________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour two...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon 25 April 1998 [The graphics fade through to interior shots of the jam-packed IIWF Coliseum, the sea of fans cheering and waving their signs as a volley of fireworks erupts in the rafters high above the ring. The shot pans down past row upon row of excited faces, coming to rest on the squared circle as the lights rise. In the centre of the ring stands Tim Dross, who clutches a microphone. He waits for the crowd noise to die down, and then raises the mic to his mouth:] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome my guest at this time... returning to the IIWF for the first time since his victorious Ring Wars 5 blindfold match with Marty Warnett... they call him "The most arrogant man on the planet"... "To Excess" Rick Williams! [To a loud heel pop, the sound of Radiohead's "Creep" booms over the loudspeakers. After several seconds of building hostility, the 6'4" figure of the Minneapolis native steps through the curtain to an explosive greeting on his return. Dressed in blue jeans and a black shirt, which hangs loosely open, Williams chews the seemingly ever-present stick of gum while remaining almost oblivious to his unpopularity. On reaching the ring, he mounts the steps, turns to the crowd and spits the gum into the capacity crowd, before walking to the side of Tim Dross.] TD: Rick Williams, it's certainly good to see you back in an IIWF ring following your recent hiatus. I guess the obvious questions are, "where have you been?" and of course, "where are you going?" RW: "Seek and ye shall find". That's what they say, isn't it, Dross? [As Dross attempts to reply, Williams pulls the microphone back, and continues.] It's five weeks since I last set foot in an IIWF arena, Dross... and you know, I had such a good time, I wasn't sure if I'd ever come back. [A small cheer breaks out at such a notion, as Dross retakes the microphone.] TD: But you _are_ back. And now that you are...? RW: That time off changed me, Dross. Like the man who was blind, but now can see... like the man who was deaf, but now can hear... Rick Williams was lost... but now is found. You see, when I look back at my career up to November '97, I see the makings of a champion... the makings of a man who could one day, genuinely claim to be the number one wrestler in the world. But then... then the bubble burst. In November of '97, the good people at IIWF HQ decided that "To Excess" was destined for mid-card anonymity. And it hurt, Dross... it hurt bad. [Silence falls over the arena, as Williams stares blankly at the canvas.] RW: But then, I realised something, Dross. I looked at the tape of Ring Wars 5, and I can say for a _fact_ that there's not a man alive, who could have carried Warnett to one hell of a blindfold match the way I did. And I can say for a _fact_ that I proved to the world that "To Excess" has been a misused talent for too long. You see, Dross, at Ring Wars 5, I saw a Rick Williams that I thought no longer existed... I saw a Rick Williams that the world of professional wrestling _needs_... I saw a Rick Williams that Spreadbury wanted to conceal. But the question remains, _Dan_... Why was I even facing Warnett? Why wasn't it your other Celt, Macbeth? Jesus Christ, I was the number one contender until Moses returned, did nothing, but got but got the push of a lifetime. [His anger now apparent, Williams grins that evil grin of his, first towards, before turning to Dross.] RW: Well, they can play their games, Dross. But from now on, they'll play them without my destiny in their hands. From now on, Rick Williams will do what Rick Williams wants to do... starting tonight. "Seek and ye shall find". Well, starting tonight, I shall seek... and I shall most definitely _find_. You see, Dross, I've been in the back, watching the monitor, and I couldn't help but notice our good president's special guest for the evening. Why, there he is, right there... front row, center. [With Williams pointing a member of the audience, the camera turns to reveal that he is pointing at none other than Steve Sampson, who stands to acknowledge Williams' remarks.] RW: Well, hey there, Steve... Whatcha doin' round these parts? No, no, don't answer that... now that the overrated beyond belief EWA has folded, the overrated beyond belief former EWA "stars" are making their way to the big league, being offered contracts by our ever-gullible president, who actually _believes_ the hype. And I guess you're no different, huh, Steve? Well, I know you're here on Spreadbury's almighty dollar, and anyone who's a friend of his, is no friend of mine, so why don't you step into this here _IIWF_ ring, _Superstar_, and show the watching audience -- and that's a much bigger audience than _you're_ accustomed to -- that Steve Sampson deserves his reputation as one of the finest technicians and one of the deserving big-name players in this sport. Or have the bright lights of the Double Eye affected your courage levels? [Sampson looks down for a moment, contemplating the words Rick Williams has just said. The crowd, ever in a frenzy, chants "Sampson! Sampson!" as Steve lifts his head to look at Williams. Finally Sampson stirs from his seat, removes his sport coat, takes off his tie, and rolls up the sleeves on his shirt. Sampson hops the rail, and rolls in the ring. Huge pop! Dross moves between the two men, and offers the microphone to Sampson:] SS: I come back home to Portland to talk to Dan. We're talking about my entry into the IIWF, and Dan asks me to come to a card, to see what all the hype is about. To see the best damned wrestlers in the world. Believe me, the wrestlers I've seen to this point have been just that, the best in the world. Then, just like in any euphoric setting, someone has to come in and muck it all up. Rick Williams, is it? Brother, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I've seen ring boys with more skill than you. [The crowd cheers as Williams' face gets begins to redden with anger. Sampson looks over at Dross, pats him on the shoulder, and then continues.] SS: So, Williams, your wrestling career is going nowhere fast, and you think to yourself, "How can I make waves in this sport and piss off Spreadbury at the same time? I know! Let's not worry about any of the wrestlers in the back that could kick my ass in a heartbeat. Let's call out a man who doesn't even _wrestle_ in the IIWF yet." But I'll tell you what, Rick. You look like a nice kid, you really do. I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'll kick your ass, right now, right here, in front of all these people. And Dan, if you're in the back worrying about what I'll do to a member of your talent, I'll tell you what. For you, I won't break his face into a million pieces. I'll just break it into a thousand. [Sampson goes to the corner, and takes off his shirt, exposing his torso, very muscular but scarred from many battles. Big pop, the fans chanting, "SAMPSON! SAMPSON! SAMPSON!" Dross wisely opts to leave the ring and return to his broadcast position alongside Steve Roberts.] SS: You wanted it, Williams. You got it. Let's go! [Both men stare at each other for several seconds, feeling each other out and then suddenly explode right into each other! Sampson and Williams begin trading punches, knocking each other around the ring, but neither man giving an inch.] SR: Look at these guys go, Dross! I don't even think they've ever met before, but their reputations are obviously a few steps ahead of 'em. [Sampson catches Williams with a Forearm Smash to the face, stunning the technical expert and sending him reeling into the corner. The crowd is getting more and more into the fight, picking up the intensity with every action from the two wrestlers.] TD: Look at Sampson! We've heard of him from other federations, but he's never stepped into an IIWF ring until today, and here we have him rocking "To Excess"! Sampson is... oh no... [The crowd begins to boo loudly as Derek Mota walks through the entrance, slowly walking to the ring. Mota is dressed in his street clothing, a pair of worn out jeans and a black latex top. He takes his time, taunting the fans on his way in.] TD: Oh no... here comes the garbage man of the IIWF. This man has turned on more people than humanly possible in the last two months. There was Macbeth, Turner, Ryan Howard and the Discordiacs. What are we to expect here? SR: One word, Drossy. Heat. This guy loves the attention, and he'll do anything that it'll take to get there. [Sampson and Williams are still fighting inside the ring, neither man paying much attention to Mota until he steps into the ring.] DM: Hey! Williams! Ya shoulda stayed outta the Double Eye when ya had your chance, boy! We ain't lookin' out for ya anymore! Ya made a good jobber ta Thunder when he was here, but he's gone now and you're just cloggin' up space here! Sampson! Yeah boy, hold him there for me! Hold him back! Let me show him what going to excess really is! [Sampson comes up from behind Williams and holds him in a Full Nelson. Williams struggles to get out unsuccessfully.] TD: Oh no... something's going to happen here. Something feels really wrong. SR: Sampson's thinkin' the same thing, Dross! He's expectin' a double cross here! [Sampson releases the Full Nelson and confronts Mota off the microphone while Derek keeps on pointing to Rick Williams. Sampson won't fall for the trick however and shoves Mota back a few feet.] DM: Sampson, you idiot! You're wreckin' my chance, you little bastard! Am I gonna have ta beat ya too? I'm not a picky guy, "Superstar". I'll take you out too if ya want. [Sampson, unable to keep his eyes on both men, turns around for a brief second to check what Williams is doing, and Mota quickly darts into Sampson's zone... and is met with a kick to the stomach by Sampson! Mota folds over in pain as "To Excess" jumps into the fray and grabs Steve Sampson...] TD: Excessive Force! Excessive Force! Williams has taken advantage of this opportunity and has taken "Superstar" Steve Sampson down with that inverted neckbreaker! [Williams quickly gets back up to his feet, with Mota standing only inches away from him, smiling arrogantly. Derek laughingly acknowledges Rick's actions before Irish whipping "To Excess" into the corner. Williams somehow finds the energy to bounce back out of the corner after the impact, and jumps back at Mota with a...] TD: High five! Williams gives Mota a high five! We should've expected this from these men! SR: No way man! I say Mota turn on him too anytime now! TD: They were allies almost a year ago in the NLWP, could it be that they planned this event together all along? [Williams and Mota just smile at each other, as Mota raises the microphone to his face once more.] DM: Hey "Superstar"! Maybe ya should've stayed with all yer loopy friends! You're in way over yer head here! Cause no matter what they say, there's the IIWF... ...and then there's the bush leagues. And Sampson, ya just got welcomed ta the IIWF. Hope ya liked it! "To Excess"... it's time we put away our differences. People like us gotta stick together, man. We ain't ever the favourites on the booking sheets, mebbe we ain't Meaty enough or we ain't got enough Fury ta sell the damn t-shirts, mebbe we don't whine enough ta get catered to like a Sycho, but you know damn well what we got that the others don't... We're the best damn WRESTLERS in this fed. And Williams... we've done it before in other places, and maybe it's time to pull it off one more time... we gotta form a Coalition that's gonna take the Double Eye to the next level, a Coalition where we set the path that everyone else has ta follow. Whaddya say? [Williams and Mota stare at each other for several seconds, the fans getting louder and louder until finally Williams reaches out and shakes the hand of Derek Mota! Almost immediately, Rick steps back and kicks the fallen form of Steve Sampson in the head, keeping him down on the mat while Mota jumps on the top rope and comes off with his Main Attraction right onto Sampson!] RW: Sampson, you're the first one to feel it, but you can damn well bet you're not gonna be the last! IIWF, you're not gonna see a new Rick Williams. This time, the difference is... You're not gonna be able to hold him back. [With that, Williams and Mota exchange another high five, laughing at the unfortunate position of "Superstar" Steve Sampson before walking out of the ring together. Sampson finally begins to shake off the cobwebs, having been shaken up by the attack.] TD: What a disgusting action by Rick Williams and Derek Mota, Steve! They've taken a man who was being wooed by the IIWF and have left him there to die! SR: It's the Double Eye standard of hospitality, Dross! I'm startin' to like this Coalition already! TD: These guys ran amok together in other feds last year, Steve, but they'll certainly find that the IIWF won't accept that behaviour! SR: Shaddup, Dross, these guys bring in the ratings, and I'm willing to bet that Spreads is already in the dressing room, ready ta kiss their feet. TD: We'll see about that. The officials in the ring now; hopefully Sampson isn't injured here. [The suited officials who had been seated next to Sampson all evening have made their way into the ring, and help the groggy Canadian to his feet. The fans once again rise to their feet in a chant of "SAMPSON! SAMPSON!" as Sampson shrugs off the assistance of the officials, and unsteadily rolls out of the ring, rolling his neck as if to check for damage, before being led slowly up the aisle, shaking his head as he goes. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, it seems that Williams and Mota dented Sampson's pride more than anything else -- but if their actions tonight have ensured that Sampson's IIWF contract falls through, I know the IIWF President is going to have some very, very severe words for those two men. Folks, welcome back to the second hour of tonight's blockbuster broadcast -- and what a chaotic night it's been so far. SR: You're not wrong, Dross. I've seen tamer riots. TD: We've had Deathbringer promising to bring us a "Bloody Saturday", we've had the Black Watch running amok in the production truck -- and as you can tell by that awful bagpipe music we're being subjected to, officials are still unable to get them out of there -- we've seen Serge Annis and Charles Scheffield forge an unlikely alliance against the forces of Takezo Musashi and Tiger Claw, and now we've seen Steve Sampson attacked by the new Coalition. Hold on to your hats, folks, because it's only going to get wilder... starting right now, with the second of tonight's Intercontinental Championship first round matches. The winner of the following contest will go on to face Marty Warnett right here next week... so let's get up to the ring, and Sparkplug Lee. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| "Savage" Shadoe Rage vs. Harlequin Tragedy ....................................................................... WRITER: Curt Kipp [The fans cheer as Sparkplug Lee takes to the centre of the ring once more. He looks up, as if hoping the bagpipe music will cease... but in vain. After a few moments, he continues:] SL: This next contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is part of the first round of the IIWF Intercontinental Championship Tournament! Introducing first... [The wailing bagpipes stop. They are replaced by Bert and the Sesame Street Singers performing a ditty entitled "Doin' the Pigeon."] SR: Doin' the Pigeon. That reminds me of the Macbeths' English. TD: You were kinda amused by those "translations" from earlier, no? Well, these interruptions are enough to make even _me_ root for Gunnar Gaines. [Roberts nods] SL: He hails from Sleepy Hollow, Illinois... standing five feet ten inches tall and weighing in tonight at 220 pounds... here is Harlequin... TRAGEDY!! [Tragedy walks out alone, and he has a new look. His hair has been cut short. His face will be bare except for black makeup on his eyelids and small black diamonds painted above and below both eyes. His lips are painted black with black lines extending out slightly from the sides. He has an earring in the form of the tragedy and comedy masks hanging from his left ear.] SR: Cute earrings. I wonder if he borrowed those from Comedy. [He is wearing a black, sleeveless, mesh shirt, black fingerless gloves with his nails painted black, black elbowpads, and black armbands around his biceps. He is also wearing black leather pants with buckles up the side and black wrestling boots that are buckled up the side as well.] TD: Tragedy looks awfully... uh... _black_ tonight. SR: What, maybe we should call him Blackdust? Whatever... the kid's gone goth. Ewwwww... [Roberts sticks his tongue out.] TD: Tragedy having a few words with Chris Staley, who is seated at ringside. SR: We can't pick up what they're saying, but I bet it has something to do with Staley asking about Deathbringer's weak points or something. [Tragedy reaches the ring, vaulting inside over the top rope.] SL: And his opponent... [The Sesame Street music ends, and then... "Drop Kick Me, Jesus, Through the Goalposts of Life" plays over the loudspeakers.] TD: Oh, good grief. SL: He hails from Halifax, Nova Scotia... and he is accompanied by his manager, Marissa Monet... standing six feet three inches tall and weighing in tonight at 248 pounds... here is... "Savage"... Shadoe... RAGE!!! [Rage bursts through the entrance curtain, followed quickly by Monet. Dressed in his usual purple and black, complete with tights, cloak and sunglasses, he paces quickly down to the ring, straightening the long black glove on his right hand with his left and rubbing his knuckles. Normally fierce enough as it is, Shadoe seems irritated by the Macbeths' choice of ring music.] SR: This is an insult. Rage is the BLACK JESUS! He doesn't need to be kicked by no WHITE Jesus! [Rage hits the ring, going straight for Tragedy...] TD: Ring the bell, we're underway. [Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Shadoe Rage with a blatant CHOKE on Tragedy, right off the bat! [Rage has both hands on Tragedy's neck, using his height advantage to add pressure. Tragedy works frantically to escape, kicking his legs and trying to get to the ropes, but Rage holds on, constantly in a state of forward motion but dragging Tragedy in a circle so as not to get to the ropes.] TD: Rage with the choke, but Tragedy trying his damnedest to fight it. SR: These two men have a long history, and each time they meet in the squared circle, it gets more and more hardcore. [Finally, Tragedy is able to get a finger up and gouge Rage in the eye, stunning him temporarily. He follows this with two kicks to the shins and a DDT -- from which Rage quickly bounces back up. Rage with a vicious forearm/clothesline on Tragedy, but Tragedy bounces up from that, charges Rage and jumps onto his face, using both arms with a choke of his own!] TD: Rage, seemingly willing to ignore pain tonight... but then, so is Tragedy! What's gotten into his head lately? The new look... more aggressiveness... everything. This is almost... almost out of character. SR: I expected him to prance and mince more, especially with his new goth look. Did you know his new music is by The Cure? That guy Robert Smith is queer as a cat fart! TD: Robert Smith's _married_, Steve Roberts. SR: So's Tragedy. So was Elton John. [Tragedy continues with his chokehold on the taller Rage. Rage stumbles around, carrying Tragedy's weight, but then he drops him to the mat in a spinebuster variant of sorts. The crowd pops as Rage lays into Tragedy with both fists and a headbutt... and then pops again as Tragedy reverses it to get on top, scratching, gouging, clawing and punching at Rage!] TD: These two gentlemen... do NOT like each other. Not at all. OH my! Rage just reversed it and is laying into Tragedy again! We're seeing VERY little scientific wrestling tonight out of these two. SR: If I wanted scientific, I'd go to the ballet. This rocks! Wait a minute... what am I saying? This is Tragedy! TD: I think that Tragedy feels he's much tougher now, after he survived a vicious series of encounters with Deathbringer. The man is still alive after being hit with a 15-foot piledriver! It's almost like he thinks he's invincible now! SR: We'll see how invincible he is after The Black Jesus is done ripping his bloody head off and throwing it to the sharks. TD: That remains to be seen. [Tragedy's face is now bloody as Rage keeps pumping away with punches. His look is intense, though -- not battered. He suddenly rises up with a headbutt to the forehead of Rage, surprising the tall Jamaican and knocking him back. Rage falls off of Tragedy and rolls backwards, grabbing his head. Tragedy stands...] TD: OH MY! A kick to the head of Rage! Now a kick to the _face_! He lifts Rage up, throws him to the ropes, rebound, and _superkick_! Right in the nose! SR: He's not stopping there, either! TD: He grabs the arm of Rage -- legdrop! He stands again -- and another! Now he grabs the arm and stomps the elbow pit! And now he's trying to rip Rage's arm off! [But Rage grabs the other arm and jerks Tragedy down to the mat. Both men rise quickly, now circling each other in the centre of the ring. They lock up... and Rage whips Tragedy to the ropes, running to the opposite ropes. The two men meet with a leapfrog, then rebound again. They meet with another attempted leapfrog by Tragedy, but Rage grabs him and holds on. He backs towards the ropes...] TD: Stun gun! Stun gun by "Savage" Shadoe Rage! [Tragedy hits the mat and bounces back up, walking uneasily and clutching his neck. Rage grabs Tragedy by the head, runs toward the opposite ropes and jumps over the top! Tragedy's neck hits the top rope and Rage lets go, slingshotting Tragedy back into the ring. Tragedy clutches his neck again, kicking his legs as his back hits the mat.] TD: What impact! Rage using all his weight to drop the neck of Tragedy over that top rope! And look out! He's going over to the timekeeper's table. I don't like this... SR: I do. [While Monet distracts the referee, Rage intimidates the timekeeper, who backs away and allows Rage to take the bell away. Shadoe then jumps up to the apron and climbs the corner, still clutching that timekeeper's bell...] TD: He wouldn't... SR: Oh, but he would... [Tragedy, still rolling on the floor in pain, points to the entrance curtain frantically...] TD: Is he... is he signalling for the other Harlequins? [Rage turns to look and see who's at the curtain... nobody. The referee looks as well. Rage turns back to the ring, steadies himself, jumps, and drives the timekeeper's bell into...] TD: NOBODY HOME! And that bell just about ripped a hole in the mat! [Rage slides the bell towards the outside, where Monet catches it and quickly sets it on the ground so the referee can't see it. He turns and is greeted by a dropkick from Tragedy, which downs him to the mat. Tragedy runs up and drops the knee to the shoulder of Rage, but Rage isn't there. Tragedy stands, but Rage grabs his head and puts it between his knees, setting up for a powerbomb.] TD: Power bomb attempt... [The bagpipes screech particularly loud...] SR: Damn those bagpipes! TD: ...and Tragedy with a reversal! Hurricarana! He lands mounted on Rage! Punches to the face! Rage with his legs up and he leverages Tragedy back into a pinning predicament! One... Two... NO! Not even close. Tragedy kicked out. [Both men get back up. They lock up, and Rage wrings the arm of Tragedy. He converts a hammerlock into a waistlock from behind.] TD: Waistlock suplex coming up by Rage... [But no. Tragedy pulls the reversal and, getting behind Rage, he slips on a quick Full Nelson.] TD: No. Reversal. Tragic suplex coming up... [Collective crowd pop/wince, as the mule kick by Rage hits its intended target between Tragedy's legs. Tragedy keels over. Rage turns around, hooks up the power bomb... ] TD: Power bomb! He hits it! Thesz style cover... One... Two... And a kick out by Tragedy! SR: Close one for the little goth there. TD: Careful. He's sure to hear you when he watches the tape later. And if he's not afraid of Shadoe Rage or Deathbringer... he's certainly not afraid of you. [Rage stands, followed by Tragedy. Rage grabs Tragedy around the neck...] TD: Oh, no. With that one-handed choke, we know what's next -- The Hammer of God. Rage has Tragedy up... [Crowd pop!] TD: Tragedy kicks Rage in the face! He turns it into a neck scissors, then twists it down into a takedown! SR: How does the little guy keep doing this? TD: Three quarter nelson rollup... We have another cover! One... and a kickout by Rage. Not even close that time. SR: My man Rage is one _pissed off_ muhfuh. [Both men rise. Rage quickly tackles Tragedy and starts wailing away. Tragedy reverses it, but Rage is soon back on top. Both are getting their shots in... and the wailing bagpipes suddenly stop.] SR: Those pipes have stopped. Thank God. TD: Yes, but you know what _this_ means. They've been doing this all night... [The video wall flickers to life, showing Andrew and Duncan Macbeth within the cramped confines of the broadcast truck...] AM: Oy, morons! Tha's righ', we're back! An' look wha' we've got fer yis now, aye -- this'll be a real treat! TD: Good grief, what now? DM: Ladies an' gentlemen -- 'ere's a wee tribute t' th' greatest livin' Scottish actor, an' th' greatest [BLEEP]in' James Bond ever! Put yuir ignorant, Leo DiCaprio-worshippin' hands t'gether fer th' one, th' only -- SEAN CONNERY! SR: Great. I can't understand that guy, either! [As Tragedy and Rage keep wailing on each other on the mat in the middle of the ring, this time quite a few heads in the audience turn to the video wall, where a montage of scenes from Connery's career begin flashing across the screen. First up is a scene from "The Hunt For Red October", with Connery sporting a lovely grey flat-top toupee.] SC: Today... ish a grreat day, comerradesh. We shail into hishtorry! [Pop from the Connery fans in the crowd, as this scene is replaced by Connery's memorable entrance in "Highlander", dressed in his peacock-feathered hat and velvet suit as he vaults his horse over a surprised Christopher Lambert.] SC: Grreetingsh! I am Juan Shanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez, chief mettallurgisht to King Charles V of Shpain... and I'm at your serviche! SR: That movie kicked ass, Dross. But the sequels just sucked, big-time. TD: Please, Steve Roberts! There _is_ a match still going on here! Tragedy, with a right hook on Rage! They're back on the mat as Tragedy is at the _throat_ of Rage! SR: Who cares, Dross? I wanna watch TV! [The next clip starts the crowd popping even louder, as a young, trim, hairy Connery as Agent 007 flirts with a comely Honor Blackman in a scene from "Goldfinger".] SC: The name'sh Bond. Jamesh Bond. And you arre...? HB: I'm Pussy... Pussy Galore. SC: Of courshe you are. [Several fans in the crowd shout out "Shoot, Sean, Shoot!" at the famous quote, causing Roberts to grunt with disdain.] SR: Morons. But hey, that Honor Blackman sure was a choice piece of ass, huh, Dross buddy? TD: This has got to be stopped! Can anybody get those Macbeths out of the broadcast truck? SR: Yeah, before they find a clip from "Outland"... [The Bond clip then fades into Connery's acclaimed role as Malone in "The Untouchables". A worm's eye angle shows Connery seated at a pew in a cavernous church in Chicago, fingering a rosary as he speaks to Kevin Costner.] SC: You want to get Capone? Well, here'sh how you do it. He pullsh a knife, ye pull a gun. He shendsh one of yoursh to the hoshpital, you shend one of hish to the MORGUE! THAT'SH the Chicago way -- and THAT'SH how you get Capone! [The video wall then finally fades to black, as a number of fans stand and applaud the Oscar-winning performance of the venerable Scottish thespian.] TD: Thank goodness that's over. I can only hope that security has finally managed to remove the Black Watch from the broadcast van. Perhaps now we can concentrate on the match, without any further interrupt... [Dross is cut off as the bagpipe music suddenly kicks in over the P.A. again, drawing loud groans from the Coliseum crowd.] SR: [groaning] Dross, we got any Advil? TD: I already took some, knowing I'd have to sit next to you, Steve Roberts. I'm fresh out. [Roberts groans.] TD: Tragedy now making some headway here. He stands, runs to the ropes, and hits a flying lariat clothesline! Now he stands Rage up and hits a snap suplex! He rolls back into a cover, hooks the leg... One... Two... NO! Just _barely_ a kickout by Rage! [Tragedy is first to his feet. He puts his legs over Rage's shoulders, appearing to "sit" on him... then reaches down and grabs the arm, angling for an armbar submission.] TD: Tragedy has the arm, but I don't know if he has the power to make Rage submit. More likely, he's trying to wear the big Jamaican down here. Rage grimaces in pain as Tragedy _really_ has that armbar locked in. SR: Unusual move for the little guy to be attempting... but effective. TD: We are certainly seeing a different Harlequin Tragedy tonight, Steve Roberts... [Then, Tragedy releases the hold. He kicks Rage in the back for good measure, then motions to the curtain once more. But at the curtain appears...] TD: I don't know _why_ Tragedy keeps motioning to the curtain. Nothing is happening. [The ref turns, looks at the curtains... and Tragedy procures a roll of quarters. He hands them to Rage, then clutches his head and falls to the mat. The ref turns around, starts to motion to the timekeeper.. ] SR: We have a disqualification here, but I don't hear the bell. TD: There _is_ no bell! Shadoe took it earlier! Marissa Monet has it! [Shadoe Rage argues vehemently with the referee, pointing out that he was passed the quarters by Tragedy and didn't hit him with them at all. As that happens... there's a crowd murmur and necks crane to the entrance.] TD: Enter Deathbringer. _Again_. [Indeed. Deathbringer enters and runs right down the aisle, not hesitating to enter the ring. He goes right for Rage and bodyslams him... which the referee _does_ see. Marissa Monet conveniently, and with a smirk, hands the timekeeper the bell. The referee signals to ring it. Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Deathbringer is here, and he just got Tragedy disqualified! SR: That is, unless it was Rage who was DQ'd for that roll of quarters. TD: 'Bringer now attacks Tragedy! He's ripping off his mask! He has another one on underneath! And he's _stuffing_ that mask into Tragedy's mouth! Tragedy, kicking and screaming... he's just been through a long and intense match! This isn't right! Another match... decided by interference! SR: Yeah... but what _did_ they decide? TD: Coming out of the crowd... "Vagabond" Chris Staley! Staley trying to do a little enforcement! He's over the barrier and up into the ring! Dropkick on the Deathbringer! Now some punches! SR: Look out, Deathbringer! TD: Tragedy is up and leaps onto the 'Bringer's back! Sleeper hold! But Bringer just throws him over his back! He lands on his feet! Now Deathbringer trying to fend off _both_ Staley and Tragedy! He reaches out... DOUBLE CHOKESLAM!! Deathbringer has just flattened both Tragedy and Staley! [The crowd gasps... necks crane... the curtain stirs... enter Luke Steele. With a metal folding chair.] TD: Luke Steele, sprinting down to the ring! SR: That's Luke "I can't wait to go heel" Steele! TD: He's up to ringside... Deathbringer to the outside to meet him... CHAIR SHOT TO THE SKULL OF DEATHBRINGER! WHAT IMPACT! But it's shaken off by Deathbringer! He grabs Steele by the neck! He's got him in the air, aiming him at the Spanish announce table... [Crowd pop!] TD: Chris Staley with a dropkick over the top rope to the outside on Deathbringer! Spectacular move! Deathbringer, Staley and Steele ALL go through that table! SR: I'm liking this, but none of it could top my Asai moonsault. TD: All three men slowly getting to their feet... and look at them go! They're brawling all the way to the back! They're being joined by Tragedy! [Shadoe Rage looks on, clearly amused by the turn of events. Sparkplug Lee, sensing that it's finally safe, enters the ring with the mic.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... your winner... who will now advance to the second round of the Intercontinental Championship Tournament... as the result of a disqualification... "Savage"... Shadoe... RAGE!! [The bagpipes stop. But "Drop Kick Me, Jesus" starts up again to herald Shadoe's victory. His grin turns into a look of sheer displeasure as he makes his exit with Monet, several yards behind the brawling Deathbringer, Luke Steele, Chris Staley and Tragedy. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, I can't help but feel that justice wasn't served in that match by any stretch of the imagination. Tragedy has his hopes of capturing a singles title in the IIWF dashed -- for the moment, at any rate -- and he is another casualty of Deathbringer's so-called "Bloody Saturday". So we now know both of our semi-finals in the Intercontinental Championship tournament: next week, Marty Warnett will face "Savage" Shadoe Rage, and on May 9, just one week ahead of the final at Birthday Bash, Simon Lebec will go one-on-one with Timothy N. Turner. Folks, I understand that we have some footage to show you of a conversation that took place just moments ago backstage between Serge Annis and our esteemed Vice-President. Let's go to that footage: [Cut to footage captioned "Moments Ago." We see IIWF VP Gregg Osterhout standing with a sweaty Serge Annis, discussing something in the locker room. The cameraman is unnoticed and picks up their comments.] SA: There ya go, Gregg. I battled Scheffield, and I kept my word. And now it's time for you to keep your end of the deal, and give me my title shot, and take me off probation. GO: Very nice, very nice, but no-one gets out of the dog house that easy around here. I've got one more challenge for you, Mr. Annis. If you think you're man enough, team with Charles Scheffield in a tag match against the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi and Tiger Claw, right here next week. [Serge stands, looking with wide eyes at Osterhout.] GO: Sorry, Serge. That's the way it is. [A hint of anger lies behind Annis' words.] SA: Gregg... Asking me not to tear the guy's head off was one thing... but to team with him? For God's sake, even I have to draw the line there! There is no damn way I'll team with that arrogant shmuck Sheffield! You're lucky I didn't cut him up bad tonight! GO: Well, then I guess there is not much you can do about it. Either you wrestle the tag team match with Scheffield, or I'll put away your file with you still on probation, and I'll look over the terms of Scott Bloom's contract. SA: That is... Oh... argh! [Annis raises his fist, about to punch the VP, but holds back at the last moment -- although not before Gregg covers up.] SA: Gregg... I am not going to hit you... as much as I'd like to. Fine. You win. I'll wrestle your goddamned match. But for God's sake, anyone but Scheffield! GO: Charles Scheffield. [Annis gives Gregg a very unhappy look.] SA: I'll do it... GO: Any man can throw a title belt over his shoulder, but it takes true heart to make a champion. We don't want just anybody representing the IIWF... we only want the best. SA: Yeah... whatever. [Annis walks away from Gregg and the shot is returned to ringside as Gregg nods and smiles.] TD: Wow, Steve Roberts -- Annis and Scheffield teaming up to face Musashi and Tiger Claw right here next week? Tiger Claw isn't even under IIWF contract... and if he wins this next match, he'll be pulling double duty next week, since he will also be obliged to wrestle in the semi-final of the "King of the Cruisers" tournament. Claw won't be too happy about this development, I'm sure. But right now, let's get up to the ring for the introductions. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| KING OF THE CRUISERS TOURNAMENT FIRST ROUND: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|Tiger Claw [ind.] vs. "Iconoclast" Sean Watts [SCRA] ....................................................................... WRITER: Jack Hoban [The crowd gives a big pop as Sparkplug Lee steps back into the ring once more.] SL: Our next match is a second round contest of the King of the Cruisers! [Big pop!] Second round matches in this tournament have a time-limit of 15 minutes only! If no decision -- by pinfall, submission, countout, or disqualification -- is reached within that time limit, both men are eliminated from the tournament! [Another big pop for the upcoming match!] Our first competitor... Representing the SCRA... Hailing from Seattle, Washington... He weighs in at a slim 238 pounds... He is... "Iconoclast" Seeeeaaaannnnnn Wattssssss! [Watts gets a negative reaction from the crowd as he appears from behind the curtain. Watts, himself, is somewhat confused by his entrance music. "Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick" by Tweed Fetish cranks out, an obvious change made by the Black Watch. Watts throws his hands up and continues. Pale blue eyes lie above the tanned curve of a pair of gaunt cheeks. Lank blond hair, managing to avoid the classification of "thick-cut", falls in fairly tangled ropes to a wrestler's broad shoulders. Those shoulders are covered with a faded black shirt with the word LOSER emblazoned across the front. Undone suspenders dangle from the belt loops of a ripped pair of jeans, which cover the tops of scuffed black combat boots.] SR: Really hasn't any fashion sense, does he, Dross? TD: I'm really not sure what he is sensing, Steve. But I can tell you one thing. This young man is a comer. SR: Watch your mouth, mister! TD: You know what I mean. [Inexplicably, "What's New, Pussycat" by Tom Jones kicks in over the PA. The fans give a murmur, part confusion, part frustration.] TD: Oh, give me a break. SR: Tiger Claw's no pussy-cat, Dross. Those Scottish morons are going to pay for this. [Sparkplug Lee raises his microphone once more:] SL: And his opponent... A true IIWF legend... He hails from Toronto, Canada and weighs in at 220 pounds... Representing himself... He is the former three-time IIWF Intercontinental Champion... Tiiiigggeeeerrrr Claaaaawwww!! [Tiger has a slight build, although all muscle. Shaven head, and a tattoo of a tiger on his left shoulder. Wears a black singlet with white stripes on the legs, black boots, and red shinpads. Those fans with programs for the evening's matches begin a rather rabid chant, which all the rest of the fans join in on... "YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT!" This brings Tiger Claw out to the head of the aisle, carrying a cordless microphone, smirking and shaking his head... Watts rolls out of the ring, knowing Tiger wants to say his piece... "YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT!"] TC: That's right, you morons... All that big, big money that you paid to be in this building tonight is going right into my pocket... You idiots wouldn't know the first thing about how the world works... You're all just jealous that I'm better at something than you'll _ever_ be at anything in your miserable lives... [Huge heel pop to accompany the chant.] TC: Just sit your yokel asses down and watch a true artist do his stuff... I've had enough of you... And I've had enough of this music. Now, on to you, Watts... It's funny... Second round of the tournament, and you're the second son of a great man that I've faced. You'll probably end up being just as much of a disappointment as the first one, too. Looks like the IIWF has set up a theme for me in this event. Now, I was about to come down to the ring and give you the same choice I gave El Hijo Del Satanico, and that's to walk out and forfeit the match before it even started. Now one thing I can say about what I know of you, Watts... You might be lazy, or a slacker, but I don't think you're a coward. So I'm not going to make the offer just for it to get turned down. I'm going to step into the ring here, and we can have our match... But first, I got a few things to say... First off, if you think I'm just going to let you slack off through this match so I can carry you, you're sorely mistaken... Emphasis on the word "sorely", if you know what I mean. I know it's a lot to ask, but I expect you to put your best into this match, and make it the most entertaining fifteen minutes these bonehead fans have ever seen... Of course, what one expects and what one gets are two completely different things... [Claw steps through the ring ropes.] Whether you work your ass off or lay back and let me beat you, the result's going to be the same... Afterwards, you're going to have an excuse to lay back and do nothing, because that's what the doctor's going to be ordering when you're stuck in a hospital bed... [Claw throws down the mic and motions for Watts to get back in there and "Take his beating." Watts gets back in and back pedals around, trying to absorb his opponent. The bell rings... Ding! Ding! Ding! Tiger Claw quickly armbars the slacker, who in turn, reverses in into a hammerlock... which Tiger spins out and brings a hard knee into the gut of Watts. Claw double hooks Watts' arms and attempts a suplex but Sean blocks it and... Back flips Tiger Claw over... Who turns it into a sunset flip!] TD: Tiger Claw has not missed a step since his absence here in the IIWF. But on this occasion he only gets a one count, as "Iconoclast" forces out of it. SR: I got the clock running. I say at 13:05, Tiger Claw locks it up and advance to the inevitable Kingship! [Watts catches Tiger in a drop toe hold, but cannot lock up the smaller man. Tiger kips up but is this time hit with the force of a sharp elbow! Using his opportunity, Watts brings Claw over with a snap suplex! Clearing his hair away from his face Watts gets up to admire his handy-work. The Tai born combatant rolls back and up eyeing Watts with a wicked sneer. Moving to lock up...Tiger Claw side steps and BLASTS Watts on the temple with a Muay Thai kick! Then follows with a flurry of short kicks to the chest and shoulder!] SR: Tap dancing, Thai style. Only thing I like batter is the love making, Thai style! Oh me so horny! [Big Tiger pop, as Tiger leaps and topples Watts over with a spinning kick! Slipping into second gear, Tiger doesn't waste time. Grabbing the LWC wrestler by the hair, runs him across the ring and...] TD: Out to the floor! "Iconoclast" sails through the second and top rope and tumbles to the floor! And... here he comes! [Big Tiger POP!] SR: Just like Granma used to make! TD: Tiger Claw soared over the top rope and hit with a corkscrew topa1 Watts never saw it coming! This young man is in a bad way. Hard combos on his face by Tiger! SR: He's outclassed -- and now he's being undone by Tiger! Don't forget the ribs, Claw! [Tiger Claw yells at Watts, "Get up you lazy bastard, you're embarrassing the both of us!" Tiger Claw wraps up Watts for a t-bone suplex. The attempt is halted by a face rake by Watts, who grabs Tiger by the wrists and backflips Tiger to the concrete with a double wrist takedown! Smartly rolling in and out Watts stops the ten count and boots Tiger, who was climbing to his feet! Surprisingly, Watts pushes the timekeeper out of his seat and drags Tiger Claw over. Tiger and Watts are battling for leverage and it Watts who wins! Hangman's Neckbreaker over the chair! Huge Watts POP!] SR: Welcome to the big leagues, junior! That punk just dropped Tiger's neck across a chair! Hey, okay! Maybe he ain't all bad. TD: Watts looking to climb back in the ring and Tiger is stumbling over. Watts, first one in, waits for Claw to reach the apron. Tiger is on the outside and gets a forearm to the face for his troubles! But he holds tight! [Watts looking to capitalise again, charges, but it stopped in his tracks by a shoulder to the stomach. Watts retreats back, but unwittingly sets himself up! Tiger hops up to the second rope and springboards over with a flying clothesline! Claw quickly lifts Watts up and... Watts pop! Gets small packaged!] TD: Watts wraps him up! One! Two! [Tiger Pop!] SR: No way! Tiger reverses it! Brains, baby! [The official makes the count: 1 -- 2 -- Watts narrowly escapes! Watts races for the ropes, but Claw grabs his leg and pulls him back! "Iconoclast" goes for an enzuigiri, but is ducks by Tiger. Tiger crosses Watts legs and grabs the neck... Crossbow submission! The fans start the chant "YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT!" Tiger Claw seems to pull even harder as the chants rain down on him, as if to hurt all the fans through Watts' body!] TD: Watts in massive pain! He has to reach the ropes, but can't get a grip! His finger tips are just grazing freedom! SR: So that what the guy in the bathroom stall with George Michaels felt like. [The pain is evident on his face and the sweat is pouring off him. Watts looks nearly spent, but pushes one more time. He stretches... He screams... He survives! Watts stretches beyond his limits and grabs the bottom rope. And when he grabs on, he grabs like a vice. Refusing to let go!] TD: Watts escapes that one, but he couldn't go through that again. You are always on the defense against Tiger Claw! SR: Well, Dross, he... [Heel POP!] Low blow! Tiger can sing for the choir now. Watts just bought a few extra... [Suddenly, the droning, grating sound of the bagpipes fades out, and the video wall flickers to life again, showing the fierce, crimson-locked visage of Andrew Macbeth. The giant Scot grins mischievously into the camera, wile behind him, Duncan can be seen working the controls of the transmitter board. The microphone also picks up the sound of banging in the background, as IIWF security works to open the locked door of the van.] AM: Duncan! Are they gettin' any closer? [In the background, we see Duncan move over to the back window of the van, peer out at the security guards, and wave.] DM: [in background] Looks like they've got a locksmith out there now, cousin. We've still a bit o' time though, wha'. AM: Guid... 'cause I've a REAL special treat fer all our loyal viewers watchin' th' Macbeth Broadcastin' System tonigh'! Ladies an' gentlemen, 'ere's a real "blast from th' past", one o' me personal favourites when I was a wee gillie, 'cause me pa named me after 'im... 'ere is ANDY STEWART! [The scene on the video wall switches to a shot of a kindly-looking grey-haired man with a cherubic smile, dressed in a tweed jacket with a scarlet tartan sash draped across his chest, and wearing a kilt in the same bright red sett.] SR: Who the hell is THAT? TD: I'm assuming that's Andy Stewart, Steve. SR: Great... so does he do anything? [As if on cue, Stewart steps over to a microphone stand, as an accordion-dominated band suddenly begins to play in the background.] SR: Good lord, he's a singer! No relation to Rod, though, I'll bet... [Certainly not, and the crowd groans in confirmation of this, as the genial Stewart begins to sing along with the jaunty tune the band is playing.] AS: # Weal, I jus' came doon from th' Isle O' Skye I'm no' verry big, an' I'm awful shy Th' lassies say as I go by "Donald, where's yuir troosers?" # SR: For the love of God, bring back the bagpipes! TD: Actually, I think this is kind of catchy... AS: # Let th' wind blow high, let th' wind blow low Through th' streets in me kilt I go All th' lassies say "Hello" "Donald, where's yuir troosers?" # # Weal, I went doon t' London toon T' have a bit o' fun on th' Undergroond Th' lassies turned their heids aroond An' said "Donald, where's yuir troosers?" # # Let th' wind blow high, let th' wind blow low Through th' streets in me kilt I go All th' lassies say "Hello" "Donald, where's yuir troosers?" # [The image of Andy Stewart then fades out, replaced once again by a shot of Andrew Macbeth, who is dabbing tears away from his eyes.] AM: Och... tha' was bleedin' magic, aye... still brings a wee tear or two after all this time... guid on ye, Andy... Ah, Jaysis, I'm goin' all t' pieces 'ere... I'll see yis all later... [The video wall fades to black, as Andrew grabs a tissue from a nearby box and blows his nose with a loud honk.] SR: Yeah, it made me want to cry too, Scotty. That was pure torture! TD: Hmmm... I wonder if I can get that on CD... SR: Oh, shut up, Dross. [The bagpipes start up over the P.A. again -- surprisingly less annoying than the music of Andy Stewart.] SR: AND WILL SOMEBODY GET ME SOME [BLEEP]IN' EARPLUGS? TD: We are very sorry folks. The video assault of the Black Watch continues on the IIWF. While our viewers at home were forced to watch the bad Scottish lounge act the rest of us have been watch a tremendous matchup. Tiger Claw had Watts reeling... even opened up a bloody weld on his forehead... SR: He did that by rubbing his laces on his face. TD: Thank you, Steve. While Watts, had them standing with a surprise inverted DDT! I would have to say Tiger Claw has had the better match thus far, Watts is having an impressive showing. [As soon as the compliment is dealt, the camera swings over to Tiger Claw lifting Watts for a brutal fisherman's buster! Watts is struggling to get up, blood matting his hair to his forehead. Tiger Claw slowly rising, shows signs of some damage around the neck area. Welts and bruises adorn the Tai boxer's upper shoulders and neck. Refusing to notice the damage, Claw goes to the second rope and dives... Watts POP!... And gets a mid-air hip toss by Sean!] TD: We are at the ten minute mark here, folks, and Watts refuses to go away. He is cut, he is hurt, but he is still standing! And lunges at Tiger and drops him with a Mafia kick! [Tiger is stunned and crumples back to the corner. Watts caught up in the emotion of the anti-Tiger Claw fans starts pounding Tiger Claw while standing on the second rope! But this is an indignity Tiger Claw is not used to. And he responds in kind. Tiger fuelled with rage and determination, lifts Watts by the waist and... MONSTEROUS TIGER POP! Brings Watts down with a devastating sidewalk slam!] TD: Dear God! Watts head was nearly buried by the impact! [The anti-Tiger crowd refuses to Give Tiger his due and continues with the "YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT!" chant! Tiger Claw could cover, but he does screaming something to the effect of "Greatest champion ever deserves better!" Instead he pulls Watts up before the cover and drags the stunned man to his feet.] SR: What is he doing?! Tiger... Baby! You have him, end it! TD: He refuses to let the crowd belittle him. He is going to destroy Watts and demand that they respect him! [A European uppercut backs Claw up and a Savate kick buys Watts more time, but Tiger is a house of fire! A reverse knife edge to the head, brings more blood from Watts' temple! Pushing him to the ropes, Tiger Irish whips Watts and... POP! Spinwheel Kick drops Watts like a bad habit! Tiger goes for the cover but hears the chant again. "YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT!" The referee counts: One! Two! Tiger pulls him up!] SR: What the hell?! Forget about them! They're just cattle! TD: The crowd is so hostile now, they're tossing cups into the ring! The bad blood between Tiger Claw and the IIWF faithful is unparalleled! This could be dangerous. Tiger has Watts on the top rope! This young man has nothing left. This could permanently injure him! SR: Good. It's just another statistic to me. [At this point Tiger Claw is standing in front of Watts on the top rope, while Sean is stunned, sitting on the turnbuckle...] TD: He is going to go for a top rope hurricanrana! This will be the end! SR: I can barely hear myself in here! ["YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT!" is louder than ever and Tiger is feeling every word. He points out to the stands and pulls his thumb across his throat, it's almost like in slow motion... The athleticism of Tiger Claw jumping up... extending the legs... reaching out for Watts' neck... which is not there! CROWD EXPLOSION! Watts leans back and Tiger Claw's legs catch air! With nothing to hang onto, the Tai boxer falls head-first to the mat, Tiger Claw crumples. Watts, in no shape to gloat, falls forward... ...to the mat... ...face first... ...on top of Tiger Claw!] TD: Watts is on top of Tiger Claw! The referee is making the count! I can't believe this! [The official slaps the canvas... once... twice... ...three times! Ding! Ding! Ding!] SR: I didn't just see that. SL: Your winner... By pinfall... "Iconoclast" Seannnnnnn Waaatttsssss!! [Big pop and mixed reaction from the crowd as Watts is barely able to stand, getting his hand raised. Tiger Claw is more stunned by the outcome, than the actual damage he has sustained. Watts is a mess. Tiger just sighs at the scene and walks over to the young man.] TD: I don't know about this, Steve Roberts. Tiger Claw was never a good loser. He is extending his hand to the young man that just eliminated him from the "King of the Cruisers" tourney. SR: Ever pet a snake, kid? [Watts thinks about it, listening to the crowd yell "No! No! No!" Tiger wait patiently, never flinching. Finally Watts reaches out and shakes the hand. Both men smile and raise each other's hand... Tiger Pop! Until Tiger Claw short-arm clotheslines Watts down and stomps him hard! The referee's pleas are enough for Tiger, as he has had enough of this place, ignoring the jeers of the fans and the garbage being hurled his way. Claw simply leaves the ring and begins to make his way up the aisle.] SR: I told you. You don't spit into the wind either. Far as I'm concerned, Watts got off easy. [As Tiger Claw makes his way to the backstage, there is an explosion. One of the fans jumping to their feet. The other of a crutch smashing down on Tiger Claw's forehead. Tiger Claw walks right into the swing path of the aluminium support, just as his reaches the curtain to the backstage area. As the crutch bounces on the floor, the same time Tiger does, someone makes an entrance.] SR: Enter the Fury! Prepare for the flurry! TD: Kowalski has just leveled Tiger Claw, just as he was to exit. That crutch is nothing more than a warped metal pretzel now! [Never having a chance to defend himself, Tiger Claw is down on one knee, oblivious to Kowalski's presence. Kowalski limps over and drills the stunned cruiserweight in the temple with a meaty fist! The sound is deafening! Brandishing a microphone, the champion speaks...] SK: I missed ya, Tiger! It's been a loooong time since the Triple Cross! [Huge Pop!] TD: Oh my! Kowalski hasn't forgotten about that fateful day and is here to seek retribution! SK: If ya 'member it went something like this! [The Fury jerks the smaller man's head under his arm and hits him with a... POP!] SR: CATTLE BUSTER DDT! Jay Dubbah be proud! [The impact is devastating. Tiger's head colliding with the floor! Kowalski just smiles and awkwardly rights himself as he stands, continuing his tirade...] SK: That's what it felt like. Y'know, the Double Eye ain't been the same without the Syndicate! It's been bigger an' its been better! An' it's been badder! I jus' wanted ya to know that! So next time ya come back to _my_ playground, make sure ya ask! I might not be so kind next time! [Kowalski turns on his heel and is about to walk away when he stops, turns around and walks back to Claw!] By the way! I just wanted to ya tell Casey James somethin' for me. [Kowalski boots Tiger Claw in the chest and doubles him over. The crowd is going berserk as he hooks both arms. He stops for a second to take in the wave of cheers and... SKULLPUMPS Tiger Claw on the floor!] Stay the [BLEEP] out of the Double Eye! Ya ain't welcome no more! [Monstrous POP as Kowalski walks back, leaving the prone Tiger Claw on the floor.] SR: This show is blessed! And the patron saint of sadistic behaviour is giving out blessings! [As Kowalski heads back to the locker room, his arms raised high, the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi rushes into the aisle, flashing an evil glare at Kowalski, who simply flips the Japanese star the bird before disappearing behind the curtains. Musashi runs to Claw's aid, helping his fallen comrade back to his feet. Claw is practically spitting nails as Musashi helps him back to the locker room. Meanwhile, the official helps Sean Watts to his feet in the ring.] TD: Oh my... oh my. Steve Kowalski finally tastes sweet revenge for that triple cross way back last October. Unbelievable. And almost as unbelievable is that Sean Watts has advanced in the "King of the Cruisers" tournament over Tiger Claw! What a victory for this young athlete -- you may question his attitude, but you can't question his ability after a win like this. SR: Dross, buddy -- Watts _fell_ on Claw. What kind of an offensive manoeuvre is that? TD: A winning one, apparently, Steve Roberts. It was a tremendously hard-fought match -- but in the final analysis, it's Watts who has come out on top, and he'll progress to the semi-finals to face the winner of tomorrow night's Youth Gone Wild vs. "Armitage" Steven Spector match, which will be taking place on SJPW's Ring Wars show. [The official helps Sean Watts up the aisle, the fans applauding him as he makes his way back to the locker room, exhausted. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Our tournament action continues right now with the second of tonight's second round matches. It's the IIWF's own "Sanguinary" Steve Manning doing battle with the ubiquitous "Playboy" Ronnie D, a man who has certainly not been endearing himself to the other athletes in the locker room, I understand. But in the ring, he certainly knows how to get results. This should be a great match: so let's get back up to Sparkplug Lee for the introductions! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| KING OF THE CRUISERS TOURNAMENT FIRST ROUND: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Steve Manning [IIWF] vs. "Playboy" Ronnie D [EMWC] ....................................................................... WRITER: Ian Jalbert [Sparkplug Lee walks into the ring, a little wary after all the events that have occurred over the course of the evening so far. He checks the mic carefully and begins to speak.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a fifteen-minute time limit, and it is a second-round match in the ongoing King of the Cruisers Tournament. Coming to the ring, representing the EMWC, and weighing in at 214lbs, he is the flamboyant "Playboy" Ronnie D! ["It's Raining Men" by the Weather Girls starts playing over the blaring bagpipes, and the Playboy comes out, looking a little irritated by the actions of the Black Watch in yet again switching entrance music, but arrogant enough to get over it and start his typical ego inflating actions on the way to the ring. Several women throughout the arena cheer loudly for Ronnie D, with one even swooning and fainting as he walks by.] TD: That one HAD to be paid off. SR: Ya gotta love it though, Dross. Ron Jeremy as Spreadbury. That was a stroke of genius. I knew we'd have a porn star in the Double Eye one day. Maybe Ronnie's gonna screen Seka as our VP next... now THAT would be the best weekend of my life. SL: And his opponent, he comes from... Ronnie D's worst nightmare? He is the IIWF's own, "Sanguinary" Steve Manning! ["My Ding-a-ling" by Chuck Berry replaces the Weather Girls as the fans begin to laugh at yet another trick by the Black Watch. A number of tartan wearing teenagers in the back continue to mark out for their favorite tag team. Finally, Steve Manning comes out, a sadistic look on his face, sporting a t-shirt that reads "RSPW-F Is Gonna Owe Me" and his stock stick in his right hand. Manning turns around and gives the finger to the video screen as he walks by, but then forgets about the happy sounds of Chuck Berry and rushes into the ring.] TD: Here they go! [Ronnie is waiting in the ring for Manning, but could not meat the focus of Manning and quickly finds himself on the short end of the attack. Manning with a Head Butt to the face of Ronnie, knocking him back a few feet, causing Ronnie to check his nose for blood while calling for a time out. The fans erupt in laughter, still barely making ground over the loud sounds of bagpipes. Once again, the bagpipe music fades out, and the video wall flickers to life.] TD: Oh, good grief! Haven't they got those... terrorists out of that van yet? SR: Dross, why do I get the feeling the Macbeths have been saving the worst for last? [This time, the shot shows the grinning face of Duncan Macbeth, who is busy twiddling knobs on the transmitter's control panel. Andrew Macbeth can be seen in the background bracing against the back door of the van, and the camera shot appears unsteady, as if the broadcast van is somehow rocking back and forth.] DM: Can ye hold 'em, Andrew? AM: [in background] Fer awhile, cousin! But they've got th' door unlocked now! 'Tis only a matter o' time! DM: Righ'. [Duncan turns back to the camera, smirking as his jade eyes narrow to slits.] DM: Weal folks, it appears tha' we're comin' t th' end o' our broadcast day! I'd like t' thank all o' yis out there in' TV Land fer tunin' in t' th' Macbeth Broadcastin' System tonigh', an' I think we should all give a great big hand t' IIWF Vice-President Gregg Osterhout, fer makin' this wonderful nigh' o' programmin' possible! [Heel pop from the fans in the Coliseum, who are largely ignoring Manning and Ronnie D now, and Macbeth's eyes suddenly twinkle as he finds something on a monitor in front of him.] DM: We're goin' t' sign off now, but remember folks... Th' Black Watch OWNS th' IIWF Tag Team division! An' soon, we'll have th' belts t' PROVE it! It's been great, but I've got t' go help out me cousin now -- but 'ere's a wee somethin' tha's about as entertainin' as th' two tossers slow-dancin' in th' ring righ' now! [Macbeth touches a button as he moves to the back of the van to help Andrew keep the door shut against the invading security guards, and the picture turns to snow as the dish on top of the van searches for a new target... and finds a feed from BBC 2. A short, stocky man with a thick mane of raven hair, and an even thicker beard and moustache, wearing a brown tweed coat, is standing in a large warehouse, in front of a row of huge, twenty-foot high copper stills. A caption at the bottom of the screen reads: SCOTCH PRODUCTION -- THE ORIGIN OF THE SPIRIT Beneath the caption, another line in smaller letters reads: HOSTED BY COLIN BOWEN] SR: Aw cripes, Dross, they've found one of those God-awful British documentaries! This just ain't right! TD: What's taking those guards so long? I don't think I can take much more of this... [On the screen, Bowen looks up admiringly at the tall stills, then begins to walk along the distillation line as he narrates in scholarly fashion.] CB: Single malt is distilled in traditional vessels that resemble a copper kettle, or pot, with a chimney-like spout. These are known as pot-stills. Most other types of whisky are made in a more modern system: a continuous still, shaped like a column, known as a column-still. Much of the flavour of the malt is retained in pot distillation because this old-fashioned system is inherently inefficient. A column system can distil more thoroughly, but that makes for a less flavourful spirit. Blended Scotch whiskies contain a proportion of pot-still malt, leavened with continuous-or-column-still whisky made from cheaper, unmalted grains. SR: Sweet mother of all that's good and pure, TURN THIS [BLEEP] OFF! TD: The match, Steve! Focus on the match! It's our only hope! SR: I can't, Dross! That man's babbling is worse than the bagpipes! [Bowen stops in front of a still, and gestures to the huge copper tank.] CB: The flavour of the distillate is greatly influenced by the shape of a pot-still, in ways that are not wholly understood. An example concerns stills that are especially tall. Vapour condenses in the upper reaches of the still before it can escape, falls back, and is re-distilled. This produces a more refined, lighter spirit. A shorter still will produce a richer, creamier, oilier spirit. Between these extremes, there are countless sizes and shapes of pot-still. Every aspect of size, shape, and surface area seems to enter a new permutation into performance. Distillers are reluctant to change the size and shape when new stills are fitted, for fear of losing the character of their whisky. [As Bowen drones on, the fans in the Coliseum stir restlessly, clearly fed up with the constant interruptions, and the bone-dry subject matter of the Scotch expert's discourse.] SR: Please, please, please, please, please, PLEASE stop this insanity! TD: Wait, we've got pictures from the parking lot! The security guards have finally broken into the van! Thank goodness! [Cut to the parking lot, where a camera at the scene is showing an image of a dozen or so guards yanking Andrew Macbeth out of the back of the van. The elder Macbeth is roaring with laughter as he is pushed away from the van by the guards, who then dash back inside the vehicle to pull out Duncan, who can barely stand on two feet from the peals of laughter rocking his body! The guards warn the Black Watch to stay away from the van as Coliseum technical crewmen climb in to try to reverse the chaos done by the cousins, but Andrew and Duncan just wave them off and walk across the parking lot, where Andrew's Land Rover is parked, and the Macbeths climb into the jeep and speed off, honking their horn at the security guards as they pass by.] TD: There they go -- finally! That was certainly one of the more annoying episodes I've had to endure during my tenure here in the IIWF, Steve Roberts! SR: I told you, Dross. Those Macbeths are sneaky buggers, and there's not a whole lot that Osterhout can do about it if two guys like that decide they want to foul things up, ban or no ban. [On the video wall, Colin Bowen is still lecturing on the process of distilling Scotch.] CB: Most malts are run through two linked pot-stills: the wash-still and the spirit-still. In one or two Lowland distilleries and in Ireland, a system of three pot-stills, "triple distillation" is used...zzzzzzzzzt! [Suddenly, the video wall goes white with static, then blinks out. The crowd pops in relief and appreciation, as the techies have finally managed to cut the BBC feed.] TD: Oh, thank heavens! SR: Damn those Macbeths, Dross. I've said so many prayers tonight, I may actually have to go to church on Sunday now! Damn them to hell! TD: I think we may have missed a portion of this King of the Cruisers match amidst all the confusion, Steve. So far we've seen Manning take an early lead, but Ronnie D's tricks have enabled him to turn the tables on a number of occasions to regain the momentum. [As the attention finally gets back to the match, Ronnie D is parading around the ring, gyrating his hips for the pleasure of a few beautiful women at ringside who look a little disgusted.] TD: Are those women even legal yet? SR: You know what they say, Dross, if they're old enough... TD: Don't even go there. [Playboy finally approaches Manning to continue the wrestling match, but Manning objects and hits him with a low blow. Ronnie sinks down to his knees, the pain contorting his face while Manning laughs sadistically. The Sanguinary one claws at the face of the Playboy, almost trying to pull out his eyeballs until the referee manages to break the hold. Manning gets up and pulls Ronnie D to his feet as the crowd begins cheering wildly for their hometown hero.] TD: I can't believe that Steve Manning is getting cheered here, Steve. I guess there's always a first in the IIWF. SR: What I can't believe is that they're choosing to boo the Playboy, Timmy. This guy just cracks me up! Of course, he still don't come close to the bloodshed of Manning, but why can't they both be cheered? TD: Are you actually cheering for cruiserweights, Steve? SR: Well, when you're as bored as I am, sometimes ya gotta take pleasure in the little things. TD: Isn't that what the women say about you all the time? [Manning tosses Playboy Ronnie D outside the ring, and hops out himself to do a little damage. Ronnie hits the floor hard, holding his head in his hands after a brutal impact with the concrete. Steve Manning stands on the apron, waiting for Ronnie to get up before nailing him with a Plancha, sending both men over the steel railing into the crowd. Both men simply lay on the floor as the referee begins counting them out of the ring... 1...2...3...4... Manning stirs after the reckless move and slowly gets up to his feet. Ronnie D pulls himself up with the help of the railing, trying to beat the count. Unfortunately, he doesn't notice Manning swinging the steel chair, catching him right in the teeth!] SR: That's gotta hurt! Playboy's gonna have to receive tonight, cause he ain't gonna be givin' any lovin'! TD: Is that all you ever think about? SR: That and the biscuits, baby. Just give the Soundbite a nice dry biscuit and some moist cake and he'll be up all night, if you know what I'm talking about. TD: Unfortunately, too many of us do. [Ronnie is still outside the ring, holding his mouth in his hands, hoping that he hasn't lost any teeth. Although he has a mouth and chest full of blood, it doesn't appear that any permanent damage was done. Manning just throws the chair into the ring and raises his arms to the crowd, who give him a mixed reaction.] TD: After that one the fans don't know WHAT to think of Steve Manning! SR: He's a pretty secretive guy, Drossy. You'll only know what he wants you to know, and you gotta give him some credit for that. [Manning reaches for the Playboy, but somehow Ronnie finds a way to get through the pain and poke Steve in the eye with his thumb! Manning's eyes immediately begin expelling water, but he manages to keep them open! A twisted look on his face, Manning begins poking the Playboy in the eyes with his thumbs! Once! Twice! Six times before he collapses to the ground, clutching his own eyes!] TD: Both men are almost completely blinded here! Manning is crazy enough to have taken that blow to the eyes and just kept on going! But he's still human and it finally took it's toll on him with interest! [The referee looks on in confusion from inside the ring, and restarts his count... again. Still with the advantage, Steve Manning grabs Ronnie D by the tights and picks him up for a Suplex... but drops him stomach first on the railing and the Playboy once again falls into the crowd!] SR: Hostile territory for Ronnie here! He's right in the middle of the Sangui-Knights! [The crowd gives a painful groan as they realise what kind of predicament that the Playboy is in here. The Sangui-Knights couldn't look any happier though, and immediately begin laying in the kicks and punches to Ronnie. Steve Manning rolls back into the ring, breaking the count once more and begins to argue with the referee.] TD: Both of these men are masters at cheating. Look at this! Somehow they always manage to take the ref's eyes off the REAL action. SR: Think that's maybe due to the skills of our referees instead of their cheating ability? [Manning starts climbing to the top rope as the Sangui-Knights lift Ronnie in the air and begin body surfing him throughout their section. Manning's face is twisted in a permanent look of anger, frustration and a twisted kind of happiness as he raises his arms to the crowd before launching himself, landing a Top Rope Elbow Drop to the throat of Ronnie D right into the crowd! Ronnie flips in mid-air before falling to the floor, cracking his head hard. Sangui-Knights go flying everywhere, having been caught in the crossfire, and Steve Manning has gone through, folded over a chair in the third row of the crowd.] TD: That was one of the most incredible moves I've ever seen in my entire IIWF career! Manning is not typically a high flyer, but he came off that top rope like... like... SR: Like a man who doesn't give a damn about anything! I love it! These little pint size freaks are startin' to win me over here! [If it seems the noise just couldn't get any louder, the crowd seems to pick it up another notch as they begin to follow the movement down the aisle. Karachel and Valtharius the Mad are walking down to ringside, and as they reach the announcer's table, Karachel takes a seat. Valtharius stands directly in front of them, grabbing their microphones and eating the foam covers before handing them back to Tim and Steve.] TD: Thanks a lot! Do you know what kind of germs are on these things? SR: Uh... Dross. Do you have ANY idea who you're talking to right now? TD: Karachel, what is the point of this? [Karachel just ignores that and a few other questions and just watches the match, while Valtharius sits down before the announcer's table, still reaching the same height as all of those who are sitting on chairs. The referee, bewildered over all these events, still hasn't begun a ten count on the match. Even then, in the state that these two wrestlers are in right now, they still couldn't beat the count. Only the help of two Sangui-Knights get the wrestlers back into the ring, still being at a point of near-unconsciousness.] TD: The match finally makes it into the ring, although under questionable circumstances, thanks to a few Sangui-Knights. [Manning still is in a daze, clutching his injured stomach as he inches towards the Playboy... finally reaching him... covering him for the pin: 1 -- 2 -- 3! No! The referee sees that Ronnie's left foot was on the ropes, and signals to the timekeeper that the pin does not count.] TD: Ronnie had better thank the stars that he hadn't totally cleared the ropes on his way in. There was no way that he could break out of this pin on his own at this point. SR: All it's gonna take is one move and Ronnie's outta here! [Manning slaps the mat in frustration and yells a few choice words at the referee. Ronnie finally looks to have regained consciousness, staring vacantly at the ring lights, but shaking his head slightly. Manning slowly drags the Playboy up to his feet, launching him against the ropes for a Hotshot. Ronnie comes back flying and uses his momentum to reverse the hold into a...] TD: Lou Thesz Press! Vertical Body Press here! [The referee gets into position for the count: 1 -- 2 -- and somehow Manning reverses the hold! Cradle by Manning! 1 -- 2 -- and Playboy Ronnie D kicks out of this one! Both men release the holds, completely exhausted as they lie motionless on the mat.] SR: Manning's totally dominated this match so far tonight, but he took risks that put him out just as much as they did the Playboy, and they've both got nothing left to give here! TD: There's not that much time left! We've got five minutes to go out of the fifteen-minute time limit! [The referee begins counting the men out once more... 6... 7... 8... Finally they both struggle to their feet, using the ring ropes to prop themselves up. Playboy Ronnie D gets a second wind and gets a short-arm Clothesline to the throat of Manning, knocking him right back down to the mat! Loud reaction by the crowd as Ronnie begins climbing the ropes! Even Petrow, who is warming up for his big match is following the action here. Ronnie points to the crowd, distracting the referee for a second as he reaches into his tights and pulls out a pair of Brass Knuckles! He quickly puts it on his hand and leaps off the top rope for a Flying Fist Drop on Manning!] TD: But Manning moves out of the way! The Brass Knuckles go flying as Ronnie D holds his hand in pain! The move backfired on him! SR: And the knucks are just lying there up for grabs! Manning's gonna grab them! [Steve Manning gives his sadistic smile and puts the brass knuckles on his hand, giving the "He's dead!" signal to a decent reaction. Manning winds up... and clocks Ronnie D right in the head with the knucks! The Playboy is out cold! Manning puts the Brass Knuckles in his trunks and covers the Playboy for the pin! The referee turns around and gets down to the mat when the bell begins ringing...] TD: What's going on? [The referee pulls Manning off Ronnie D and gets back up to his feet, the bell still ringing in the back. Manning looks around in confusion, and Ronnie does nothing, still out cold on the mat.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the match via a disqualification, he is "PLAYBOY" RONNIE D! TD: I can't believe it! The referee blows every call during the match, and after all that happened disqualified Manning for using a foreign item! What a moron! SR: Hey, that's my line! [Manning, just realising that Playboy Ronnie D fluked out, turns back to the referee and puts on his brass knuckles once more. The referee backs into the corner, trying to explain his position, but Manning won't have any of it and winds up, knocking the ref over the top rope with the impact!] TD: Someone's gonna get a fine for those actions! Our VP doesn't stand pat for laying a hand on an IIWF official -- no matter how bad his decisions may be! [At ringside, Karachel and Valtharius have stood up once more, Karachel laughing mockingly at Ronnie D. Karachel then drags Valtharius the Mad back to the dressing room, obviously having seen just what they wanted to see. Inside the ring, "Sanguinary" Steve Manning sits on top of the Playboy and begins laying into him with the Brass Knuckles!] TD: Somebody stop him! He may have lost this match due to an injustice, but he's going to kill Playboy Ronnie D here! SR: He's giving the fans exactly what they wanna see! And the more he makes Ronnie look like Sebastian Jericho, the less competition I'm gonna have for the chicks tonight! Keep on punching, Manning! [Steve Manning continues punching the Playboy with the Brass Knuckles, a mist of red blood flying with every blow. Ronnie's face is a bloody pulp, as the Jobber Justice Squad runs to ringside!] TD: Here comes help! And it couldn't have come any later! SR: It ain't gonna make a difference! Manning's getting rid of the jobbers as well! [Manning is back up on his feet, meeting the jobbers one at a time with the knuckles, knocking each one into unconsciousness instantly. Finally, Scott "Whine" Bloom gets a lucky hit on Manning, knocking the brass knuckles off his hand and the rest of the jobbers swarm on him, keeping him down on the mat. The paramedics are in the ring, checking out Ronnie D, as the stretcher gets thrown into the ring.] TD: Not a good moment for the Playboy, Steve. He may have won this match on a disqualification, but this attack could've caused permanent damage! SR: He's lucky he's got two weeks to recover here, Dross. He's gotta fight the winner of tomorrow's Big Greggy Cool vs. Jeremy Fullbright match, and in this shape, there's no way he could do it. [The paramedics have Playboy Ronnie D on the stretcher now, a number of bandages covering his face as they drag him off to the dressing rooms. The jobbers still have Steve Manning secured, the Sanguinary one still looking upset, but with a twisted look on his face.] TD: Well, Manning may have gotten screwed on that one, but he still got revenge on the Playboy, as disgusting as it was. He looks almost satisfied here. SR: Don't count on it, Dross. Betcha we haven't seen the end of Manning in this tournament. TD: We've got the ring cleared here, so it's time for tonight's main event, and this is the one the world will be watching, Steve Roberts. The fightingest IIWF World Heavyweight Champion of all time, Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, puts his title on the line yet again here tonight, this time... [Suddenly, Dross is interrupted once more as the arena is plunged into darkness. Fans pop, and cameras flash in the inky blackness, illuminating small areas of the Coliseum for split seconds.] SR: We really need to hire somebody to feed the meter, Dross. TD: I have a feeling this isn't an electrical failure, Steve Roberts... [The lights rise once more, and standing in the ring is the imposing figure of the Deathbringer, clutching a microphone. His voice echoes ominously over the arena PA:] DB: You see that I did not promise too much when I called this the Bloody Saturday. And be prepared for even more of this [heel pop]. However, I cannot do all the work done without a little help from you, mortals. Will you help me? [huge heel pop] I almost thought so. But maybe there are some IIWF wrestlers out there willing to join forces with Death himself? Maybe some of you have the courage to walk by my side, to assist me in my dark work? I am waiting for you, I am waiting to call you my ally. Help me in eliminating all those preliminaries from the league, help me in destroying everything that makes this league to what it is today, help me to take this league six feet under... Immortality is what I can promise you in return. So if you think you are the right one, join me right here, next week, and let us sign this unholy pact. Bloody Saturday might be over... But my crusade is far from being over... From now on, you will be wide awake whenever you lie in your bed, bathing in sweat... Is it me who is lurking underneath your bed? Sure I am... Is it me who is casting those mysterious shadows at the walls? Of course... [The lights drop again and as they come back, Deathbringer's gone and only his laughter is heard throughout the arena, and the video wall is illuminated with the words, "SLEEP WELL, MORTALS." As the text dissolves to blackness, cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Well, apparently Deathbringer's reign of terror has ended, and with the Macbeths finally being ejected from the production truck out in the parking lot, perhaps our main event can take place without any interruptions. This is the big one, folks: Kowalski-Petrow part three. These two men are one a-piece in singles competition, and tonight they meet for the biggest prize in professional sports, the IIWF World Heavyweight Championship. Without any further ado, let's get up to Sparkplug Lee for the introductions. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| Steve "the Fury" Kowalski vs. "Sychosys" Joe Petrow ....................................................................... WRITER: Shawn Kilpatrick [Sparkplug Lee, sitting at the timekeeper's table finishing up a tasty Coliseum hot dog with extra sauerkraut, doesn't notice as a Sychopath slips over the guardrail, sneaks over to the table, and replaces the lineup cards for the main event with a bogus pair that he pulls out of his back pocket. The fan quickly skitters over to the rail and climbs back into his seat before Sparky wolfs down the last of his dog, lets loose with a rafter-shaking belch that he probably would have kept in if he'd realised he was on television, and collects the bogus cards off the table before climbing into the ring.] TD: What was that fan doing? SR: I can't believe Sparky didn't see that. Maybe he should give up announcing and become a ref. He's got all the qualifications -- blind, deaf, and really, really dumb. [Lee steps to the centre of the ring, and raises the ring mic as the fans pop with excitement in expectation of the match to come.] SL: Ahem... ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is your MAIN EVENT of the evening! [Big pop from the fans!] SL: This match is scheduled for one fall, and is for the IIWF World Heavweight Championship! The following stipulations will apply to this contest -- first, the match will be subject to "locked door" rules, meaning any individual or individuals attempting to interfere in the outcome of this match will be suspended indefinitely from the IIWF! [Another pop!] SL: Secondly, the title _will_ change hands not only on a pinfall or submission, but also in the event of a disqualification or countout! And now, introducing the challenger... [Lee peers at the cards in his hands, looking very confused. The crowd begins to stir restlessly as Lee checks the front and back of each card frantically, then goes through the pockets of his tuxedo, finally realising that he must either read what's on the cards he has, or he wings it.] SR: What the hell is that idiot doing? TD: It looks like that Sychopath has sabotaged the lineup cards, Steve. SR: Ah, c'mon, Sparky, you _know_ who the "mystery opponent" is! You've introduced all these morons _how_ many times? You don't need a damn card, you must have all this memorised by now! [Sadly, Lee does not, and it is a very nervous Sparky that raises the bogus card in a trembling hand as he timidly reads the Sychopaths' text into the mic.] SL: Uh... ladies, gentlemen, and Furies, in that order, it is now my... pleasure to present to you our main event of the evening. About to make his way to the ring, a man who truly needs no introduction. This is a man who has redefined the very nature of not just the IIWF itself, but the very world that we live in. A man who... what? Um... who exiled the grotesque Chicken of Newfoundland, who has _never_ succumbed to the urge to run screaming after the ice cream man wearing nothing but polyester bell bottom trousers! SR: [over headset] You know, that's an actual spectator sport in the Phillipines... SL: Currently one half of the World Tag Team champions, and in this very ring almost one year ago, defeated Steve Kowalski to win his first IIWF championship! [Suddenly, "Don't Fear The Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult blares from the P.A., but the usual wild cheers reserved for that music is replaced by a loud heel pop, with the exception of the rabid Sychopaths at ringside.] TD: That's Kowalski's music! SR: That crazy sonofabitch! You don't tug on Superman's cape, you don't spit into the wind, you don't pull the mask off the ol' Lone Ranger, and you sure as hell don't steal the Fury's music! What, is he begging for a Skullpump or something? [Sparkplug looks sick as he reads the rest of the introductions to himself, and then he puts down the cards, and screams out the rest as if he's been instructed to make his eyes bug out and his veins pop out of his neck:] SL: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS _IS_ THE EIGHTH WONDER OF THE WORLD! THIS IS THE ALMIGHTY SYCHOSYS! _THIS_ _IS_ JOE... FREAKIN'... PETROW!! [Finally, Petrow vaults the barrier and saunters around ringside, holding both belts overhead with his left hand, dragging a red tricycle behind with his red-gloved right hand, thoroughly enjoying the moment. While walking around ringside, he stops by the timekeepers table to pick up the microphone, then heads over to the announcer's table, proceeds to climb it, drags both title belts over his shoulder, and leads the Sychopaths in the singing of his theme song, alternating the microphone between his mouth and pointing it to the crowd:] JP: # C'mon baby! # Sychopaths: # DON'T FEAR THE REAPER # JP: # Baby take my hand! # Sychopaths: # DON'T FEAR THE REAPER # JP: # We'll be able to fly! # Sychopaths: # DON'T FEAR THE REAPER # JP: # Baby I'm your man! # [At this, Petrow manages to catch a fish flung by a nearby Disciple. At a loss with what to do with the fish, he decides to stuff it down Tim Dross' shirt. Noticing the Soundbite laughing at this, Petrow evens the score by turning around and kissing Steve on the forehead, before taking his belts and entering the ring, to wait for the arrival of Steve Kowalski.] SR: ACK! Sycho slobber! TD: ACK! The nerve of that... hey, a red snapper! Very tasty... SR: Great. Get rid of that thing, Dross -- it smells like Becky's laundry basket in midsummer! TD: Joe Petrow is looking extremely confident as he awaits the arrival of IIWF Champion Steve "The Fury" Kowalski, no doubt largely due to the well-known fact that the champion is suffering from near-debilitating injuries, and just listen to the negative reaction that Petrow is receiving from this Coliseum crowd! [With the exception of the loyal Sychopaths, who bow to Petrow in the classic "we're not worthy" manner from ringside, the fans in the Coliseum raise the roof with boos directed at the tag team co-champion, and the Furies lead the remainder of the crowd in a chant not heard since the days of the Syndicate -- "YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT!" before Kowalski's devoted fans reach into their pockets and bags and start pelting Petrow with a hail of... kiwi fruit!] SR: INCOMING! TD: Good grief! Petrow's getting pasted with those kiwis! The Furies, and indeed a good number of the Coliseum crowd, are not exactly welcoming Petrow back to singles competition with open arms! SR: Ain't it funny, Dross, that McArthur goes away on a fishing trip, and Sycho Joe conveniently gets a shot at the World title while he's gone? Didn't Jimmy Hoffa say he was going fishing, before the Teamsters cut him loose and mixed him into the foundation of Shea Stadium? TD: I have no idea, Steve Roberts, but the fans have obviously remembered Joe Petrow's pledge to compete only in tag team wrestling, and you have to wonder what Maurice McArthur would have to say if he were here to see this match taking place. SR: Probably something like "Kick his two-timin', double-dealin', side-of-the-mouth-talkin' prima donna ass, Fury!" [Cut back to the ring, where Petrow is removing his tearaway leather pants and jacket, dodging flying kiwis all the while, and attempts to kick his outstretched hands Bruce Lee-style as Sparkplug Lee fumbles with the cards again. Lee is looking much more relieved as he finds the correct card and raises the mic once again.] SL: And now, ladies and gentlemen, introducing the champion! He hails from Newark, New Jersey and weighs in at 268 pounds, here is the "New Jersey Nightmare", here is the reigning IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, here is... STEVE "THE FURY" KOWALSKI! [The Coliseum immediately explodes with a mammoth pop as a quartet of spotlights sweep across the auditorium and come to rest at the head of the aisle, as the IIWF Champion, Steve Kowalski, steps through the curtain, the gleaming World Title belt around his waist, and like Petrow, carrying a tricycle over his shoulder!] SR: There he is, baby! Hail to the King! [The fans behind Roberts start up a chant of "HAIL TO THE KING, BABY!' as Kowalski, grinning like a Cheshire cat, begins to stride down the aisle towards the ring, and Petrow lets a small smile escape his own lips as he sees Kowalski favouring his right leg as he limps towards the ring. The hail of kiwi fruit abruptly stops, and soon more projectiles are flying through the air as the Furies begin tossing empty cans of Mooselips into the aisle!] SR: Look at that, Dross! The Furies are rollin' out the red carpet for Kowalski! [Kowalski, like Jesus Christ entering Jerusalem, crunches the Mooselips cans underfoot like palm branches as he reaches ringside, and he limps over to the announcers' table, setting the tricycle on the floor beside Steve Roberts.] SK: Watch my ride, Stevie. I'll be back for it. An' tell Dross no free spins. I gotta go now. [Kowalski glares up at Petrow.] I gotta whack Joe Hype. [Kowalski turns away from the announcers and limps over to the ring, slowly climbing the steps and passing through the ropes to a tumultuous pop from the capacity crowd! The Fury begins swinging his arms, limbering up as he glares across the ring at the smug, confident Petrow, and Kowalski makes a quick "come and get some" gesture to Petrow as referee Earl Alfonso calls for the bell to start the match -- Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Here we go, folks! The Coliseum is absolutely electric with anticipation as these two long-time rivals square off here for the IIWF Heavyweight Title! [Petrow and Kowalski circle each other, each watching for a sudden strike, then the two men lock up n the centre of the ring, and it is Petrow who gets in the first shot, raising a knee in the clutch and driving it into Kowalski's damaged hip, keeling the champion over! Pop! The Fury clutches at his side, giving Petrow time to send Kowalski bouncing across the ring with a well-placed kneelift to the face! The Sychopaths are going wild, cheering their hero as he dashes over to the Fury, yanks him up, and sends him to the ropes, driving his knee into Kowalski's hip on the rebound and spinning him to the mat! Big pop!] TD: "Sychosys" Joe Petrow is of to a flying start in this match, Steve Roberts, and he is going straight for the Fury's injured hip! SR: Joe knows just how tough Kowalski is, Dross, and if the Fury's gonna expose a weakness like that hip in a title mach, Joe'd be crazy _not_ to go for it! Hell of a way to beat a guy like the Fury, but right now, Petrow only cares about getting that strap! [Kowalski pulls himself up by the ropes, as Petrow circles, keeping his distance. The champ turns in to the middle of the ring just as Petrow charges in with a lariat, and Kowalski quickly ducks under, sending a surprised Petrow careening into the ropes! Petrow stumbles back, and Kowalski tries a rollup! Alfonso drops: 1 -- 2 -- kickout!] TD: Incredible! Steve Kowalski with a heads-up move there, and Petrow was nearly caught napping! SR: That's the tack the Fury's gotta take in this match, Dross. In his condition, he's not gonna be able to rough it up with a guy like Petrow, so he's gonna have to protect his hip as best he can, and try to outsmart Crazy Joe! [Petrow leaps to his feet, enraged, and dashes to the ropes as Kowalski slowly rolls himself over on the mat, and the tag champ flies in with a devastating powerdrive elbowsmash to Kowalski's injured hip once again! Kowalski bellows in pain, and Petrow, maintaining his breakneck pace, pulls Kowalski to his feet, screams out "HERE COMES THE HAMMER OF SYCHOSYS" and whips Kowalski into the ropes, catching him on the rebound with a face claw, and using the Fury's momentum to carry him over and plant him head-first into the mat! Huge pop!] TD: That... that looked just like Shadoe Rage's Hammer Of God! SR: He stole the Fury's music, he's stealing Rage's moves... is Petrow gonna rip off the entire IIWF tonight? [Earl Alfonso moves in to count the pin... 1 -- kickout! Big pop! Petrow wastes no time in dragging Kowalski back to his feet, point to a nearby camera, and in a terrible Scottish accent, shout out "Righ'! Noo I'm goonae poot thess wee tosser's lights oot wit me SYCHOCLAYMORE, wha'!" before sending Kowalski into the ropes once again.] TD: Now he's going to attempt Duncan Macbeth's Claymore finisher! SR: You know, Petrow's probably pissing off a lot of people backstage with all this plagiarism, but it's locked door rules tonight! Rage and D-Mac would normally be out here in a shot if Petrow so much as looked at them sideways, but with these stipulations, Joe's got free rein to use anything he wants! [Petrow leaps high into the air, his legs at the ready to scissor Kowalski's head and pull him down into the Claymore Frankensteiner, but Kowalski grabs the ropes, and Petrow crashes unceremoniously into the mat! Huge pop! While the stunned Petrow lies on the canvas, Kowalski limps over to the prone tag champ, ties up Petrow's legs, and steps over, locking Petrow into a painful leglock! Incredible pop!] TD: Kowalski's got the Texas Cloverleaf on Joe Petrow! SR: C'mon, Fury! Break him in half! [Petrow grits his teeth against the incredible pain that the leglock is causing to his knee and lower back, but Kowalski has it sunk in well, and the champ leans way back to gain further leverage, and sweat beads on the forehead of Joe Petrow as he struggles to find a way out of the hold.] TD: Kowalski is not letting up! [Alfonso moves in to check for the submission, but Petrow shakes his head no, and attempts to press up onto his hands, but a sharp jerk backwards from Steve Kowalski nixes that idea, and Petrow slumps back to the mat, flailing away at the pain coursing through his knee and back.] TD: Kowalski's had that move applied for over a minute now, and Petrow appears to be tiring! SR: Good strategy by the Fury, Dross. He might not win with this move, but once he manages to get Joe in a spot like this, he's gotta hang on as long as he can, and give that rickety hip some time to settle down! [Alfonso checks for the submission again, but this time, Petrow lets out a sigh, all the breath in his body passing out of him, and gritting his teeth, arches his back and bridges around, whipping a fist around and driving it into Kowalski's right hip area once again! Big heel pop! Kowalski grunts, and releases the hold, collapsing to the mat as Petrow curls up into a foetal position for long moments, pain still shooting through his back.] TD: Petrow breaks out of the Cloverleaf, but now both men are hurting! [Kowalski and Petrow both stagger to their feet, glaring at each other the whole while, and slowly, the two meet in the centre of the ring, and begin trading haymakers, to the delight of the crowd!] TD: Science has just gone out the window, folks! These men are running on pure instinct now, and they are just hammering one another! [Kowalski is firing off repeated lefts at Petrow, keeping his vulnerable right side away from Petrow's reach, but the tag champ replies with bombs of his own, and both men begin to visibly wear under the blows. Finally, a slow hook by Steve Kowalski is ducked by Joe Petrow, and he moves in, scoops up Kowalski, and...] TD: KNIGHTMARE! Petrow just hit the Knightmare on the Fury! We have a new champion! SR: No! Get up, Fury! [Alfonso is right on the scene, dropping beside he jubilant Petrow as he hooks the leg and applies the pin, as the Coliseum crowd goes absolutely insane: 1 -- 2 -- 3!] TD: HE GOT HIM! HE GOT HIM! JOE PETROW IS THE NEW IIWF CHAMPION! SR: NO! Alfonso's waving it off! [Petrow leaps to his feet, pumping his fists in the air, and begins dancing around the ring, pointing down to the timekeeper's table for the official to bring him the World Title belt, but Alfonso steps in his way, shaking his head, and points down to the stunned Kowalski, whose right hand is hanging just off the edge of the apron, clearly underneath the ropes.] TD: No decision as yet in this match, and Petrow is steaming over that call! SR: Them's the breaks, baby dolls. You want to pin the Fury, you better damn well make sure it's in the middle of the ring, 'cause that guy's got more lives than a roomful of black cats! [The furious Petrow stalks over to Kowalski, who has just managed to sit up, and roughly yanks up the IIWF Champion form behind, before screaming out "HERE COMES THE LIMITED-EDITION GRIZZLY ASS SCRATCH!" and crosses his hands in front of the other before reaching out and ripping at Kowalski's posterior with a double, um, cheek rake!] TD: Limited-edition Grizzly ass scratch? SR: Ooh, Joe better be careful makin' fun of the big, bad Grizz, Dross. That guy's just got no sense of humour whatsoever. Must be all that hangin' out with fun-boy Temple. [Petrow looks on with satisfaction as Kowalski bellows with pain from the ass scratch, before sticking his own rump out and letting loose with a very loud burst of wind, causing the Sychopaths to roar with delight as Petrow plugs his nose and waves the air around him, shouting "UGH! GRIZZLY GAS!] TD: Petrow appears to be playing games with Kowalski now, but the sad truth of this match, Steve Roberts, is that the Fury has been thus far unable to mount any significant offence! SR: I hate to admit it, Dross, but the Fury just might have reached the end of his rope last week against Musashi, and now Joe the ambulance-chaser just might get the easiest World Title win ever! [As Petrow continues to grandstand for the fans, he doesn't notice Kowalski rising to his feet behind him, and turns just in time to see the champ hurtling at him, tackling Petrow into the ropes and sending both wrestlers spilling out of the ring onto the concrete floor! Huge pop!] TD: Both wrestlers have tumbled to the outside! SR: And Kowalski smacked his head on the ring steps on the way down! He's... aw, cripes, Dross, the Fury's busted open! As if he doesn't have enough problems, he might be dealing with a concussion now as well! [As both men struggle to recover from their fall, Petrow crawls over to where he has left his tricycle, and as the Sychopaths cheer, Petrow raises the trike over his head and charges at Steve Kowalski!] SR: Petrow's gonna brain the Fury with that tricycle! [As Petrow charges, though, Kowalski spots him out of the corner of his eye, and quickly reaches across to the nearby announcer's table, countering the tricycle attack... with his own tricycle! Incredible pop from the crowd, as the sharp CLAANG of metal on metal reverberates throughout the Coliseum!] TD: Kowalski blocked with his own trike! What a match! SR: And now they're duelling, Dross! [The crowd cheers on both wrestlers as the circumnavigate the outside of the ring, thrusting and parrying with the tricycles like modern-day Musketeers, as Alfonso continues to lay the count down on Kowalski and Petrow from inside the ring.] SR: Olé! TD: This is getting out of hand! SR: [in bad Darth Vader voice] Ssssshhhhh... I'm you're father, Luke... sssssshhhhhhh... give yourself to the Dark Side, you knob... sssssshhhhhh.... TD: Please, Steve. [As Alfonso's count reaches seven, Kowalski parries a Petrow slash with the trike with his free hand, bringing his own tricycle around and catching Petrow right in the side of the head! Big pop from the Furies!] SR: The power of the Force stopped you, you hoser! [Kowalski is just barely able to roll the stunned Petrow back into the ring and squirt in himself before the referee reaches the ten count. As Petrow lies on the mat, holding his head, Kowalski pulls himself to his feet, staggering unsteadily towards the corner as he wipes blood away from the back of his head where it struck the steel ring steps.] TD: Kowalski barely knows where he is! He really got his bell rung earlier, and now it looks like.... it looks like he's climbing up the corner! SR: He's can't be thinking about going for the moonsault again! Not in the state he's in right now! And if he is, he's taking his sweet time about it -- Petrow can see the whole thing! [Indeed, as Kowalski slowly climbs up the turnbuckle pads, Petrow's eyes flutter open, and he sees the Fury reach the top rope, balancing himself on the pad as he prepares to spring off for the moonsault!] TD: Petrow's rolling into the corner! Kowalski's going to miss! [Petrow summons a burst of energy and rolls towards the corner just as Kowalski starts to coil himself and spring off, but as he moves to avoid the moonsault, Kowalski looks through his legs at Petrow's evasive tactic, grins, and holds on to the ropes as he flips his legs out into the air behind him, and uses the snap to come crushing down on Petrow in the corner with a Vader Bomb! Incredible pop!] SR: Holy [BLEEP]! TD: Kowalski set Petrow up with that move! He faked the moonsault, and caught Petrow with that bomb! Alfonso moves in to count the pin -- 1 -- 2 -- Petrow gets his foot on the ropes! [Now Kowalski slams the mat in frustration, as both men struggle to their feet once more and begin throwing bombs at each other, brawling into the middle of the ring where Petrow ducks under a scything roundhouse from the champion, quickly and instinctively slaps on a facelock, hoists Kowalski up, and...] TD: BULLET TRAIN TO HELL! SR: He's got him now! [Kowalski is utterly devastated as he lies stunned on the mat, with Petrow beside him, gasping for breath from the effort. Alfonso waits for Petrow to cover the Fury, but instead, Petrow just crawls back to his feet, and stands unsteadily in front of the downed Kowalski, as if waiting for him to recover!] SR: What the hell is Petrow doing? TD: He's... he's waiting for Kowalski to get up! This is absurd! Joe Petrow could probably have the IIWF World Title right here and now, but he's just waiting! [Kowalski is slow to rise, so Petrow reaches down and jerks the champion to his feet! As the concussed Kowalski wavers to keep his balance, Petrow inexplicably bends down at the waist right in front of the champion!] SR: He's inviting Kowalski to Skullpump him, Dross! TD: I'm not sure what Petrow's playing at here, but this would surely seem like suicide for his title hopes! [Kowalski looks down at Petrow in genuine confusion, and the frustrated Petrow responds by shoving his head between the Fury's legs, holding his arms behind his back for the underhook, and screaming, in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the Coliseum...] JP: C'MON! DO ME, YOU BITCH! [Shocked pop from the crowd, as they realise just what Petrow is asking of his opponent!] TD: This is utter madness, Steve Roberts! Nobody _asks_ for a Skullpump! That's just pure insanity! SR: Unless... unless Petrow actually thinks he's got the juice to kick out! If he beats Kowalski for the title _and_ becomes the first man in history to kick out of the Skullpump, what a feast for his ego that would be! [Kowalski looks around the Coliseum, as a massive chant of "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!" starts up, every single fan in the arena on their feet cheering, as Petrow, his head still between te champ's legs, patiently waits for his Skullpump! Kowalski gestures to the crowd, silently asking "Should I?" and the crowd roars its approval! Kowalski breaks into a wide grin, despite the fire ripping through his hip and the throbbing in the back of his head... He reaches down, hooking one of Petrow's arms... Petrow grits his teeth, mentally preparing himself for the crushing impact of the Skullpump...] SR: Here it comes! [The crowd's chanting becomes deafening... "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!"... And Kowalski ROCKER DROPPERS Petrow to the mat! Thunderous pop from the fans!] TD: He faked it! He faked it! SR: Hah-HAH! How do you like being on the receiving end of the mind games, Joe? [Kowalski quickly drops, or rather falls on top of Petrow for the pin, as Alfonso drops to the mat for the count -- 1 -- 2 -- and Petrow kicks out from under the exhausted Kowalski with authority! Pop!] TD: Petrow is absolutely rabid with rage, Steve Roberts! SR: Sure he is, Dross! Kowalski just [BLEEP]ed up his master plan for IIWF immortality! I mean, McArthur's gonna pitch a hissy fit when he finds out Petrow wrestled for the title, and if Joe doesn't walk out of here with that World belt, he might not have a Team Schosys to hang on to the tag titles with, either! It could be all or nothing right here! TD: By the looks of Steve Kowalski right now, Petrow just may have that belt within his grasp yet! [Kowalski just lies on the mat, every ounce of energy in his body spent now, as the fuming Petrow leaps to his feet and begins viciously putting the boots to the champion! The Coliseum resounds with boos as Petrow kicks away at the fallen Fury!] TD: Kowalski can't even defend himself now! SR: Aw, Christ, Joe, just pin the guy, will ya? The Fury doesn't deserve this! [Finally, Petrow reaches down, yanks Steve Kowalski up by the hair, and glares into the champion battered face. Kowalski is barely there, and he squints at Petrow as he is held in the clutches of "Sychosys", his vision blurred from the effects of his earlier blow to the head.] TD: Petrow looks ready to finish him off! [Petrow slips behind the champion, ducks his head under Kowalski's left arm, and with a grunt, hoists the Fury high into the air on his shoulder, screaming all the while! Pop!] TD: ASSPUMP! Here it comes! [At the height of the lift, though, Kowalski suddenly twists like a cat in the air, catching the suddenly off-balance Petrow by surprise with a headlock as the Fury's momentum carries him over Petrow's head, and Kowalski snaps Petrow's head backwards and down, driving him head-first into the mat! COLOSSAL pop!] TD: SCREWDRIVER! SCREWDRIVER! [Alfonso skitters across the canvas, immediately rushing in as Kowalski drapes an arm over the chest of the stunned Joe Petrow, and counts the pin: 1 -- 2 -- 3! The Coliseum EXPLODES with another thunderous pop!] TD: HE GOT HIM! SR: HALLELUJAH! SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner... and STILL IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION, STEVE "THE FURY" KOWALSKI! ["Don't Fear The Reaper" kicks in over the P.A. once again, this time playing for the man with whom that song is now synonymous, as the battered, drained Fury rolls out of the ring, collapsing on the floor outside and immediately attended to by ringside medics. The crowd is on its feet for the IIWF Champion, and the cheers reach ear-splitting volumes as Earl Alfonso climbs out of the ring, collects the IIWF World Title belt from the table, and presents it to Steve Kowalski, who is being supported by two burly security guards. Kowalski seems to be having trouble focusing, and fumbles with the belt as he straps it around his waist once more, but once it's on, pride seems to straighten the Fury's spine, and he raises an arm in victory as the guards help him up the aisle to tumultuous cheers from the ringside fans!] TD: What an incredible match, Steve Roberts! The legend of the Fury just got a little bigger here tonight, as Steve Kowalski battled back against great adversity to steal this match right out from under the nose of "Sychosys" Joe Petrow! SR: It ain't often I admit to being wrong, Dross-man, but I'm goin' on the record after watching that bout. I thought Kowalski was at the end of the line, but I think it's pretty much written in stone here in the Double Eye now -- never, EVER count out the Fury, baby dolls! And Sycho Joe's gonna have one hell of a domestic dispute on his hands when 4M gets back from his little expedition and finds out what's been going on behind his back! TD: Indeed, Joe Petrow may find himself searching for answers to quite a few questions after the events that took place this evening, placing himself at the mercy of Steve Kowalski and a potential Skullpump when the match was his to win being an obvious one in my mind. However, these questions and more will be answered for all you folks at home this Tuesday night on "Inside The IIWF"! Right now, we're out of time, so on behalf of my broadcast colleague, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, this is Tim Dross, saying: so long, everybody! [Cut back to the ring, where Joe Petrow is still shaking off the effects of Kowalski's Screwdriver, and he rises to his knees as he watches the IIWF Champion slowly making his way up the aisle to the exit, the glittering Heavyweight Title strapped around his waist. The rousing cheers for Kowalski quickly turn to jeers as the champ exits and the focus swings back to Petrow, who just sits kneeling in the centre of the ring, his stony features unmoving as the chant of "YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT!" starts up from the throng of Furies at ringside once again. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Gregg Osterhout | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | ghost@frii.com | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+