________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| | || | \ v v / | __| |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| ______ ____ ______ _______ ___ _______ ______ \ ____\/ __ \\ ___ \\ _____\\ | / /_____\\ ___ \ | | / / | || | \ \ | | | / / | | | \ \ | |__/_/ | || |__/ / |_____| | / /| |_____| |__/ / | ____/| | || __ /| _____/| |/ / | _____/| __ / | | | | | || | \ \| | | / | | | | \ \ | | | | / /| | \ \ | | / | | | | \ \ | | | |_/ / | | \ \|____ | / | |_____| | \ \ | | \___/ | | \ \____/|/ /______/| | \ \ | / | / \/ | / \/ |/ |/ |/ LIVE! + IIWF Coliseum + Saturday 1 August 1998 + LIVE! H + O + U + R T + W + O [The camera does a slow pan across the capacity crowd as it slowly swings towards ringside, capturing a huge section of busty women with "THE SMOOTH" t-shirts on... and then slowly cutting a wide swathe across the violent Sychopath section, chanting and drinking with wild, feckless abandon in a special "reserved" area near ringside...before capturing a shot of ex-IIWF stars Lord Byron and Charles Scheffield, conspicuously seated next to one another...with the universally-beloved Sabin Figaro seated a few rows back... And still the unfeeling lens of the camera probes onward, pausing to capture a half-naked black man with the letters "DDUA" painted on his chest...and then we are amidst the Dirty Doggies, .40s raised high in tribute to their heavy-drinkin', free-speakin' idol... Finally, mercifully, the camera returns to ringside, and the broadcast table at which are seated Tim Dross and "Soundbite" Steve Roberts.] TD: Welcome back, folks, to the second hour of this historic night, live from the jam-packed IIWF Coliseum here in Portland, Oregon. Let's get straight back up to the ring for the match that could very well steal the show tonight -- the "Konton No Kamisama" match between "Sychosys" Joe Petrow and the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi. Over to you, Sparkplug! ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| ..........................| || | \ v v / | __|.......................... |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| KONTON NO KAMISAMA MATCH: "Sychosys" Joe Petrow vs. "Enigma" Takezo Musashi ......................................................................... WRITER: Oliver Bateman [The shot cuts to mid-ring, where a tuxedo-clad Sparkplug Lee clasps the mic in one of his puffy hands.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, before I introduce the combatants for this next bout, I feel it necessary to draw your attention to one of the distinguished men in the history of wrestling... [Pause. The fans pop wildly, excited because Lee's jabber has momentarily ceased.] I present to you, good people, the one and only Latin Sensation... [Longer pause. Longer pop. Several bras narrowly miss the ring apron, instead landing on the absolutely filthy ring floor. As if on cue, several hundred crumpled up Sabin Figaro posters are also heaved at the ring...] SR: Damn it! I told Sabin having that autograph signing before Forever was a bad idea! [Lee coughs, as if trying to quiet the IIWF faithful...but he fails miserably, and simply continues, the raucous cheers still unabated.] Ladies and gentlemen, I give you tonight's referee...I give you the world-renown HUGO HUGO! [The spotlight shifts off the garish Lee and onto the diminutive Hugo Hugo, who bows in the direction of the Guatamalan announcers' booth...] SL: And now I have the even _greater_ honour, perhaps the _greatest_ honour _ever_ accorded me... [Huge pop! Lee stops dead in his tracks as Chris Quigley strides out of the tunnel. Guitar case slung over his broad back, the casually-attired Quigley makes his way to ringside...as the fans go nuts, hoping that Quigley can quiet Lee...and perhaps add some more blood to the already-stained ring. "Quickstrike" disappoints them, though, as he merely sets up a folding chair and removes his guitar. He strums a few notes...waits for the monster pop he receives...and grins a knowing grin in Steve Roberts' direction.] TD: What was that about, Steve? SR: Ain't nothin', Dross. Ain't nothin'. [Back in the ring, an exasperated Sparkplug Lee gathers his composure and continues. Hugo Hugo's amazingly...one might say hideously...wide smile has _not_ disappeared.] SL: Now, good people, I present to you one of the true greats... one of the most highly-decorated men to ever enter an IIWF ring... He graces us with his presence, to be sure... [Pause.] ...I give you "SYCHOSYS" JOE PETROW! [Amazing pop! The Sychopaths explode, many fighting their way through the Dirt Doggies in an attempt to win Joe's esteem by attacking Sabin Figaro! Figaro, however, is aware of the ploy...and quickly heads to the back of the jam-packed Coliseum. Joe finally deigns to enter, a huge wall of brilliant, gaudy pyrotechnics and the familiar instrumental opener to "ER" marking his arrival. He strides down the aisle, confident... conceited... and bald. Far tauter than in the past and boasting an incredibly-developed trapezius muscle, Petrow breaks into a slow jog, reaches the apron, and springboards into the ring.] SR: Crazy Joe's really pumped up the shoulders, huh? [Petrow shakes hands with the tiny Hugo Hugo. Hugo's smile grows even broader...perhaps beyond all medical limits...and Petrow steps away, unnerved.] SR: Hugo's really flashing those yellow Latin chompers, Dross. It's weirding me out. [Lee restores order...or, more specifically, the Sychopaths realise that Sabin Figaro has left the arena and give up pursuit...and cease their pitched battle with the Dirty Doggies.] SL: Thank you, good people. I now introduce to you one of the most fearsome grapplers in the world...he's basically a riddle wrapped up in a paradox in a conundrum, if you pardon my bad jo... [Boos rain down on Lee, who finally gathers himself, hurt feelings and all, and continues.] ...I present to you for the final time... "ENIGMA" TAKEZO MUSASHI! [A ferocious-looking Takezo Musashi charges to the ring, painted red pentagrams on his face shining as the brilliant beam from the spotlight strikes them. He, too, leaps onto the apron and hurdles over the ropes... but not before casting a backward glance in Chris Quigley's direction.] SL: This match is a 45-minute marathon match with nine different stipulations. The stipulations change every five minutes, at which time referee Hugo Hugo... [The camera again fixes itself on the diminutive Latino.] ...will clap his hands and signal a stipulation change. The esteemed members of the Jobber Justice Squad will make all necessary changes to the ring. That said, it's time to... [Long pause. The crowd quiets, anticipating Lee's final words.] ...it's time to start the match! [Lee hastily exits the ring...and Hugo Hugo motions for the bell! The match is underway!] TD: Steve, this amazing marathon match starts off with "Audience Participation" rules! Anything the fans toss the wrestlers is fair game. SR: Ooh... gotta go with Sychosys here. His following's huge, and his boys are all at ringside. [However, things get off to a slow start in mid-ring, as the two crazed warriors circle one another warily...] SR: C'mon! Cut this crap out! [Petrow strikes first, charging at Musashi... Vicious spear! As Musashi falls backward, his wrist flicks into his tights, skilfully withdrawing a shuriken. Noting the implement, Petrow struggles vainly but separate himself...but fails! Musashi's shuriken bites deep into Joe's forehead, withdrawing a crimson bounty!] SR: Oh my, Drossy! Petrow is a-juicing! TD: Joe Petrow has been bloodied! He's losing blood rapidly! [Petrow tumbles backward...grasping at his bleeding head...and falls out of the ring. Musashi, not one to be outdone, springboards out of the ring, using a ferocious body-press to knock Joe off his feet! Huge pop!] TD: We're out of the ring now, Steve! We're in no man's land! SR: No man's Land my ass, Dross! Poor ol' Enigma...he just shot himself out into Sychopath territory! [Indeed, the very presence of his faithful throng seems to energise Petrow. Joe heaves Music off of him...runs his palm along his gaping wound...and reaches into the pack of raving Sychopaths!] SR: Joe just went deep, baby dolls! TD: We're about to get a look at what bizarre implement Joe has just withdrawn... [The camera zooms in...Musashi can only stare...and Joe Petrow yanks an enormous golden vibrator, the initials "BLR" emblazoned on the handle, from the Sychopaths!] SR: Oh my god. TD: It's...it's... oh my. SR: Becky LaRue's prized vibrator! Or a reasonable facsimile! I'll be damned! I thought she was gonna have the honour of retiring that prize piece... [Musashi's jaw drops...and Petrow clocks him square on the forehead with the enormous sex aid! Musashi crumples backwards, leaning on the ring steps for support...and Petrow switches the machine on... ...and leaps at Musashi, endeavouring to impale him! Huge pop!] SR: Joe's out for...dammit, Dross, I lost my train of thought. TD: Indeed, Steve. I've called many a match...but never one like this. SR: I'll be damned...I'll be damned... [But Musashi ducks out of the way, prompting another hail of Sabin Figaro posters, these still enclosed in their protective plastic casing! Joe's vibrator breaks against the steps, and he abandons the implement, attacking Musashi with a vicious series of open-handed slaps! Musashi topples backward, unable to handle the brutal barrage. Desperate for an escape, he reaches out into the audience...] TD: Oh my! What could this be? [...and retrieves a stuffed kiwi bird!] TD: The national symbol of New Zealand! SR: A stuffed bird, Drossy? This ain't like the Andorran Acrobat...the Taiwan Tornado..the Tongan Titan...ol' Musashi can't wound anybody with something like that! [But Musashi's rage allows him to use the bird constructively. He leaps onto a shocked Petrow, attempting to shove the bird down his foe's throat! Petrow, however, is not one to be conquered so quickly...he simply bites the head off the stuffed bird and spits it right back into Musashi's face!] TD: An amazing escape! What a stunning turn of events! [Musashi falls backward...Petrow beseeches his Sychopaths for yet another tool...and scores big with a kiwi-shot directly to the face! Musashi screams in frustration, and dropkicks Petrow into the ring fence...where he collapses in a heap next to a nonchalant Chris Quigley. Petrow locks up...Quigley flashes him a quick grin...and then Petrow's head is kissing arena floor again, driven downward as Musashi smashes a glass decanter containing...containing...] TD: No! It can't be! SR: Holy jesus, Dross! I'm laughing on the inside and puking on the outside 'cause, embalmed though it may be, that's a...a...well, let's just say the Enigma just cold-cocked Joe Petrow. TD: Expert historic archivist that I am, Roberts, I know that for what it is: the embalmed penis of Rasputin! And such a wonderful archive... meeting a horrible end here, smashed over Joe Petrow's head! [Petrow, enraged, leaps up at Musashi, his bald pate thoroughly drenched in embalming fluid, the two-meter long "package" resting beside a disgusted-looking Chris Quigley... ...but Musashi ducks out of the way! Petrow comes up empty and turns again to his Sychopaths...and spots a familiar face!] TD: Four-M is at ringside, Steve Roberts! We might see the brutal double-teaming that made Team Sychosys perhaps the greatest and most effective tag team in the IIWF's long history! [Petrow grins as McArthur leaps the fence, chair in hand. Musashi backpedals, suddenly afraid of losing...of being pinned. McArthur nods, takes a step towards Musashi...and then clocks Petrow! "MacArthinsteiner my ass!" the would-be aristocrat screams as Petrow tumbles onto the ground! The Sychopaths need to be restrained by several nearby members of the JJS as they endeavour to attack McArthur, who gives the entire group the four-finger salute!] TD: Maurice McArthur just nailed Joe Petrow with a chair! Amazing turn! Joe is not moving! SR: Time's a-tickin', baby dolls. We're at four minutes, fifty seconds and counting on this lil' "round"... [Musashi, never one to question a favour, falls onto the ring floor...and Hugo Hugo materializes out of nowhere, making the count... 1... 2... 3!] TD: The first fall goes to Takezo Musashi! And time has expired on this segment! Can you believe it?! Maurice McArthur has turned on Joe Petrow -- and he has cost him the first fall in this match! [Hugo Hugo claps his hands and separates the two men, instructing them to re-enter the ring. Musashi does so with ease, but the badly-bloodied and very woozy Petrow leans on the smallish Latin ref for support as he steps back onto the apron...and collapses through the ropes and back into the ring.] TD: Joe Petrow looking decidedly weary. SR: You think, Dross? [Suddenly, inexplicably, the oft-mentioned cage suspended on the ceiling begins to slowly descend...the lights dim...and the crowd pops as if the world was ending! Huge steel cage pop! More bras fly into the ring, several landing on Hugo Hugo...causing the ref to smile even wider!] TD: Yes, friends at home, the cage _has_ landed. We've wondered why it was here... if it was going to serve a purpose. Now, good people, the answer becomes very, very definite. The answer is "yes." SR: Yeah, I'll read it...uh, this next match is a cell match, with only pinfalls and submissions counting as falls. You happy now, cue card men? You finally got me to read the damn script. TD: This, long-time viewers, is the same cage that the legendary Brody Thunder and Steve Kowalski combined to completely level at Snow Brawl! Rebuilt to the exacting specifications of... SR: You know what, Dross? I feel caged. They're taking away my creativity... [As the announcers bicker, Petrow and Musashi attack one another anew in mid-ring. The much fresher Musashi powers Petrow towards the ropes...and Petrow uses the opportunity afforded him to slip out of the cell! With Musashi in hot pursuit, Petrow begins scaling the cage, his laboured movements and heavy breathing providing ample evidence of his weariness.] TD: Joe Petrow is leaving the cell! He's scaling the cage! SR: And the Enigma's right behind him! [Petrow reaches the top, and quickly laces out at the still-climbing Musashi with a heavy boot...but the agile Musashi avoids it... ...and pulls himself onto the top!] TD: Both men are now on top of the cage, Steve Roberts! An ill-timed charge here could spell disaster! SR: If you go down, you go down hardway. Even if the Smooth was down there to catch you, it'd still be a long fall, baby dolls. [Musashi mis-times a Yakuza kick...Petrow goes underneath...and legsweeps Takezo off his feet! Huge pop as Musashi hits the cage grating hard!] TD: A terrible bump! One could easily hear Takezo's back crack from right here in the relative safety of our booth! SR: You didn't qualify it, Dross. What if I happen to point out a little flaw in your logic? TD: Flaw? SR: What if a blind man were sitting here, Drossy? Think about that. Soundbite's always thinking, kiddo. [Petrow seizes the advantage, viciously ramming Musashi's face into the grating. Unable to cushion the hard shots, the Enigma's face reddens...small cuts open...and Musashi begins to bleed. And bleed badly. Brutal pop from the bloodthirsty crowd! The crimson streaming down his face does little more than enrage the weakened Musashi...and he pulls free of Petrow's grasp! Wild pop!] TD: Musashi breaks free... but those cuts all over his face are _not_ pretty. Petrow's really got the crowd behind him, too. The tide's turning. SR: The Tibetan Teakettle Thrasher's juicing, sure, but you're looking at a wild, untamed beast that was raised on spit and human waste! Nothing fazes this brute! TD: Huh? SR: Exactly. [Musashi shoots out at Petrow, who reverses the wild strike into a front facelock. Musashi's arms flail wildly...his eyes flutter...and Hugo Hugo, somehow having found his way on top of the cage, claps his hands!] TD: The period ends with the score still one to nothing, Musashi! Petrow couldn't get the fall! SR: And all three of them are struggling to get down the cage as it begins to rise! [The limber Hugo Hugo is the first man off the cage, pearly yellows still flashing for all to see. Petrow is next, a disgusted look on his countenance. A grateful Musashi is the last to descend the cage, a ring of bruises around his thick neck.] TD: All three men are down! We're now moving into the third period, a pure science bout! Any chokeholds, low blows or other shows of bad sportsmanship will be punishable by the rewarding of a fall to the opponent! SR: Neither of these guys is gonna get out of this period unscathed, Drossy. I mean, this match has been nothing but blood and bad jokes. TD: IIWF staples, to be sure. [Both men re-enter the ring...and Hugo Hugo signals for the third period to begin! Intense pop from the crowd!] SR: Both men are just gassing it now, Dross-man. Ten minutes have gone by, they're both juicing...hell, I see them using this five minutes to get some hard-earned rest. [But Joe Petrow doesn't see it that way, as he open-hand slaps Musashi directly across the face! Huge guffaws from the Sychopaths!] TD: Oh my! Petrow obviously endeavouring to goad his ferocious opponent into doing something stupid... SR: Musashi just got bitch-slapped, Dross! [Musashi's eyes blaze with a heretofore-unseen fire... ...and he hurls himself onto Joe Petrow, biting at scratching at his foe. Petrow's eyes, however, reflect no fear...only satisfaction as Hugo Hugo calls for the bell! The fall goes to Joe Petrow!] TD: Takezo Musashi just violated the rules of good sportsmanship and paid for it in spades! It's all knotted up at one now, Steve. SR: Yeah. Ol' Petrow got himself right back into the match. [Petrow moves to goad Musashi...but Musashi ignores him, intent on grappling Petrow. Petrow tries to squirm free, but Musashi wraps an arm around Petrow's head and executes a.... ...brutal head and arm takedown! Petrow crashes hard into the mat, and Musashi makes the cover. Hugo Hugo counts... 1... 2... PETROW KICKS OUT!] TD: Close call, Soundbite. Petrow looked lost in there against Musashi, a capable amateur wrestler. SR: That just ain't Petrow's style, Drossy. You make it falls-count-anywhere and you'll see the fireworks. [Musashi continues pressing the advantage, Irish-whipping Petrow into the ropes. Petrow rebounds...and ducks under Musashi's clothesline attempt! Musashi turns around quickly...and Joe Petrow pokes_him_in_the_nose!] TD: Joe Petrow just tweaked Takezo Musashi's nose? SR: Oh, damn. The Formosan Fireballer ain't gonna find that too funny, baby dolls. [Musashi's bloodied face somehow reddens further...and he spears Joe Petrow into the ground, endeavouring to bite his foe! Before Hugo Hugo can separate the two men, the Enigma's incisors manage to dig deep into Petrow's forearm.... ...but the fall is awarded to Joe Petrow!] TD: The tally is now 2 to 1, Steve! Joe Petrow has moved into the lead! [Petrow steps back, nursing his injured arm. Musashi glares back at him... ...and Hugo Hugo claps his hands, signalling the end of the period!] TD: The period ends with Joe Petrow ahead! We now move into our fourth segment, a third rail match! For five minutes, Petrow and Musashi will have an opportunity to electrocute one another by connecting electrodes to a rail and then slamming the opponent onto the rail! SR: Holy smoke, Dross! This is what the Soundbite likes -- the smell of roasted human flesh. I's getting all misty, Dross. TD: Maybe, Steve, but I need also to remind our viewers that in this particular round, falls are only awarded for slamming one's opponent directly _onto_ the rail. [As Scott Bloom and Jumpin' Jack of the JJS dutifully set about attaching the third rail to the two corners of the ring, Petrow charges at the jobbers, determined to use them to his advantage.... ...but Musashi sneaks up behind him, lacing a low blow into Joe Petrow's unprotected groin! Petrow crumples onto the ground, clutching his wounded area, and Musashi lifts him high above his head...] TD: Gorilla press! Takezo Musashi has just gorilla-pressed Joe Petrow! [...and hurls him down onto the mat! Petrow hits hard, nearly falling through the mat... ...and Musashi moves to connect the electrodes to the two corners of the ring!] TD: You can just see the hatred in Takezo Musashi's eyes, Steve. This is a man he's wanted for months...a man who has plagued his very existence. Every move Musashi executes has that added force behind it. SR: He's got some zip on his moves, Dross. Whether it's lifelong hatred or just good conditioning, I don't know. [Musashi succeeds in hooking one of the electrodes up. He moves briskly to connect the second one... ...but Joe Petrow drops him with a quick kick to the back of the head! Musashi crumples to the ground, clutching at his wounded cranium...] TD: Takezo is down! That kick by Petrow really knocked the wind out of him! SR: Petrow bought himself some time. If he can manage to connect that other electrode, it'll be like the Fourth of July in August! Human fireworks! Whoo-hoo! [Determined to buy himself some time, the exhausted Petrow heaves Musashi over the top rope...and into the screaming section of Sychopaths!] TD: Joe Petrow has thrown his foe to the wolves! What an astounding toss! SR: Ain't no coming back from that, baby dolls! The Indonesian Invader's gonna have to fight his way through a horde of psyched-up Sychopaths! [Musashi manages to cushion his fall, colliding with several Sychopaths. The others converge on him, but he fends them off with a hastily-grabbed bottle of Colt .45 malt liquor! The Sychopaths surge forward again, but are met on the flanks by a throng of totally hammered Dirty Doggies! As the two groups slug it out at ringside, Musashi leaps the fence... ...and tackles Joe Petrow under the rail just as Petrow makes the final connection!] TD: Oh my! [Petrow fights back, shoving Musashi into the rail, his body used as a lever... ...and both men feel the electric shock of the rail! Hugo Hugo signals for the bell!] TD: 3-2, Joe Petrow! Both men receive one fall a-piece! [As the two badly-shocked superstars gather their senses and begin to regain consciousness, Hugo Hugo claps his hands, signalling for another period change! Instantly, JJS members materialise on the apron, removing the rail.] TD: We're now at the twenty-minute mark and moving into the match's fifth period, a submission match! The rules are quite simple, as... SR: Let's keep it simple, Dross. [Hugo Hugo helps both men back onto their feet...asks them if they can continue...and motions to the timekeeper to start the fifth period!] TD: We're underway, Soundbite! It's going to be interesting to see how Joe Petrow and Takezo Musashi wrestle this match. They're both great submission wrestlers. SR: Musashi's submissions have gotta be the most painful, though. We're talking stuff around the posts, stuff around the ring fence... the whole nine yards. Petrow, well, he does some stuff. [Musashi and Petrow lock up again, vying for an advantage. Musashi takes out Petrow's knees, knocking him onto the mat. Not one to waste a moment, Musashi locks on an armbar... ...but Petrow grabs the ropes! Hugo Hugo orders the hold broken!] SR: And he's outta there! TD: Petrow manages to break the hold! Both men are back on their feet! [Petrow shoots forward, wraps his arms around Musashi's gut... ...belly-to-belly suplex! Musashi impacts hard, and Petrow is quickly on top of him, hammering away with ferocious lefts and rights!] SR: Bang-bang, Dross-man! Petrow's hammering Musashi with those piston punches! TD: Indeed, Joe definitely has the momentum in his favour! [Musashi's head rocks back and forth with each impact...and then Petrow yanks Musashi back up, Irish-whipping him into the ropes! Petrow steps to the side, waiting for Musashi to pass...and then scores from behind with a brutal reverse spear that floors the Enigma!] TD: Reverse spear! Joe Petrow has just scored with the reverse spear! SR: Musashi will never make forty-five minutes at this rate, Dross. [Petrow yanks Musashi back up, whips him into the ropes.... Frankensteiner by Joe Petrow! Musashi again hits the mat hard, head bobbing slightly as he connects...and then ceases moving.] TD: Vicious frankensteiner by Joe Petrow! Takezo Musashi is out cold! [Petrow goes right to work, applying his patented stump-puller...] SR: Quigmission! Joe Petrow has the Quigmission locked on! It's lights out, baby dolls! [The Sychopaths cheer wildly, albeit assured of Petrow's triumph now... ...and Hugo Hugo orders the hold broken, awarding the fall to Petrow!] TD: The unconscious Musashi didn't tap! Hugo Hugo simply would not allow Joe Petrow to maintain the hold! SR: 4-2 in Petrow's favour now, baby dolls! He's bringing it home... oh yeah! [After helping Musashi back onto his feet, Hugo Hugo claps, signalling the end of the fifth period! JJS members flood the ring, each carrying a table... seven tables in all.] TD: And the submission period is over! We move now to period six, a match where Seven Tables of Fear rules are enforced! SR: Which means getting put through a table counts as a fall, Dross-man! This is a Petrow speciality -- Musashi's going down, baby dolls. [The JJS jobbers hurry to escape the ring, but Petrow succeeds in grabbing Scott Bloom! The heaves "the Whine" over his shoulder and charges at the wobbly Musashi...] TD: Petrow attacking with a jobber! But not Maurice McArthur! [...but Musashi plants a knee solidly into Petrow's gut! Petrow topples backward, Bloom's weight too much to manage... ...and he collapses through the Bulldog Brown table!] SR: The Bulldog Brown table gave! Guess even ol' Bulldog couldn't no-sell against 450 pounds, all told! TD: 4-3 in Petrow's favour now, Soundbite! Takezo is gaining ground, albeit slowly! [Petrow pushes a protesting Bloom off him and ploughs forward, a fire burning in his eyes. He shoves table after table out of the way en route to Musashi, who continues to backpedal...until he runs into a corner. Petrow grins. Petrow leaps. Musashi ducks! Joe Petrow collides with the turnbuckle!] TD: Takezo Musashi evaded Joe Petrow! He's buying time for himself and punishing Petrow all at the same time! [Petrow dusts himself off, cocks an eyebrow and locks up with Musashi. The two grapple around the crowd ring, bumping into tables all the while. Finally...inexplicably... Musashi scores big with a ferocious jawbreaker! The crowd pops in amazement at the sound of as Petrow's jaw collides with an oh-so-audible bang!] SR: What a bump! Petrow may as well kiss his ass good-bye... well, if he can move his lips! TD: Musashi is fighting back! What a difference a round can make! We're looking at a different Enigma now, Steve. [Petrow remains on the ground, limp and still. Musashi reaches the turnbuckle and begins to climb...and then leaps, his body twisting and arcing furiously in mid-air...and he lands hard, scoring with a... Somersault legdrop off the top rope! Petrow's body recoils in shock at the sheer impact of the dangerous aerial move!] TD: Amazing display of athleticism by Takezo Musashi! That move knocked the wind out of Joe Petrow! [Indeed, Petrow is, and remains, unconscious as Musashi sets him up on a new table that bears the likeness of Poutine Janois. Again, the Enigma ascends to the top turnbuckle. Again, he leaps... STARSAULT PRESS THROUGH THE TABLE! Musashi hits Petrow hard...so hard that Petrow's head jerks upward and breaks through a second table that was set up almost on top of the Janois table! Hugo Hugo motions for the bell twice, indicating that Musashi has won two falls! Wild table-splitting pop!] TD: Musashi put Petrow through two tables with the Starsault Press! Absolutely incredible! Takezo has now taken the lead, 5-4! SR: Neither guy is moving, Dross. This doesn't look good. [Indeed, neither man stirs to remove the wreckage that covers their proud frames. Finally...inexplicably...Petrow stirs...and pushes a nearly-unconscious Musashi off him!] TD: Petrow got up first! This does not bode well for the Enigma. [Petrow raises his fist high above his head, his motions sloppy... choppy...and he brings it down...] SR: Lights out, Enigma! [...but its impact is buffeted by a piece of particle-board table that the suddenly-conscious Musashi uses to defend himself! As Petrow struggles to free his fist, Musashi lashes out with another piece of wreckage, scoring an impressive blow into Petrow's abdominal region! Down goes Petrow, stumbling backward, clutching at his gut in vain...and Musashi presses his advantage as he leaps towards Petrow, stake-like piece of board held high above his head...] TD: He's going to try to kill him! Something must be done! [...and something is done, as Joe Petrow's sense of self-preservation overcomes him, allowing him to elude Musashi's sloppy strike! Just as Musashi readies the stake for a second strike, Hugo Hugo claps his hands, ending the period!] TD: We're moving into the seventh period, a Quickstrike... [Camera pans down to focus on a grinning Chris Quigley, guitar still at the ready.] TD: ...match. Just like in amateur wrestling, one's shoulders need only be down for a one-count for the fall to be recorded! As it is, Takezo Musashi, having seized the advantage during the wild seven tables of fear round, leads Petrow by a fall. SR: All that could change, Dross-man. Petrow's gonna put on a show. [Petrow gets back onto his feet, pausing to wipe blood off several newly-opened cuts. Musashi does likewise, circling his opponent all the while. Petrow makes the first move, using a tiger suplex to take Musashi down. The ref counts... 1! Hugo Hugo gesticulates wildly, giving the fall to Petrow!] TD: 5-5, Soundbite! Joe Petrow knotted it all up! SR: He got under Musashi, locked the suplex on...and pulled it off. End of story. Musashi was too slow. [Musashi nods in Petrow's direction, unfazed. Petrow locks back up with Musashi, who monkey-flips him onto the ground. Before Petrow can move, Musashi legdrops his foe...and covers! Hugo Hugo makes the count... 1!] TD: Takezo Musashi has just retaken the lead! It's 6-5 now, but it's basically anything-goes in this round. [Petrow quickly gets back onto his feet, shakes the move off, and shoots in low on Musashi! Musashi flails away wildly at Petrow, but the determined leader of the Sychopaths lifts the Enigma high into the air via a fireman's carry.... ...and sends him down hard! Before Musashi's body can cease convulsing, Petrow covers him! Hugo Hugo counts... 1!] TD: The fall goes to Joe Petrow! We're tied again! [Musashi bounces up quickly, though, and whips Petrow into the ropes. He leaps over Petrow on the rebound, executing a monkey-flip as the agile Hugo Hugo makes the count.... 1!] SR: 7-6, baby dolls! TD: Takezo pulls back into the lead! This round is certainly living up to expectations, as we've watched two hardcore brawlers shift gears and turn technical in an effort to rack up the pinfalls. SR: Yeah. Those one or two points you can win here, Dross, are really gonna matter later. This is the kind of deal where one fall can make that huge difference. [Petrow moves to grapple Musashi, but Musashi ducks down, countering Petrow's failed attempt into a cradle. Petrow, however, kicks out before Hugo Hugo makes the count.] TD: Big kickout by Joe Petrow! He really saved face there. Just listen to those cheers from the Sychopaths! [Petrow bounces off the ropes, using the momentum to add force to his 'rana attempt.... ...but Musashi displays his incredible strength and ring savvy as he merely powerbombs Petrow off his shoulders! Eager to score another fall, Musashi, wearied beyond all explanation, collapses on top of Petrow. Hugo Hugo counts... 1!] TD: The fall goes to Musashi! It's 8-6 in his favour now, Steve! SR: Sixty seconds left, Dross-man. Let's see if Petrow can pull it together... [Petrow slowly regains his footing, leaning on the ropes for support. Summoning one last burst of energy, he bounces off the ropes, decks Musashi, and scores with a brutal floating DDT!] TD: The floating DDT! SR: Who woulda thunk it? Petrow with a page out of Luke Steele's playbook! [But when Petrow drops down to make the cover, he's met by a brutal slap to the face from a very conscious Musashi! Petrow reels backward, Musashi blasting away at him with potent kicks and slaps...and then Hugo Hugo claps his hands, signalling the end of the period... ...but still Musashi presses onward, pounding away at Petrow!] TD: Both men still very active as we enter the eighth period! To score a fall in this round, the competitor must pin his opponent with his opponent's finisher! SR: As all the morons know, Joe Petrow's finisher is the "Bullet Train to Hell," while the Enigma uses the oh-so-pretty Starsault Press to score a victory. TD: And, in this round, they'll have to use each other's trademark holds. [Petrow ducks under the barrage, scoops up Musashi and bodyslams him back down onto the mat. Eager to quiet the raging Enigma, he peppers him with stomps, then yanks him back onto his feet. Musashi, groggy, is easy prey for a brutal sidewalk slam from Joe Petrow!] TD: Sidewalk slam! Musashi is out! Petrow's just hammering him! SR: Ooh...Enigma got a little cocky, and Petrow took him down a notch. [Petrow doesn't waste a moment, immediately ascending the nearby turnbuckle...] SR: He's going up top! Petrow's going for the press! He's gotta be going for the Starsault Press! TD: Definitely a dangerous move. Petrow has missed this move more times than we'd care to remember, but _did_ connect against Billy Shakespeare way back last summer at Midsummer Madness! [Petrow pauses... turns to the Sychopaths... and bows to his followers. Eyes closed, he leaps...] TD: Joe Petrow is airborne! This could be it! Musashi is laid out in the mat! [...and falls straight down, cranium impacting against the hard, unfeeling mat. The crowd lets out a bone-splitting pop as Musashi crawls over to Petrow and yanks "Sychosys" back onto his feet. With all the crowd save for one significant portion behind him, Musashi prepares to cement his lead... ...and executes the Bullet Train to Hell crucifix slam on Joe Petrow!] SR: Straight to hell! Musashi just flattened Joe Petrow! [Musashi covers. Hugo Hugo counts... 1... 2... 3!] TD: Takezo Musashi wins the fall! Takezo Musashi wins the fall! [Musashi falls over backward, exultant! Petrow can do little more than hold his throbbing head and wait for the final seconds to tick off the timer for the eighth period...] TD: The period ends with Musashi ahead by a tally of nine falls to six! SR: He's got it locked up, baby dolls, he's got it locked up! [Hugo Hugo signals for the end of period eight...and Jumpin' Jack jogs into the ring, ladder with attached US Tag Team Title belt slung over his shoulder. He places it in mid-ring and hastily departs, as Petrow moves to grab him. And then something amazing happens. A hail of ladders and red tricycles from the Sychopath section begins, and nearly a dozen ladders and trikes find their way into the ringside area!] TD: The Sychopaths have answered their leader's prayers! There are now EIGHT ladders in the ring and several red tricycles. SR: It's gonna heat up now, Dross-man. [Musashi, as stunned as the diminutive Hugo Hugo by the surprising rain of ladders, is momentarily taken aback.... ...and easy prey for Joe Petrow! Petrow, having grabbed one of the spare ladders, piledrives it directly onto the back of the hapless Enigma! Backbreaking pop!] TD: Petrow simply DROVE the ladder into Musashi's back! SR: Ain't no coming back, Dross! Ain't no coming back at all! Stick a fork in Musashi -- he's done! Petrow can win his falls at will now, baby dolls. [And Petrow goes right to work, climbing the ladder and touching the belt once....] TD: 9-7! [...he jumps down to the mat, and climbs the ladder again, touching the belt a second time...] TD: 9-8! [...he repeats the motion again, touching the belt a third time!] TD: 9-9! Absolutely amazing! Joe Petrow has tied this match up! He need only climb back down and touch the belt one_final_time to assure himself of a victory here! SR: It's over... less than a minute left on the ticker! Petrow only has to touch the belt one_more_time! [The crowd falls silent. Petrow ascends the ladder with the belt slowly, pausing to acknowledge the Sychopaths for the final time in his IIWF career... ...and time stops.] TD: One inch to go! But what's this? SR: Musashi launched himself off the top turnbuckle! Twisting suicido splash! The crazy bastard's gonna try to touch the belt before Petrow does... [Petrow grins, realising that Musashi will fall short...realising that he can take all the time in the world...but apparently not realising that Musashi will barrel into the ladder! Musashi strikes the ladder, which then falls... ...and Petrow falls off, screaming.... ...and Hugo Hugo prepares to end the period, as only a matter of seconds remain... Musashi, running on instinct, races up the nearest ladder, which is set up near one corner of the ring. He stands on the very top of the ladder, and reaches out... but the belt is just out of his grasp! On the canvas below, Petrow stirs. The fans are on their feet, roaring for the end of the match.] TD: Ten seconds on the clock, folks! Ten seconds! [Musashi reaches further, extending his fingers as far as he can. Beneath him, Petrow dives at the bottom of the ladder...but Musashi leaps! Musashi leaps forward, Musashi with one final chance to grab the defunct title belt, cameras flashing all over the arena... Musashi crashes down to the canvas...and the old United States Tag Team Championship belt is in his hands! Huge pop!] TD: Musashi has the belt! Musashi has the belt! Musashi wins it ten falls to nine! SR: Holy smoke, Dross! Ten to nine! Only in the Double Eye Double U F'n' Eff, baby dolls! [And the crowd explodes! The furious chants of "I-I-W-F! I-I-W-F! I-I-W-F!" drown out the dejected boos and catcalls from the Sychopath section... Chris Quigley walks out, message sent, guitar slung over his shoulder. Petrow stands, and shakes his head, a dejected look on his grave countenance...] TD: Joe Petrow has just lost what may have been his final singles match, Soundbite. All the pomp...all the circumstance...it can't touch the emotion of the show. Joe Petrow has lost to the man whom he has antagonised for over a year -- and he has been betrayed by his partner, Maurice McArthur. And all he can do is leave. [The camera follows Petrow out, body soaked with dried blood and sweat. There is a sense of finality in his departure, and the Sychopaths realise it. Unusually quiet, they watch their leader leave.] TD: And for Takezo Musashi, Soundbite, it is the greatest of all possible endings. He may have broken his finger and permanently crippled his once-magnificent body, but he exits the ring with a win. SR: Damn straight, Dross. And Musashi showed the Soundbite tonight that he knows what it's all about. This is the Double Eye, baby dolls -- there ain't no love, and there ain't no learnin'! [But Musashi's reaction is not one of triumph. It is one of indifference. He simply stands, shakes Hugo Hugo's hand, and bows to the capacity crowd. He doesn't pause to absorb the unchecked pops...the unprecedented cheers. The Enigma just leaves, his body battered but his spirit and dignity intact.] TD: I say this, Soundbite. Musashi did what he set out to do. He leaves the ring knowing that he has consolidated his IIWF legacy...that he has beaten the one man he could _never_ beat. He defeated Joe Petrow. What a match. SR: Whoo-hoo. I needs to get me a beer, Dross. TD: Well, folks, in just a few moments, we'll see the final Intercontinental Championship match as Simon Lebec faces former three-time holder Tiger Claw. Before that, let's go over to Larry Morton to take us through the history of this prestigious title. [A view of the IIWF Intercontinental Championship belt displayed on a red velvet setting, the surrounding lights pick up the glint and glitter of the massive gold title. The lights shine most noticeably on the empty plate which will soon be inscribed with the name of the next...and last...IIWF IC Champion. The mellifluous voice of Larry Morton narrates its history:] LM: Any discussion of the Intercontinental title begins...and perhaps ends...with the man called Tiger Claw. Few men in the IIWF have worn a title more than once, yet Tiger Claw held this same belt on three separate occasions. But it was Hakiro Matsuoko, the only man in the IIWF Hall of Fame, who first grabbed it on May 25th, 1996 on the IIWF's first ever Saturday Night card. [Video replays begin to accompany Larry's voice-overs:] LM: Only a month later Tiger Claw would take that belt in a cage match when Matsuoko missed a moonsault from the wall of the cage, and Claw hit the Golden Tiger Strike from a similarly high position for the pinfall victory. Claw would lose the belt the next month to Brad "Bodybag" Kinder, who had been selected to challenge despite losing a match for #1 contender to Billy Shakespeare. On Midwek Mayhem, Kinder took the title, thanks in no small part to Shakespeare's interference. Tiger Claw gained his revenge three weeks later when a botched triple-team by Kinder's companion "Dark Knights" resulted in Kinder being hit by a lariat from the Sandman, and Claw landing the Golden Tiger Strike for the pinfall. [The visuals shift to impossibly slow motion footage of Tiger Claw being struck by an old Italian man with a baseball bat.] LM: Two champions were crowned the night of 7 September, 1996. On an edition of IIWF Saturday Night, a well-placed baseball bat strike from Don Antonio's manager Salvatore Fiorello to Tiger Claw's back was enough to subdue the champion sufficiently for Antonio to hit his Truth and Honour spike backbreaker and score the pinfall. Don Antonio became the shortest champion in league history when the match was made to restart by Tiger Claw's manager and Claw grabbed the title and the baseball bat. The latter was used in brutal fashion, the offending bat used as a weapon in the execution of a powerbomb to score the pinfall. [The screen goes black.] LM: 2 November, 1996. The title is vacated... [Replayed, over and over, Billy Shakespeare executing a German suplex, the referee slapping out the three count. Brian Lau arguing noticeably. Tim Dross confused.] LM: Shakespeare's pin was sloppy, both men shoulders were on the canvas. At first the challenger was deemed victorious, but that was short-lived as the belt was ruled vacant pending a rematch in seven days. There was no less controversy on that night as "Painbringer" Billy Sexton prevented Shakespere from re-entering the ring to beat the ten-count. But in shades of the past, Poutine Janois restarted the match. [Morton stops talking as video of Shakespeare "playing possum" then pinning Claw with an inside cradle for the win.] LM: Shakespeare became the first man to win two titles in the IIWF, and Tiger Claw's iron grip in the IC championship had come to an end. But then came more controversy. Snow Brawl called for a defence of the title against Billy Sexton, but Sexton failed to arrive at the arena. Instead, Shakespeare was forced to fight Steve Kowalski. Fresh from a two-week suspension, the "Spotlight" was no match for the returning "Fury", and the feared Skullpump punctuated his return. [Video footage of Marty Warnett, Billy Shakespere and Steve Kowalki fighting it out.] LM: The new challenger, the past champion and the current titleholder met January 18, 1997. An injured Billy Shakespeare quickly exited at the hands of a returning Stud Stetson. The Saturday Night crowd saw Kowalksi attempt to use a chair, but it backfired and "Party Maniac" Marty Warnett fulfilled his potential by capturing the strap. [The video shifts to a replay of Marty Warnett dismantling El Super gecko, then calling for a microphone.] LM: Young pride turns to folly. After hurting the Gecko, and despite the fact the two were scheduled to meet in two weeks at Ring Wars III, Warnett openly issued a challenged to nemesis Lord Byron for that night. Byron accepted without hesitation, and a blow with Byron's trademark brass-topped cane, wielded by his valet the Lady DeWinter, saw Warnett's IC title reign end in tragedy. The rematch at Ring Wars III saw Warnett blinded by his infatuation with DeWinter, and Byron was able to thwart him again, thanks in no small part to the feminine wiles -- if not downright deviousness -- of his ward. [Enter "The Rookie." The legend "Anyone...Anytime...Anywhere" fills the screen.] LM: The most impressive IC title reign in IIWF history came to an abrupt halt at Coronation Clash 1997 when Lord Byron fell to Creed in a Loser Leaves Town match. Byron had cut through all opposition since winning the title, amassing a streak of more than a dozen pinfall victories, and not only ending the prodigious winning streak of red-gloved rookie Creed, but also, along with European Alliance stablemate Otto Verhoeven, severely injuring Creed's left knee. This make or break match saw Creed finally triumph over the aristocrat, sending him packing back to England, and giving the red-gloved wrecking machine his first -- and to date, only -- taste of IIWF gold. [2 August 1997...the IIWF goes "mad."] LM: One of the most shocking betrayals in IIWF history saw the veteran Mad Dog Watkins, who had taken Creed under his wing in the aftermath of their famed rivalry, turn on his protege in devastating fashion on IIWF Saturday Night, dismantling Creed with his own Goodnight, Farewell, Amen super-powerbomb... to the arena floor. Disillusioned and injured, Creed was perhaps never the same again, and Watkins had capped off a glittering career with a spectacular prize. Two months later, Chris Quigley finally made good on his promise in the IIWF with a stylish victory over the veteran Mad Dog on IIWF Saturday Night. [Video of Mad Dog Watkins tapping out in decisive fashion to the "Quickstriker". This impressive footage is replaced by less impressive tape of IC Tile holder Chris Quigley losing to Jobber Justice Squad member, and Joe Petrow protege "Majestic" Maurice McArthur.] LM: Chris Quigley would later regain his title, but this brought Joe Petrow into the picture. Duncan Macbeth had battled his way through twenty men to become the challenger. Petrow was assigned guest referee duties. Despite Petrow's holding fast to his tome of wrestling rules, the match finished controversially, with Petrow declaring that Quigley submitted while trapped in Macbeth's Boston Crab. Macbeth was the new champ, but controversy surrounded whether or not Quigley actually gave up. [The screen is black again, but it is soon replaced by a fiery explosion as a barge collides with a bridge piling.] LM: The belt was vacated again in explosive fashion. IIWF President Daniel Spreadbury delared both Champion Duncan Macbeth and challenger Simon Lebec unfit to hold the title after the brutal Thames Barge Match. Macbeth refused to enter the subsequent tournament, claiming he never lost the belt, and joins the tag team ranks with his cousin Andrew. [The "Birthday Bash" logo.] LM: May 16 of this year: "The Savior" Simon Lebec, after progressing past Jimmy "Meatman" Steele and Timoty N. Turner, met Marty Warnet, victor over Luke Steele and Shadoe Rage. The two men had plenty of history against each other, but on this day Lebec won the match. [Still shots of Simon Lebec nose-to-nose with Tiger Claw.] LM: Tonight, will history favour the man who wears the belt now, or the man who dominated it in the past? [Cut back to ringside.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, I'm not sure we will be able to top that last match, but this next match should be a thrilling affair. We have Tiger Claw returning to the IIWF to try to win his record-setting fourth Intercontinental title, a belt currently held by the "Showstopper", Simon Lebec. SR: It's not going to be a thriller, Dross. It's going to be a blow-out. It's going to be the Chicago Bulls against the Denver Nuggets. It's going to be Arsenal against Barnet. It's going to be the US curling team against Outer Mongolia. Lebec is only the champ because of Caleb Temple, and the Temple isn't open for business this time. Tiger Claw may kill him. TD: I disagree. While you are correct about Caleb Temple helping Simon Lebec win the title, that doesn't mean that he's not a capable wrestler. Yes, Tiger Claw is one of the most dangerous men in our sport, but I think he's starting to believe his own press clippings. I'm going with Lebec in the upset. And now, it is time to find out. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| ..........................| || | \ v v / | __|.......................... |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: "Showstopper" Simon Lebec [c] vs. Tiger Claw ......................................................................... WRITER: Dave Hogg [The camera switches to Sparky, who confidently starts to speak. Unfortunately, since he has brought the timekeeper's bell hammer into the ring instead of his microphone, no one has any idea what he is saying. After what the effects men think is about the right amount of time, they start the fireworks that signal Tiger Claw's entrance into the ring. Except that Tiger Claw doesn't come out. Instead, it is Brian Lau, dressed in an expensive-looking tuxedo.] TD: It's been a while since we've seen this guy even near an IIWF ring. SR: Wait a second... Tuxedo... This better not be what I think it is... One of those flagrant displays of homosexuality. TD: What are you talking about, Steve Roberts? It's IIWF Forever! It's a black tie event. SR: All right... But at the slightest sign of violent disrobing, Dross, I'm outta here, you got me? Outta here. [Lau grabs a mic from ringside, and shoos Sparky away with a wave of the hand. He adjusts his tuxedo jacket, clears his throat, and begins to speak...] BL: Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages, it is my pleasure to introduce the challenger for tonight's Intercontinental title match. The last defence of said title, not only by Simon Lebec, but by anyone, ever. [Lau pauses for effect... Or... something.] BL: Without further ado, your challenger to the Intercontinental title, practitioner of the ancient art of Muay Thai, world renowned wrestler across the globe, cornerstone member of the Syndicate, former three time holder of the IIWF IC title and former co-holder of the IIWF tag team titles, recent winner of the Gable award for highest ranked Asian wrestler... From Toronto, Canada, weighing in at a lean two hundred and twenty-three pounds, the Caucasian Asian... [A gong sounds across the arena...] TIIIIIIIIIGEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRR CLAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! [The crowd remains hushed for a moment, half expecting the tirade that seems to have become traditional for Tiger Claw recently. Instead, traditional Muay Thai fighting music blares over the speakers, the mixture of gongs, drums, and various string instruments seeming to touch a feral side to all in attendance, as the crowd explodes into a pop as Claw appears at the head of the aisle.] SR: He's back, Dross! The tough little sumbitch has returned! [Indeed, it is a return. The Tiger Claw standing at the head of the aisle, hands on hips, looking back and forth at the crowd, isn't the same one the fans have grown accustomed to in the past year. This Claw reminds us all of the man we saw enter the ring in the early IIWF. Gone is the singlet, and in its place are the familiar red and black Muay Thai boxing shorts, the Thai script across the front denoting Claw as a trained expert in the style. Gone are the boots. Instead, Claw goes barefoot, with nothing but ankle supports between his feet and the floor. Gone are the blood red shinpads that have held Claw back for the past year, weakening his offence. In their place... Solid muscle, bone, and calluses. On his shaven head, Claw wears the traditional headband of a Muay Thai fighter, coloured red. Claw smoothes his chinspike set under a fu-manchu moustache, and slowly begins his approach to the ring... A slow yet methodical gait.] TD: Listen to this crowd, Roberts. You'd think that Claw was a fan favourite in either of his IIWF tenures. SR: All the world loves a bad-ass, Dross... And that guy, pound for pound, is the baddest ass of them all, hands down. [Claw continues his walk to the aisle, throwing a few phantom punches and elbows into the air, loosening up his shoulders. He reaches the ring, and calmly walks up the ringsteps and between the ropes. Once there, he heads straight to the middle of the ring, and bows to each of the four sides of the ring. He then throws his hands up into the air to a massive crowd pop!] TD: All I can say is... Wow... [Lau disdainfully flips the mic to Sparkplug, who nervously introduces the champion.] SL: His opponent, weighing 240 pounds, I give you The Sav... err, the Showsto... umm, I give you the Intercontinental Champion, SIMON LEBEC!! [The music and laser show that Lebec used as The Savior start up, but they are quickly shut off when Lebec comes through the curtains in full Showstopper regalia, accompanied by Ronnie D. Before Lebec makes his to the ring, "So Wha'Cha Want" by the Beastie Boys has started up.] TD: Obviously, Simon Lebec hasn't been sitting around eating donuts during the IIWF's hiatus, Steve Roberts. He's not only the Showstopper again; he's lost the extra weight that he carried in his Savior days! SR: I'm not surprised, Dross. A diet of those flat little crackers will do that to a man. TD: Those aren't crackers, Steve Roberts. They are communion wafers. They are a symbol of the sacrifice that Jesus made for the world. SR: Well, eating those things would certainly be a sacrifice. I had a whole box once, and needed about two gallons of that cheap red wine to get them down. TD: You are a sick and twisted man, Steve Roberts. Can we just announce the match now? SR: Certainly, Timbo. [Brian Lau whispers a last few suggestions to Claw, then leaves the ring. Both men do some last-second stretches, as Dave D'Amato signals for the bell. Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: Here we go! The match to decide who will be the last ever IIWF Intercontinental Champion! SR: Yes, Dross. I think you've made that point. [Lebec and Claw circle each other warily. Claw throws some quick kicks and punches, not with the intention of landing them, but to get Lebec's attention. After a few seconds, Lebec steps forward and works into a collar-and-elbow lockup with the Muay Thai star.] TD: Simon Lebec has to be looking to turn this into a scientific match. He doesn't have a chance brawling with Tiger Claw. SR: No, he doesn't. And he has to stay inside, not giving Claw a chance to land those big shin-kicks. Now that he has ditched those pads, he can break a man in half with those kicks. But Claw has one other advantage that you haven't mentioned, Dross. TD: What's that? SR: He can end the match quickly. If he connects with any of a number of his moves, it's over. Lebec will need to wear Claw down, and that will take a while. And a long match is something that neither man can afford if they want to have anything left for the battle royale. TD: That's a very good point, Steve. [Lebec quickly turns the lockup into a painful-looking hammerlock, then bodyslams Claw onto the arm. Instantly, he drops down and cinches in a stepover armlock. Claw winces slightly, then starts to work himself towards the ropes.] SR: I have to hand it to His Holiness, this is a good plan. If you take away Claw's best striking arm, you can concentrate on defense against his legs and feet. [Lebec realises that he can't stop Claw from reaching the ropes, so he pulls his smaller opponent to his feet by that sore arm, then yanks on it a few times. Then, instead of continuing to work on the arm, he releases it, then slaps Claw hard across the face. TC angrily replies in kind, but the slap is slow and painful, and Lebec steps inside of it and locks on a kind of shoulder nerve hold. Claw makes a small sound and sinks to his knees.] TD: This is an amazing early performance by Simon Lebec! People think of him as a nutcase, but he's a brilliant technical wrestler, and he's using those techniques to keep the explosive Tiger Claw off-balance. [Claw continues to drop lower onto the mat, as Brian Lau starts to call encouragement. After a few long moments, Claw appears to even lose the ability to stay on his knees, and he slumps onto his side.] SR: What the hell is that move? It looks like a simple shoulder claw, but he's got Claw totally incapacitated! [Claw rolls onto his back, and Lebec starts to straddle him to go for a cover. But as he positions himself, he loses concentration just for a second. That is all it takes for Claw to suddenly draw up his right knee, driving it into Simon's stomach. The Showstopper gags and collapses to the mat, pulling himself into a foetal position.] SR: He was playing possum! Claw's brilliant! He let Lebec believe he was in bigger trouble than he really was, and he took advantage when Lebec fell for it. [With Lebec momentarily out of it, Claw takes a second to try to loose up his injured right arm. Then he pulls Simon up, cinches up his head with his arms, and starts driving knees into the champion's rib cage. After about 10 strikes, he releases Lebec, who staggers back into the ropes, gasping for breath.] TD: My god, Steve Roberts! Tiger Claw has become even more deadly than he used to be. In just a few seconds, he has completely turned this match around! SR: He's probably the most dangerous man in the sport, Dross. That's why the Syndicate is always on top. Who can stop a group that boasts both this man and Casey James? It can't be done. [Claw watches Lebec trying to regain his wind. He doesn't attack; he just stares at his recovering opponent. His patience allows Lebec to straighten up and advance toward Claw... And that's when the Muay Thai master springs back into action. Almost faster than the eye can follow, he spins into a roundhouse kick, his shin striking the left side of Lebec's torso. Simon reels back into the ropes, then bounces forward -- right into a second shin-kick into his rib cage. The sound, eerily similar to an axe biting into a tree, echoes around the arena, followed by a scream from the champion as he crumples to the mat.] TD: Good lord, those kicks had to have broken ribs! I'm not even sure Simon Lebec will be able to continue! SR: I told you, Dross. With those shinpads off, Claw is a monster! And it looks like he's trying to get a quick finish -- he wants to win two titles tonight! TD: Right you are, Steve Roberts! He's going up top for the Golden Tiger Strike! That's the move he won his last IIWF title with! [Claw springs to the top rope, sets himself, and leaps -- his right knee headed right for the mat. Lebec rolls out of the way at the last second, and Tiger Claw's knee drives itself into the floor. Both men are now laid out on the mat, and Dave D'Amato begins the ten count.] TD: Steve Roberts, can you explain something to me? SR: Of course I can, Dross. You have to remember to just drizzle the motor oil into the peanut butter. TD: But what about the tuna -- no, no! I want to know why it would hurt Tiger Claw more to have his knee hit the mat than it would for him to hit Simon Lebec's ribs. Obviously, the mat would be softer than the ribs. SR: [sighing] Obviously, you have never wrestled, but you must have walked down a flight of steps. TD: Of course. SR: Have you ever missed the last step? TD: Many times. SR: And doing that sends a shock through your whole body, right? But the floor in one spot isn't any harder than it is in another. It's because your leg is overextended when you hit the floor, so there's no shock-absorbing action from your knee. That's exactly what happened to Claw. His body was poised to absorb the shock at one point in space, so it was unable to provide the cushioning when his momentum carried him past that spot and to another impact point. It's simple, really. TD: Steve? SR: Yes? TD: That was an incredibly intelligent and lucid answer. Thank you. SR: You are very welcome, Timbo. You know where I learned that? TD: No, I don't. A college physics course, perhaps? SR: Nope. I picked it up watching the dancers at the Beaver Trap. They have this bit where they dive off the stage and into patron's laps. It's called a full-contact lap dance. Great fun, Dross. [During this learned treatise on how the laws of nature effect the sport of wrestling, Dave D'Amato's count has reached eight. Yes, it seems like he could have reached 308 while Steve and Tim were babbling, but he counts slowly. Maybe he was listening. We will never know. However, Lebec has also dragged himself to his feet, and he hooks in the Antagonist, twisting brutally on Claw's injured leg. Lau screams from ringside, trying to get his charge to the ropes.] TD: This could do it, Steve Roberts! I told you not to underestimate the Showstopper! SR: It's not over just yet, Dross. [For long moments, Claw's struggles are in vain, as he is trapped in the centre of the ring. But after a bit, he starts to make slow progress. Lebec screams in frustration, realising that his injured ribs won't give him enough strength to finish off Claw with a submission hold. ] SR: See, Dross? I told you. He can't pull with those broken ribs, so he can't win with a submission hold. He's going to have to beat him with a pinfall. [Once again, Lebec pulls Claw to his feet, setting him up for a suplex. He has to hold Claw up, because the challenger can't even support his own weight on the injured knee. Lebec lifts him into the air, but only about halfway up before a rib gives way with a snap heard in the upper deck. Lebec staggers into the ropes, then both men tumble over the top and onto the floor.] TD: My god, Steve! Both men must be seriously injured! Let's look at the replay! [In slow motion, we see both men tumble over the ropes and to the floor. Claw makes a fairly clean landing, but Lebec lands on the edge of the steel ringsteps, the edge driving directly into his injured ribs. We switch back to the live shot, where we can see Lebec motionless on the floor, blood on his lips.] TD: I believe that Simon Lebec has punctured a lung, Steve Roberts! There is no way that he is going to be able to continue! He's unconscious! [Tiger Claw groggily gets to his feet and climbs into the ring. But in response to Lau's screaming, he crawls back out, and picks up the heavier Lebec. He only gets him a few inches off the ground, though, before his knee gives way.] TD: Tiger Claw can't get Simon Lebec into the ring! He's going to win the match, but he's going to win it by countout! That means Simon Lebec will keep his title! And... SR: And he'll be the retiring IIWF Intercontinental Champion. Yes, Dross, we know. [Brian Lau edges toward Lebec, but Ronnie D keeps him away. Lau pounds the apron in frustration, as Claw pulls himself into the ring alone. The crowd counts along with D'Amato... six... seven... eight... POP!] TD: There's a disturbance in the aisleway! SR: It's the Syndicate! Here comes the cavalry! [Indeed, the camera shows us that Casey James and Derek Mota are making their way to ringside. But Dave D'Amato, who spun around at the sound of the crowd's cheering, quickly signals to IIWF security. Within seconds, James and Mota are cut off by Ronnie, the federation's security staff and the Jobber Justice Squad, and escorted to the back. They struggle a bit, then give up and are led off, screaming insults at D'Amato the entire time.] TD: Steve Roberts, it is good to see that in our final hour, our security staff is better than ever. This has been too good a match to end with a typical Syndicate run-in. It's just a shame that it will end in a count--what in the world?! [The camera quickly switches back to the ring, where Tiger Claw is covering a motionless Simon Lebec, just inside the ropes. D'Amato sees it as well, and slides into position... one... two... THREE! DING!] SL: Your winner, and for a record-setting fourth time, the _NEW_ IIWF Intercontinental Champion, TIGER CLAW! SR: He did it! I don't know how, but he found the strength to get Lebec into the ring and pin him! Claw wins the title! [Brian Lau climbs into the ring, as the other Syndicate members flood out of the back to congratulate Claw. Mota helps the new champion stand, as Lau presents him with the title belt. The manager then notices his tuxedo is a bit messed up, and fixes it.] TD: No, he didn't, Steve Roberts! Look at Brian Lau's suit -- it's all wrinkled! Casey James and Derek Mota were just a distraction -- while the Playboy and Dave D'Amato were getting them taken care of, Brian Lau must have lifted Lebec back into the ring! SR: You don't know that, Dross. You didn't see it. Maybe Brian was just jumping up and down. [Before Tim can reply, an exhausted Tiger Claw signals for a ring microphone.] TC: I want to take this time right now to thank the IIWF administration and wrestlers for giving me the chance to hold this belt for a fourth time. I also want to thank the fans out there for motivating me to be the best I can be. I want to thank the teachers I've had across the world for making me the fighter I am today, and my parents for making me the man I am. I want to thank SDK for her inspiration. I want to thank The Syndicate members of the present: Brian Lau, J.W. Hardin, Casey "Blackheart" James, Tony Starks, Derek Mota, and Hakiro Matsuoko, for being around, and being the friends to me that they know they are. I also want to thank all past Syndicate members for being a part of the legacy that will be remembered in our sport for years to come. Thanks to all of you, because without you, I wouldn't be here today... [Claw drops the mic and once again holds the title aloft to a sea of cheers from the Portland crowd. The traditional Muay Thai music once again plays as Mota and James lift Claw up onto their shoulders and parade him around the ring.] TD: Folks, up next is the special "King of the Mountain" rules Cruiserweight Championship match. While the Syndicate celebrate Tiger Claw's victory here in the ring, let's go over to Larry Morton, who will take us back through the archives with a look at the history of the Cruiser belt, the youngest title in the IIWF. [The IIWF Cruiserweight Title strap on a podium of red velvet. Lights shine off the polished surface of the garish medallion that crests it. The words IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION are deeply embossed in the gold, but what is glaringly blank is the space reserved for the name of the final wearer of this belt. Larry Morton begins a melodramatic narrative of the history of the "CW" title.] LM: Small in size, but not in talent, the cruiserweight title has known all forms of non-heavyweight wrestlers. The first man to capture the title was "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare on September 11, 1996. Shakespeare triumphed in the tournament to crown the inaugural Cruiserweight champion, defeating both Hakiro Matsuoko and the Man of Steel in the round-robin final round, which aired on Midweek Mayhem. But his reign was short, as one month later "Badboy" Randy Acorn defeated Billy Shakespeare in something of an upset, the IIWF's master of disguise dropping the cloak-and-dagger antics and wrestling the match of his career, taking the title after a hard-fought bout. [Video replay of the events as Larry narrates them...] LM: On November 16, 1996, Acorn was pinned on IIWF Saturday Night by "Angel of the Sun" Hakiro Matsuoko, who became the second man in IIWF history to hold two different titles in his career -- a record set by Billy Shakespeare, and later broken by triple-crown winner Steve Kowalski. Matsuoko appeared to accept the help of Syndicate manager Brian Lau in the course of the match, but spurned him at the conclusion, leaving fans unsure of his allegiance. Matsuoko defended the title against ex-Syndicate stablemate Tiger Claw and former sparring partner Takezo Musashi in a Triangle Match at Snow Brawl, from Anchorage, Alaska. However, a fiery attack by the "White Phoenix" Shinja Chow on Matsuoko put him out of the match, and eventually Musashi hit the vaunted Starsault Press on Tiger Claw to capture the Cruiserweight Championship. [The flag of Japan fills the screen accompanied by strains of Oriental music.] LM: The White Phoenix, under the tempestuous influence of mentor Sun Tsi, wrested the Cruiserweight Championship from Musashi in a memorable Ladder Match at Ring Wars 3, from the SkyDome in Toronto. Both men took incredible punishment, but ultimately it was the Phoenix who grabbed the suspended title belt as he was superplexed off the ladder by Musashi, winning the title in spectacular fashion. [Controversy reigns] LM: On May 3, heavyweight Steve "The Fury" Kowalski became the most controversial holder of the Cruiser belt when he rigged his weigh-in to put himself within the weight limit for contention, and finally secured a title match after weeks of campaigning against the Phoenix on IIWF Saturday Night. Thanks in no small part to the assistance of Joe Petrow, Kowalski's opponent one week hence at Birthday Bash, the Fury was able to Skullpump his way to victory, and to his second IIWF championship. Petrow took the belt seven days later in the wild Audience Participation brawl at Birthday Bash. Petrow finally defeated Steve Kowalski and captured his first IIWF title, although it would be taken from him just moments later. [Black screen.] LM: The IIWF President ruled that since Kowalski had illegally obtained the Cruiserweight Championship, apparently holding a title for which he did not meet the weight requirements, the transactions concerning the title of the past seven days would not stand. As such, Petrow was stripped just minutes after his victory, and the title declared vacant, the winner to be decided by a match between the victors of two four corners matches to be held on the next edition of IIWF Saturday Night. [The marquee heading of IIWF Saturday Night for May 31, 1997] LM: It was Ronnie Paris and the Dirt Dog Unique Allah who triumphed over the field one week previously to secure their contention for the vacant Cruiserweight belt, and it was the drunk from Brooklyn who took home the belt after pinning Paris with a Northern Lights Suplex. It was a relatively long reign by Allah before he met Derek Mota on August 23 of that year. The plucky Canadian "Heatseeker" Derek Mota, despite being pummelled throughout the summer of 1997 by the forces of Genesis, rallied from his injuries to defeat Unique Allah for the Cruiserweight Championship, partly due to the outside interference of one Simon Lebec. Mota met his match at Ring Wars IV, falling to the "Rocket Man" Timothy N. Turner in a breath-taking encounter between the two Canadian athletes, Turner finally cradling Mota for the pinfall victory. [January 10, 1998. Video rolls of a battle between Timothy Turner, Ronnie Paris, Duncan Macbeth and Takezo Musashi.] LM: An unusual title match saw Cruiserweight champ TNT partner his friend and Intercontinental Champion Duncan Macbeth in a tag encounter against Ronnie Paris and the "Enigma" Takezo Musashi, with both titles on the line. Paris took advantage of mass confusion in the ring and attacked his own> partner -- who had just nailed Turner with his devastating Starsault Press -- removing him from the ring and making the cover himself, winning the Cruiserweight Championship in the process! Revenge was forthcoming. Takezo Musashi continued his one hundred per cent record in ladder matches when he defeated Ronnie Paris at Snow Brawl '98, just seven days after the Texan had won the Cruiserweight Championship. Amidst the confusion surrounding the arrival at ringside of Paris' wife, Maggie, Musashi was able to scale the heights at the climax of an incredible match, and win the Cruiserweight Championship for the second time. [Video...and then there was one...] LM: On the 21st of March, 1998, former tag champion Icehawk capped an incredible comeback to take the title, defeating the "Enigma" in a cage match in a real guts-to-glory saga. Musashi's first defence upon winning the Cruiser title was against Icehawk, but the "Enigma" brutally attacked Icehawk in the course of that match, seriously injuring him and leaving doubts as to whether the young Finn would ever be able to return to action. In fact, Icehawk most certainly did return, and bested Musashi in a phenomenal encounter, which saw both men miss attempts at the Starsault Press. Icehawk went on to successfully defend the title against Derek Mota at Birthday Bash 1998. [Cut back to the belt on its velvet cushion.] LM: Which brings us to tonight. Seven other men will go after Icehawk's title, many of them past Cruiserweight champions themselves. Seven of them will fail, one will go down in history as the man who retired the Cruiserweight title. [Cut back to ringside.] ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| ..........................| || | \ v v / | __|.......................... |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| IIWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP KING OF THE MOUNTAIN MATCH: Icehawk [c] vs. Shakespeare vs. Mota vs. White Phoenix vs. Timothy N. Turner vs. DDUA vs. Tragedy vs. Ronnie Paris ......................................................................... WRITER: Chris O'Brien [Sparkplug Lee climbs into the ring gracefully...well, as gracefully as a balding, middle aged man in a cheesy seventies-style powder blue tuxedo who still lives with his mother and spent last night at the Beaver Trap drinking God only knows how many Kamikazes, putting it all on the IIWF's tab. The fans cheer the announcer as he makes his way to centre-ring. Just hours remain in the lifespan of the federation that set the standard, but for these rabid IIWF faithful, this is not a funeral. This is a party:] SL: The following contest is a KING OF THE MOUNTAIN MATCH!!! The winner of this match will be crowned the Eternal International Internet Wrestling Federation Cruiserweight champion! [Another POP, especially from the older IIWF fans, remembering the great matches revolving around this belt.] SR: Big whoop. IIWF Cruiserweight Champ. You know what that gets ya? When they all go pass out their resumes Monday morning, instead of applying for fry cook at McDonalds, they can go right ahead and apply for manager! And we all know what being a manager is...you get to do the same damn thing as everyone else, only YOU get to wear a tie! TD: Steve Roberts... SR: What about you, Dross? What are you going to do Monday morning, when this is all said and done? TD: I'm going on vacation. What do you plan to do? SR: Recover. SL: The eight participants have drawn numbers backstage, and the first two men shall enter the ring and wrestle to one fall. The winner of the fall will then go on and wrestle the next man. If the five-minute time limit expires, BOTH men are eliminated, then the next two men will come out and wrestle! TD: Fans, since the instatement of the IIWF Cruiserweight belt as _the_ lightweight belt in this sport, we have seen it all. We have seen triangle matches, three-way dances, cage matches, ladder matches, log matches, and at Birthday Bash, Icehawk and Derek Mota brawled ALL over this arena! Imagine if those two men drew one and two and picked off right where they left off! SR: D'Amato was reffing, so it would start with Rick Williams' Excessive Forcing him... Okay, I might be interested. TD: Steve... SR: Hey, the odds of us seeing blood, guts, or naked women...well, the Harle-quettes, but been there, done that...and I guess Tim Turner would count as a chick, but I don't want to see him naked...anyway, the chances are slim to none. TD: Despite all the years we've been together, I am appalled. The cruiserweights have given us matches to remember, miles and miles of highlight film, and memories aplenty! And yet you have not _one_ good thing to say? SR: One good thing? You want one good thing, Dross? Okay. Forget what you've seen so far. Forget that in a matter of minutes we'll see the goddamn Fury ref the Cowboy from Hell and the pretty boy. Forget that you'll see the Butcher kill Quitley, the bum, and the dead guy. Forget that in one hour, thirty guys are going to fight to be the best damn wrestler in the world FOREVER! Forget all that. Here, eight men are going to wrestle. I wrestled once, and it was the best years of my life. There aren't going to be weapons, chairs, tables... well, Mota's wrestling, so maybe... guys lighting themselves on fire, and blood. Screw all that. This is the IIWF, baby dolls, and we wrestle better than anybody ever has or ever [BLEEP]ing will. These eight guys are going to put on a high-flying, jaw-dropping, crowd-popping match that will have even the "Soundbite" saying he's impressed. This is wrestling at its finest, folks. TD: Wow. Steve, that was beautiful. SR: Yeah, yeah, my good deed for the day. Now, let's just pray Pukespeare doesn't get number 2 and win the whole thing. I do NOT want to see thirty minutes or more of him. SL: Introducing first... [One of the loudest pops of the night greets the opening chords of "Olympic Fanfare" as the fans clamour for the champ.] SL: The current IIWF Cruiserweight Champion...here is ICEHAWK! [With his belt raised high, the champ steps out onto the rampway. He wears no mask, no cape, just the belt and white trunks with the blue icicles. Tonight, it is Icehawk stripped bare, trying to lay claim to his place in history. And to do it, he's got to get past seven men. Icehawk slaps hands with the fans along the aisle. It seems every hand reaching out is being hit by the young Finn, as if he's trying to hit the hand of every fan ever to step through the doors of this building. Icehawk makes a circuit of the ringside enclosure, shaking hands with a few of the past IIWF stars, before climbing into the ring. The lights drop, and Icehawk holds the belt up with both hands as blue flares erupt from the ringposts to a loud roar from the crowd!] SL: And drawing number two... [The lights do down, causing a roar to come up from the crowd. A lone spotlight shines on the ring.] TD: Uh-oh. SR: You know who this must mean, Dross! [Atop the Jumbotron, Melody appears. She is dressed in a schoolgirl's outfit, with black F-me pumps and a studded leather choker. She carries a Fender Strat guitar in her hands and has on a headset of sorts] TD: What is this all about? SR: We're about to see something big, baby dolls! [Melody starts to play as accompanying music plays in the background. Suddenly, a flash of light illuminates the arena momentarily, and a clap of thunder is heard. Smoke starts to billow from the entrance as two silhouettes appear. They step forward to reveal the familiar forms that were the harbingers of the legacy that stands now: Tragedy and Comedy. The Harlequins. And upon their arrival, Melody starts to sing:] ## Oh it's opening time Down on Fascination Street So let's cut the conversation And get out for a bit Because I feel it all fading and pulling And I'm begging To drag you down with me To kick the last nail in Yeah! I like you in that Like I like you to scream But if you open your mouth Then I can't be responsible For quite what goes in Or to care what comes out So just pull on your hair Just pull on your pout And let's move to the beat Like we know that it's over If you slip going under Slip over my shoulder So just pull up your face Just pull on your feet And let's hit opening time Down on Fascination Street ## [Tragedy and Comedy are in the ring now. Comedy removes her husband's ring vest and hands it to the attendant. Tragedy looks up to the sky. His gloved hand runs through his dishwater black hair, showing his Egyptian style painted eyes and black lips. An Ankh-shaped earring hangs from his left ear. He looks down at his bubbly, red-headed wife, bedecked in full clownish splendour. He gestures nonchalantly, and another clap of thunder signals the return of the lights. Melody sings on:] ## So pull on your hair Pull on your pout Cut the conversation Just open your mouth Pull on your face Pull on your feet And let's hit opening time Down on Fascination Street Down on Fascination Street On Fascination Street Fascination Street ## [With that, the song ends. The crowd applauds Melody for her performance, while others start chanting for the man in the ring. Comedy makes her way to the apron, her trademark Happy Hammer in hand, ready for the upcoming match.] TD: Out of all eight men in this match, that man, Tragedy, has never held the belt. And to win it, he'll have to go through seven men. Icehawk hands the belt to Dave D'Amato as Tragedy warms up in the corner. So much history in that belt, Steve. Twelve men have held that belt in our history, and seven of them are wrestling tonight in this match. SR: Six men, Dross, and one pansy in "Spotblight." [The bell rings as Icehawk turns to meet his long-time rival...and is caught full-on by a clothesline by Harlequin Tragedy! Without missing a beat, Tragedy pulls Icehawk up and whips him into the corner. Icehawk's back slams into the turnbuckle, and seconds later Tragedy comes in with a leap and a HUGE splash that catches Icehawk in the chest!] TD: Tragedy off to a blazing start...and a chop to the neck of Icehawk! [The *SMACK* echoes around the arena as Icehawk slumps against the ropes. Tragedy pulls Icehawk up to full height, before rearing back and hitting another loud chop! Icehawk drops his head...before snapping to full height, grabbing Tragedy, and switching places with him! The crowd cheers as Icehawk begins laying a flurry of kicks into the side of Tragedy!] SR: Can you see his feet, Dross? In slow motion, those would look fast! TD: Icehawk jumps up...HURRACANRANA OUT OF THE CORNER! Icehawk has Tragedy pinned! One...two...kick out! Tragedy pushes Icehawk off of him. SR: I suppose a few comments about Icehawk's sexuality would be inappropriate? TD: Yes. SR: You're right. I should save them for Tim Turner. [Icehawk bounds off the ropes, going for a high cross body, but Tragedy is prepared, and he catches Icehawk in a fireman's carry! Tragedy holds Icehawk for a few seconds...before dropping him on his head with a Death Valley Driver!] SR: Icehawk got dumped right on that injured neck of his, and Tragedy now locking in a chinlock. He's got that knee in the back of the Finnish guy, yanking that neck back. TD: A submission game is a surprising move from Tragedy. Usually, it takes a good ten to fifteen minutes for Tragedy to get going in a match, but he's come out sprinting. But can you wear down a man in five minutes? SR: He is focusing on the neck of Icehawk, Dross. Everyone knows it's his weak point. A really weak point. I think Tragedy can. TD: And if he can't, it makes things that much easier for the guy who drew number three. [Tragedy lets go of the chinlock, taking a few steps back before kicking Icehawk in the back of the neck! Icehawk holds his neck in the sitting position as Tragedy runs to the opposite ropes full steam. He bounces off, meaning to plant his foot in the back of Icehawk's neck] TD: ICEHAWK DUCKS! Icehawk laid back, and Tragedy bounded over him and landed in the ropes! [Tragedy lands on the second rope, getting a sympathetic groan from the male fans. Icehawk raises his legs in the air and leaps to his feet no-handed. Spinning around, Tragedy finds himself in a waistlock!] TD: Icehawk with a German Suplex! And he bridges! D'Amato there to make the count, one...two...kickout! Tragedy kicks out, and he rolls backwards to his feet! [Tragedy and Icehawk regard each other warily as the fans applaud. Both men circle each other before locking up.] SR: How much time is left, Dross? TD: About three minutes. SR: Then they better stop wrestling and start flying. [Icehawk comes out with an armbar, twisting Tragedy's arm in its socket. Tragedy grabs Icehawk's own arm and reverses...before taking Icehawk down with a arm drag. Icehawk lands on his feet, and he turns and tries to catch Tragedy with a superkick!] TD: Tragedy ducks! Tragedy ducks the superkick, and he wraps his arms around Icehawk's leg and takes him down! Great move! SR: Almost a variation of a Dragon Screw legwhip, and Tragedy still with a hold on that leg...and he drops a elbow into the stomach of Icehawk! TD: Tragedy now kicking away on the neck of Icehawk...and he comes off the ropes with a legdrop! [Tragedy drops behind Icehawk. He puts his hands on the sides of Icehawk's neck and, like a vice, begins squeezing the champion's neck] SR: Icehawk's eyes are bulging out of his head! That's like having your head put in a vice and somebody turning the lever! [Tragedy holds on, applying more and more pressure, as Comedy slaps the ring apron, trying to cheer her husband on. Icehawk's face is twisted in pain as the fans begin to clap.] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, two minutes remain! TD: We're down to two minutes! Two minutes! [Tragedy grits his teeth as he squeezes even harder. The fans are chanting "ICE-HAWK! ICE-HAWK!" They are chanting for one of the great fan favourites in the IIWF, one of the greatest competitors, one of the great champions, chanting for one more brilliant move. And Icehawk responds.] TD: Icehawk grabs Tragedy's arms...OH MY! What athleticism! SR: Damn! I wish I could get a girl to do that! TD: Icehawk is lifting his legs! Like the parallel bars, Icehawk is lifting his legs off the ground...and he lifts them high enough to grab Tragedy's head! [Icehawk's background as a gymnast pays off, as he locks on a head scissors on Tragedy! Awed responses come from the crowd as Icehawk flips the Harlequin over! Tragedy hits the mat head first, his neck compressing as he continues to flip, landing on his back. Icehawk himself lies on his back also, looking up at the lights, gasping for breath as he recovers from Tragedy's siege on his injured neck] TD: What a move! I have never seen anything like that in all my years of calling this sport! SR: In all my years in this sport, in bedrooms, on aeroplanes, in broom closets, and with Chelsea...I've never seen anything like that either. [Both men lie on the mat as Comedy, Happy Hammer slung over her shoulder, cheers her man on. The atmosphere is electric in the arena...but the atmosphere soon turns to what can best be described as an "Oh, damn" attitude, as a HUGE masked man comes out from backstage and makes his way to the ring.] SR: Uh-oh, here comes the circus freak! TD: This masked man has been attacking the Harlequins the past few months, and the Harlequins have been attacking 4-D in return. And here he comes. SR: It's Bear, Dross! TD: Steve, let me not go back and consult your track record on guessing masked men. SR: What? I'm always right. TD: Two words: Masked Outlaw. SR: Aw, Dross, you're not going to let that ruin a perfect record... ["Bear" walks to the ring...and goes right after Harlequin Comedy. Comedy sees "Bear" and backs up, screaming for him to get away. "Bear" stalks her around the ring as the fans sit on the edge of their seats.] TD: Oh, no! Not a helpless woman! [Icehawk has sat up, shaking his head, as Comedy swings the Happy Hammer wildly, trying to keep "Bear" at bay. He turns his head in the direction of the duo, and the chivalrous aspect takes over] TD: Icehawk slides out of the ring! He's going after the masked man! SL: Ladies and gentlemen, one minute remains! SR: This is NOT the time to play knight in shining armour, Chickenhawk! ["Bear" is almost upon Comedy as Icehawk runs up behind him! He grabs "Bear" and spins him around. As the world watches, Icehawk reaches up and pulls the mask off!] SR: DAMN IT!! TD: Wrong again, Steve! [Icehawk finds himself staring...at Harlequin Chaos.] SR: Wait a minute! Chaos has been attacking the Harlequins? I'm lost! TD: I think it was to give the 'Quins an excuse to go after 4-D! [Icehawk stares in shock...and doesn't notice Tragedy sneaking up behind him] TD: Tragedy...OH MY GOD!! [Tragedy grabs Icehawk around the waist, lifts him up...and keeps lifting. It's the move that has haunted Icehawk for the past few months. The move that broke his neck, and almost ended his career twice; once during the ladder match, and the second time during the cage match, both with Takezo Musashi. Tragedy hits the Backdriver Suplex, dropping Icehawk head-first on the concrete floor of the IIWF Coliseum. The *THUD* echoes in the ears of the IIWF faithful, Icehawk's neck collapsing like an accordion at he hits the mats. Almost dead silence descends on the Coliseum... ...before erupting in a chorus of boos, jeers, hardcore pops, and heel heat. All directed at Harlequin Tragedy. Tragedy picks up the limp form of Icehawk and tosses him in the ring. He rolls back in as Sparkplug Lee announces:] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, 30 seconds are left! [Icehawk's limbs are twitching, and his chest rises and falls, but for all that, Icehawk may as well be dead and gone. Tragedy drags him to the middle of the ring as quickly goes to work, with a chickenwing on one arm and a half-nelson on the other.] TD: The Marionette! Tragedy has the Marionette locked on, and Icehawk is out cold! SR: D'Amato is checking Icehawk, and he's calling for the bell! Icehawk's deader then Napoleon! And Webster's career too... bless the little kid. SL: Ladies and gentlemen, Icehawk has been declared unable to continue, and therefore, the winner of this period... TRAGEDY! [Boos rain down as Tragedy keeps the Marionette locked on. Chaos climbs in the ring, and he begins kicking the stomach of Icehawk. Icehawk is still out as the Harlequins assault the champ.] TD: What a travesty of justice! The Harlequins are adding insult to injury! Icehawk has always been a valiant competitor, but this is just sickening! SR: These fans aren't appreciating it either, Dross. [Indeed, the fans are railing all sorts of insults down...and it appears one fan isn't going to take it anymore.] SR: We've got a fan leaping the railing! Security! Come on, do your job! [The fan who has leapt the rail has long hair, and a scraggy beard adorns his face. He slides his massive frame into the ring, and immediately goes after Chaos! With one forearm shot, Chaos is sent staggering to the ropes, and the fan clotheslines him over the ropes!] TD: This fan is cleaning house, Steve! [Tragedy has released the Marionette, and he clubs the fan from behind. He turns him around and tries to whip him to the ropes, but the fan reverses it! Tragedy comes off the ropes, and the fan grabs Tragedy and hoists him in the air! With a loud roar, the man SLAMS Tragedy to the mat with a massive spinebuster! The arena screams as the fans realise who this fan is!] TD: SHIPWRECK SLAM! SHIPWRECK SLAM! EDMUND FITZGERALD HAS SAVED HIS PARTNER! SR: The Good Ship Lollipop just cleared the house of the Harlequins! [Icehawk is on his hands and knees as Fitzgerald comes over to him. He gingerly helps his partner up, and Icehawk looks up at his friend] IH: Fitz? EF: Come on, Matt. Let's get you out of here. [With that, Edmund Fitzgerald helps Icehawk out of the ring. The fans cheer wildly as they witness the reunited Cold Spell make their way up the aisle, Fitzgerald with one arm around Icehawk's shoulders. As they reach the curtain, Icehawk turns and raises one arm to the fans, who applaud in respond.] TD: What a scene. The former tag team champions back together again. SR: Yeah, it's touching. Meanwhile, Comedy's checking on Tragedy in the ring. What business did Edmund Fitzgerald have interfering in the match?! TD: The match was over, Steve. SR: Whatever. [Tragedy is on his feet as Chaos is pulling himself up on the outside. Tragedy leans on the ropes, trying to stop the bell in his head from ringing.] SL: Um...okay, we ready to go? All right then, drawing number three... DEREK MOTA!! ["The Great Southern Trendkill" by Pantera plays over the PA as Derek Mota charges down the aisle, black hair flying. He slides past Chaos into the ring as the fans give a HUGE heel pop. Without missing a beat, Mota throws Comedy out of the way and begins laying into Tragedy!] TD: Mota is off and running! He's just tearing Tragedy apart with those right hands! SR: Tragedy is in NO shape to fight back after that Shipwreck Slam! This is NOT fair! TD: You're a heel, remember? Cope. SR: Dross, using my lines against me...I'm hurt. [Mota whips Tragedy to the opposite ropes, and he catches him on the rebound with a elbow right to the face! Tragedy staggers backwards to the ropes, and Mota runs at Tragedy! He leaps through the air for a flying cross body...] TD: He ducks! Tragedy ducks...BUT MOTA GRABS THE ROPE! He reached out and grabbed hold of the top rope, saving himself! SR: Tragedy doesn't see! Tragedy is bent over, hands on his knees...Mota springboards in! BULLDOG! Springboard bulldog! That had altitude! [Tragedy is rolled over and covered by Mota! One...two...D'Amato shows two as Tragedy gets a shoulder up. Mota slaps the mat in frustration] TD: Mota looking for the quick win here, he's always been the hot-running engine of the IIWF. Tragedy is still down as Mota goes up to the second turnbuckle.... and misses the kneedrop! Tragedy moved! [Tragedy gets up as Comedy and Chaos look on. Tragedy pulls Mota up, and goes behind him with a waistlock!] SR: He could be going for another Backdriver! [Tragedy tries to lift, but Mota kicks and blocks! Tragedy tries again, but Mota keeps his feet down!] TD: That Shipwreck Slam may have injured Tragedy's back! He can't lift Mota! [Tragedy lets go of the waistlock, instead spinning around and locking his arms under Mota's! Mota is caught off guard as Tragedy slides him down in a backslide pin!] TD: One! Two! NO!! Mota manages to kick out! [Mota turns around, and is met by a Tragedy right hand! Tragedy grabs Mota, lifts him high in the air, and brings him down in a kneebreaker! Mota bounces in the air, before Tragedy catches him coming back down with a superkick!] TD: Can you believe it's only been a minute? In one minute, both men have held the major advantage. SR: This is the IIWF, baby dolls. No love, no learnin'. [Tragedy covers! D'Amato gets a two and a half count before Mota gets his foot on the ropes. Tragedy grabs the leg, and as it's on the ropes, brings all his weight down on it!] TD: Tragedy is slowly getting back in this match! He's been wrestling for over seven minutes, and this is where he begins to pick up the pace! And Tragedy is working over the leg of Derek Mota, the one that was injured a few months ago! [Mota is on the receiving end of a leg grapevine from Tragedy, the painted man from Sleepy Hollow twisting the leg. D'Amato asks Mota if she wants to give up, but Mota says no in a way that brings a smile to the face of Steve Roberts.] SR: We're earning that TV-14 rating now. [Tragedy keeps the leg wrapped...but Mota brings up his leg, and kicks Tragedy square in the crotch. Another sympathetic pop as Tragedy releases the grapevine. Mota gets to his feet, looking to take quick advantage, and does so, grabbing Tragedy as he's doubled over, bending him backwards, and dropping him with an Inverted DDT!] TD: That can't help Tragedy's back any! Mota covers and hooks the leg! D'Amato is there! One...two...kickout! Kickout! [Mota slaps the mat in frustration. He picks Tragedy up and sends him SLAMMING into the turnbuckle with such force that the entire ring shakes! Mota flies into the corner with a shoulderblock that doubles Tragedy over. Mota comes up... ...to see Tragedy looking him right in the eye] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, two minutes remain! [Mota rams him again in the stomach with a knee lift that doubles the Harlequin again, but Tragedy straightens right back up. A right hand, a left hand, but Tragedy absorbs it. Mota begins laying punches into the stomach of Tragedy, but the painted man still stands straight.] TD: What stamina! Tragedy is absorbing it all! [Mota has a look of rage on his face, and he screams at Tragedy] DM: DAMMIT! WHY WON'T YOU DIE?! [Mota whips him to the opposite corner, and comes charging with a high knee...which Tragedy ducks. Tragedy watches as Mota crotches himself on the top turnbuckle!] TD: Incredible! In a way... SR: The man just leapt six feet in the air and crotched himself. Of course it's incredible! [Tragedy climbs up top where Mota sits, and puts him in a full nelson! Mota holds on for dear life, his head shaking 'No, no!' as he tries to stay up. He fails, and Tragedy lifts him up and over! Mota slams headfirst into the mat!] TD: TRAGIC SUPLEX! Tragedy hits the Dragon Suplex from the top rope, and listen to these fans! [Those who were booing Tragedy a few minutes ago cheer in recognition of his guts, his stamina, and his skill. Tragedy looks over them for a few seconds, before grabbing Mota and dragging him to the corner!] SR: I know what he's going for! [Tragedy draws his thumb across his throat, before climbing outside and going up to the top turnbuckle! Comedy and Chaos cheer him on as the fans are on their feet] TD: Tragedy is taking aim! He's got Mota in his sights! SL: One minute left, ladies and gentlemen! [Tragedy perches on the top turnbuckle, standing up at his full height, arms outstretched, towering over Derek Mota. The lights behind him make a shadow in the shape of a cross, falling over Mota's body.] HT: You can't kill me, Mota. [With that, Tragedy flips through the air.] TD: The World Comes Crashing Down...RIGHT ONTO THE KNEES OF MOTA! Mota got his knees up, and Tragedy crashed into them! [Tragedy rolls off as Comedy covers her mouth and Chaos just looks on. He is on his knees, holding his stomach, as Mota rolls over as well. Mota grabs Tragedy from behind with one hand, yanking his hair back. Tragedy looks up to see Mota's face outlined by the ceiling lights, one hand raised high in the air.] DM: You can die just like everyone else, clown. [The hand comes down in a BRUTAL chop across the throat of Tragedy! A shocked gasp comes from the crowd, but the loudest may be coming from Harlequin Tragedy, who is holding his throat on the canvas, clawing for breath] TD: Oh, my! SR: Yeah! I love this guy's vicious streak! Reminds me of a sergeant back in 'Nam... tough sumbitch. TD: Steve Roberts, you did NOT fight in Vietnam. SR: Sure I did! I was the good guy in the purple helmet! [Mota stands over Tragedy, looking down at him, before going to the corner and climbing up to the top. He gets there, staring out over the crowd, a crowd he's despised since day one...since the beatings by Genesis...since the brutal turn on Timothy Turner and Duncan Macbeth...since he dragged Icehawk all around this arena... ...and he gives them all the finger, before jumping backwards and spinning in mid-air.] TD: MAIN ATTRACTION! Mota hooks the leg, one...two...three! SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this period, DEREK MOTA! [Mota jumps up, and rolls Tragedy out of the ring, right into the arms of Comedy and Chaos. Tragedy still is having trouble breathing as he is helped out by his brother and wife. Once again, the fans applaud as the Harlequins go up the aisle, clapping not for the actions, but for the effort. In the ring, Mota sits on the top turnbuckle, awaiting his next opponent.] TD: Derek Mota eliminates Harlequin Tragedy, and he waits to see who's next. SR: Don't be Pukespeare. Anyone but Pukespeare. [The Harlequins goes behind the curtain, and a few seconds pass... ...and an eagle cries, its shrill sound echoing around the arena, followed by the sounding of a gong. The low tone echoes throughout the IIWF Coliseum, into the hearts of the fans who are leaping to their feet] SL: Introducing the man who drew number four... THE WHITE PHOENIX! TD: This is the man, the definitive IIWF cruiserweight, a man who has given this federation some great memories...and now he's back to claim what may rightfully be his. [A pop of pure respect greets this man as the White Phoenix steps from behind the curtain. He wears red silk pants, and is bald except for one long braid reaching down to the small of his back. His left hand adorns a black glove with a phoenix on his back, and the camera following him as he walks towards the ring shows the massive tattoo of a phoenix, the symbol of rebirth. The White Phoenix walks to the ring calmly, head bowed, throwing a few phantom punches to loosen up.] TD: We have not seen the Phoenix in an IIWF ring since he lost the IIWF Cruiserweight belt to Steve Kowalski right before Birthday Bash a year ago, but here he is. Mota is going to have his hands full. [The camera cuts to a shot of the skybox where the Syndicate sits, as Casey James and J.W. Hardin lean forward to take a better view of this match-up. Back to the ring, Mota has come down from the turnbuckle, and he awaits his opponent.] SR: Shinja Chow...he still looks insane. Look at all those scars! TD: The man has a love affair with fire, Steve Roberts. [The White Phoenix climbs into the ring...and is met by a charging Mota! Mota runs full-steam at Phoenix...but stops suddenly as Phoenix drives a palm into his stomach! Mota staggers back, his face a combination of shock and pain.] TD: Phoenix is running hotter then Derek Mota! A flurry of blows from Phoenix, and Mota is being driven across the ring! SR: It's fast and furious! I was fast and furious once... [The L'il Soundbiters behind Roberts finish the statement: "BEST WEEKEND OF MY LIFE!"] SR: Gotta love the morons. [Mota is driven clear to the other side of the ring, and Phoenix whips him across to the other side! Out of desperation, Mota grabs hold of the ropes and comes to a stop. Breathing heavy, his chest a cherry red, Mota still taps his head before turning around...and being flipped 360 over the rope to the floor by a charging Phoenix!] TD: HUGE CLOTHESLINE! Chow just sent Mota to the floor the hard way! [Mota gets to his feet and staggers up the aisle. A thin line of blood is evident on his cheek as he comes to a stop, hands on his knees, trying to figure out what went wrong. The GASP of the crowd causes him to turn around...] SR: ISA MARIA!! [...as the White Phoenix springboards off the top rope and flies through the air. Flashbulbs POP all over the Coliseum as Mota's head snaps back, on the receiving end of a springboard jump kick!] TD: THE PHOENIX IS BACK!! [Mota staggers for a second...before falling backwards, smacking onto the aisleway. Phoenix reacts quickly, pulling Mota up and dragging him back to the ringside area] TD: Phoenix just all over Derek Mota, as he rocks him with chops! Mota is falling victim to the karate and tae kwon do skills of the White Phoenix! SR: And Phoenix sends Mota into the ringsteps HARD!!! [Mota slams into the steps, but he was sent with such velocity that he keeps going, hitting the steel railing hard. Stunt Team USA, sitting behind the barrier, winces as Mota's impact knocks the barrier back a few inches. Phoenix measures, and he charges...only to be backdropped over the railing!] TD: A desperation move saves Derek Mota! [Mota rolls back in the ring as D'Amato reaches seven. Ron Fire and Steve Forget attempt to help Phoenix to his feet...and out of their laps...as Mota sets...bounces off the opposite ropes...sprints across the ring...jumps onto the ropes...and causes one of the loudest POPS in IIWF history as Mota Shooting Star Presses off the top rope, through the air, twisting, turning, and finally slamming into White Phoenix and Stunt Team USA. The fans roar, their hatred for Mota forgotten, as a chant of "I-I-W-F, I-I-W-F, I-I-W-F!" erupts. In the skybox, James slaps the railing in front of him, saying "Hot damn!" as Hardin nods slowly.] SR: FREAKIN' INCREDIBLE!! Oh, man, Dross, this is SO close to being better then sex! TD: Mota with a spectacular high-risk move, and it doesn't get any more high risk than that! [Mota gets to his feet, and he throws Phoenix over the railing. Phoenix comes to a rest against the ringside apron, trying to recover, but Mota doesn't give him any time to recover, throwing him right back in the ring.] TD: Mota all over Phoenix, and he comes back into the ring with a ropeflip legdrop! Cover! One...two...kickout! Phoenix kicks out! SR: Mota to his feet, but he comes right back down with a knee right to the forehead of Puppy Chow! TD: Shinja. SR: Right. Next thing, you'll tell me Takezo Musashi is from Japan. TD: He is. SR: Now you're just pulling my leg. [Mota picks Phoenix up by the one long braid. Phoenix throws a strike at Mota, but Mota sidesteps it and responds by kicking Phoenix in the stomach, doubling him over. Mota quickly steps up, puts Phoenix's head between his legs, grabs him around the waist, and lifts him up in the air!] SR: Powerbomb! TD: OH MY! Mota bent over in driving Phoenix down, but Phoenix has wrapped his legs around Mota's head! [Mota is doubled over, his head caught between the strong legs of the White Phoenix. Phoenix flips him over, and begins driving his fists into the head of Derek Mota! Dave D'Amato gives Chow a five count, and Chow lets go. Mota rolls to the corner, hands on his head] TD: Two and a half minutes are left! In two minutes, fast and furious action, and Chow is stalking Mota in the corner! SR: Mota's begging for mercy! [Indeed, Mota is calling for a time out, but the White Phoenix doesn't respond in any way, just coming in and driving his foot into the face! The crowd chants along, up to a nine count, before Phoenix spins around and drives number ten into Mota's chest!] SR: That will crack a rib! Or two...or all of them! [Chow pulls Mota up, and whips him across the ring! Mota hits chest first into the turnbuckles, and Chow comes flying across the ring! He leaps into the air, going for a chest-first splash, but Mota ducks! Mota throws himself down and the Phoenix slams with incredible force! Phoenix turns around and holds his chest as Mota takes advantage, leaping up to the second turnbuckle and catching Phoenix with a bulldog!] SL: Two minutes left, ladies and gentlemen! TD: Mota with a lateral press! One...two...shoulder up! [Mota says some choice words as he gets to his feet. Phoenix gets to his feet slowly too, and Mota lines him up...CHOP! The *THWACK* is audible without the ring mics...but Chow comes back with one of his own! *THWACK!* Mota...*THWACK!* Chow...*THWACK!* Mota...*THWACK!* Chow...*THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!*] TD: Phoenix with the advantage, and high-altitude standing dropkick! Mota is down! SR: He stood with Chow for a sec, but he just couldn't hang! [Phoenix sets Mota up in the corner...and whips him across the ring! Mota hits the turnbuckles back first!] TD: Chow lines up...SOMERSAULT! We're going to see the Phoenix Strike! [Phoenix flips through the air, aiming to come down on Derek Mota with the kick... ...but there is no Derek Mota!!] SR: He moved! He moved! This is the second time Mota has saved himself from a finisher! TD: Phoenix hits the turnbuckle...and Mota sneaks behind him and picks him up...and drops him with a back suplex! Mota covers...and he puts his feet up on the ropes! D'Amato doesn't see as he counts! One! Two! Three! He got him! He got him! SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this segment...DEREK MOTA! TD: NO! Mota had both legs on the ropes for leverage! SR: Cheat if you must, but just win, baby. [Mota stands up, and leans on the ropes, breathing heavy. Chow leaps to his feet and tries to go after Mota, but Dave D'Amato steps between them and stops him. The fans boo loudly as Mota points up to the skybox where the Syndicate sits, a slight smile on his face, before he sits back on the ropes, trying to catch his breath between matches.] TD: What a heartbreaking loss for the White Phoenix! SR: Hey, he missed his finisher, Dross. You take the risk, ya pay the price. You know, right now, the White Phoenix is wondering what the hell happened. Sometimes, you just gotta go, "What the [BLEEP]?!" TD: How...insightful, Steve. SR: Dross, do you enjoy seeing Tom Cruise in his underwear? TD: Save it for Turner, Steve. Save it for Turner. [Phoenix gets a cheer as he walks back up the aisle, but for the most part, Mota is subjected to boos and jeers. Mota is breathing heavy, subjected to two totally different styles in the past few minutes, his body being worked over by Tragedy, and his body being pummelled by Shinja Chow. But Mota is smiling as he straightens up in the middle of the ring, and the young Canadian points towards the curtain and makes the "bring it on" motion, calling down whoever is next... ...and he gets his wish, as the Coliseum is rocked to its foundations by a pop so big, that describing it as massive would do it no justice, as a song that has become an IIWF mainstay plays... The Sweet's "Little Willie."] SR: Aw, [BLEEP]. SL: Ladies and gentlemen, number five..."SPOTLIGHT" BILLY SHAKESPEARE! TD: Listen to this response! [Indeed, the roof is threatening to come off the Coliseum as Billy Shakespeare appears at the top of the aisle. Looking over the crowd, he raises his hand...and bows deeply, the trademark bow to the fans, his audience. The attire is the same; the tights with the masks of Comedy and Tragedy on the knees, and the white gloves. Also, on his cheeks are painted the famous symbols of the theatre. As he walks down the aisle, the lights dim, and lasers draw the masks on the canvas in the ring. Mota walks around inside as Shakespeare slaps hands with the fans, before climbing into the ring.] TD: One of the most popular men in IIWF history, and this place is letting him know how they feel about him. SR: Yeah, yeah...okay, Pukespeare is here, goody. My heart sings for joy. [Shakespeare turns to Mota as the lights come back on. Instead of charging right in, Mota slowly approaches Shakespeare, and the two lock up as the fans chant "BILLY! BILLY! BILLY!" Shakespeare responds with a hammerlock from the lockup, and he raises the arm up behind Mota's back so high that Mota grunts in pain.] TD: Shakespeare right off working over that arm, and Mota responds by reversing it! Mota now with the hammerlock on the right arm of Billy Shakespeare...but Shakespeare re-reverses! What a move! SR: Damn, don't tell me you're going to jump on the Shakespeare Express. TD: I'm just saying it was a nice move. [Mota goes behind, and he pushes Shakespeare to the ropes. Mota tries a rollup, but Shakespeare holds on and Mota rolls backwards. Shakespeare tries to capitalise with a clothesline, but Mota is waiting, and goes for an arm-drag takedown, only to have Shakespeare reverse! Mota goes down, and rolls into the corner, where he watches as Shakespeare, a smile on his face, gives him a bow.] SR: Come on, Mota! Hey, pretend he's Icehawk and toss him into the crowd! Hell, toss him into the Dark Disciples for all I care! [Mota comes up, and he goes to lockup with Shakespeare, but he switches and knees Shakespeare, doubling him over. Mota takes advantage by grabbing Shakespeare's face and ramming it with his knee. Shakespeare goes down as Mota grabs the legs and drives his head into the stomach!] TD: Mota trying to keep Shakespeare off-balance as a whip to the ropes sends "Spotlight" for the ride...Mota catches him with a backdrop near the ropes!] SR: YEAH! TD: NO! Shakespeare held on! Mota turns around...SPRINGBOARD DROPKICK! Shakespeare came down from the heavens with that one, folks, and Mota got his bell rung. SR: Mota's staggering around like Dirt Dog...speaking of which, who do we have left? TD: Ronnie Paris, Dirt Dog Unique Allah, and Timothy N. Turner. SR: Oh, my best material is yet to come then... [Shakespeare comes in and catches Mota with a flying forearm shot that drops the young man! Shakespeare drops and hooks the leg! One...two...kickout by Mota! The crowd shows its disappointment as Shakespeare pulls Mota up and sends him for the ride...Mota comes back with a boot, but Shakespeare catches it! Bad move...] SR: ENZUIGIRI! Oh, yeah, righteous! TD: Steve! You know we're not allowed to say that. [Shakespeare goes down, and Mota uses that opportunity to take back control of this match! He grabs Shakespeare in a standing headlock...then charges at the turnbuckles full steam! He uses them to leap high in the air...before using that altitude to come down and flip Shakespeare with a big arm drag!] TD: A great move by Derek Mota, and now he's going for a Half-Boston! [Mota grabs Shakespeare's left leg and yanks it backwards. Shakespeare's face squeezes in surprise and pain as D'Amato checks for a submission. Shakespeare shakes his head as Mota grits his teeth and pulls back further.] SR: Come on, Shakespeare, give up! TD: Shakespeare gritting it out as Mota tries to get this match's second submission. We haven't seen much of Mota's technical side so far, but he may be able to use it to his advantage, as we have almost three minutes left in this segment! [Mota yanks that leg around, trying to pull it out of Shakespeare's socket, and the pain is very evident as Shakespeare tries to hang on. The fans begin to clap loudly as Mota leans back even further, but at the same time, Billy reaches out for the ropes. The ropes are mere inches beyond his reach, and he strains, his arm shaking with the effort, as Mota punches the inner thigh of his leg, trying to get Shakespeare to quit] TD: Mota's trying, but if there is one thing we know about Billy Shakespeare, it is his amazing resiliency. SR: If Mota really wanted to beat him, he'd poke him in the eyes. TD: Well...yes. [Shakespeare brings his arm back...and then in one amazing move, shoots it back out again and catches hold of the bottom rope! D'Amato begins the count, and Mota breaks at four] TD: We've got about two and a half minutes left, and Mota drags Shakespeare back to the middle of the ring, and he's going back to that Half Boston! [Mota grabs the left leg of Shakespeare and prepares to flip him over again, but Shakespeare reaches up and small packages him! D'Amato is there, one...two...and Mota kicks out JUST as D'Amato's hand hits the mat. D'Amato quickly shows two fingers.] TD: So close! SR: Close only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and atomic bombs. [Shakespeare picks Mota up, and one suplex later, Shakespeare is climbing the turnbuckles to the cheers of the crowd. He perches on the top, his back to Mota, and bounds off with a majestic moonsault! Another cover by Shakespeare nets only a two count as Mota finds the strength to kick out.] TD: Mota is hanging on as Shakespeare picks him up and gives him a stiff European uppercut! SL: Two minutes remain, ladies and gentlemen! [Mota's head rocks back from the uppercut, but he comes back with a hard right hand! Shakespeare retaliates, and so does Mota! The fans are on their feet as Billy Shakespeare and Derek Mota trade blows in the middle of the ring, as time ticks away] TD: Mota...Shakespeare...Mota...Shakespeare...AND MOTA WITH AN EYE RAKE! [Shakespeare staggers backwards, and Mota takes advantage! He grabs Shakespeare around the waist, and hoists him backwards in a Northern Lights Suplex! Mota covers, one...two...but Shakespeare kicks out! The fans chant "Spotlight's" name as Mota once again slaps the mat and shoves three fingers in the face of D'Amato.] TD: Mota has hung with two tough men, and he has definitely hung with Shakespeare so far. Mota now sends Shakespeare for the ride...and he catches him...slingshot... SR: BODY PLEX! Mota hit the Body Plex on Pukespeare, it's over! [Mota covers quickly, one...two...three!] TD: NO! Two and ninety-nine one hundredths, but Shakespeare kicked out! SR: NO! NO! Come on, D'Amato! [Mota holds his head as he sits up, the look of shock and heartache on his face as once again Billy Shakespeare kicks out. Mota gets to his feet and begins laying the boots to Shakespeare, stomping on that left knee. Shakespeare tries to roll away but Mota follows him. Finally, Shakespeare reaches the ropes, and D'Amato steps between Mota and Shakespeare.] TD: And Mota pushes D'Amato out of the way! [Mota continues to kick Shakespeare, and once again, D'Amato tries to step in. Mota mercilessily continues to stomp away...only to have D'Amato push him away!] SR: Uh-oh! D'Amato was knocked out three times the last time Mota wrestled, and he may have reached his breaking point! [Mota and D'Amato have words as Sparkplug Lee's voice echoes about the arena.] SL: One minute remains in this match-up! TD: Sixty seconds, and Mota is not wasting time! [Mota sidesteps D'Amato and picks Shakespeare up, setting him against the ropes and Irish Whipping him! Shakespeare comes off, and is the victim of a high knee! Mota covers, one...two...kickout! The crowd cheers as Mota picks Shakespeare back up and kicks him in the stomach!] TD: DDT! Mota with a DDT, and he covers again! One...two...kickout! Shakespeare kicks out of a DDT! [Mota curses as he yanks Shakespeare up by his hair, doubles him over, hooks the arms, and drops him with a Tiger Driver! D'Amato again counts, one...two...KICKOUT! Even the biggest Billy Shakespeare fan stares in disbelief as Mota can't believe it!] TD: Thirty seconds! [Mota picks up Shakespeare and sends him to the corner, hard! Shakespeare hits hard, and Mota charges in...but Shakespeare moves! But Mota stops!] TD: Mota stopped short, and he catches Shakespeare with a kick to that left knee he was working over earlier! SR: Shakespeare cries out in pain, and Mota responds with a box of his ears! You don't see that anymore! SL: Twenty seconds! [Mota picks up Shakespeare and sets him up on the top turnbuckle! Fans stand and look at Derek Mota throws punches into the stomach of Shakespeare, knocking the wind out of him] SL: Fifteen seconds! [Mota climbs up top with Shakespeare, and the arena is popping as the fans cheer Shakespeare to somehow get out of this predicament. Mota turns around, and grabs Shakespeare by his shoulders!] SL: Ten seconds! SR: Mota's going to take Shakespeare to Splash Mountain, baby dolls! SL: NINE! [Mota sets Shakespeare up for the top rope crucifix powerbomb, his arms hooking the shoulders of his opponent] SL: EIGHT! [Mota begins to fall forward, and the fans in the IIWF Coliseum scream, a few turning away, not bearing to see their hero fall] SL: SEVEN! [Mota falls forward...but somehow, Shakespeare falls forward faster, off Mota's shoulders!] SL: SIX! [Shakespeare falls quickly, and as he passes Mota's head, he hooks it!] SL: FIVE! [Mota tries to somehow counter in mid-air, but Shakespeare swings around and DDT's him!] TD: FINAL ACT DDT FROM THE TOP!! SL: FOUR! [Shakespeare quickly drapes an arm across Mota, and D'Amato counts!] TD: Can he beat the count? SL: THREE! DA: ONE! SL: TWO! DA: TWO! [The fans all hold their breath as they wait...and listen... *SLAP!* *DING!* Huge, mammoth POP!] TD: HE DID IT! HE DID IT! Shakespeare JUST beat the count! Oh my, Mota had him set up for Splash Mountain, but Shakespeare countered... somehow...with the Final Act DDT! And Shakespeare moves on! SR: Nuts! Freakin' fast count by D'Amato! Freakin' slow count by Sparkplug! [Mota can't believe it as Shakespeare jumps up on the top turnbuckle, soaking in the applause and cheers of the fans.] SR: You think he won the whole thing or something! [Mota rolls out the ring, and he does receive a POP from the crowd for surviving as long as he did. Shakespeare rests on the ropes as Mota goes backstage.] SR: So, who's next? Paris, I hope. [Sorry. "Snakes" by Old Dirty Bastard plays, and the Dirty Doggies sitting at ringside begin to bark, roar, and dance as Dirt Dog Unique Allah stumbles out from backstage] SL: Introducing number six...DIRT DOG UNIQUE ALLAH! SR: He'll do, my Nubian brother! TD: Nubian? What makes you a Nubian? SR: The size of my...nah, that's too easy. [Allah shows off his gold fangs to the camera before raising a mic to his lips] DDUA: Yo, where's all my muhfuhin' doggies at? Whut? Whut? I just wan all y'all muhfuhs to know, right about now, that I love you guy and I want to thank you for all your loud cheers and huzzahs while I been competin' out here for ya! But whut I want to know is, if y'all love me so damn much, why ain't y'all been buyin' my T-shirts? Muhfuhs, that's how a wrestler make his damn cheque. These muhfuhs in the IIWF don't pay but $35 a match, yo. And, y'all, I think it's time y'all knew sumthin'. My name is Mr. Clifford Jones. And yes, while I have been portraying the role of the Dirt Dog Unique Allah to perfection, I am a college graduate of the School of Performing Arts. It's been my pleasure to bring you this wildly inventive character for the past year, but all good things must come to an end. So, in my final DDUA speech let me ask all you somethin' [in character again] All y'all muhfuhs who believe that the RSPWF awards ain't nuthin' but a masturbatin' contest give me a "Hell yeah, muhfuh!" CROWD: Hell yeah, muhfuh! DDUA: Awright, enjoy the show! [Allah stumbles to the ring, as Shakespeare awaits. The fans cheer loudly as Allah leaps in over the top rope, landing on his feet. Shakespeare approaches him as "Snakes" fades out, and he extends his hand, which Allah takes.] SR: Aw, man, not the Dirt Dog. Don't sell out to this putz. [The bell rings as Allah and Shakespeare circle each other, and lock up as the crowd settles back down.] TD: Allah the fresher man, and he ducks under Shakespeare! [Allah gets his head under Shakespeare's shoulder, and he lifts the lighter man up, taking him up and over and dropping him! Shakespeare gets right back to his feet as Allah shakes his booty in the ring, to a great response from the crowd.] TD: Allah with...well, a unique move...and Shakespeare shakes his head before locking back up with him. SR: Come on, Dirt Dog! [The two lock up again, and Dirt Dog comes out on top, sending Shakespeare to the ropes, and catching him with a high leaping senton splash! Shakespeare staggers to the ropes, and Allah catches him with a clothesline that sends Shakespeare over the top rope!] TD: Shakespeare hits the floor right here in front of us! [Dirt Dog turns to the crowd as Shakespeare lies on the floor.] DDUA: WHO'S YOUR DADDY, MUHFUHS? [The Dirty Doggies yell "YOU ARE, DIRT DOG!"] DDUA: I'm a bad doggie, I'm a psycho muhfuh... [As if to drive that point home, Dirt Dog runs across the ring, and bounds back, sliding under the ropes with a baseball slide that catches Billy Shakespeare right under the chin! Shakespeare staggers as Dirt Dog comes out to the floor...] DDUA: Oooooooooooooooooooooooh... SR: Now THAT'S something you don't see everyday. [Dirt Dog Unique Allah hits a dropkick...to the crotch of Billy Shakespeare. The men all lock their legs together as Shakespeare drops to his knees. Allah grabs Shakespeare by his hair, but Shakespeare hits him in the groin with a right hand. Dirt Dog doubles over as well, allowing Shakespeare to get to his feet. The two men begin trading right hands in front of Dross and Roberts as the fans punctuate each punch with a "POW!"] TD: The fists are flying! And Dirt Dog comes up on top! [Allah grabs Shakespeare and whips him into the steel railing in front of "Badboy" Randy Acorn. Acorn slides out of the way as Shakespeare hangs on the railing, and Allah charges him...but Shakespeare moves and Allah flips himself over and into the crowd!] TD: Allah's amongst the crowd, and look at them scatter! SR: It's due to the stench of the Black Apostle. TD: Black Apostle. I give up. [Shakespeare rolls back in the ring, breaking the count, and rolls back out. Allah is getting to his feet in the crowd as Shakespeare grabs a chair from under the ring!] SR: No way. Shakespeare is going hardcore? [Shakespeare puts the chair down in front of the railing as Allah stands...well, sways...as Shakespeare backs up. As the fans watch, Shakespeare takes a running start, bounds off the chair, and throws himself at Allah with a flying plancha! The fans give an AWED pop as the two men go down in a heap!] TD: What a move! SR: Too bad he didn't miss...Acorn would have kicked his ass. [Shakespeare gets to his feet first, and he pulls Allah up too, but Allah pokes him in the eye, and clotheslines him back over the railing! Shakespeare lands on his feet, but staggers forward, coming to a rest against the announcer's table, right in front of Steve Roberts!] SR: Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! Get away from here, Pukespeare! [Shakespeare begins to spin some witty response, but DDUA catches him with a clothesline that knocks him onto the table proper!] TD: Damn! SR: Get off my table! [Allah rolls back in the ring. He stands up in the middle...and falls back down. The crowd laughs as DDUA gets back up and says "WHOOPS!" He runs across the ring, and comes off, leaping onto the ropes... ...and aiming for the prone Billy Shakespeare, still on the announcer's table.] TD: INCOMING! SR: JESUS MARIMBA! [Dirt Dog Unique Allah flies through the air in the unique way only he can, flailing his arms as he slams into Shakespeare with the lethal Tossed Salad Splash! The table somehow manages to hold as the crowd screams "I-I-W-F! I-I-W-F! I-I-W-F!"] SR: HOT DAMN, BABY DOLLS! [Allah rolls off the table, taking Shakespeare with him and throwing him back in the ring. Shakespeare somehow manages to get to his feet as Allah stands on the outside apron] TD: Dirt Dog with a springboard hurricanrana...into an anklelock! Incredible! [Allah came out with an ankle lock on the left leg of Shakespeare, but Shakespeare reaches out and grabs the ropes. Allah lets go, and he turns to the crowd and spews his venom into the air, getting a cheer.] SR: Look out behind you! [Allah turns around to see Shakespeare grab him around the waist and nail a belly-to-belly suplex. Shakespeare hooks the leg, but gets only a one count as Dirt Dog quickly kicks out. Shakespeare pulls Allah up and body slams him in the middle of the ring, before going to the corner and climbing to the second turnbuckle.] TD: Second rope legdrop from Shakespeare...and Allah moves! SR: Now get him, Dirt Dog! Show him the power of the Nubian race! TD: Right now, someone somewhere is writing a lawsuit. [Allah gets up and tries to dropkick Shakespeare, but Shakespeare ducks. Shakespeare then tries to apply a grapevine to the legs of Dirt Dog, but he rolls away and bounds to his feet. Shakespeare ducks a clothesline attempt, and catches Allah off the rebound from the ropes and goes for a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker. Allah manages to land on his feet, and he whips Shakespeare to the ropes, and bends over for a backdrop. Shakespeare stops and rolls over the back of Allah. He grabs Allah from the side and tries for a Russian Legsweep, but Allah leaps the legs, and HE catches Shakespeare with a face first Russian Legsweep! The fans applaud the sequence of moves as Allah attempts to spin up to his feet...badly, he succeeds, and attempts to do the King Tut breakdance move.] TD: Oh, Lord... SR: No, Shadoe Rage wrestles LATER tonight, Dross. SL: Ladies and gentlemen, two minutes remain! [Allah picks Shakespeare up, hooks him around the shoulders, and drops him backwards with an Exploder suplex right on his head. Allah quickly covers, one...two...and Shakespeare kicks out at the last second! Allah shakes his head, saying 'The script said you were supposed to put your foot on the ropes, Billy,' electing a laugh from the crowd. Allah picks Shakespeare up and sends him to the ropes...and he does, but Allah drops to one knee in the process, enabling Shakespeare to come off with a low cross body and cover! One...two...kickout!] SR: Ah, Dirt Dog is wasted, Dross. TD: So? What else is new? SR: Bill Clinton slept with Hilary this week. TD: He did? Damn...who told you this? SR: Who do you think? Chelsea, Dross! Who else would have? TD: Monica Lewinsky? SR: Please, Dross. I have SOME taste. [Shakespeare drops a few elbows onto the fallen form of Dirt Dog, before stopping and looking out over the fans...and pointing up top, to a massive positive reception!] TD: Shakespeare's going up top, and we may be seeing the Curtain Call! SR: And my man's out like a light! SL: One minute left! [Allah lies motionless as Shakespeare slowly climbs the turnbuckles. His left leg is being favoured as he ascends, but he climbs with a sureness that comes with the experience. He climbs up top, and prepares to fly... ...but Dirt Dog Unique Allah is up and in the corner.] SR: Yeah, who's your daddy now, Shakespeare? TD: Allah is going for to send Shakespeare across the ring! [Allah lifts Shakespeare high in the air, and flashbulbs begin to pop, turning night to day...but Shakespeare once again slides down off of his foe's hands!] TD: Shakespeare saves himself! He's got a hold of Dirt Dog and whips him to the ropes...GOOD NIGHT SWEET PRINCE! Shakespeare has Dirt Dog in a sleeper! SR: No! No! Allah, you can't go out like this! Use the Force, dammit! [Allah swings his arms around as the entire IIWF Coliseum stands en masse. Shakespeare locks his arms tight and, like pneumatic presses, drives his feet into the mat, saying "This far, and no further" as Dirt Dog tries to fight his way to the ropes!] TD: Shakespeare's got it in tight! SR: DAMN! I was going to use that for Turner! Do you have to take all my material? [Allah fights as D'Amato checks for the submission, but the arms are flailing less and less now. D'Amato leans in as Shakespeare holds Allah tighter now...and tighter...] TD: Steve Roberts, stop that! SR: What? TD: I hear you snoring. SR: I am not! It's probably these fans, bored at the performance Shakespeare's putting on! [Actually, the snoring is coming from Dirt Dog Unique Allah. D'Amato does a double take, but it's confirmed. Dirt Dog is snoozing away inside the Good Night Sweet Prince.] SR: See! Pukespeare put Allah to sleep! Literally! [D'Amato shrugs as he calls for the bell. Shakespeare lets go gently as Dirt Dog slumps to the canvas:] SL: Um... the winner of this period, BILLY SHAKESPEARE! TD: Well, that was...one of the few things I never thought I would see. SR: I don't believe...he put the Dirt Dog to sleep! He should be locked up! [Shakespeare goes to the corner as D'Amato attempts to wake Allah up. After about thirty seconds, Allah sits straight up, shooting his arm up in the air, saying, "I AIN'T DONE YET, MUHFUH!" D'Amato attempts to explain what happened to the Dirt Dog, who stares blankly at the ref.] TD: I wonder what's going through his head right now? SR: Um... "I lost to him? HIM? Oh, I need to go drink some more." TD: No, it's not. SR: You're right. I should add a muhfuh in there somewhere. [Allah finally figures out what happened, and he shakes his head. Rolling out of the ring, Allah heads right for the Dirty Doggies, climbing the railing and saying "What happened, huh?" A fan hands him a beer, and Allah accepts as he is lost within their ranks.] TD: It's down to two men. Can Shakespeare beat four men in a row and be crowned IIWF Cruiserweight champ eternal? SR: Turner he can beat. Paris...I don't know. He's nuts. Not psycho nuts, just nuts. TD: Delusional? SR: Exactly. TD: Well, let's see who's next! [Shakespeare awaits in the ring as the fans hold their breath to see who will come out next. Ronnie Paris, a man who has so much history with Billy Shakespeare, or Timothy N. Turner, a man who had made an impact on this sport, by his words, actions, and decisions? The question is answered...as "Rocket Man" by Elton John plays, and a decisively negative atmosphere descends on the arena:] SL: Drawing number seven... "ROCKET MAN" TIMOTHY N. TURNER! [As Elton John sings, Turner appears at the top of the aisleway. Many fans toss unkind taunts towards him as he walks down the aisle, many calling him "fag," "homo," and "tosser." But Turner takes it all in stride as he walks down the aisle, wearing a white robe with the words TURNER and NPC on the back in red. Also, a pink triangle adorns his left sleeve.] SR: What's with the get-up? TD: I believe that is Tom Turner's robe, Steve. SR: It is? Where is Tom? TD: Tom Turner died about two weeks ago. SR: He did? TD: Yes. SR: Well...for once, I will keep my witty comments to myself about that, out of some semblance of respect. TD: YOU? Respect? SR: Hell, yeah! Even I have to admit, Timothy admitting he was gay on national TV had to be one of the ballsiest moves I ever saw. TD: That's... Steve Roberts, that's low. SR: They are, and that's where he likes to go. There, my friends, is the real "Down Boy." [A few fans, mostly male, call out in support of their new found role-model as he comes down to ringside.] TD: See? There will always be a few people to cheer Turner when he comes out... er, so to speak. SR: That's my buddy, Dross. [Turner has reached the ring, and he climbs up as Shakespeare awaits on the opposite side. The catcalls continue as Turner removes his robe, revealing black Nike tights with ROCKET MAN on the back in silver. The music fades as Shakespeare adjusts his gloves.] SR: Oh, man, this is going to blow...er, suck...er, bite ass...er...I am not going to like this! [Turner limbers up in the corner as the bell rings. Shakespeare steps forward to the centre of the ring, offering a lock-up, and Turner accepts. A few in the crowd make some comments about "WATCH HIS HANDS, BILLY!" but Billy ignores them as he goes behind with a hammerlock.] TD: Turner counters by reversing the hammerlock into one of his own! SR: He's behind you Billy! Be car...oh, wait, he probably likes that kind of stuff. [Shakespeare goes to the ropes to break, and D'Amato calls for one. Turner lets go and backs off. Shakespeare turns around and the two lock up again. This time, Shakespeare comes out with a go-behind.] SR: I told you so! [Turner counters by going to the ropes, and Shakespeare releases. He backs off...but Turner jumps on the second rope and springboards back, catching Shakespeare off guard with a cross body block! D'Amato is there to count, one...two...but Shakespeare gets his shoulder up. Turner goes to work on one the neck of Billy Shakespeare, locking a chinlock on from behind.] TD: Earlier, Derek Mota worked on the leg of Shakespeare, and now Turner is going to work on the neck. One has to wonder, if Shakespeare gets past Turner and goes against Paris, what kind of shape will be in? Heck, what about the battle royal in under an hour? SR: Like he's going to get that far, Dross. Wake up and smell the maple nut crunch. TD: You're quoting Denis Leary now? SR: Absolutely...but wait a minute! Turner's Canadian, and their symbol's the maple leaf...he loves nuts...it fits him! TD: Stop, this is getting sickening. SR: Good. I'm doing my job then. [Turner leans back, stretching that neck further and further back, and the look of pain is evident on the face of Shakespeare. But he somehow manages to reach back and get his hands up underneath Turner's, and breaks the hold. Still holding on to Turner's arms, "Spotlight" turns around so his head is in the stomach of Turner, and using the arms as leverage, lifts Turner up! Turner is balanced on the head of Shakespeare as the crowd pops in surprise, before Shakespeare drops backwards!] TD: I guess you could call that a version of a Samoon Drop! SR: I would. I admit, I haven't seen a move like that since me and Ashley Judd were together in that cabin in Pymatuning, Pennsylvania... [Shakespeare is on his feet, and he goes to the opposite ropes, leaping into the air as he tries to splash the form of Turner, but Turner rolls away at the last second, and Shakespeare gets nothing but canvas. Turner takes the advantage by jumping on Shakespeare's back and applying a camel clutch!] TD: For the most part, we've seen high flying, but Timothy Turner has slowed the pace of this match down considerably. SR: Well, he likes it down on the mat, rolling around, pulling, grabbing, biting... TD: Hey! This is a family show! SR: No [BLEEP]ing way it is. [Turner continues to yank back on the neck of Shakespeare as the crowd begins to once again chant "BILLY! BILLY! BILLY!" And he responds, by somehow standing up, coming to full height with Turner sitting on his shoulders! Turner lets go of the clutch, instead falling forward, wrapping his legs around Shakespeare's head and taking him over in a victory rollup!] TD: He's got the legs! One...two...SHAKESPEARE BREAKS LOOSE! [Shakespeare breaks free, but Turner gets to his feet first, and he chops away at the chest of Shakespeare, driving him back to the ropes. From there, Turner hooks Shakespeare in a front facelock, and lifts him up!] SR: Slingshot suplex by the gay guy! It's nice to say that and be right, Dross old pal! TD: With three minutes left, Turner is in control! [Turner drops Shakespeare in the middle of the ring, and follows up with a series of rapid fire elbow drops to the neck and sternum of Billy Shakespeare. Turner follows up by dropping and applying body-scissors to the neck.] SR: It's apparent that the fag is trying to make it impossible for Pukespeare to breathe! Well, for once, I'm in agreement! [Turner isn't going that far, but Shakespeare's neck will be sore as hell in the morning...if he makes it that long. Turner turns his body to counter Shakespeare's movement, trying to counter the hold. Eventually, Shakespeare gets a foot on the ropes, and D'Amato calls for a break.] TD: Turner releases, and Shakespeare gets back to his feet. Turner moves in...but Shakespeare with a kick to the gut! And another! Shakespeare...facebreaker! He rammed the face of Turner into his knee! [Turner turns away, holding his nose, and that gives Shakespeare time to line up...and superkick Turner! Turner falls back, and Shakespeare covers!] SR: One...two...NO! Turner manages to kick out! [Shakespeare quickly pulls Turner up and sends him for the ride, and the crowd cheers as Shakespeare lifts Turner into the air with a back body drop that seems to send Turner to the cheap seats of the Coliseum. Turner crashes back down to the mat, and Shakespeare covers! One...two...kickout!] TD: Shakespeare now to the ropes...Turner drops down and Shakespeare off the opposite side...Turner with a leapfrog, and now he tries to catch Shakespeare with a hip toss! Shakespeare blocks, and goes for one of his own, but Turner blocks that, and HE hits the hip toss! SR: Took 'em long enough. [Turner quickly follows up with a kick to the neck of Shakespeare, causing him to bend forward and hold his neck. Turner backs up a few feet and runs towards him, flipping up and over Shakespeare, grabbing his neck, and snapping it forward. Shakespeare snaps back hard enough to bounce slightly as he hits the mat. Turner takes advantage as he covers! One...two...and Shakespeare again kicks out!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, two minutes left! [Turner shakes his head at the resiliency of Billy Shakespeare. He pulls Shakespeare up, bends him over, and puts one leg behind his head...] TD: Rocket Dropper! And Turner hooks the leg! D'Amato counts, one...two...kickout! SR: Why won't he just go gentle into that good night? [Turner picks up Shakespeare again as the fans clap rapidly, trying to get Billy back into this match. Turner drives an elbow up into the face up Shakespeare, staggering his foe, and then comes off of the ropes with a flying clothesline that knocks Shakespeare down.] TD: Turner now, pointing up top! SR: He's not going down, he's going up! [Turner steps outside as Shakespeare lies motionless in the ring. He ascends the turnbuckles quickly, for you do not give a man like Billy Shakespeare time to recover. It's a race against time, and as Turner draws himself up on the top turnbuckle, it appears the "Rocket Man" has crossed that line first.] TD: Turner leaps! He's going for the TNT Elbow Drop! [Turner drops from the sky, and all over the Coliseum, flashes light up the air. Turner glides, as only he can, preparing to silence all the critics, all the naysayers, and all the jeerers. He descends like an screaming eagle, cutting through the air like a bird of prey, and for one second, love him or hate him, respect him or reject him, look up to him or look down upon him... ..."Rocket Man" lives up to his name. Turner holds the elbow close to his body, preparing to hit Shakespeare full force with the TNT Elbow, the move that won him the Cruiserweight belt... *THWACK* Huge, massive face pop!] TD: SHAKESPEARE MOVED! SHAKESPEARE MOVED! [Indeed, somehow, Billy Shakespeare rolled out of the way, and Timothy Turner slammed into the mat. The fans are on their feet, as both men just lie there.] SR: The fag took it full on, but it took everything "Spotblight" had to move! Count 'em both down, D'Amato! [Indeed, D'Amato begins to count both men] DA: ONE! [Both men look at the ceiling, eyes blinking, their minds screaming to get up...] DA: TWO! [...but their bodies failing to respond.] DA: THREE! SR: Hey, if both these guys get counted out, does that mean Paris gets the belt? TD: I would think so! DA: FOUR! [Shakespeare tries to roll over, but as he gets on his side, his body collapses back to the mat.] DA: FIVE! [Turner shoots his arms up in the air, trying to sit up, but his body refuses to get up] DA: SIX! [The fans are screaming, some chanting "BILLY! BILLY! BILLY!" and a few yelling "TNT! TNT! TNT!" No-one wants it to end like this, not a soul anywhere watching this grand event.] DA: SEVEN! [Shakespeare grabs a hold of the ropes, and he begins to pull himself up.] DA: EIGHT! [Shakespeare brings himself up to full height as the fans roar, a wave of noise echoing around the IIWF Coliseum!] TD: Shakespeare is up...AND HE'S GOING UP! [Shakespeare ascends the turnbuckles, going to familiar territory. Behind him, Tim Turner is on his hands and knees, trying to clear the cobwebs. Shakespeare reaches the top, and turns to face Turner as he gets to his feet!] SR: NO! NO! [Shakespeare crouches and leaps. All eyes turn to him as he somersaults through the air, even Turner's. As one of the few who can be considered an IIWF legend flies through the air, all over the world, for those in attendance and those watching on PPV, Billy Shakespeare earns the name "Spotlight."] TD: CURTAIN CALL! CURTAIN CALL! Shakespeare hits the Curtain Call, and he hooks the leg! One...two...three! SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this period...BILLY SHAKESPEARE! [Shakespeare rolls off of Turner as the fans applaud wildly. Dross' voice can barely be heard over the din:] TD: INCREDIBLE! Shakespeare has survived three men, and now all he has to do it get past Ronnie Paris...and I think he can! SR: GAG! Dross, this is the leader of the Soundbite Special Forces we're talking about! He'll kill Pukespeare, baby dolls! [Turner and Shakespeare lay in the ring, barely moving. The match has taking a lot of out both men, and it will take a colossal effort to even roll out of the ring. But before either man can move, a guitar begins to play over the PA, chords that cut through the ruckus and noise of the IIWF Coliseum.] TD: And he comes the last man in this King of the Mountain match! [From over the PA, the voice of Edward Kowalczyk reverberates around the IIWF Coliseum:] EK: # It was an evening I shared with the sun To find out where we belong From the earliest days We were dancing in the shadows # ["Lakini's Juice" kicks in full force as the arena gives a huge heel pop. A pop reserved for the only man left in this match-up, and a man who has a history stretching back over a year with Billy Shakespeare.] SR: If there's one man who can take apart Pukespeare, it's my man... SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the final participant...RONNIE PARIS! [Paris steps out as the fans rain all sorts of boos down upon him. He wears a "PRIDE WRESTLING" t-shirt, black and red tights, and black boots. Paris walks about midway down the aisle, and he comes to a stop. Billy Shakespeare and Timothy Turner, two men Paris has not gotten along with, are still lying in the ring. A slight smile appears, stretching into a wide grin, and Paris rubs his hands together as he makes his way to the ring.] TD: Everyone remembers the whole Spur ordeal, which some say was the fault of Paris and Brody Thunder, and the feud which went through the summer of 1997. And those of you who watched Ring Wars IV remember the two out of three falls match, which Shakespeare narrowly won. SR: Right now, Paris is going to get revenge for that sucker, take out Pukespeare, and take out Turner while he's at it! My man will be the IIWF Cruiserweight champion! [D'Amato is trying to help Turner up to get him out of the ring as Paris steps inside. Paris looks at the fallen form of Shakespeare, who is on his stomach, trying to suck in whatever air he can. For a few seconds, the fans scream for Billy to get to his feet...but Paris turns away!] SR: What? WHAT! DON'T WUSS OUT ON ME, PARIS! [Paris turns to D'Amato, who has Turner up to his knees. Turner looks dazed from the impact of the missed TNT Elbow and Curtain Call. As the fans give a shocked response, Paris helps D'Amato bring Turner to his feet.] TD: Well, I'll be darned. SR: Aw, man...Dross, this really, really sucks. [Turner shakes his head as Paris turns around, his arm still around his shoulders...and throws Turner over the top rope! The fans immediately boo as Turner lands on the floor shoulder first, and Paris spits in his direction...before turning back to Shakespeare.] SR: Oh yeah, baby dolls, that's how you take out the trash! TD: How heinous! Ronnie Paris with a despicable act, throwing a dazed Timothy Turner out of the ring! [Paris walks over to Shakespeare, who is on his back again, near the middle of the ring. D'Amato signals for the bell as Paris lies down on Shakespeare with a lackadaisical cover!] TD: Paris is going to win this without a fight! D'Amato has no choice but to count, one.... two... [The arena comes alive as Shakespeare rolls over, his arms catching Paris' and rolling him onto his shoulders! D'Amato counts two before Paris kicks out. Slapping the mat in frustration, Paris leaps right to his feet, and spins around... ...to see Billy Shakespeare right in his face. The fans claps, stomp, hoot, holler, cheer, jeer, and make a hell of a lot of noise as the two men, who last faced off in November, stand face-to-face in the middle of the ring, one-on-one for one last time...with the right to be called the last ever IIWF Cruiserweight champion hanging in the balance. The two men stare at each other for a few seconds, before Paris begins trash talking. Shakespeare comes with back with a witty response, and the two men begin talking more loudly and become more animated in their movements. Their faces show the raw emotion as the fans chant "BILLY! BILLY! BILLY!"] TD: This is going to be an all out war! Make no mistake about it, someone is probably going to have to be helped out of this ring when this is all said and done! [Paris shoves a finger into the chest of Shakespeare as he tries to drive a point home. Shakespeare looks down at it... *SMACK!* Paris gets bitch-slapped right in the middle of the ring by Billy Shakespeare, and the look on his face shows his humiliation! So, he turns back to Shakespeare... *SMACK!* ...and slaps him across the face! Shakespeare comes right back... *SMACK!* ...with a back-hand! *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!*] SR: We're seeing a bitch-fight, right in the middle of the ring! This is...well, this is the IIWF, the only place you'll see two grown men slapping each other silly! [It turns into a fist fight, and the two men throw everything they have. Shakespeare is dead tired and going on pure instinct and reflex, but somehow he gets the upper hand, and rocks Paris with a right hand that spins the Texan around...] TD: HE DEPANTSED HIM! Oh my God, Billy Shakespeare just pulled down the tights of Ronnie Paris! [Indeed, Shakespeare helps Paris show his ass to the world, as the camera thankfully showed Paris from behind. Paris quickly pulls his tights up as the entire IIWF Coliseum erupts into laughter.] TD: That...fans, I have to admit, this is pretty damn funny. SR: No it's not, Dross! That's Paris in there, and Shakespeare just embarrassed him in front of the entire world! THE WORLD, Dross! [Shakespeare laughs too as Paris looks around, red faced, at the IIWF faithful who are laughing at him. Instantly, his face gets even redder...not from embarrassment, but from rage, and he silences the Coliseum by turning around and nearly decapitating Shakespeare with a MASSIVE clothesline!] TD: Paris now all over Shakespeare, nailing him with rights and lefts! SR: He made Paris mad. You wouldn't like Paris when he's mad. [Paris pulls Shakespeare up and whips him to the ropes. Shakespeare comes off and is victim to a knee lift so vicious that "Spotlight" is flipped over and lands in the middle of the ring, where Paris stomps away on him] TD: No quarter given by Paris, and he drops down and grabs Shakespeare in a Code Red Armbar! SR: Remember, no more time limits, so Paris can take his time and pick apart Shakespeare! [Paris is literally trying to rip that arm out of the socket of Shakespeare, who screams "NAY!" when D'Amato asks him if he wants to give. Paris eventually lets go, only to jump up and drop a knee on the shoulder of Shakespeare!] TD: Shakespeare rolls away! Paris hits the mat, and Shakespeare to his feet...and he chops Paris right in the chest! [Paris holds his chest as Shakespeare presses him against the ropes, and sends him for the ride. Shakespeare hits Paris with a dropkick that knocks the Texan down, and he quickly covers! One...two...] SR: Yeah! Paris kicks out! [Shakespeare waits for Paris to get to his feet...and tries to catch him with a swinging neckbreaker. But Paris ducks, and he drops on Shakespeare with a flurry of kicks to the neck] TD: Paris picking up where Turner left off, dropping now with a neck vice, like what we saw Tragedy use back at the beginning of the match against Icehawk! SR: Hey, off with his head! That's from the bard's time, right? TD: I think so... [Paris' hold borders on a chokehold, and D'Amato calls for a break, which Paris gives at four. Shakespeare is picked up by Paris, slung over his shoulder, and dropped in a shoulderbreaker!] SR: Now Paris...um...what is that, Dross? TD: Paris with a variation of a Fujiwara armbar on Shakespeare now! SR: Fuji-what? TD: Kind of like that Code Red, but Paris is putting his legs into it, driving them into the side of Billy Shakespeare. SR: Kind of like a stump-puller! Something I know all about... TD: ...from getting your stump pulled on a regular basis. SR: Hot damn, Dross, you CAN be taught! [Paris uses a hold not seen in the IIWF since the Petrow/Quigley match, but he's pulling on that sucker for all he's worth. Shakespeare's got a hold of the ropes, though, and once again, Paris is forced to break. Paris does so, and he pulls Shakespeare up and sends him into the corner! Shakespeare flips up and over the ropes, and barely manages to stay on the apron!] TD: Here comes Paris! Paris charges...but Shakespeare stops him with an elbow to the face! [Paris holds his face, but Shakespeare gives him no time to recover, grabbing it, and rubbing it along the top rope! Shakespeare stops at the middle of the ring, and he drills a few right hands at Paris!] TD: Shakespeare...well. He lifts his legs and steps between the top and middle ropes. This might be interesting... [Billy Shakespeare's lower body is in the ring, and his upper body is on the outside. He grabs Paris, puts his arm on his shoulders...and lifts him up in a suplex! The fans stare in awe as Shakespeare holds Paris up in the air in a vertical suplex, holding up for a few seconds...before dropping backwards. Paris drops, slamming into half ringside padding, half aisleway concrete, but Shakespeare is upside down for one second, as his bottom legs bounce off the top ropes and keep him from falling outside!] TD: What an innovative move by Shakespeare, as Ronnie Paris takes the full impact of that suplex! [Shakespeare pulls himself back up as Paris gets to his feet, holding the small of his back in the middle of the aisle. The fans scream as Paris turns around...] TD: Asai Moonsault! SR: NO! NO! DAMMIT, THIS IS NOT RIGHT! [Shakespeare slams into Paris full-on, and as D'Amato begins to count, Shakespeare pulls Paris up, and slams him full on into the steel railing! The fans begin to count as Shakespeare runs over and slams the back of Paris' head off the railing! At ten, Shakespeare jumps up, and drop-kicks Paris up and over!] TD: Paris is in the crowd! And Shakespeare slides back into the ring, breaking the count. I have a feeling we're not going to see a count-out, though. [Indeed, Shakespeare waits until Paris is on his feet, before bounding across the ring, leaping onto the top rope, and causing the arena to become almost blinding as he flips through the air, slamming into Mota with a somersault plancha that has the entire IIWF Coliseum chanting the name of the mighty IIWF!] TD: That...that was incredible. [Shakespeare senses victory as he dumps Paris over the railing and tosses him back in the ring. He covers, hooking the leg!] TD: It's gotta be over! One...two...NO! What stamina by Ronnie Paris, kicking out! SR: That's the spirit, Paris! Win it for the "Soundbite!" [Shakespeare shakes his head as the fans react in shock. Paris gets to his feet slowly as Shakespeare bounds across the ring...but Paris was playing possum, and he drops and catches Shakespeare with a low blow!] TD: Paris now goes behind Shakespeare...back suplex! And Paris bridges it! One...two.... kickout! Shakespeare kicks out! [Paris pulls Shakespeare up in a scoop slam, and drops him in a Juvi Driver! He reaches and hooks the legs, but Shakespeare gets his shoulder up at two. The frustration is evident on the face of Paris as he pulls Shakespeare up, and whips him to the ropes...] TD: Paris goes for the Paris-plex, but Shakespeare slips out, and he locks on a full nelson! And he flips Paris back in a Dragon Suplex! One...two...three! SR: NO! D'Amato shows two! Two showing, Dross. Reminds me of the time I played a high stakes blackjack game against this guy with one eye, with the fate of the free world for the prize... TD: You have never done that. SR: You're right. Forget I ever mentioned it. I'm not allowed to talk about it, anyway... [Shakespeare grabs Paris as he stands up, lifts him up from the side, and drops him in a gutbuster! Again, Shakespeare covers, and once again, only nets a two count. The fans throw up their hands, wondering what has to be done to put Paris away for good.] SR: Paris, hang in there! Dammit, where's the rest of Sounbite's Special Forces when you need 'em! Nothing ever is around when I need it! No men, no maple syrup, no Gore daughters...life is not fair sometimes. [Shakespeare sends Paris to the ropes, grabbing him as he comes off in a small package, only to have Paris roll through it! D'Amato counts, one...two...Shakespeare reverses! One...two...Paris reverses! One...two...Shakespeare kicks out! Both men get to their feet, and Paris charges with a clothesline that is ducked by Shakespeare, who grabs Paris' arm and swings his legs up to the other shoulder! Paris goes down in a crucifix pinning position as the fans think MAYBE this is it! One...two...] TD: NO! Paris kicks out! This is exciting stuff, you have to admit. SR: Oh, I admit it's exciting...I just wish this was Chelsea Clinton and Minnie Driver going at it, Dross. [Shakespeare sits up, a smile of disbelief on his face as Paris rolls over, looking up at the ceiling. Shakespeare runs to the ropes, and goes for a leg drop, but Paris rolls away quickly, leaving Shakespeare to hit the mat. Paris quickly picks Shakespeare up, stands back to back with him...and drops him with a reverse neckbreaker! Shakespeare is covered by Paris.] SR: This is it! One...two...no! NO! Damnit, D'Amato, pick up that pace! [Paris rolls outside the ring as Shakespeare rolls around, holding that injured neck. Paris grabs a chair from the timekeeper, snaps it shut, and tosses it in the ring. D'Amato lets it go as Paris climbs back in the ring.] SR: Oh, yeah, hardcore, hardcore! [The chant is picked up by the L'il Soundbiters, chanting "HARDCORE!" loudly and drunkenly as Paris picks up the chair. Shakespeare is on his knees, and Paris winds up... *CLANG!* Shakespeare is hit head on, with such force that the chair is dented. Paris tosses it away and covers! One...two...GODZILLA-SIZED POP!] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, Billy Shakespeare kicked out of that wicked, wicked chair shot! Incredible! [Paris can't believe it either as Shakespeare brings himself to his feet. Even D'Amato is in shock...as Shakespeare points to the chair, then his chin!] TD: He's...he's daring Paris to hit him again! [Paris shrugs, and gets ready to comply...and he does. Shakespeare staggers backwards into the ropes...but comes off with a clothesline that stuns Paris! Paris, still holding that chair, staggers backwards...and Shakespeare superkicks the chair into him! Paris falls, the chair still on top of him, so Billy covers him AND the chair! TD: Paris is down, and Shakespeare takes advantage! One...two...NO! NO! Paris gets his shoulder up! The resilience of these men is incredible. Neither man will quit! [Shakespeare picks Paris up...but Paris rams the edge of the chair into the gut of Shakespeare, and picks it up...and cracks it on the head of Shakespeare! Shakespeare steps back a few feet, and Paris drops the chair to the mat] TD: Paris advances...spins the fatigued Shakespeare around...and hooks a standing crossface! [The fans who know what this is...the set-up to the Parisplex...scream, but for naught, as Paris screams and lifts Shakespeare up...over... down... ...right onto the chair!!] SR: Parisplex onto the chair! It's over, Dross, it's over! Not even Shakespeare's getting up from that one! [Indeed, Paris covers, and D'Amato is there to count! The arena holds its breath...one...two...and the place explodes as Shakespeare shoots a shoulder up!] SR: Hold on, Dross. I'm going to get my gun and end this, like my daddy would have done. TD: Sit down, Steve. [Paris shakes his head. He's tried everything short of killing Shakespeare...but that may be what he needs to do. Paris puts the chair in the middle of the ring, and he looks out to the fans, many of them cheering "Spotlight"... ...and draws his thumb across his throat, screaming "This is over, right now!" He whips Shakespeare to the ropes, and as he waits to come back, he sets up to go for a face-first Russian Legsweep, onto that steel chair. Shakespeare comes back, and Ronnie Paris grabs him... ...and Shakespeare slips out, sliding out, jumping up, and dropping Paris with a DDT onto the chair!] TD: Shakespeare with a desperation move! Can he cover? [Shakespeare reaches out and drapes an arm across the body of Paris, and D'Amato counts, one...two...and again, Paris shocks everyone by kicking out. The fans clamour as Shakespeare pulls himself up to his feet. He has wrestled for over twenty five minutes against four different men, and he has a hard time standing straight. The face paint is gone, the hair is sweaty...but he looks at the fans, his audience... ...and points up top!] TD: He's going airborne, Steve. We may see the Curtain Call. SR: I want to see a Swan Song, personally. [Shakespeare climbs as Paris stands up. Paris is stunned, and is unable to respond as Shakespeare perches himself on the top turnbuckle. Paris turns to face Shakespeare as "Spotlight" literally launches himself at Ronnie Paris. Shakespeare flies towards Paris with every intention of ending this match and claiming his place in history. Paris sees his foe flying towards him... ...and reflex takes over. Shakespeare is caught on the shoulders of Paris...and without stopping, Paris uses Shakespeare's force against him for one last, crushing move!] SR: Paris grabs Shakespeare...and he drives him down! TD: SUPER DEATH VALLEY DRIVER... ...oh my God. [Shakespeare's face shows shock as Paris flips him over. Time seems to grind to a halt as Billy Shakespeare slams headfirst into the mat. His neck is bent at a seemingly impossible angle, his chin touching his upper chest, as Paris drives Shakespeare down with such velocity that for a moment, it appears Shakespeare's head has gone through the canvas, but it is merely the mat giving way to the tremendous impact. Paris releases Shakespeare, but such was the force of the Death Valley Driver, that the effects are still apparent. Even the most hardcore fan is silent as Shakespeare bounces into the air again as the canvas acts like a trampoline. Dust flies from the canvas as Shakespeare's body flies back into the air. Shakespeare seems to hang in mid-air as Paris rolls away from the point of impact. A single cry from a fan cuts through the silence as Shakespeare's head once again slams into the mat. His neck collapses like an accordion as the full weight of Billy Shakespeare comes down on this one part of his body.] TD: Paris...with a devastating move...this is bad, Steve. Bad. [Dave D'Amato looks on in shock, as the rest of the IIWF Coliseum falls silent. Paris has rolled to the corner, his head in his hands, still in shock. He slowly looks up as he realises how deathly quiet the IIWF Coliseum has fallen...and even Paris is in shock as he gazes upon Billy Shakespeare. Shakespeare lies in the middle of the ring, flat on his back, eyes looking up at the lights, the lights he has seen so many times before...but never, never like this. As the dust settles around him, Paris just stares at his foe. Shakespeare's legs twitch slightly, and his left arm is shaking madly. But his right arm lies motionless, and Shakespeare's eyes look vacant as he slowly blinks. As D'Amato turns to call for medical help, Paris crawls over to Shakespeare, and covers him. D'Amato turns back, and he looks at Paris going for the win. Paris looks up at him...] RP: COUNT, DAMMIT! [...and D'Amato drops to count] DA: ONE! [Fans hold their breath, praying for Shakespeare to pull one last miracle out of his bag of tricks. D'Amato hand comes back down again] DA: TWO! [A child cries "BILLY, GET UP!" And silently, the fans hope he will, hoping beyond hope that, as always, Shakespeare will not stay down, that he will come up for a final performance. When D'Amato's hand hits the canvas for the third time, it sounds like a gunshot.] DA: THREE! SL: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner...and retiring the IIWF Cruiserweight Championship... RONNIE PARIS! [Paris rolls off Shakespeare as two paramedics hit the ring. D'Amato hands the IIWF Cruiserweight belt to Paris, and holds his hand up...but all focus is on Billy Shakespeare.] SR: Damn, Dross...I never saw anyone hit a move like that. That nearly drove Shakespeare through the mat. [Paris rolls out of the ring, and the fans boo him somewhat for what he did, but for the most part, they see the paramedics trying to revive Shakespeare.] TD: Fans, as you can see on replay, Shakespeare's head was driven down TWICE, once by the actual move, and again by the sheer impact of the move bouncing his body into the air. [The medics use smelling salts, and slowly Shakespeare comes to life. As the world watches, Shakespeare sits up, holding his head as the medics check him out. As they do, the chant starts somewhere up in the cheap seats. "BILLY!" The chant picks up volume... "BILLY, BILLY!" ...until everyone is chanting the name of Billy Shakespeare. Shakespeare is helped to his feet by the paramedics as the fans continue to chant his name.] TD: Apparently, Shakespeare merely had his bell rung by that Super Death Valley Driver. It is a miracle he is managing to walk out of here, Steve Roberts. SR: It is. Paris almost killed him...literally. But my man _is_ the champ, Dross. TD: And what's incredible is that both men are set to compete in the Eternal Rumble in the third hour. Who knows what will happen if they collide in the ring later on tonight? [Shakespeare walks up the aisle, holding an ice pack to the back of his head, but the chant doesn't die down. Not a fan is not chanting, and as Shakespeare gets to the curtain... ...the lights drop, and a single spotlight illuminates him. Billy raises his arm once again...and he bows deeply to the fans, who roar in response. And like that, he is gone, taken backstage...to heal...and to plan retribution. Cut back to the broadcast table at ringside.] TD: Folks, what an incredible second hour this has been -- Tiger Claw has retired the Intercontinental Championship, and Ronnie Paris has just retired the Cruiserweight title. We'll be back in just a few moments with the "Last Man Standing" Match between Brody Thunder and "Playboy" Ronnie D, plus the four-way "Legends Match"... and of course, tonight's main event is still to come. Don't move a muscle, folks! [Cut to an overhead shot of the ring, the IIWF Forever logo now spattered with blood. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+