C + O + U + N + T + D + O + W + N T + O ________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/..............\........|...|.......|....| with Larry Morton 24 April 1998 [The shot opens in a different locale from what the viewers are used to. The camera pans a festive crowd of people in what is quickly revealed to be the IIWF Coliseum. The signs and other paraphanalia that usually dot the arena are nowhere to be found and the fans are not quite as rambuncious as you would normally expect. The camera pans over to the ring where two director style chairs are set up. Sitting in the left one as the affable Larry Morton. The right sits empty.] LM: Welcome everyone at home and everyone here at the IIWF Coliseum to this week's edition of Countdown to IIWF Saturday Night! [Decent crowd pop.] LM: After the events of the last couple of weeks, which ended with the banishment of the Fabulous Ones and the Machines from the Countdown set... we found ourselves with nowhere to produce the show. So while Mr. Tsurabaya's contractors finish the new Countdown set we decided to reward the faithful fans here in Portland with this free, live taping here in the IIWF Coliseum! [Big crowd pop] LM: We have an exciting card planned for tomorrow, with two more matches in both the King of the Cruisers Tournament and the Intercontinental Championship Tournament! Before we get to that, though, we need to know how the first round King of the Cruisers ended up over in Japan. These matches, and more, were shown this week on Wednesday War Room! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| REWIND: IIWF Wednesday War Room - 22 April 1998 |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... ~ The Rotundos def. d'Artois & Magnusson via dq ~ Caleb Temple def. El Super Gecko via referee's decision ~ Charles Scheffield def. Scott "the Whine" Bloom ~ "Armitage" Steve Spector def. Joey Rappaport ~ Jeremy Fullbright def. Sengir ~ Valthurius the Mad def. the Barnacle Brothers ~ Eddy "Flap" Jacks def. Derek Mota ~ The Fabulous Ones def. the Black Watch via count-out LM: We had an action packed card as we saw the last hope of the co-host organization, SJPW, get eliminated. We also saw Valthurius the Mad defeat two men and the Black Watch taste their first mark in the loss column, albeit by count-out due to interference by those damn Machines. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| PREVIEW: IIWF Saturday Night - 25 April 1998 |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... LM: Wednesday may have been Earth Day and today might be Arbour Day but tomorrow will be IIWF Day as we see two solid hours of wrestling action. Now please join me in welcoming my co-host for this week... Eddy "Flap" Jacks! [Morton scans the crowd pensively, aware that his potential co-host could enter from any angle... down any aisle... through any locker room tunnel... but is relieved when Eddy Jacks, uncharacteristically clad in a cheap, overly tight blazer and matching slacks, marches down the aisle, his unspectacular entrance providing relief for the delicate Morton. Jacks dutifully enters the ring and walks over towards Morton, extending a hairy palm, obviously eager to begin speaking. Morton hesitantly hands the big man a mic.] EJ: God_damn it smells like hell in Portland! Rainin' like nothin' else, stinkin' like a god_damn dump...an' still the marks are packed head_ta_toe in the arena! Ain't nothin' like big-time rasslin', eh? LM: IIWF fans are the greatest fans in the world! You should remember that they are the ones who allow to earn our livings! EJ: But I don't really give a damn, 'cuz none o' yunz out 'ere in the crowd are here ta see me an' I sure as hell ain't here ta see none o' yunz's ugly mugs. An' the same goes fer you, Morton, 'cuz I sure as hell don't have respect for ya as a journalist an' even less as a human_being. I'm just here 'cuz the contract's tellin' me ta be here. But I love the Double-Eye! God_damn how I love the Double-Eye! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ IIWF World Heavyweight Championship Match: Steve "The Fury" Kowalski vs. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Everyone loves the IIWF when Steve Kowalski is in the ring! There may have never been a man more deserving of the gold but has he met his match? How can Kowalski train for a man he didn't even know he was facing until just this past Tuesday? Tomorrow just may be his last day as champ! EJ: I don't care what the hell ya got ta say, Morton, 'cuz there ain't nobody in this league wit' brass ones big 'nuff ta step inta the ring wit' Steve "da Fue_ree" K_waltski. Yer talkin' franchise, yer talkin' hero, yer talkin' Double_Eye_cer-tee-fied_legend, yer talkin' Fury. Ain't nobody Spready's gonna pull outta the damn closet that's gonna change my opinion... not Jimmy Steele, not Valtharius the 'roider an' not Joe "People's champeen" Petrow. We're talkin' a Skullpump... an' we're talkin' about a minute-long match. End o' story. [Morton smirks as Jacks finishes, noting the big man's flushed face... the emotion in his grainy, raspy voice. The shot cuts to a video clip. Flashback to 1997. IIWF Birthday Bash! A montage of bumps, tricycles, nachos, love dolls, and assortment of oddities adorn the scene. Steve "The Fury" Kowalski is struck on the back of the head with the IIWF rule book by Portine Janois. Fast forward to a Joe Petrow pin and a what everyone believes to be a new Cruiserweight Champion.] SK: It’s a bitter pill to swallow, Joe. [Again the video tape speeds forward to an enraged New Jersey Nightmare being dragged away by security. Petrow, arms aloft, expects the title belt to be brought to him. Only to be stunned at what will be the first in the long legacy of disappointments for Petrow when crossing the path of the Fury.] I’ve had a few to take m’self. Now yer chokin’ on it. [The screen goes black, only to fade back in to an arena of screaming maniacs. Months later. The tourney for the vacant IIWF Heavyweight Championship...semi-finals. The camera action goes slow motion to a falling form of Petrow crashes to the mat. Kowalski slowly falls to his knees and covers. The referee’s count reverberates loudly: ‘One’... ‘Two’... ‘Three’! Petrow’s eye’s stare blankly as an exhausted Kowalski’s hand is raised.] I suppose we wipe the slate clean after that one, Joe. I go forward an’ ya go backward. But that’s the last thing on yer mind, all ya see is Joe comin’ out empty-handed ‘gain. Stuck with the bottom feeders. Jus’ beggin’ the good lord’ll see fit to grant ya ‘nother shot at greatness so ya can blow it. I guess at this time, yer even buyin’ the line of [BLEEP] yer sellin’ everyone else. ‘Cause this is where ya become a little to petty fer me... an’ a little too needy fer the limelight. [The epic meeting between Kowalski and Requiem is perhaps the most uphill battle any man has had to gain the IIWF title. The lackeys known as Genesis continue to attack Kowalski, giving Requiem vital time to recoup from the Fury’s aggression. Numerous shots of Kowalski trading blows with Serge Annis and other members of the gang continue. Until... Until Requiem is forced to go head to head with the New Jersey Nightmare! Beyond belief Kowalski, even after the side confrontations, goes toe to toe with the imposing Requiem. No quarter given, none asked. The battle, unfortunately for the fans, for Requiem’s pride and for Kowalski’s chance for the title is cut short. Cut short by a ‘dancing’ Petrow, a kiwi, and a hard shot from the IIWF title belt to Kowalski’s temple.] A priest told me once that vanity was the worst sin of’em all. Any man that does the stupid crap that ya do to get all the attention ya crave, must really’ve cornered the market on vanity. A real self-centered sonuva bitch ya are. The sad part is ya try to hide it with yer dime store crazy man gimmick. Go ahead, make another excuse. [The camera pans the surprised faces in the crowd as Petrow belittles IIWF Champion Steve Kowalski and in the same breath, proclaims only to compete in the tag ranks. McArthur, like the pawn he is, backs his partner’s decision to avoid the singles competition. Cut to Petrow’s attacks on Kowalski over the past months. Every time, Kowalski rebuffs the confrontations and Petrow is sent packing.] As much as ya say ya want no part of me, ya always keep comin’ back fer more. More interferences... more weak attempts to get rid of me. Of all the hype an’ propaganda this an’ every other fed spews out ‘bout ya... ya never live up to it. Now yer a champ...if that’s what they call what yer doin’. But ya still crave what ya never been able to get. [Fade to Kowalski. The champ is sitting at the end of a weight bench just inches from a massive amount of weight on the cross bar. The sweat is pouring off of him, his chest breathing heavy.] Get the real belt! What ya say we clear the air up fer the people, Joe. Hell, they’re payin’ fer the tickets...they outta know. The only reason Fury/Sychosys III hasn’t happened...is because ya wouldn’t let it! I tried. Danny tried. Gregg tried. We all [BLEEP]in’ tried to sign the friggin’ match. All I heard was the great Petrow wanted Kowalski. Sychosys is gonna take the rubber match an’ shut the New Jersey Nightmare’s big mouth. Team Sychosys is where the future’s at. All the bull[BLEEP] backstage. All the false threats. Come clean, Joe. While ya shoot it off when I’m not around...While ya do the Pearl Harbor thing with ‘Nigma...While ya proclaim yer pathetic banter to bring in the masses...Yer duckin’ me all the time! Won’t sign the match because yer ‘friad of interference? When did ya become such a [BLEEP]in’ purist? Fact is, yer fake bravado ain’t coverin’ it up. Yer fear. It’s okay. Say it. I’d be ‘fraid of me too, if I were ya. But now ya have no more excuses. I bent over backwards. I made the sacrifice. That’s how damn confident I am. Locked door rules, Joe. No one in but ya an’ me. Fury an’ Petrow act three. How can ya weasel outta this? How can ya avoid the Fury an’ save face? Ya can’t. Period. [Fade.] [A very hazy, colorful mosaic of pixels gradually sharpens to focus on the lightest night in the world: the Sunset Strip in Las Vegas. Admist the din of would-be millionaires, one man in the distance stands out in the crowd, mainly because he is not wearing a shirt, instead covering himself with two large belts. As the man approaches the camera, the belts are recognizable as the IIWF World Tag Team titles, and the man is "Sychosys" Joe Petrow. Sychosys approaches and finally reaches the camera, following along to listen to his talk.] JP: Mr. Majestyk has the week off. Goin' fishin with his kid, so I hear. So he left me his tag strap to keep the other one company. Good for him. Good for me too, 'cuz this weekend isn't about him. It's all about me. My ambition. My greed. My desires. And...my destiny. Why are we here, in the neon tengoku? Bright lights, white lions, high rollers, and low 99 cent breakfast buffets. Is that what I'm about? Nah. I'm all about image. Image is everything. Image shapes the substance beneath, not the other way around. In this case, I'm visualizing for how I'm about to cash in on the biggest gamble in IIWF history with an Ace of Spades! A couple months ago, after I sent Quigs packing and dedicated myself to the tag scene, they said I was crazy. They said I was crazy and I was throwing my career and the IIWF title out the window. I did it because I needed to prove something, and the tag titles were what I needed to prove it. And sure as hell [holds up the tag belts before setting them back on his shoulders] I did it. And we ain't giving these up for anybody. But y'know Stevie Boy, you were right. It's not enough. Something reached out and touched me. Now I know what I want. I want the best of both worlds. Because that would truly make me a god, and bring about total anarchy in this league. Think about it: half the IIWF quits on Saturday Night in self-righteous indignation! President Spreadbury no longer having the clout even to continue "altering" my Monday interviews for the European market! Playboy Ronnie D finally having to suck up and admit whom the REAL icon of wrestling is! And me, straining under the weight of three title belts, [breaks into song] "holding the WHOLE WORLD, in my hands!" So what's it gonna take? Simply taking Old Yeller for one more ride. Kowalski, I give you credit. You beat off all the other pretenders to the crown. Now, you can die an honorable death. Everyone will remember you as the last man to crumble before the establishment of the all-encompassing Petrow Dynasty in the IIWF, and that's a pretty noble position to hold. But don't feel bad. There was nothing you could have done to prevent this, Steve. I mean, you sure are a tough guy an all, it's just a shame you didn't spend some of that time pounding down Jack Daniels learning a few remedial wrestling skills instead. Think of all the wear and tear you could have saved just winning a match with a small package or something, instead of simply out toughing a slaughterhouse brawl. But of course, the only small package you know anything about is the one between your legs, 'wha? Bottom line, Steve, you're a one trick pony. You live by that damn Skullpump. Skullpump, Skullpump, Skullpump! Your lone friend in the world. But tell me, Steve. What happens when your lone friend turns on you? What happens when a man kicks out of your precious Skullpump? Do you shrivel up and die? Or do you fight the good fight until you are completely beaten of mind, body, and soul? I really wanna know... Anyway, enough talk. It's April, and in April I get nostalgic. Thinking back to last April makes me want to hold you in my arms one more time, and take all that's owed to me. But I promise I won't rub it in when it's all over. I'll have too much to prepare for, like that big double main event for Birthday Bash. Team Sychosys versus...well, whomever we deem fit to carry for the tag straps. And Joe Petrow defending your pride and joy. Think I'll defend against Maurice. Wow, "Team Sychosys Explodes!" What a buyrate _that_ will get! [Joe stops in his tracks to deliver one final message.] JP: After that, guess the next time I'll see you is around here Steve. I hear the senior junket runs through every week. And I know you'll be happy, cuz' they serve a mean Creamed Chipped Beef at Circus Circus! Have a good life, "champ". [Joe walks away, the camera following from behind, as a U2 song kicks into the background. Joe disappears into the crowd with the help of Bono's repeating refrain: # But I still haven't found what I'm looking for... # Fade.] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- King of the Cruisers Second Round Match: "Sanguinary" Steve Manning vs. "Playboy" Ronnie D ----------------------------------------------------------------------- LM: After a surprise win in the first round, the IIWF's own Steve Manning is set for his next match-up in this prestigious tournament. EJ: Stevey Manning ain't been nothin' if not underused by the fed, an' he sure as hell ain't gonna be one ta get pysched out by da likes o' Ronnie D. An' don't think I don't know Ronnie D an' EMWC... yer talkin' all flash, all pyro_goddamn_technics... but there ain't no substance. An' that ain't good 'nuff ta get by "Sanguinary", whatever the hell that handle means. Plus, it's been too_damn_long since Ronnie D got squashed big-time. Ta make a long story short... Stevey-boy's got this match locked up. LM: But Ronnie D has proved himself to be a tremendous technical wrestler, Eddy. His record in other federations lends credence to that statement. EJ: Ya know what I got's ta say 'bout Ronnie? Well, les' jus' leave it at this: I ain't sayin' it on the air. If Manning don't beat Ronnie...there ain't a God in heaven an' all sure as hell ain't right wit' the world. LM: Strong words, Eddy. Let's hear what Manning himself had to say about this confrontation. [SCENE: A fitness centre. Amidst the smell of blood, sweat, and tears, people take themselves to the limit. People strain on various gimmick machines to reach a state of perfection. The grunts and groans are audible from all around, as they continue to push, push, and push some more. The camera pans around the gymnasium, everyone there involved in their own little world of self improvement. Then there is Steve Manning, stretched out on an ab crunch bench, the smoke from his cigarette floating up around the No Smoking sign directly over his head. He watches an attractive redhead at the bench next to him, pull herself up and down, then she begins to cough as secondhand smoke invades her throat. She tosses a glare at Manning, and storms away. Manning shrugs, and proceeds to hang his head off the end of the bench, and begins to cut an interview upside down.] SM: Look around. [Manning looks around.] SM: People, riding on their suicide machines, attempting to reach the unreachable state of perfection, attempting to get in shape so they can live a longer life. So they can do _what_ with it? Continue to get in shape? There's no pay off. There's no gold at the end of the rainbow. Or so I thought... [Manning lets his cigarette fall from his mouth, nearly getting tangled in his hair.] SM: Forget what you've learned. Forget all that you've been taught from day one. Black is white. And apparently, all bad deeds will be rewarded. Praise the lord below, I've got the "Playboy" in the King of the Cruisers tournament! [Manning gives a smile that almost looks like a sneer.] SM: While I'm flickin' through channels Monday night, I catch a glimpse of IIWF Monday Musings. And what do I hear? Besides the usual constant ringing noise and the voice of Charlie Chaplin, I hear Ronnie Deschenes claiming he's some kind of wrestling icon? Says who?! Y'see, Ronnie, I'll hand it to ya. You're superciliousness is nothing short of astounding. Unfortunatly, it's nothing but a giant illusion. You've convinced yourself and a few of your fans on the internet that you're something special, but to me, you're nothing but a two bit jackoff. [Manning lifts himself from his upside down position, and sits upright, and sprays a liquid from a water bottle in his mouth, that looks more like beer.] SM: Oh, and I caught on to the lil' "Curling" comment. If my aspirations were to be like Joe Petrow, I'd have quit the IIWF already and come back for a title shot. If my aspirations were to be like Joe Petrow, I'd be sittin' here with Scott Bloom and my... er... his kid, Max. Y'see, gettin' a comment like that from someone who has taken the same tired old attitude that a million other guys have done, it kinda got me right here, Ronnie. [Manning smacks his chest.] SM: Puttin' me down for getting crippled by my own flesh and blood, I felt that chairshot in my neck all over again. Tellin' me that I don't belong in _your_ [BLEEP]in' ring because you've got an entourage the size of Valtharius the Mad's dick?! Well, I don't care about that. Maybe I don't belong in your ring, Ronnie. But you sure as hell don't belong in my world, and right now, that world is the IIWF. It's a world of pain and trepidation of which you have _no_ idea how to cope. It's a world I've grown to hate, but been forced to love, and it's a world that will _end_ before you beat me in the middle of _your_ ring. [Manning, building up a lot of anger, whips his water bottle against the wall, splashing the floor with foam.] SM: Dunno why you're so cranky, Deschenes. Must be that rare form of hemroids I heard you contracted. "Hick In Bottom" I believe they called it? Well, that's neither here nor there, Ronnie. I guess, when you get right down to it, since the day I first saw you, I've wanted to tear your head off and spit down your neck. Since the day, I first heard your "enthusiastic" voice, I've wanted to shove my fist so far down your throat, you sound like Louie Armstrong in the middle of a gargle. And since the day I first saw you spin your way into the IIWF, even if for just this tournament, I've wanted to kill you in cold blood. [Manning seems to snap out of a semi-trance.] SM: Although, I got a week's pay suspension last time I did that... you're in luck. But, y'know, I enjoyed your imagery of me in a wheelchair so much, I've made up my mind. I've decided to let you experience the same thing. I'm going to let you experience the joys of sitting in your room, staring out a window, becoming mad at the entire world, and vowing that one day you'll get out of that chair and get revenge on all the arrogant bastards who made it what it was. Well, "Playboy" as I look around, I see one arrogant bastard who surpasses all the rest. One simple waste of oxygen that continues to go on and on about all his great achievements of the past, all of which have been accomplished purely in his mind. There's one person who I feel the need to annhiliate just because of who he is and what he thinks he is. [Manning gets a sadistic grin.] SM: Guess who it is. C'mon! [His face turns stone serious.] SM: Take a wild stab at it. [Manning slowly draws his finger across his throat, gritting his teeth and clenching his eyes as he does so. Fade.] [We open on a gym downtown in Anytown, USA. The camera pans through the gym and spots a figure in the back. The figure suddenly bolts to a mat and falls down onto a mat. Curious... The camera walks toward the area, taking in shots of hulking, sweaty masses of cardiovascular excellence doing curls, sit-ups, push-ups and lifting weights. We finally reach the fallen figure. He gets up from some push-ups and we can see that it's none other than "Playboy" Ronnie D. He speaks in an energetic tone.] RD: Whew! That was _some_ workout! I really got the heart pumpin'! And I worked up a BIG sweat, too. That _always_ invigorates me! [Ronnie gives a big grin and towels off -- even though there isn't a drop of sweat on him. Hmmm...] But you know, something that gets me down is the fact that lil' Stevie Manning gave me, the icon, "Playboy" Ronnie D the silent treatment. I was looking forward to seeing him run his mouth and beat up Larry Moron again. I mean, after all the huffing and puffing, "Shoot with me, boy" and shoving down media-types, the kid goes mute! Ya know, Sycho Steve, I had me a feeling that you'd no-show the icon. I mean, after all, you've got the connections! Why bother showing up for anything that doesn't go down in the Coliseum? [Ronnie takes a seat in a chair that is next to a mirrored wall. He looks around before speaking some more.] I'll be the first to admit it, Steve-O. You're 10 times better than that other dope with "Steve" in his name. Then again, I was at least 100 times better than him, so now where do we stand? It sure ain't on even ground, chump change. And besides, I could get used to a streak against guys with "Steve" in their name. Think about it... I plowed through Sean STEVE-, you know that your ass is grass and I'm the lawnmower, STEVE Manning... Then, we have STEVE Spector who I could dump on his can in two secs flat. You know, it's a damn shame that STEVE Kowalski is too dense to remember 1-800-98-JENNY, or I could've had him in the KO, too. [Ronnie pulls a stick of bubble gum out of a black duffel bag at his side, and pops it in his mouth. He chews as he speaks.] But that's not what I was here to talk about. No... Getting back to the original subject, I was a little tentative of facing you, seeing as you're one of the boys and all. I had my doubts about how fair the officiating would be, so I had a meeting with my three favourite buddies in the Towers. I remember it as if it were yesterday... [Ronnie rubs his chin as the camera fades in a cheesy dream sequence to the outside of the corner office in the IIWF Towers. A man clad in a black business suit with long sandy brown hair enters the oak doors. A caption at the bottom of the screen reads: "RE-ENACTMENT: MAY NOT HAVE HAPPENED! AND THAT'S THE BOTTOM LINE!" We cut to a shot from the ceiling inside, and sitting at a desk across from each other are the Gregg Osterhout and Ian Jalbert look-alikes, porn actor Ron Jeremy playing Dan Spreadbury and "Playboy" Ronnie D. They are having a meeting.] RD: Look, I think you can all understand why I'd be worried to face a member of the IIWF... DS: Please, have a Snickers. [Dan pushes a bowl of Snickers towards Ronnie. He graciously accepts a few of the chocolate treats. Gregg Osterhout reaches for one, but Dan slaps him on the hand. Gregg sits back in his seat, rubbing his hand and looking visibly upset.] DS: You were saying? RD: Yeah, I was a little concerned about facing a current employee of yours... DS: Oh.... I had to see this coming. No need to worry about that. GO: Yeah! Look what we did to that little Finnish wiener, Chickenhawk, or whatever... IJ: Really... All we have to do is get Mota to challenge him to a retirement match, and we'll be rid of him AND his cold, cold country FOR GOOD! [All three share a round of hearty laughs, as Ronnie laughs a little nervously. Ronnie, Ian and Dan all take a Snickers, but Gregg gets smacked by Dan before he can take one.] RD: Yeah, but I'm a little nervous... What if that was a fluke? DS: Well, Ronnie, for the sake of that security camera up there... [Dan points at the camera.] DS: ...We all know this is a legitimate athletic competition. Upsets _can_ happen. BUT... If it'd make you feel better, Gregg could book you some lovin'. GO: Actually, Ian is the one that books lovin'. I'm the one that saws it in half. But I can get you in touch with that first Vice-President... He can hook you up with some Girl Scouts... Er... Cookies... Catch my drift? IJ: Uh... Yeah. We all do, Gregg. So, what time do you want them to stop by? GO: However, I can get you some free kitties. And all the grape-leaves you want, if you're that type. RD: How about 7:30, Ian? And Gregg... That won't be necessary. GO: Your loss, my gain. [An uneasy silence settles on the room as all eyes focus on Gregg.] GO: What?! [Gregg reaches for a Snickers and Dan smacks him again as we fade out of the dream sequence and back to Ronnie in the gym.] RD: So, y'see, Stevie? I _was_ nervous, and you had that on me, but Luscious Lulu solved ALL my problems, and now the icon's ready to dish out a heavy helping of the _SMACK!_ [Fade out.] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- King of the Cruisers Second Round Match: Tiger Claw vs. "Iconoclast" Sean Watts ----------------------------------------------------------------------- LM: What an exciting match-up this looks to be! EJ: Yer talkin' two o' the biggest-game draws in pro rasslin' when yer talkin' Watts an' Claw. Claw now, he's a legend an' all, but I ain't never stepped in the ring wit' the boy. Still, when ya work wit' men like Casey James an' Jay-Dub Hardin, ya get Jacks' seal o' respect. An' as fer Watts? He's a tough, confident boy...don't let nobody tell ya otherwise...an' he's made himself inta a helluva god_damn rassler in my backyard. O' 'course, we're talkin' reasonable here....so I'm sayin' this match is goin' ta Claw. LM: Indeed, Tiger Claw is one of the true greats. EJ: Now, Larry, don't goin' put words inta my mouth. Don't nobody need ta be called a "great" 'cuz didn't nobody in this bidness that ever boasted great ability. Some people are good, sure, an' some are bad...but it ain't how good or bad ya are....it's how ya work, how ya try...an' it ain't 'bout bein' good or bad. An' that's why ya don't see none o' them amateurs bein' called legends. LM: I think most of our fans will call this man great...let's hear from Tiger Claw. [SCENE: A private gym, equipped with several expensive looking machines seeming capable of working every known muscle in the human body. There seems to be absolutely nobody in the gym at the moment... Until the camera pans around. In a far corner, away from all the equipment, is Tiger Claw, skipping rope. The shot closes in on the fighter, and he begins to speak...] TC: You see all that equipment over there? All the expensive equipment? All the money that's sitting right over there? All the scientifically balanced weights to ensure a full body workout? It's all crap... See, you can sink as much money as you want or have into this stuff for your training. You can have all this stuff set up in a room, and you can stand back, and you can think to yourself, "Man, I'm going to be a monster thanks to this stuff." But you know what? It won't do a goddamn thing if you don't take the effort to start. Don't get me wrong here... I'm not preaching to the little kiddies out there. I'm making a point... As if these segments had any other purpose. [Claw looks off to his right, then back to the camera.] TC: Hold on a second... [Claw speeds up the pace of his skipping, changing the balance to one leg, then the other, as he jumps the rope, looking as if he were running in place, only bringing his legs up fairly high. He continues to do this for about 30 seconds, watchin the clock. He then slows back down to a regular pace.] TC: See, it's all about drive. It's about getting up in the morning, and thinking to yourself, "I'm doing stuff today". It's about pushing yourself each and every day to go past the level you set for yourself the previous day. If you're not improving, then you're stagnant, and sooner or later, you're going to find yourself with a kicked ass and broken teeth. Watts... I've said it before... I like your attitude... At least the part about the marketing aspect of our livelihood. There's another part of that attitude I don't like, though, and that's the fact that you're lazy. I've read the sheets, kid, and they're all telling me the same thing. You've got potential, but you just can't take it upon yourself to get up off that ass and really work yourself. You do enough to get by, but nothing more. [Claw looks off to the right again.] TC: Hold on again... [Again, Claw doubletimes his skipping for a good portion of a minute, then slows down again.] TC: That's not going to wash with me, Watts. See, you're going to have to dig deep down and pull out more than you've ever used to get by me in this tournament, otherwise, you're just going to get hurt. You have the resources, Watts... I know you do. Your body is just like this gym here... You've got the million-dollar assets, but without the drive to use them, you aren't worth a dime. This is how I make a living. I put my entire life into this sport. That's the difference between me and you. I'm willing to make the sacrifices that you aren't. I _have_ made the sacrifices that you haven't. I decided long ago that this was my lot in life. This was what I was good at. Fighting. Now, I'm even better. It's what I do, and it's who I am. I was born to compete in the ring... All my adult life has been spent in or around the ring... I'll probably die in the ring... I'm willing to die for what I love, Watts... Are you? Because if you aren't willing to die for something, then you live for _nothing._ [Claw glances to the right again, and speeds up once again... After 30 seconds or so, he stops completely. A voice is heard off camera.] V: 25 minutes... Take a 5 minute break, and start again. [Claw nods, and looks to the camera again.] TC: Do me a favour, Watts, and at least challenge me. Make me work to beat you. I want to look at this match as one of the greatest matches in my career. Maybe then, you'll understand why some people work as hard as they do. But don't make me drag your lazy ass all through this match, Watts... That's just going to make things a little more... painful. [Claw takes a mouthfull of water from a squirt-bottle, then spits it out... The voice returns from off camera.] V: Hey... What about Steve Manning? TC: [Smirks] I figured I'd just ignore him. That _is_ the way to deal with a whining brat, isn't it? [Claw smiles and shakes his head, then goes back to skipping rope, taking noticably less than a 5 minute break. Fade.] [The scene fades in to a rather dull and unintersting bit of a studio containing nothing more than a white vinyl "King of the Cruisers" banner and a stool. Footsteps echo across the small interview studio before Sean Watts steps into the scene, depositing a six pack of a cheap brand of beer which can't quite be made out.] SW: I guess I'm not exactly starting my day off right, but I sure find this a little better than a bran muffin and some prune juice. But hey, who out there really cares what my diet is? [Sean leans back against the stool, careful not to nudge his beverage of choice from its perch.] SW: Claw, you're asking me to lay down for my own sake? I think you already know the answer to that -- I just can't do that. I might not be averse to doing something like that in a match which didn't matter. In fact, I've even done it before so I could just get the hell out of an arena or two. A lot of these other guys talk about coming out here and giving 'one hundred and ten percent' all the time, every night. And they talk about how they do it for the fans, and to show what a great athlete they are. Not me. I'm in this for myself -- though not exactly in the way everyone might think. I don't want to be doing this when I'm fifty years old. I don't want to be a flabby old man in the ring trying to capture some former glory from a younger age. If I'm ever going to have any glory days, I'd rather have them today than tomorrow. That'd make me a little more bankable. It'd also help keep me from having to work at this when I'm fifty. Hell, it might help bring me an early retirement so that when I'm an old man I'm not a walking advertisement for some pain killers. So on Saturday, I'll be there. [With a pause only to pick up his sixpack, Sean makes a quick exit from the studio as the scene fades.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Intercontinental Championship Tournament First Round Match: "Savage" Shadoe Rage vs. Harlequin Tragedy ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Which one of these men will still have a chance at the Intercontinental Title when this match is over? Which man will face Marty Warnett in the semi-finals? EJ: I don't get gimmicks, I don't get the Harlequins an' I sure as hell ain't gonna pick Tragedy ta win this match. Shadoe's been in the ring wit' some o' the best guys in the ring ta_day, an' he knows how things work. But he's got too much pride, Larry...he don't see himself as what he is and wuz, but always lookin' an' seein' hisself as what he could be. But that don't mean nothin' in a match like this, a match where it ain't gonna take a little more. I ain't one not ta err on the side o' caution....so I'm gonna hafta say Shadoe steps up an' pulls this one out. LM: Indeed, Shadoe's performance against Steve Kowalski at Ring Wars 5 is widely regarded as the gutsiest PPV performance of all time. EJ: Yer damn right, Larry. Ya don't teach toughness like that. Ya just have it. LM: Both participants had thoughts to share with our viewers here and at home. [Fade in: Shadoe Rage stands before the cameras, dressed in his ring gear, long tights, black knee-high boots with the hard shootfighter's shinguards. He wears an 'Age of the Rage' T-shirt over the top. His hair is tied back in braids with some loose strands framing his face. His eyes are hidden behind Nike Frog sunglasses. MArissa stands behind him, rubbing his shoulders. Shadoe rolls his head on his neck, loosening the tendons. A smirk crawls across his lips.] SR: In life there are things that are great triumphs, great comedies and great tragedies. Harlequins, every night, no matter where, no matter when, no matter how I go home with this woman every night. [The camera studies Marissa Monet's beauty.] SR: That's a triumph. That's the sweetest triumph. Tragedy, every day you go back to Comedy. That's such a joke it's a tragedy. This Saturday you're facing the 'Savage' Shadoe Rage. That's a tragedy. Because you haven't got a chance in hell. That's another tragedy. You're going in against me with your little tricks, your little gimmicks and your "I want my Binky" crying brother. That's a comedy of errors. Tragedy, your time is running low in low digits. This is the final meeting between us. This is the last time I humiliate you and leave you lying low. This is the last time. And the tragedy that is you shall finally have its last stanza written. MM: And it was written what, Shadoe? SR: It was written that on April 25 in the evening in Portland, Oregon that the sad ... sad career of a proofessional clown named Tragedy deteriorated rapidly into a pathetic travesty of a career died in darkness. [Fade out] [The sun shines brightly as a cool breeze gently ruffles the grass. The sounds of children laughing is heard as the camera pans back. Preschoolers are seen in a playground. Swinging on swings, building castles in sandboxes, playing catch. The camera pans over to the jungle gym, where seated atop it is Tragedy, watching.] TRAGEDY: Ah, look at them, smiling, laughing, not a care in the world. [Two girls run by. One slaps the other on the back and yells, "TAG!" then turns and runs away. The first girl follows.] TRAGEDY: Considering the situation, it's appropriate that I'm out here. This playground is a perfect metaphor for the battle for the Intercontinental title. Look over there. [Tragedy points to where some children are playing dodge ball.] TRAGEDY: There we have the battle royal. The only situation where being the last one makes you the winner, and over there. [Tragedy points to where some children are jumping rope. A girl runs in and pushes the jumper out of the way and starts jumping herself.] TRAGEDY: You have those that didn't get in, but still tried to play anyway. Valtharius, Musashi, and that little man Deathbringer. [The kids then gang up on the girl-bully and chase her away. Tragedy allows himself a small, if not out of character, laugh.] TRAGEDY: A situation that was easily taken care of. And then there were eight. Eight of the federation's so-called finest. Myself and seven naïve, immature children, who have no idea just what they are getting into. [Tragedy stands up. Carefully balancing himself on the bars.] TRAGEDY: And what a better example of childish immaturity than my opponent for the tournament. Hey Shadoe, did it ever occur to you that I may have heard that little play on my name perhaps a couple hundred times before. "Tragedy, your wrestling is a tragedy." Puh-lease! I would think that someone with as big of a God complex as yourself would be able to come up with something original. [Tragedy jumps up and falls through the gaps in the bars, landing safely on the sand below.] TRAGEDY: You tell me about how tired you are of our encounters. How no one cares anymore about me. You know what people are tired of Shadoe? What people _really_ don't care about? It's that testimonial to the rhythm method called the Rage family. Shadoe, Derek, Lauryn, Dopey, Sneezy, Moe, Larry... You can't swing a steel chair without hitting one of you guys. The Prophets of Rage, The Disciples of Rage, Black Rage, and it goes on and on and on. The same old thing, day in and day out. Tell me Shadoe, and I going to "die in darkness" again? Or have you finally come up with a new catchphrase to beat us to death with? [Tragedy climbs through the bars and out of the jungle gym. He walks over to a bench and places his foot upon it and starts to unbuckle his boot.] TRAGEDY: That's your plan, isn't it? Bore me into submission with trite catchphrases and monotonous talent. Assault me with your "Enemy of the World" spiel. In case you haven't noticed Shadoe, I have evolved. I no longer wear the red and blue. I no longer wait. When something comes at me, I return with twice the effort. I improve, I survive, and I take whatever I want. Just ask the dead man. [Tragedy removes his boot and shakes some sand out of it. Then puts it back on and buckles it up again.] TRAGEDY: I have my Harlequins. _I_ didn't abandon my family. Where you are a loner, I am a leader. And if you aren't a leader, you are a follower, Shadoe. A man with no initiative to improve himself. A man stuck in his own little world. But soon, you'll enter my world. A world that you have no idea about. When the next generation "looks back" as you put it. They'll see how I was, and they will be able to compare it to heights I have yet to accomplish. But you live for the now Shadoe. You have no future. And years from now, no one will look back at your career. They won't even remember you existed. You'll blow your wad in this pointless attempt to be the "baddest man in the IIWF". [Tragedy picks up the sand from his boot.] TRAGEDY: And then be blown away by the sands of time. [Tragedy tosses the sand at the camera.] TRAGEDY: And that, Shadoe, will be your Tragic Ending. [Fade.] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Intercontinental Championship Tournament First Round Match: "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner vs. Christopher Stonebreaker ----------------------------------------------------------------------- LM: This match decides who faces Simon Lebec in the semi-final. The advantage there has to go with Turner who has handled Lebec in the past but first he has to get past Christopher Stonebreaker. EJ: Timmy Turner ain't nothin' but a lil' pussy in my eyes...too much o' a pretty boy ta get on my good side. TNT didn't prove nothin' as cruiser champ, he didn't prove nothin' 'gainst Andy MacBetts an' he sure as hell ain't gonna prove nothin' 'gainst Stonebreaker. An' what about ol' Chrissy-wissy? Stone's got too much on his mind ta put on a good show tonite...but that don't mean much, consider he's wrestlin' one o' the biggest limpwristed lamers in the whole_damn_organization. If Timmy actually proves he can wrestle...an' that's a big IF...well, I don't know. Pick'em, folks, 'cuz neither o' these guys is what I call a winner. LM: Harsh words for the former Cruiserweight Champ. Let's hear from both men. [Fade in on Timothy Turner's posh penthouse suite. Turner is standing near his trophy case looking at the various title belts he has won.] TNT: It's been a good career so far. I've been successful wherever I've gone -- but I was a different man then. I did whatever it took to win those belts. I cheated like a demon...and I won. So I don't swing a metal bar at people any more. So what? Do you think I still won't do what it takes to win? [Turner walks over to the table and picks up a set of small metal brackets.] TNT: I have never wanted something as bad as I want the IC gold. I need to prove to the world that I can cut it as a champ. I need to prove that Duncan Macbeth was't to the driving force behind our success. More than anything, however, I need to prove to myself that I can make it _without_ crippling people to do it. [He attaches the brackets to the wall on the trophy case.] TNT: Oh yeah. That belt is going to look great there. Stonebreaker... Lebec... then whomever it takes. [Fade] [The camera opens on a scene of Christopher Stonebreaker, who is seated over his oak desk, obviously in his log cabin home, scribbling a few notes on a paper in front of him. The wrestler remains there for a few moments, before the man behind it clears his throat, obviously trying to get the Cajun's attention.] CS: [without looking up] Just a second. [Chris finishes whatever it was that he was writing, before folding the paper up and stuffing it into his shirt pocket, before turning his attention to the camera in front of him.] What can I say? Sometimes, you have to take notes of the events of your life, lest one forget what they have to do. But Turner, you seem to think that I've forgotten all about you? [Chris reaches back into his pocket, and pulls the paper out and glances down at his writing.] Guess what, Timmy, it seems that you happened to make my list after all. You see, Timbo, I don't forget any man, and I sure ain't about to ignore anyone. Which means that this Saturday night in Portland, unfortunately for one of us, you are going to have my _full_ attention. Turner, it doesn't matter what label you wish to go by. Whether it's the Rocket Man, TNT, or just ol' plain Turner. On the 26th, whatever alias seems to fit your fancy, it's going to be the same man who has to climb up in the ring, and realize that he's stepping in with a man who has never been more focused, more determined, and more willing to go through hell and high water to make this his year. Here in the IIWF it starts with you Timbo. It starts with that Intercontinental Tournament. It starts with what everyone will have to call a mild upset. This is where it starts, and after I've pinned your shoulders down to the mat, the IIWF is put on notice, because the cajun has just begun to show the wrestling community exactly where I'm going, and that is straight up to the top of this game for some time to come. [Chris shoves the paper back in his pocket once again.] Turner, you're not a stepping stone, my friend, you are simply the next rung on the ladder, and I will go over you to make it to that gold title. That is a promise! [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Serge Annis vs. Charles Scheffield ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: A match where Annis has to Wrestle Clean? Does he even know how? EJ: Sergey done got himself labelled a legend....but that don't mean crap or two dimes here in the Double-Eye, a place where legends can get there asses whupped night-in, night-out by guys like me. But Serge Annis is tough. An' Charles Scheffield is...a wrestler. Where I come from, Larry, an' it ain't that nice a place, believe ya me, it pays ta be tough, ta be strong. Annis needs ta gun fer a belt. So does Scheffy. This match is make or break time, Morty, an' it's gonna big-time spektakler, Double-Eye style. Don't look ta me fer a guess as ta the winner....'cuz this match got too much ridin' on it. LM: So you're staking the claim that this match will become a classic? EJ: I ain't stakin' nothin', Larry, 'cuz stuff that's outta the mouth an' out in the open don't normally happen...an' I sure as hell ain't a god_damn fortuneteller. LM: It certainly will be intriguing to see if Annis can pull it off! Let's hear from both Annis and Scheffield, right after this word concerning this battle from our beloved VP. [VP Osterhout sits behind his desk, joking with the camera crew.] GO: Ike Sampson, a hula dancer and Daniel Spreadbury go into a bar. Sampson asks the bartender for a drink, and the bartender hands him a nail....oh, are we on? [Quickly the VP assumes his 'important' demeanor, straightens his Moxy Blue Commemorative Desk Pen, and addresses the camera.] GO: Serge Annis, this is a hard thing to say, bu well done. I didn't think you were man enough to hold yourself back. You did well, that little mix-up with Valherius not withstanding. It's the job of the Vice-President to keep on top of things in this federation. I have my methods...my contacts...my snitches...my electronic survellance devices hidden in the dressing rooms. Um, nevermind that last bit. What I mean to say is that I get word now that you want the world title. I have two words to that: Charles Scheffield. That is all. Please go back to enjoying Countdown, brought to you tonight by Slim Slam diet drink. [He turns away] Hey guys, did I ever tell you the one about Valtharius and the goldfish? [Fade] [The screen fades in from black, to a shot of flames. The red and yellow flames cackle and burn away at the wood logs resting in the firepit. The fire cackles away, and has a slight echo. A solitary voice is heard.] SA: I'm not out to win any popularity contests. [There is a moment of silence as the fire cackles.] SA: Because the Lord knows, that I am not going to win any awards. [The fire continues, and after another moment of silence, Annis is heard again.] SA: So you'll have to excuse me if I don't come out here and wear any cowboy dusters. You'll also have to excuse me if I don't talk about respect. And please forgive me for not popping a Mooselips in my mouth in the middle of a nationwide broadcast. [The camera starts to pan back. We can see that it is outside, and at night. Rocks surround the firepit. A few trees are seen in the distance, in the shadows of the fire.] SA: I am what I am. I haven't changed. [The camera continues to pan back, and the side of Serge Annis' face is shown, with the reflection from the flames bouncing off his white skin.] SA: I ain't no corporate suck up. I'm definitely not a noble prince. But yet... these tags have been stuck on me in recent weeks. By wrestlers, by commentators. By some fans. [Annis looks at the camera with a questioning look.] SA: Now my only question is... what the Hell do the people want from me? I come out and I play Lethal Protector for the night, ensuring the integrity of the matches and respect of the wrestlers. Creed does the same damn stunt last year, and he's made out to be the fearsome warrior who wins the world's respect. When I do the same thing... I'm made out to be a weak, feeble minded man who has become the biggest Corporate suck up out there. [Almost all of Annis' face is seen. Annis points his finger to the one inch scar lying under his left eye.] SA: See that, Takezo? You can't tell me that I am no man of violence and action. Why? Because let's face it Takezo... I've faced more controversy, I've faced more trouble and I've spilled more blood than just about anyone here in the IIWF, and that certainly includes you Musashi. And now... look what it's got me. [The camera pans back more. The neck of Annis is shown on screen now. The fire cackles, and a full moon is visible above Serge's head. The glow of the fire dances on Annis' skin. Serge lowers his finger to the three inch scar running along his throat.] SA: I'm scared. Practicaly head to toe. I wake up in pain every morning of my life. And now... I don't even have the fire I love so much. Gregg Osterhouf saw fit to take it away from me because he put me on probation. Musashi, I want to talk to you about something... honor. Something, you used to be a man of. I made a promise to someone very dear to me. In fact, the only person dear to me. It was to win the IIWF World championship. Right after I won the respect of my peers in the IIWF and the wrestling world. You can not win a world title on probation. You don't get the shot. [The camera reverses now and zooms in slowly on one of Annis' icy blue eyes.] SA: I thought I sucedded to win the respect I searched for. And now... I find that I am still not good enough. But you know what Takezo? I don't give a damn about respect any more. The only thing I care about is the IIWF World title. And I have to change my ways a bit to get to that title. I haven't reached my goal yet Musashi... but I'm one step closer. You are right though when you say I never could fit in no matter how hard I try. No matter what I do, the critics won't stop lambasting me. [Annis looks away from the camera.] SA: Image? What the hell is your problem Takezo. I've lost the "image"? [Annis shouts out to the world.] SA: You cannot lose the image of a "madman" when your mind is clotted with violence. When every sight you see reminds you of blood once spilt. Whenever you see an opponent in the ring... well, you get my drift. I haven't lost my image Takezo. I've just smartened up. You can call it a catharsis if you'd like, it makes no difference to me. I've realized one thing Takezo. That you can't go through life living the life of a villain. I've learned that the hard way. It took me twenty eight years of Hell to make it to where I am now. And I've picked up a few tricks along the way. Because I used to prey on the innocent, and now I've chosen to strike down on the guilty, does that make me such a sell out? No... I'm still willing to lay a chairshot upside your head. But now... it's going to be your head, not some innoncent bystander. They don't deserve that... not anymore. It's jerks like you however... [The camera zooms in even closer to Annis' icey eye.] SA: I gazed into your eyes Takezo. And I laughed. Now, I invite you to gaze into my eyes... look down deep into my dark and depraved soul. Look deep and know the pain that feeds my life each day. See the madness that lies down deep inside. Look deep Takezo... and cower in fear. For the sights you will see shall snap your mind and break your soul. And I will add one more to the pot, so to say. [The camera cuts back again, slowly.] SA: The IIWF defines quality. The IIWF defines action. The IIWF defines wrestling. And I intend to leave my mark. Whether I have the support of the fans... the critics... or not. I am indifferent. Steve Kowalski... I am slowly getting there. Step by step. Obstacle by obstacle. I am overcomming everything that Gregg Osterhouf throws my way. I've even become his poster boy. Kowalski, I hope that tells you something. Just how hard I am working to get that title shot. You've promised a shot to anyone... but I first have to put an end to the probation, before I can officially take you up on your honor. I have too much riding on me now to turn around and give up. Serge Annis is playing by a different set of rules now. And Steve hold onto that title... I shall get my shot... one way, or another. [The camera fades to black, as the fire cackles, and Serge's emotionless face stares straight through the camera.] [The scene fades in on what appears to be a lavishly furnished office room. There are blinds which are closed to let in only a very minimal amount of outdoor sinlight. There is a brown wooden desk in the center of the shot which is neatly arranged with gold trimmed knick knacks one would normally find on an office desk. There is also a neatly stacked pile of papers. A man soon walks into view and sits down in the chair in front of the desk. The brown haired, blue eyed man is easily recognizable as Charles Scheffield. He looks over a few papers quickly, then looks toward the camera... a slightly bemused, yet serious look on his face.] CSc: Well, well, well. Annis wants to play fair for once, eh? [laughs softly] Well, I must say this is too good to be true. Annis listening to the doctrines of "Wrestle Clean" for once? [Scheffield ponders this for a moment.] Annis... what you are going to find out soon is that joining us "Wrestle Cleaners" isn't as easy as you think it is. It's not easy to go around some circles and have them call you an effeminate freak for being against people like you... or like you "used" to be. I don't know why, Annis... but I really do not trust you very much in this regard. I really don't think you have changed at all when it comes to your ring tactics... which is why come Saturday you will be struggling quite extraordinarily at my hands. It's quite funny, actually. I shall most definitely show you that "Wrestle Clean" is more than what everyone... including yourself believe it to be. Wrestling without the use of foreign objects... without breaking the rules... using no illegal holds... it really isn't as simple as it sounds. But wrestling dirty is much simpler in actuality. What is the challenge in acting on a whim? On the other hand... when you wrestle clean... you have to weigh _everything_. Even bending the rules must be done with scientific precision. You must plan your attack rather than simply rely on the fact that if you get in trouble there's always a steel chair nearby to whack your opponent with. In fact, you have to be on guard for that _very_ thing if you wrestle clean, Annis. [Scheffield reclines in the leather chair, placing his feet on the desk and putting his hands behind his head. He smiles a content, yet cunning smile... showing that he definitely has some plans for Saturday Night.] This is going to be fun Annis. I am going to make it _undeniably_ obvious to you that you aren't cut out for "Wrestle Clean". You see a man like myself go out there every day and come out in pretty good shape... and you think to yourself that it's an easy task... that anyone can do it. The funny thing is the tasks that look so easy really aren't all that simple to do... and the tasks that look so simple really aren't easy. Like the man who's job is picking strawberries on a hot afternoon... a simple task. But is it easy? Well, if you ask someone who does this for a living, they'll tell you that it's painful. That reminds me of you, Annis. The man who takes the easy way in attacking people with the most illegal means possible... but you suffer the same pain from your enemies as well. On the other hand... how about the man who is president of a large corporation? Definitely not a simple job... but it sure looks easy. Wouldn't it be nice to have air-conditioned offices... fancy cars... fancy women? But all of it's merely a side order... it takes a _hell_ of a lot more to keep those things than it does a strawberry picking job. To put it simply, when you see someone wrestling clean... you're seeing the fancy cars and air-conditioning. What you're not seeing is the technical know how it takes to accomplish such a task. Anyone can wrestle dirty... but only the elite wrestle clean. All I can say is I can't wait to show you the exact meaning of "Wrestle Clean". I guess you'll start off clean... but by the end of the night I'll have you so frustrated you'll be breaking every rule in the book. Carry on. [With that, the scene simply fades to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Prophets of Rage vs. the American Dragons ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The old masters against the young stallions! A tag match of epic proportions that could shape the future of the tag division! EJ: I got all the respect in the world for Derek and Dirt Dog...an' that's a helluva lot o' respect...but it ain't gonna mean nothin' 'gainst the Dragons, a team I'm peggin' as the taggers o' the future. Sometimes things get stale....an' sometimes other things get fresh...an' sometimes old things don't always keep that sweet flavor. I gotta side wit' the Dragons, 'cuz this is Portland...an' youth is gonna be served. LM: Some things improve with age, Eddy...and the Prophets aren't exactly that old. EJ: I sure as hell ain't a livin' example o' that, Morts. My legs hurt, my back aches, I got heart trouble...I sure as hell wish I was a lot younger...an' all that experience don't matter at all if the body ain't willin'. LM: Both teams were caught by our cameras this week. [Fade in: The Prophets of Rage are seated in their locker room. Derek is dressed in his togs, relaxing on the floor, seated between Pizzazz's legs as she works on his hair with a comb, some grease and water. She twists his hair into cornrows, braiding them into intricate patterns on his head. Dirt Dog is only dressed in shorts and sneakers. The scar on his stomach is blatantly evident, ugly, raised and red. Medusa is unravelling his braids, opening half his head into an afro with the rows in front. Music plays gently in the background and Dirt Dog bops his head to the strains of Thelonius Monk. The Prophet are decidedly cool, relaxed, an unexcited about this match.] DR: [addressing the camera directly] Am I hostile? I got a right to be hostile. This tag-team is being persecuted. Why are we being kept out of the rankings becase we're winning? MR: It's because they can't have a real team in the pathetic circus that is Spreadbury's tag-team division. To me it's appalling that all these terrible teams with no personalities, no strategies, no intelligence are being given the nod over us and we're left out in the cold. Do you really think any of us are sitting down and taking it? P: Mais non, monsieur. C'est fini maintenant. We will not support ze insult any more. DDUA: They trying to turn us from a dollar to fifteen cents. We ain't gonna have that. I mean see ... see ... see ... we're a great team, with a great winning percentage. We been promised title shots by champions and those got ignored right. They just got ignored. See, the worst ish, the worst ish those muhfuhs in the ivory towers did was to keep us off the pay-per-view. What the fuh are they sayin' man? We can't draw nobody? That what they f'n sayin'? Cause if they is then they stupid. We was and is and will be the draw in this here piece. And all those muhfuhs out there know it. DR: Throwing us into a match with the American Dragons is not going to fly for us. It's got to be Team Sychosys, Daniel. That's it. Nothing less. Team Sychosys and the Prophets of Rage ... in a locked doors situation. I don't want to see any more crap in the ring. I don't want to see any more Sychopaths. Hell, I don't want to even see any fish and any fans. Just the Propets of Rage and the Team Sychosys in an empty gym, just a ring. Let's see who's better. Let's see who can actually wrestle. Let's see. DDUA: Tragically, the crazy style deteriorates rapidly. It entertains the ignorant masses, but it don't do nuthin' for the participants who keep gettin' shuffled in and out of the IIWF pack. Y'all know what the kiss of death in the IIWF is? It's winnin' a title. Cause you know they gonna throw everything at you so the belts change hands at the next pay-per-view. And then you ain't nuthin'. DR: Unless you just bounce from where you are. Leave the scene. Get out of tag-teaming. All you folks out there better set your VCRs because the Prophets of Rage are in a volatile time. This might be right here the last match you ever see the Prophets in in the IIWF. Might just be. Hell, the ball is in Daniel's corner. Let's see how much he respects us. Let's see ow much he values his employees. DDUA: Bout as much as a muhfuhin' redheaded stepchild. Well, Spreadbury, you better bend over and spread 'em, cause we gon ram the heads of those American Dragons right up your ass. Yo, you gon need a good proctologist. DR: It's all about respect, Spreadbury. You better show us respect. And you know how to do it. Ball's in your court. Fade to black. DDUA: Muhfuhs! [Fade out] [The camera opens on a gym. It could be a gym anywhere in the world, except for the sign on the wall: GOLD'S GYM OF SALEM, OREGON. From the dedicated buff beast to the timid first time weightlifter, and all in between, everywhere one looks, people train. We work our way through the gym, coming to a weight bench near the back. A small crowd has gathered, young, old, men, women, rookies, veterans: all murmuring to themselves. As the crowd parts, we hear a voice that is very well known to us] JS: Just a little more Bob, come on! [The camera shows Joe Scalercio, one half of the American Dragons, spotting his partner, Bob Ivey. Ivey is stripped to the waist, showing off his massive chest. He is sweating profusely, and it is very evident that he is straining, holding a weight bar just off his chest. Scalercio is straining a little too, helping his partner hold up the weight] JS: Come on, man! Almost got it... [Bob takes a deep breath...and slowly he raises the bar. Joe eases up as the young Texan presses the weight bar up. The crowd stares in amazement as the young man performs a perfect, but slow, bench press. As Bob and Joe guide the bar back onto the holders, the crowd bursts into applause. Bob wipes his face off with a towel, a big grin on his face] BI: Thank you, thank you, partners. [The people break up as Joe takes a sip from a Gatorade bottle before sitting down next to his partner] JS: 435 pounds. 435 POUNDS! Freaking incredible! BI: Hey, I told you... [Bob flexes, showing off his muscles] BI: ...you got it, you got it. [Bob stands up and takes off some of the weights...the bigger ones...as Joe sits down on the bench] BI: So let's see ig your scrawny ass can press 265. JS: Bite me. [Joe begins doing reps as he talks to the camera] JS: So...1...the day approaches...2. The American Dragons...3...collide with the Prophets of Rage...4. I heard them say...5...that they're pissed at the brass...6... because they're being...agh...7...forced to take on opening carders....8.... BI: A little more, Joe! JS: 9....... [Joe grits his teeth and pushes, getting his final rep] JS: TEN! [Bob puts the bar on the holders again as Joe sits up. He puts a towel around his neck before looking into the camera] JS: Ever consider, maybe, JUST maybe, Prophets...there's a reason for the brass putting you so low on a card? And that the reason is....you suck? We know why we're so low...because we're paying our dues. We've got a ways to go before the American Dragons headline a card. But you...when the hell was the last time you wrestled? If you honestly expect to get catapulted to a shot against Team Sychosys based on what you were...then hell, you're dumber than we thought. Derek, DDUA, you're nothing anymore. Strong words and throwing fish aren't going to get you where you want to go. Work... hard work...is what will get you the title shot. The first step on this road...and your first step back, Prophets, is the hardest working tag team in the biz, the American Dragons. We've been training for this one, guys. As soon as we're done, we're going for a 10 mile run. Even though we KNOW you two aren't the team you once were, when we beat you Saturday, it'll be two things. One: A warmup for Birthday Bash. Two: A vault up the rankings. People still see you as a good tag team, and us as the rookies. We know you're frauds, but a win over you is going to be a major step up. So Rage, Allah, bring it all. Bring everything you have. The comeback trail for the Prophets of Rage begins Saturday night. And it will begin with a devastating loss. BI: Now, there's something I'd like to discuss. Ok, this country is caught up in sexual harrassment fever. From the White House to that Monday night Fox chick show, everyone is talking about it. Ms. Hawkings, being the brilliant mind she is...a twisted, yet brilliant one...is jumping on the bandwagon, trying to do whatever she can behind the scenes, because she KNOWS the Patrol can't beat us in the ring. Tara Stafford...ok, tall, red-haired...yeah, I did talk to her. I was on my way to see VP Osterhoutt, and I passed her in the hallway. It was a tight fit, and I had to squeeze past her while saying "Howdy, ma'am." If it's a crime what I did, then this country's in serious trouble. Keep holding on to your false hopes, Hawkings. Blazer and Garcia are ours at the PPV, plain and simple. And don't even THINK about sticking your noses in the match Saturday night. The Prophets are ours. Period. [The camera pans from the two men to the leather jackets hanging on a pair of nearby coathooks. The dragon logos, though compressed, are visible] JS: Any team... BI: ...any time, boys and girls. [Fade out on the clanking of freeweights and the cold eyes of the green dragon, curled up on Joe's jacket] ----------------------------------------------------------------------- The Down Boys vs. the NorthPac Coalition ----------------------------------------------------------------------- LM: This may seem to be the first meeting for these two teams but they have a bit of history over in Japan. This is a grudge that certainly isn't settled! EJ: I ain't the first ta say it an' I ain't the last...I feel fer the Down Boys. It's gotta hurt when yer asses get booked out o' title shots an' screwed outta titles...but some boys don't know how ta play games. An' that's a problem...a problem 'cuz the NorthPac gang's gonna come in wit' all guns a-firin'. It ain't about complainin', Larry, an' it ain't about gettin' stale....but it ain't 'bout winnin', neither. NorthPac wins, mebbe. LM: Let's hear from both teams. [The camera shows clips of the Down Boys wrestling in various matches along their IIWF career. Suddenly, the clips cut to a live shot of Dan Oliver and Adam Peterson standing in front of an IIWF backdrop] DO: So, we're leaving the IIWF. AP: Yeah, so what do we do now? DO: We're gonna have to find a... [gasp] AP & DO: REAL JOB! [Suddenly, the screen freeze frames the shocked-looking DB's and we hear a voice-over boom out:] VO: The Down Boys: EMPLOYMENT SEARCH '98. This week: Television News... [The screen then shows two stuffed shirt anchormen sitting behind a news desk.] SS1: And I guess you'd call that a case of...Boy EATS World! [Both anchors laugh hartily] SS2: Oh Stan, how do you come up with them. Coming up next, a new addition to our news team, Dan Oliver with sports! [Camera shot of Dan Oliver in a suit and tie behind the news desk. Dan's hair is styled in a fashion that his hair is wrapped over his head twice and full of hair spray, such that you couldn't hurt him if you threw a nine-volt battery at his head. Oliver shuffles some papers and sees his cue] DO: Tonight in sports, the Portland Trail....blazers? Is that what they're called? Well, they played baseball with the Los Angeles Lakers... Offstage: ...basketball... DO: Right, basketball. Anyway, let's take you to clips. [Clips of a Lakers/Blazers game as Oliver talks over them] DO: See, this guy, Shaq...HEY! I've heard of him! Anyway, Shaq here scored 52 points, in leading the Lakers to victory over the Blazers, 123-92. Wow. 123-92. Those Blazers suck. Offstage: ...go to hockey... DO: In hockey, the Toronto Maple Leafs defeated the Chicago Blackhawks, 3-1. Here's Tie Domi skating down ice, and he hits...oh damn! Chris Chelios took a hell of a bump there. Whew, reminds me of the time we were fighting the Natural Predators, and...oh, yeah, right. Well, anyway, Bob Probert took exception to that hit from Domi, and, wow! They locked up, now see, ya gotta go for a single leg takedown there. OH! JUICE!!!! JUICE!!!! Probert's busted wide open! JUICE!!!! [quick cut to commercial, then back to the stuffy anchors] SS1: We...apologise for that incident. Now, with today's weather, here's meterologist Adam Peterson. Adam? [cut to Adam in front of the weather map. He is dressed similar to how Dan was, but his hair is slicked back and in a pony tail. He has a big grin on his face] AP: [seductively] Oh yeah...well, tonight, ladies, we can expect no clouds in the sky, and a full moon out tonight, and guess what, ladies? I've got a convertible, so you ladies can ride the Superstud Express all night long... [cut to a screen that only reads "PLEASE STAND BY", followed by another shot, this one of the front lawn outside of the television studio. Dan and Adam are sitting out on the lawn, and the words "AND DON'T EVER COME BACK!" are heard in the distance, with a door slamming] DO: Damn. AP: Yeah, damn. DO: So, what are we going to do now? AP: Same thing we're gonna have to do every day, Danny. TRY TO FIND A JOB! VO: They're Danny...they're Danny and the Stud, stud, stud, stud, stud! [Fade.] [Fade in on a pier that has seen better days. Standing on the very edge of the pier and staring out to sea is Akira Saito. Tom Turner stands a little farther back.] CTT: You've got to wonder about the Down Boys. Why is it that everytime we get near, they run away? We fought them in Japan, whipped their tails, and they immediately went on strike and refused to wrestle us again. Then we were in the tag tournament and they met us in the final and cheated to a win. Before we could get a re-match...they ran over here. Now we are here and they are running again! Not before we get our hands on them though. AS: The sea is a funny thing. It always changes yet it still remains fundamentally the same. This goes for the Down Boys as well. They used to act like clowns. Then they won the IIWF gold. Now they are clowns again. I guess you must be true to your nature. We must also be true to ours. We will beat you. We will learn. We will improve. You will fade away. CTT: One step back to the Watch! [Fade] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament Second Round match: "Armitage" Steven Spector vs. Youth Gone Wild ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: Don't forget that there's more King of the Cruisers action coming your way twenty-four hours after tomorrow night's live action, with SJPW's Ring Wars show -- this week with a special one-year anniversary show to celebrate the organisation's birthday, live from the huge Tokyo Dome. Check your local listings for details, but make sure you tune in to see the final two participants in the semi-finals determined. Last week saw UWF franchise Youth Gone Wild defeat the IIWF's own Cruiserweight Champion, Icehawk, to advance in the tournament, and this week he goes up against one of the most respected athletes in the world today, "Armitage" Steven Spector. Let's get comments from Spector now. [The scene is the Tokyo Dome, and the crews inside the Tokyo Dome are preparing the famous arena for this weekend's SJPW wrestling show. Walking along the arena floor, watching the crews set up is King of the Cruisers participant "Armitage" Steve Spector SS: What a difference a week makes... last week I was in my hotel room, acting cranky with a lack of sleep... worrying about how I was gonna go about trying to take Joey Rappoport down. [Spector smiles.] I love Japan, nice place to go to rid yourself of unwanted stress and anger. Unfortunately after my match against Youth Gone Wild, I gotta go back to America.... land of unwanted stress and anger. People love me in North America. They'd love to crucify me and burn me at the stake. Why.... I bet 50 wrestlers are waiting for me when my airplane lands Tuesday afternoon in Los Angeles... making sure I never get back to Carteret. [Spector smirks.] SS: Oh well, I'll approach that roadblock when I get to it. [Spector shrugs.] SS: Now... Youth Gone Wild... boy, that takes me back to the late nineteen eighties... that song was sort of an anthem for my fellow classmates growing up. Probably the adolescence talking, but man... at least back then it was never as dangerous growing up now as it was back then. The "Youth Gone Wild" nowadays can call themselves something like the "Youth Gone Into Juvenile Crime" or something like that. Must be the wrong people they idolise or something. [Spector sighs, then grabs a chair and sits down.] SS: Heh, man, when I first started out in wrestling, everyone wanted me to be the guy kids looked up to... me and people like Drac Draven... God rest his soul... The youth of America would be inspired by our sense of justice, and everyone would be all happy and politically correct. It's all in vain really when you look at it. Kids would rather idolise some guys that shoot themselves or sell guns and drugs on the street... that don't really think being a good guy would get ya anywhere in life. That is what I call BS... it'll get you somewhere, but you do have to be more aggressive in order to get anywhere. Unfortunately people these days take aggression to heart and resort to murder. Is it worth it? [Spector shakes his head.] SS: Now, people are looking at this and wondering... gee, what does this have to do with Spector's match against Youth Gone Wild on Sunday? My answer... nothing really. Just using the name "Youth Gone Wild" to make some sort of comparison between the youth when I grew up and the youth of yesterday. Scary thing is... There really isn't that much time difference. People can become murderous luntics overnight, sad to say... it's not funny that people can just snap right out of the blue.. [Spector stares at the roof.] SS: Bleh... enough of boring people. [Spector stands and continues to walk along the floor of the Tokyo Dome.] SS: Man... this place seems so empty... never knew how cavernous this place actually is... but come this Sunday, Youth Gone Wild... Fifty thousand people will jam into this very arena. They've come to see us... I hate to pat my own back about our match, but hey... we're two of the most talented light heavyweights in the world... attempting to prove that we're the best. The fans... they wanna see who the best is. I'm ready to prove that I'm the best, and I know that you're ready to prove the same thing... Let's see who'll be the one that will actually be the best. See you in the... [Spector interrupts himself... then a grin crosses his face.] SS: Oh dang... I lied. I said earlier that the youth today has a lot of problems and acts a little too aggressivly to get what they want... the truth actually is... The youth are actually quite quiet... and they like to get pinned by people like Steve Spector. Not saying that I'll beat ya right now... but I hope that's what happens. Good luck on Sunday, Youth Gone Wild... you'll need it. [smiles] See you in the ring! [Camera fades out.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ King of the Cruisers Tournament Second Round match: Jeremy Fullbright vs. Big Greggy Cool ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LM: The other big tourney match taking place on SJPW's show this Sunday night pits the GFWA's Jeremy Fullbright against the NPWA's Big Greggy Cool. Let's get comments from both men: [The scene opens up with Big Greggy Cool kicking back in a park somewhere in Japan before his match with Jeremy Fullbright on a SJPW card for the IIWF's King Of Cruisers tournament. BGC is wearing a "Japan can kick France's ass" T-Shirt, blue jeans, beaten up Pumas, and his medium length curly brown hair is just sitting there. Suddenly BGC's cell phone rings...] BGC: 'Ello... MOM! MOM: What's up sugar? BGC: A whole lot... Saturday, a day that's prolly gonna be the pinnacle of all fun. The very last day of a great stretch of in Japan. Japan's a great ol' place with lotsa fun things to do. If you really want to get a kick... Walk up to one and just start talking. Most know english, so just speak gibberish. Say anything, and they start shrugging, using hand signals and try to figure out what you're saying. Pretty fun, and ummm... I'm trying to find a place where I can get an extra's role in a new Godzilla remake and all these 'BGC' shirts are selling like hot cakes! I'm so happy I'm here because I can sell them all the shirts with typos on em!!! Oh yeah, got a match on Sunday. I'm gonna win. MOM: If you plannin' on winnin'... You best lose some of that weight. BGC: Weight? I'm skinny. MOM: Skinny? You so fat, your clothes got stretch marks! BGC: You so old you, you wrote the foreword to the bible! MOM: Boy, you so fat, you gotta take off your pants to get into your pockets! BGC: You so poor... You watch TV on a etch-a-sketch! MOM: Boy, you so stupid, you thought Beirut was a great baseball player! BGC: Well ummm... Y'know... Ahh... MOM: Y'gonna listen to what I have to say boy? BGC: Yeah momma. MOM: Son, if you weren't wrestlin' you'd be flippin' hamburgers trying to figure out which end of the spatula to use. You ain't the sharpest pencil in the box. BGC: Wha', momma? MOM: Don't get me wrong, you ain't ever gonna understand the theory of relativity or even be able to program your VCR every time on the first try, _but_ you're a damn good wrestler. You've got the god given natural ability that few will ever comprehend. You've got some weaknesses as well all do. Fact 'a life, boy. Nothing that's horrible, but you're a betta at wrestling than most people will ever be at anything. Now if you lose to Fullbright, you gotta look down into yourself and figure out just why the hell you let someone who'll be calling you up to see if you're interested in a credit card in three years, beat ya. [Pigeons surround BGC who's feeding them paint chips off the side off the bench side of the bench while he's talking on the cell phone.] BGC: There's no reason why Jer'my should beat me momma. MOM: Damn straight, boy. BGC: Jeremy Fullbright. He thinks he can whoop me cause he was a football player back in high school. Well my gram'ma always gave me words of inspiration in pressin' matters like this. She said "Son... Stop bein' such a bitj' azz slut... You think you'ze gonna disgrace this family by losin'... Lizz'en kid, if you'ze scared of Fullbright, you'ze best not come home this Sunday to do laundry cuz I'll _REALLY_ give ya somethin' be scared 'bout". I think we all know what she's talking about... Uh huh, the wooden spoon, so like I don't have much choice whether to win or not. And of course I'm always two steps ahead of my opponent, so I have a plan. And it certainly was nice that Jeremy Fullbright was aware of it too. I heard him do a little ditty on Monday and he was right on almost all accounts. He knows that maybe I've been known to put up a stupid front once in a while, but the thing that really caught me as shocking was how he thought I could beat him because I was funnier than him, better looking than him, more charismatic than him... Unfortunately that only makes me _cooler_ than him. All the winning and losing will be done Sunday. And since I'm having some fun over here, I don't plan on losing. MOM: Son, I raised ya to be the best ya can be, so you best go out Sunday and perform. BGC: Yes mamma, I love ya. MOM: You too, bye. [BGC hangs up the phone and ponders the odd words of inspiration given to him by his mom as the scene fades out.] [Scene: Jeremy Fullbright is eating dinner by himself in a McDonalds in Tokyo... he's just picking at his food, not really interested in it.] JF: Hey Greggy, it's me again. [Jeremy Fullbright smiles, and rubs his forhead.] Greg, the way I figger it, me and you are one in the same. We're two good ol' boys from the Eastern part of the States, and right now yer cravin'... whatever the hell they eat in Pittsburgh, and I'm cravin' some of my momma's Biscuits and Gravy. [Jeremy Fullbright sees a sign that reads "NEW! McDLT!" and looks off in the distance.] Man, I'm pretty danged homesick. I been in Japan for like... a week now, and I can't leave till Monday Afternoon. Over two weeks in a foreign country. But the reward is worth it. I'm sure people in at least 5 countries and 30 states know my name by now. After all, two of the biggest wrestling federations in the world have plastered my name all over the place for over a week now, I feel like a.... well... I feel like a KING! Greggy, my first order as King is to crown Sengir the court jester. Sengir made my emotions run wild. He was straight up Vampire on the outside, but on the inside he wasn't nuttin' but a deck of Magic Cards. And now, as the KING of the Cruisers, I will... crown you... [scratches chin] PRINCE! You can be the Prince of Cruisers. Greggy, I foresee a great match between us, fans will probably be on your side, but hell fans ain't never done nuthin fer me. ...except this one. [Jeremy Fullbright reaches in his pocket and produces a letter, folded in half twice.] Greg, this is a letter I received from a fan after my first match. I lost that match, and I got one piece of fan mail. Then I won, and I got a ton of mail, then I got this title and had to open up a special PO Box. Now I know you probably get tons of mail everyday, but this one means something to me... and it goes like this. "Dear Mr. Fullbright. You lost out there in the first round of the Sealweight tournament. But damnit, you can do better than that. What's wrong with you? I'm probably your only fan right now, and I'll probably be your only fan EVER if you don't shape up your act, get yourself together and start kicking some ass! So hang in there big guy, and roll with the punches... hell even give some punches to the other guy for me. Signed, Dad." I got this letter 2 months ago Greggy, and you know what?? MY DAD HAS BEEN DEAD FOR TWO FRIGGIN' __YEARS__! SOME JOKER DECIDED TO SEND ME SOME PEP-TALK-IN-AN-ENVELOPE TO MAKE UP FOR THE ONE I WOULD'VE GOTTEN FROM MY POPS! AND IT FRICKIN' PISSES ME OFF! And I'm not digressing this time, dangit. Every time I read that letter I get all fired up and ready to kill that sumbitch that impersonated my daddy, and I stay that way for a good 5 or 6 days. Hell Greggy, I don't know why I decided to read this now, but man, reminding me of home, of my daddy, and how much I hate the sumbitch that sent the letter. I don't expect you to give me a shoulder to cry on... But I am wantin' yer ass to kick. And come Sunday, I believe I can pull off the "upset." [Fade.] ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Trash Talk |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... LM: What a line-up! Yet this is only a fraction of the stars that compete in the IIWF! Let's hear from a few more of them, starting with the self-proclaimed "Savior" of the IIWF. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The Savior" Simon Lebec ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Fade to a black screen, when all of a sudden, the enchanting guitar riff of U2's The Edge begins, as "Pride (In The Name Of Love)" begins to play. The screen fades into a clip of "The Savior" Simon Lebec, as the lyrics begin:] # One man come in the name of love One man come and go # [Clip of Lebec, in the ring with mic in hand, pointing to the cheering fans] # One man come, he to justify One man to overthrow # [A collage of Marty Warnett, Timothy N. Turner, and Christopher Stonebreaker] # In the name of love One more in the name of love # [Cut to a clip of Lebec, savagely shaving the head of of an unconscious Marty Warnett] # In the name of love One more in the name of love # [Clip of Lebec crashing through a table, impacting hard] # One man come on a barbed wire fence # [Naturally, a clip of Lebec in a barbed-wire match with hardcore indy superstar Kuwasi "Blackfist" Shakur] # One man he resist One man washed on an empty beach One man betrayed with a kiss # [Clip of Lebec, standing nose to nose with IIWF president Daniel Spreadbury] # In the name of love One more in the name of love # [Clip of Lebec, bloody and battered as he crawls from ringside. As the camera fades, the words "Wrestle Hard" appear in red lettering. Camera fades] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Robert d'Artois & Reiner Ver Magnusson ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Scene fades in the Wednesday War Room locker rooms. Robert d'Artois and Reiner Ver Magnusson are standing there, in street clothes, packing their bags. They proceed to leave the lockers, as the cameras follow them. They slowly walk out of the arena and enter in their car. The cameras hops in too. As Magnusson is driving, d'Artois adress the IIWF viewers.] RdA: Well... What can I say. Another victory for the team of Robert d'Artois and Reiner Ver Magnusson. Another _moral_ victory. You see, we just can't be beaten and it seems that the IIWF wrestlers are finally starting to accept that very fact. I won't bring out the match against the Rotundos... That was just a conspiracy from the other tag team in trying to make the real wrestlers of this organization look bad. But... As I said, in the end, we still got the moral victory, and that's what is really important. It took a hundred men to prevent us from pinning our opponents, but they didn't got any kind of win either... Which brings me to the Black Watch. I don't have a clue of who these idiots are, but one thing is sure, they just got in the wrong men's buisness... First, they don't show us the respect that we deserve. I never saw them admit that we were superior, and that they were here for the sole purpose of making us look good... Like all the teams in the IIWF, the Black Watch is mediocre at best... But, before continuing on that subject, I would like to bring out citation from a very knowledgeable IIWF announcer. [Scene goes back to Wednesday War Room.] DB: D'Artois and Magnusson represent what the IIWF needs. Some style of the past, some thoughts about tradition. I mean, look at Joe Petrow and his kick in the side, McArthur. Fans don't know what to make of them, and what ring skill they have is in doubt. But they're the tag team champions. Now look at the Europeans. Tremendous skill [...]. [Screen goes back in the car.] RdA: You know, what that man said is exactly true. We are the real wrestling tradition of this organization, and finally, it is starting to be publicly admitted. And, being realistic, any IIWF Tag Team champions that is not Robert d'Artois and Reiner Ver Magnussen just don't cut it as title holders. The Black Watch wouldn't cut it, the Benjamins wouldn't cut it and Team Sychosys don't cut it. But before getting back on the Black Watch, I would like to examine a fact that currently bugs me... Altrought some knowledgeable men in this federation have started to accept our superiority over the common of mortals, some wrestlers are even still to accept our presence, and, more importantly, the fans are even booing us!!! How could it be this way? With our evident superiority, we our now legendary talent, with our undefeated streak... Why would not anybody appreciate what we are? And also what we are currently doing... We are beating every team that comes in our way. We are proving what wrestling is all about... WE ARE SAVING THE IIWF FROM THE DOWNHILL IT HAD TAKEN SINCE THE PAST FEW YEARS!!! How could anybody not be greateful for that!!! Yet, the uneducated IIWF fans are booing us... And the undeducated IIWF wrestlers are ignoring us... We should have been given a standing ovation when we came in this organization. Our fellow co-workers should have been happy that finally some real wrestlers were here... But we got nothing... Absolutely nothing... And that's pathetic... Once again, that shows you that the state and the knowledge of wrestling in this organization is at an all-time low. And that goes to the Black Watch too. I haven't seen them wrestle alot, but I've seen enough of them to know that they are not talented. Perhaps they can brawl, perhaps they can fight... But that's not what the IIWF is all about. It's about _wrestling_. That, and only that. We are the only team who knows all about wrestling in this organization and I'm sure they know it... But the main problem, and their interference in our bout proves it... They can't accept it... They are jealous... We made them realize their evident mediocrity, and they aren't happy at what they are seeing... And as usual, it's easier to blame the one who made you realize that than those really responsible for their incapacity. In this case, the Black Watch. It's the same problem with the Benjamins. Two young rookie who are making fools out of themselves pretending that they could actually have got a win over two of the greatest wrestlers to ever hit this organization... The Benjamins and the Black Watch will soon be extremely desillusioned. They can't cut it in a wrestling organization, they know it, and that's what anger them... But Robert d'Artois and Reiner Ver Magnusson sure can cut it here, and we shall prove it to any doubters, if any left, of this organization. We are the best, we are undefeated, and we shall remain that way forever. [Magnusson, still concentrated on his driving, nods, as d'Artois signals to the cameraman that the interview is finished. The screen then slowly fades to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Baddest Thangs Running ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: The cavernous Church of the Final Judgement, home, both spiritually and literally, to Caleb Temple. For the uninitiated, this is the once-dilapidated building which Temple purchased and renovated himself. It's interior is now a magnificent spectacle, the centrepiece being the massive wooden Crucifixion scene which rests behind the main altar. As the camera pans around the scene, we hear a shuffling sound, followed by the soft, calm drawl of Caleb Temple.] CT: "For he is not a man, as I am, that I should answer him, and we should come together in judgment. Neither is there any daysman betwixt us, that might lay his hand upon us both." Job 9:32, for the unenlightened. [Caleb Temple is seated in the wooden pews of the Church, two or three rows behind his current tag partner, Gunnar "The Grizzly" Gaines. Temple is wearing his customary attire of sleeveless black t-shirt with a single white cross emblazoned over the heart, black jeans, and silver-buckled black boots. His damp, stringy hair hangs in rat tails over his pale, yet strangely calm face. The camera pans back to Gaines, who is seated and reading a pew copy of the Bible with a big grin on his face. He is dressed in a red and black flannel shirt, unbuttoned, with an "Offensive" Alex Adams shirt on underneath, and black jeans. His beard is medium length and his long hair is tied back in a pony tail. He shuts the Holy Bible, turns to the camera and speaks.] GGG: Preach on, Brother Temple. You know ... people wonder why Gunnar Gaines and Caleb Temple work together. They look at the contrast of styles and ask themselves how these two men can coexist. They look at the two massive egos ... CT: Hold on there, Brother Gaines... [Gunnar scratches his beard, grinning ... ] GGG: Okay. The two _well deserved_ massive egos ... CT: Better. GGG: And they say, "These two men nearly killed each other. How can they possibly work together? What's going _on_ here?" And the answer, at least to me, is exactly that. We nearly _did_ kill each other. We really _are_ the Baddest Thangs Running. And so, anything that _anyone_ can do to us, is just _nothing_ when you compare it to what we've done to _each other_. CT: Think of it as being a mutual respect _WELL_ earned. I'm loathe to use such a cliche, Gunnar, but we're almost... [Gunnar smirks, knowing what's about to follow.] CT: Blood brothers. When we shed our blood amidst those Anaheim ruins, Gunnar, a bond _was_ formed, whether anyone chooses to accept that or not. Lesser men might look at us and see two very unique and different individuals, but when _WE_ look at one another, what we see is a worthy opponent. Each capable of pushing the other further than anyone else in this business. And that's a damned hard act to follow. GGG: You know ... I think that the Macbeth cousins _fear_ us. They trot out there last week with their speech impediments, and they scream, "This is _nae_ a tag team!" to give an excuse to interfere in our match. Hell, they had their first IIWF tag match that night _themselves_! If _we_ are "nae a tag team," after having beaten the champs, then neither are they, and they should shut the hell up. Tall order for Duncan "Motor Mouth" Macbeth, but still. [accent] It's bollocks, I tells ye! Pure bollocks! [Caleb nods with a smile. Gunnar snickers.] GGG: The _real_ reason they stopped us from winning the belts, which rightfully should be ours _right now_ ... is they'd MUCH rather face Sycho Joe and his little "project." The team that can only beat you by some lucky fluke. But the Baddest Thangs Running ... we beat you with a massive combined force. We tear you apart and put you back together with all the pieces in the wrong damn place. And most of all, we are two men who _just don't care_ -- about OUR pain _or_ about yours. CT: Honestly, I'm surprised. Truly, I am. Brother Gaines, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the fundamental principle of "Grizzly's Law" something to the effect of "I'll cause myself pain, but I'll cause you double"? [Gunnar opens his Holy Bible and pretends to look for it, but then shuts it.] GGG: Well, it ain't in _there_, Brother Temple, but it oughta be. Grizzly's Law reads, whatever pain you cause me, I'll cause you twice as much. You see, I don't really care what people do to me, as long as I do it back. And I always do. Hell, I _tripled_ that aginst Meatman. Let it serve as an example. Let it serve as a warning. Because I'll serve anyone for _dinner_ if they get on the wrong side of the Grizz. And Brother Temple here ... he'll do it too. I have faith that he will. CT: That's why I'm surprised, Andrew and Duncan. See, I don't think you've quite grasped this just yet, but you will. Oh, you can rest assured that you WILL. The very _moment_ that you two laid hands upon the Baddest Thangs Running, you began the process of storing up MUCH trouble for yourselves. Now, I know with that typical Caledonian bravado of yours, you'll attempt to play that off as nothing to worry about. But the macho facade is crumbling, boys. Brother Gaines summed that up so succinctly when he said that you _FEAR_ us. Because you do. Otherwise, you would have come to us _AFTER_ we'd taken Team Sychosys apart, and attempted to take those belts from _US_, not them. But do you know just _WHY_ you didn't, Black Watch? Do you know exactly _WHY_ you suspect you can't beat the Baddest Thangs Running? GGG: Because you CAN'T. [Grizzly Grin and trademark Temple chuckle.] CT & GGG: Trust us. [Fade to black.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Black Watch ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [The scene: A warehouse somewhere on the outskirts of the industrial area of Portland. The inside has been converted into a makeshift dojo, with punching bags and Hammer Strength weight machines off to one side, and a wrestling ring occupying the other. Inside the ring, two familiar figures go through what, for them, is a light workout match.] DUNCAN MACBETH: 450 splash. [Duncan, with catlike reflexes, leaps to the top turnbuckle and delivers the move gracefully, landing on the prone figure of his cousin.] ANDREW MACBETH: Nae bad. DM: Asai. [Duncan sprints across the ring, bounces off the second rope, and moonsaults back toward the centre, again landing flush on his cousin.] AM: Aye, Mr Asai. Ye ken, I learned a thing or twa meself from his mentor. DM: Wha’? No way. Ye must ha’ been fourteen when ‘e oop an’ died. AM: Spot on, lad. But I bought ‘is book. [Duncan bellows with laughter.] AM: Aye, come ‘ere an’ look at this tape. [Andrew rolls out under the bottom rope and heads for a television in the far corner, slips a videocassette into the VCR, and sits down on one of the two chairs in front of the TV. Duncan takes the other. An image pops up on the screen from about 1978 -- a ring in Japan, and a burly young gaijin wrestler under a mask is wrestling the legendary Tatsumi Fujinami... and losing badly.] AM: Cor, tha’ was a time, aye. DM: Jaysis, ‘e’s handin ye yuir arse, cous’. AM: S’trooth. DM: Wot’s th’ bleedin’ Japanese commentator sayin’? AM: Basically, ‘e’s sayin’ tha’ Super Masked Tiger is gettin’ ‘is arse handed to ‘im. [Fujinami completes a stunning array of suplexes, then grabs onto his foe’s legs and tries to turn him over into a scorpion deathlock. However, as Fujinami is bent forward trying to gain the leverage he needs, Super Masked Tiger places his hands on Fujinami’s chest. Suddenly, Fujinami falls to the mat, clutching at his heart, and Super Masked Tiger makes the pin.] DM: Wot in blazes was that?! AM: One-inch heart punch. Watch th’ replay. [The slow-motion replay shows a lightning quick strike to Fujinami’s heart, with no wind-up - just a sudden thrust from directly in front of his heart. Andrew turns the VCR off with the remote and starts to stare wistfully at the window.] AM: Tha’ was me first win. After a year o’ gettin’ thumped, I beat th’ guy in wha’ shoulda been an easy win fer him. Th’ fans hated me after tha’. I spent twa more years under tha’ mask, puttin’ oop wit’ some o’ th’ worst abuse both in an’ oot o’ th’ ring. Miserable Japanese bastards. Eventually, they repackaged me, took th’ mask off, let me be meself... an’ th’ fans loved me. Go figure. [Andrew gets up out of the chair, stretches out his back with a bit of a grimace, and faces the ubiquitous camera which has been shooting this scene.] AM: Ye see tha’, Spreads? Tha’s th’ kind o’ bollocks I’ve had t’ endure in me career. I’ve been from one God-forsaken country t’ another, workin’ with a bunch o’ eejits who would nae ken an armbar if it got up an bit’ ‘em in th’ bleedin arse, aye. This is payback time fer auld Andrew Macbeth. All th’ soddin’ tripe this business has put on me plate... ye can take it, an’ ye can get stoofed, laddie! DM: Just t’ edify th’ fans aboot wha’ a load o’ steamin’ stool we have t’ endure workin’ ‘ere... a count-out loss t’ the bleedin’ Fatuous Ones. Bollocks! AM: Ye call them a main event attraction? Those twa mincin’ rejects from a Nagoya bath house? Sweet Jaysis... ye got Mr Tsuba-shoobie-doobie there, who’s got is’ sorry heed so far up ‘is arse tha’ his whole keretsu is fallin’ like a hoose o’ cards. Ye got Ms Miki, who they drag aroond on a chain like some circus animal... I’m sure yer husband’s really proud o ye, lass. But at least ye can be thankful yer not like every other Japanese wife... sittin’ at home in yuir kitchen, waitin’ fer yuir husband to get his arse back from th’ hostess bar where he’s spewin’ Suntory all over th’ place an’ gettin’ serviced under th’ table by 13 year ol’ schoolgirls. “Main event attraction” me arse. DM: Spreads, yer payin’ us a king’s ransom t’ make yer tag-team division respectable fer once, an’ we’re gonna do just tha’. We’re gonna “rearrange” things a wee bit aroond ‘ere. This is _our_ division now, aye. An’ those our Th’ Black Watch’s belts. We’ll tear all o’ these wee miserable teams o’ yuirs six ways from Sunday! AM: An’ after we take our belts... oy, Spreads, me boy, ye’ve created a monster. Ye’ve been warned. DM: Right, now get yer soddin’ camera oot o’ me face. I got work tae do, wha’. [Duncan and Andrew get back into the ring. As the camera backs away, we see Duncan apply a drop toe-hold, leap to the top turnbuckle and spring off with a flawless Shooting Star Press. Fade.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Deathbringer ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [SCENE: Behind the mortuary, where Deathbringer is standing all alone on top of the bridge, on which he and Dross once stood and discussed the Dark Destroyer's relationship to Dan Kauffman. The cowl-wearing Reaper has put his scythe aside and is leaning over the bridge, looking down to the dark water. He doesn't turn towards the camera, but keeps staring downwards as he begins to speak in his low growling voice] DB: Mortals, the forces of evil are gathering against you. The agents of hell have multiplied throughout the world and this country. I myself have given countless hours of earth's time beseeching them to not continue on their path, to turn away from their evil ways, those ways that offend the allmighty God and destroy their immortal souls, condemning themselves to the eternal fires of hell. But it seems I am too weak, it seems I cannot fight all the evil that lurks in the darkness, hiding there, waiting for the right time to come out and destroy everything in reach. Is it my fault if mankind destroys itself? Is it wrong to seed fear within the mortals' hearts? "Look, that horrible figure in black with the bony finger is pointing over to us!" I am that horrible figure. I am the last border, I am the keeper of the realm which mortals will never conquer. And this makes me different, different from everything you know. And it makes me to your enemy, something that I never wanted to be. [Deathbringer at last stops staring at the water, grabs his scythe and begins to walk past the camera, which follows him as he makes his way towards the mortuary.] DB: A long time ago, a battle raged here in the IIWF. A battle between me, the forces of good and the forces of evil. Though I never picked a side, I was pulled into that struggle, and I managed to decide the war. Many casualties had to be claimed, things were never the same afterwards. But what have you mortals learned from those horrible incidents? Forgotten seem the fallen ones. This war from the past is seen over as something that will never happen again, something that never _CAN_ happen again. Oh, you are so wrong. [Deathbringer has reached the entrance to the mortuary. But instead of entering it, he turns around to the camera and then looks straight up to the moon] DB: Look at the moon, look at the stars, look at the whole sky. Can you not feel the same thing I do? I hear the sound of darkness, moving closer to my ears. Soon, this war will be over for mankind, before you even know that it ever started. Just a few hours ago I took a look into the future, and what I saw was close to that what I could prevent back in the last war. And believe me, it is a dark future that lies ahead: All dead, all gone, all hope is lost. I saw the center of the world, it was a desert that no wind would embrace. [Deathbringer stops staring up to the sky, but instead of that looks directly into the camera with his piercing red eyes] DB: Yet another war between good and evil. Yet another war that will decide upon the fate of each and everyone here in the IIWF. And yet again, it will be me who has to pick the side that is supposed to win. It is me, who will decide the battle. [Deathbringer's eyes suddenly fade from red to black as he continues to speak, his voice now sounding even more unearthly] DB: But I will not. I am not going to defend mankind once again against the forces of evil. You, mortals, have to live your own lives, and from now on, I will not be there for you, if you are about to erase your own race. I am the Dark Destroyer, the Master of Chaos, the King of Destruction. And tomorrow night, I will show you what this means. I will show you the new path, away from you mortals, back towards the dark side and in the end... back to throne of the IIWF... Mortals, do whatever you like, I do not care anymore. Destroy yourself if you like to, but do not blame me for collecting your lost souls... Crimson Death is dead... long live Black Death... [Fade, as Deathbringer turns around, enters the mortuary and locks the door right behind him.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Benjamins ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [Camera opens on Bobby and Joe, both wearing Minnesota Vikings t-shirts, blue jeans, and black boots standing outside an impressive-looking modern building with 'IIWF Power Prep Wrestling School' printed in bold letters on a sign also bearing the IIWF logo] BB: Hey, how are ya out there? I hope you're good, 'cos we sure are... JB: Yeah, it's a sunny day, the birds are singin', and we're about to do a short tour of one of the best wrestler training facilities in the world -- The Double Eye Power Prep Wrestlin' School. BB: It's our first visit too, so it's gonna be an experience for us too. JB: So what are we waitin' for? [Bobby throws his hands up in the air and gives an 'I don't know' look to his brother] JB: Well, let's go in then! [Motions for the camera to follow him and his brother as they enter through a pair of automatic doors] BB: [Looking back at the camera] We're not completely strangers to this place though. We've been looking through this map for the past half an hour [takes a leaflet from his back pocket] -- only problem is that this thing's real confusing... [flashes a big Benjismile] oh well, guess we're gonna have to play it be ear [places leaflet in a nearby rubbish bin]. [Joe and Bobby walk past the plush reception area, giving a polite greeting to a receptionist sitting at a desk. They then begin walking down a carpeted corridor with a few doors to each side of them] JB: [Looking back at the camera] Now here, I'm told, is the place where future IIWF stars are born. In those offices [points to one of the doors] young guys like us sign up to join the Power Prep, and in a few years, they just might make it to the big time. BB: [Looking back at the camera] Who knows what greats might one day come outta this place... [a thin youth, probably not much older than the two Benjamins walks by them] Heck, that guy that just walked past could be a World Champ -- you never know. [Joe and Bobby continue walking until they reach another set of rooms, but these ones are larger] JB: Now, what we got here are the Wrestling School classrooms [as he opens the door of one of the empty rooms]. BB: Wrestling is not all about strength and power -- it's also about strategy and intelligence. It's in these rooms that the new recruits learn all about the intricacies of this great sport... It's here they learn that it ain't all about bein' a big guy. JB: [Flashing another one of the trademark wide and toothy Benjismiles] It does help, though... BB: [Smiling as well] Yeah, that's true. Anyway, I think we've come to our final stop. We've probably missed out a whole lot... actually I know we've missed out a whole lot, but that's what you get when you're not followin' a map. Anyway, I'll stop babbling and go through this door, which I've been told by our great camera guy, Pete, leads to... JB: [interrupting] The Double Eye Power Prep training rings! [A large automatic door opens on a sizeable room with a few wrestling rings placed away from each other. The Benjamins step inside and turn to face the camera] JB: Y'see, this is where guys learn to take their bumps and bruises, and I've gotta say, even though dad's gym back home looks good, I'd have to say that the Power Prep blows the socks offa the UWP -- [looking apologetic] sorry dad! BB: [shaking a finger at Joe] You'd better hope that he's not watchin', or boy, are you in trouble! [The two share a laugh] BB: Anyways, kids, if you really, really want to do what we're doin' -- don't practise at home on your brothers and sisters, graduate from school, then come down here and see if you've got the right stuff. You gotta be real sure that you do though, 'cos the Double Eye doesn't take any quitters.. JB: Hey, maybe you might even see me down here... From now on, I'm goin' to be down here a lot -- just like a lot of the guys here, I've got a lot to catch up on. BB: And funnily enough, training starts today... Hurry up Joe, get changed and get in that ring! [points to one of the rings] JB: Aww man!! [Mumbling] Y'know, you're becomin' just like dad... BB: What didja say? JB: Nothin'... [looks away sheepishly] BB: [Shaking his head] I just don't know about you sometimes, Joe... [Looking directly at camera again] For you at home, remember to keep the T.V tuned to the Double Eye, and keep watchin' us [slaps his brother's back] 'cos... IN UNISON: It's all about the Benjamins, baby!! [Camera fades to black on a shot of the brothers giving each other a high five.] [Fade back in on the ring in the IIWF Coliseum. Morton is still in his chair but Jacks is nowhere to be seen.] LM: My co-host seemed to feel he had somewhere better to be rather than hang around... and who's to say he didn't? I, however, am glad to remind you to tune in here tomorrow for IIWF Saturday Night! Don't forget our other great broadcasts... Monday Musings... Inside the IIWF... and Wednesday War Room, the last hosted by yours truly. Though I've heard some rumblings. Don't believe it. I'm the star of that show, this show...and soon to be Saturday's show! Tune in next Friday when my guest will be none other than Andrew Macbeth of the Black Watch! Bye now! +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= 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 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+