________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| | || | \ v v / | __| |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| _____ ___ _____ _______ ___ ___ _____ __ ____ \ __ \ \ / \ __ \ | | \ / \ / \ __ \ /\ \ \ \ / | | \ \| | | | \ \|/| |\| | | | | | | \ \ / \ \ \ / / | |_/ /| | | |_/ / | | | |__| | | | | | / /\ \ \ v / | __ < | | | __/ | | | ____ | | | | |/ /__\ \ \ / | | \ \| | | \ | | | | | | | | | | _____/ \/ / | | | || | | \ \ | | | | | | | | | |/ \/ / | | | || | | |\ \ | | | | | | | | | | / /\ | |_/ /| | | | \ \ | | | | | | | |_/ / / /\ \ /____/ /_\ /_\ /__\ /_\ /_\ /_\ /____/ /_/ /__\ _____ _____ ___ ___ \ __ \ /\ / ___ \ \ / \ / | | \ \ / \ / / \_\| | | | | |_/ / / /\ \ \ \_____ | |__| | | __ < / /__\ \ \_____ \| ____ | | | \ \ _____/ \ \ \ | | | | | | |/__ \ \ / / | | | | | | | \ \____\ \___/ /| | | | | |_/ / \______\ \___/ | | | | /____/ /__\ /_\ /_\ H + O + U + R T + H + R + E + E [An animated IIWF logo appears on the screen with several roman candles lit upon each letter -- and then they suddenly explode! The letters shatter and blow in every direction, revealing interior shots of the IIWF Coliseum. The shot pans down past row upon row of excited fans, signs, and paraphernalia being thrown in the air as the last hour of action begins. The camera comes to rest on the broadcast table at ringside, at which are seated Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts. Tim Dross straightens his tie as Steve Roberts is arguing with a fan holding onto a piece of dirty cloth behind him.] TD: Welcome back, folks! Here we are for hour number three of this exciting extravaganza! What a night of action it has been so far, and we have four more incredible matches, not to mention the conclusion of the Meatman Challenge, coming your way over the next sixty minutes. Thousands upon thousands of IIWF fans have crammed into this arena like sardines for the last two hours plus. It sure is something to see, isn't it, Steve...? Steve? Can you hear me, Steve? [Dross turns around to see "Soundbite" hashing it out with a fan waving a vintage Valtharius the Mad loin cloth in his face. Roberts rips the loin cloth away, tosses the filthy crap-encrusted rag on the floor, and wipes his hands quickly.] SR: Of course I can hear you, and I have to tell you that after touching that filthy piece of garbage it is only marginally better than being here at Birthday Bash with you and all these morons! And when you mentioned sardines, it makes me wonder if any of these people ever take baths! TD: Good to see you're still in high spirits, as usual, Steve. SR: Don't try to be funny, Dross. You come across about as funny as a squirrel trapped in a room with Valtharius in heat. And you can guess _who_ the squirrel is, Dross. TD: Thanks, Steve, it's always nice to know you still care. One last thing before the introductions of our next match and we hand it over to our in-the-ring referee Earl Alfonso and his two outside assistants, Chuck Sanders and Joey Patrick. I'm getting something from the locker rooms from Dave Bacon... no, wait, we've been cut off! Darn! SR: Now, isn't _that_ a shame. TD: Steve, let me ask you the question we've been dying to know all night. SR: And what would that be? [sighs in disgust] Again? TD: Just who is going to be the guest referee for the main event? Would you please not keep us in suspense any longer? SR: Look, Dross, if I give you a straight answer, will you leave me alone for the rest of the night? TD: Straight answer? Coming from you? That would be like asking Twisted Sister to compose a masterpiece that would compare to Mozart! But I guess at this point any answer is better than no answer at all. Well? SR: Sinatra. Frank Sinatra is going to be the guest referee! TD: Sinatra! Ol' Blue Eyes himself! Wow! I can't believe... oh, good grief. What on earth kind of answer is that, Steve Roberts? SR: A _straight_ answer -- and Sinatra is straight! Laid out _straight_ in his bed! TD: Folks, this next match is for the IIWF World Tag Team Championship, pitting the champions, Team Sychosys... hang on, what's this? [The lights go black one more time. The crowd pops in anticipation as the Death March begins anew. And Shadoe Rage sweeps out again... he strides with purpose to the ring, climbing in. He stalks the ring, gesturing to it with his arm as he is passed a microphone.] SR: In this ring a legend was born. The legend of the Fury... the Age of the Rage... even the taint of Sychosys was born of the marriage of this ring and the twisted landscape of television. And in this ring we have seen those legends fail... the defeat of Sychosys... the failure of Rage at crucial times... but one legacy tonight remains... and that is the legacy most in jeopardy... that is the legacy of Steve "the Fury" Kowalski... [Huge pop at the champion's name.] SR: That's right... celebrate his accomplishments as the man who withstood every challenge... the man who resisted all punishment... who went deep beyond past the point of pain, beyond the limits of human endurance... and Skullpumped every son of a bitch who ever dared oppose him. [Huge cheer] SR: But people, we must realise that eventually all legends die. Bodies fail. They lose their animation, their religion. Tonight, the legend of the Fury is prepared for failure. We have seen this magnificent son of a bitch beaten to within an inch of his life. We have seen this magnificent son of a bitch suffer setback after setback, humiliation after humiliation and come back to win. At the beginning of this show, I asked you to pray for all of us. Now I ask you... one and all... to pray that the Fury _survives_ this encounter. I beseech you. Bow your heads and pray! [With that, Shadoe Rage sets down the microphone and stalks away, vanishing into the blackness like a wraith. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Oh my, Steve Roberts. Again, Shadoe Rage asking that we pray for Steve "the Fury" Kowalski here tonight. Folks, that huge main event is now right around the corner, but first we have three other championships to worry about, starting with the IIWF World Tag Team titles. This one's going to be chaotic in the extreme... stipulations call for a Lumberjack Match and the title may only change hands on a pinfall or submission only. No count-outs or disqualifications. The ring will be surrounded by twenty fans hand-picked by each team, and each will make sure that the respective teams remain in the ring until the victors have been decided! SR: Better than square dancing, Dross! And here come the square dancers! [Ten men emerge from the back and make their way to ringside area.] TD: Not square dancers Steve, Sychopaths. Would you look at these guys. SR: Looks to me like they've been watching too many reruns of "Riverdance"! TD: We have the Hooded Sychopath lumbering down to ringside followed by Leon. Leon, as you know, took a missile dropkick from Unique Allah himself at Ring Wars 3. SR: Yeah, and with all that fat on him he probably followed down that missile dropkick with a few swallows from a scud missile salad dip. And speaking of dips, here comes that runt, Ricky. Here's a guy that'll give ya the shirt off his back! Just ask Joe! [The three men raise their arms high in the air as a chorus of boos and cheers mix throughout the arena.] TD: Well, look who's with Team Sychosys! It's that clean-cut All-American boy Mike Peplinski from the U.S. Curling Team! And look at the broom he's carrying. SR: He'll be cleaning the arena after the show, Dross. He's the official janitor of the IIWF. TD: He is not, Steve Roberts. And making their way down the aisle are Juan and Juanita! They look to be in pretty good health after that pre-match crowd incident between the Prophets and TS. SR: If your idea of being in good health is being fat like those two tubs of lard, you're going to hate this next guy! Here comes Hakeem, the Congo stiltman! Almost seven feet tall and weighs about as much as his shoe size. TD: He seems to be screaming at some members of the crowd. I can't make out what he's trying to say. SR: Hey! Look who it is! It's Conor McArthur and The Smooth. From what I heard, Maurice wasn't too happy about letting his son participate in this match and hired The Smooth to act as his bodyguard. Well, that makes nine of 'em, Dross. Where's number ten? [Someone is pushed through the curtain and as he turns around Roberts bursts out into laughter.] SR: Hey, isn't that...? It is! It's the bearded suit guy! I thought they packed him off back to California! He doesn't look too happy to be out here, does he, Dross? TD: I would think not since a former suit really doesn't mix well with the other members of Team Sychosys. Well, at least they all know each other from those stupid name-tags they are wearing. All except that hooded moron over there. TD: Let's go to the ring with Sparkplug Lee for the formal introductions. SR: What about the other ten guys, Dross? Where are they at? TD: Maybe Frank Sinatra knows where they're at, Steve? _____ _____ \ __ \ / __ / | | \ \ / / | | | |_/ /----------------------------------------------------------\ \_| | | __ < IIWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP LUMBERJACK MATCH: > __ | | | \ \ Team Sychosys vs. Prophets of Rage / / | | | |_/ /----------------------------------------------------------\ \_| | /____/ WRITER: Patrick Pennington \____\ [In the ring Sparkplug Lee coughs a few times to clear his throat before making his first introductions:] SL: Ladies and gentlemen! The following tag team contest is set for one fall, and is for the IIWF World Tag Team Championshiiiiiiiip!!! [The four posts of the ring ignite in a flurry of pyrotechnics as the crowd gives a huge pop as people jump from their seats to see who is going to come down the aisle first] SL: The following match is under Lumberjack rules and the title _must_ be decided by submission or pinfall! There will be no disqualifications or count-outs! The officials for this match [pointing to each on in turn] will be in-the-ring referee Earl Alfonso and his two outside assistants, Chuck Sanders and Joey Patrick! [The crowd gives a slightly audible cheer for the referees but are becoming impatient as mixed chanting of "PROPHETS! PROPHETS! PROPHETS!" and "T-S! T-S! T-S!" come from the crowd as a huge broken down bus comes driving down the aisle with Prophets' slogans all over it.] SL: First! The challengers, being driven down the aisle in the "Propheciser," at a total combined weight of 563 pounds... Dirt Dog Unique Allah and Derek Rage... THE PROPHETS OF RAAAAAAAAGGGE! ["Prophets of Rage" by Public Enemy blares over the loudspeakers, and the crowd goes absolutely nuts as an unlucky hot dog vendor gets knocked from the aisle into the crowd. The bus comes to a screeching halt as the ten Disciples come pouring from the bus carrying the Dirt Dog and Derek Rage in to the ring.] TD: Would you look at that entrance! Who would believe they would be driving a bus to the ring? SR: The "Partridge Family" comes to mind. [The Disciples flood the ring chanting "Respectable champs! Respectable champs! Show's over, Sychosys!"] TD: The Prophets of Rage have picked an interesting crew of Disciples to say the least, Steve. I recognise Warface and Sledgehammer... and over there is El Super Gecko. SR: And there's the mother of the Partridge Family herself, Venom. She's spitting that green mist into the air again. Makes you wonder if she ever got her rabies shot. And here is a real winner, some idiot wearing a Dirt Dog rubber mask! He's got to be drunk or something -- just look at him stagger. I'm sorry but the Prophets of Rage are the Prophets of Stupidity if they think these ten stack up to Team Sychosys. TD: And rounding out the Disciples is a hick, some Petrow look-a-like, a skinny kid, some guy wearing a cowboy hat and spitting Redman Chewing Tobacco all over the place... and a basketball player. I normally never agree with you Steve, but you may be right with the motley crew the Prophets have chosen tonight. If you look back at these ten people... Whoa! [The lights flicker and suddenly go out as "Final Countdown" by Europe blares throughout the darkness. Suddenly coloured lights from all over shine everywhere, and a small platform begins to descend slowly from the ceiling towards the centre of the ring. Sparkplug Lee begins to speak:] SL: And introducing their opponents, at a total combined weight of 457 pounds, the team of Joe Petrow and "Mr Majestyk" Maurice McArthur... the defending IIWF World Tag Team Champions... TEEEEAM SYYYYYYCHOSYS! [As the song kicks into high gear, the descending platform is shown to be slowly carrying "Sychosys" Joe Petrow and "Mr Majestyk" Maurice McArthur down to the ring. They wear sparkling white studded "TS" jackets that seem to almost outshine the gleaming white World Tag Team belts around their waists.] SR: Dross, great entrance... but why are they holding that stupid stuffed fish above their heads? TD: I have no idea why they are bringing a blue marlin to the ring with them. Maybe your friend Ol' Blue Eyes might know? SR: Would you stop with the Sinatra crap? TD: And it looks as if Team Sychosys just started things off with a double blue marlin drop on the Prophets! [The platform slowly makes its way to about ten feet above the ring as Petrow and McArthur jump and deliver a double blue marlin drop on Sparkplug Lee and The Prophets, who go down to the mat in a heap. While the Prophets try to recover and untangle themselves from the blue marlin and Sparkplug Lee, Team Sychosys strip off their jackets and their belts and toss them to the outside. The platform rises back to the ceiling as Sparkplug Lee makes good his escape to the outside with the help of referee Earl Alfonso. The crowd rises to its feet and screams in excitement as the match is finally underway. The camera cuts back to give a full view of the ring as the Prophets discard the blue marlin to the outside right onto Sparkplug, who falls to the ground with the blue fish on top of him.] SR: I didn't know Sparky was going to wrestle a fish tonight! Did you? It isn't on the card! TD: Steve... oh, never mind! Petrow is right on top of Dirt Dog and slidekicks him in the ribs... right out of the ring onto the floor where the lumberjacks await! SR: Petrow is washed up, Dross. He has to let his lackeys do the work for him. He's nothing but a shadow of what he used to be. Dropping a stuffed fish is not a great way to start a match but looking at him this early on, it's obvious he's lost his edge. TD: You actually made some sense there, Steve. Are you feeling quite all right? SR: Never better, baby dolls. Except for that time with Amy Summers and the maple syrup. TD: Never mind. Sound strategy from Joe Petrow here, making full use of his lumberjacks early on. [Dirt Dog evidently felt the power of the slidekick, wincing as Juan and Juanita start exacting revenge on Dirt Dog's rib cage for the earlier incident. Referees Chuck Sanders and Joey Patrick are having a hard time making their way to the other side of the ring to break up the melee as curler Mike Peplinski trips them with his broomstick. In the ring Derek Rage has made it to his feet only to be met by an ineffective punch from McArthur. Rage quickly counters it and gives Maurice a stabbing eye gouge. McArthur grabs his eyes and tries to clear his vision.] TD: It seems the moment you think McArthur is going to have some momentum, it gets taken away in a flash. And here comes Petrow from behind with a dropkick to the back of Rage's head! Petrow quickly slides out of the ring and allows his partner to take care of business. SR: Yeah, Petrow slid out all right, but right into the waiting arms of that Texas redneck -- who gives Petrow an eyeful! An eye full of chew'n tobacco! Whoo-hoo! TD: I have _NO_ idea how referee Earl Alfonso is going to keep order in this match, but his two helpers, Chuck Sanders and Joey Patrick are nowhere to be seen! SR: Maybe the blue fish pinned them like it pinned Sparkplug? Looks as if Dirt Dog is getting a helping hand from The Hooded Sychopath! [El Super Gecko along with the Texas Redneck grab Joe Petrow and shove him back into the ring while Dirt Dog is getting the same treatment from Leon and Ricky. McArthur grabs Dirt Dog and ties him up in the ropes thanks to some more help from Leon and Ricky. McArthur begins laying boots into the midsection of Dirt Dog as referee Earl Alfonso is frantically looking for his two assistants.] TD: Would you look at what the clean-cut All-American Mike Peplinski is doing to Chuck Sanders?! He has his curling stone raised and is bashing in his face! What an outrage! SR: Looks like Peplinski is going to need a mop after this one and not a broom! WOW! What a slam! Sledgehammer came over and gave Peplinski the you-know-what-for! Peplinski is out cold... and there's a major brawl going on outside the ring between the lumberjacks! TD: This is absolute chaos! Rage has been pulled from the ring by the Hooded Sychopath. The Prophets of Rage have fallen right into the hands of Team Sychosys. This is exactly what Team Sychosys was hoping for, complete anarchy! SR: I couldn't agree with you more, but judging from their match with the Down Boys last week and their self-proclaimed quest to bring back some honour and credibility to the tag team championship, I think they are shooting themselves right in the foot with this match. TD: You know, after all the fruitless challenges Petrow has put up for the IIWF Heavyweight Championship it's no wonder he's cynical and jaded. Just look at what he is doing now. He's leaving the ring! No, wait! [Petrow leaves the ring and retreats to the outside of the melee. He motions over to the Hooded Sychopath and begins talking strategy. Petrow says something to the Hooded Sychopath and gives his own lumberjack a boot to the gut followed by the Bullet Train to Hell on to the concrete floor! Petrow looks to the camera and gives an explanatory comment, "It's for the good of the team!", before telling a group of Sychopaths to "get him ready." Whereupon several of the Sychopaths drop on the Hooded One like vultures, whipping him into the front of the bus sitting at ringside.] TD: HOLY JUMPING MARTHA! What's Petrow doing? He attacked his own man! This makes no sense at all! They're trying to kill the poor man! SR: When does Team Sychosys _EVER_ make sense, Dross? But Petrow has made a grave tactical error. Petrow's team hasn't noticed but Rage is getting back into the ring. Look at this! [McArthur, thinking he has the upper hand, dismisses Leon and Ricky, but not before Leon barks a few orders at McArthur. McArthur smiles self-assuredly and ignores Leon's instructions as he continues kicking Dirt Dog. McArthur doesn't notice Rage coming from behind, sweeping the "Majestyk" one off his feet and hitting him with a tilt-a-whirl piledriver!] TD: Oh my! What a manoeuvre! McArthur never saw that coming! Rage gets up and helps Dirt Dog out of the ropes. What's this?! Referee Earl Alfonso is calling for the bell! SR: What is that idiot Alfonso doing?! This match was just getting interesting! [The lumberjacks and both tag teams back off for a second as Earl Alfonso talks with Sparkplug Lee. The crowd waits in hushed silence as Sparkplug Lee walks to the table and picks up the mic:] SL: Referee Earl Alfonso has declared this match _suspended_ until the lumberjacks leave the area! [Huge pop from the fans, and immediately the lumberjacks begin brawling once more! Lee strains to be heard as he continues his announcement:] SL: If the lumberjacks do not leave the area the tag team belts will be declared vacant! [The crowd gives a huge pop as Maurice McArthur starts stomping up and down in a fit of rage at this decision. Petrow just raises his eyebrows as if he is anything but surprised by this development. The Dirt Dog and Derek Rage glare at Petrow and McArthur as several security guards come down to ringside and help the Hooded Sychopath out of his bonds and escort the rest of the lumberjacks backstage. The two outside referees, Chuck Sanders and Joey Patrick are being helped up the ramp by IIWF officials. Referee Earl Alfonso leans down again to Sparkplug Lee and whispers something to him.] SL: The referee has made a decision that each team will have _ONE_ lumberjack in their corner. [Petrow shakes his head and converses with McArthur. As security herds the lumberjacks up the aisle, the twenty men still attempting to attack one another, two break away from the pack: one is the Hooded Sychopath, who has picked himself up from the front of the broken-down bus, and charges down to ringside to take up his place... in the Prophets' corner! The Hooded Sychopath points defiantly at Petrow as he stands on the arena floor!] TD: What on earth is going on here?! The Hooded Sychopath has returned to ringside... to stand in the corner of the Prophets of Rage! SR: What the hell was Petrow thinking, Dross, beating up his own guy. Crazy, crazy stuff. [The other lumberjack to return to ringside is the staggering loon wearing the Dirt Dog mask, who seems to stumble back to ringside more by accident than by design. He seems to run out of steam as he arrives at the ringsteps in Petrow's corner, and he slumps down against them, exhausted. Petrow and McArthur look down from the ring incredulously at the drunken heap on the arena floor.] TD: Unbelievable! The referee has single-handedly made this a four-on-two match! After Petrow attacks his own lumberjack, the Hooded Sychopath takes his place in his new team's corner! And Petrow and McArthur get one of The Prophets' faithful lumberjacks! SR: This is bad for Sycho Joe, Dross. Inside the ring or outside the ring, Petrow and McArthur are going to get the hell beat out of them! [The Hooded Sychopath takes his place in back of the ring post nearest The Prophets of Rage and crosses his arms. The Dirt Dog-masked Disciple is apparently too inebriated to move any further. As the crowd pops in confusion, Sparkplug makes one last announcement:] SL: Finally, match official Earl Alfonso has decided that if Team Sychosys attempts to throw the match by getting themselves disqualified, they will be stripped of the belts, which will be held up until proper champions can be decided! TD: Oh my! SR: Holy smoke, Dross! What are we feeding these refs nowadays?! I swear I saw Alfonso just grow a set of cajones! Big ones, too! TD: The complexion of this match has just utterly changed, Steve Roberts! [The crowd gives a huge pop as Petrow shakes his head in disgust and McArthur tries to comfort him. Petrow points McArthur to the corner as the referee calls for the bell. Joe Petrow and Derek Rage are about to square off.] TD: What a turn of events! I've haven't seen anything quite like this before. SR: Maybe if All-American Broompusher could have kept his nose clean and left the referees alone, none of this would have happened. I'm sure Team Sychosys is going to have a personal talk with Mike Peplinski after this match, win, lose, or draw! And I am sure they can find a place for that broomstick too! TD: Now's not the time, Steve Roberts. Well, here we go! Petrow and Rage are set to lock up. Petrow moves around and offers a quick hand grapple to Rage. Rage reaches out... and Petrow pulls his hand away and dances about the ring. SR: See? He _HAS_ been watching "Riverdance" reruns! [Petrow gives a butt wiggle but Rage just stares him down. McArthur points to his own head in a gesture of "we're smart!" No amusement shows on Rage's face and the crowd slowly rises to their feet anticipating the lock-up. Petrow circles Rage again, and throws himself against the ropes and attempts a flying dropkick which is quickly batted away by Rage. Petrow is immediately to his feet as the men circle each other once more.] TD: It's going to be hard for Petrow to bring down the 7'2, 300-plus pound Rage, Steve. Rage relies on his strength and power to beat his opponents. Here we go now... a lockup.... and an armdrag take down... BY RAGE! SR: That was strange. Rage actually did something other than hit someone with his hamhock-sized fists! Petrow to his feet now and... WHOA! What a drop kick by Rage! That sent Petrow through the ropes on the Prophets side of the ring. The Hooded Sychopath doesn't look too happy that his former boss is before him on the floor. [Maurice McArthur leans over the ropes and reaches for Rage. Dirt Dog climbs into the ring and rushes McArthur and levels him with a running forearm smash. McArthur falls to the floor.] TD: What a move by Dirt Dog as Petrow staggers for a moment and regains his senses... Petrow sees who is before him! The Hooded Sychopath has pulled out a pair of nunchuku! Petrow moves back as the Dog-Masked Disciple comes from behind him and level him in the lower back and then tosses him in to the ring with Rage. SR: Cheaters! They're all cheating! What a great match! You could have one man in the ring with Earl Alfonso and he could control the match! [Rage picks up Petrow and pushes him into the Prophets corner and tags in Dirt Dog. Rage backs up as the referee tells him to leave the ring. Dirt Dog takes the advantage and gives Petrow a double hand slap to the ears followed by a vicious bite! It looks like McArthur is being helped back to the ring apron by the Dog-Masked Disciple, but gets a forearm to the lower back instead, and he is pushed into the ring.] TD: Steve, I have to say this for Petrow and McArthur, they are not having one of their better nights! Petrow's ear is bleeding! Dirt Dog is continuing to savagely attack Petrow's ear with headbutts and punches! SR: Sorry, Dross, I didn't quite catch that. TD: Gee, aren't you just the barrel of laughs, Steve Roberts. [Rage remains in the ring and picks up McArthur and lifts him up for a bodyslam. Rage walks to his own corner and tosses McArthur to the Hooded Sychopath. Rage quickly follows as Dirt Dog presses the attack on Petrow by stomping on the side of his head. Blood is flowing freely as Petrow tries to fight back, but just can't seem to get his balance. Finally, he manages to get to his own corner and looks to make a tag... but McArthur isn't there! Dirt Dog continues to give boots to Petrow's bloodied skull. The referee moves in and starts a five count on Dirt Dog since Petrow is in the ropes.] SR: Dirt Dog is getting his money's worth in this match. Petrow will look like a victim of Mike Tyson after this one is said and done! TD: Team Sychosys is on the verge of defeat, Steve. With Dirt Dog wor... oh my! Look at this! The Hooded Sychopath is beating on Derek Rage with his nunchukus! Rage is down! SR: Serves Rage right for double-teaming on that poor McArthur sod! McArthur is up and is helping The Hooded Sy... oh [BLEEP]! [Huge pop! The crowd absolutely erupts as the Hooded Sychopath removes his hood and mask, to reveal...] TD: The "Enigma" Takezo Musashi! Oh my! Musashi is the Hooded Sychopath! SR: What a turnaround, Dross! Petrow had this planned right from the start! He's not lost his edge at all! TD: This is... well, this is crazy stuff, Steve Roberts. Apparently Joe Petrow deliberately had Musashi take the Prophets' side. The Dog-Masked Disciple pulls Petrow down as Earl Alfonso tries to break things up in the corner. [Earl Alfonso tries to break up Dirt Dog from the downed Joe Petrow in the corner, and gets knocked under the chin for his trouble when Petrow tries to stand up. Alfonso hits the mat like a sack of potatoes. Petrow reaches up in desperation and gives Dirt Dog a quick eye gouge, before falling on his own butt, trying to regain his balance as he covers his bleeding ear.] TD: Petrow's balance is clearly upset by that injury to his ear, Steve Roberts. He's going nowhere in there. SR: McArthur and Musashi are laying into Rage! I smell a victory here! Now they're putting Rage into the ring. TD: Petrow is still down in the ring... and now McArthur is going up top! Musashi is holding Derek Rage's feet down on the canvas! Oh my! [Huge pop! As McArthur jumps from the ropes to splash onto Rage... ...Musashi pulls Rage out of the way. Referee Earl Alfonso is starting to regain his senses, but not before Musashi climbs to the top ropes and performs a somersault dive onto McArthur!] SR: WHAT THE _HELL_ IS GOING ON?! I thought Sushi-boy was helping Team Sychosys?! Why did he do that? [The fans in the ringside stands are on their feet as Musashi continues to stomp away at McArthur, Petrow fighting to regain his footing in the corner, one hand cupped to his bleeding ear. The fans begin to pelt the ring with garbage.] TD: This match is turning into as big a mystery as the guest referee later tonight! Dirt Dog is kicking Petrow out of the ring to the Dog-Masked Disciple. Musashi rolls out of the ring as Dirt Dog grabs McArthur... He's setting him up for the... he has it! Unique Allah has applied the Pretzel Lock! [Dirt Dog applies a double grapevined leg lock and bridges his back to add a reverse chinlock and crossface. McArthur cries out in extreme pain!] TD: This is a devastating hold, Steve Roberts! I don't believe Maurice McArthur can sustain this for long! [The Dog-Masked Disciple kicks Petrow once for good measure and goes to assist Derek Rage from the floor. McArthur struggles in the Pretzel Lock. Earl Alfonso groggily crawls over to McArthur and asks for the submission. McArthur yells out, "NO!" The crowd is on its feet, screaming in a frenzy. Derek Rage drags Joe Petrow out of the ring and swings at him with a clothesline. Petrow ducks, and lashes out with a kick, doubling Derek over. Petrow moves quickly, drilling Derek into the arena floor with a DDT! Petrow turns back to the ring, desperate to break the hold his partner is trapped in.] TD: Petrow has to get in there! McArthur is going nowhere, and I don't think he can last much longer! [Again, Alfonso asks for the submission. Again, McArthur yells out, "NO!" Petrow, blood running from the side of his head, rolls under the bottom rope... only to be dragged back out of the ring by the Dog-Faced Disciple, who hits a vicious scissor kick to the back of Petrow's head, driving him down to the arena floor!] TD: Oh my goodness! What a kick from that Disciple! Petrow is down, and McArthur is fading in there! SR: Give up, Maurice! Damn it, Dross, he's going to pass out in there! TD: You have to admire McArthur's determination, Steve. He doesn't want to be the one responsible for Team Sychosys losing the tag team titles. This crowd is absolutely beside itself here! [Now both the Dog-Masked Disciple and Musashi stomp away on Petrow on the arena floor, while McArthur remains trapped in the Pretzel Lock in the ring, the Dirt Dog wrenching away for all he's worth on the "Majestyk" one's arms and legs. Once more, Alfonso asks for the submission. Once more, McArthur, his eyes lolling back in their sockets, attempts to shake his head.] TD: Oh, this is bad. McArthur's too weak to speak in there, Steve Roberts. The pain must be unbearable... but Maurice simply will not give up! SR: He may not have a choice, Dross. He's this far from passing out in there! [Petrow lashes out with a leg, and catches Musashi in the lower abdominal region, sending him clattering backwards into the steel crowd barriers. Petrow rolls to his knees, and ducks another kick from the Dog-Masked Disciple. Petrow lunges at the Disciple, catching him with a shoulder-tackle to the mid-section, and ramming his head hard into the steel ringsteps. The Dog-Masked Disciple is stunned, and Petrow drags himself to his feet once more.] SR: Get in there, Petrow! Get in there now, or it's all over! TD: Earl Alfonso checking on McArthur... I don't think there's any movement there, Steve Roberts! I think McArthur is out! [Petrow rolls into the ring just as Earl Alfonso stands and waves to the timekeeper to ring the bell! Ding! Ding! Ding! The already wild crowd goes absolutely crazy as Petrow blasts the Dirt Dog with a kick to break the hold just a moment too late.] TD: Unbelievable! Absolutely unbelievable! [Petrow leans over McArthur, shaking his head, as the Dirt Dog shrugs off the effects of the kick, leaping to his feet and rolling from the ring, rushing around to Derek Rage, who has picked himself up on the outside.] TD: I don't think Maurice McArthur quit, Steve Roberts. Let's get the official word. SL: The referee has ruled that "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice McArthur is unable to continue in this match. Therefore, your winners, as the result of a submission... ...and _NEW_ IIWF World Tag Team Champions... [The rest of Sparkplug Lee's announcement is threatened with being drowned out by the mixed response from the capacity crowd in the Coliseum.] SL: ...the Dirt Dog Unique Allah and Derek Rage... the PROPHETS OF RAGE! [The belts are handed to the Dirt Dog and Derek Rage as they hug each other, holding up the belts to the screaming crowd.] TD: What scenes here! We have chaos around the ring as the Disciples return to ringside -- the Prophets of Rage have captured their second IIWF World Tag Team Championship... and in the ring are the fallen former champions. [Indeed, Petrow sits in the ring, still shaking his head over the semi-conscious form of McArthur, the two men isolated in the squared circle like a tiny island of calm in an ocean of chaos. The Disciples now crowd around the ring, plenty of back-slapping and congratulation going on, ringside fans attempting to leap the barriers but being held back by security officials.] TD: Blood, sweat and tears, Steve... blood, sweat and tears! That's what was shed here tonight! SR: Where did Sushi-Boy go? One minute he's grating his head against the steel barriers, the next he's gone! TD: I have no idea, Steve Roberts, but the Dog-Masked Disciple is coming to here on the outside as Petrow berates McArthur. Petrow has no idea that the Dog-Masked Dis... oh my. [Even amidst the chaos, the fans give a huge, huge pop as the Dog-Masked Disciple pulls himself to his feet, and rips off the Dirt Dog Unique Allah rubber mask he has worn throughout the match, to reveal...] TD: Oh my. It's TIGER CLAW! It's TIGER CLAW! SR: Holy smoke, Dross! First the Hooded Sychopath turns out to be Musashi, and now this drunken loon turns out to be Musashi's mortal enemy, Tiger Claw! TD: And Claw is in the ring! Claw attacking Joe Petrow! Oh my! We need some help out here! This is carnage! SR: You're so right, Dross. Carnage at its best! Looks as if Tiger Claw has something to say... [Claw, one eye covered by a thick bandage, and his body bearing the marks of his earlier match with Musashi, blasts another kick to the bloodied head of Petrow, before calling for the mic and grabbing it when tossed into the ring. Claw stalks back over to Petrow, pulls him up by the hair and speaks...] TC: Nah... I'm the chemotherapy. [Tiger Claw drops the mic and walks out of the ring. The crowd is in its feet chanting, "YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT!" as he disappears backstage.] TD: Oh my, Steve Roberts! Tiger Claw was attacked by Petrow last week after "Sychosys" took exception to some comments made by the returning legend about a "cancer" eating away at the IIWF. Petrow considered Claw himself to be that cancer... but the Canadian hasn't taken kindly to that at all! [Petrow clutches at his head once more as he pulls himself back to his knees next to the still-prone form of Maurice McArthur. Halfway up th aisle, away from all the crazy celebrations at ringside, the bus door opens...] SR: Hey, look! Guess one of the Partridge Family made here after all! Someone is getting off the bus! God, I hope it's not Keith... I hate that song, "I think I love you"... Blech... TD: I guess you have some taste after all, Steve. I don't like that song much either. But it isn't Keith Partridge... that is The "Enigma" Takezo Musashi getting out of the bus -- and he doesn't look too happy. SR: You know, this just isn't Petrow's day. I wonder if he'll be awake enough to eat some birthday cake after the Bash tonight? ["Enigma" Takezo Musashi climbs into the ring with a calm look on his face and picks up the mic. The fans give a huge heel pop as Musashi stands above Petrow, who tries to fight to his feet, his bleeding ear still preventing him from balancing properly.] TM: Happy Birthday, Petrow-San! [As Petrow pulls himself to his feet, Musashi tosses the microphone aside, pulling his nunchuku from his belt and beginning an absolutely brutal assault on Petrow's head! Petrow attempts to cover himself up but to no avail, as he is being beaten within an inch of his life. The groggy Maurice McArthur stands up from behind Musashi and is about to hit him when Musashi hushes the roaring crowd with a huge mule kick that resounds throughout the arena. McArthur drops back the to the mat, apparently unconscious.] TD: Oh my! This is terrible! Musashi is going to kill these men if someone doesn't do something about this! SR: There's too many damned morons out here at ringside! Nobody can get into the ring to help! [IIWF officials rush to the ring, slowed down by the on-going celebrations of the Disciples. The Prophets themselves slip into the stands and walk over the rows of seats, fans scattering out of their path as they go, belts held high, a trail of Disciples struggling to follow behind. Finally the officials and security staff attempt to besiege the ring, but Musashi holds them off with a display of masterful manual dexterity and he works the nunchuku into the familiar "double rice cropping" kata. He strikes Petrow one more time in the head and drops his nunchuku on Sychosys' chest before picking up the mic. He stands over his fallen and bloodied foe and speaks:] TM: How I have waited in contained anticipation! How I have longed for this moment of triumph! You don't know nearly how much, Joe Petrow, but perhaps now, when you are beaten down before me like a crippled dog, you can begin to guess. Maybe you thought all the trouble that went down between us in the past had been forgotten, or perhaps you are merely an idiot as well as a madman. You placed your trust in me, asked me to stand by your side as a kindred spirit, allies to the end... and now I've kicked it all right back in your face. Believe me, Joe, I remember well the days when I tried to take the fight to you, tried to make something stick when my career was faltering in the dust, and you, the next big star on the horizon.... you barely deemed me worthy! You laughed at me, manipulated me, sometimes downright ignored me. You didn't think I was worth your while, did you, Joe Petrow? It almost makes me shudder to think back to those days, to how confused and lost I was, to the pathetic depths I had sunk. But now, my heart throbs with a new found strength, a new ruthlessness and valour. Now, I am the master. And that is the real reason for your sudden interest, is it not, Joe? That is the real reason you walked up to me in the locker room, slapped me on the shoulder and said "Let's band together, you and I, under the banner of Team Sychosys. The things we can accomplish together, you and I! We shall be brothers to the end!" And I marvelled at your change of heart, and mistrusted it, and knew even then, that your only motivation was born of fear. You saw how strong I had become, Joe Petrow! You saw the ruthless, reckless force that was enveloping the IIWF, and you knew it was threatening your whole world! Out of fear, you tried to win me over to your team and make me another lackey, like that lowly worm who even now grovels on the canvas at your side. But I accepted your hand of friendship, Joe, all the while knowing that soon I would find the perfect moment to bury the knife in to the hilt, twisting it deep in your innards while your eyes burned with agony. For I have caught you at your weakest ebb! No longer is the name "Sychosys" spoken with fear. Now, you are nothing but the IIWF's resident comedy act. The dark violence that once thrived in your soul has faded, and even your lapdog yanks at his leash. You're finished Joe Petrow. Now, I am the man to fear in the IIWF. I am the one who stirs up the controversy, the violence, and the blood. But unlike you, Joe, I won't fail in my quest. I will not hesitate, or be distracted and stray from my path for even a second. When this night is over, the great golden strap will be in the hands of Steve Kowalski or Serge Annis, but in either case, only for the briefest of moments. The World's heavyweight championship _will_ be mine, and all of the IIWF shall bow down before me in fear! [The crowd are jeering loudly, pelting the ring with garbage once more. Petrow moves to stir on the mat, but he is quickly halted by a further kick to the head from Musashi, who raises the microphone once more as he stands over Petrow again:] TM: And you, Joe Petrow, will be left to bitterly contemplate your fate, your career faded into tatters, ruing the day that you ever dared to take the Enigma lightly, or deny him his rightful destiny. I curse you Joe Petrow... curse at you and laugh at you even as I stand towering above you, as your better... as your master. From this day forth, Joe Petrow, you are nothing but an example of the Enigma's strength, and your future is forfeit. I have spoken, and as always, my words are sealed with blood. [Musashi throws down the mic and departs from the ring to deafening heel jeers from the crowd. Pop cans, bags of popcorn, and cups are being thrown at Musashi as he leaves the arena. The sneers, hisses, and boos are overwhelming.] TD: This is not how a championship reign should end for a team like Team Sychosys. The blatant double-cross of all involved is absolutely disgusting! SR: You know, Dross, I was right. [An EMT team enters the ring to assist Petrow from the ring, and place the unconscious form of Maurice McArthur onto a stretcher. Several mat-boys climb into the ring with wet rags to quickly clean up before the next match.] TD: Right about what, Steve? SR: Yeah... just like I thought... TD: Thought about what?! SR: Petrow won't be eating any birthday cake! TD: You are one sick individual, Steve Roberts. Folks, I don't even know where to begin to describe what we have just seen. The bottom line is that we have new IIWF World Tag Team Champions in the Prophets of Rage, and a very, very interesting scenario apparently emerging involving Joe Petrow, Takezo Musashi, and Tiger Claw. SR: A real mènage a trois, Dross. Actually, I had a mènage a trois once. TD: I don't want to know. Folks, in just a few moments, we'll be heading for our second championship match of the evening, the Cruiserweight crown on the line as Icehawk defends against Derek Mota. Right now, however, it's time to go back over to Larry Morton in California for the final stage of the Meatman Challenge. Larry? [A caption in the corner of the screen reads, "Emeryville, California." The camera fades in to the pen. Two wolves have disappeared, and three of the wolves are just lying on the ground, unable to move. The last wolf is trying to attack Valtharius. He leaps up, only to be caught in a bearhug by the monstrous Italian... and then thrown to the ground, where Jimmy "Meatman" Steele drops an elbow on the wolf.] LM: Tim, Steve, welcome back. I talked to an "official" of Dexter's little S.P.C.A. group. They said that even though Dexter has disappeared... probably for good... he left specific instructions to them. Apparently, when the wolves are finished for good... and I guess they are now... Jimmy Steele and Valtharius are to be given garrottes. Basically, right over the fence is the Meat Strap, and whoever grabs the strap first wins the match. SR: You mean, after needing to help each other out for the last twenty minutes to get by those wolves, they have to beat each other's brains in to win the match? LM: I think so, Steve. SR: Cool. [One of the SPCA tosses in the two garrottes into the pen. Jimmy Steele bends down and grabs the garrottes first. He wraps one around his hand... then hands the other to Valtharius, who does the same thing.] JS: GILBREATH! V: VALTHARIUS WANT BAD MAN! VALTHARUS HURT BAD MAN! TD: Neither one knows that Dexter Gilbreath has been taken by the Cultists. SR: They both want to kill him so badly they aren't even worried about the Meat Strap... or the fifty grand. TD: I don't think Valtharius cares about money. SR: Maybe not, but he could use the snack. [Karachel appears out of nowhere and walks over towards Valtharius. He bends the monster's head towards him and begins whispering in his ear. Steele figures out that Gilbreath is nowhere nearby and heads over to the fence. His wounded leg is bleeding and causing him to limp, but he has a large head start of Valtharius.] LM: Once Jimmy Steele hops the fence, all he has to do is head over to the table and grab that strap to win the match... TD: What strap, Larry? LM: The Meat Strap, right over on that table... [Larry's voice trails as he points over to the table, which is now empty.] But... the Meat Strap was right there! [Steele manages to get on the other side of the fence, and is hopping over towards the table. He is about halfway there when he realises that the prize isn't on the table. He looks around. Over by the audience is the fourth cult member, holding on to the belt in his hands. Steele gives an enraged yell and starts to limp over to the Cultist... ...only to be clotheslined by Valtharius.] SR: Finally! An actual fight between two human beings in this challenge. It's about time. [Valtharius picks up Jimmy Steele and throws him into the fence. Valtharius begins to choke Steele, but Steele begins hitting Valtharius in the ribs to force a release, then picks up the seven foot monster and hotshots him on the fence. Steele starts to head towards the cultist, but his limp makes it easy for the Cultist to hop into the crowd and start to disappear among the people. Steele slowly steps over the line separating the wrestlers from the crowd, and begins to head towards the cultist.] TD: Someone better stop the Meatman. He's right into the crowd, and we don't have our normal security out there. SR: Translation: we could get sued badly. TD: Yes, we could. SR: Don't worry -- here comes Val. I'm sure he can calm things down. [Valtharius lets out a yell and begins to run after the Meatman. Steele turns around as Valtharius climbs over the guard-rail and tackles the massive gladiator. Both men begin exchanging fists and punches. None of the crowd dare approach the wrestlers, despite their exhausted state. Steele takes advantage when he begins biting Valtharius, opening another wound on the man.] SR: The Meatman's getting his protein! LM: This so-called "match" won't end until someone gets the Meat Strap. If that cultist disappeared, this match could go on forever. Or until one of them is dead. SR: Or both. [Valtharius is blinded as the blood from the Meatman's bite flows into his eyes, and Steele begins hammering him with forearm shots. Steele is having a hard time delivering his shots, but Valtharius is having a harder time blocking them. The seven footer falls to his knees after a shot to the solar plexus, and Steele takes advantage of the position by putting the monster's head between his knees and picking him up...] LM: The Meatman just hit a drove Valtharius into the ground with a piledriver! The monster is down. And Steele starts stumbling around, searching for the cultist. [Steele, though, is still limping badly. He looks around for the cultist, and the fans help out by pointing him out at the end of a row. The cultist is surrounded by pro-Meatman fans and is unable to escape the approaching Meatman... ...who is tackled from behind by Valtharius. Valtharius picks up the Meatman and starts screaming "VALTHARIUS TURN NOW! VALTHARIUS PLAY WITH MEATMAN!" and headbutts the Meatman once... twice... thrice... four times... then bites the Meatman in the face, drawing blood and giving the Meatman a matching scar on his face to Valtharius' own.] TD: Valtharius is setting him up... [Valtharius bends back Steele's arm, and the Meatman is unable to defend himself as Valtharius rears back and punches him right into the chest.] LM: The Gladiator Heartpunch! The Meatman is finished! [Valtharius doesn't let go, and hits the Meatman with the Gladiator Heartpunch again... and again... and again.] TD: The Meatman is out on his feet, but Valtharius keeps hitting him with that devastating heart punch! SR: No! Karachel, get in there. Don't have Valtharius kill the Meatman. LM: This is a no-DQ match. They can't stop the match at all. [No one dares try to stop the seven-foot monster as he hits the Meatman for the eighth time. Finally, Karachel appears. He whispers something to Valtharius. Valtharius nods his head, then releases the Meatman, who collapses on the ground. The cultist now approaches Valtharius, and holds out the Meat Strap. Valtharius reaches out and grabs the belt.] LM: It's over. Thank God, it's over. [The EMTs, who had been ordered away during the Challenge, now come up with stretchers and begin checking out the Meatman. They also try to approach Valtharius, but one look from the monster tells them not to. Valtharius, meanwhile, is trying to eat the Meat Strap.] LM: Guys, it's official: Valtharius wins the first Meatman Challenge. I'm going to try and see how both men are. [Larry Morton starts walking away from the announcer's spot and heads over to the wrestlers. Each wrestler is on one of the large screens; Jimmy Steele being examined by the EMTs, while Valtharius hugging the Meat Strap, with Karachel by his side.] LM: Both men suffered far more than what you should expect from a wrestling match. I can't believe either man is alive. But it looks like they are not only alive, but both are conscious. [The camera pans over to the ground, where two EMTs are examining Jimmy "The Meatman" Steele. Jimmy has his eyes open, and appears to be answering their questions. When he spots Larry, he weakly waves Morton over towards him.] LM: May I speak to him? [Getting a nod from the EMTs] Jim Steele, you've been drugged, caged, beaten, electrocuted, wrapped in plastic, frozen, and partially eaten by wolves. What are your thoughts? JS: I... never knew Gilbreath had such a hatred of me, of the industry. I am lucky to be alive. I thank my fans. I'm sorry for what happened here today. As for Valtharius... he saved my life... but he also tried to kill me back there. LM: Did you know any of this would occur? Did you have any indication at all? JS: I knew it would be hard. I knew it would be... brutal. But I never knew... it would be fun. TD: FUN?! SR: Hey, everyone's got a hobby. [Larry, meanwhile, heads over to the winner of the match.] LM: And you, Valtharius. You too have been drugged and beaten. How do you feel after this match with Jimmy "the Meatman" Steele? [Valtharius slowly looks up and grabs Larry Morton by the throat with unusual speed. Valtharius brings Morton close to his face and sniffs him and winces, then drops him.] VTM: ME HAVE FUN BUT ME VALTHARIUS WANT GO HOME!!! MASTER MUCH MEANER!!! DUMB DOGS TRY PLAY VALTHARIUS BUT ME WANTED PLAY WITH MEATHEAD!!! ME LIKE THAT BETTER!!! [The EMTs want to carry the Meatman on a stretcher into the hospital, but he insists on walking to the ambulance. They try to convince Valtharius to be checked out, but think better of it. The monster starts to head out on the road, still hugging his prized Meat Strap. He passes a sign that indicates the direction to Portland from Highway 101. Slowly, a chant arises from the crowd.] Crowd: MEAT! MEAT! MEAT! MEAT! MEAT! MEAT! [From the road, Valtharius turns around and screams incoherently, shutting up the crowd. Larry Morton gets to his feet, brushes off his suit, and adjusts his collar.] LM: I have to say this about Karachel's pet beast: he takes a licking and keeps on ticking. I wonder what's in store for the people of North bend/Coos Bay as he walks Highway 101 through their fair cities on his way back to Portland? I guess we'll have to wait and find out. Back to you, Tim and Steve. [With Valtharius safely out of sight and the ambulance carrying Steele carting off toward the hospital, the "MEAT! MEAT! MEAT!" chant starts up again, with the sight of a thousand people chanting in unison and raising their fists in the air. The camera fades back to the IIWF Coliseum.] TD: Well, once again, Steve Roberts, I am left speechless by the events of this event. SR: I swear this place just gets weirder and weirder. TD: Folks, we've got three more great matches coming up for you here tonight, and up next is the battle for the IIWF Cruiserweight Championship. Icehawk has yet to make a truly convincing defence of the belt he won at Ring Wars 5 from the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi in a stunning cage match, and he needs to defeat Derek Mota here tonight to silence his critics. But Mota has been resurgent in recent weeks, having his name engraved onto the title belt, and he's shown himself more than able to get under Icehawk's skin. The only question mark is concerning his nagging ankle injury: will Mota be able to compete with Icehawk in the air? Let's go up to the ring and find out! _____ _____ \ __ \ / __ / | | \ \ / / | | | |_/ /----------------------------------------------------------\ \_| | | __ < IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: > __ | | | \ \ Icehawk vs. Derek Mota / / | | | |_/ /----------------------------------------------------------\ \_| | /____/ WRITER: Chris O'Brien \____\ [Dave D'Amato waits in the ring as Sparkplug Lee climbs the ring steps. The ring announcers steps through the ropes and makes it to the center of the ring without mishap, hazard, or injury. Just as everyone waits to see if Sparkplug can pull it off without mishap, Lee reaches into his tux...and pulls out the mic. He reaches in...and pulls out the cards. He speaks...into the cards, while looking at the mic.] SL: ladies... men... ontes... [Lee realises his mistake, and quickly remedies the situation.] SL: Ahem. Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is set for one fall, and it is for the IIWF World Cruiserweight title! [HUGE pop from the IIWF faithful] TD: We all know what happened the last time the IIWF had a Cruiserweight title match on PPV, and folks, this one might just have the potential to surpass that one, as wild as it was! SL: Introducing first! Being accompanied to the ring by "To Excess" Rick Williams! Hailing from Toronto, Ontario, in the Dominion of Canada! He weighs in tonight at 224 pounds. One half of the Coalition, ladies and gentlemen...DEREK MOTA! ["The Great Southern Trendkill" by Pantera plays over the PA as the fans respond with a great level of heel heat. Rick Williams steps out first, his arm bound from his earlier match with Steve Sampson, staring at the jeering throng with an obvious level of dismay. The camera zooms in on him as he pulls a stick of gum from his pocket, unwrapping it and sticking it in his mouth. Chewing loudly, he wads up the wrapper and sends it into the crowd, before turning around and looking at the curtain, as Derek Mota steps out.] SR: The Soundbite can't feel the love any more, but that's okay, because the "Heatseeker's" in the house, baby dolls! [Mota comes out to a HUGE round of jeers, which are all but ignored by the young Canadian, who slaps hands with Williams before turning to make his way to the ring, "To Excess" following. Mota is wearing long black wrestling tights, with "MOTA" written down the sides of both legs. Mota makes his way down the aisle with indifference, occasionally brushing his long black hair away from his face. As in the past couple of weeks, Mota limps slightly, favouring his ankle. Williams jaws with a few fans as Mota climbs into the ring.] TD: What a great night so far, fans, and we've still got the main event! SR: I know who the referee is, Dross! TD: I know I shouldn't ask... SR: Come on, Dross! TD: ...who, Steve Roberts? SR: It's none other than... "DIAMONDBACK" CHRIS MYERS! TD: Who? SR: I don't know either. Apparently he's the signing coup of the year, though. TD: I have heard, honestly, that there has been a huge round of light heavyweight signings, and that when we come back from our short break, we'll have some of the best cruiserweights in the sport! SR: Let me guess. You've got names... but you can't mention them here. TD: Nope. Gotta call the hotline. SR: Hype, Dross, hype! SL: And his opponent... [Mota waits in the far corner, as "Olympic Fanfare" plays, the fans leaping to their feet, arms raised, cheers echoing throughout the confines of the IIWF Coliseum.] SL: ...from Oulo, Finland! Weighing in at 220 pounds, here is the reigning IIWF Cruiserweight champion of the world... ladies and gentlemen, THIS IS...ICEHAWK! [Icehawk steps out to a loud face POP, the fans cheering their heads off. Icehawk wears his mask and cape, both with the blue Finnish cross on them. Around his waist is the IIWF Cruiserweight belt, the gold plates resting on a blue leather belt. Icehawk begins slapping hands with the fans, reaching back to shake with those who can't reach the aisle.] TD: This young man has come a long way, Steve Roberts. SR: Yeah, Finland is pretty far. TD: Steve... SR: [singing] # Finland, Finland, Finland, the country where I want to be... # TD: Is that going on your new album? SR: Bite me, Dross. [Mota and Williams watch as Icehawk makes a circuit of the ringside area, shaking hands with as many fans as he can. After a minute, Icehawk climbs up on the apron, vaulting over the top rope. He makes his way to the centre of the ring, and salutes the fans as the lights drop, and blue flares erupt from the ringposts, exciting the fans even more] TD: What an entrance for the Cruiserweight champ! [As the lights come back up, the crowd gasps, as Derek Mota is all over Icehawk! D'Amato calls for the bell as Mota spins Icehawk around and nails him in the face!] TD: Mota off and running in this match-up! He's turned that mask around, and is pummelling Icehawk in the stomach! SR: Come on, you spunky punk! [Mota continues lashing out as he drives Icehawk to the ropes with a series of knife-edge chops. Mota whips Icehawk across the ring, and hits a kneelift as Icehawk bounds back! Icehawk flips over and slams into the mat as Rick Williams applauds outside the ring] TD: Icehawk finally getting that mask off, but Mota's still on him, chopping away at Icehawk's neck! [Icehawk holds at his neck, before Mota with a dropkick to the softened neck! Icehawk's face twists in agony, the look caught on camera as Mota picks Icehawk up.] TD: Derek Mota with all the offence so far, as he sends Icehawk for the ride... Icehawk ducks a Mota clothesline...and he comes off with a spinning heel kick! [Mota catches the full brunt of the kick in the chin, dropping like a stone to the mat. Icehawk takes the opportunity to remove his white cape and throws it out of the ring. Mota gets back to his feet, only to be on the receiving end of a forearm smash from the champ. Mota staggers back, and Icehawk nails a vicious dropkick to the ankle of Derek Mota, causing him to fall backwards howling, holding his ankle] TD: Icehawk going to work on that ankle of Derek Mota that's been injured for the past several months! SR: Mota's screaming like a schoolgirl! And the Finnish fag's not stopping at that! [Icehawk bounds off the ropes, and leaps straight up in the air, aiming for the ankle, but Mota slides away, leaving Icehawk to slam into the mat! The crowd boos somewhat when Mota stands up and kicks Icehawk in the ribs. Icehawk rolls over, holding his ribs, drawing up to his hands and knees. He doesn't notice Derek Mota climbing to the outside apron, holding onto the ring ropes] TD: Mota slingshots himself back in with a legdrop, and he brings it down on Icehawk's neck? SR: Wasn't that Mota's injured ankle? TD: Maybe, but Mota with a cover! D'Amato counts... one... two... kick out by Icehawk! SR: Come on, hook that leg, Derek! Don't be afraid to reach around down there, Icehawk likes it that way! [Mota now drops with a chinlock on Icehawk, as Rick Williams screams taunts to the champion from the outside. Icehawk twists around to try to relieve the pressure as Mota gets back to his feet, before switching around and grabbing a hold of Icehawk's tights! Mota lifts Icehawk straight up in the air, holding him up as the fans look on, before dropping back and bringing Icehawk down with a bone-jarring suplex!] SR: Did you see Icehawk bounce? TD: Mota with a nice suplex on Icehawk, as now Derek Mota with an elbowdrop! [Mota stands up and looks out at the crowd, who responds with a hearty round of boos. Williams alone screams encouragement, cheering his partner on with words of praise. Mota grabs Icehawk...] TD: Icehawk with a fist to the stomach of Mota! Mota backs off, and Icehawk springs to his feet... Russian Leg Sweep! Icehawk swept the ankle of Derek Mota out from under him! [It's Icehawk's turn to pull Mota up, as he sets Mota up, shoving his head between his legs...] SR: FAG! [...before Mota is hoisted up into the air by Icehawk, and is brought back down the hard way via a Icehawk powerbomb, Icehawk driving down with the challenger. The crowd roars as Icehawk holds on to the legs in a pin combination!] TD: What a move by the champ, as Icehawk covers! We have one... two... and Mota kicks out just in the nick of time! SR: Did you see Icehawk try to force Mota to suc... TD: Don't finish that sentence! SR: I can't help it! I was right all these years! [Icehawk sends Mota to the ropes...but Mota holds on and reverses the Irish whip, only to have Icehawk re-reverse! Mota off the ropes into an Icehawk hiptoss, Icehawk lifting Mota high into the air and letting gravity take care of the rest! Mota crashes down as Icehawk looks over the crowd, raising his fists as the fans roar for Icehawk] TD: Mota down on the mat after a high-impact toss. SR: Yawn! This match sucks. TD: Steve! This has been a great back and forth match! SR: No blood. That's all there is, and there ain't no more. [Icehawk goes to the ropes...only to have Rick Williams grab his ankle on the outside, tripping him up! Icehawk immediately bounds back up and begins screaming at Williams.] SR: Oh, this is a set-up... yep! Mota with a kick to the back of Icehawk's head! TD: That injury to Mota's ankle must not be bothering him as much as we thought it might. He's been fine all night long, using it for all kinds of moves. [Mota grabs Icehawk's legs, and looks out at the crowd, before jumping up and coming back down, driving a leg into the abdomen of Icehawk! Icehawk immediately screams and holds his lower abdomen as Mota gets up, a thin smile on his face. Derek Mota draws up to his full height, and begins windmilling a fist as Icehawk struggles to get to his feet.] TD: Oh, please. Mota's treating this like a joke! SR: It's all a joke, Dross, especially when the cruiserweights are involved. [Icehawk stands up as Mota makes to hit him with that windmilling fist... but Icehawk hits first, kicking Mota in the ankle!] TD: Mota clocks Icehawk! By all rights, Mota should be holding his ankle in pain...wait a minute... [Mota stands up, a grin on his face, as he now steps outside the ring onto the apron and climbs up top. The fans boo loudly as Mota perches himself on the top turnbuckle, arms raised, before coming off with a guillotine legdrop across the neck of Icehawk!] TD: It's a fake! Mota's ankle isn't injured at all! SR: He's fooled us for the past few months! I love it! That little sneak! You gotta love that crazy little Canadian bastard, Dross. [Mota picks Icehawk up and puts him in a headlock, grinding Icehawk's head, before getting a running start and charging the turnbuckles, running up them and hiptossing Icehawk! The crowd boos even louder as the fraud is apparent. Williams has a look of mock shock on his face, and the ring mics pick him up:] RW: It's a miracle! Praise God! [Mota covers Icehawk, and Dave D'Amato counts two before Icehawk gets a shoulder up! Disgusted, Mota pulls Icehawk up by his hair and simply hurls him over the top rope! Icehawk flies and falls into the ringside mats as D'Amato admonishes Derek Mota.] TD: Look out! Rick Williams has a chair! SR: Oh, please, blood, be blood! [Williams winds up, and brings the chair around with a loud CRACK! Icehawk slumps to the ground as Williams tosses the chair down and backs off] TD: Williams assaulted the Cruiserweight champion on the outside! SR: _Now_ we're talking! [Mota pushes D'Amato away, climbing out onto the ring apron, as Icehawk crouches on the ground, holding his head. Mota backs up all the way to the ringpost, getting a good running start...flashbulbs POP as Mota comes off the apron with a Shooting Star Press... ...CLANG!] TD: Icehawk grabbed the chair Williams dropped and hit Derek Mota in the middle of that Shooting Star Press! SR: I didn't know he had it in him! TD: Derek Mota is down and out! [Icehawk picks up Mota, and bodyslams him on the ringside mats! Icehawk picks his foe back up and sends him into the ringside apron! The ringside fans cheer loudly...but that turns to jeers as Rick Williams attacks Icehawk!] TD: Rick Williams buys his partner time! He and Icehawk are trading blows... and Mota now joins the fray! The Coalition tearing into Icehawk! [Williams holds Icehawk as Mota lines up and nails a devestating superkick! Icehawk's neck snaps back quickly, so fast it appears to move instantly. Williams now throws Icehawk back into the ring, and Derek Mota follows.] TD: Icehawk is down as Mota grabs him...Northern Lights Suplex! And a cover by Mota! One... two... NO! SR: How did Icehawk kick out? HOW? [Mota looks shocked as well, but that passes as the young Canadian grabs Icehawk in a front headlock, and grabs the tights.] TD: Mota hit a nasty suplex earlier in the match, and he may do another one to soften Icehawk up! [Mota holds Icehawk up...before dropping back and slingshotting him on the ropes! Icehawk bounces back as Derek Mota turns it into a powerslam!] TD: BODY PLEX! Mota with a Body Plex! And he hooks the leg! One... two... and once again, Icehawk kicks out! [Mota slaps the mat in frustration, holding up three fingers to Dave D'Amato, while Rick Williams protests on the outside as well. Mota turns back to Icehawk, only to be greeted by an Icehawk flying body press! Mota gets nailed, and Icehawk rolls on top for a cover! 1 -- 2 -- and Mota gets a foot on the ropes, courtesy of Rick Williams on the outside.] SR: "Too much sex" saving his Coalition partner there. TD: That's a new one. SR: It's the IIWF's birthday, baby dolls! The Soundbite's playing all the hits! [Icehawk sets Mota up in the corner, and runs to the opposite corner. He acknowledges the fans, who roar in response, before charging across the ring, turning a cartwheel in the middle, and jumping backwards as he lands, driving an elbow right into the face of Derek Mota! Derek stumbles out of the corner, managing to stand up straight...before falling over onto his face, drawing a HUGE pop from the crowd.] TD: Handspring elbow from Icehawk, and that may be all for Derek Mota! [Icehawk rolls over Mota and covers! D'Amato counts!] SR: One... two... three! He got him! TD: NO! D'Amato's got two fingers up! [Icehawk shakes his head in despair, wondering what he has to do to put the "Heatseeker" down for the count. He pulls Mota up, and sets him up for a piledriver.] SR: Once again, we've got Icehawk trying to get head on pay-per-view! Hey, buddy, this ain't the Spice channel! TD: We did have Ron Jeremy here... SR: Forget him. Give me Asia Carerra. [Icehawk lifts Mota up... but Mota snaps up, bringing himself up until he's sitting on Icehawk's shoulders! The crowd POPS for the great move as Derek Mota drives his fists into Icehawk's face, staggering the Finn... before whipping back and taking Icehawk over in a Frankensteiner! There's just one problem... Dave D'Amato was looking for the piledriver, and didn't move when Mota did the move. Icehawk slams into D'Amato, and all three men crash to the mat!] TD: D'Amato's down! Icehawk's down! And Mota's down after executing a great desperation move! SR: Now we're getting interesting! [Mota is the first to stir, D'Amato and Icehawk motionless. Williams slaps his hands on the mat, trying to get his partner to move faster. Mota rolls over...and he gets an arm across the chest of Icehawk! TD: Oh, you can count to a hundred! Mota should have this won, but there's no ref! SR: D'Amato's out like the dead, Dross! [Mota lies motionless, his arm draped across the champ's chest. Williams, on the outside, has had enough, and he gets in the ring.] TD: Rick Williams is in the ring... he's helping Mota up! [After helping his partner get to his feet, Williams slides back outside the ring. Mota picks up Icehawk and dumps him unceremoniously over the top rope!] SR: What's he thinking?! All he had to do was revive D'Amato, and he had the belt won! TD: This feud's been building since Ring Wars 5, Steve. Mota is the last true cruiserweight contender in the IIWF. He wants to prove to the world how good he is! [Mota follows Icehawk to the outside, wobbling slightly. Mota slowly brings Icehawk to his feet. Grabbing a hold of Icehawk's wrist, Mota winds up, sending the champ for the ride, whipping him into the guard-rail just to the side of the announcers' table!] SR: Hey, watch it... Jesus marimba! [Roberts' tirade is cut off as Mota follows through, getting a running start and clotheslining Icehawk! The L'il Soundbiters scatter as Icehawk flips up and over the guard-rail!] TD: Icehawk's in the crowd! He's scattered the morons! SR: Only I can call them morons, Dross! Remember that! [Icehawk lies on the floor, motionless. Mota makes as if to go over the guard-rail after him, but instead, Derek Mota turns around and slides back in the ring!] TD: A very questionable move by Mota, as Icehawk is getting to his feet outside the ring. SR: And D'Amato's still down! He may need medical help before this is all said and done! [Icehawk is on his feet, looking at the scattered remnants of the L'il Soundbiters, trying to find his opponent...the crowd screams as Derek Mota comes off the far ropes, springboards off the near ropes, and flies through the air in a Corkscrew Plancha! Dross and Roberts look up as Mota soars over them, slamming into Icehawk to a huge AWED pop from the crowd!] SR: Incoming! We're being invaded! TD: Mota with an incredible high-risk move! [Mota stands up, looking at the surprised crowd, and goes to throw Icehawk back over the crowd railing... but Icehawk with a right hand, and to the cheer of the crowd, he slams Mota's head into the steel railing!] TD: Icehawk's on fire... he's taking Mota up through the crowd! SR: No, he's... yes he is! I'll be damned! [Icehawk grabs Derek Mota by his long black hair and drags him through the crowd! Mota manages to put on the brakes, and the champion and challenger begin trading blows amongst the IIWF fans!] TD: We've got a brawl erupting in the stands! Icehawk and Mota are throwing haymakers, and this place has erupted! [Rick Williams has slid in the ring, and he's standing on the turnbuckles, trying to get a view of his partner and Icehawk's wild brawl. Behind him, Dave D'Amato has started to stir, and is using the ropes to pull himself up!] SR: Hey! Dave's getting up! TD: Derek Mota has gotten the upper hand, and he should be bringing Icehawk back through the crowd, but instead he's taking him up the steps! [D'Amato's looking around, seeing Mota and Icehawk nowhere in sight and Williams standing on a turnbuckle. Reflex kicks in...] DA: ONE! [Mota has Icehawk midway up the steps, where a fan in a Coalition T-shirt hands him a bag of popcorn, which Mota proceeds to shove it in the face of Icehawk!] DA: TWO! SR: What the hell is D'Amato doing? DA: THREE! [Icehawk fights back, throwing elbows blindly, luckily not hitting any fans but catching Mota in the throat! The fight has proceeded to a landing, and Mota leans on a railing as Icehawk steadies himself] DA: FOUR! TD: He's counting them out! Dave D'Amato's counting both men out, and there's no way they can get back in time! DA: FIVE! [Mota is trying to catch his breath, steadying himself on the railing...Icehawk gets behind him, and he leaps up and over the railing, grabbing Mota's head and bringing his throat down on the railing! Icehawk lands, fans slapping his back, as Mota rolls around on the ground, holding his throat] DA: SIX! [Icehawk grabs Mota and drags him up to the next landing! Fans not close to the action turn to the jumbotron, where Icehawk continues to pummel Mota. Mota teeters on the edge of the steps...before falling backwards, tumbling down the steps!] DA: SEVEN! TD: It's a heated brawl, but both men are going to be counted out! And that can't be what Mota wants, because Icehawk keeps the belt on a count-out! DA: EIGHT! [Mota falls about ten steps, before grabbing hold of a chair and stopping. The fans crowd the aisle, but Icehawk vigorously motions for them to get out of the way!] TD: What's Icehawk doing? DA: NINE! [Icehawk takes a deep breath... before taking a running start! Mota hears the crowd gasp, and looks up to see Icehawk flip through the air and fly down the steps, slamming into him!] SR: WHAT A MOVE BY THE FINNISH GUY! SOMERSAULT PLANCHA! DA: TEN! Ring the bell! TD: It's a double count-out! [D'Amato signals to the timekeeper to ring the bell, and the timekeeper raises the hammer... ...but there's no bell.] TD: Where's the bell? SR: Williams has it! And he's behind D'Amato! [DING! The sound echoes around the arena, even over the cheering crowd.] TD: RICK WILLIAMS HIT DAVE D'AMATO WUTH THE RING BELL! D'Amato's out! SR: Williams sneaked out of the ring, grabbed the ring bell, and clocked the ref with it! TD: Why? SR: It's obvious, Dross! Williams saved Mota from a count-out! He's still got a chance to beat Icehawk for the belt! TD: If they ever get back to the ring! Icehawk's dragging Mota to the concourse! [As Rick Williams grabbed the attention of everyone in the arena, Icehawk stood up to a resounding cheer from everyone in the arena. He bent over and grabbed the legs of Derek Mota, and that's where we come in. Icehawk drags Mota up the steps, and the camera gets a close look at Mota's head bouncing off the concrete steps] TD: Listen to those sickening thuds! SR: I didn't think Icehawk had it in him! He's taking the fight right to Derek Mota! TD: Icehawk stops at the top of the steps, and he's still got Mota's legs... OH MY! Icehawk fell backwards and slingshot Mota up and over! [Mota flies through the air before crash-landing onto the concrete floor! Icehawk flips to his feet as Mota rolls over onto his knees. He then begins to crawl towards the concourse, as security keeps the fans away. Icehawk follows, stalking Mota, who is on his hands and knees, slowly trying to make his way to the concourse. Meanwhile, the timekeeper has taken the bell back from Rick Williams, who still stands in the ring over Dave D'Amato] TD: I guess it's not an official decision, Steve Roberts, because the bell didn't ring... OH MY! SR: Crotch shot! [Mota waited until Icehawk reached down to grab him before striking, throwing his leg back and catching Icehawk in the testicles. Icehawk falls to his knees, holding the sensitive area, as Mota stands up. He catches his breath in the dark area between the stands and the concourse, the only light coming from the camera. Mota then looks up...] DM: GIVE IT HERE! [...and rips the camera from the cameraman! The view cuts back to a very jerky shot of the ring, before the shot blurs up...and blurs down with a CRUNCH!] TD: Mota drove that camera down onto Icehawk's back! [The camera falls to the ground as Mota drops it, where it's received by the cameraman just in time to see Mota grab Icehawk and send him for the ride! Icehawk stumbles forward into the concourse of the IIWF Coliseum! The fans who weren't watching this match now scatter as Derek Mota comes flying out of the entranceway with a flying forearm that catches Icehawk!] TD: Last Saturday night, these two men fought back to the locker room, and now they're fighting on the main walkway here in the IIWF Coliseum! SR: This is great! D'Amato's in no shape to stop this thing, and Mota knows it! He's fighting with everything he's got to win that belt! [Icehawk falls to the ground, and Mota leaps on top of him, pummelling the champ with rights and lefts! Icehawk tries to cover himself as Mota scream in rage... but Icehawk gets his legs up, and he catches Mota by the shoulders!] TD: Mota struggles, but Icehawk has great leg strength, and he forces Mota down, and begins hitting him! [Icehawk is all passion right now, as he drives fist after fist into the stomach of Derek Mota! Mota rolls away, as Icehawk rolls backwards to his feet! Mota stands up, only to be on the receiving end of a end of Icehawk dropkick that sends the Canadian into a support pillar! The fans watching on the Jumbotron cheer as Mota slides down the pillar, crumpling to the floor!] TD: I have never seen Icehawk so passionate! SR: I've never seen him so pissed off! He's tearing through Derek Mota... but now he's going to a nearby concession stand? [Indeed, Mota remains in a heap as Icehawk goes to a merchandise booth, where he looks at the merchandise...and finds what he's looking for in the bargain bin!] SR: Hell, it's where it belongs... [Mota manages to get his head up, though his stare shows he's definitely does not know where he is. Icehawk holds his prize from the booth as he walks towards Derek Mota. The Finn grabs Mota's head and forces him to look at what he grabbed... ...an old Genesis T-shirt, with the group kicking the hell out of Derek Mota. Mota stares at it, glassy-eyed... before a primal scream erupts from his throat and he hurls himself at Icehawk!] TD: Both men go down in a flurry of fists! SR: Icehawk woke up Mota with that Culture Club shirt, and we've got both guys trying to kill each other now! [The fans gather around in a circle as both men are now on their feet, once again trading punches. Mota's face is twisted in rage, and that fury enables him to get the advantage! Icehawk stumbles back against the merchandise booth, warding off the punches. Mota takes advantage, scooping Icehawk up and slamming him through the table! T-shirts, coffee mugs, programs, and an Elvis Lamp go flying! Icehawk lies unmoving amongst a pile of Steve Kowalski T-shirts as Mota looks around... and grabs the cash register!] SR: STOP! THIEF! TD: Derek Mota slams the cash register down on Icehawk, and it's busted open! [Coins and bills fly everywhere as the nearby fans scramble for the money! The two combatants are lost amongst the mad rush!] SR: This is more hectic then Triple D night at the Beaver Trap! TD: I've lost sight of Mota and Icehawk! SR: Where'd they go? [The crowd eventually clears enough for the camera to show only Icehawk. He's still lying amongst the IIWF merchandise, but Derek Mota is nowhere to be seen.] TD: What the... fans, Derek Mota has disappeared! SR: You mean to tell me that after all these months... he picks _now_ to high-tail it out of town? Talk about bad timing! Hey! TD: What? SR: Where'd he get the popcorn? TD: What are you babbling about? SR: That! [Rick Williams, sitting next to Dave D'Amato in the ring, munches on some popcorn as the referee lies motionless. Williams looks over at the official, lifts his arm, and watches as it falls flat. Shrugging, Williams turns his attention back to the Jumbotron, which still shows Icehawk motionless.] SR: Well, where is the little twerp? TD: I don't... [On the edge of the screen, a fan in a Brad Kinder shirt looks up and screams, pointing. The camera quickly switches to show Derek Mota standing on one of the ramps leading up to the cheap seats at the IIWF Coliseum. He climbs up onto the edge of the side, motioning for fans to move. And in one hand, he holds... the Elvis Lamp.] SR: What's he thinking of... HOLY [BLEEP!] [Mota jumps straight off of the edge, flying through the air with that Elvis Lamp clutched to his chest, flying fifteen feet in a beautiful frog splash, soaring downwards before slamming into Icehawk, the Elvis Lamp crunching between them!] SR: ABIE AND ZED WOULD BE PROUD! TD: Derek Mota may have cracked Icehawk's ribs! He flew down from the ramp and drove that Elvis Lamp into the chest of the Cruiserweight Champion! [Mota stands up, holding his stomach, as Icehawk rolls on the ground, holding his ribs. Mota stumbles, falling to one knee, before staggering to the edge of a ramp leading downward, to catch his breath] TD: That had to take a lot out of Derek Mota as well as it did Icehawk! SR: This is Mota we're talking about! The man wants that belt, and he'll do anything to get it! TD: Mota recuperating, leaning on the edge of the ramp leading down to the ground floor of the IIWF Coliseum... DEAR GOD! [Mota turns around just in time for him to get a full view on a charging Icehawk! In a move similar to earlier in the match, Icehawk catches Mota with a clothesline that sends Mota over the edge, flipping over the landing on the concrete ramp!] SR: No way! TD: Icehawk now leaps over that edge...and he pulls Mota up! Front facelock... HE SUPLEXES HIM! That's all concrete and no give, folks! SR: Mota cracked his back on that ramp, Dross... but it looks like Icehawk's not done! [Icehawk grabs Derek Mota by his hair and pulls up...before slamming it back down onto the ground!] TD: That could break Mota's nose! SR: Icehawk's trying to win over the Soundbite with this match, baby dolls! [Icehawk picks Mota up and puts him on his shoulder in a fireman's carry. With the fans still pouring out around him, he makes his way down the ramp, to the ground level of the IIWF Coliseum. Icehawk carries Mota over to a nearby concession stand, where a vendor is hawking Billy Shakespeare ice cream bars!] TD: They're selling like hot cakes! SR: Are they still with the promotion? [Icehawk walks up to the ice cream cooler... and one Death Valley Driver later, Derek Mota is face first in chocolate!] TD: Icehawk smashed Mota through the lid of that cooler! SR: Look at it! All I can see is his legs! TD: Fans, this has turned into a falls-count-anywhere match! SR: No it hasn't! If D'Amato comes to, he's going to throw this one out! TD: Good observation, Steve. Now... Icehawk's unplugging the cooler! SR: Sheesh! First Mota with the cash register, and now Icehawk's running off with all the ice cream! [Icehawk starts running down the concourse, pushing the cooler in front of him! Mota's legs flail about as the cooler picks up speed, Icehawk sprinting behind it!] SR: I _never_ thought I'd see this! [Eventually, the cooler is going faster then Icehawk can run, but Icehawk still runs after it!] SR: It's a runaway ice cream cooler! Only in the IIWF, baby dolls! Whoever scripted this one gets MAJOR cool points from the Soundbite! TD: Once again, I have no clue what you're talking about. SR: It don't matter... 'cause things are about to come to a halt! [The cooler continues its journey, as Mota tries vainly to free himself. Before he does, however...] TD: MY GOD! [...the cooler slams into a garage door! The cooler comes to a jarring halt and bounces back a few feet before falling over onto its side. Derek Mota manages to free himself, and he sits up, holding his had, now covered with orange sherbet.] TD: That reminds me, Steve. When's "31 Flavours" night at the Trap? SR: That's my buddy! [Mota is visibly shaken from the trip, and he pulls himself up as Icehawk runs up, bent on continuing his treatment of Derek Mota...but Mota grabs Icehawk and uses his momentum to send him for the ride, throwing him into the steel garage door! Icehawk slams into it with a loud THWACK!] SR: Mota's got some fight left in him! Incredible! [Icehawk leans against the door, holding his head, as Mota backs off...and takes a running start! He runs to the overturned cooler, and leaps off it, colliding into Icehawk with a side Senton splash!] TD: Icehawk gets sandwiched! SR: Speaking of which... "Peanut Butter and Jelly" night next Sunday. TD: I'm there. [Icehawk falls to the ground, where Mota kicks him in the ribs! As Icehawk clutches his stomach, Mota grabs him and starts dragging him by his hair! He makes his way to one of the ground entrances to the stands, causing the fans who were watching it all on the Jumbotron to cheer!] SR: It's coming back here, Dross! These morons are erupting! TD: But Dave D'Amato's getting up! [We cut back to the ring, where Dave D'Amato's trying to get to his feet and call for the bell. Rick Williams sees him moving, and visibly sighs. He stands up, throwing the rest of his popcorn down, and gets behind D'Amato. With one hand, he pulls D'Amato up and sets him for...] TD: EXCESSIVE FORCE! Rick Williams hit the reverse neckbreaker, and D'Amato's out like a light... again! SR: I ain't never seen a ref take this much abuse before... I LOVE IT! TD: This is sickening! D'Amato's just trying to call this match fairly, and Rick Williams is trying to put him in the hospital! I'm sure Williams is going to be fined for this! [Cutting back to the action, Mota had dragged Icehawk back into the stands proper, and he bodyslams Icehawk onto the steps! Icehawk rolls down the steps, to the gasps of the fans, as Mota charges down after him! As Icehawk mercifully comes to a stop at the bottom, Mota keeps running, before launching himself ten steps up and plancha-ing himself onto the champion!] TD: What a move! Both these men have put on a hell of a show, Steve Roberts! SR: I'll admit, it's been better then I thought... and my fantasy involved two Playboy Playmates! TD: Which two? SR: Jami Farrel and Angel Boris. TD: Words escape me. SR: They didn't. Best weekend of my life. [Mota rolls off of the champion. Although he pulled off an incredible move, he looks drained, emotionally and physically. It takes an incredible of effort, almost superhuman, for Mota to pull himself to his own two feet. He stands, hunched over, hands on his knees, taking deep breaths, trying to get some semblance of energy back. He looks up... to see Icehawk staring at him.] SR: How did he get up? HOW? [Mota and Icehawk stare at each other for a few seconds...before going at it tooth and nail! The punches thrown are so vicious, that the fans clear the aisleway as Derek Mota and Icehawk brawl down the aisle leading to the ring!] SR: They're coming back here! INCOMING! [Indeed, without even stopping, the two men brawl all the way up to the ringside barrier! They are so intent on beating each other, so focused of the other's destruction, that they do not slow down, instead flipping right over the steel railing! Even this does not stop them, as they continue to throw rights and lefts!] TD: Fans, I'm ten feet away, and I can tell you, without hyperbole, the looks on the faces of these two young men are pure intensity! [Icehawk manages to get the upper hand, driving Mota to his knees, before winding up soccer style and kicking Mota right underneath the chin! Mota's head snaps back, and it seems to hang there for one brief seconds, before he falls backwards!] TD: Rick Williams is in shock in the ring as the fury of Icehawk's attack! SR: And D'Amato's _still_ out! [Icehawk looks around...and spies the Japanese's announcer's table! The two young announcers look shocked as Icehawk comes over and simply RIPS the decorative "BIRTHDAY BASH" plank off the front! Rapid-fire Japanese spews from the two men as Icehawk sets the plank between Japanese and American announcers' table!] SR: Icehawk's going extreme, Dross! TD: What's he planning to do? [Icehawk grabs Derek Mota and sets him on the plank! The plank bends a little, but not enough to be in danger of breaking... yet. Icehawk climbs up to the ring apron, as the fans all sit on the edge of their seats, waiting to see what else can happen in this wild match. Icehawk perches on the edge...] TD: HERE COMES RICK WILLIAMS! [Rick Williams charges the young Finn, hell-bent on taking Icehawk out and saving his Coalition partner... ...but Icehawk sees him coming. Icehawk nails a forearm that stops Williams cold! Williams steps back, until Icehawk reaches out and hurls him over the top rope! Williams flips over and hits the ground, JUST missing the plank, coming to a stop underneath Mota...and the plank] TD: This CAN'T be good... SR: Speak for yourself! [Icehawk takes a deep breath... ...grabs holds of the ropes... ...jumps up onto the second rope... ...bounds off... ...flips through the air... ...and crashes through Mota and the plank, and all three land on "To Excess." Simply put, the crowd goes nuts.] TD: ASAI MOONSAULT! ASAI MOONSAULT! SR: It looked okay... the only saving grace was the plank shot... TD: Are you nuts? Icehawk just drove himself through a plank and two opponents! SR: I said it was okay, didn't I?! [The crowd is nuts as Icehawk flips to his feet. It's obvious the move cost Icehawk a lot of his internal energy, but the fans chanting "ICE-HAWK! ICE-HAWK! ICE-HAWK!" get him to his feet. Icehawk looks around... and smiles. He grabs Mota and tosses him back in the ring. Mota doesn't offer any resistance, and Williams has yet to pull himself from the wreckage.] TD: This is all Icehawk! Right now, all he has to do is wake D'Amato up! [Back in the ring at last, Icehawk whips Derek Mota to the far corner! Mota slams hard, and Icehawk comes in with a sliding superkick! Mota slumps...but is brought back up by an Icehawk chop! Icehawk jumps up onto the second turnbuckle, and begins nailing Mota! The crowd chants along! "1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9... 10!"] TD: And now Icehawk monkey flips Mota out of the corner! [Mota lands in the middle of the ring, arms splayed out, looking up at the lights, as the fans are electric. Icehawk stands over Mota, looking down at him. In the corner, Dave D'Amato begins to stir...] TD: Rick Williams is on his feet! [Williams drags himself to his feet, and sees Icehawk trying to help D'Amato back to the land of the living. He also sees his partner is the middle of the ring, almost beaten. Williams looks... ...and spies the IIWF Cruiserweight belt.] TD: Rick Williams has taken the belt from the timekeeper! SR: This is his last chance! Icehawk's ready to cover! [Rick Williams quickly climbs the ring apron and the top turnbuckle! He perches himself up there, belt in hands, as Icehawk stands unsuspectingly in the centre of the ring!] SR: Icehawk's about to get grounded! [As the crowd screams and "To Excess" gets ready to fly...] TD: IT'S GREY PHOENIX! He comes from out of the crowd and pushed Rick Williams off! [Williams manages to land on his feet somewhat, and Icehawk turns after hearing the impact! Williams turns, belt still in hand, as Grey Phoenix comes off the top with a cross body. Williams drops the belt and prepares to catch him... but this is a HIGH cross body...] TD: CIVILIZATION'S FALL! Phoenix hit the crucifix rollup and Williams is out! [Icehawk watches as his 4-D partner makes the save...and then looks down... ...at the IIWF Cruiserweight belt at his feet. Icehawk picks it up. Grey Phoenix has rolled off Williams and is helping D'Amato steady himself in the corner. Williams holds his neck in the corner as Icehawk walks over to Derek Mota. He bends over the Canadian, holding the belt in one hand. The ring mics pick up:] IH: Take a good look, Derek. This is MY belt. You can steal it, you can scrape your name on it, you can even pretend to defend it...but this is MINE! I know it, the fans know it...you're just a wannabe hanging on by his reputation. A reputation for being a loser who doesn't know when to quit! [With that, Icehawk lays the belt over Mota's face.] IH: This is the closest you'll ever come to having the belt, Derek. [As D'Amato is finally up and about, Icehawk climbs to the top turnbuckle. The fans hold their breath as Icehawk raises his arms... and comes off with the somersault legdrop, driving the belt into the face of Derek Mota!] TD: ARCTIC BLAST! Icehawk covers, and he's got the leg hooked! [Dave D'Amato counts slowly... 1 --- 2 --- 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! The Coliseum explodes as the fans cheer wildly] TD: Icehawk retains! One of the wildest matches I've ever seen, and Icehawk has beaten Derek Mota! SL: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner... AND _STILL_ IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION... ICEHAWK! [Icehawk stands up as Grey Phoenix embraces him! Rick Williams in on his knees, shaking his head, as Mota rolls over, holding his face. Icehawk takes the belt from where it lies and holds it up in the air, to a rousing face pop! Icehawk goes over to the corner, where Dave D'Amato sits, and raises his hand too, to the cheers of the Coliseum.] SR: D'Amato should get combat pay for that match! That was flat-out NUTS! TD: For once, I echo your statements, Steve. I never thought it would spill out into the concourse, or that Rick Williams would blatantly attack the referee, twice! [Williams helps Mota out of the ring as Icehawk and Grey Phoenix continue to celebrate...] TD: IT'S TERROR AND CHAOS! SR: The party's over, fellas! [The Harlequins slide into the ring and go right after Icehawk and Phoenix! A headbutt from Terror knocks Phoenix to the mat, and Icehawk, in no condition to defend himself after the match he's been in, falls victim as well to a Terror headbutt. The Coalition watches on as Tragedy makes his way to the ring as well. In the ring, Terror grabs Phoenix and Icehawk, dragging them to the middle of the ring and laying them out side by side...as Chaos climbs the top rope!] TD: Oh, no... I've heard about this... CHAOSSAULT! SR: I don't believe that! Three hundred and fifty pounds just flew through the air! One word... squish! [Tragedy grabs Icehawk and turns him over, locking in the Tragic Ending! Icehawk screams in agony as the Harlequins proceed to work over Grey Phoenix!] TD: This is sickening! And look at Mota and Williams! They're leaving! SR: Wouldn't you? You just got your ass kicked...would YOU want to get it kicked again by the painted clowns? [Security comes to the ring, bypassing the Coalition going the other way. They get in the ring and try to get Tragedy to let go of the Tragic Ending.] TD: Icehawk's can't take this! SR: Hey, the price you pay for messing with Comedy and Melody's boys! TD: Officials finally getting Tragedy to let go of that hold... [Tragedy lets Icehawk slump to the mat, and Terror and Chaos stop kicking Grey Phoenix. The three Harlequins leave the ring as the officials check on the two men. With some help, they're helped up, the fans applauding. Icehawk and Phoenix salute the fans as they're helped out of the ring.] TD: The fans cheering Icehawk and Phoenix, as they make their way up the aisle. SR: Yawn. It was good, but it's over. TD: Folks, we'll be right back in just a moment with the final match in the tournament to crown a new Intercontinental Champion, right after this brief message from our merchandising department. [Cut to a black and white shot of 1950s youths, huddled around fistfuls of small cards.] VO: First there were baseball cards... [Cut to technicolor shot of 1970s kids, swapping cards.] VO: Next, football cards... And Now... [Raucous 90's kids with...] IIWF Wrestling cards! Kids: Cool! VO: At only $3 a pack and $48 for a complete set of 140 cards, it's sure to be just as fondly remembered as any other collecters' items! Kid 1: All right! A Steve Kowalski! Kid 2: Yahoo! I got an Icehawk! Kid 3: Awww...a Sparkplug Lee... VO: [as a Bob Ivey is displayed in a case and rotated.] The front, a glossy color photograph of one of your favorite IIWF superstars; the back, a summary of their career, with big wins, championships, memorable matches and feuds... Kid 1: [with mother in the picture] Look Mom! a Becky LaRue! [Shocked mum snatches the card away.] VO: Order your limted edition set today! Call 1-800-GET-IIWF. All Proceeds go to the Simon Bratt Scholarship Fund. [Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] SR: You know, Dross, the "Soundbite" card in that set is three times as big as all the others. It has to be that size to accommodate details of all my biggest victories. TD: Of course it does, Steve Roberts. Folks, we're rapidly nearing the end of tonight's huge event, with just one match separating us from the main event, Kowalski vs. Annis. And what a match it is: up next is the Intercontinental title match between Marty Warnett and Simon Lebec, who are the two finalists. Ironically, President Dan Spreadbury set this tournament up to help find an undisputed IC champ, but with two semi-finals that ended in controversy, that is hardly the case. It could just as easily be Timothy Turner against Shadoe Rage in this match. SR: Yeah, but who wants to watch "The Black Jesus" tear a brand new one for Turner? Boooooring! Course, Turner probably wouldn't _mind_ a new one. He'd find it useful. TD: These two have a long history, even without a belt at stake. Warnett lost his hair to Lebec eighteen months ago at Ring Wars II, October 1996. No love lost here. Let's get up to the ring for all the action. _____ _____ \ __ \ / __ / | | \ \ / / | | | |_/ /----------------------------------------------------------\ \_| | | __ < IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT FINAL: > __ | | | \ \ Marty Warnett vs. "The Savior" Simon Lebec / / | | | |_/ /----------------------------------------------------------\ \_| | /____/ WRITER: Curt Kipp \____\ [Sparkplug Lee up the ringsteps and into the ring.] SL: This next match is scheduled for one fall, with a thirty minute time limit... and it is for the vacant IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP! [Huge crowd pop!] SL: Introducing first... ["I Am Stuck on Heaven, 'Cause Heaven's Stuck on Me" by Simon Lebec plays...] SL: From God's Loving Hands... standing six feet three inches tall and weighing in tonight at 246 pounds... here is "The Savior"... Simonnnnnn Lebec! [Huge heel pop as Lebec comes out onto the ramp, wearing trunks and a black "Wrestle Hard" t-shirt. A gigantic cross with chaser lights descends from the ceiling, with lettering like so flashing in neon: "SAVIOR" across the cross, and "SIMON LEBEC" down it. Some pyro explodes, with several blinding flashes.] TD: I think they're a little late on these special effects, with Lebec eschewing his religious schtick of late in favour of his "Wrestle Hard" campaign, a sort of response to Vice President Gregg Osterhout's "Wrestle Clean." SR: Wrestle Hard -- just the way I like it. [Lebec into the ring.] SL: And his opponent... hailing from Cardiff, Wales, United Kingdom... standing five feet 11 inches tall and weighing in tonight at 243 pounds... TD: Just two forty-three? He's lost some weight to that flu... SL: ...he is the former IIWF Intercontinental champion, the "Party Maniac," and one of the IIWF's all-time franchise stars... here is... Marty... Warnett! [Massive face pop as Marty Warnett, unshaven now, enters the aisle. He has the Welsh dragon on the back of his red trunks. He is followed by a pack of thirty burly men, many in their fifties, with traditional scars (i.e. broken noses) from years of rugby and mining. They stop, but Warnett continues to the ring.] TD: What's this? SR: Simple. These are all ex-lovers of Timothy Turner. TD: Stop it, Steve Roberts. [As Marty enters the ring, the men walk aside to a stage. They congregate in a concave. Slowly, the crowd noise falls down slowly, as thirty baritone voices begin to perform the Welsh National anthem a capella. Marty turns to face them, singing in turn.] "Mae hen wlad fy nhadau, Yn annwyl i mi, Gwlad beirdd a chantorion, Enwogion o fri; Ei gwrol ryfelwyr, Gwladgarwyr tra mad, Dros ryddiad collassant eu gwaede." [As the chorus approaches, Marty begins to really raise his voice, tears welling up in his eyes as he does so.] "Gwlad, gwlad, Pleidiol wyf i'm gwlad; Tra mor yn fur, I'r bur hoff bau, O bydded i'r hen iaith Barhau!" [As the crowd applaud at the end of the song, Marty wipes away the tears from his eyes. After a pause to accentuate the dramatic moment, a series of fireworks go off. The crowd pops huge! Warnett turns around to face Lebec, a very intense look on his face.] SR: What? No guitar solo? TD: A very touching moment, as Warnett decides to represent his country tonight in a bid to regain the Intercontinental belt and bring some honour to it -- honour that it desperately needs. This is it. It appears that we are now ready to... [Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Oh my! Warnett getting right to work! He charges Lebec and lays into him with an absolute flurry of punches! [Face pop!] SR: What the hell was that they were singing? We need the Hooded Kilted Man out here to translate all that! TD: Never mind that! Warnett off the ropes... clothesline! [The downed Lebec tries to get to his feet, but Warnett nails an elbow drop before he can do it. Then Warnett stands, winds up, and hits a second elbow drop. The stand, the wind-up... and a third one!] TD: Warnett backing up behind the disoriented Lebec... Lebec starts to stand... [Huge face pop!] TD: ROCKER DROPPER! He _drives_ Lebec face first into the canvas! SR: Call him Marty War-_netty_, I guess. TD: I don't know what you're talking about. Gutwrench suplex by Warnett! The "Party Maniac" trying to end this one early, as I'd imagine he's lacking the necessary energy tonight for a long match. [Cover... and a one-count.] SR: Yeah, yeah... Warnett's faking the flu anyway. I mean, they found Spanish Fly in his pre-match urinalysis, for crying out loud. TD: Spanish Fly AND cold medication, Steve Roberts. SR: Whatever. The man's a nympho mimbo. But look up in that skybox! Look who's up there! That's Timothy N. Turner! [Shot of Turner watching from a skybox here at the IIWF Coliseum here in the Rose City, Portland, Oregon.] TD: You're right, as Turner is up there _alone_, watching the match that he _could_ have, some say _should_ have, been participating in. [Back to the ring, as Warnett rakes Lebec across the forehead and, tearing at an old scab, strikes a mother lode of blood that starts to streak across the "Savior's" face.] SR: But no, he had to go be the Ellen DeGeneres of wrestling. [DDT by Warnett. Warnett stands, and then picks up Lebec by the hair.] TD: I don't think that had anything to do with the decision last week. It _shouldn't_ have, anyway. [Tornado punch by Warnett on Lebec. Lebec crashes to the mat.] SR: I say it's time for Turner to join a tag team. He'd fit in perfectly with any number of teams in the IIWF right now. TD: Okay, enough Turner talk. [Lebec starts to fight back with some punches, but Warnett nails a particularly vicious throat jab that leaves the "Savior" clutching his windpipe and searching for air. Warnett with a snap suplex. He rolls backwards through it into a cover. Two count.] TD: So close for Warnett. I think Lebec is surprised at the intensity displayed by this young superstar and former Intercontinental champ. SR: No kidding... Marty usually reserves this kind of intensity for his backstage skank groupies. [Lebec stands but runs flush into a snap mare. He gets up, frustrated, and runs into an armdrag takedown. He gets up again and is taken down, once again, by the armdrag. Warnett hangs onto the arm and drops his leg across the shoulder. Then, a kneedrop across the shoulder.] TD: Warnett just attacking Lebec relentlessly tonight, and so far Lebec has been unable to get his game going. Legdrop across the throat by Warnett! And another! [Fans pop -- half for the move, and half for someone entering the aisle. They crane their necks and stand to see who it is...] TD: That's BEAR! Bear, of the Natural Predators, coming down to ringside! SR: He's got that chain... and he'd better hang onto it if wants to defend himself against The Baddest Thang Running! [Bear stops halfway down the aisle and then, looking back towards the entrance way, appears to "guard" the aisle.] TD: Those two had an altercation earlier, and I don't think Gunnar Gaines or anyone else is going to be visiting ringside with Bear guarding the aisle. Not if they're smart, that is. SR: What's he doing, anyway? He has no business standing halfway down the aisle! TD: I'm not sure why he's here, but my guess is he wants to see a clean finish to this match... in favour of his 4-D stablemate Marty Warnett, I'd wager. SR: Call him goody four-paws. People like him make me sick. They spoil my fun. [singing] # Don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do? Don't drink, don't smoke, what do you do? # TD: On the other hand, Bear may be trying to get the jump on an Eddy Jacks, who's been campaigning to get that weight limit on the IC strap lifted. Bear doesn't qualify right now to wrestle for that belt, but he _could_ if the rule is changed. [Crowd pop!] TD: Spinning heel kick by Warnett! He damn near took Lebec's head off with that! The cover... Lebec kicks out! [Warnett stands and picks up Lebec for a body slam and hits it. He now raises Lebec to his feet by the hair and whips him to the ropes. Catching Lebec on the way back, he hops onto the "Savior's" back and attempts a crucifix roll-up.] TD: Lebec staggering... being crucified, appropriately enough... and Warnett nearly has him over... [Crowd gasp!] TD: _Samoan drop!_ Lebec reversed the hold, and all the momentum slammed down onto the back of Warnett! With the leg hooked, the count... at two! He nearly got him! SR: Lebec's first big offensive manoeuvre of the night, and he nearly got the duke. Things aren't looking good for Warnett -- his face is positively green and his temperature must be like 120 or something. [Lebec picks up Warnett by the hair and sets up a piledriver.] TD: Warnett struggling to reverse it... he's turning it into a hurricanrana... [Crowd gasp!] TD: NO! Lebec simply dropped him on his back into a power bomb! One -- two -- and a kick out. [Lebec lifts Warnett to his feet and whips him to the ropes. Running to the opposite ropes, he comes back and catches the "Party Maniac" with a thunderous flying lariat that appears to nearly decapitate the young Welshman, getting another two count.] TD: So close. Both men down for a minute, chests heaving... SR: So that's why Turner's watching so closely! TD: Show some respect, will ya? I think Turner has a lot of guts for what he did last week. SR: But no brains. The entire locker room probably hates him now. They're notoriously homophobic. I know several who will probably never ask an opponent to "get it on" ever again. TD: [laughing] I suppose not. Lebec slowing the pace now, with a full nelson applied to Warnett. He finally lets it go, and now picks up Warnett... backbreaker! [Lebec makes a throat-slashing motion and climbs to the second rope, sitting down on the top turnbuckle. He measures the elbow and then leaps, driving it square into the ribs of Warnett for another two-count.] TD: So close -- we almost had a new Intercontinental champion. SR: An elbow drop ain't gonna do it, Dross. Not even with Warnett ready to puke his guts out. He's paler than your momma's butt cheeks! TD: [looking at Roberts] I don't even want to know, Steve Roberts. Lebec now kneeling behind Warnett and applying a headlock of some sort, or more accurately, a choke... [Crowd pop, and people stand and crane their necks, as -- you guessed it -- someone appears at the top of the aisle below the jumbotron.] TD: It's Christopher Stonebreaker! The man who says that no one around here cares about wrestling anymore! SR: _I_ care about wrestling, Dross! TD: You do? SR: Of course I do. Why, just the other night, Chelsea and I... TD: You're not dating Chelsea Clinton. She's dating some nice young man from Stanford. It's in all the papers. Give it up. SR: I am so dating Chelsea. I even went to church with her folks. TD: You're not going to Stanford. SR: The Stanford bit is just a rumour I planted to protect the guilty. Chelsea and I be doin' it doggy-style, 24-7. We do "everything," Dross. TD: [rolling his eyes] And you finish it off with the "swirl," I'm sure. Stonebreaker now arguing with Bear... I don't think either is pleased that the other one is present at this match... [Crowd pop! BIG pop... a _heel_ pop.] TD: And _neither_ is going to be pleased about _this_. SR: Caleb Effin' Temple! Look out. That guy's one _sick_ muhfuh -- and personally, I like him! [Caleb Temple appears in the crowd opposite the entrance aisle. He hops the rail and walks over to the timekeeper's table. He removes the timekeeper from his chair and takes his place. Meanwhile, Bear escorts Stonebreaker out of there, unaware that Temple has made his way to ringside.] TD: Folks, Caleb Temple has arrived, and I don't like the looks of this. Has he just appointed himself guest timekeeper? SR: I don't know, but he's got something under his arm. TD: I do believe that's a Holy Bible, Steve Roberts. SR: Yes, and he's opened it up and started reading it. Note the way that Temple managed to evade that idiot Bear. TD: Fascinating. Back to the action. Lebec with the headlock from behind, and he finally releases it after Warnett refused to submit. SR: Submitting to a headlock? This is Portland, not Stamford. [Crack!] TD: And a slap to the face of Warnett! And another! I don't know about this, Steve Roberts. Warnett's drowsy right now. He has been for ten minutes. I wouldn't wake him up or get him mad if I were Lebec. I mean Lebec's crazy, but Warnett's got a contrary streak himself. SR: The man makes his own rules, all right. Too bad they're stupid. [Warnett, indeed, wakes up and slaps Lebec back. He backs to the rope and attempts a clothesline. It connects, but Warnett then collapses as Lebec remains standing.] TD: It's no use for Warnett. He's got nothing left. Referee in position... [...and a two-count. Two and a half, make it. Lebec stands quickly, grabbing Warnett by the hair and backing to a corner with a headlock. He runs out and bulldogs Warnett down to the mat, with authority. He rolls him over for another two-count. A limp kick-out by the Welshman.] TD: Warnett... the "party maniac" seems just partied out. I mean, he's gone. He's... and look out! Caleb Temple is now standing near the ring with that Bible, calling Lebec over. [Lebec releases the abdominal stretch, and Warnett drops like a sack of potatoes. The sometime "Savior," eager to see what's up, makes his way over to Temple, who drops his big black Holy Bible at Lebec's feet.] CT: [audible without his own mic] Use the Lord's word! TD: "Use the Lord's word?" What's that supposed to mean? SR: I don't know. Something akin to "Use the force, Luke." TD: Whatever it means, Temple's just walking away... [Temple walks around to the other side of the ring, away from the Bible. Lebec, for his part, looks at the Bible and then turns around to resume his attack on Warnett. With a look of fiendish glee on his face, he applies a trapezius nerve hold on the shoulders of the seated Warnett.] SR: Warnett's ass may be in the ring, but it looks to me that his mind is elsewhere. Of course, that's true whether or not he's got the flu. Remember when he tried to cheat on the drug test by substituting Diet Mountain Dew on the urinalysis? TD: He can be a strange one. SR: Yeah, but at least there he was on the right track. The two _do_ look and smell awfully similar. TD: Be that as it may -- and what I smell is a lawsuit against _you_, Steve Roberts -- Warnett is just zonked. The referee checking to see if the young Welshman is ready to give, and... [A chant wells up among the fans] TD: ...and listen to this crowd! [The fans chant: "MAR-TY!! MAR-TY!! MAR-TY!! MAR-TY!! MAR-TY!!"] TD: Look at the response from Warnett! He's shaking! He's struggling to get out of that hold, but I don't know if he can do it! Lebec skilfully using his leverage to apply all that weight on Warnett's back! All the pressure on the shoulders of Warnett! SR: I have to hand it to you, Dross. I've never heard anyone sell a rest-hold like you are right now. [The chant continues: "MAR-TY!! MAR-TY!! MAR-TY!! MAR-TY!! MAR-TY!!"] TD: Resthold?! Resthold?! This is DRAMA! Marty Warnett is about to be put to sleep from the pain -- but he's fighting back! SR: See what I mean? You have no equal, Dross. [The chant continues, picking up volume: "MAR-TY!! MAR-TY!! MAR-TY!! MAR-TY!! MAR-TY!!"] TD: Lebec trying to maintain control of the Party Maniac -- Marty slowly to his feet, with that pressure still applied to the shoulders... [Crowd pop!] TD: ...and Warnett breaks free! He reaches back over his head and gouges Lebec in the eye! Lebec releases the hold! SR: And look at Caleb Temple! Temple is FURIOUS! He's beside himself at ringside! TD: Two Caleb Temples? Great. Just what we need. SR: No, not LITERALLY beside himself, Dross... TD: I knew that, Steve Roberts. Just messin' wit'cha. [Dross grins at the rare zinger he just unleashed on Roberts.] TD: Temple up on the apron! Referee over to shoo him away! Get away from there, Temple! You don't belong here! SR: You're just mad that Temple caught a rule violation that the ref didn't. [Temple refuses to get off the apron, and the referee keeps yelling at him to leave. Lebec takes the opportunity to return Warnett's favour with an eye gouge of his own. He walks over to the Bible left at ring's edge by Temple, and bends over to pick it up...] TD: Oh no. No. Not like this. This will make a complete _mockery_ of the reasons Spreadbury set up this tournament. SR: I thought you said they've already done that. TD: Lebec approaching the disoriented Warnett with that Bible... and a LARGE Bible it is. SR: Yes, very big. Kind of like what Chelsea says about the "Little Soundbite." TD: He raises it over his head... [Crowd gasp!] TD: He missed! Warnett ducked out of the way! SR: He fell over, Dross. TD: Warnett back up, and he snatches that Bible from a stunned Lebec! He's got it! He's going to knock out Lebec and win the match! SR: Then _I'll_ be the one throwing up afterward. TD: He backs into the ropes and runs at Lebec with the Bible... and Lebec steps aside and snatches it away! Lebec now lunges at Warnett... [Crowd gasp! Heel pop!] TD: Oh my! He nailed him! Warnett's out cold! He's just been brained with Temple's Bible! [At this time, Temple jumps off the apron.] SR: Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep! If I die before I wake, I give Lebec that belt to take! TD: And take it he will! What a complete miscarriage of justice! Referee in position... [The referee counts: 1 -- 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Huge heel pop! Sparkplug Lee into the ring.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... your winner, at a time of twenty minutes and thirty-seven seconds... TD: Here comes the IIWF President! SL: ...and _NEW_ IIWF Intercontinental Heavyweight Champion... [But Sparkplug, seeing Spreadbury's approach, drops the mic down by his side, and waits to hear from the President. Spreadbury, clutching the title belt, climbs the ring steps as Lebec looks on, quite concerned.] TD: Not so fast, Sparkplug. The President is here to see that justice is done. [Lebec gets an idea and slides the Bible to Temple outside, hoping against all hope that Spreadbury never saw him with it. Warnett, dazed, attempts to regain his senses at the center of the ring.] DS: [taking the mic from Sparkplug Lee] Ladies and gentlemen... this match has just ended under _very_ questionable circumstances -- circumstances that make me wonder why I _ever_ thought holding a tournament could restore honour to the Intercontinental championship belt. [Mixed crowd pop -- some boos and a lot of cheers!] DS: Nevertheless... the referee has rendered his decision, and that decision must be final. Therefore, ladies and gentlemen... your winner... and _new_ IIWF Intercontinental Champion -- "The Savior" -- Simoooooooooonnnn Lebec! [Huge heel pop as Lebec is handed the belt by President Spreadbury, who has a look on his face like he just tangled with a skunk. Lebec raises the belt in the air and goes to the second turnbuckle in the corner, drinking in the applause and abuse from the Portland crowd!] TD: Clearly the President regrets this decision, but feels he had no choice. And in a show of sympathy, he helps the dazed Warnett to his feet. SR: Warnett was already going to be on NyQuil for a week, and now he's going to be on Excedrin as well. I wouldn't be surprised if the words "Holy Bible" were left stamped in his forehead! TD: Temple now into the ring... [Lebec turns around, jumps off the second turnbuckle, and walks on over to Temple with a smile on his face. The two men stand face to face, both grinning...] TD: Uh-oh... do we have some kind of holy alliance here? Some kind of religious affiliation? SR: Well, duh. Temple's Bible allowed Lebec to win. Can't you put two and two together, Dross? TD: Temple having a few words, then turning around to leave... [Huge heel pop!] TD: TEMPLE NAILS LEBEC WITH THE BIBLE! HE TURNS AROUND AND FLOORS HIM! [Massive heel pop!] TD: Look at the expression on Temple's face! He looks down at Lebec! He bends over and picks up that Intercontinental Championship belt, and he's holding it across his own waist! [Heel pop!] TD: Now Temple just drops it and leaves! Oh my! Simon Lebec, the new Intercontinental Champion, has been left laying by Caleb Temple here tonight! [The official helps Lebec back to his feet, the "Savior" grabbing his belt, and mounting the turnbuckle nearest the aisle, yelling at Temple and holding the belt aloft, challenging the holy man to return to the ring and meet him face to face.] TD: We have a new Intercontinental Champion, folks, and in just a few minutes, we may have a new World Heavyweight Champion! Simon Lebec now, leaving the ring with his title... and we're almost ready for our main event. [Simon Lebec rolls out of the ring and slings his gold belt over his shoulder as he slowly walks up the aisle, fans on either side of the barrier reaching out to touch the belt despite the overwhelming chorus of "boo"s coming from the crowd. Cut to a wide-angle shot of the interior of the Coliseum, as the sold-out crowd rises to its feet and begins to pop uncontrollably, as the main event is moments from getting underway. The Furies are especially vocal over the thundering pop, and Mooselips beer falls like rain as Kowalski's loyal fans raise their cans, awaiting the appearance of their hero. Cut back to Tim Dross and a frustrated Steve Roberts at ringside.] TD: Well, folks, we can barely hear ourselves think in here now, as the match you've all been waiting for is now mere seconds from being introduced! SR: Damn it all, Dross, there's no way in hell this match should be happening! The Fury's the fightingest champion there ever was in the IIWF, and for him to have to come in here in the condition he's in and let Surging Anus pick his pocket for the strap is a goddamn disgrace! TD: Indeed, Steve, the state of Kowalski's health is still very much a mystery here tonight, as the IIWF Champion has not been heard from in the last week, but he certainly is not 100%. SR: I've tried calling him... no answer. I went over to his place the other day... no answer. I mailed the guy letters, telling him to stay away from Birthday Bash... returned to sender. It's like the earth swallowed the Fury up! TD: Nonetheless, Steve Kowalski has stated that he will indeed defend the IIWF World Title here tonight and... wait, I'm getting a report from backstage... yes, Steve Kowalski has just arrived at the Coliseum! We will indeed have a World Title Match tonight, folks! [Cut to a shot of the jumbotron inside the Coliseum, and the capacity crowd goes nuts as an image of a late-modal Buick, still bearing some dents from Kowalski's parking lot brawl months ago, pulls up to the main doors of the Coliseum with a loud screech. A thunderous chant of "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!" goes up as IIWF Champion Steve "The Fury" Kowalski steps gingerly out of the car, and slowly limps to the main doors and enters the arena's mezzanine, the gleaming IIWF World Title slung over his shoulder. Cut back to Dross and Roberts at ringside.] TD: Steve Kowalski is in the building, after not being heard from for a week, and that has to make challenger Serge Annis a happy man, Steve Roberts. SR: I'll bet it does, Dross. Right now, Anus is probably picking out a nice soft feather out to knock the Fury over with and pick up his free World Title. After tonight, he can start rolling grandmothers and little old men in walkers for their pension cheques. TD: Please, Steve. Kowalski was afforded several chances to take a hiatus due to his deteriorating physical condition, but he has chosen to fight on nonetheless. And if anybody in the IIWF has earned the chance to challenge Kowalski, healthy or otherwise, for the IIWF title at this prestigious event, it must be Serge Annis. SR: Or Spreadbury could have stripped Kowalski of the belt and held it up for a tournament, right? Kowalski's not fit to hold the title if he can't bloody walk, right? Danny-boy cares about the health of his wrestlers, right? TD: Well, it appears that we will have a match now that both competitors are in the building, but we still have no idea who tonight's special guest referee will be! SR: I know who it is. TD: Would you care to share your enlightenment, Steve Roberts? SR: Let's just say that there'll be no more jokes about "corn stars" after tonight, if you catch my drift. TD: Steve, I seriously doubt that we'll be seeing the likes of Racquel Darrian or Jenna Jameson here tonight. SR: [grinning] Who are _they_, Dross-man? TD: Um... well, I mean, I must have... let's... let's go up to Sparky for the introductions! _____ _____ \ __ \ / __ / | | \ \ / / | | | |_/ /----------------------------------------------------------\ \_| | | __ < IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: > __ | | | \ \ Steve "the Fury" Kowalski vs. Serge Annis / / | | | |_/ /----------------------------------------------------------\ \_| | /____/ WRITER: Shawn Kilpatrick \____\ [Sparkplug Lee steps into the ring, as the chant of "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!" reaches deafening proportions. Lee pulls the line-up card out of his jacket pocket with a flourish, and raises the mic to his mouth with proud grin.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen... it is now my privilege to introduce tonight's MAIN EVENT! [The crowd leaps to its feet and explodes with a huge cheer!] SL: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is for the IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP! [Another pop from the capacity crowd! Lee pauses to let the cheers die down, and continues.] SL: Introducing first, the challenger! He hails from Oakville, Ontario, Canada, and weighs in at 293 pounds... here is the "Lethal Protector", SERGE ANNIS! [Big pop from the crowd, as the lights in the Coliseum dim to almost total darkness. At the head of the aisle, two small tongues of flame suddenly burst into life in the aisle, and begin to track their way down to ringside, surrounding the ring with a thin circle of fire. The pop intensifies as Annis steps through the curtain, clad in his usual black tights and boots, but instead of the usual blood-red trim, the word "DESTINY" is written down the side of one leg in glittering gold letters. Annis is the picture of pure focus as "Some Days It's Dark" by Death Lurks plays over the P.A. as he strides down the aisle between the two flaming tracks, slapping a few hands on the way down almost absentmindedly as he keeps his attention fixed on the ring ahead.] TD: There is the big Canadian, Serge Annis, and the writing on his ring attire says it all, Steve Roberts. After months of battling, Annis has finally met his destiny here in the main event of Birthday Bash. But will that destiny hold the IIWF World Championship for the Lethal Protector? SR: I tell ya, Dross-man, if Annis can't get the job done tonight against the Fury, he'd best hang 'em up for good. The Fury'd be hard pressed to defend the title in an elementary school sandbox fight right now, so if Annis doesn't pull off the victory tonight, he should start looking at real estate or hotel management or anything other than wrestling. [Annis reaches the ring, and steps over the top rope to a big pop from the fans as the Lethal Protector steps into the centre of the ring, bows his head, and stretches his arms out in a crucifix position. Suddenly, Annis slams his hands to his sides, and fifteen-foot flames suddenly erupt from the four corners of the ring, causing the fans to cheer even more wildly! As the flames die down, Annis moves to his corner, and squats down, awaiting the entrance of the champion.] TD: Now it's Kowalski's turn, and we'll all be interested to see what kind of shape the champion is in! SR: This is a mistake, Dross. The Fury shouldn't be wrestling. Spreadbury shouldn't _let_ him be wrestling. But hey, watching a respected wrestler die in the middle of the ring on global pay-per-view really ought to jack up those ratings, right? TD: Somehow I doubt that Kowalski is in danger of dying, Steve Roberts, but we'll soon see what kind of condition he's in... SL: And his opponent... [The deafening chant of "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!" rises from the crowd, drowning out Sparky, who waits for the chant to die down.] SL: ...he hails from Newark, New Jersey, and weighs in at 268 pounds... ["SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP"] SL: ...he is the reigning IIWF World Heavyweight Champion... ["SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!"] SL: ...here is the "New Jersey Nightmare", STEVE "THE FURY" KOWALSKI! [The crowd threatens to blow the roof off of the Coliseum with the thunderous cheer that explodes from the fans, as spotlights sweep the crowd before settling on the curtain, which is suddenly thrown aside, revealing the battered form of IIWF Champion Steve Kowalski! The Fury stands in the entranceway for long moments, soaking in the cheers as "Don't Fear The Reaper" blasts out of the P.A., and then he begins the long walk to ringside, limping noticeably on his right leg, but Kowalski's eyes glitter with their trademark ferocity, giving all the appearance of a man who is not prepared to go down without a fight. As he passes by the area of the stands occupied by the Furies, a shower of Mooselips cans starts to fill the aisle, and the Fury nods in appreciation to his loyal fans as he crushes the cans underfoot on the way to the ring.] TD: There he is folks... the IIWF Champion, and never was there a man more deserving of that title than Steve "The Fury" Kowalski! Just listen to the crowd cheer this man on! SR: There ain't never been a man in the Double Eye like the Fury, Dross, and it's a damn shame that Annis is gonna be walking out of here with Kowalski's title tonight. He's still hurt bad, and a guy like Annis ain't gonna pull no punches, no matter how much of a suit-kissin' sissy he's become lately. TD: Indeed, Serge Annis holds a definite advantage going into this match, but I think it would be a gross miscalculation on his part to underestimate Steve Kowalski. If Kowalski has one skill above all others, it's the ability to find a way to win, and he just may do it again tonight! [Kowalski steps through the ropes, and Annis leaves the corner to meet him, and the two men lock eyes, staring the other own for long moments. The crowd pops at the tension of this scene, which s soon broken up by Sparkplug Lee, who raises the ring mic once again.] TD: Now it's time to find out who will be officiating this match. SR: Hey Dross, maybe it's be Creed -- I mean, he's half-blind, he'd be a perfect ref... TD: Shush, Steve. SL: And now, introducing the special guest referee for this main event! He has been personally chosen by IIWF President Daniel Spreadbury as the one man who can maintain order in this match of chaos. He is a... [Suddenly a raspy voice booms over the PA system.] VOICE: Ya don't send a boy ta do a man's job. Ya send a man. But not just any man. Ya send... ...the best. [A loud clap of thunder rumbles throughout the air shaking the very arena in its wake. The haunting strains of a familiar tune eerily fill the air.] TD: Oh my g... that's the theme... that's _his_ theme... can it be him?! SR: Oh, you gotta be [bleep]in' kidding me! I was right the first time, Dross! [The spotlight hits the curtain at the top of the aisle. A few seconds tick by and then the curtains burst opens and out steps...] TD: "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! Brody Thunder has returned to the IIWF! And just look at the faces of Kowalski and Annis! They can't believe it! SR: They can't believe that Spreads would actually let this loser back in the federation, Dross! I thought Kowalski drove that hick outta the IIWF for good! [Thunder stands, pausing briefly to eye both men in the ring. He's dressed in black jeans, boots and hat. He sports a dark red t-shirt which reads "The Peacemaker" in bold white letters. Over the shirt he wears a leather vest, adorned with black and white stripes, signifying his role in this match. He tweaks his handlebar moustache as an evil grin crosses his face. He carries a wireless mic and raises it up his mouth.] SR: Aw, who the hell gave him a mic?! TD: Let's hear what the big cowboy has to say, Steve. [The crowd subsides as Thunder begins to speak.] BT: What... no tearful reunion? Heh, heh, heh... No "how ya been" fer yer ol' buddy, Kowalski? No welcome wagon, Annis? Hmmmm... I'm beginnin' ta think ya didn't miss me. 'Course I wouldn't blame ya. After all... by rights that _is_ my belt yer fightin' fer. An' who better ta decide this title match than the man who had it robbed from his waist jus' four months ago? Don't look so surprised, boys. The reports o'my death were greatly exaggerated... to quote a wise man. Y'see three weeks ago I was rippin' up Japan with my ol' buddy, Jay Dubbaya, an' one night I'm in the hotel watching the Skipper cursin' out Gilligan in Japanese when the phone rings. I don't need ta tell ya who was on the other end o'the line. I'm sure ya guessed it by now. He said there's a boatload o'payola waitin' fer me in Portland if I was ta wear the stripes in a match 'tween you two gents. Seems either no one _wanted_ the job... ...or no one could _handle_ the it. Well, when there's dead presidents involved Brody Thunder's all ears. So me an' Hardin finish up our business there an' catch a bird back stateside... ta Texas. I get another phone call. The papers are mailed signed an' returned. Only thing left ta do is collect my dinero, amigos. An' that's why I'm here. See the law jus' got laid down on you two runts. Spreadbury don't care if ya kill each other so long as it's all... "official". So I want ya both ta know this up front. I'm here for three seconds. Three seconds. An' in those three seconds lies the fate o' that shiny gold belt ya got there, ace. [Thunder points at Kowalski holding the title belt.] I'm tellin' ya now, boys... I don't hear no quittin' an' I ain't countin' anyone out. I'm here ta decide a who'll get that strap. An' come Hell or high water, my friends, make no mistake about it... heh heh... [The smile grows wider on the big cowboy's face.] ...that's _exactly_ what I'm gonna do. Now let's hook 'em up. [Thunder tosses the mic to a ringside assistant as he climbs the steps and enters the ring. He exchanges stares with both men, grinning devilishly.] TD: What a revelation, Steve Roberts! "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder has returned to the IIWF, and he will be in charge of keeping order in this match! SR: Actually makes a bit of sense, Dross. Thunder hates Kowalski _and_ Annis, so at least we know he's gonna call this one right down the line. TD: The bell has gone, and we're underway! [Annis and Kowalski circle, the champ favouring his right side as he looks for Annis to drop his guard, and then both men lock up, and it is Annis who comes out on top, getting a headlock on the Fury and driving a series of hard knees into Kowalski's stomach before wrenching him over and dropping him to the mat with a sidewalk slam, directly onto Kowalski's right hip! Pop! Kowalski groans audibly, as Annis jerks him up to his feet once again, presses him up, and drops him across his knee with a rib-breaker to that vulnerable right side once again that leaves Kowalski gasping on the mat!] TD: Annis is off to a huge start, folks! He's going right for the champion's vulnerable spots, starting with that injured right hip! SR: Well, if Annis is such a big "Wrestle Clean" freak now, maybe we'll have a quick end to this match. All the better for the Fury to come back healthy sooner, so he can Skullpump Sergie-pie back to the Stone Age! TD: Annis pulls up Kowalski again... sends him to the ropes... BIG knee on the rebound that sends Kowalski pinwheeling to the canvas! Annis is totally dominating from the bell, and the champion has been thus far unable to put up any resistance whatsoever! [Kowalski lies on the mat, clutching at his side, and Annis just waits for him in the corner, his eyes watching the champ's every move. Kowalski pulls himself to his feet by the ropes, turns, and limpng badly, shuffles to the centre of the ring, and beckons to Annis to bring it on again! Pop! Annis smiles, and steps in to lock up with Kowalski again!] TD: What heart from the champ! The Fury just shrugged off that assault, and he's calling to Annis to lock up again! SR: Brain damage... that's what it must be, Dross... the Fury can't recognise pain anymore. He'll be dead before he even knows it! TD: And now, IIWF Vice-President Gregg Osterhout is coming down to ringside! It looks like he's taking a front-row seat for this action! SR: Or perhaps he's got an itch that he'd like Sergie to scratch, but they usually do that kind of business in the intimate confines of Osterhout's office... [As Kowalski and Annis lock up again, Osterhout enters the ring area and takes a seat near the timekeeper's table, keeping a sharp eye on the action. Osterhout looks proud as Annis flings Kowalski to the ropes and catches him on the rebound with a picture-perfect belly-to-belly suplex! Pop! Annis immediately goes for a cover, and Thunder dives in for the count -- 1 -- 2 -- kickout!] TD: Kowalski kicks out, but how long can he sustain that kind of punishment? SR: I'm impressed that Thunder can count to two... [Annis glares at Thunder, believing the count to be slow, but Thunder just barks "Yer wastin' time, ace!", and holds up two fingers, grinning at the Lethal Protector. Annis turns back to Kowalski, and is suddenly pulled down into a cradle pin by the champion! 1 -- BIG kickout by Annis! Huge Fury pop!] TD: Oh my goodness! Annis was surprised by that cradle, but kicked out easily! SR: This is really sad, Dross. Ordinarily, Kowalski would be wiping the mat with this Canuck punk, but now he has to pull out the sneaky stuff just to stay alive. It's a tragedy, both for the Fury and for the Double Eye. [Annis, furious, immediately yanks up Kowalski and rocks him with a huge headbutt, sending the Fury reeling into the ropes! Pop! Kowalski stumbles back into the centre of the ring, and walks right into a facelock from Annis, and BAM! Annis drives the Fury's head into the canvas with a big DDT! The crowd pops wildly as Annis goes for another cover -- 1 -- 2 -- Kowalski JUST kicks out! The Furies cheer for their hero as Annis pounds the mat, then slings the camp into the ropes once again!] TD: Annis is completely dominating the champion now, and sets Kowalski up for a big jumping clothesline... NO! Kowalski ducks under! Annis hits the canvas! [As Annis smashes into the mat, missing the jumping clothesline, Kowalski hits the ropes on the opposite side and suddenly rushes back at the big Canadian, taking to the air for a big splash, but Annis rolls over onto his back, sees Kowalski approaching, and raises his legs, catching the Fury and knocking him over the top rope and to he floor below! Tremendous pop!] TD: Oh my goodness! Annis countered that splash attempt by the champion, and Kowalski was sent flying to the floor! Kowalski looks to be badly shaken by that fall, and now Annis is leaving the ring! SR: But will Annis drag him back in, Dross, or will the manly Serge return and chairshot the hell out of the Fury? [Annis steps through the ropes to the outside, makes his way over to where Kowalski lies crumpled in a heap on the floor, and looking over to Osterhout, picks up the champ and begins to walk him over to the apron, preparing to push him back into the ring. The crowd pops in appreciation of Annis' sportsmanship.] TD: Annis, under the watchful eye of the vice-president, taking the high road as he helps Steve Kowalski back into the ring! SR: Not so fast, Dross! Look! [As Annis prepares to push Kowalski under the bottom rope, the Fury suddenly lashes out with a burst of strength, and shoves Annis across the floor, cracking his head against a ring post! The Furies go insane as Annis stumbles backwards from the impact and topples to the floor!] TD: Kowalski smashes Annis into that steel post, and Annis is down! Thunder has begun counting both men out in the ring... and Steve Kowalski is going for a chair! [As Annis shakes the cobwebs from his head on the floor, Kowalski picks up a steel chair from ringside, and at the urgings of the Furies, begins to stagger towards Annis, holding the char high over his head! However, another pop rises from the crowd as a figure suddenly dashes down the aisle towards the ring!] TD: Who the devil is that? SR: It's that Upper Voltan menace, Dross! What the hell is the Enigman doing here? [Kowalski is oblivious to Musashi's approach as the Japanese star races up behind him, and drives a hard blade foot into the the small of Kowalski's back, sending him flying across the floor! huge heel pop! The chair clatters to the floor as Kowalski lies on the concrete, gritting his teeth as he clutches at his back, and Serge Annis has no time to react as Musashi quickly picks up the dropped chair and brings it down across the skull of the Lethal protector! Pop!] TD: This is a disgrace! Takezo Musashi has no business involving himself in this match! SR: The little Quatari bastard's going for the mic, Dross! [Annis and Kowalski both lie on the floor, and Thunder is bellowing at the Enigma from the ring, but Musashi takes no notice of the big cowboy as he snatces the mic off of the timekeeper's table, in full view of the IIWF Vice-President, and points down at the two stunned wrestlers at his feet!] TM: Do you see, IIWF? Do you see how easy it is for me to bring these two men, supposedly the two top-ranked wrestlers in this federation, to their knees? There is no man in the IIWF that the Enigma cannot dominate! NO man! These two men may be battling for the IIWF World Title tonight, but the benchmark by which excellence is measured in the IIWF is standing before you right now! I am the man who has single-handedly plunged the IIWF into the blackness of utter chaos! Every so-called marquee wrestler in this federation has fallen under the boot of the Enigma! I have brought disorder to the IIWF, and I can restore order -- MY order -- when I have the IIWF World Title around my waist! So I will leave these two weaklings to their pathetic struggle. No matter what the outcome of this match, it will be as chaff in the wind, for the World Title will soon be mine! [With that, Musashi drops the mic and makes his way back up to the aisle to a seething heel pop from the crowd. Annis and Kowalski begin to stir on the floor, as Thunder restarts the count inside the ring.] TD: What despicable behaviour from Takezo Musashi! SR: You said it, Dross! Attacking two defenceless cripples like that! TD: Cripples? I mean, Kowalski's in bad shape, sure, but Annis... SR: Mentally, Dross. Mentally. TD: Good grief. Both men are on their feet now, and Kowalski is going for the chair again! Unbelievable! SR: He's gotta be thinking count-out, Dross. Annis has gotta pin him in the ring, and Kowalski's best friend is Thunder's count right now. [Kowalski grabs the chair off the floor, and hobbles towards Annis, brandishing the chair high... and Annis catches the chair before the Fury can bring it down! Big pop! The two men struggle, and the powerful Annis roughly shoves the champion back, sending him crashing across the timekeeper's table!] TD: Kowalski is lying across that table, and he appears to have aggravated that rib injury! He's not making a move to get to his feet! SR: And Annis is going up to the apron, Dross! He's gonna flatten the Fury! [Thunder's count reaches six as Annis quickly scrambles up onto the ring apron, and climbs up the turnbuckles over top of the table! The crowd goes wild as Annis quickly launches himself off of the corner and crashes right on top of Kowalski, shattering the table underneath them! Thunderous pop!] TD: What a move! Annis hits that big splash from the top rope, and Kowalski is in big trouble now! SR: Jesus, Dross... the Fury might not walk away from this one! [Annis quickly leaps to his feet, looks at a visibly angry Osterhout and shrugs, then grabs the stunned Kowalski, and shoves him under the bottom rope into the ring, following him in just before Thunder reaches the ten-count. Kowalski lolls on the canvas, his eyelids fluttering, as Annis hoists him up and prepares to suplex the champion.] TD: Annis going for what looks like a reverse front layout suplex... he's got Kowalski up... and the champion flips out of the move! SR: NO! Annis rolls with the Fury's momentum, and hits a big facebuster on Kowalski! The Fury's still got a concussion, Dross, and that must have really rung his bell good! [Annis goes for another cover, and Thunder races across the ring for the count: 1 -- 2 -- Kowalski gets a foot on the ropes! Huge Fury pop! Annis curses and jerks Kowalski up to his feet, sending him into the ropes, but on the rebound, Kowalski manages to get a foot up, driving it into Annis' abdomen! Annis bends over double, and Kowalski tucks Annis' head between his legs and underhooks his arms! The crowd explodes with a deafening pop!] TD: SKULLPUMP! Here it comes! [As Kowalski attempts to lift the huge Annis into the air for the Skullpump, though, he suddenly gasps with pain as fire rips through his right side once again, and he lets go of Annis in mid-lift, dropping the big Canadian unharmed to the canvas as Kowalski falls to the mat, clutching at his right hip!] SR: He blew it! He had him cold, and he blew the Skullpump! TD: Kowalski's many physical debilitations are really beginning to take their toll on him now, Steve! He may have the heart of a lion, but his body is simply not able to execute what his will demands! [Annis collects himself, and rises to his feet as Kowalski writhes on the canvas, and a big smile spreads across the Canadian's face as he slowly walks over to the Fury and drags him to his feet, but before he can apply any sort of hod to the champion, Kowalski lashes out with a desperate rake to the eyes, and as Annis recoils away, Kowalski facelocks the champion, and... BAM!] TD: Cattle Buster DDT! SR: He might have gotten Serge with that move! [This time, Kowalski is the one who goes for a cover, and Thunder is immediately on the scene for the count... 1 -- 2 -- Annis just drives a shoulder up! Kowalski rolls off the Lethal Protector, and both men just lie on the canvas, trying to muster their strength again!] TD: Annis seems to have been stunned by that move, and Kowalski is showing some signs of rallying! After being completely dominated by Serge Annis for much of this mach, Steve Kowalski seems to have some gas left in his tank still! SR: Well, if you ate breakfast, lunch and dinner every day of the week at Woycjek's House of Cabbage, you'd have a more than a little gas to spare yourself, Dross-man. By the way, the Fury definitely recommends the kulbasa... TD: That's more information than I cared to know, Steve. Hold on... what the devil is that? [A huge cheer goes up from the crowd as a bright red, metallic object suddenly arcs out of the crowd from the mass of Furies at ringside, and lands in the ring, bouncing across the canvas and coming to a stop directly in front of Steve Kowalski! Kowalski looks at the object in disbelief, and then breaks into a huge smile as he rises to his feet and picks up the shiny red tricycle that rests on the mat before him!] TD: Kowalski has a TRICYCLE! SR: It's deja vu all over again, Dross-man! Whoo-hoo! [Kowalski looks over at the corner, glances down to Annis, who is still not recovered from the Cattle Buster DDT, and then to ring official Brody Thunder, who reclines against the ropes, arms folded in front of him, and the big cowboy grins at the Fury.] BT: Ya wanna give the folks a show, runt? Tell ya what... I'll give ya this one fer free... 'cause personally, I don't think ye've got the mustard t' pull it off! [Kowalski's eyes flash at this remark, and he nods to Thunder before slowly shuffling over to the corner, and begins climbing up the turnbuckles, carrying the tricycle with him! The Furies are going nuts, and the rest of the fans in the Coliseum are on their feet, popping wildly as Steve Kowalski climbs all the way up to the top rope, balancing precariously on the turnbuckle pad!] TD: Good lord! He can't be serious... SR: He's gonna do it, Dross! He's going for the Tricycle Moonsault! The Fury ain't out of it yet, baby dolls! [However, as Kowalski fights for his balance on the ropes, his bad leg hampering him as he brings the tricycle around and tucks it into his chest, Serge Annis suddenly rises to his feet, spies Kowalski on the corner ropes... and stands motionless in the centre of the ring, bowing his head!] TD: Annis is up! SR: What the hell is that idiot doing? He's just standing there! [Annis stretches out his arms in the crucifix position once again, and suddenly, the lights begin to fade out! Kowalski notices the lighting change and looks around from his perch, glancing over his shoulder to see Annis staring back at him, a chilling smile crossing his face...] TD: Oh my goodness. SR: Get outta there, Fury! [...and Annis suddenly slams his hands down to his sides, causing the ring pyrotechnics to erupt into life once again in a blinding flash of light! Kowalski screams as a pillar of fire suddenly ignites directly in front of him, and the crowd gasps in fear and concern as the IWF Champion is blown back off of the turnbuckles, and Kowalski crashes into the mat, his hair smouldering from the explosion, and the blackened tricycle bouncing across the mat and out of the ring!] TD: Good lord! Annis used those fireworks to deliberately injure Steve Kowalski! What a heinous tactic from Serge Annis! SR: Are you kidding, Dross? That was great! TD: [pause] Pardon my language, Steve, but what the HELL are you talking about? SR: Don't you get it, Dross? The old Serge is back! That's the Serge Annis we know and love -- the sick, twisted, sadistic sociopath that use to scare the bejeezus out of just about everybody in the Double Eye! He used Wrestle Clean, he used Osterhout, and now he's got a chance to be the IIWF Champion! I loves the Fury, Dross, but you've gotta love that! [The crowd reacts to Annis' stunt with a very loud heel pop, and Osterhout is on his feet at ringside, glaring up at Serge Annis, obviously angered by Annis' use of the fireworks, but the big Canadian meets the vice-president's incensed eyes with a cold, chilling grin, and Annis openly laughs at the red-faced executive before he casually makes his way over to pin Kowalski -- but as he turns away from Osterhout, Annis's cocky demeanour instantly changes to a look of confusion and deep-seated agony! Annis frantically looks down, and sees Steve Kowalski -- battered, bleeding, his face blackened by the flames and his hair singed -- with a vice-like grip on Annis' groin area! Huge pop!] TD: Kowalski is still in this fight! That tricycle must have taken the brunt of those pyrotechnics! Thank goodness! SR: Looks like Annis ain't wearing his "Lethal Protector" right now, Dross... [Annis is nearly paralysed with agony as Kowalski puts the squeeze on for all he's worth, and as Thunder moves n to apply a five-count to the Fury, Kowalski pulls Annis close and hisses in the big Canadian's face.] SK: Don't write me off yet, punk! This dance _ain't_ over! [Kowalski then slips his free arm under Annis' right armpit, and keeping his grip on Annis' groin, heaves him up and over his head with a modified fallaway slam that sends Annis head-first into the mat behind him! Incredible pop!] TD: What a move form the champion! Kowalski is beginning to bring it on now! SR: That's the toughest sonofabitch I've ever seen, Dross. Right there. [Annis is clearly disoriented as he rolls on the mat, and Kowalski hobbles after him as fast as he is able, and the crowd explodes with another big Fury pop as he heaves Annis up roughly, clinches him around the waist, and plants him with a Tiger Driver!] TD: The Fury is on a tear! SR: C'mon, Fury... keep it going! [Annis tries desperately to regain his footing as he senses the momentum he has carried for much of the match slipping away, but his orientation is scrambled by the effects of the Tiger Driver and he doesn't see Kowalski lunging at him with a big running lariat, cutting Annis down to the mat once again! Huge pop! Kowalski is on fire, and he seems to regain some of his former energy as the Coliseum crowd thunders its support for him, and he flings Annis to the ropes and connects with a ring-shaking powerslam that rocks the Lethal Protector!] TD: Kowalski going for the pin... 1 -- 2 -- Annis kicks out! SR: He's gotta pull out the stops now, Dross! If Kowalski runs out of gas this time, there might not be enough for another rally! He's got to put Annis down while he has the chance! [Kowalski and Annis struggle to their feet, Annis clearly disoriented and Kowalski slowed by his bad leg, and Annis takes a desperate swing at the champion... and misses! Annis' momentum carries him around, and Kowalski quickly moves in and drops Annis on his head with a crushing backdriver suplex! Incredible pop! Kowalski goes for another cover... 1 -- 2 -- Serge Annis just kicks out! Pop!] TD: Kowalski now with all the momentum, but Serge Annis is not giving in either! SR: This could go on all night, Dross! TD: It certainly appears that it could, Steve! I don't know where Steve Kowalski is finding these incredible reserves of energy, but he is fighting in there as if this is his last fight ever! What magnificent mettle is this man made of! SR: I thought he was still in the Betty Ford Centre, Dross. TD: I was not referring to the Man Of Steel, Steve, I meant mettle as in... never mind. Kowalski has Annis up once again, sends him to the ropes... and a BIG boot to the midsection that has Annis bent double! Kowalski has Annis' head between his legs now... he's going for the arms! SR: Here it comes, Dross! We're just a Skullpump away from another Fury victory! Ain't life grand! [The Coliseum crowd is on its feet to a man, and the thunderous chant of "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!" roars throughout the arena as Kowalski bends over the winded Annis, hooks his arms tight behind his back, and the IIWF Champion grits his teeth as he digs his heels into the mat, searches for one last burst of energy... and hoists Annis off of the mat and into the air! Massive pop from the crowd!] TD: He's got him up! SR: YEAH! SKULLPUMP HIM, BABY! [Annis is only a couple of feet off of the mat, though, before a burning shock of pain rips through the Fury's right side, and his wail of agony cuts through the white noise of the cheering crowd as he struggles to hang on to the lift, to cut out the pain that is freezing up his muscles, to will his damaged body to do what it is not physically possible... And he almost succeeds. Kowalski manages to get Annis about halfway up before his body fails him, and a sigh escapes his lungs as he lets Annis go, allowing him to drop back to his feet! the Furies groan with disappointment, but the growing legion of Annis followers cheer wildly!] TD: He couldn't do it! Kowalski's hip gave out at a crucial moment, and he misses the Skullpump for the second time in this match! SR: Too little, too late, Dross! And now Annis can finish the match! [The dazed Annis, to his great surprise, suddenly finds him back on hs feet, looking across at the Fury, whose eyes are shut tight as he fights to block out the incredible agony shooting through his body! Almost by instinct, Annis' hand shoots out, and seizes Kowalski by the throat in a vicelike grip! Incredible pop!] TD: Annis is setting up for his Epitomiser chokeslam! SR: C'mon, Fury... one last rally... you can do it, buddy... [Despite the pain that is nearly blinding him, Kowalski's hands shoot to his throat, and he struggles desperately to free himself from the choke, but Annis knows he is in control now, and he wastes no tme in marshalling his frightening power into one last burst, heaving Steve "The Fury" Kowalski high into the air, sweeping the legs out from under the champion as he rises, and then, with a mighty bellow, driving the champion down and smashing him head-first into the mat! Thunderous pop! Thunder is immediately on the scene, and as Annis holds Kowalski down, Thunder begins to apply the count... 1... 2... Kowalski begins to stir, and instinct takes in the absence of conscious thought, and the champion somehow finds the energy to kick out of the pin... ...a fraction of a second too late. 3! Ding! Ding! Ding! Huge heel pop!] TD: HE GOT HIM! HE GOT HIM! SERGE ANNIS IS THE NEW IIWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION! SR: Thank God that's finally over! I gotta admit, that was one hell of a match, Dross! The Fury surprised everybody with the stuff he showed in that match, and all I can say is the guy's earned a good, long vacation! Lots of people wrote the guy off, myself included, but he Fury showed tonight why he's the greatest champion to ever set foot in the Double Eye, even though he's going home without the belt tonight! SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner... And NEW IIWF World heavyweight Champion... The "Lethal Protector", Serge Annis! [The crowd explodes with a monstrous heel pop, as "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder grudgingly gathers up the IIWF World Title belt from a ringside official, and hands it over to a still-foggy but jubilant Serge Annis, who stares disbelievingly at the shiny trophy in his hand before breaking out in a huge grin and hoisting the belt aloft, to another big heel pop from the crowd, the Annis fans in the audience soundly drowned out by both the Furies and the fans who supported Annis during his "face" period. Annis parades around the ring with the belt, and spying Osterhout at ringside, reaches over the top rope with the belt and swings it right in the IIWF Vice-President's face, shouting "Who's the damn man NOW?" at the seething executive.] TD: Annis is really getting in the face of Mr. Osterhout, who has to feel somewhat betrayed tonight after Serge Annis embraced his "Wrestle Clean" policy, only to throw the rulebook out the window tonight and nearly fricasseeing Steve Kowalski in the process! SR: Serves him right, Dross. Osterhout's pissin' in the wind if he thinks anybody in the IIWF gonna pay attention to his incessant whining about "fair play" and "wrestle clean", yadda yadda yadda. Maybe tonight will finally drive the point home that his little policy is a big fat failure, and Annis just exposed Wrestle Clean for the joke that it is tonight! [Annis continues to parade around the ring with the belt, then steps over the top rope and begins making his way up the aisle to the exit, as paper cups and trash rain down on the aisle. Annis grins evilly at Osterhout as he passes him in the aisle, and the camera zooms in to catch Osterhout's reaction as the new champion brushes past him on his way to the exit.] GO: I made you, Annis... and I can break you, too. [Annis reaches the curtain, and he pauses to wave the gleaming IIWF World Title belt to the crowd one last time, to another big heel pop from the crowd, before he disappears backstage. Osterhout watches him go, then follows him out, a grim expression in his face.] TD: There goes the new champion, and I suppose one must have expected that the old Serge Annis would eventually resurface, but it did tonight, and it paid off in spades for the Lethal Protector, who is going home as the new IIWF Champion. SR: Look at Kowalski, Dross! The guy's still lying on the mat... he can't get up! [All eyes turn back to the ring, where Steve "The Fury" Kowalski, a champion no more, is crawling across the ring, trying to pull himself back to his feet. The crowd noise falls to a hush as the Fury reaches the ropes, the agonising pain in his ribs, hip and head almost too much to bear, but he continues to struggle to rise, slowly, rope by rope, until finally, with an almost superhuman effort, he pulls himself to his feet, teetering against the top rope. Slowly, a chant of "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!" begins to make its way around the bowl of the Coliseum, building in intensity as Kowalski gingerly steps through the ropes, and as he reaches the floor, the crowd explodes in the loudest pop of the evening!] TD: Listen to this crowd, Steve Roberts! This capacity crowd here at the IIWF Coliseum is simply not going to allow Steve Kowalski to leave the building until they show him the appreciation he so richly deserves! SR: The greatest, Dross. That's all there is to say about Steve F'n Kowalski! TD: Wait a minute though... here comes Shadoe Rage! Shadoe Rage is making his way down the aisle to the ring! We've seen him a couple of times this evening, but we're still unsure as yet what business he has with Steve Kowalski! SR: That sonofabitch... if he tries to punk out the Fury after a match like that, I'll take a chair to his head myself! TD: You'll do no such thing, Steve Roberts, Let's see what happens... [Kowalski is limping up the aisle, head down and biting his lip from the pain, and the "SKULL-PUMP!" chant changes to a confused pop as Rage strides down the aisle, a strange smile on his face, and he squares off against Kowalski in the middle of the aisle. Kowalski looks up suspiciously at Rage, and his eyes narrow, his hands instinctively balling into fists as he narrows his eyes, preparing for a fight. From behind Rage, though, the curtain is suddenly drawn aside, and all the IIWF superstars that are still in the building, accompanied by the Jobber Justice Squad, Rage's Disciples, a gaggle of Furies and a host of other well-wishers, pour down the aisle and stand behind Rage! Kowalski looks genuinely confused as Rage just breaks into an even bigger grin, and shakes his head as he reaches out and claps Kowalski on the shoulder!] SR: Fury... you are _the_ _Meanest_ son of a bitch that ever wrestled! [The tumultuous pop that follows Rage's simple words of praise nearly take the roof off of the IIWF Coliseum, and the chant of "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!" bursts forth from the crowd once more, as Shadoe Rage gingerly picks up a smiling Steve Kowalski and hoists him up onto his shoulders, parading him around the ring, followed by the legion of wrestlers and fans behind him!] TD: Look at that, Steve! That could possibly be the greatest tribute a man can receive in this business! SR: Aw, this is chokin' me up, Dross-man! God bless you, Steve Kowalski! [The parade carries on around the ring for several minutes, and Rage eventually sets Kowalski down, and the former champion, as close to beaming as he has ever been seen in the IIWF, makes his way unaided up the aisle towards the exit, to another tumultuous pop and a hail of Mooselips cans from the loyal Furies. But at the curtain, Kowalski stops and holds up his hands, causing the crowd to, incredibly, fall to a hush, until a pin drop could be heard in the vast arena. All ears strain to listen as Kowalski looks around at the sea of fans and colleagues, and clears his throat.] SK: I can make this long an' drawn out, but I think I'll make it short an' sweet. Showin' my respect to the new man on the mountain. [Pausing] I would jus' like to say that it had been a real honor bein' yer champ! An' it has been a kick rumblin' with the rest of ya! But I gotta go. I gotta heal. I gotta leave. [Kowalski turns and starts to walk off. But he stops and turns once more.] But don't ya bastards get cocky! 'Cause I'll be back! Ya can't keep a bad man down! So don't ya ferget... Hell hath no FURY... Like ME! [The crowd is silent for a moment, then EXPLODES in yet another ear-splitting pop for the Fury! Kowalski looks around, soaking in the cheers of the crowd, as Shadoe Rage looks on, shaking his head and laughing, and then, without another word, Steve "The Fury" Kowalski, the greatest champion in IIWF history, simply steps through the curtain... And is gone. The crowd, however, shows no signs of quieting down despite Kowalski's exit, and the chant of 'SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!' makes the rounds of the Coliseum once more! Cut back to Dross and Roberts at ringside!] TD: Well, Steve Kowalski drops the belt to Serge Annis here tonight, but I think it's fair to say that the legend of Steve "The Fury" Kowalski has been firmly established in IIWF history here tonight! SR: Damn straight, Dross-man. There ain't ever gonna be another. But having Serge Annis as champ, now that he's regained his sociopathic senses, ought to provide some quality, bloodthirsty entertainment for the nice families watching the greatest wrestling promotion on the planet! TD: Indeed, it remains to be seen what kind of champion Serge Annis will be, now that he has turned his back on "Wrestle Clean" and returned to his rulebreaking ways. This has been simply an unbelievable night of action, folks, but we're out of time! It's time for us to wish the International Internet Wrestling Federation a very happy birthday, and we're looking forward to what Year Three holds in store for us! So on behalf of my broadcast colleague, "Soundbite" Steve Roberts... SR: Hey Dross... I just heard Spreadbury's buying us all free table dances at the Beaver Trap tonight! Happy [BLEEP]in' birthday, muhfuhs! Whooo! TD: ...uh, for Steve Roberts, this is Tim Dross, saying: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, IIWF! [Cut to a wide-angle shot of the interior of the IIWF Coliseum, where the fans are still on their feet, the chant of "SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP! SKULL-PUMP!" still roaring at ear-splitting levels for the long-since departed Steve "The Fury" Kowalski, and a dazzling burst of fireworks explodes in the rigging over the ring, illuminating the Coliseum in brilliant reds, whites and blues, which slowly fades to black.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Gregg Osterhout | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | ghost@frii.com | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+