. Oh, just in case you guys forgot... [Moxy points up to the IIWF video wall: on the screen in the clip of the Ike Sampson/Eddy Jacks match, where Mox is double-teamed by Musashi and Petrow. The clip slows down as a shot of Petrow, laying Moxy's neck over the steel steps in a deathly precarious angle, then dropping an elbow across Moxy's head with speed that can even be picked up in slow motion. Moxy falls, his eyes wrenched in searing pain...] RMB: I was near one hundred per cent healed when Joe reinjured my neck. [Crowd boo's Team Sychosys again.] RMB: Is this hard to watch, Joe? That you were the one thing you preached against? Not once have the Discordiacs cost anyone a match... SR: Like hell! They just cost the Machines the titles! TD: That was inadvertent, Steve! SR: So were all those little Soundbiters I brought into the world on my "Singapore Tour", and I still have to run... I mean converse with their mommas! RMB: And yet we're called the next Genesis. Well, it's time for Richard Blue to prove you all wrong. GO: [taking the mic] Blue, okay, you've proved your point, you're not evil, you got the raw deal, but what do you want done about it? RMB: I want to be able to salvage what's left of my pride and _face_ _that_ _man_! GO: Richard, even if I wanted to let you wrestle, which I don't, have you forgotten that Joe Petrow ripped up his singles contract? The IIWF can't sign a match between two people without contracts! Face it, Blue, it's time to go home and heal. Hope your neck gets better soon. [Gregg walks back the dressing room, and Moxy looks at him in disgust, kicking the ground in frustration. Dan Oliver walks up to him before he has a chance to leave.] DO: You're not just gonna give up, are ya, Mox mang? That's not your style! So you can't wrestle in the IIWF... who says the IIWF has to sanction the match? [Mox's head perks up.] AP: Yeah, I'll ref the match! Right down the middle! Exhibition and the like! RMB: No, that would give Joe something to complain about. No, I think that's a splendid idea... SR: Huh-huh...he said splendid... RMB: In fact, I really have to prove a point in my last match... Dan... Adam... listen to Gregg... go home. DO & AP: What?! RMB: You heard me. This is my fight, and I'm not dragging the reputations of the only two guys who believed in me through the corporate mud. Get out while you can -- this ain't gonna be pretty. DO: No, Mox, we're staying here! AP: We ain't lettin' those 4D bastards get their claws on ya! RMB: I said _GO HOME_, guys. [Dan and Adam exchange a long look, and comply, raising the arms to the crowd, receiving a moderate pop. Blue trots to ringside, a locomotive look of determination on his young face. He walks up to referee Chuck Sanders, and to his chagrin, begins unbuttoning his referee shirt! Team Sychosys look impatiently in the ring at Moxy, somewhat disgusted at his actions.] SR: He can't do that! TD: Why not? The man has nothing to lose! SR: I always knew Blue was the type of kid to swipe the shirt off your back! [Indeed, Sanders, despite furious hand slapping, has not been able to avoid Mox taking of his official gear, leaving him bare-chested! To the audience's surprise, Sanders has a large tattoo of Liza Minelli on his right shoulder!] SR: Whoa! Somoene musta got into some bourbon on Broadway! TD: And yet another one of our staff unveils a deadly secret. [The camera zooms in on the tattoo.] SR: If only it was of a Chris Quigley in clown makeup... the fun we could have between him and Morton at crew parties. Speaking of which, did you ever get your tattoo removed, Dross buddy? TD: I don't think we need to go there, Steve Roberts. [Mox has now completely removed Sanders' shirt, and walks into the ring. He throws a nonchalant look at 4M... and tosses him the shirt! Crowd pop!] TD: Is he serious? SR: Moxy Blue. Serious. Not gonna happen. TD: Well, this is not a sanctioned match, but it looks Richard Blue is going to take on Joe Petrow, with Petrow's tag-team partner as the referee! [4M, unsure of what to do, looks to Petrow. Petrow nods, so 4M puts on the shirt and signals for the bell. Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Here we go! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| "Sychosys" Joe Petrow vs. Richard "Moxy" Blue |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: Dave Hogg [Petrow instantly attacks, flattening the smaller Moxy with a clothesline. In what appears to be a blind rage, he starts ripping vicious kicks into Blue's ribs, refusing to stop even when his opponent reaches the ropes.] TD: This is a vicious side of Joe Petrow! He's trying to badly injure Richard Blue! SR: I know it. Isn't this great? TD: No, Steve Roberts. I find it repulsive. SR: I found it repulsive once. Best weekend of my life. [Petrow drags Blue to his feet by the hair, then drops him again with a enzuigiri. This time, instead of pulling Moxy up, Joe drops down and starts choking him. Heel pop!] TD: This is terrible! Why doesn't the official do something? SR: Gosh, Dross. Maybe because the official is his tag-team partner? [Finally, after a few verbal attempts, 4M grabs Petrow to try to get him to break, but Petrow wheels and shoves his partner, screaming "Get your hands off me!". The Majestic One shoves right back, knocking Petrow onto his butt. Crowd Pop!] TD: Look at that! Are we seeing the first signs of dissension between our tag champs. Or is Joe Petrow so focused on destroying Moxy that he didn't even realise what he was doing? SR: I don't know, Dross. But he better be careful -- Maurice isn't the pushover and joke that he used to be. Petrow better keep in mind which one of them actually won that match at Ring Wars. [Petrow regains his feet, and looks to continue the attack, but runs right into a dropkick from the suddenly rejuvenated Moxy! Pop! Blue continues the comeback -- springing from the ring apron to the top rope, somehow doing a cartwheel into a springboard senton. Massive pop!] TD: TRUE BLUE! Moxy Blue just showed incredible agility there -- I don't know how he did a cartwheel on the top rope, much less turn it into a backsplash! And the crowd is going wild. They are chanting his name, Steve Roberts! SR: I only have one question, Dross. TD: What's that? SR: How do you think Joe Petrow liked getting that award-winning ass in the face? TD: I'd bet that he didn't like it much at all. [Moxy heads over to the corner and unties the padding from the top turnbuckle. He sets the stunned Petrow, draping his neck over the exposed metal. He then backs across to the opposite corner and races toward Sychosys.] TD: Moxy is going to try to dive and land on Petrow's head! This could snap his neck! SR: You know what they say, Dross. TD: What? SR: An eye for an eye, a neck for a neck. TD: You are a sick and twis... NO! Petrow moves! My god! Moxy just went face-first into the ringpost! He might be unconscious -- he's sprawled atop the turnbuckle, his head still against the post! [Petrow climbs up to the top rope, straddling the motionless Moxy. After shifting slightly to get a better base, Joe picks up the diminutive Blue into a bodyslam position, facing away from the ring.] TD: What in the world is Joe Petrow going to do here? SR: I have no clue, Dross. I try not to think like Joe Petrow any more than I have to. [Petrow leaps backwards into a moonsault powerslam, crushing Moxy into the mat. He covers, and 4M quickly counts... 1... 2...] TD: No! Petrow pulls him up at the two count! He wants to inflict more damage on Richard Blue! Listen to this crowd boo! [McArthur yells at Petrow, but is ignored as his partner grabs the ring microphone.] JP: What did I tell you, you fool, you loser! You're finished! I can finish you off any way I want right now, Bullet Train, Knightmare, Starsault Press, anything I want. But I want to embarrass you! I want to make you suffer for the rest of your days! I'm gonna beat you with the one move you could never pull off! Moxy Blue, prepare to get Golden Booted out of the IIWF! [With that, Petrow tosses aside the microphone and starts to untie his right boot, ignoring the protestations of 4M and the crowd. When he gets the boot off, he drags Moxy back to his feet, and leaps into the air, twisting for the enzuigiri...] TD: Missed! He missed! Moxy ducked! [In a flash, the tiny man has his own Velcro-hooked boot off, revealing his bizarre golden sock. As Petrow gets back to his feet, Moxy flings himself into the air, screwing himself through the air and landing a picture-perfect kick onto his opponent's jaw. Petrow drops to the mat like he was shot, while Blue, totally out of control, comes down on his head. The crowd comes to its feet as one, roaring their approval, but they quickly go silent as it becomes obvious that neither man is moving.] TD: Moxy finally hit the Golden Boot, and he has knocked Joe Petrow unconscious! But in doing so, I fear that he has reinjured his neck. [4M looks confused, then starts the ten count. As he reaches five, though, he sees the Down Boys rushing to ringside. Even though they make no effort to get into the ring, Maurice stops his count, and rushes over, yelling at them to get away from ringside. While he is thus occupied, Derek Mota sneaks out of the crowd, places Moxy on top of Petrow, and slides out to ringside.] TD: Maurice McArthur didn't see it! He's going to make the count! No! [4M starts to count, hesitates, and then flips the pair over! He counts to three very quickly, and signals for the bell -- but it is drowned out by the crowd's booing!] SR: Yes! That will show that twerp Moxy what happens when you let a guy's tag partner referee the match! TD: This is horrible, Steve Roberts. Granted, Richard Blue didn't deserve the win, but I am appalled by the actions of Maurice McArthur. What happened to the man who used to be a part of the Jobber Justice Squad? SR: He won some matches, Dross. That changes you forever. [As the Down Boys and Mota attend to their partner, 4M helps Petrow stagger back to the Sychopaths. As they pass the ringside camera, Petrow says "Look at us! You wanna see the Kings of the Cruisers!? You're looking at them right here!" McArthur tries to get Petrow to leave the arena, but he refuses, saying "Wait! There's something I want to see later!" TD: Well, Team Sychosys has left, but Richard Blue seems to be badly injured. He's finally able to stand, but only with a lot of help from Dan Oliver! [Moxy asks for the ring mic, but drops it when it is handed to him. Oliver picks it up, and holds it under Blue's mouth, holding him up with the other arm.] RMB: You IDIOT, DIRK! You ruined EVERYTHING! I would rather lost without your help than have you botch trying to make me win! [Mota sneers at Moxy, and snatches the mic from Oliver.] DM: I know. And I'm not sorry. [The Down Boys look in disdain at Mota, yelling "I thought you were a Discordiac!"] DM: [bleep] no. You want Discord? [Mota, lightning quick, once again attacks his tag partner, with a flying body spear, wrenching him from Adam's grasp, and slamming him into the exposed turnbuckle, his neck bouncing off the solid steel!] TD: NO! NO! NO! [Mota savate kicks the slow-to-react Dan Oliver in the stomach and clotheslines Peterson! He quickly sets Mox neckfirst on the bottom turnbuckle, climbs the top rope...] TD: What's he doing, he can't... [...and then drives his heel into the back of Moxy's neck with a sickening crack.] TD: Good Lord! Someone stop this! [Finally, Oliver and Peterson attack Mota, who dives over the top rope and vanishes into the back. The Down Boys give chase, passing the IIWF medical staff as they rush out to ringside. The medics spend several minutes working on Moxy, finally strapping him to a backboard, totally immobilised. They gently lift him onto a gurney, and wheel him towards the back as the crowd comes to their feet with a chant of "Mo-xy! Mo-xy!". Just as he goes through the curtains, he barely whispers to the camera...] RMB: [hardly audible] ...Oh...yeah...right...eous.... TD: And that very well might be the last time we ever seen Richard "Moxy" Blue in the IIWF. He might not have had a lot of success in the ring, but no one ever ignored him. You always knew when he was in the building. SR: And now we know he is gone. Thank god. TD: That's a trifle harsh, Steve Roberts. I don't think anybody can deny that Richard "Moxy" Blue gave his all throughout his tenure with the IIWF -- and I, for one, would like to wish him well as he recovers from that neck injury. [The shot pans over the crowd, still chanting "Mo-xy! Mo-xy! Mo-xy!" Section by section, the fans slowly sit down once more, awaiting the next match. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Of course, this leaves a lot of things concerning the Discordiacs up in the air: with their leader carried out of here on a stretcher, and Derek Mota turning on his stable-mates, what kind of future does this alliance have? SR: We should be grateful, Dross. They're sparing us that tiresome "we're going to punk everybody who gets in our way" phase and skipping straight to the "too many egos to work together" phase. TD: I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Steve Roberts. Folks, we have more incredible action coming right up, as two new tag teams make their IIWF debut: in one corner, we'll see young Bobby and Joe Benjamin, two up-and-comers from Grand Rapids, Minnesota, and in the other, we'll see European journeymen Robert D'Artois and Reiner Ver Magnusson. SR: Who? TD: It should be quite a match, Steve Roberts. SR: I don't even know who these guys are, Dross. TD: This is the debut of two new tag teams here in the IIWF, the Benjamins and I guess you could call them the "Euro-Elite." SR: Look, Dross, we been working together now, how long? You should know you ain't never gonna get me excited about a tag match unless there's 4-B in it. TD: You mean 4-D, right? SR: Nope, 4-B. Blood and Bare Breasted Babes. TD: You're incorrigible. SR: That's encourage-able. TD: Let's get up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| The Benjamins vs. D'Artois & Magnusson |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: André Dec [As ol' Sparky makes his way to the mic, the crowd begins to react as the group of fans in the stands in support of the Prophets of Rage yell out comments and hold up signs, such as, "Oh My God! They Killed Benji!" and "Don't know much about D'Artois, but I know what I hate." Many react in agreement as the Ragers have gathered a cult following in their quest for the titles.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team attraction is scheduled for one fall... introducing first, making their IIWF debut... from Grand Rapids, Minnesota... weighing in at a combined 515lbs... Joe and Bobby... the Benjamins! ["It's all about the Benjamins" by Puff Daddy begins as the fresh-faced tag team steps out for the first time to the IIWF crowd. Dazzled by it all as photos are taken, crowd cheering and reaching out, the Minnesota Twins Jacket-clad brothers move slowly to the ring, slapping every fan's hand, Joe hugging and high-fiving as far as six seats in to people reaching out...] TD: Does my heart good to see teams like that again... SR: YAWN! Who cares? The Double Eye has just signed a team that's more white bread than the Drag-Queens, and duller than the Predators. Least they aren't runny nose 80's wannabes, I guess. TD: You really have a hard time dealing with anyone's popularity, don't you, Steve? SR: Naw... just anyone who isn't me. Face it, I'm the spotlight. Without me as your guiding light, you'd be just another po-dunk announcer who looks like Willard Scott. TD: Whatever you say, Ashe... SR: What? TD: Oh... sorry, you reminded me of someone else. SR: Nah. They remind you of me, babycakes... What a lame choice of music too... Puff Daddy... These boys are so Wonderbread, they need the f'n Kelly Family whining their ugly skaggy butts whinin' some tripe song for 'em. TD: Steve Roberts, ladies and gentlemen. SR: To know me is to lust for me. [The Benjamins finally make it to the ring, only to find Sparky mid-nap, narcolepsy or boredom setting in... Joe and Bobby both slide under the bottom ropes simultaneously and both charge to diagonally-opposite ringposts and punch their fists skyward, shouting encouragement to the fans. They do this for quite some time, demonstrating that such a large audience is a new experience for them as Sparky naps... the Prophets, however, are more than quick to wake him up by flinging a flounder at him, smacking him right in the forehead.] SR: These kids are so sweet they're giving me a toothache... Dross, do I gotta watch this? TD: Every last minute. The fans of the Prophets of Rage -- the Disciples -- making their presence felt. SR: Making their presence gefilte, you mean... TD: Fish puns? SR: Hey, Prophets gonna bring 'em, I'm gonna use 'em. Besides, Lent and Passover are almost over... no point carping about it. TD: Oh my cod... SL: And their opponents, also making their IIWF debuts... at a combined weight of 542lbs... from Orleans, France and Bonn, Germany, respectively... Robert D'Artois and Reiner Ver Magnusson! [A round of boos as the stoic Europeans make their way to the ring, ignoring the fans completely. D'Artois makes his way to the ring in a blue robe, sneering at the people he passes, with his family crest on the back, while Magnusson doesn't seem angry so much as focused... pointing to Joe, the larger Benjamin.] TD: Magnusson with the "World's Strongest" jacket there... I can think of a couple of men who might disagree with that. SR: Who cares? TD: Steve Roberts, you are being paid a lot of money to care. SR: Ain't enough money in Fort Knox to make me care about the Froot Loop division... TD: I can see conflicts rising with Bear and Derek Rage no doubt in the Strongest man catagory in the weeks to come... SR: Gee, is that one of your surprises from the President? TD: No, but I'm told tonight... SR: Yeah, yeah, yeah... all we got last time was big ol' Gaines-burger... TD: Looks like a little conflict between Derek Rage and Magnusson there... almost a posedown, it looks like. SR: See, I like the Prophets in this sort of a froot-loop division. They get in there, you know there'll be blood. These others? One in a million shot. TD: Looks like we're about to begin... SR: Whoop...eee. [The bell is rung, and the action starts fast and furious. Joe Benjamin dashes into Reiner ver Magnusson with a clothesline, barreling over the burly German. The crowd erupts into cheers as he follows quickly, lifting the downed Magnusson high above his head in a gorilla press slam... which Robert D'Artois ruins by clipping his leg from outside the ring, causing the 290+ pound Magnusson to fall on Benjamin for a quick pin and a 2 count.] SR: See? These goofy kids don't even know you don't try a move like that in the opponent's corner! TD: Youthful inexperience, Steve Roberts. SR: And the Europeans have the advantage... being older and more skilled has its advantages... TD: I've heard that before... who said that? SR: Chelsea, to her friends. I tell you, Dross... TD: I wish you wouldn't. Scoop into a powerslam from Magnusson and a quick tag to D'Artois. Doubleteam wishbone there... and the big young Benjamin is yelling out in pain. SR: What is it with dogs, hmm? Wishbone, Benji-man... I could like these Euro-guys, though, Dross... they make quick tags and at least have an idea of what they're doing. [D'Artois tags Magnusson again, and repeats the Wishbone move, making Benjamin groan even louder. Magnusson quickly lifts Joe to his feet, and levels him with a running clothesline. A quick flex, and the crowd begins to steadily boo them.] TD: Prophets starting a chant of "Bo-ring" here, Steve. SR: Hell yeah! Evryone at home, join in! Maybe we'll see some blood! BO-RING! BO-RING! TD: Joe Benjamin locked into a Bearhug here... Magnusson really grinding away at the younger Benjamin brother's back... and he's more than holding his own in the power catagory. SR: Well, you know overall what I think of all muscle guys: boring as bloody hell, baby dolls. TD: Nevertheless, you have to admire the power... Joe Benjamin almost out of there... [...and would be, if not for the intervention of his brother. Bobby Benjamin slingshots himself over the top rope and dropkicks his own brother in between the shoulderblades. As he does so, the forward momentum sends Magnusson back with the 300+ pound Joe to the mat. As the count reaches two, Magnusson kicks out, releasing the bearhug on the rookie and tagging in D'Artois as Bobby is escorted back to his corner by the ref.] TD: D'Artois taking advantage of this rookie mistake to choke Joe Benjamin... Oh my! [Collective male groan from all but the Prophets at the low blow the referee missed. DDUA yells out, "Why you groanin'? He ain't got nothin' there!"] SR: Ha ha... old time trick... now if he has kids, they'll be stupid... well, stupider... TD: D'Artois yelling at the crowd to shut up, and dragging the big Benjamin to the middle of the ring... SR: Lifting that left leg and dropping a knee to the back of his knee... I tell you, Drossy... ain't nothing like watching these technicians. Cures what ails me... TD: What ails you? SR: Insomnia. [Magnusson from outside the ring bellows at the crowd in a roar that chills the spines of every brave man... even silencing Derek Rage for a minute... while Bobby pumps the crowd to get behind his kid brother.] TD: My word... SR: What is it with "roaring" these days? Everyone's gotta roar. TD: D'Artois with a step-over toe hold here... and Joe is in agony... SR: Looks like Ol' Bobby better find himself a real partner next time, hmm? TD: D'Artois tags back in Magnusson... you know, the Prophets having the time of their lives disrupting matches here. SR: Beats watchin' 'em, Drossy. [Magnusson steps in, lifting Joe Benjamin up and laughing at Bobby in a clipped, harsh laugh. Throwing Joe to the ropes, rushing at him with a running clothesline, only to be ducked. Both men rebound off the ropes and Joe hits Magnusson with a diving clothesline that barrels both men over, leaving them face down on the mat. Huge Benjipop!] TD: What a move! SR: What, a move? TD: Both men out of it on the mat... SR: See, but look! All D'Artois has to do is bend down and make a tag... Benji knocked them into his opponent's corner... what a moron! TD: D'Artois tags in, and sets back to work on that left leg... kicking the extended hamstring. That has to hurt. SR: D'Artois might be interesting in the days and weeks to come... Magnusson rolling out and getting his feet back. TD: D'Artois and Magnusson have effectively cut off this rookie team from tagging in and out. SR: And Joe may not be so excited in the weeks to come. TD: D'Artois bellowing at the crowd! Turning over the big Benjamin in the figure four! SR: Kiss this one goodbye, folks, as Joe breaks under... oh, hell... [Enter Bobby Benjamin, who connects a snap legdrop across D'Artois's throat, causing him to release. D'Artois is livid, standing up as Magnusson enters the ring and nails Bobby with a heart punch, sending him back. Referee Chuck Sanders, checking on Joe, misses it completely...] TD: Magnusson grabbing Bobby around the waist... what's he going to do? SR: They're tags... maybe it's love. TD: Northern lights suplex over the top rope! SR: Release suplex and Bobby's out of the picture... TD: Chuck Sanders trying to get Magnusson out of there... but a double team coming up here... Magnusson with a gorilla press of D'Artois... dropping him on Joe Benjamin! [Magnusson quickly slips out of the ring as Sanders drops to the mat to make the count: 1 -- 2 -- kickout! Joe Benjamin kicks out, but his partner is slow to get to his feet on the outside. Meanwhile, Robert D'Artois showboats to the crowd, who respond with a hearty round of jeers.] SR: Like that fruitcake with the Nagoya Strut. TD: Looks like he has an idea here... [D'Artois tags in Magnusson, who quickly bounds off the ropes... and over! The fans cheer loudly as Bobby Benjamin pulls the top rope down and Reiner Ver Magnusson tumbles to the floor! Robert sees this and immediately begins to pursue Bobby, who runs around the ring, D'Artois following, until Bobby gets back to his corner in time for the excessively abused Joe, who has slowly crawled back to his corner... to make the legal tag! Big Benjipop!] SR: Magnusson just getting back in the ring as Bobby comes in a house of pancakes! TD: House of pancakes? SR: Hey, wanna make our next battle-cruiserweight champ Eddy "Flap" Jacks happy. Besides, "house of fire" sounds like a Morton cliché. TD: Give me a break... [Indeed, Bobby has come in like a house of fire, with a series of dropkicks that rock the burly Magnusson before a running spinning heel kick sets the bodybuilder on his back. D'Artois runs in but is caught by a corkscrew crossbody block. Benjipop!] SR: Joe is wasted outside the ring... I don't think he can continue. TD: At this rate, Bobby doesn't need him to... double noggin knocker coming up. [But it is not to be. A double "scrunch", D'Artois with a face rake and Magnusson with a chest rake, cause Bobby to lose his grip long enough for Magnusson to nail him with a short clothesline.] SR: So much for that, eh, Dross? TD: Magnusson tags in D'Artois... and it looks like D'Artois is going to give this youngster the same schooling he gave his brother... lifting Bobby up, a couple of backhands across his chest. SR: Sissy slaps... sting, but useless moves... TD: And he sets him for a piledriver... or maybe a powerbomb! SR: Now that's more like it! Drive the punk into the mat! TD: Going for the piledriver... he has him up... and down! With authority! [D'Artois slaps his hands together, signalling to the crowd that Bobby is done, and receiving more jeers for his trouble. His face darkens, and he immediately makes the cover, hooking the leg as he does so: 1 -- 2 -- kickout!] SR: Damn it, why don't these goobs ever just stay down? [D'Artois, pointing to Joe and Bobby, laughs at the crowd, yelling "This is what happens when you face a real man!" The Prophets respond by lobbing a trout at him, narrowly missing his head and sailing over the other side of the ring.] TD: D'Artois not much likeing the Prophets... pointing at DDUA as he lifts Bobby up, as if to say "You're next!" SR: Ooh. If I were Allah, I'd be shaking... [D'Artois taking Bobby... Joe still groggy on his feet... and setting him for Le Bombe D'Artois... planting the older Benjamin with the patented powerbomb and laying sloppily across him in a pin... rising quickly at 2 to make sure it isn't over yet. Big heel pop!] TD: Looks like he wants to hurt the youngster more... tagging in Magnusson, and Magnusson with a power bomb of his own! SR: This youngster could be in a lot of trouble here. How could this go on this long without blood, damn it? I mean, he could cipple him, but he needs to get some juices flowing first... come on, big guy... as a favor to me. [Magnusson stands and looks at Joe Benjamin, still wobbly on his feet... as if in dference to Steve Roberts, runs at him and drives a hard left hand into his face, knocking him from the corner with a split lip and a little blood!] TD: Happy? SR: Like craving steak and getting Taco Bell, or Kathy Ireland and getting Kathy Bates... but it'll do for a start. TD: Magnusson tagging in D'Artois again... and we haven't seen much in the way of offense from the Benjamins. SR: That's 'cause they're wimps. TD: Looks like D'Artois is going to finish this once and for all! He's going for the Figure Four Leg Lock again... right in the middle of the ring! Bobby has nowhere to go -- and Joe still isn't back up on the apron! [D'Artois pumps and bellows at the crowd one last time before going to the move... only for Bobby Benjamin to grab him by the hair and pull him into a small pakage! Benji-pop as Chuck Sanders makes the count: 1 -- 2 -- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: WHAT?! TD: Bobby's rolling out of there... the two battered brothers win their first IIWF match! SR: What?! TD: D'Artois and Magnusson are livid! They were too damn cocky and lost to the youngsters because of it! SR: Damn, Dross... TD: I guess this is what happens when Old World Arrogance meets New Blood. SR: Oh, shut up. TD: And the Benjamins make their way back, beaten, bloody... SR: Not really. TD: ...and victorious... and here come D'Artois and Magnusson! SR: They're chasing them back! I don't think we've seen the end of these two teams. Sadly. TD: Oh hush. [Magnusson lumbers up the aisle after the furious D'Artois, while the crowd laugh. D'Artois stops at the top of the aisle and claps his hands against his ears, yelling at the crowd to shut up. Magnusson ushers his partner into the locker room area. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, a very promising start for both teams there -- what the Benjamins lack in experience they make up for in guts. And what impressive stuff from D'Artois and Magnusson... but such a pity that their attitude cost them their first victory. SR: Yadda yadda yadda. How about some _real_ wrestling now, Dross? TD: How about the American Dragons facing Night Patrol, Steve Roberts? SR: How about I walk out of here and never come back? TD: You'll do no such thing, Steve. Both of these teams have quite the rivalry developing: you'll recall that Night Patrol returned to the IIWF back in February and defeated the American Dragons in Japan on the world tour... and their feud rumbled on through Ring Wars 5. Now they're set to face each other one more time, right here tonight. SR: Oh, I can hardly wait. TD: Let's get up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| American Dragons vs. Night Patrol |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: Mike Beeby SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is a tag team match. SR: Otherwise known as a bathroom break for our home viewers. SL: Introducing first, from San Francisco, California and weighing in at 267 pounds, Joe Scalercio! And his partner, from Fort Carswell, Texas and weighing in at around 289 pounds, Bob Ivey! Together, they are known as the AMERICAAAAAN DRAAAAAAAAAAAAGOOOOOOOOOOOONS! [As "American Nightmare" by White Zombie starts up, the IIWF Coliseum crowd begins to pop heavily. Both of the Dragons walk out of the locker rooms at the same time, and Scalercio is first into the aisle, Bob Ivey following behind him. Scalercio is dressed in black long tights with a green dragon emblem on the leg, and a black jacket with sunglasses to match. His partner wears a white jacket with the same sunglasses, and his tights are white with the same dragon emblem. The Dragons hit the ring and each stands on one of the turnbuckles, their arms raised to get the crowd in the spirit.] SR: No amount of prancing around is gonna win these fans over, Am-Drags. SL: And their opponents... From the Fifth Ward of Houston, Texas, they are led to the ring by Assistant District Attorney Brenda Hawkings, and at a total combined weight of 534 pounds, here are Sgt. Rey Garcia and Lt. Jack Blazer... THE NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT PATROOOOOOOOOOOOL! [As the theme from "Dragnet" fills the Coliseum, a heel pop rises. Brenda Hawkings walks out first, and is quickly joined by two men in police uniforms with black trousers and boots. Garcia, a hispanic male with dark brown hair and eyes, walks to ringside right after Asst. DA Hawkings, and bringing up the rear is Jack Blazer, a muscular black man with a shaved head and a moustache adorning his face. The Night Patrol begin to enter the ring, and the Dragons go right after them.] TD: The bell hasn't even rung yet, but these teams share a history of bad blood! [Joe Scalercio grabs Sgt. Rey Garcia and throws him into the ropes, levelling him with a forearm shot as his partner, Bob Ivey, is caught with a kneelift by Lt. Jack Blazer. Blazer pounds on the back of Ivey's neck and then hooks in a front facelock to drag him into the middle of the ring, then hooks a butterfly suplex position underhook just as Garcia ducks a clothesline and comes at Ivey. He grabs the legs of Ivey and spikes a double underhook piledriver by Blazer, but Joe Scalercio catches Garcia with a dragon sweep to put him on the mat. Blazer grabs a hold of Scalercio by the throat, but Joe escapes and dropkicks Blazer in the knee.] TD: Boy, this match is barely underway and we've already got chaos! SR: Nah Dross, chaos in a tag team match is like sleeping with your sister. Sure, the ride looks like it'll be fun, but remember, it's still family poon-tang. TD: It's not wise to question the source of your anecdotes, so let's just take that at face value. [Scalercio helps his dazed partner back to his feet, and then both of the American Dragons rush at Rey Garcia, easily knocking him out of the ring to the arena floor. Jack Blazer sees the oncoming teammates and ducks, throwing Scalercio to the floor on the opposite side of the ring, and catching Ivey with a semi-hotshot. Blazer grinds his foot into the throat of Ivey as the official warns him, and outside the ring Assistant D.A. Brenda Hawkings rakes the back of Scalercio to soften him up for Garcia to come around the ring and send his opponent into the guardrail backfirst. Blazer picks Bob Ivey up in a scoop slam, then powerslams him into the mat and covers. The two count by the official is broken up by Ivey kicking out, and Blazer drives a knee into the face of the American Dragon. Scalercio dives out of the way as Rey Garcia runs towards him, and guts himself on the guardrail to the cheers of the crowd and the chagrin of Assistant. DA Hawkings.] SR: Ouch, baby dolls. Sgt. Garcia is going to spitting up intestines for weeks after that one. TD: Becky LaRue always said Brenda Hawkings' wrestlers had guts. We may see some of them tonight. [Garcia rolls around on the floor until Scalercio grabs him by the hair and props him up against the ringpost, then delivers a diving shoulderblock that catches Garcia in the stomach and knocks the wind out of him. Inside the ring meanwhile, Bob Ivey has turned the tide with an attempted backdrop by Blazer into a piledriver. He goes for a pinfall, but Blazer's foot is draped over the bottom rope to break the count, and Ivey lifts Blazer up and whips him to the ropes. He catches Jack Blazer and executes a backbreaker in the middle of the ring, then lifts Blazer right back up and does it a second time. Then Bob sits on the small of Blazer's back and reaches back with a boston crab, working over the back of his opponent. As he does, an errant object flies out of the crowd and hits him in the side of the head.] TD: Oh boy, take a look at that object, Steve Roberts. SR: That's a fish in the ring, baby dolls. And you know whose calling card trout happens to be. TD: The Prophets of Rage. [Joe Scalercio picks Rey Garcia up into position for a bodyslam and rams Garcia's back into the ringpost, then throws him right back into the ring. More fish begins to rain down on the squared circle, and Bob Ivey releases the Boston crab to get up and look for the Prophets in the crowd. All that is visible is a wild pack of the PoR fans, known as the Disciples, and Bob is unable to see them although a familiar voice rings out: "Prophets! Prophets! Prophets! Prophets!" The Dragons continue to work on the Night Patrol, as Joe grabs Rey and positions him for a Cherry Bomb, then delivers it and stretches Rey out in a Boston crab of his own. Bob Ivey meanwhile attempts a vertical suplex and is rolled up into a small package for a near count of three. Blazer and Ivey both get back to their feet and lock up, but Blazer's back betrays him again and Ivey catches him in a headlock. The shove from Blazer knocks him right into Scalercio, and the Boston crab is broken. Garcia rolls to the corner but is immediately attacked by Bob Ivey who grabs him by the throat, then delivers a soviet suplex on Garcia. Scalercio suffers a similar fate as Jack Blazer grabs him in a bearhug and squeezes the life out of him, then sets him up on the top rope for a bulldog from the second turnbuckle.] TD: And both of the smaller members of the respective teams have been hung out to dry by their larger opponents. SR: It just goes to prove the theory that a good little man will get beaten by a good big man. And an American Dragon will wait to get beaten by anyone, if you catch my drift. TD: Loud and clear, Steve Roberts. [As the referee attempts to clear two of the wrestlers from the ring to get some semblance of order, Jack Blazer picks Joe Scalercio up again. The referee separates those two while in a neutral corner Rey Garcia is held against the turnbuckles by Bob Ivey. Brenda Hawkings moves towards the brawl as Ivey tries a cross ring irish whip, but Garcia puts the breaks on. He comes back with a spinning heel kick that connects with Ivey in the corner, and Garcia drops to the mat, feigning an injury. Brenda Hawkings meanwhile throws a nightstick to Ivey, who fumbles it as he attempts to catch it, and the official catches the American Dragon with the weapon. Amidst the chants for the Prophets of Rage, the referee signals for the bell.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners as a result of a disqualification... THE NIIIIIIIGHT PATROOOOOOOOOOOOOL! [The chants for the PoR start to die off as the theme from Dragnet begins to play, and the Night Patrol regroup down at ringside while the American Dragons recover from the match. As they do, Sparkplug's microphone is yanked from his hand.] TD: Hold on folks, it appears that Lt. Blazer has a mic... SR: Preach on, Brother Blazer! JB: Oh, yeah, you Dragon chumps think you're above the law? Well, the Night Patrol's got a little challenge for you... RG: Yeah, since you punks can't obey the law and order of the IIWF... [Chants of "GARCIA SUCKS!" drown him out]... Shut up! You people shut up!... We'll just have too stoop to your level. You ever heard of a Texas Death Match? [Big Pop!] BH: The rules are simple. No pinfall, no submission, no disqualification except for outside interference. The only way that a team can win is if a ringside physician rules that both members of one team is unable to continue. TD: Incredible! The Night Patrol is challenging the Dragons to what is possibly the toughest kind of match around! SR: I hope the Am-Drags accept...I want to see the Patrol smear them all over the mat! JB: So, whaddya say, punks? Are you ready to Get Jacked... at Birthday Bash? [Bob motions for Sparkplug to toss him the house mic. He and Joe walk up to the ropes and lean on them.] BI: Hold on one moment here. You two donut eating partners... [Laughter from the crowd.] BI: ...want to challenge US to a Texas Death match? The hardest working tag team around? Well... I'm all for it... but let me ask my partner here. Joe? [Bob hands the mic to Joe, who puts his hand on his chin in a thinker's pose.] JS: Let's see... no pinfall... no submission... no DQ... just when some doctor says, "no more!" Hmm... you look at Bob and myself, two tough gentlemen... and then you look at Blazer and Garcia... Bob and I... Blazer and Garcia... Bob and I... Blazer and Garcia... ...even call... I mean, it would be the toughest match of our young careers... the kind of match that would make or break us... Dragons... Patrol... Dragons... Patrol... SR: [over the headset] Hey, we KNOW who's wrestling in the damn match! JS: I'm damn sure we can stand toe-to-toe with the Night Patrol... but in a Texas Death match...man...Bob? BI: Hey, I'm in! We're waiting on you... JS: Oh, damn...well...this is a tough call...wait! Hey, is Miss Hawkings going to be at ringside? [The Patrol nods.] JS: Well, then, that changes everything! Bob? [Bob nods at his partner...] JS: WE ACCEPT! [And with that, Joe and Bob hurl themselves over the top ropes, landing on Blazer and Garcia!] TD: AND WE'VE GOT ANOTHER BRAWL! [Scalercio is the first to rise to his feet, and he kicks at the downed form of Rey Garcia, who is sprawled at ringside along with his partner and Bob Ivey of the Dragons. He grabs Garcia and whips him into the guardrail once again, while Bob Ivey picks up Jack Blazer and tries to drive him into the side of the ring back first. Blazer reverses positions and catches Ivey with a forearm, then bounces Ivey's head off of the canvas. As the chants for each team rise up from the crowd, the JJS and a mass of officials storm down to ringside, and make short order of the post match brawl. In the confusion however, Scott "The Whine" Bloom is given a bloodied lip, and he lets the other officials know it too.] TD: Fans, this is amazing! We've already got an accepted challenge for Birthday Bash! SR: Don't you feel dirty Dross, hawking the next pay per view? How much are the suits paying you for that little advertisement? TD: Folks, we're right out of time here for our first hour! We'll be right back in just a few moments with comments from Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines, plus that huge battle royal, those two King of the Cruisers first round matches, comments from the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, and more! Don't touch that dial! [Cut to a wide-angle shot of the Coliseum as the officials and security clear the warring teams away from ringside. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Gregg Osterhout | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | ghost@frii.com | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+