________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour one...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon 18 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. Amidst the pyrotechnics, a figure is seated in the ring on a steel chair. In the middle of the ring sits the IIWF's Epitome of Evil, Serge Annis on a steel chair. Annis is wearing black jeans and boots, but has no shirt on. White, meaty scars are seen all over his shoulders and neck, with special attention drawing to the one across his throat. On the mat next to Annis is another steel chair: a blue one, wrapped up in barbed wire. Several IIWF officials stand in front of Annis, talking to him and pointing back to the locker room area. The voice of the IIWF's veteran announcer, Tim Dross, is heard over the pop from the crowd.] TD: [over the headset] Welcome to IIWF Saturday Night, folks! We have an unscheduled appearance by Serge Annis -- who has been sitting on that chair for over ten minutes before the show went on the air! [Chuck Sanders, Earl Alfonso and Dennis "Griff" Griffing are in the ring with Annis, continuing to point to the back. Annis raises a previously unseen microphone to his lips and speaks.] SA: I'm not going nowhere until I see the Vice-President. I'm not moving until Gregg Osterhout comes out here to this ring and talks to me face to face. [The crowd erupts in support of this show of defiance.] TD: [over the headset] It looks like Annis is calling out the Vice-President of the IIWF. I don't know much about the man, but I don't think the current Vice President is one to be intimidated by one such as Serge Annis. SR: [over the headset] Bigger men than Osterhout have made that same mistake. I believe it was the last one they ever made. TD: [over the headset] Osterhout is a grown man. He can take care of himself. SR: [over the headset] Didn't Mad Dog Watkins say the same thing? [The crowd begin to boo when the curtains part, as the head of the IIWF Special Concerns Committee, Poutine Janois, makes his way to the ring shaking his head and pointing to his watch.] SA: I don't give a damn about how much time I'm taking up. I want to talk to Osterhout right here and now, and I am not leaving until I see him face to face! TD: [over the headset] I am really confused by Serge Annis, Steve Roberts. Last week, he said it was time for a change, and that he'd try his best to get along with the officials of the IIWF. Holding up the show like this isn't a very good way of making himself popular with the front office. SR: [over the headset] He's a hypocrite, Dross. He doesn't know what he wants. [Janois enters the rings and adds to the crew of officials as they try to convince Annis to give up his sit in.] SA: For those of you just tuning in, I have taken it upon myself to stage a sit in, inside this very ring, and until I see the Vice-President of the IIWF, Serge Annis isn't moving anywhere. I don't give a damn if I'm holding up the show, and I don't give a rat's [bleep] if I'm delaying the schedule. [The crowd pop again as the curtains give way once again, and the IIWF's Vice President, Gregg Osterhout, the lapels of his blazer exposing the t-shirt "Anyone Can Wrestle... Only the Best Wrestle IIWF". A smile forms on Annis' face, the huge Canadian finally standing up out of his chair and kicking it away. Gregg begins to walk up the ringsteps.] SA: It's about time Spreadbury sent you out here, Gregg. I've been waiting a while. [The VP makes it into the ring and stands eye to eye with Annis... as well as a 6' man with jar bottom glasses can with a 6'8" monster. Annis holds the mic up so they both can be heard. All of the officials clear the ring, except Gregg and Griff whom stands on the side in case he is needed.] GO: What is it? What do you want? Why are you holding up the show? SA: [smiling] What, no "Hello, how are you?" I'll cut to the chase, Osterhout. There are some things I want to get clear to you and the rest of the IIWF committee. The first thing being... I want off probation. I've been good, and there's no reason to keep my on that black list of yours. GO: Rather strong words from a man whose ability seems limited to self-mutilation. Scars. Barbed wire. The only difference between you and a circus freak, is that the freak would demand a smaller contract. [There are alternating choruses of cheers and boos. The former from the "Wrestle Clean" groupies... the latter wearing shirts proclaiming "EM... er... I forget how to spell the rest."] SA: You know, I figured you'd say something like that. So what do you want me to do, then? GO: I can't answer a question like that, Serge. Either you know the answer or there's no hope for you. [Annis looks around to the crowd, and actually is receiving quite a warm pop from them, much to his surprise.] SA: So basically, what you're saying is this... I have to prove to you, and the rest of the suits back there, that I am indeed sincere when I say Serge Annis has changed? You want me to prove it to you? GO: Somewhere along those lines, yes. [Annis looks out to the crowd and back at the VP.] SA: You know that "Wrestle Clean" thing you've had going on in the past few months? Well, because of guys like me, Gregg, it's dead. Because of the poster boy you selected, that steroid freak Scott Rogers wanna-be, "Wrestle Clean" is dead. [Gregg looks a little lost for words.] TD: [over the headset] That's out of line. That's just out of line. GO: I'd... I'd rather not comment on that. SA: Wrestle Clean is dead, Gregg. But word in the back has it that you're looking for a new poster boy to head up the campaign. You want someone else to represent the suits and your "Wrestle Clean" campaign... [Annis looks to be thinking hard about something as Gregg replies.] GO: Well... more or less, perhaps... why? SA: I've got the solution to all your problems, Greggy. GO: And that would be? SA: Me. [Big pop.] TD: [over the headset] Oh, you have got to be kidding me. SA: Let me become the new poster boy for "Wrestle Clean," Gregg. Let me right all wrongs and let me show you just how much I've changed. Put me in charge of it, Gregg... GO: And why should we trust you? Frankly your track record here in the IIWF doesn't say much for you, Mr. Annis. SA: Give me a chance to prove myself to you, Gregg. That's all I'm asking. And there's no bigger or better chance than this. [Gregg rubs his chin with his hand as he ponders this unheard of notion. Annis stares down at the vp awaiting an answer.] SR: [over the headset] Serge Annis as the poster boy for "Wrestle Clean"? Somehow I just don't see it, Dross. TD: [over the headset] Well... a few weeks ago and I would never have believed you. But the emotion behind that man's eyes says it all. I saw it when I interviewed him from his hospital room in Portland General down the road from here, and I can see it here too. All he wants is a chance to prove himself, to vindicate himself and make a mark on the IIWF -- and if it were my decision, I'd say let him. GO: I'll tell you what, Serge. You want to be the model for "Wrestle Clean"? I have no reason to believe you right now... You have to prove yourself. And I can see no better way to prove yourself, than by wrestling next week. And I don't mean _your_ standard kind of wrestling. I want a text-book, clean, good, honest match between you and a superstar of my choosing. If you can comply to all the rules that normally you'd throw out the window, then maybe, and just maybe, we can consider lifting the probation set down on you. SA: Sure. That's fair enough. There's more than one way to skin a cat, so I can go through a match without a chair shot or hair pull. So who the hell do you want me to beat? I'll do it your way. [A smile spreads across Gregg's face.] GO: Charles... Sheffield. [Suddenly a look of anger finds it way onto Serge's expressions. He stares at the VP with wide open eyes, as he shakes his head no. The crowd releases a big mixed pop.] TD: [over the headset] Serge Annis and Charles Sheffield in a text-book clean match? Somehow, I just don't see it happening! SR: [over the headset] Neither do I. Those guys hate each other, especially since Serge lost cleanly to Sheffield a couple of months back. Asking Annis to go clean with Sheffield is like asking a herd of cattle to move into the slaughterhouse. It just ain't gonna happen. SA: No way... anybody but him. GO: Charles Sheffield. If you've "changed" like you say you have, then you should have no problem complying with the rules. SA: But not against Sheffield! GO: Charles Sheffield. [Annis runs his hand through his hair and thinks for a moment.] SA: Fine. I'll do whatever it takes. But don't think you're the one in control here, Gregg. I am still Serge Annis, and I am still going to do what I want to do, when and where I want to do it. If I feel like bashing in Joe Petrow's skull with a steel chair, then that is exactly what I'll do... but I assure you, there'll be a good reason. GO: Whatever, Serge. Now, will you please leave the ring and let us start the show? SA: Not just yet... [Annis bends down and lifts the blue steel chair that has a few strands of barbwire wrapped around it. Osterhout's face looks nervous as Annis bends back up with a smile.] SA: I feel like starting tonight, Gregg. I'm here... I'm available, I've got nothing else to do. So I'll tell you what... [Annis suddenly springs at Dennis "Griff" Griffing who still stands idly by the ropes, and connects the steel chair over his head sending a sickening sound to ring out through the arena. The crowd erupt with a huge pop as the officials on the outside immediately scramble around to assist the fallen head of security.] TD: [over the headset] Good God, did you see that chair shot? That doesn't make any sense! Why would Annis take out the head of security? SR: [over the headset] If you ask me, it's about two years overdue. TD: [over the headset] I don't recall anyone asking you. SR: [over the headset] Don't have to. Opinions given "While-U-Wait". Soundbite is a highway, and we're gonna ride him all night long. TD: [over the headset] I don't... SR: [over the headset] I'm not talking to you, Dross. I'm talking to this sweet young thing who is in dire need of experiencing the "Great White Way". When do you get your braces off, baby doll? [In the ring, Gregg looks down at the fallen Griff as paramedics wheel down a stretcher to help him out of the ring. Annis just paces around the ring with a smile on his face, still clutching the chair. Annis looks over to Gregg and smiles as he talks.] SA: It looks like you need someone to head up security tonight, Gregg. I've got my best friend here... [Holds up the chair.] SA: How about I fill in for Griff while he go puts some ice on that lump? [Another large face pop is heard as Annis looks down at the VP.] SA: Say "yes" and I'll leave you alone, and I'll leave the ring and you can start your damn show. Just promise me you'll take note of what I do, and keep it in mind when you decide to lift me off probation and give me the World title match against Steve Kowalski that I goddamned deserve! [Annis bends over and stares Osterhout square in the eye. Gregg looks into Serge's eyes and then over to Griffing as he is loaded onto the stretcher. His eyes return to Annis', who sports another smile, and then back down to the stretcher. Poutine Janois taps his wrist telling Gregg to hurry up. Gregg looks back and forth a few more times before he answers.] GO: Okay, fine, Annis. You want the responsibility, it's yours. Now will you just leave the ring? SA: Anything you ask for... sir. [Annis grins madly and he tosses the microphone to Sparkplug Lee who has been standing on the apron, waiting for the first match. Osterhout wipes a drop of sweat from his forehead and hurries out of the ring and accompanies the crew of officials as they escort Griff back up the ramp for medical attention. Annis grins and calls out to the crowd resulting in a loud pop, and steps between the ropes and takes position on the outside of the ring, standing between Tim Dross and Steve Roberts in the American broadcast table, and the Norwegian team. Annis clutches onto his steel chair tightly in his hands as he begins the night as the IIWF's head of security. Cut to the broadcast table at ringside, at which are seated Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. Dross, as always, is bedecked in his IIWF blazer, his bald head glinting in the glare of the lights high above the ring, while Steve Roberts wears his trademark leather jacket over a t-shirt which bears the legend, "If It Ain't The IIWF, It's Just Make-Believe."] TD: Finally we can start the show! Howdy, folks, and welcome to another live and loud edition of IIWF Saturday Night, coming at you from the jam-packed IIWF Coliseum here in Portland, Oregon. I'm Tim Dross, and beside me, as always, is my broadcast colleague and tag team partner, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. What a blockbuster show we have on the way tonight, Steve. SR: I have to tell you, Dross, I'm not an excitable guy. I've been in and around these rings all my damned life -- well, ever since my dear ol' daddy let me out of the cellar -- and I've seen everything. But the prospect of seeing Gunnar "Grizzly" Gaines and Caleb Temple together in an IIWF ring here tonight... well, it sends shivers down my spine, Dross. Not in the same way I get shivers down my spine when I have Chelsea spread-eagled over the hood of my 'Stang, you understand, but shivers nonetheless. TD: That's more than we needed to know, I think, Steve Roberts -- but I have to agree with you. We saw him for the first time in last night's "Countdown" show, and I have confirmation that he is here in the arena tonight -- Caleb Temple, a legend in this sport by anybody's definition, set to make his IIWF debut by partnering Gunnar Gaines against Team Sychosys in a match for the World Tag Team Championships. SR: You have to wonder, Dross -- these guys are trickier than a con-man convention... can Temple and Gaines truly trust one another? And what about the deep-rooted personal feelings between Gaines and Petrow concerning the whole "dead baby" thing. TD: Well, that's a particularly insensitive way of describing a tragic turn of events, Steve Roberts -- but I do have to believe that we will see Joe Petrow go all out for Gunnar Gaines here tonight. Unusually, I notice that Joe Petrow and Maurice McArthur are not among the Sychopaths here at ringside... and I have not gotten confirmation that Petrow is even here in the Coliseum yet tonight. SR: Don't you worry, Dross. Petrow wouldn't miss this one for the world. It's going to be a big, big match. TD: And would you believe it, folks -- that huge tag team title match is not even tonight's main event! We'll also be bringing you an IIWF World Heavyweight Championship match, as Steve "the Fury" Kowalski keeps up his punishing schedule in a big to become the fightingest IIWF champion of all time by facing the chaos-bringer himself, the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi. SR: Oh boy, Dross. If this is the shape of things to come, Poppa Soundbite is going to be one happy camper from now on. Musashi and Kowalski, one-on-one. I almost don't care who comes out on top -- it's just gonna be one brutal, brutal match. TD: Indeed, that's probably the only certainty about that match, Steve Roberts. Former two-time Cruiserweight Champion Takezo Musashi has really stepped things up here in the IIWF in the past several months, and many observers believe he is finally ready to take his unique talents -- and let's not overlook the fact that for all his violent tendencies, Musashi is a world-class competitor -- to a new level. Musashi could become the smallest IIWF World Heavyweight Champion of all time if he defeats Kowalski here tonight. What a main event that is going to be. SR: Hold it there just one moment, Dross ol' buddy. All this talk about cruiserweight champions reminds me of a little something I've been seeing in the bush leagues on the public access cable channels this past week. A certain former employee of this company is running around with some tin strap claiming to be the IIWF Cruiserweight Champion, after he was sent packing out of the Double Eye with his tail tucked firmly between his legs... although not until his wife had been tucked firmly between Poppa Soundbite's legs too, if you know what I'm saying, Dross. TD: I don't think we need to pursue that line of conversation any further, Steve Roberts. Apart from those two huge title matches, we will also see tournament action here tonight, as the eight-man Intercontinental Championship Tournament kicks off with the two top seeds in their first round matches. Marty Warnett, who surprised the world with a return to form last Saturday Night by winning the big battle royal to claim the #1 spot in the tournament, will face the #8 seed, "Real Deal" Luke Steele, and the #2 seed, "The Savior" Simon Lebec, will go toe-to-toe with Jimmy "the Meatman" Steele, who placed seventh in the battle royal. Two tremendous matches coming up -- and it is also my understanding that we will be hearing from Jimmy Steele a little later tonight. Apparently the Meatman has some kind of announcement for us all. SR: He's taking over the catering in the IIWF's cafeteria, Dross -- and not a moment too soon. If I have to eat one more of those damned curried turnips, I swear I'm packing my bags and leaving this god-forsaken hell-hole. TD: I don't believe that's what Jimmy Steele will be announcing, Steve Roberts -- I understand it may well concern Birthday Bash, the IIWF's next pay-per-view, which is coming up in just one month's time, folks! Plus don't forget that the King of the Cruisers tournament continues with two more first round matches here tonight -- including the IIWF's own Cruiserweight Champion, Icehawk, going up against the impressive Youth Gone Wild from the UWF. SR: Cruisers schmoozers. Bring me blood and guts, not sentons and moonsaults. TD: There's no denying the pure athleticism of these high-flying superstars, Steve Roberts, and both of tonight's tournament matches -- the other pitting the NPWA's Big Greggy Cool against the ESWP's Chris Michaels -- promise to deliver some incredible action. Plus we have tag team action as the Machines face off against the Harlequins, and the newly-reformed Black Watch take on the debuting NorthPac Coalition... it's going to be a huge, huge night of action, and with Serge Annis stationed here at ringside in some kind of enforcer role, who know's what's going to happen? Let's get up to the ring for our first match! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| The Machines vs. The Harlequins |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: Mike Beeby [The crowd cheer as Sparkplug Lee takes his place in the centre of the ring.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the first contest this evening is scheduled for one fall, with a regulation time limit. Your official for this match is Earl Alfonso. [small pop for the referee] Introducing first, from Elgin, Illinois, weighing in at 344 pounds and accompanied to the ring by Harlequin Melody, here is Harlequin Chaos! And his partner, from parts unknown and weighing in at 264 pounds, led to the ring by Harlequin Comedy, Harlequin Terror! Together they are known as... THE HAAAAAAAAARLEQUIIIIIIIIIIINS! ["Mathematics of Chaos" by Killing Joke erupts over the PA system, and a wild pop is let loose for the quartet, who actually are missing two of it's members. Terror and Chaos walk out to the ring by themselves, with no sign of Comedy or Melody. They stalk towards the ring in their wrestling attire, and standard black diamond Harlequin designs around the eyes. As they enter the ring, the theme from Peter Gunn starts to play.] SR: Where's the ass, Dross? Where's the nice sweet pieces of ass called Comedy and Melody? Say goodbye to the tag team division kids, without those pieces of ass, there's no hope. TD: Calm down, Steve. SL: And their opponents... From Denver, Colorado, weighing in at 276 pounds, Paul Wong! And his partner, from Cleveland, Ohio, weighing in at 227 pounds, Simon O'Neal! Together, they are known as... THE MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINES! [As "Peter Gunn" continues playing, the Machines walk out to the arena to a huge chorus of boos. Simon is carrying a chainsaw over his shoulder and a house microphone in one hand. Paul is carrying two sledgehammers. Simon especially seems to encourage the boos as they walk down the aisle into the ring.] SR: What is this? A contest to see who looks closest to Christopher Stonebreaker? TD: No... The referee had better those sledgehammers out of the hands of the Machines. SR: Right. A 130lbs middle-aged man is going to tell those two to drop the potentially lethal weapons they're carrying. [They enter the ring, and Simon just drops the chainsaw on the mat. Terror screams and tries to enter the ring, but Paul waves one of the sledgehammers menacingly, and Chaos pulls Terror back. Simon begins to speak into the microphone.] SO: Last week, The Machines saw their title shot disappear from under their noses when all hell broke loose outside the ring. And who started it? That psychopathic idiot there! [He points at Terror, who is straining to break free from Chaos and attack the Machines.] SO: We told you what would happen if you didn't listen to us. Well, now you're going to pay. TD: What in the world... [CRASH!] TD: Paul Wong just smashed that chainsaw with a sledgehammer! SR: You bastards! Break a few rules if you want. Hit Terror with the sledgehammer. Or hit Chaos. Hell, hit Dross if you want to. But couldn't you leave poor Binky alone? [CRASH! CRASH! CRASH! Paul and Simon take several more sings with the hammer, and the chainsaw is now broken into a hundred pieces covering the ring. With each swing, Terror lets out a scream as the chainsaw becomes dented and broken. Finally, Terror just collapses, and sits on the floor, covering his head with his arms.] TD: I think... I think Terror's crying, Steve. SR: Wouldn't you? If your chainsaw was destroyed, you'd be sobbing your eyes out too. [Shakes his head] Those Machines are cold, cold bastards. [Simon gives Paul a high-five as the crowd begins booing even louder. Simon picks up a piece of broken metal and tosses it at the feet of the Harlequins.] SO: Here... have a souvenir. [Paul and Simon finally hand the sledgehammers over to the referee, and demand that the bell rings. The referee calls for a quick sweep of the ring before the match, and Paul and Simon prepare in the corner.] TD: Harlequin Terror is in no shape to get into the ring. He's just sitting on the floor, sobbing like crazy and holding that piece of steel. SR: Chaos might have to fight The Machines two-on-one. Of course, when you count the voices in his head, it's still 37 to 2 in favour of the Harlequins. [Just then, "Kiss of Death" by Dokken starts up. The curtains part, and the audience explodes in cheers...] TD: Oh, my. SR: The Soundbite just became a very happy man. [Stepping through the curtain is Ms. Miki... and Harlequin Melody... and Harlequin Comedy. The crowd is riled up in a cheesecake frenzy. Melody is carrying a large box with her, wrapped up in wrapping paper with a large yellow ribbon. Comedy takes the microphone.] HC: [in a sing-song voice] Ter-ror, honey! We have a pres-ent for you! [Melody opens up the top of the box, and pulls up...] SR: It's another chainsaw! TD: Not another one, Steve Roberts! I believe... that's BINKY! [Terror looks up, sees the chainsaw, and starts jumping up and down in joy. Melody and Comedy walk down to ringside with the chainsaw, leaving Ms. Miki with the microphone.] MM: Paul, Paul, Paul. [Shaking her head] I have such fond memories of the time you were acting like a love-struck fool for me. Fond memories... and a few souvenirs. Like a set of you locker room keys. [She holds up a set of keys in her hands.] MM: We switched chainsaws over an hour ago. [checks the time] Now, I have to leave. Nature's perfect creations, the Fabulous Ones, will destroy you... but not tonight. Tonight, we'll let the clowns hurt you a while. [Miki walks away to cheers from the male audience. At ringside, Comedy and Melody arrive, and Terror quickly yanks Binky out of Melody's hands and begins hugging the chainsaw. Then, he turns and looks into the ring at the Machines with an ugly look in his eyes...] TD: Harlequin Terror storms the ring, and mows down both Machines! Harlequin Chaos is in now, and grabs Simon O'Neal by the hair. SR: Chaos is turning O'Neal's face into cornmeal! You gotta love high intrigue involving chainsaws. TD: You're a twisted individual. SR: Just call me Harlequin Soundbite. [Terror grabs Paul Wong and brings him to a standing position, then lays into him with a series of chops to knock him back into the corner. Wong grabs the ropes and keeps himself steady, then takes a shoulder to the stomach followed by a kick to the thigh. Across the ring, O'Neal is getting nice and loopy from the turnbuckle smashes, and then both Harlequins execute an Irish whip, sending the Machines to the middle of the ring. O'Neal leapfrogs Wong, but takes a clothesline from Terror just as Wong barrels into a DDT from Chaos.] SR: The Harleys are on a roll, Dross! You know what that means. TD: That they'll win? SR: No, that the end of the world is near. The ground is going to swallow us up, the building is going to shake, and Stonebreaker is going to win the Intercontinental Championship tournament. [The official for the match, Earl Alfonso, sends Paul Wong and Harlequin Chaos back to their respective corners while their partners continue to fight. Terror pulls Simon back up and goes for a bodyslam, but Simon sneaks out the backdoor and comes down behind Terror, grabbing him for a waistlock takedown. Once getting him on the mat, O'Neal executes a sleeperhold with a bodyscissor thrown in, and tries to keep Terror grounded heavily. After keeping him down for several seconds, he switches a sleeperhold for a full nelson, and works on stretching the back of Terror. The Harlequin struggles to the ropes and delivers a parting kick to the midsection of O'Neal, as both men tag out quickly. Paul Wong steps over the top rope and grabs Chaos by the throat, lifts him up and delivers a choke slam. Outside the ring in the crowd, Serge Annis looks on sternly as Wong uses a version of his finisher.] TD: Paul Wong has changed the face of this match in one move. SR: Yeah, ever since he clotheslined the poon-tang, he's had a mean streak as wide as LaRue's bedroom door. TD: A garage door, you mean. SR: Exactly, Timmo. [Wong tries to pin Chaos, but the Harlequin kicks out and struggles to his feet slowly, ending up in a headlock by Wong. Chaos shoves him off and into the ropes, but Wong delivers a thunderous shoulderblock that takes Chaos back to the mat. He gets up again, and Wong grabs him for an Irish whip, then sticks an elbow into his path. Chaos avoids the elbow and tosses Wong down with a hiptoss to the mat, and then lays in a massive kick to his back.] TD: Hang on, here come the Fabulous Ones! The Machines can't be happy with their arch-rivals out here. SR: Comedy, Melody, _and_ Miki at ringside again? The Soundbite is an extremely happy man. [Sho Satsuma and Agito Nakajima walk down the aisle to tremendous boos, and Miki walks behind them, hearing incredible cheers instead. They take up a position in the middle of the aisleway, and Simon O'Neal shouts at them to take a hike. Paul Wong is doubleteamed by both Harlequins after the tag to Terror, and is met with a double vertical suplex that hoists the big man straight up in the air, then drops him straight down onto his head with a brainbuster suplex. Terror tries to pin Wong, but the Machine kicks out first. Paul pokes Terror in the eye and then hits him with a low blow, drags him to the Machines corner and as Simon O'Neal holds his arms back, Wong lets loose with a flurry of punches to Terror's stomach. Wong finally spots the Fabs and makes an off colour remark that involves Sho and Agito, Becky LaRue and a tub of margarine.] TD: The Fabulous Ones storm the ring! Earl Alfonso is calling for the bell, but the Machines and Fabs are ripping into each other again! Sho Satsuma pulled Simon O'Neal off the apron! SR: Those Harleys don't seem too damn happy. They got the loss, and the shaft. I got the shaft once, Dross. TD: How'd it turn out? SR: Not a particularly memorable weekend of my life. Just experimentation in college. [The Harlequins leave through the crowd, but considering Terror's mental state and the fact that he's got Binky back, it takes the rest of the Harley crew to make sure he doesn't kill anyone. They're swallowed up by the rest of the audience, as the Machines and Fabs move up the aisle towards the back. Sho and Simon continue to lock up and lay the occasional kick into each other's stomach, while Paul Wong and Agito punch each other back and forth. As they stop in the middle of the aisle, the crowd suddenly lets loose a ringing heel pop as two men appear at the head of the aisle, chairs in hand.] TD: It's Duncan and Andrew Macbeth! The Black Watch! [Duncan wears blue full length wrestling tights with thistle striping, and Andrew has an olympic styled outfit, but the same colour with the thistle striping. Each man also has a red Lion Rampant on the chest. Before the other teams can react, the Black Watch rushes down the aisle at them, each taking a target and cracking them over the head with it. Sho Satsuma and Simon O'Neal are the first to fall, but Duncan Macbeth goes right after Paul Wong next, bringing the biggest man down. Agito Nakajima tries to fight with Duncan, but Andrew is right there with a chairshot to the temple. The Macbeths stand over the Machines and the Fabulous Ones, and begin to lay in kicks to the stomach. Duncan looks ready to pull one of the Fabs up for a Claymore, but Serge Annis is on the scene, with the chair wrapped in barbed wire in hand. He manages to hold the Black Watch off, and officials storm out to get a handle on the situation. The Watch leave first to massive heel pops, and shortly after the Fabs and Machines leave separately, staggering for the locker rooms.] TD: What an unbelievable turn of events we've seen, and it's only the first match of the night. SR: What I can't believe is what kind of a corporate puppet Annis has become. Out here playing sheriff... give me a break. TD: Fans, we'll be right back in a moment with the first of tonight's two first round King of the Cruisers matches. Don't go away. [Fade. The camera opens with the scene of "The Savior" Simon Lebec's face on a black background. Lebec stares into the camera as he speaks] SL: I had more concussions than Clinton had scandals. [Clip of Lebec crashing hard through a ringside table] SL: Seen more blood than Freddy Kruger's worst nightmare. [Clip of Lebec bleeding profusely from the forehead] SL: Got scars in places that people ain't even knew they had. [Clip of the River Thames barge exploding into flames] SL: Yet I ain't worthy enough ta wear gold? [Clip of Daniel Spreadbury's announcement, declaring the Intercontinental Title vacant.] SL: Tell it to them doctors who fix me up, day in, day out. [Clip of Lebec and Marty Warnett battling it out in last week's battle royal.] SL: Ya want clean entertainment? Go ta th' balet. [Clip of a ballet dancer doing a pirouette] SL: Ya want _real_ entertainment? [Clip of Lebec, clubbing Duncan Macbeth from behind on a previous "Countdown to Saturday Night"] SL: Wrestle Hard. [Camera fades. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: And we'll be seeing Simon Lebec in action right here a little later on this hour, folks. But right now, it's time for the first of tonight's two King of the Cruisers matches. First up, it's the NPWA Cruiserweight Champion, Big Greggy Cool, against his counterpart from the ESWP, Chris Michaels. This promises to be a great match -- so let's get up to the ring! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| KING OF THE CRUISERS TOURNAMENT FIRST ROUND: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Big Greggy Cool [NPWA] vs. Chris Michaels [ESWP] ....................................................................... WRITER: Steve Carmichael [The crowd pop as Sparkplug Lee climbs into the ring with a microphone, set to announce the next match. A fan throws an official IIWF Sparkplug Lee teddy bear at him, which hits him in the face and scares the poor ring announcer. After regaining his composure, he holds up the bear for all to see, and smiles. The bell sounds as Hugo Hugo rolls into the ring and the match is set to get underway.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... the following contest is a special Round One match in the IIWF's King of The Cruisers tournament featuring the very best cruiserweights from around the world! The match is scheduled for one fall and has a ten minute time limit. And now... the first participant... ["Bounce" by Run DMC hits the speakers and the crowd let loose a good sized face pop. The NPWA's representative, Big Greggy Cool, pushes past the curtains and yells out to the crowd. Cool is dressed in black boots, shin length cargo shorts and a t-shirt bearing the phrase, "Me Against The World Tour" with the sleeves and collar ripped off. Greggy's curly hair is braided. Big Greggy Cool bounces around to his music and walks down the isle clapping hands with the fans.] SL: Weighing in at two hundred pounds, he stands at six foot zero, and hails from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania... representing the NPWA, ladies and gentlemen, here is... Big Greggy Cool! [The crowd cheer as BGC rolls into the ring, bouncing and skanking around to his music. He sees a section of NPWA fans in the first row holding up a BDC sign, and he gives them a big thumbs up for it.] SR: You know Dross, I actually like this guy. He reminds me of me. TD: And why is that? Does he do the Asai moonsault as well? SR: No, not as good as me at least... did you hear him on that Cruiser preview show? He said, and I quote, "I joined for all the illicit drugs, promiscuous sex and mob tie-ins, and I might even be good at the in-ring shizz part of it too!" This guy's got class, style, the whole nine yards, Dross. TD: My goodness... well, whatever his reasons are for competing here in the King of The Cruisers, this man is a tremendous wrestler and we are proud to have him compete in the tournament, as I am sure NPWA is happy to have him here. [BGC stands up on the top rope and points to the shirt he is wearing, which is a Chris Michaels t-shirt saying "Me Against The World Tour".] SR: Oh! Oh! Look, he's wearing a cut up Chris Michaels t-shirt! Dammit, this guy's my pick, Dross. He's got the attitude to win it all. TD: You haven't even seen his opponent yet. SR: Don't need to... mob tie-ins... heh, maybe I should introduce him to The Smooth? [The music cuts out, and is not replaced with any new music. The crowd gives a moderate pop as Chris Michaels parts through the curtains and makes his way into the isle. Michaels is wearing long black tights, kneepads, boots and shinguards. He totally ignores the reaction he gets from the crowd and walks down to the ring.] SL: And his opponent... Weighing in at two hundred and twenty seven pounds, standing at six foot zero, hailing from Tampa, Florida, representing the ESWP, here is Chris Michaels! [The crowd cheers some more as Michaels hits the ring and stands in his corner, awaiting instructions from the ref. On the other side of the ring, Big Greggy Cool starts up a "B-D-C!" chant which fans pick up on. BDC removes his shirt and stands in his corner now, waiting for the bell.] SR: See, look at Michaels. No flashy entrance, no cool costumes, no chicks to accompany him. He's got nothing. TD: He's got skill, Steve. Isn't that enough? SR: You've got to be kidding me, Dross. [After conferencing with Michaels for a few seconds, Hugo Hugo orders for the bell to be rung. The bell sounds and the match is under way. The "B-G-C" chant raises up as the two superstars close in at each other from the centre of the ring, apparently looking for a lock-up. When Michaels goes for the lock-up, however, Big Greggy Cool steps out of the way to do a little more skanking for the crowd, and they go nuts for him! Michaels waits in the middle of the ring, looking unimpressed with his hands on his hips. BGC skanks over to the ropes and raises his arm up in the air and receives quite a reception for it. BGC turns around and moves to the centre of the ring, ready for the lock-up now. When BDC moves in to however, Michaels quickly sidesteps him and dropkicks him in the right knee. Greggy bends over, stretching his leg as he apparently is suffering from a charley horse. As GBC's attention is diverted, Michaels charges right in with repeated kicks to the back of Greggy's knee, followed by a Dragonscrew legwhip. Cool falls down to the mat, but rolls away from an attempted elbowdrop from Michaels. Both wrestlers return to their feet, and Michaels goes for another kick to the knee, but BGC blocks it. Unfortunately though, Big Greggy Cool fails to block the savate kick aimed straight at his throat. The kick sends BGC back through the ropes and to the floor, right in front on the broadcasting table and Head of Security, Serge Annis. Annis looks down at him, unimpressed.] TD: Chris Michaels has taken quite a strong start here in this match by working on Greggy's knee. SR: Yeah, sure, Michaels is effective with those kicks. I'll give him credit. But what would happen to him if he had his knees taken out himself? I hear he's had a history of knee problems, and if I know that, then you can bet your bottom buck that Big Greggy Cool knows it. TD: And Serge Annis is watching on as Greggy Cool takes a few moments to walk out the injury on the floor, which is good stragedy because Michaels looks intent on not leaving the ring. SR: I wonder how much it would cost for Annis to slip Greggy that barb wire steel chair? [Big Greggy Cool walks out the limp on the floor, and re-enters the ring after a near ten count. Once he is on he is feet, Chris Michaels goes for another savate kick, but Greggy sidesteps it and rolls him up with pin attempt. One... two... kick out. Both men quickly return to their feet and BGC quickly pounces at Michaels with a lock up and manages to hit a picture perfect amateur style fireman's carry, sending Michaels crashing down hard. Michaels gets back up to his feet after a second of rest, and BGC goes for another lock-up. This time, Michaels isn't caught off guard and snags Big Greggy Cool in a gGrman suplex. Cool's neck smashes into the mat hard with a sickening thud, as the crowd wince at the blow. Michaels senses opportunity and quickly goes to apply a fujinami arm bar, but Greggy quickly squirms free and out to the floor. On the floor, Greggy shakes his finger at Michaels and skanks around a bit more, causing Chris to pound the mat in frustration.] TD: Big Greggy Cool's gameplan appears to be succeeding, Steve Roberts -- Chris Michaels is clearly having difficulty keeping his focus here. [Greggy rolls back into the ring and Michaels moves to help him back in, via a front face suplex. Greggy blocks it by hooking his foot on the bottom rope, and plants a quick blow to Michaels' midsection. Greggy ropeflips over the ropes, and rolls down Michaels' back and lands on his feet, using the momentum to continue running to the opposite ropes and bouncing back at Michaels with a flying forearm. Chris falls back into the ropes and BGC quickly ascends the turnbuckles and flies off with a double axe handle right into Michaels' head. BGC executes a legsweep and cradles Chris for another two-count. Michaels rolls through and shoots up at Greggy with a Saturday Night roll-up and manages a two count of his own before BGC can kick out. One back to his feet, Michaels goes for a leg grapevine, but Greggy once again squirms his way over to the ropes, and under them. Greggy trips Chris when he steps too close to the apron and wrenches his knee on the edge of the ring. Chris writhes in pain after several kicks and punches to the hurt knee.] TD: Big Greggy Cool is a thinker. He knows that Michaels is a submission specialist, so he avoids those holds at all costs. And now he's working on Chris Michaels' leg. SR: His kicks won't be so effective if he can't walk upright, Dross. TD: And you can say the same for Greggy's high flying moves if Chris keeps working on that right knee. [Big Greggy Cool quickly hops up onto the apron and climbs up the turnbuckles onto the top rope, set to fly once again, however, Greggy loses his balance and falls, straddling the ropes between his legs. The crowd groan, as does BGC. Michaels returns to his feet and sees Greggy sitting on the buckles, in shock. Chris ascends onto the second set of ropes and grabs Greggy for a superplex... but has it reversed, with BGC back body dropping Michaels down onto the floor, right by a group of drunken frat boys who yell madly once on camera. Greggy sits up on the turnbuckle with a grin, and tapping his forehead.] TD: Big Greggy Cool was playing possum! He was waiting for Michaels! SR: Just like you said, he's a thinker. [Greggy gets back to his feet, and positions himself accordingly as he flies off with a moonsault, to the floor and onto Chris Michaels knocking him back down to the hard mats. Both men lay, hurt from the blow.] TD: What a gutsy move by Greggy Cool! I think he hit his head on apron on the way down, but I am not sure. All I know is that was one hell of a risk! [Steve looks over at Serge Annis, who is standing next to him, watching on.] SR: Let's see you try a move like that, Psycho-boy. I hope you break your neck. [Annis gives Steve a quick, unimpressed glance, and returns his attention to the ringside area. On the floor, both combatants start to move again, and they both roll into the ring at the eight count. Greggy and Michaels take a moment to collect themselves before Michaels dropkicks BGC's knee area again, causing Cool to fall over in pain. Michaels applies another leg grapevine, and Greggy cries out in pain. Hugo Hugo is quick to ask Greggy if he quits, and receives a very vocal version of the word no. Greggy fights it and eventually makes it to the ropes, causing Michaels to release the hold. Chris releases as soon as Hugo Hugo instructs him to, and backs away until BGC is back to his feet. Michaels latches his arms around BGC's waist and bridges back in a dragon suplex, for a near three count, but the cool one finds a way to kick out. Michaels helps BGC back to his feet, and whips him to the ropes. BGC bounces back and ducks a clothesline attempt and hits Michaels with a dropkick of his own. After a kip-up, Greggy Cool signals for the BGCDDT. The crowd cheer with anticipation.] SR: He's setting 'em up for the Big Greggy Cool DDT, I know it. TD: If he hits this, it might change the direction and pace of this match as that BGCDDT has rendered many opponents unconscious. [Big Greggy Cool goes to hit the BGCDDT, but Michaels hooks the leg and blocks the BGCDDT attempt. Instead, Michaels bridges back, with a Northern Lights suplex. He receives a two count before BGC bridges up, and the two wrestlers return to their feet. Michaels thinks quick and thrusts backwards with a savate kick straight to the back of Greggy's knee sending BGC crashing to the mat in tremendous pain. Michaels seems content with this and moves in for another submission, but BGC screams in pain, and referee, Hugo Hugo orders Michaels back for a moment while he checks on his opponent. Michaels obbeys the ref and bends down to check Greggy's condition... but Greggy quickly rolls under the ropes, landing on his feet and smiling. He attempts a skank for the crowd, but a knee injury is clearly visible, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.] TD: I admire the spunk in this kid, Steve. He's injured, and he knows it, we know it and so does the crowd. But his pride is telling him to keep going. SR: If I were Chris Michaels, I'd be wearing one big happy grin on the inside because it looks like his work on that knee has paid off. [Greggy climbs up the stairs and slowly enters the ring, and is immediately met with a knife edge chop that rings out through the crowd. The drunken frat boy's at ringside all cheer out "Whooo!" as he connects with another. Greggy drops to his knees... and doubles over Chris Michaels with a skilfully placed elbow between the legs, and unseen by Hugo Hugo. The crowd gasps once again, feeling Michaels pain for him. Both wrestlers lay down on the mat in pain.] SR: A wise man once said, that be man-pain, baby! TD: Both wrestlers have waged a see saw battle. No one has taken a real lead. We thought we saw a big lead for Michaels when he messed up Big Greggy Cool's knee... but after that low blow, I think we are back to where we started. [One of the drunken fans start chanting out boring, as both wrestlers continue to sit in pain.] SR: Ah geezus, I hate it when these idiots want high spot after high spot. Anything less is boring to them. [Steve stands up and yells over to the fan whom is decked out in a Steve Kowalski t-shirt and a football jacket, catching the eye and attention of Serge Annis. The fan is rather large, somewhere around the 250 pound mark, and holds a beer in his hand, getting kick out of being a smart alec.] SR: Yeah, well your Mom was quite boring herself last night -- so shut up! [Steve's comment enrages the fan and he hops over the barrier and makes a lunge at Steve, shouting drunken profanity after profanity. This causes Serge Annis to leap at, and intercept the crazed fan with a football tackle. The crowd roar in approval as Chris Michaels begins to rise to his feet. Annis lifts the fan up to his feet, and grabs him by his neck and lifts him up in a position for a chokeslam.] SR: Yeah! Do your job, Annis! Break his neck! TD: Goodness no! Don't do it, Serge! Fans, this could be very ugly... [Annis walks a few steps forward, still holding the fan up with two hands, and instead of slamming him down to the concrete with a chokeslam, Annis shoves the fan down, over the railing and back into his seat, spilling the beer of his friends. Annis is heard saying "Stay in your goddamned seat, you little puke" and walks back over to his position next to the broadcast table. In the ring, Michaels is up and knocks BGC down to the mat with a kick to the head.] TD: I am amazed, fans! Serge Annis just did his job as head of security! SR: He should have chokeslammed the son of [bleep]. No one even attempts to get their hands on Steve Roberts without paying the ultimate cost. Remember Requiem? TD: You had no part in Requiem's departure from the IIWF. SR: Oh no? Well, let's just say I had a little deal worked out with the Blind Guardian... no one touches the Soundbite. TD: In the ring, Michaels is back on the offence and drives a few more kicks to Big Greggy Cool's knee. Six minutes have gone by since the opening bell, and look at how much action we've seen Steve. I don't even think we'll have a winner before the ten-minute time limit if it keeps up like this. [Greggy lies on the mat as Chris Michaels journeys up to the top rope. Michaels flies and connects a hard frog splash to the mat, and nothing else as Greggy Cool manages to roll away to the floor at the last second. Big greggy Cool pulls out Michaels and gives a knife edge chop of his own, followed by an attempted whip into the guard rail. Michaels reverses it though and sends BGC for the ride. BGC gets a grip of the rail with his hands though and leaps up as Michaels charges in, and over Michaels' shoulder sending Chris into the railing himself. BGC rolls Michaels back into the ring, and is about to roll back himself when a fan gets his attention. The fan that was seen earlier with a BGC sign, spins it around to say "Chris Michaels for IIWF Prez!". Greggy snickers to himself and yanks the sign right out of the fan's hands, and rolls into the ring with it. He holds it up for the crowd to see as Michaels uses the ropes to help him back to his feet. Big Greggy Cool smiles, and spits on the cardboard sign, and spins around smashing it into Chris Michaels' head. Strangely, the blow knocks Michaels down to the mat, and Greggy slides the sign to the floor under the bottom rope. The referee looks at the downed Michaels, and shakes his head questioning what happened with the sign.] TD: What the heck? How could a sign knock down Chris Michaels? It's only cardboard! SR: Yeah, but you know the work-rates of these cruisers... they can dive through the air all they want to, but when it comes to taking the bumps, they are just weak. [As Hugo Hugo ponders the situation, Big Greggy Cool has already perched himself up onto the top rope and dives off with a "ODoubleAche" headbutt into the lower abdominal region of Michaels, who is down and out. Greggy covers, and the ref quickly drops to his feet and administrates the three count. Ding! Ding! Ding! Big Greggy Cool hops up to his feet and skanks around the ring, hurt knee and all, in celebration of his victory. Hugo Hugo holds up BGC's hand as "Bounce" by Run DMC plays again.] SL: The winner, at the time of seven minutes and forty two seconds, and moving on to the second round of the King of the Cruisers tournament, Big Greggy Cool! [Cool slides under the ropes and makes a prompt exit from the ring, smiling the antire way. Hugo Hugo accompanies him, forgetting about Chris Michaels in the ring who is slowly starting to stir.] TD: I'd hate to take away a tremendous victory from Big Greggy Cool, but don't you find it odd that a sign actually knocked out Michaels? SR: I just went over this with you Tim... them cruisers don't know how to take bumps. They're both lucky they didn't get a paper cut. TD: I still find it odd... but either way, a win for Big Greggy Cool, and what a match that was! Both the NPWA and the ESWP have to be very proud of their talent, who just got the chance to showcase in front of the IIWF, in the King of The Cruiserweights tournament. SR: Hey, look at Annis... [Acting Head of Security, Serge Annis walks over to where the sign was depositted on the floor, as a new official runs down to the ring to check on Chris Michaels, whom is up to one knee now. Annis picks up the sign, and immediately, a scowl grows on his face. Annis peels back at the cardboard, suspecting foul play, and is right as he rips off the cardboard to reveal a metal plate hidden inside the sign!] TD: I don't believe it! The sign was rigged! The sign was a plant! We've been had by Big Greggy Cool! SR: Yes, I love it! See, what'd I tell you about style and class? Why the heck would a referee disqualify someone for hitting your opponent with a sign? It's brilliant! TD: Unbelievable. And folks, this place is about to come unscrewed -- up next, we're set to get some comments from the Prophets of Rage, who are on strike here in the IIWF until they are granted a match against the World Tag Team Champions. [Annis hands the torn cardboard and the metal plate to the official as Michaels rolls out to the outside, displaying no emotion. His head hangs low though, ignoring the fans as he walks back up the aisle. Sparkplug Lee waddles back into the ring, looking around nervously as he grips the mic. He looks out into the crowd, scanning the scene for the Prophets of Rage and spots them in the audience. Taking a deep breath.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... the following segment has been brought to you by the Prophets of Rage who have decided to grace you with their presence tonight. [The Disciples in the audience are going crazy, hurling fish into the ring. A big flounder smacks Dross in the side of the head, knocking him back and down. Medusa Rage comes out of the stands dressed in a skin-tight catsuit that gets the crowd pumped up.] DISCIPLES: 'dusa! 'dusa! 'dusa! MR: Ladies and gentlemen, you are now about to witness an event which you should have your tapes rolling for this one because your Gods have descended to Earth today and they are here to bless you with their words. DISCIPLES: Preach the word! MR: Ladies and gentlemen... introducing... from Halifax, Nova Scotia and Brooklyn, New York... weighing 563lbs... The Hammer of God... Derek Rage... the Dirt Dog... Unique Allah! These are your Prophets of Rage! [The Disciples are apoplectic now. They are caught in rapture. Derek Rage steps out of the crowd and steps over the top rope. Dirt Dog follows him out, stumbling and falling and rolling into the ring. He lies on his back, scratching his groin. The Disciples are pumped up at the display, cheering: "Brilliant! Brilliant!"] TD: Brilliant? He's just scratching himself! SR: Well, that's what you get when you have only one decent tag-team in the whole of the IIWF! Well, Dirt Dog's having fun doing some serious scratching! DR: [raising the mic to his lips] Ladies and gentlemen, the Prophets of Rage have descended to Earth! And we have descended with wrath and ire! DDUA: Yeah muhfuh! Disciples: Yeah, muhfuh! DR: We aren't here to be interviewed. We aren't here to do a little interchange with Tim Dross. What we are here to do today is give a little prayer. We want you all to bow your heads and join us in prayer that the IIWF keeps its tag-teams safe. DDUA: Bow your heads, muhfuhs! [Dirt Dog stumbles to his feet as Derek begins. The three Prophets bow their heads low.] DR: Dear Mr. Spreadbury, hear our prayer. The IIWF is caught in the grips of a malevolent spirit. A blight has fallen across your tag-team division. Heed our pleas, shine the light back on the tag-team wars. Shine a light back on the hopeless no talents who are forced to suffer the indignities everyday of losing to the blight that is Joe Petrow and his selfish imagination. DDUA: Save the tag-team ranks from being part of the circus that is Team Sychosys and the Funky Like a Monkey title reign. Save us from that nonsense. We are after all your humble employees, but we deserve to be respected, we deserve to be treated equally and not like the scum that Team Sychosys seems to think is our lot. DR: Dear Mr. Spreadbury, send us a champion... a team that is strong and mighty and proud. Send us a team that is not afraid to hurt... to bleed... to show our respect and our love of the game and our competitors. I ask you, Mr. Spreadbury. Grant the Prophets of Rage the reward for their successes. Allow them to have just one shot. One single shot at saving the IIWF's tag-team division from the evil that is Joe Petrow and Team Sychosys. Reward us for our victories and do not punish us for never failing. Do not keep us from the pay-per-views, do not fail to rank us for defeating every team in the IIWF. Let us bring respectability back to the tag-team ranks. Sweep aside the egos, sweep aside the petty jealousies and the fragile manhood of the opposing teams. Allow us our animation. Allow us to be free. Allow us more than to be the tortured puppets in the show that is Joe Petrow. DDUA: Give us a title shot, MUHFUH!!! GIVE US ONE FREAKIN' STRAIGHT UP HONEST TITLE SHOT!!! DISCIPLES: AMEN, MUHFUH!!! [They begin a profanity-laced chant asking Daniel Spreadbury to create a partial vacuum with his mouth on the external organs of a water fowl. Fish fly through the air, but none ever hit the Prophets. They stand amidst the chaos as the Disciples go crazy, hurling fish and tearing up the seats. They are fed up with the IIWF's tag-team scene. They are fed up, period. Security rushes out to contain the violence. The Prophets merely bow to their fans and then point to the back. Derek can be scene mouthing "Here's your tag-team right here, Spreadbury. You better recognise us."] DDUA: Don't make us paint a f'n bus, muhfuh! [Before any more can be said, a voice rings out across the confines of the IIWF Coliseum...] JS: Would you please just shut the HELL up? SR: [over the headset] What? Who the heck dares interrupts the Prophets? They've got balls... [The fans erupt in cheering as from behind the curtain steps Joe Scalercio and Bob Ivey, the American Dragons] SR: [over the headset] Check that. It's the Drag-Queens. [Joe and Bob are decked out in their trademark leather jackets; Joe the black with the curled up green dragon on the back, and Bob with the red dragon, wings outstretched, on the back of his white jacket. Both men have mics, and they come to midway down the aisle, staring at Derek Rage and Dirt Dog in the ring] JS: Derek, Dirt Dog... me and Bob were sitting backstage, just enjoying the accommodations here... SR: [over the headset] I guess he found the broken vending machine. JS: ...and as we're walking past the curtain, on our way to the archives to dig up some footage on the Night Patrol... why, we hear you two out here bitching and moaning! You come here, throwing your fish around... BI: You know, my daddy always use to tell me two things in life smell like fish. One of them... is fish. The other one is standing right there in the ring. [Big pop from the crowd, except for the Prophets' fans, who boo loudly.] JS: True words, Bob. Now, you came out here last week, walking around with your signs, picketing...and we thought, "Well, if you've got a cause, let's show our support!" So we got some guys to whip us up some signs quick... guys? [On cue, Ned Norton and Scott Bloom, his lip stitched from last week's altercation, walk out, with picket signs. We can't read them, as the two JJS members have them turned face down.] BI: Thanks, fellas. [Norton and Bloom walk backstage, as the Dragons hold up the signs... and turn them around to face the Prophets of Rage. Huge, HUGE response from the crowd!] TD: Oh my. SR: [over the headset] You're kidding me! [Indeed, Joe has a sign that reads "PROPHETS SWALLOW!", while Bob's sign says "PROPHETS OF RAGE VERSION 2.0...SEQUELS SUCK!"] JS: Well, here's what we feel. BI: You come out here and say, "We want a shot at Team Sychosys. We want to take on any team. We want this. We want that." Guess what, partners? You've got it. Next week, if you two feel froggy... we'll step in the ring with you two sorry bitches and kick your butts all the way back to the East Coast! Next week, RIGHT HERE ON SATURDAY NIGHT! [The crowd EXPLODES!] BI: If you got the guts, try taking on the hardest working tag team in the biz... speaking of which, when the hell was the last time you guys got in the ring and actually wrestled? Before Steve Roberts'... [Bob puts his fingers in the air, making quotation marks.] BI: ..."back injury?" SR: [over the headset] What the hell would those two morons know about it?! JS: So, you two... [Joe's sentence is never finished, as he is jumped from behind by a figure leaping over the guardrail! Ivey turns to help his partner before he too is assaulted, this time from someone vaulting over the opposite rail!] TD: It's the Night Patrol! [Blazer and Garcia pound away on the Dragons in the aisle, Garcia kicking Joe Scalercio, while Blazer slams Bob's head into the concrete floor!] SR: Yeah! Take it to the White Bread Boys! [The Prophets of Rage look on in the ring as the Night Patrol stands over the fallen tag team, smiles on their faces, as they pull out their night-sticks!] SR: Take it to... ow! [Indeed, the Patrol's faces go from smiles to agony as the Dragons both drive their knees into the crotches of the two lawmen! Bob Ivey gets to his feet and begins driving his fist into the face of Lt. Blazer, while Joe pulls up Sgt. Garcia and whips him into the steel guardrail! Garcia hangs on the railing as Scalercio backs up... and takes a running start!] SR: Move, dammit! [No avail. Garcia is levelled with a clothesline that knocks him over the railing... into the Sychopaths! Meanwhile, Bob has Blazer in a headlock, and is motioning for his partner to climb the rail!] SR: What the hell is he doing? [Joe balances himself on the rail as Bob hoists Lt. Blazer into the air, holding him in a vertical suplex! Joe takes a deep breath... and leaps off the guardrail, catching Blazer with a high cross body block while Bob finishes off the suplex! The fans POP, seeing the Dragon Fire for the first time.] SR: Ah, laugh it up... YEAH! [Bob turns around... to be nailed in the face by a... a...] SR: WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? [Ray Garcia has leaped over the guardrail, holding a Nokia Color Printer that was handed to him by a Sychopath! Bob slumps to the ground, coloured ink running down his face, as Garcia turns to Joe Scalercio. As the two men face off, the Jobber Justice Squad runs down to the scene of the brawl. Serge Annis is also finally on the scene, having been obstructed by the Dirt Dog Unique Allah, brandishing his barbed-wire wrapped steel chair.] SR: Aw, here comes goody-two-shoes to break it up. [Annis shoves the brawling factions apart, yelling at them to stay back. The Smooth and Bobby B. Goode break up the two men still standing, along with the Rotundos. Reluctantly, Joe Scalercio and Ray Garcia back off, both men helping up their partners. The Night Patrol is led backstage first, and Bob, holding his head picks up the mic that he came out with.] BI: SO, PROPHETS, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU SAY? [Standing in the ring, Derek Rage simply gives a smirk, and then makes a single gesture to the crowd with his arm. The Disciples immediately respond -- and obediently pelt the Dragons with fish as they are hurried away from ringside by security and the JJS. Dirt Dog collapses on the mat in fits of laughter, until Medusa helps him back to his feet and the entourage leaves the ring to a big chant of "PROPHETS! PROPHETS!" Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, that was a wild scene, Steve Roberts. Perhaps we will see it, right here next Saturday Night -- the Prophets of Rage stepping into the ring for the first time in many, many weeks. Folks, we must move on -- and it's time for the very first match in our Intercontinental Championship Tournament, as the #2 seed, Simon Lebec, goes into battle against Jimmy "the Meatman" Steele. Let's get up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP FIRST ROUND MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Simon Lebec vs. Jimmy "the Meatman" Steele ....................................................................... WRITER: Jason Lake [Sparkplug Lee enters the ring.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, this... ["Rocket Man" by Elton John comes over the P.A. as Timothy N. Turner, dressed in street clothes and steel chair in hand, appears at the top of the ramp and makes his way down to ringside to a solid face pop. Sparkplug looks a bit peeved that he's been interrupted.] TD: It looks like Turner is gaining approval from these great IIWF fans here in Portland! SR: Yeah, but Cheesecake looks a little cheesed off right now, Dross-man. What's he doin' here, anyway? [Serge Annis confronts Turner at ringside. Turner puts one hand up in the universal "calm down, everything is all right, I'm not here to cause trouble" position and tries to explain his presence, and his chair, to Annis. Eventually, Annis lets Turner pass.] SR: What? "Lethal Protector" my ass. All Cheesecake had to do was say that his favourite colour was pink, and Annis lets him go. I'm tellin' ya, Dross, Annis has gone over to that bad, bad place. Pretty soon, we'll see him in six-man tags with the Benjamins. [Turner places his chair behind the French announcers' table, right next to play-by-play man Bernie Parent and his colour colleague Andre "Moose" Dupont. Turner takes out a notebook and pen from his jacket and waits attentively for the start of the match.] TD: Let's switch over to our French audio feed and hear what Turner has to say! BP: Monsieur Turner, pourquoi est-ce que vous etes ici pour le prochain match? TNT: Huh? AMD: Laisse-moi traducter, Casseau. Mr Turner, why are you 'ere for dis match, eh? TNT: I'm here to take notes on these guys. Either of them could wind up facing me in this tournament, and I want to make sure that I have every angle covered. Plus, if anyone tries to interfere in this match, I'll be here. I don't want anyone ruining this tournament, especially those damned Black Watch morons. AMD: Casseau, il a dit "Je suis un gateau a fromage, et j'espere que le Black Watch n'ont pas battre-moi comme une p'tite chienne!" TD: Well, folks, as you heard, Turner is dedicated to winning this tournament. But it'll be tough to win three consecutive matches against such top-notch competition! SR: Phffftttt. No Shadoe Rage, no competition. Who's in this thing? Marty Frickin' Warnett? "The Big Flamiel" Luke Steele? Give me a break. Even Cheesecake could win this one. TD: Darnit, Steve, you can be a real wet blanket sometimes. SL: Ahem! Ladies and gentlemen... [Sparkplug pauses for a moment to see if there are any more intrusions coming.] ...this bout is scheduled for ONE fall... and it is the first match of the FIRST round of the IIWF Intercontinental Heavyweight Championship!! [Big Pop!] SL: Coming down the aisle... from Emeryville, CA, and weighing in at 274 pounds... Jimmy... "The Meeeeeeeatman" STEE-uhhhhhlll!!! [Insane crowd pop as Jimmy Steele makes his way down the ramp, with a leg of lamb slung over his shoulder. Steele has a look in his eyes that lies somewhere between abject desolation and absolute anger, obviously a result of the Gaines situation. He has no accompanying music this evening, other than the chants from the crowd of "Meat! Meat! Meat!" We can see signs in the crowd saying "Jimmy Steele: It's What We Want" and "I go Zen for Rouladen."] TD: Portland comes alive for The Man They Call Meat! [Steele's spirits seem to pick up as he slides into the ring, leaving his leg of lamb propped up on the outside of one corner. He motions to the crowd, and the IIWF Coliseum goes ballistic, throwing slices of mortadella around like little frisbees.] SL: And his opponent... [The crowd's mood immediately shifts into reverse, booing incessantly as the self-penned "I Am Stuck on Heaven, 'Cause Heaven's Stuck on Me" invades the fans' ears like the worst Partridge Family tune ever written.] SR: Has Johnson & Johnson ever sent their lawyers after this guy? ["The Savior" Simon Lebec comes out in his monk's robe, head held down, and hands clasped together, praying. About halfway down the aisle, he looks up, crosses himself, and charges to the ring, throwing his robe off and screaming "God 'ave mercy on yer miserable soul!" Sparkplug Lee utters an epithet which is audible even without the microphone, and bails out under the bottom rope. The bell rings.] TD: There they go! Lebec and Steele, trading lefts and rights from the very get-go! SR: These are two crazy sunuvabitches, Drossy. We might see some blood! Yeah! TD: Neither of these guys are 100%. Lebec is still hurting after that Thames Barge Match fiasco, and Jimmy Steele suffered a partial shoulder separation at Ring Wars 5 as well. SR: Hey, Dross, "No brain, no pain." These guys'll tear each other a new ass just to get their hands on that I-C belt. I'm pickin' the winner of this match to take the whole thing. [Steele begins to get the upper hand. He lands some vicious meathooks, a clothesline off the ropes, and an elbowdrop. The fans pop!] TD: We have to wonder what Steele's state of mind is after the Justin Gaines incident. Before Hour One is over, folks, Steele will talk for the first time since Ring Wars! SR: Gaines pulled a fast one on him, and I'm sure he's pissed, but he's gotta suck it up and move on. TD: I pulled a fast one once... SR: Hey, that's _my_ schtick! [Lebec gets back to his feet and continues to try and out-tough Steele, but the Meatman uses his sumo background to his advantage, landing a headbutt which sends Lebec staggering to the corner. Steele goes for an avalanche, but Lebec dodges and pokes Steele in the eyes.] SR: Ah yes, the Greco-Arabian thumb-to-the-eye. First developed by Tom Jenkins back in 1901. Poppa loves a good scientific match. TD: What on God's green earth are you talking about, Soundbite? [Lebec goes outside and tries to grab Annis's chair, but Annis won't have anything to do with it. Lebec laughs at him and crawls back into the ring.] TD: I think Lebec was just toying with Annis there. SR: Kee-rist, Dross, this ain't right. The real Serge Annis would have clocked the guy in the head and set him on fire. What's this fed coming to? [Meatman stomps on Lebec as he gets back into the ring, and drives some double axehandles into Lebec's back. Meat with an Irish whip followed by a boot to the head. Lebec falls back into the ropes. Meat ties him up, and delivers some wicked short punches to the ribs.] TD: Rib strikes by Steele! Now Lebec with a kick to the knee, and Steele is down! [Lebec, in pain, moves over his fallen foe and drives a knee into his back, then clamps an armbar on Steele. Steele cries out in anguish.] SR: That's his bad arm, Dross-man. C'mon, Lebec! Rip it off and beat him with the bloody end! [Instead, the chants of the crowd for "Meat! Meat! Meat!" help Steele gain strength. He gets to his feet, reverses the armbar... and gets a thumb to the throat for his efforts.] TD: Lebec with another blatant... Good God, not him! [Appearing at the top of the ramp is Karachel, wearing black robes and an ominous stare. Annis turns and points at him, motioning at him to stay away. Karachel backs off and watches the match from the rampway.] TD: If Karachel is here, Valtharius the Mad can't be far away! That monster already made a mess of the Battle Royal! [Back in the ring, Lebec hits a back suplex and a shoulderbreaker, causing the Meatman to scream in pain again. While Steele is on lying the mat in agony, Lebec turns, and sees Timothy N. Turner at the French announcers' table. Lebec points at Turner and laughs, then pantomimes taking notes while making exaggerated, Mr Bean-like faces.] TD: Lebec, taunting Turner... let's switch to the French audio feed and listen in! AMD: Mr Turner, Lebec, 'e is making fun of you, dere. TNT: Yeah, real intelligent. If I face him in the tournament, I'll beat him. Plain and simple. AMD: Il a dit, "Vive le Lebec libre!" [While Lebec's attention is directed at Turner, Meat comes up from behind and catches Lebec with a dropkick to the back. Big crowd pop! Meatman rallies with a clothesline, a legdrop and an elbow from the second rope. He then goes to the corner, climbs the turnbuckles... and slips!] TD: Meat, not exactly a high flier... here comes Lebec, now, trying to capitalise! [Meatman seems groggy, sitting on the top turnbuckle. Lebec climbs the second turnbuckle and hooks an arm over his head.] TD: He's setting him up for the superplex! This could be it... [Meatman kicks Lebec square in the crotch.] SR: Yee-OWTCH! Meatman servin' up some smoked oysters! TD: He was playing possum! The tide has turned, and it's Jimmy Steele's turn to do some damage! [Quickly, Steele ties Lebec up in the ropes, and...] TD: SPITFIRE GRILL!! Lebec goes for the ride! SR: He's dizzy like Miss Lizzie! He's funky like a monk! TD: Is he going to set him up for Smothered In Onions? [The crowd pops again big time, sensing victory. Steele makes the index-finger-circular-gesture, indicating that he's going to finish it... and slaps on a double chickenwing!] TD: LOOK AT THIS! A new hold from Steele -- the double chickenwing! Can he make Lebec submit? [Strangely enough, VP Gregg Osterhout picks this moment to come down the rampway.] TD: What is the Vice President doing here? SR: He's going to wrestle! He's going to show the world that he isn't afraid of the U.S. Food and Drug Administration, or Tina Turner and "Pop" Warner, or Naomi Wolf! [Osterhout reaches the bottom of the ramp, turns to Serge Annis, and begins shaking his hand, congratulating him on what a fine job he's been doing as the "Lethal Protector." Meanwhile, Karachel senses an opening and sneaks down to ringside.] TD: Uh-oh. This is trouble. [Karachel reaches into the folds of his dark robes and pulls out... a huge, dead weasel. He then goes over to Steele's leg of lamb, and begins rubbing the dead weasel vigorously all over the formerly choice cut of meat, making sure that Steele is watching.] SR: No, no, no. You don't mix weasel with lamb. You combine it with _rabbit_. Then you spread it on crackers. TD: What? SR: Haven't you heard the old saying, "A vole and his bunny are soon pated?" TD: You need medical help, Soundbite. [Steele, enraged, goes to confront Karachel, but the devious manager throws some kind of black powder into Meatman's face. Somehow, referee Earl Alfonso manages not to see it, as his attention was turned to some stray specks of dirt in the opposite corner.] TD: WHAT THE?! This is a travesty! SR: No, having to sit through a double bill of "High School High" and "Jury Duty" just to get a few glimpses of Tia Carrere is a travesty. I want my four bucks back! [Karachel cackles insanely and heads for the rampway. First, he points at Turner, who couldn't respond in time to stop the interference, and laughs. Then, he taps Annis on the shoulder and laughs again. Annis turns from his conversation with Osterhout to see Jimmy Steele on the mat, clawing at his eyes, his head encircled in black powder residue. Annis rolls his eyes heavenward and curses in frustration at Osterhout, who just hangs his head in shame at fouling up yet again. They both turn to confront Karachel, but he is long gone. The crowd boos lustily.] TD: This... this is awful. [Steele gets up and throws meathooks left and right while Lebec tries to collar him and get the pin. Steele connects once, then twice, staggering the Savior. But Lebec finally lashes out with an enziguiri, and Steele slumps to the mat.] TD: DEVIL'S PITCHFORK! SR: It's over, Drossy! [Earl Alfonso moves over to make the count, sees the black residue all over the mat, but can only shrug and make the three count. The crowd boos.] SL: Your winner... "The Savior", Simon Lebec! [The crowd boos again, and a torrent of cocktail weenies cascades on the ring. Lebec gets up from making the pin, looks to the ceiling as if to thank God for the miracle, and stumbles his way up the aisle, clearly in a lot of pain. Serge Annis shakes his head in disgust. Osterhout beats a hasty retreat. Jimmy Steele, meanwhile, recovers, blinking and trying to regain his sight. When he does, he sees his violated leg of lamb in the corner. He picks it up and holds it at arm's length, as it positively reeks of dead weasel. Fuming, Steele heads for backstage with his leg of lamb in tow. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: So Simon Lebec advances in the tournament, and he'll face the winner of next week's match between Timothy N. Turner and Christopher Stonebreaker. A tough break for the Meatman here tonight, though -- and we're scheduled to hear from Jimmy Steele a little later on. Folks, you saw it earlier tonight -- the American Dragons came out here to challenge the Prophets of Rage, and ended up on the receiving end of an attack from the Night Patrol. I understand that our colleague Larry Morton is with Brenda Hawkings and her men now. Larry? [Cut to the locker room, where Larry Morton stands next to Asst. DA Brenda Hawkings, behind whom are the burly Sgt. Garcia and Lt. Blazer, the Night Patrol, looking mean and sweaty following their earlier appearance.] LM: Thank you, Tim, I'm here backstage with the manager of the Night Patrol, the lovely and talented Asstant DA Brenda Hawkings! SR: [over the headset] Hey, hey, woman! Make me some biscuits! LM: Miss Hawkings, thank you for joining us, and your comments on the altercation that recently took place between the Night Patrol and the American Dragons out in the arena. BH: [with righteous indignation] That's _Ms._ Hawkings, Morton, and I am none too pleased with the boorish actions taken place against my officers by those incorrigible felons, the American Dragons. I have thus began an intensive investigation of these two questionable persons. LM: Wait a minute! What sort of allegations are you talking about? BH: At present, none, but we're issuing subpoenas to everyone who might have knowledge of their actions in the past or present, including you, Larry... Perhaps you would come with me to answer some questions? [Hawkings grabs Morton by the arm and leads him out of shot. He calls back as he departs:] LM: Uh... Back to you at ringside, gentlemen! [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: Morton doesn't know how lucky he is, Dross, being dragged to some dark room backstage by Brenda Hawkings. But it should be Poppa Soundbite back there -- there's nothing sub about _my_ poena, that I can tell you for nothing. TD: Just stop right there, Steve Roberts. The rivalry between the American Dragons and the Night Patrol shows no signs of abating -- and don't forget that the match is already signed: they will square off one more time at Birthday Bash in four weeks, in a Texas Death tag team match! Right now, however, it's time for two debuts, of sorts: the newly-reformed Black Watch, consisting of the Macbeth cousins, Duncan and Andrew, do battle with the NorthPac Coalition, making their wrestling debut here in the IIWF. This one is sure to be a war -- so let's get straight back up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Black Watch vs. NorthPac Coalition |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: Dan Kondziela [Sparkplug Lee enters the ring with a bra draped over his shoulder.] SR: Ah, Christ, he's been at the Beaver Trap again. TD: Either that or he leads a secret double life. SR: BA-DOOM-CHING! Dross breaks out the witty remarks. Damn, you're getting snappy. TD: Just doing my job, baby dolls. SR: Hey, who said you could use my references? TD: Who said you could take it away from Luke Steele? SR: ME, DAMMIT! I'm "Black Jesus Numero Uno". My brotha Shadoe is "Numero Dos". TD: Are you implying something about Shadoe? SR: Dross, stop trying to make me look bad and shut up. SL: This match is scheduled for one fall and is a tag team attraction. First, making their IIWF debut, weighing in at a combined weight of 450lbs, here are "Constable" Tom Turner and "Immolator" Akira Saito, THE NORTHPAC COALITION! [Rousing cheers, as they DEFINITELY have the fans on their side. Spacehog's "In The Meantime" blares over the loudspeakers.] TD: Tom, the non-identical twin of former Cruiserweight Champion Timothy N. Turner, and Akira, a friend of the Turners from Japan. SR: Great. Another all gay team. These fruits almost make the Drag-Queens look straight. TD: You're selling these guys short, Steve. They've held many titles, including six-man with Tim, and currently they hold the Asian titles. SR: SO? Do we have an Asian title? Then it don't matter. They've got to prove themselves here. SL: And their opponents, wrestling their first tag match in over a year and their first in the IIWF, from Glenfinnan, Scotland, and weighing in at a combined weight of 586lbs... SR: Wow, Dross! That's monstrous! TD: A whole 136 pounds difference. Probably the biggest balanced team in the IIWF. Believe it or not, Duncan is SMALLER, even at 6'4, 270lbs, while Tom is the BIG member of NorthPac, even at only 6'2, 235lbs! SR: I can hear the bones snapping already. SL: ...here are Duncan and Andrew Macbeth, THE BLACK WATCH! [Loud boos for the Scots, who come out on the broadcast once more. Andrew is proudly waving the Scottish flag, while Duncan yells at some of the fans.] TD: The cousins certainly not endearing themselves to the fans here. SR: Why should they? Duncan works tougher like this. He's regained his killer instinct. [As "Heilan' Laddie" fades out, Duncan and Tom go stretch out. Andrew and Akira exchange cold, steely glances at each other.] TD: Andrew and Saito exchanging heated words in the ring. [Tim Turner, who is still outside under the watchful eye of Serge Annis, tries to get the crowd into the match. Slowly, crowd reaction blows off the roof as people are stomping away for NorthPac. TNT has a grin creep across his face, as he is finally getting along with the crowd. Akira slaps Andrew, stopping all activity, as the crowd gasps. Andrew glares at Akira before giving off a loud belly laugh. Akira slaps him again. Again, Andrew cracks up. The third time, though, Andrew blocks it and counters with a backhand that sends Akira flying across the ring. Tom charges, but before he can do anything, Duncan throws his kilt on him and clotheslines him, then pounds him into the mat. Finally, the bell rings.] TD: What a fast start as the brawl is all over the place. SR: Told ya they're gay! TD: What's that got to do with the brawl? SR: Well, if they were tough, they would've figured out how to fight back. TD: You never make any sense. SR: Ain't it great? [Andrew and Saito start off the match as Tom and Duncan are herded to their corners. They hook up and the much larger Macbeth easily overpowers Akira into a kneeling position. Andrew lifts him off the ground and clasps on a full nelson. Akira screams out in pain. Andrew throws him forward into the ropes, and as Saito bounces off, he gets Saito into a drop toehold. He hooks back Akira's arms and pulls with all his might.] TD: Andrew showing his technical side early on, even th..... What the hell? [The camera switches to a shot of the announcer's table, where a figure in a leather jacket, an Ozzy Osbourne "Ozzmosis" logo t-shirt, black jeans, and black Nikes has hopped over the railing behind Dross and Soundbite.] TD: Ladies and Gentlemen, we have an unexpected visit from new singles wrestler Chris Staley. What in the world are you doing out here? You aren't even scheduled to be in the building. CS: [Grabbing a headset] Yeah, well, Dross, if nobody wants to listen to me, I'll force them to. Now, I've got something to address. As of yet, I've STILL received no answer to my challenge from "corporate boy" over there [pointing to Annis] or from that fossil Deathbringer, who's seemingly forgotten just how in the hell to open his mouth lately. What'll it take boys, a wake-up call? Because I'll damn well deliver one if need be. You know, I'm a little disappointed. For all the "men" we've got in this fed, there sure seem to be a lot of people running scared from life. You can't run from me. I've been to Hell and back and I'll be damned if I'm gonna waste all my training just because a bunch of pantywaists don't know where murder lies! TD: Are you quite finish... CS: [interrupting] Oh, and Deathbringer? You can take your "wrong place at the wrong time" s[bleep] and shove it directly up your ass, because you SURE AS HELL ain't gonna come out there and lay your stinkin' hands on me for no reason. You wanted in the battle royal? NEXT TIME OPEN YOUR [BLEEP}IN' MOUTH AND TELL SPREADBURY ABOUT IT BEFORE THE LAST SECOND! Don't sit there and [bleep] with me, 'cause I'll flat out send ya right ta hell! You don't screw with me and expect me to cower in fear just because you've been around longer and are a former champ. Nah. I don't play around like that. TD: Mr. Staley, please... CS: [interrupting] Shut it, Dross. When I want something done, I flat out get the stinkin' job done. I don't sit around and claim to be a bringer of the dead when I don't even know a person's dead parent's names. Don't avoid me. It'll just make the torment you go through that much worse. I want answers NOW, and if I don't get 'em, starting next week, everyone's ass is mine, and I do mean everybody. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, may your wretched body die in rust. And to those of you who say I'm vulgar, well, damn, aren't WE [bleep]in' fast?! Have a bad day. [Staley takes off the headset and hurls it at the camera with a disgusted look in his eye. He then walks back through the stands where he came from.] SR: That is one disturbed little buttnugget. Ya don't think he's pissed a little TOO much, do ya? TD: Well, I feel he has a right to speak his mind. I admire his ability to come out and tell how he feels. He appears to be a very straightforward individual who likes to have a good old fashioned fight. If I were Deathbringer, I would NOT take him lightly. SR: God, and I thought Petrow was nuts! TD: I don't think he's nuts. I think maybe he blows his top a little too easily, but he's not insane. I've actually heard this man speak eloquently without any cursing. He really seems to be withdrawn backstage, but when he comes out, he's a totally different beast. SR: I'll tell ya this much. I hope I never piss him off. Yeesh. TD: Well, believe it or not, we've missed a lot of the match, thanks to Staley's rambling. We've taped the match though, and we'll go back and look at it and provide commentary over it. We'll go to the part we left off from, where Akira Saito was being held in a submission hold by Andrew Macbeth. [The tape shows the aforementioned hold being executed. In the background, Staley can be seen rambling about Annis and, mostly, Deathbringer. Andrew breaks the hold and Irish whips Akira to the ropes. When he comes back, he ducks under a clothesline attempt and hits a dropkick to the knees on the large Macbeth. Saito tags out to Tom Turner. Tom comes in and tries to take down the only-staggered Macbeth down with a single leg takedown. Andrew, however, easily shrugs Turner off. He goes over looking a little confused, as if not knowing what to do. He reaches out and tags in Duncan. Duncan, also looking a little confused, climbs to the top, waiting for Tom to get up. As Tom gets up, Duncan leaps off for a missile dropkick that hits Tom right in the shoulderblades, sending him back down. Tim Turner shouts encouragement from the outside] TD: You can see a little bit of tag rust in the Black Watch, as they look kind of confused as to what they should do next. SR: Hit 'em with some haggis. That'll wake him up. I know it wakes me up. Most flatulent weekend of my life. [Duncan picks Tom up and points out at TNT before doing a tilt-a-whirl suplex dropped into a bulldog.] SR: Ouch, that had to hurt. TD: Hm, I see what you mean. SR: Oh, you're watching it too? TD: Yeah... wait, what do you mean "watching it too"? SR: Uh-oh. TD: Steve Roberts! What in the world...? SR: Er, it's the campaign videotape for "I don't like Ike. Osterhout in '98". TD: Gee, since when does he have a blond beard, hm? SR: Er, Dross, that ain't a beard. TD: Oh, I see. [Does a double-take.] Oh my... Steve Roberts, for the last time would you leave that stuff at home? [Duncan goes up top and hits a flying headbutt. He gets a 2-count for it. He then places Tom in a Boston Crab. The ref asks Tom if he wants to submit. Tom denies vehemently. Duncan has it pretty well locked in. Andrew grabs Duncan for supporting weight on the crab. Tim Turner climbs up to the apron and warns the ref. While the ref is occupied, Saito runs into the ring and clobbers Andrew. As he's about to knock Andrew off the apron, Duncan releases Tom and nails Akira with a Highland Hammer- a move where he lifts Akira in suplex position and drops him into a Tombstone. Akira has been knocked flat out. Duncan then picks up Tom, moves him to the ropes and hits the Claymore on him, throwing Tom into the first row of seats, but managing to hold onto the ropes and pulling himself back in. He calmly walks over to the NorthPac corner, then slaps his hands together, making the occupied ref think Akira has tagged back in. Tim finally drops from the apron. The recovered Andrew enters the ring and holds Akira upwards by the legs. Duncan bounces off the ropes, leaps OVER Andrew (no small feat), and nails a bodypress, effectively causing Andrew to drop Akira into..... TD: A SPINEBUSTER! Ouch, what a combination. SR: OH! THAT WAS THE LEGENDARY "CELTIC CROSS", DROSS! [The official drops to the canvas and makes the count: 1 -- 2...] TD: ...three! He got him! It's over! SR: What a debut! SL: Your winners, THE BLACK WATCH! [Boos for the rebellious Scotsmen. The Black Watch quickly leave ringside, jawing with fans all along the way.] TD: An impressive victory for the Scots, but a valiant performance from the NorthPac Coalition. SR: Yeah, right! They got their butts handed to them! [Timothy N. Turner leaves the French broadcast table and helps his partners from the ring. The crowd respond with a respectful pop as the NorthPac Coalition depart. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, I've got a feeling that this feud isn't over. Earlier tonight, we saw Jimmy "the Meatman" Steele crash out of the Intercontinental Championship tournament thanks to the actions of one Karachel, manager of the monstrous seven foot plus Valtharius the Mad -- and now it's time to get some comments from the Meatman himself. I understand he originally had some kind of challenge concerning Birthday Bash... but I'm sure he has only one thing on his mind right now. SR: You can't beat the meat, Dross. Always get a cute woman to do it for you. TD: That's quite enough, Steve Roberts. Here comes the Meatman! [The tell-tale bleeping of a truck's reverse warning kicks in over the PA, and the crowd immediately responds with a big, big pop. The lights in the Coliseum drop as the curtains at the head of the aisle part, and the Steele Farms truck backs out. The chant of "MEAT! MEAT! MEAT!" picks up volume as the doors of the truck swing open, and mist swirls out... and then there is a huge pop as Steele himself hops out. The burly Meatman, dressed in his bloody butcher's apron over his ring attire, heads down the aisle, tossing morsels of meat to the eager fans.] TD: This is a man with a truly impressive record here in the IIWF, Steve Roberts. Defeated only twice, Jim Steele has made a big impact in the Double Eye -- and I have to wonder what kind of challenge he is going to make here tonight! [Jim Steele vaults into the ring and climbs the ring post. He pumps his fist in the air. The crowd chants, "Meat, Meat, Meat, Meat..."] JS: Meat, Meat, Meat, Meat... [He does so again, on the opposite ring post; then takes the microphone in the middle of the ring.] JS: First off, my little cutlets, let's get the old news out of the way. Gunnar Gaines. Yer dead baby trick might notta worked the way ya wanted it to. It might notta had the effect ya wanted, and it mighta turned the fans and wrasslers again' ya; but I gotta say one thing... I LIKED IT! YA MADE ME LAUGH! [The chants of the fans continue: "MEAT! MEAT! MEAT! MEAT!"] JS: Now, the reason The Meat is on. I got a proposal. I want one man outta all you wrasslers. Rage, Flap Jacks, Valtharius, Kowalski... one o' ya! Anyone. I want ya to go against me in the Steele Family Farms Meatman Challenge. It ain't wrasslin'. It's a test o' will. You and the Meat... inna test. Three things I can tell ya. Number one: I don't know nothin' about it. It's all a big surprise to the two of us. Number two: I do know ya shouldn't oughtta plan nothin' too strenuous in the weeks after. And number three: you win, you get the Meat Strap, and $50,000 in cash. If I win, I get the Strap, and I donate that same $50,000 to charity. [The Meat prowls the ring, letting it all sink in.] JS: One other thing. Win or lose, when it's over -- ya got my respect. I will stand by ya against the worse of them. If I can stand at all, and if you can stand, I will stick out my hand. You can go fer the groin shot. You can spit in my face, you can walk away... or ya can shake my hand. That bein' said, WHO WANTS A PIECE OF THE MEAT?! [The Meatboy enters the ring with a plate of what looks like ground round. The Meatman takes a handful. The Meat Boy exits.] JS: In the weeks past, nobody's answered my challenge. You can say I got a chip on my shoulder about that. In fact, I got about four pounds of chipped beef on my shoulder. First man ta knock it off is in. LET'S GO! I'M WAITIN'! [The Meatman stands in the ring and waits, implacable. Suddenly a blue-black mist begins forming in and around the ring followed by a blinding bright flash of white light. Standing in the ring before the Meatman is Karachel, The Voice of Reason. However, the Meatman doesn't notice Karachel's behemoth protege Valtharius the Mad standing behind him. The Meatman looks at Karachel with uncertainty. Karachel begins speaking sans a microphone yet his voice carries to the highest rafters of the arena. Its cold grave-like quality penetrates the very soul.] K: You... James Steele... have offered a challenge -- is this not correct? [Steele nods his head.] K: Then Mr. Steele... VALTHARIUS ACCEPTS! [Valtharius winds back and gives the Meatman a huge paw to the side of the head from behind knocking the four pounds of raw meat from his shoulder. Valtharius hits Steele a few more times in the back of the head for effect and then begins eating the raw meat from the sweat covered mat.] TD: Oh my! From behind! Valtharius attacks the Meatman from behind! What a monster! [The Meatman lies semi-conscious on the mat as Karachel steps over him and speaks.] K: James "Meatman" Steele, you were marked for Valtharius long before we arrived in the IIWF... the sheer stench of the blood of slaughtered animals upon your flesh attracted our attention to you, you blithering fool! You have faced many men in the IIWF but have you faced something so inhuman and savage as Valtharius? I think not! [Valtharius stands up to his full height, throws his arms back and lets out a bloodcurdling scream of rage as the crowd gives a huge heel pop] VTM: MEAT!!! ME VALTHARIUS WANT MORE MEAT!! COME PLAY WITH VALTHARIUS MEATHEAD!! [Valtharius gets on all four and begins sniffing the Meatman then begins licking his shoulder where the chipped beef was sitting.] K: If _WE_ win this match, Mr. Steele, you will not have to worry about the $50,000 or some silly token like that strap you mentioned. All you will have to worry about is how to crawl on your broken legs to the nearest hospital. We are not here for you to give us respect. We are not here for you to "stand by us" in our time of need. We are here Mr. Steele to cause you untold pain and hellish delights upon your body and the bodies of the victims that President Spreadbury places before us! VTM: PAIN!!! ME WANT CAUSE PAIN!!! LICK MEATHEAD MORE!!! [Valtharius finishes licking the shoulder of the Meatman and stands. Karachel attaches a large iron chain about Valtharius's neck and pulls him out of the ring. On the way out Karachel pauses at the ramp leading to backstage. The Meatman comes to and shakes the cobwebs from his head as Karachel speaks once more.] K: So, the match is accepted. You have graciously fed Valtharius your chipped beef offering and you have unwittingly signed your soul over to the Voice of Reason! Consider your existence tonight, Mr. Steele... consider what it will be like to live as an invalid... a cripple, if you will. Your time has come! So says the Voice of Reason! [Karachel pulls Valtharius through the curtains as the crowd roars its disapproval of the treatment of the Meatman, who slowly begins to pick himself up on the canvas.] TD: Oh my, Steve Roberts! Did you see how that huge seven foot, five hundred pound monster manhandled the Meatman? Valtharius the Mad is possibly the most dangerous competitor we have seen in the IIWF -- and he will face the Meatman in his challenge at Birthday Bash! Folks, we're right out of time for our first hour... we'll be right back in just a few moments with more action, including that huge championship double-header. Don't go away! [Cut to a wide-angle shot of the arena as Steele slowly pulls himself to his feet in the ring, and the fans respond with a resounding cheer. 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+