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                           American Wrestling Alliance 
                                 Proudly Presents 
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the WKIK Studios 
                                   Dallas, Texas 
                                  April 26, 2008
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[As the closing notes to the "Sanford And Son" theme fade into nothing,
the viewing audience is greeted by the sounds of "One More Saturday
Night" by the Grateful Dead.

A large white map of the United States fills the screen as the music
plays.  The shot zooms through the map, different states "popping up"
into view as we race past them.  As we pull back from the map, it no
longer is white but rather made up of the Stars and Stripes.

The map goes into a spin, spinning round and round as we zoom all the
way into it, dissolving into a few slow motion shots of animated men
battling in a red, white, and blue ring.  The animation runs through
various wrestling moves from an atomic drop to a bodyslam to a
piledriver.

And as the blue animaniac applies a clawhold on the white animaniac, we
freeze and the AWA logo fills the screen.

After a moment, we fade away from the cheaply done intro to the smiling
faces of two men.

One is clad in a dark navy suit, white dress shirt, and red and white
striped tie.  He sports nicely-styled salt and pepper hair and a
well-groomed moustache.  He grips a wireless mic in his hand, grinning
widely at the camera.  In his late-50's and the epitome of
professionalism, this man is Gordon Myers.

By his side is... well, somewhat a bit more flashy.  With a mic in one
hand and a glitter covered briefcase in the other, this man is paunchy
to say the least.  He's got a decent sized gut pushing at the buttons on
his lime green dress shirt underneath an eye-burning yellow jacket.  His
black hair is tousled in all directions like he hasn't run a comb
through it in his life.  His teeth appeared to have been whitened
recently... perhaps several times even as he flashes a huge smile.  He's
in his late 30's... he's former manager "Big Bucks" Bucky Wilde.

They're standing in front of a bluish gray standard television studio
set where you can see the AWA logo splashed across the wall above a
small television monitor.  Wilde lifts his glittering briefcase with a
flourish, slapping it down onto a wooden "desk" in front of them as
Myers begins to speak.]

GM:  Good evening, fans, and welcome to another edition of AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling featuring all the stars of the American Wrestling
Alliance, _the_ major league of professional wrestling.  By my side is
the colorful Bucky Wilde and Bucky, we are less than a month away from
Memorial Day Mayhem when the first AWA Champion will be crowned!

BW:  That's right, Gordo.  And what happens here tonight could go a
long, long way to fillin' the last four spots in the tournament.

GM:  Ron Houston is in via his win in the 30-Man Rumble just two weeks
ago tonight.  Marcus Broussard is in thanks to his protest over the
controversial way that Rumble ended.  Tumaffi and Ricky Royal get the
nod based on merit.  That leaves four more to go and in a bit of a
surprise, the Championship Committee is actually meeting backstage right
now and have told us they will announce the final four members of the
tournament as well as the bracketing for the tournament... tonight!  

BW:  That's big news, daddy.  And we're talking Tumaffi Family Reunion
big!  Everyone's gonna need to be on top of their game tonight to make
the tournament.  So much pressure.

GM:  In addition to that, we've got-

[The familiar piano of Bethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" creeps over the
PA in it's usual haunting manner.]

GM:  And apparently, we're about to be joined out here.  Here comes the
man himself. The winner of the Rumble... it's...

[The crowd roars as the curtains part and there is The Athens, Georgia
Madman himself, clad in his standard Confederate Flag trenchcoat which
covers his wrestling garb as well as his black cowboy hat. A big grin is
glued to his face as he begins to walk down towards the interview area.
His battered left arm hung out smacking hands with whomever places their
arm over the railing into it's path.]

GM: ... RON HOUSTON!!!

[Houston points his big right paw out and extends his index finger in
the direction of Myers as he approaches. The East Coast Terror reaches
up and grabs his cowboy hat, pulling it from his buzzed head and
playfully dropping it down down on Myers head.]

GM:  Ladies and gentlemen, we're here tonight with the _first_ man to
pave his path into the Memorial Day Mayhem tournament... the winner of
the Rumble... a man who needs no introduction... Ron Houston. Ron,
congratulations on the big win.

[Houston looks down at Myers, taking the hat back and plunking it down
on his big ol' head.]

RH:  Ah must say.. _thank you_, Gordon. And thank _YOU_.

[Houston points to the AWA faithful suffocating him with cheers, much
to their delight.]

RH:  Ah came out here on April 12th and ah wasn't quite sure what ta
expect. Ah came out here with one intention and it wasn't what ya might
expect. Ah didn't come out here ta win no rumble. Ta be quite honest, it
was probably the furthest thing from mah mind at the time.  Ah just
wanted to take that no good _snake_ Broussard and Fade 'im out one more
time.

[A big smile is plastered straight across The East Coast Terror's face.]

RH:  Ya see, Marcus Broussard, the man came out here to tell ya all a
story. Ta tell ya'll just how great he was, and fer awhile, he did just
that. He wove his story. He stroked his masterpiece, and with every fine
stroke, and every intricate weave of trickery he could muster up.. he
inched one step closah ta makin' it all a reality.

Ta paintin' his masterpiece.

Ta winnin' _"HIS"_ rumble.

But ya see, the li'l runt.. he made a _mistake_. A _big_ mistake.. and
he won't soon forget it.

Ya see, Gordon... the boy fergot to write the endin'.

[The Athens, Georgia Madman pauses, nodding at the small Houston chant
that's still reverberating throughout the studio.]

RH:  And like the best o' stories.. it needed _Just_ the right endin'
which ah was more than happy ta provide. Cause everybody knows, a _great

story doesn't cut quickly out. With a snake's hands held high above
their head.

A great story ends with the _hero_ walkin' into the sunset. And then..
with a Fade ta Black.

[The crowd cheers at the memory of the scene Houston describes.]

RH:  And ah didn't just end the story on April 12th. No, no, Myers ah
ended the story twice in a _row_ that way. _Twice_ Broussard has crossed
mah path and _twice_ he's fallen before it. The first time he came back
jawin' 'bout how it meant _nothing_. And this time, well, he's been
whinin' like a big ol' baby 'bout just how unfair life is.

And that's one thing ah'll never try ta take from the man... he sure can
cry. Whined himself right into the Memorial Day tourney.

But he can whine all he wants, Gordon. Cry ta the heavens fer all ah
care. It makes no difference. 'Cause the only difference between a rut
and a grave is the _depth_.

[Houston grits his teeth.]

RH:  But ah'm squarin' ta work on that later tonight, bud.

[Houston's eyes suddenly avert off-camera as the fans begin to boo
wildly.  Our camera shifts a bit to reveal the San Jose Shark, Marcus
Broussard, sauntering towards the interview area in a tan suit left open
at the collar.  He reaches the announce desk, standing on the opposite
side of Gordon Myers, out of the immediate reach of Houston.]

MB: I regret to inform you that you'll be doing nothing of the sort.
After the travesty of last Saturday Night Wrestling, an injunction was
filed with the AWA offices as soon as the show went off the air. There
is no way anyone could say with a straight face that you did or should
have won that Rumble. The injunction requested, very sternly I might
add, two things.

One- that I be given a spot in the Memorial Day championship tournament
immediately, and that was obviously fulfilled.

Two- that on the following Saturday Night Wrestling, _this_ Saturday
Night Wrestling, that I be granted a day off, with pay.

Both requests were agreed upon and fulfilled without hesitation.

[Broussard looks at the bigger Houston and deadeyes him.]

MB: So no, Ron Houston, you won't be working on deepening my rut. You
won't even be graced with my presence in the ring. You, like everyone
else in attendance, will be wishing I was in the ring... and that's all.

[Gordon brings the microphone back and speaks at Broussard.]

GM: How can you say that Ron Houston didn't deserve to win that Rumbl-

MB: BECAUSE HE DIDN'T!

[Broussard, having lost his cool for a moment, reins himself in.]

MB: Ron Houston has been riding with Lady Luck driving his short bus
since the moment the AWA opened it's doors. How on Earth anyone can call
him landing on that one man floorboard, Tumaffi, anything other than
luck is beyond me. How anyone can feel sorry for this man after _he_
attacked _me_ after our tag team match is beyond me.

You hurt your shoulder? Suck it up cupcake, it ain't ballet. You're
nearly seven feet tall, well over three hundred pounds and you're
complaining about a boo-boo on the field of battle. You sir, are a
coward, and frankly don't deserve to wrestle me in my ring. But you see
that I'm by far the AWA's most prized competitor, and you got green with
envy. And I'll tell you this, you're as jealous as you are afraid, Ron
Houston.

And I'll tell you something else, it's not just you. For every
competitor in the locker room, there's two jealous eyes just wishing
they could be Marcus Broussard. They see me, the embodiment of what pro
wrestling should be, and they want to be me... they just don't know how
to do it. So they try to knock me off. No doubt about it, I was a marked
man in that Rumble, there were 29 guys aiming to take my spot and by God
I still won that Rumble. But after that nonsense afterward, where I
supposedly lost, I smartened up. If I had someone watching my back that
never would have happened.

So I'll tell you what I did, Gordon Myers.

[Broussard clears his throat.]

MB: I used my contacts in the Far East and hired a man to serve as my
personal bodyguard, as well as a training partner. He is a master of the
martial arts and one of the most dangerous men in the pro-wrestling
ring. He has been _banned_ from competing in Asia... and the next time
someone tries to pull a stunt that would disallow me from gaining a
victory or the accolade that I deserve... ha ha, well then, you will
surely find out why.

And if you're crying about your shoulder now, Houston, boy jeez... wait
til you cross me again. It just won't be tonight.

[The Athens, Georgia Madman's face reddens slightly as he peers across
the distance between the two men. He reaches up with his big right arm
and adjusts his black hat while momentarily collecting himself.. reining
himself back in.]

RH: Ya know, kid... they say time is the fire in which a man burns.

So if ya wanna roast a bit longer before ah cook ya.. feel free. 

[Houston turns back to Myers quickly, obviously flustered by the sudden
turn in fortune.]

RH:  Tell 'em ta get Lambert.. ah owe the man after what ah did ta him
in the rumble.

And as for _YOU_...

[The big right index finger of Houston juts in the direction of
Broussard.]

RH:  ... ah'll be seein' ya _real_ soon, cause me and you... we ain't
finished, amigo.

Not by a long shot.

[And with that, Houston storms out of the interview area. His face
painted quite red as a delighted Broussard smiles in satisfaction before
slowly walking off the set as well.]

GM:  Fans, there you have it.  A change of plans for tonight's Power
Hour Main Event and what you would have to call a major opportunity for
"Spitfire" Buddy Lambert.

BW:  I don't like the guy, Gordo, but you've gotta reckon out that if he
wins, he's in!

GM:  A spot in the AWA Title Tournament may very well be on the line for
Buddy Lambert in tonight's Main Event.  But you can say that about just
about everyone who steps into the ring here tonight, Bucky.  And you can
definitely say it about the first man in the ring tonight... one of your
favorite competitors... take it away, Melissa!

[Cut to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring at this time,
standing 5'10 and weighing in at 205 pounds... Keith Smith.

[A young man in red trunks raises a pale arm inside the ring.  There is
absolutely nothing about him that stands out except for the red trunks.]

MC:  And his opponent... 

[The self-written, self-performed sounds of "I'm Gon' Be Your Sweet
Daddy" comes blasting over the sound system.]

BW:  Him?!  We're starting with him?!  This yellow-as-corn toothed,
cross-eyed, lily-livered, hook-nosed, bald-as-a-bowlin'-ball...

GM:  Would you stop?

[The crowd roars as the rotund man wiggles his way into the WKIK
Studios.]

MC:  Hailing from Hotlanta, Georgia... 5'10 and weighing in at 312
pounds... SWEET!  DADDY!  WILLIAMS!

[Clad in a pair of eye-scorching green trunks... much too small for his
overly large stomach and thighs... the man known as Sweet Daddy Williams
races towards the roaring fans as he trades high-fives and hugs with as
many people as he can reach from the ringside area.]

GM:  And the fans here in the WKIK Studios love this man, Bucky.

BW:  So, you're saying that good taste is the only thing not bigger in
Texas?

[The Sweet Daddy rolls under the ropes (not an easy task either) and
pops up to his feet, shaking his hips and... other parts... in a rather
colorful jig...

...which causes Keith Smith to sprint at him as the referee calls for
the bell.]

GM:  Here comes Smith and- 

[The crowd cheers as the Sweet Daddy snaps off a jab into the jaw of the
rushing Smith.]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught Smith coming in... and another jab... and another! 
He's peppering Keith Smith with jabs to the jaw.

[Backing off, Williams does a little jig, swinging his hand around his
head...

...and driving an uppercut home into the jaw of Smith, depositing him
down on the canvas to a huge cheer!]

GM:  And it's a big treat for these fans down in Dallas, Texas to see
one of the biggest stars in the Southern states make it to the big time,
Bucky.

BW:  He doesn't deserve to be here, daddy!  He's been rasslin' in flea
markets, swap meets, Boys And Girls Clubs, and I think he even took on a
pig at a 4H show once.

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky.

BW:  I won't, Gordo!  This is _my_ show and I demand someone get this
talentless ape out of the ring.

GM:  Your show?

BW:  Of course!  I'm more colorful than the Land of Oz, daddy... who do
you think people are tuning in to see?

[As Keith Smith pushes up to a knee, Williams grins at him widely,
shaking his hips from side to side to another big cheer.]

GM:  Ahhh, the Sweet Daddy is having a good time in there tonight,
Bucky.

BW:  That's his problem, Gordo.  The goof doesn't take anything
seriously.  He just wants to dance and smile and laugh and hug the fans
and kiss babies and sing that horrible song.

GM:  Well, what's wrong with that?

BW:  What's wrong with- sheesh, Gordo... for someone who has been around
this biz for so many years, you have a lot to learn, daddy!

[Williams grabs the dazed Smith by the wrist, firing him off the ropes.]

GM:  Big whip by the Sweet Daddy and- whooooooa!  Big back bodydrop from
the man from Atlanta!

[Williams dances around the ring a bit to the fans' delight as Keith
Smith writhes around on the canvas.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy is winding up... waiting for Smith to get to his
feet...

[Sweet Daddy Williams continues to pump his arm round and round in
circles, waiting... waiting...

...and then popping the standing Smith in the jaw with an uppercut that
causes the victim to sail off his feet, landing on his rear in the
corner with his back against the buckles.]

BW:  Oh no.

GM:  Oh yeah!  You know what's coming as well as these fans do!

[Williams backs into the far corner, slapping at his rather wide rear
end as he does so... then leaps into the air, charging across the
ring...

...and driving his butt into the face of Keith Smith!]

GM:  THE SOUL TRAIN CONNECTS!

BW:  I hate that move.

GM:  I remember you getting whacked right in the schnozz with that in
the Savannah High School gym, Bucky.

BW:  I don't. 

GM:  Sure you do!

BW:  I DON'T!  I DON'T!  AND YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!

[Shaking his groove thang around the ring, Sweet Daddy starts hopping up
and down, waving Smith to get back to his feet again.]

GM:  You have to admit, Bucky.  His energy is infectious!

BW:  Probably not the only thing about him that's infectious.  You've
met his wife, right?

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky!

[As Smith staggers back to his feet, the springy-legged Williams snaps
off a jab.]

GM:  Right hand by Sweet Daddy!

[And another... and another... and another...]

GM:  Jabs to the face of Smith, got him reeling...

[Sweet Daddy Williams raises both arms, spitting on his right hand...
then on his left...

...and bringing the two clapping together on the sides of Smith's head!]

GM:  Earclapper!  That'll ring your bell!

[Smith reels from the strike, staggering and stumbling, which allows
Sweet Daddy to hit the closest set of ropes, rebounding back with a
cross bodyblock!]

GM:  Crossbody by Sweet Daddy!  One!  Two!  Three!

[A massive ovation goes up for Sweet Daddy Williams as the referee calls
for the bell.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"

MC:  Your winner of the match in a time of three minutes and thirteen
seconds...

SWEET!  DADDY!  WILLIAMS!

[The crowd roars for the man from Hotlanta as he rolls off of Smith,
sitting in the middle of the ring with a dopey grin on his face.]

GM:  Big win for Sweet Daddy Williams and you've gotta imagine that
impressed some members of the Championship Committee backstage, Bucky.

BW:  That did?!  If they were impressed by that, I've got a copy of
Hogcallers Quarterly with a story about a backflippin' pig that oughta
blow them out of their seats, daddy!

GM:  I'm sure I'm gonna regret this but walk us through the replay,
Bucky.

[Cut to slo-mo footage of Sweet Daddy Williams executing a backdrop.]

BW:  Okay, well... here that big fat lump throws that little skinny guy
over his head because he's a big dumb bully.

GM:  Bucky, seriously...

[The next shot is of the Soul Train, Williams' rear end slamming into
the face of Smith.]

BW:  Alright, alright... well, here comes the flabby ol' butt smackin'
Smith in the face.  Poor guy.  Can you imagine what that is like?

GM:  No, but you can tell us since you've-

BW:  That's enough out of you!  I'm tryin' to call a replay.

[And one more shot, this one of the high cross body.]

BW:  So, to finish him off, he throws his big fat gut up into Smith's
face.  I don't even know how he can jump that high.  That man should be
arrested.  He just broke the law.

GM:  Now what are you talking about?

BW:  He broke the laws of gravity!  The laws of physics!  

GM:  Fans, quite the win for Sweet Daddy Williams and he's on his way
overe here to join us right now.

BW:  I'm outta here, daddy!

[We cut to a shot of the announce desk as Sweet Daddy Williams jigs over
to it, a big grin on his face as the Atlanta native joins Gordon Myers.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams, welcome to the AWA!

[Sweet Daddy is jiggin' and shakin' as he leans over the mic.]

SDW:  Owwwww, baby!  You don't even know, Gordon Myers, what it feels
for the Sweet Daddy to be here in the AWA!  Even with that ol' good for
nothin' gillywacka Bucky Wilde hangin' 'round, the Sweet Daddy is lovin'
life right now.

[Gordon can't help but smile as he speaks.]

GM:  You made your debut in the Rumble two weeks ago and just had a nice
victory here tonight.  What are your goals here in the AWA?

SDW:  The Sweet Daddy's come to do the things that the Sweet Daddy comes
to do, Gordon!  I'm here to shake...

[Cue wild jiggin' and a loud cheer!]

SDW:  ...and bake, I'm here to make the ground quake, I'm here to back
rake, I'm here to lady take, I'm here to eat cake... but most of all,
Gordon Myers, I'm here to splash all over this lake for goodness sake!

[Gordon looks a little confused.]

GM:  Lake?

SDW:  The lake of competition in the AWA, Gordon Myers!  And there's
some big ol' fish swimmin' in that lake.  Those mean, nasty Russians...
the only man fatter than the Sweet Daddy, Tumaffi... that slimy little
eel Dufresne... and that big ol' Shark... they's all swimmin' in the
lake, waitin' for a fresh fish like the Sweet Daddy to jump into the
water.

[Sweet Daddy giggles a bit, running a hand through his sweaty hair.]

SDW:  But while they's swimmin' in the lake, the Sweet Daddy's sittin'
on an ol' houseboat, drinking a can... make that a case... of Pabst and
enjoyin' the sunshine.  They's circlin' the boat, Gordon Myers, but the
Sweet Daddy ain't worried and you know why?

[Gordon shrugs.]

SDW:  'Cause I gots me a speargun.  

[He giggles again.]

SDW:  It ain't sportin' but it works real, real good y'all.  And pretty
soon, the Sweet Daddy's gonna have a whole deck full of fish... big ol'
fish with holes in the side of 'em.

And we's gonna drag all them fish out to the parkin' lot here in the
WKIK Studios and we's gonna have the biggest barbecue the city of Dallas
has e'er seen, y'all!

[Sweet Daddy Williams slowly lifts his arms, fingers in an "L" to mimic
a gun.]

SDW:  So swim fast, little fishies... 'cause the Sweet Daddy's here in
the AWA and as you might guess...

[He slaps his big belly, causing a jiggle and a giggle.]

SDW:  I's feelin' a little hungry.   Whoooopaaa!

[He "fires" the gun, winking at the camera before walking off to the
cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams, fans!  We'll be right back after this break!

[We fade away from the grinning Gordon Myers to black.

After a moment, we fade back up on a very long shot of the exterior of a
pretty dingy looking building.]

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

"Of your friends and family seeing you on television?"

[And just a little closer, revealing a red, white, and blue sign that
reads "AWA Combat Corner."]

"Well, now you can make all your dreams come true by signing up today at
the AWA Combat Corner - the official training school for the American
Wrestling Alliance!"

[We cut to the interior of the building where we can see lots of
standard gym equipment surrounding a very basic wrestling ring.  There
are people lifting weights, running on treadmills, and of course,
working out in the ring.]

"With the very best trainers in the business, the AWA Combat Corner is
the most-equipped training facility to get you in shape and get you in
the ring in the shortest amount of time!"

[Cut into the ring where Todd Michaelson is barking out instructions.]

"With former World Champion Todd Michaelson leading the classes, you can
guarantee that you will be prepared for in-ring action upon graduation
and with the AWA expanding by the day, you will have a place to work on
Day One!"

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

"So, stop by the Combat Corner today... call our offices... visit our
website... and let them know that you want to be the next AWA Superstar!
You want to be the future of the business!

You want to wrestle!"

[Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner.  We
freeze there for a moment...

...and then back up on the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing with a
pair of masked competitors.]

MC:  The following contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall
with a fifteen minute time limit.  Introducing first, already in the
ring at this time, from Parts Unknown at a combined weight of 520
pounds...

THE EXECUTIONERS!

[Two men clad in black from head to toe, including masks, bellow at the
fans to some jeering.]

MC:  And their opponents...

["Knockin' At Your Back Door"  by Deep Purple starts up to a decent
reaction from the WKIK Studio audience.]

MC:  At a total combined weight of 615 pounds... they are accompanied to
the ring by their manager Sarah Sharpe... Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew
Somers...

ROUGH...N...READY!

[The drums kick in and Rough N Ready emerges from the entranceway.

Dave Cooper wears black wrestling trunks, matching kneepads and white
wrestling boots, and also wears a black T-shirt that says "Rough N
Ready" in white lettering. Eric Matthew Somers wears a black singlet and
white wrestling boots. Standing in between them is their manager, Sarah
Sharpe, dressed in black pants and matching jacket and a white T-shirt.

The trio makes their way to the ring, Sarah walking in front with Dave
and Eric side by side, Dave with a serious look on his face and Eric
with a mischievous grin. They reach the ringside area, where Dave is the
first to ascend the ring steps and duck between the ropes, followed by
Eric, as Sarah takes her place at ringside.]

GM:  Welcome back, Bucky.  I was beginning to think you were taking the
rest of the night off.

BW:  I just wanted to make sure the stench of that dirty ol' mutt was
gone before I came back.

GM:  Well, you're just in time to see the tag team debut of Rough N
Ready.  Look at the size of Eric Matthew Somers.  At 6'9, 350, Somers is
one of the biggest men in the AWA.

BW:  He absolutely is.  And he's pretty fearless to boot as we saw him
itchin' to go toe to toe with Tumaffi and the other big boys in the
Rumble two weeks ago.

GM:  Dave Cooper's not a small man by any stretch of the imagination
either at 6'5 and 265 pounds.  And I understand that he's quite the
expert in submission wrestling as well.

[After a few last second words, the Rough N Ready duo exchange a high
five and Somers steps over the ropes back out on the ring apron as
Cooper turns to face the larger member of the Executioners.]

GM:  We've got two in and two out and...


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  This match is underway!

[Cooper eases out of the corner, quickly moving in for a collar and
elbow tieup that he ducks, deftly sliding into a rear waistlock before
spinning Executioner #1 around and armdragging him down to the mat.]

GM:  Wow!  An impressive display of scientific wrestling by Dave Cooper.

[An agitated Executioner backs away, complaining to the referee about a
pull of the mask that Cooper denies with a grin.]

GM:  The Executioner says Cooper pulled the mask but I know I didn't see
that.  Did you?

BW:  I think I might have.

GM:  Right.  Well, Cooper denies it and there's no rattling him it
appears.  

BW:  He's 40 years old, Gordo.  He may be afraid to protest since he
might have a heart attack.

GM:  Would you stop?

[The masked man moves back in for another tieup, this time getting
floored courtesy of a drop toehold that Cooper turns into a deathlock
for a moment before sliding up to hook an arm in a straddle armbar.]

GM:  Ohh!  Right into the armbar.  Another nice combo by Cooper. 

[The Executioner cries out as Cooper wrenches back on the arm, putting
more pressure on the shoulder.]

GM:  The armbar is expertly applied here.

BW:  He's so old, he might have invented this armbar, Gordo.

GM:  He's only 40 years old, Bucky!

[Dropping down to a knee, Cooper shifts his grip to an overhand grip,
placing the masked man's forearm against his own shoulder to use it as a
fulcrum.]

GM:  Look at that!  The masked man hasn't given up yet but man, that
hold is locked on tight.

[As the Executioner refuses to quit, Cooper grabs the wrist, popping up
to his feet before driving a knee down on the held arm, squarely on the
shoulder joint before pulling up on the limb pinned by his knee.]

GM:  And another type of armlock applied by Dave Cooper, showing that
pedigree of submission wrestling that precedes him.

BW:  Give some credit to Executioner #1, Gordo.  He's holding tough in
there in their debut as well.

GM:  Two debuting teams in action - Cooper breaks the hold, pulling the
masked man to his feet by the wrist... big armtwist... and there's the
tag!

[The crowd cheers as the big man steps over the ropes and drives a big
forearm down across the twisted arm, sending the masked man stumbling
away, clutching his arm.]

GM:  And where his partner is well-regarded for his submission skills,
Somers is known as the powerhouse of the team.

BW:  6'9, 350 and a powerhouse?  I'm shocked more than when Mama knocked
the bug zapper in my bubble bath last week!

[Somers grabs the masked man's arm, yanking him towards him, and nearly
ripping his head off with a short-arm clothesline.]

GM:  Goodness!  He looked like he was trying to rip his shoulder out of
the socket.  

BW:  Tries to pull the shoulder out and then nearly knocks him out with
a clothesline.  Impressive.

[Pulling the masked man up by the injured arm, Somers scoops him up into
a bodyslam position...

...and then adds a little bit of a press to it, hurling him towards the
opposite corner where the other Executioner reluctantly tags in,
charging across the ring, leaping into the air...

...and getting snatched from the sky in the massive waiting arms of
Somers who cranks in a bearhug.]

GM:  Whoa my!

[Somers ragdolls the Executioner, swinging him back and forth like he
weighs absolutely nothing...

...then hurls him up and overhead with a belly to belly throw from the
bearhug.]

GM:  What power!

BW:  Man, if I was still managing, I'd sign this guy up in a New York
minute, Gordo.  I'd take this guy all the way to the top.

GM:  What about Dave Cooper?

BW:  He's not as impressive as Somers but together, I'd get them the tag
titles in their second match... unlike that beauty school dropout
they've got outside the ring.

[The downed Executioner #2 crawls into the corner, pulling himself to
his feet...

...where he gets crushed in the buckles with a running shoulder drive to
the midsection!]

GM:  Ohhhhh!

BW:  He moves pretty well for a big man.

GM:  He's got the Executioner #2 pinned in the buckles... ohhh!  Another
shoulder to the ribs!

[Still leaning over, Somers drives a few more shoulders to the ribcage
before grabbing the masked man by the head, launching him across the
ring with a powerful biel throw.]

GM:  Goodness.

[Cooper reaches over the ropes, tagging himself back in as Executioner
#1 charges in from across the ring...

...and gets a boot to the gut, just before being driven down to the mat
with an armbar takedown.]

GM:  Oh!  Similar to a DDT but all the impact goes on the shoulder.  

BW:  It's a real easy way to separate a shoulder, Gordo.

GM:  Speaking of a separated shoulder, look at that!

[Leaning over the Executioner, Cooper applies a double arm chickenwing,
pulling the shoulders towards one another.]

BW:  A standing double arm chickenwing with his opponent on his stomach.
 I don't know if I've ever seen that before.

GM:  Whatever you want to call it, it's very effective.

BW:  This might be it, daddy.  The Executioner's in a lot of pain.

[But before his teammate can give up, the second Executioner slides in
and buries a boot into Cooper's ribs to break the hold before sliding
back out of the ring to the jeers of the fans.]

GM:  A big save by the second Executioner right there.  I thought it was
over.

[Shaking off the effects of the kick, Cooper pulls the masked man off
the mat, dragging him back to the Rough N Ready corner before reaching
behind to hammerlock the arm, scooping him up...

...and slamming him down on the bent arm!]

GM:  Hammerlock bodyslam!  Right down on the arm!

[A quick cover with the arm still pinned is attempted.]

GM:  One!  Two!  No... the masked man pops the other shoulder off the
mat.

[Cooper rolls off, slapping the hand of Somers who steps over the ropes,
pauses...

...and then drops a huge elbow down across the chest of the masked man!]

GM:  Ohhhh!

[Cooper stays seated, just throwing an arm over the Executioner and
calling for a count.]

GM:  One!  Two!  And again, the masked man gets a shoulder up.

[Showing a little annoyance, Somers pushes back up to his feet, dragging
the masked man up by the injured arm, shoving him back into the
corner...

...and then charging the few feet in, blasting the masked man with a
running clothesline!]

GM:  Big clothesline in the buckles... the masked man staggers out and-

[The crowd roars as Somers reaches up, wrapping his big paw around the
throat of the Executioner #1.]

GM:  He's got him hooked!  He's calling for the chokeslam!

BW:  This is gonna do it.

GM:  He's ready... he's set... 

[But he simply turns around, signalling again.]

BW:  Somers is wasting time here.  This could be a mistake.

[Somers gestures to all four sides of the ring, one by one driving the
fans crazy, while still holding the masked man by the throat, the
Executioner begging for mercy.]

GM:  Cooper's calling for the chokeslam too.  He's telling Somers to do
it.

[But suddenly, the crowd deflates as Somers releases the choke, backing
away and patting the masked man on the shoulder.]

GM:  I don't understand.

BW:  Maybe he felt sorry for him?

GM:  Perhaps but-

[The masked man, breathing a sigh of relief, stumbles away...

...but suddenly gets spun around by Somers who hooks him around the arm
and neck, reaching over to slap the hand of Cooper as he does so.]

GM:  There's a tag!  Cooper's in, up to the midbuckle...

[And Somers hoists the masked man into the air, _driving_ him down with 
a uranage slam as Cooper leaps off the midbuckle, driving his knee down
into the skull of the first Executioner before reaching back to hook a
leg.]

GM:  They call it Rough Housing!  One!  Two!

[The second Executioner charges across the ring...

...and gets wiped out with a big boot from Somers as the referee counts
three!]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winners of the match in a time of five minutes and twelve
seconds...

ROUGH... N... READY!

[Cooper and Somers have their hands raised by Sarah Sharpe to a pretty
good ovation from the crowd who were impressed by what they just saw.]

GM:  Quite the debut for Rough N Ready in tag team action, Bucky.

BW:  It certainly was.  I hope the other teams here in the AWA were
watching that because Rough N Ready is a force to be reckoned with for
sure, daddy!

GM:  We're about to be joined here at the announce desk by them in just
a moment.

[The members of Rough N Ready make their way to the announce position
where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde are positioned. The trio surround the
announcers, with Somers standing next to Wilde, who seems a little
annoyed at this, with Cooper and Sharpe standing by Myers.]
 
GM: Rough N Ready made their debuts last time on Saturday Night
Wrestling in that big invitational Rumble... and Dave Cooper, it looks
like you wanted to test your mettle against Kolya Sudakov of the
Russians.
 
DC: Gordon, that should come as no surprise... now, I understand that
there's been a lot going down between the Russians, and Werewolf
Gregorson and Despair, but you have to understand also that Eric and I
are here to make our mark in the tag team ranks as well.
 
BW: Yeah, and so then you interjected yourself when Sudakov was dealing
with Gregorson.
 
DC: I interjected myself for a reason, Bucky... because it was my way of
letting it be known that Rough N Ready isn't just going to stand by and
watch the proceedings in the tag team ranks from the sidelines. We're
here to make our mark in the AWA by proving who is the best tag team
this fine organization has to offer... so that means we've got to let
those other teams know we mean business.
 
SS: And Gordon and Bucky, there should be no doubt now that Sudakov
knows we mean business... and I'm sure Gregorson saw enough to know the
same.
 
GM: That brings us to you, Eric... you were going toe to toe with
Tumaffi, when suddenly Shannon Stokes of the Upper Crust showed up and
pulled the ropes down to take you out of the match.
 
EMS: Ah, Gordo, you had to bring up how Stokes was spoiling my fun.
[Cbuckles] But that's OK... Tumaffi has bad breath and it probably would
have done me in anyway.
 
BW: You can't be serious.
 
EMS: I'm always serious, Bucky.
 
[To which Bucky can only shake his head in response.]
 
EMS: But I'm especially serious when I say that Shannon Stokes raining
on my parade is something that will have to be dealt with in the near
future. Thie Stokes guy... he's part of this Upper Crust duo that wants
to be part of the tag team ranks... if that be the case, then the only
thing that means is soon they'll step in the ring with Rough N Ready and
then they'll get to find out just how much fun Dave and I really like to
have.
 
GM: Speaking of the Upper Crust, you did see that their manager Darryl
Styles has apparently brought another man alongside him, a man who
assaulted Kevin Slater.
 
SS: [nodding] We are aware that Mr. Styles is not just associated with
the Upper Crust, Gordon... now, for the moment, the only concern Dave
and Eric have is with the Upper Crust as they are one of the tag teams
they'll certainly face down the line to prove themselves as the best
team in the AWA.
 
[She turns to the camera.]
 
SS: But with that being said, if Styles is going to use his new charge
as what he might call a little backup, then that would leave my men and
I without much option but to somehow respond in kind.
 
So I'm sending out a little message to one Kevin Slater... you got quite
a people putting a bounty on your head, and in that situation, it's a
little tough to try to handle things on your own. Should it end up that
Styles and his dealings lead to our paths crossing with yours... you
just might yourself with a little backup yourself.
 
GM: Are you saying you'd be willing to ally yourselves with Slater.
 
SS: Gordon, I don't think the question is if we're willing to ally
ourselves with Slater... it's whether he's willing to ally with
ourselves.
 
[Eric chimes in at this point.]
 
EMS: Yeah, because you see, you might have to be a little crazy to join
up with the likes of me. Just ask my partner about that.
 
[Dave just grins.]
 
DC: We'll be on our way... but just remember, tonight's match was only
the first example of what Rough Housing is all about.
 
[With that, the trio leaves the announce position.]

GM:  Don't go away, fans... we'll be right back!

[We fade away to black...

...and then fade back up on a black screen with the AWA logo splashed
across it.]

"Join your favorite stars of the American Wrestling Alliance throughout
the state of Texas this week for exclusive meet-and-greet sessions."

[A scrolling list of names and locations flash by in white text:

Clayton Shaw
Dallas American Legion Hall - Dallas, Texas
April 27

Rough N Ready
Austin Fairgrounds - Austin, Texas
April 28

The Masked Menace
South Dallas Shopping Center
May 1

Buddy Lambert
Houston Town Center
May 3

Ron Houston
Fort Worth Convention Center 
May 4

The names end, leaving just the AWA logo behind.]

"All the stars of the AWA are comin' your way so don't miss 'em!"

[And with that, we fade back to black...

...and back up on the smiling faces of Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde.

The smile quickly fades from Mr. Myers as ZZ Top s "Sharp Dressed Man"
blares through the studio's speakers and the curtain parts like the Red
Sea.  And from it emerges a prophet in his own right (and in his own
mind), "The Ladykiller" Calisto Dufresne.  Dufresne is clad in usual
black three piece suit, his blond hair tied back in a ponytail.

Dufresne makes his way towards Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde, his  eyes
darting left and right as if the boogeyman might be lurking around  the
corner.  As he approaches the commentators (and he realizes the coast 
is clear), his usual smug look crosses his face.  Myers meets Dufresne
at the commentators table, microphone in hand.

He has to wait a few moments for the boos that are raining down from the
 AWA faithful to subside before he can speak as Dufresne is nodding his 
head and smirking.]

GM:  Hello, Calisto.  Quite the reaction from our fans here tonight!

[Dufresne nods.]

CD:  Indeed, Gordie.  And their "oohs" are warranted.  Have you looked
at this physique?

[Yeah, it was "ooh" they were saying, alright.  As Dufresne begins to
slowly take off his three-piece suit, the boos come down even louder,
but a few female shrieks are heard as well.  Myers quickly tries to get
the interview under control.]

GM:  I don't think they were appreciating your physique, Calisto.  Do
you care to comment on why you lied to us all last Saturday Night
Wrestling about entering the Battle Royal, only to sneak your way in as
the 30th entry?

CD:  What is there to comment on?  I mean, other than the fact that it
was a stroke of pure genius on my part, like everything I do.  

GM:  It didn't work out quite as well as you hoped, however.

CD:  Sure it did.  I went in there, tossed out half a dozen overweight
miscreants and then decided to bow out of the match before I
inadvertently won it.  

[Wow.  That's all that can be said.]

GM:  When you say "bow out", do you mean that Mark Shaw threw you over
the top rope like a sack of potatoes?

CD:  No, I mean I eliminated _myself_ before I became the favorite to
win the AWA Championship, something I absolutely _do not_ want.  Under
any circumstances.  Let me make that clear...

[Dufresne turns and points his finger at the camera, looking eerily like
a presidential candidate.]

CD:  ...Read my lips - I... do... _not_... want... a... shot... at...
the... AWA... Championship.

[Dufresne nods in affirmation, smiling.]

GM:  Because of your contract issues with the AWA?

CD:  That's exactly right, Gordie.  Once I'm paid like the champion, the
superstar and the legend that I am, I will quickly obtain said
championship and bring the AWA to the top of the wrestling world.  But
not a moment before!  

[Myers shakes his head, disbelieving in what he is hearing.]

GM:  What about your match with Tin Can Rust tonight?  Do you have
anything to say to him about your blatant, cowardly attack on him last
time we were in this studio?

[Dufresne looks at Myers incredulously, not appreciating the description
 of the attack on Tin Can Rust.]

CD:  Think of it like this.  When the honorable, brave police officers,
of this nasty little hovel respond to a call about a raving, giant drunk
man at a bar... Do they come alone?  Of course not.  Two officers will
come together as daring, intrepid heroes to keep the peace and to make
sure that the citizenry can appreciate their cocktails in peace.

[Myers looks up, confused.]

CD:  Stevie Scott and myself are those daring, intrepid heroes.

[Heeeeerrre we go.]

CD:  Without us stepping in and subduing that fat, out of shape drunkard
Tin Can Rust when we did, there's no telling what kind of damage he
would ve done.   There were women and children present! 

We did everyone a favor last week.  Feel free to thank me whenever
you're ready.

[Dufresne bows to the crowd as the boos erupt again; a paper cup full of

liquid flies through the air, landing alarmingly close to "The
Ladykiller."  He looks down at his polished wrestling boots, now covered
 in what looks to be Coke.  Dufresne snatches the microphone from Myers
as he begins to lecture the crowd.]

CD:  You ingrates!  Do you not appreciate the legend that is in your
midst!?  

Just remember, when you go back to your trailers tonight, making your
Hamburger Helper 5-star meal and getting ready to report to your minimum
wage job over at the local Piggly Wiggly, that you were in the midst of
the best _damn_ wrestler in this business!

[He looks towards Myers.]

CD:  Someone tell Tin Can Rust that he drew the short end of the stick
tonight.  Oh yes!  If he couldn't handle that scrub Miguel Cortez, he
certainly can't handle the Ladykiller!  Tonight, in the center of the
ring, he's going to end up like all of the women in my life...

...Flat on his back.

[Dufresne drops the microphone as "Sharp Dressed Man" kicks in once 
again, and heads back towards the locker room area.]

GM:  Well, fans, I certainly apologize for that comment.  Mr. Dufresne
has no right to speak that way with women and children in our audience
but you can bet that later tonight, Tin Can Rust may just shut that
mouth for good!

[More cheers from the studio crowd.]

GM:  During that interview, I mentioned Mark Shaw, the man known as The
Hellion and how he eliminated Dufresne during the Rumble on the last
Saturday Night Wrestling.  In fact, Mark Shaw did quite well for himself
during that match but has somehow remained a big of an enigma to our
fans.  When we check the fan mail every week, one of the biggest
requests is for more information on Mark Shaw.  Well, the AWA is always
looking out for the fans so earlier tonight, our own Jason Dane sat down
with the man known as the Hellion to see if he could gain further
insight into Mark Shaw... let's take a look at that!

[We cut away from a grinning Myers to footage labelled "EARLIER TONIGHT"
 We find ourselves in a mostly empty locker room. Only two people are
present. The suit wearing Jason Dane, who is seated on a wooden bench
alongside the man he is set to interview in this up close and personal
segment,  Hellion  Mark Shaw. Shaw is dressed in a black t-shirt and a
pair of faded blue jeans. For once, he seems relatively calm, less
tightly wound than usual. No doubt because an interview is far less
rigorous than the sort of thing he is used to in the AWA.]

JD: I am joined here tonight with the AWA s number five ranked
competitor, the Hellion, Mark Shaw. Mark, thank you for being here with
me tonight.

MS: My pleasure, Dane. So how does this work? You want me to lay down
and tell you about my parents?

[There s a hint of a grin from the normally taciturn Shaw.]

JD: Nothing like that Mr. Shaw. But the AWA fans, who have been cheering
for you do feel that they need the opportunity to get to know you
better. You ve burst on the scene quickly, and you ve been impressive
thus far, but we have the strong sense that we don t know who you are.
So the question is, what makes Mark Shaw tick?

MS: So ya do want me to tell you about my parents?

[There s a laugh from both men.]

MS: It s real simple Dane, real simple. Everyone in my family is a
fighter. Everyone. Ya don t fight, and ya don t matter. And if ya fight
and lose, well then, hell, you don t matter then either. There s only
one thing to be where I come from, and that s the best.

What drives me? Bein  the best.

I can t look at myself in the mornin  if I ain t the best. Lots of
people talk about tryin  hard. Lots of people will tell ya they did
their best. There s a word for those people: losers.  And Mark Shaw? He
ain t no loser.

JD: Well certainly, its impressive that you have such lofty goals Mr.
Shaw. And no one can doubt your skill. These last weeks, the AWA fans
have been treated to your aggressive style, and you ve won them over
with your hard hitting abilities. But by your own admission, your
performance in the AWA has left something to be desired. Would you say
that s true?

[There s a long moment of silence, as Shaw s good humor vanishes. He
treats Dane to a long, silent stare. And if looks could kill, then
certainly Dane would be dead on the floor. Shaw seems on the verge of
violence as the moments tick away in tense silence. Finally, after
exhaling a long breath, Shaw speaks.]

MS: You re right Dane. I ain t happy about it, but you re right. Ever
since I can remember, I ve wanted to be two things. I ve wanted to be a
wrestler, and I ve wanted to be the best.  Well, bein  here in the AWA
means that I ve at least accomplished half of it. But half way ain t all
the way, last I checked. So that means I ain t where I want to be.

Let s take it one by one. I won my first match, but I ain t won nothin 
since.

JD: You were impressive in the battle royal 

MS: Yeah, but since my name ain t pronounced  Ron Houston,  I wasn t
impressive enough, was I?

JD: You didn t win, that is true.

MS: And that six man tag? Last time I checked, neither team won. Which
means I didn t win. And if you ain t winnin , you re losin , way I see
it.

Some people might say, well hell, I m number five in the AWA. Considerin
 that before I was in the AWA I wasn t anywhere at all, that s
impressive. But thing is, I may not be no mathematician, but even I know
enough to know that bein  number five is four away from bein  number
one. That means, right now, in the eyes of the AWA, there s four people
ahead of me.

JD: And in your eyes, Mr. Shaw?

MS: You won t ever find me thinkin  there s someone better than me. Some
people say  on any given day, I know I can beat so-and-so.  That ain t
what I say. Here s what I say:

Every day, I _know_ I can beat everyone.

Ain t no maybes, ain t no  if the time is right and things go my way. 
All day, every day, I work to be the best.

So am I happy about what s happened so far? I sure as hell am not.

I know that its no one s fault but mine. You won t here me makin 
excuses. You won t hear me comin  up with explanations. Either I win, or
I lose. And that s it.

JD: Let s talk for a minute, Mr. Shaw, about your long term goals.

MS: What else? Gettin  in that championship tournament and winnin . That
gold belt, last I checked, that makes you the best. See how it all goes
together Dane?

JD: Certainly, Mr. Shaw. I think, ranked as you are, you have to be in
consideration for being in that tournament.

MS: You d think so, but I don t see my name listed nowhere. I ain t had
any calls invitin  me. So I m guessing that means I am gonna have to
start smackin  some of the people on the roster around until someone
notices I m ready and willin .

JD: Speaking of the other men on the roster, I was wondering if we might
take some time to do some word association with various members of the
roster.

MS: Ain t no need.

JD: Excuse me Mr. Shaw?

MS: I think the same thing about all of  em. Don t make no difference if
your name is Ron Houston, Kevin Slater, Tumaffi, some Russian thing I
can t pronounce, or anyone else. All of  em, every last one  they re
just obstacles.

And obstacles are there for one reason, to be gone through.

I ll fight anyone. All the AWA has gotta do is pick someone. One guy is
the same as any other. You ll never hear me back down from a fight, you
ll never see me hesitate to fight. Anyone at all, any place at all,
anytime they want, we can do it.

JD: That is certainly true, we ve seen it first hand. You seem to be
chomping at the bit to fight. But, I m afraid we re running out of time
Mr. Shaw. Any parting thoughts?

MS: Yeah, somethin  to go along with what I said.

I m issuing an open challenge for the next card. I ll put my name down. 
And if its one person, or one hundred, I ll fight anyone brave enough to
sign.  And not only will I fight them. But I guarantee I ll win. I
guarantee it.

LD: Strong words from the Hellion, Mark Shaw. Words that I have no doubt
he s capable of backing up. Mr. Shaw, I want to thank you for your time.

[Dane stands and shakes Shaw s hand, before walking off, the camera
fading away to black...

...and then back up on a screen with the AWA logo splashed across the
top with a "Live Events Schedule" graphic underneath.  The backdrop is
some generic space photograph showing the moon and some stars.]

"Join all the stars of the American Wrestling Alliance as they come to
your town!"

[The screen changes to show a graphic reading "May 10th - Dallas,
Texas."]

"The AWA returns to Dallas, Texas, on May 10th for another television
taping at the WKIK Studios!  All of your favorite stars will be on hand
for this one so don't miss out!"

[The graphic changes to show "MEMORIAL DAY MAYHEM - May 24th, Ft.
Worth Convention Center."]

"Celebrate your Memorial Day Weekend with the help of the American
Wrestling Alliance as we will be in Fort Worth on May 24th for a HUGE
live event!  It's Memorial Day Mayhem and you will see the first AWA
Champion crowned on that night in the Convention Center in Ft. Worth!"

[Another graphic change to show a list of cities, venues, and dates.]

"On May 25th, the AWA invades the Arena Theatre in Houston, Texas for a
Non-Televised Live Event and then the next afternoon in San Antonio for
a very special daytime show on Memorial Day at the Freeman Coliseum.

Join us on tour in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, Little Rock, Arkansas, and
New Orleans, Louisiana as well with dates to be announced!

[The graphic changes back to the original AWA logo and "Live Events
Schedule" showing a smaller version of the three announced shows.]

"The AWA - the Major League of Professional Wrestling!  Don't miss it
when it comes to your town!"

[And we fade away from the graphic...

...and back up on the announce team as they stand behind their table.]

GM:  Welcome back to the WKIK Studios, fans, and another edition of AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling.  And as you just saw, the AWA is taking the
South by storm in the months of May and June so don't miss out when we
come to your town.

BW:  Are we going on the tour?

GM:  Of course!

BW:  Ahhh, no better way to start the summer than in scenic Arkansas. 

GM:  Would you stop?  Fans, let's go up to Melissa for our next match!

[Cut to the ring where Melissa Cannon is looking a little nervous as a
very large Black Knight stalks around the ring.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring... from Parts
Unknown... weighing in at 320 pounds... The Black Knight!

[The massive Knight lifts a beefy arm to jeers.]

MC:  And his opponent...

#This ain't a song for the broken hearted...

[As "It's My Life" by Bon Jovi begins to play over the PA system, the
fans see "Showtime" Rick Marley making his way to the ring.]

MC:  From Miami, Florida... standing 5'10 and weighing in at 215
pounds...

"SHOWTIME"  RICK MARRRRLEY!
 
[The fair skinned light heavyweight has his long dark hair pulled back
in a pony tail and wears a midnight blue set of long legged trunks with
the word "Showtime" stitched across the butt.]

GM:  One of the most athletic men in the American Wrestling Alliance is
on his way to the ring, Bucky.

BW:  He's a Mexican jumping bean... hold the Mexican.

GM:  Who can ever forget that breathtaking backdrop counter during the
Rumble where he landed on the top rope on his feet and leapt back into
the ring?  Incredible!

[Marley slaps hands with the fans at ringside before sliding under the
bottom rope, striding across the squared circle to climb to the second
rope where he raises both hands to the crowd to a pretty good reaction.]

GM:  And you can hear from that reaction that Rick Marley has managed to
gain more and more fans to his side every week he comes out here, Bucky.

BW:  Who cares about that?  He's on a win streak.  That's the important
thing.  He had a great showing in the Rumble and if he can take it to
the Black Knight tonight, he just might get added to the title
tournament before this night is over.

GM:  He definitely has to be under strong consideration, that's for
sure.  

[The referee calls for the bell as Marley leans in the corner, getting
ready to take on the much bigger opponent...

...and "Showtime" sprints across the ring, leaping into the air and
slamming a forearm into the side of the Black Knight's skull, a blow
that knocks him back against the buckles.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Here we go!

[Marley immediately leaps to the midbuckle, raining down blows on the
Black Knight.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  THREE!  FOUR!  FI-

[The beefy Knight shoves hard, knocking Marley down to the mat where he
pops back up, charging back in...

...and driving both feet into the ample gut of the Knight, knocking him
down to all fours, gasping for breath.]

GM:  Oh!  Right in the gut!   Now what- he's standing up on the Black
Knight's back.

BW:  Maybe he's going to change a light bulb.  He almost could from that
height.  The Knight's a big guy.

[Standing on the middle of the Knight's back, Marley leaps straight up,
tucking his legs in...

...and smashing down with a senton across the lower back of the Black
Knight!]

GM:  A backsplash on the Black Knight!  What a move that was!

[Marley leaps to the midbuckle, pumping a fist with the crowd going
bonkers as the Knight rolls pushes back up to his knees.]

GM:  The big man is trying to recover while Marley is riling up the fans
here in the WKIK Studios.  

["Showtime" spins around on the buckles, leaping off in a cross body as
the Knight gets to his feet...

...and snatches Marley out of the air, quickly flipping him up onto his
shoulder.]

GM:  Whoa!

BW:  Big time show of power by the Black Knight.  Well, I guess it is.

GM:  What do you mean?

BW:  Marley weighs less than my Mama, daddy.

GM:  Errr.

[With Marley up in powerslam position, the Black Knight races towards
the turnbuckles, intent on driving his spine into the corner...

...but at the last moment, Marley wriggles free, landing on his feet
behind the Knight and shoving him hard in the back, sending the masked
man's shoulder into the ringpost!]

GM:  OHHHH!  Shoulderfirst to the ringpost!

[Marley charges across the ring to the opposite corner, waving his arm
in a circle overhead as the crowd cheers...

...and sprints back across the ring, leaving his feet and driving them
both squarely into the rather-large-rear-end of the Black Knight,
smashing his shoulder into the post again!]

GM:  Listen to these fans, Bucky!  They're going crazy for "Showtime"
Rick Marley!

[Marley drops down to the mat, pulling the injured Black Knight down in
a schoolboy rollup.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Th- no!  The Knight powers out of it!

BW:  But Marley's showin' some killer instinct and he's right back to
his feet, not mopin' and poutin' at all.

GM:  Marley across the ring... waiting for the Knight to-

[But as the masked man rises again, Marley races at top speed towards
him, leaping at the last moment...

...and getting caught in a big bearhug!]

GM:  BEARHUG!  BEARHUG BY THE BLACK KNIGHT!

[Marley cries out in pain instantly as the Knight's massive arms clinch
down on his ribs and back.]

BW:  This could be trouble for Marley... "Showtime" may be over, daddy!

GM:  He's fighting it though!  Peppering the skull of the masked man
with right hands and-

[The crowd cheers as Marley slaps his arms together on the ears of the
masked man...

...but fails to break the hold.]

GM:  He tried a bellclapper to no avail... and there's another one!

[The masked man tries to pull his head further away from Marley who
pumps his fist in the air, bringing the fans to their feet...

...and then lashes out with another double arm clap, rapidly over and
over and over until finally the hold is broken.]

GM:  MARLEY BREAKS THE BEARHU-OHHHHH!

[The crowd _erupts_ as Marley drops to his feet off the bearhug attempt
and immediately snaps off a superkick under the jaw of the Black Knight,
knocking him off his feet.]

GM:  CASTING CALL!  He hits the big kick and knocks the Black Knight
clear off his feet!

[Without taking a breath, Marley deadleaps up to the top rope, turning
around to face the ring, and front flips off the ropes in a swan-dive
senton splash across the sternum.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big flipping dive off the top!  One!  Two!   Three!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match in a time of two minutes and fifty-five
seconds... "SHOWTIME" RICK MARRRRLEY!

[Marley raises a trumphant arm before leaping to the midbuckle, soaking
up some more cheers from the crowd.]

GM:  A big win for Rick Marley especially considering the Championship
Committee is watching backstage, Bucky.

BW:  Big?  Huge!  Enormous!  The buzz all week was that Marley was close
to being announced as a participant in the tournament.  This win has
_got_ to do the trick, daddy.  As much as I don't like him, I think he
just got himself a spot in the big show.

GM:  And with that Casting Call superkick, he also gets himself the WKIK
"Kick Of The Night!"  Let's take another look at it now.

[Cut to slo-mo footage of Marley slapping his hands together on the ears
of The Black Knight rapid-fire.]

BW:  You see Marley trying to escape the bearhug by any means
necessary... and he manages to get free... and POW-O!  Right under the
chin!  Look at the form... the extension... the impact.  That's a move
to be reckoned with here in the Alliance, daddy.

GM:  Rick Marley with the Casting Call... and Rick Marley is your winner
who is just about to join us here at the announce desk.

BW:  What?  Why?

[The camera cuts back to the announce position, where "Showtime" Rick
Marley stands next to Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde. The dark haired high
flier seems in good spirits as the Myers holds the mic up to his face as
the dark haired high flier smiles.]

GM:  And another impressive win against a substantially bigger opponent
for "Showtime" Rick Marley.

BW:  Well, he DID say he might be the best in that Rumble, daddy.  That
must mean he won, right? You DID win, didn't you Ricky?

[Shaking his head, Marley sighs at Bucky's question before shrugging and
nodding to the flamboyantly dressed color man.]

RM:  You got me, Bucko. I was in that ring from the opening bell...I
stood toe to toe with the best that not only Dallas, but the entire
industry has to offer...took it to guys that literally doubled up my
weight, but in the end, I took my eye off the prize long enough to find
out that Australians aren't all like Steve Irwin and Crocodile Dundee.

GM:  What exactly do you mean by that Rick?

RM:  I honestly have no idea. I was going someplace with it...probably
a joke about khaki shorts, but it's gone now...

BW:  You think you're funny, is that it?

RM:  Well...I used to, Bucky...I used to. But after coming out here week
after week and being subjected to your wardrobe, I understand now that I
simply can't compete...NO ONE can get laughs like that.  Seriously
though, Pete Driscoll popped me pretty solidly with a discuss punch, and
our kangaroo loving buddy Adrian Freeman low bridged me in a fit of
pique.

BW: Sounds like sour grapes to me, daddy. Ricky boy, you got outclassed,
plain and simple.

GM: In all fairness to the competitors, Bucky, Mr. Freeman had been
legally eliminated at that point.

RM: Riiiight...'cause THAT's ever stopped someone from still going after
somebody in a Battle Royal. Like I said, Gordo: I took my eye off the
prize. Plain and simple.

GM: So there are no hard feelings between you and Adrian Freeman?

RM: Oh, I didn't say that. I'm surely not gonna be sending him any
Christmas cards any time soon. Mr. Land-down-under is gonna be hearing
from me real soon. He may have cost me an invite from the Championship
Committee...and quite frankly, that's not something that I can overlook.

[And suddenly, another voice interrupts Marley.]

"I'm shaking in my boots, I really am."

[Adrian Freeman emerges from behind the curtain, wearing a black
Affliction t-shirt and jeans. The crowd buzzes. Freeman is holding a mic
in his hand and giving Rick Marley a hundred-mile stare. Marley isn't
looking away.]

AF:  Now, excuse me, but I had to come out here and make a major
announcement tonight and I figured now was a good time. After all, you
were calling me out and I just had to reply. But first off,
congratulations on your victory.

Really moving on up there, eh Rick? First Kendall Stanton, then el tubbo
over there.. why, if you keep this up, one day they'll give you a really
tough opponent.  Like a kitten maybe.

[Freeman laughs at his own joke.  No one else seems to though.]

AF:  But back to my announcement. You see, this was supposed to be a
two-shot deal.  I come in, embarass the best the AWA have to offer in
the Rumble, come back in on Memorial Day and do it again by winning that
tournament. Then I take the AWA Title and go back to Australia. Maybe I
use the title as a paperweight or something.

[The crowd boos at Freeman's blatant disrespect for their promotion.]

AF:  But as you all know, that didn't happen. Instead of embarassing the
best of the AWA, I was myself embarassed. And it's all because of you,
Rick Marley.

[Rick Marley shrugs and grins, as if to say "Oh, did I do that?"]

AF:  Marley, I barely had a chance to get comfortable in the ring before
you attacked me... from BEHIND... with some sort of flippy Mexican move.
You made me look like chopped liver. That's why I helped eliminate you.
But that's not the end of it... you would be so lucky. That's why I came
here to get revenge. And because of that, I have just signed a deal to
compete regularly for the AWA.

[Crickets. Apparently no one really wanted to see more of Adrian
Freeman.]

AF:  I will prove to the world that you can be successful without being
a Rick Marley.  And I will get my revenge on you.

[Marley finally has had enough of Freeman's jabbering.]

RM:  You want a piece of me? Let's do it right here, right now!  I'm
sure no one here would mind...right guys?

[That gets the crowd roaring!]

AF: What do you think I am, stupid? I'm not going to fight you after
having come out here and made all this fuss. No, when I get you
Marley... it's going to be when you least expect it.

[Freeman promptly turns and disappears behind the entranceway again,
leaving Marley to frown and turn to the two announcers.]

RM:  So...if he was gonna come after me when I least expected it,
shouldn't he have not told me he was gonna come after me?

[Marley shakes his head, cutting off commentary from Bucky, who seems
desperate to say something.]

RM:  Nevermind...it's not important.  Freeman, I know you're listening
back there.  I'm gonna make you a promise: You just wrote a check that
you can't cash...and you're gonna learn what "Showtime" is all about. 

[Handing the mic back to Gordon, Marley stalks back towards the dressing
room.]

GM: Strong words from "Showtime" Rick Marley and Adrian Freeman.  And,
oh dear... I understand it's now time for... are you sure we have to do
this?

BW:  Of course we do!  This is the Highlight Of The Night!

[Myers sighs deeply.]

GM:  Let's go up to the ring... and Stevie's Hotspot.

[And back we go to the ring and pretty much the same set as we saw last
time Stevie's Hotspot was...um...on.  The two folding chairs, the round
end table with the half-dead potted plant...high class stuff, it is.

But no matter, because standing there in the midst of this high-end set
is "Hotshot" Stevie Scott in all his lack-of-glory.  He wears his usual
silky Hawaiian flower-dy type shirt, bermuda shorts, and loafers sans
socks.  And of course, he's STEVIEGRINNING~! ear to ear as the fans in
attendance begin to boo and stuff.]

HSS: Gooooood evening!  Or afternoon.  Or whenever this is.  And welcome
to the second edition of "Stevie's Hotspot!"  It's guaranteed to be
better than the first...you know why?

[Stevie looks to the crowd, waiting for them to say "Why?"  Which, of
course, they don't.]

HSS: I'll tell you why!  Because today's Hotspot is a Tin Can Bust-free
zone, baby!

[More boos.]

HSS: That's right.  We no longer allow washed-up guys with weird names
on here.  This is, after all, a first-class production and we can't be
bringin' down the quality by having guests that speak stupid as their
primary language.

But...speaking of Old Man Dust...hows about that number I pulled on him
on the last Saturday Night Wrestling, huh?

[Heel pop!]

HSS: He's so dumb, someone asked him what he made on his SAT and he
asked 'em to spell it again!

[Crickets.  Well, not really.  More boos.  But it was a bad joke.]

HSS: But tonight, we're gonna spice it up with some class...with some
panache, if you will.  Because tonight, we're branching out into the
ever-growing tag ranks of the AWA and will converse with two guys that
I, quite personally, am growing rather fond of.  In a plutonic, totally
hetero type of way that is.

Please get on your feet and welcome to the program...Kolya Sudakov...and
Vladimir Velikov...you know them as...THE RUSSIANS!

[The former Soviet National Anthem plays over the PA system to a very
negative reaction.  After a moment, the bulky veteran, Vladimir Velikov
steps into view, a Russian flag on a flagpole draped over his shoulder.
He sneers at the jeering fans, pausing to wave the flag back and forth a
few times before gesturing to the entryway where the Russian War
Machine, Kolya Sudakov walks into sight.  Sudakov's expression is stoic,
icy-cold as he glares at the booing fans.  Together, the two Russians
make their way up the ringsteps and into the ring.  Velikov happily
accepts an offered handshake from Stevie while Sudakov takes the
flagpole, stepping behind the two men to overlook the discussion.]

HSS:  Let me just say, Mr. Velikov, that it is an honor to _finally_
welcome a guest worth having on Stevie's Hotspot.

VV:  Thank you, Comrade Hotshot.  It is our pleasure to join you here on
the battlefield.

HSS:  Now, I've been paying attention to the goings-on in the AWA,
because that's the kind of guy I am...and I've noticed that you and your
pal there have been dealing with a couple of guys whose names...
 
[Steviesmirk!]
 
HSS:  Well, their names are every bit as stupid as Tin Man Crust.  I'm
talkin' 'bout Werewolf Gregorson and Despair.
 
[Stevie grimaces.]
 
HSS:  I mean, Despair?  Did a random second-grader come up with that? 
Anyway...yeah...you guys, problems.  As I understand, you will meet 'em
in the ring on Memorial Day...umm...whatever they're calling it.

[Velikov nods his head, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

VV:  Yes, it is true, Comrade Hotshot.  We have accepted the AWA's offer
for a tag team match against the two weak Americans to celebrate your
Memorial Day. 

[Velikov chuckles.]

VV:  It is... how you say... ironic, no?

[Stevie looks confused.]

HSS:  Ironic?  You mean like rain on my wedding day or something? 
What'chu talkin' 'bout?

VV:  It is ironic that you Americans spend your Memorial Day remembering
solidiers who died in battle.  But yet, on the same day, you send a
former Marine into the ring with us. 

[Velikov chuckles again.]

VV:  I think this Memorial Day... you have one more military man to
remember by the time we finish.

[The crowd boos wildly, Stevie cackling a bit as Sudakov nods his head
in agreement with his Uncle.]

HSS:  I hear ya, Com-Vlad, I hear ya.  Like I said, I spend quite a bit
of time watching and observing the other wrestlers in the AWA, and I
have to say...I've seen you guys in action and I've seen those two in
action...I've got to say, I'm pretty sure they don't stand much of a
chance.  Especially with names like those.  Unless maybe it's a full
moon or something and Greggie starts sproutin' har.

[Velikov smiles... did he really get the joke?]

VV:  Comrade Hotshot, have you ever spent time in Mother Russia?

HSS:  Well, I've been _on_ a stripper named Mother Russia, but I never
got a chance to get _in_ her.
 
[...]
 
HSS:  Oh, you meant the country.  I have not had the honor.

VV:  You should visit.  Your intellect and good sense would be
appreciated by our people.  It is rare we see an American worthy of
stepping foot on our soil but you are such an American, Comrade Hotshot.

HSS:  Sweet!  You know, I've heard a lot of bad things about Russians,
but I think the people that told me were just jealous or something. 
Ya'll's some cool dudes.

[Another handshake between Stevie and Velikov.]

HSS:  I knew I was going to like you two, especially after the beating
you gave Wolfie and Two-Pair last week.

VV:  It is true, Comrade Hotshot.  We... how you say... did a number on
your American heroes.  They truly possess the fighting spirit of
Americans... they stick their noses in where it doesn't belong and can't
handle the fight when they get it!

[Velikov cackles like a madman.]

VV:  There is no doubt that at Memorial Day Mayhem - they will be unable
to handle what myself and the Russian War Machine bring to them.  Much
like America as a whole... their downfall is coming soon, Comrade
Hotshot.  Their down-

[Without warning, the loud howl that kicks off Werewolf Gregorson and
Despair's entrance sounds out over the PA, bringing the fans to their
feet in a loud cheer.

Velikov and Sudakov assume fighting stances, looking towards the
entryway for their enemies.]

GM:  Here they come, Bucky!  Gregorson and Despair are out for payback
after what happened to them at the Rumble and they're coming to get it
right now!

BW:  Are they?  I don't see them anywhere!

[Velikov is heard growling, "Come!  Bring the battle to us!" to no avail
as no one appears through the entryway...

...but the roar of the crowd is unmistakable as suddenly on the side of
the ring behind the Russians, Werewolf Gregorson and Despair come
tearing in through a door clearly marked "EXIT."]

GM:  THERE!  THERE!

[The Russians are oblivous... but Stevie Scott is not, gesturing like a
madman at the approaching duo before diving through the ropes to the
apron as Gregorson and Despair dive under the ropes into the ring, both
clad in camo pants and t-shirts with "USA" across the front of them.]

GM:  GREGORSON AND DESPAIR!  THE RUSSIANS!  IT'S GONNA HAPPEN NOW!

BW:  We're not gonna wait til Memorial Day, daddy!

[Gregorson spins Sudakov around, peppering him with wild right hands as
Despair connects with a running kick to the chin of Velikov before
diving at him with a lunging clothesline that knocks Velikov down to the
mat.  The crowd explodes as the two fan favorites tee off on the
Russians.]

GM:  They're taking out the Russians!  Gregorson's poundering on
Sudakov!  Despair's beating down Velikov!  Memorial Day has come early
to the WKIK Studio- OHHHHH!

[The crowd roars as Gregorson scores with a running clothesline that
takes Sudakov over the ropes to the floor.  With a shout, Despair hits
one more right hand on Velikov before popping to his feet and sprinting
at Gregorson...

...who hoists Despair high overhead in a gorilla press.]

GM:  What's this- what are they-  OHHHHH MY!!

[Another huge crowd reaction as Despair is _hurled_ from the ring,
crashing down onto a stunned Kolya Sudakov as Gregorson turns on his
heels, spotting a recovering Velikov moving in...

...and _obliterates_ him with a running spear tackle!]

GM:  SILVER BULLET!  GREGORSON HITS THE SILVER BULLET ON VELIKOV!

[With Velikov down from the tackle, Gregorson balls up his fists and
rains down blows on the stunned Russian for a few moments.]

GM:  This is crazy, Bucky!  After the brutal attack with that chain on
the last Saturday Night Wrestling, Werewolf Gregorson and Despair are
out for payback here tonight in Dallas!

BW:  I'd say they're gettin' some payback, daddy!  They caught the
Russians off-guard and now they're-

[Gregorson suddenly pulls away from the mount...

...and picks up the discarded steel chain off the canvas, holding it
high in the air to an enormous cheer!]

GM:  GREGORSON'S GOT THE CHAIN!  HE'S GOT THE RUSSIANS' CHAIN!

[The former Marine slowly wraps the chain around his hand, looking down
at the stunned Velikov with evil intentions, cocking his fist back as he
pulls Velikov up to a kneeling position.]

BW:  This ain't right, daddy!  Somebody stop this guy!  Somebody-

GM:  STEVIE!

[With Gregorson's attention on Velikov, Stevie Scott rolls back into the
ring, grabbing the fallen wooden flagpole, and nervously approaching the
exposed back of the Alaskan...

...and _slamming_ the wooden flagpole down across Gregorson!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

BW:  It broke, Gordo!  The flagpole broke!  

GM:  Stevie Scott just broke the flagpole across the back of Werewolf
Gregorson and-

[The cheering crowd grows louder as Werewolf Gregorson slowly turns
around, the steel chain still wrapped around his fist...

...and stares dead in the eyes of a wide-eyed "Hotshot."]

GM:  Uh oh!

BW:  The flagpole wasn't enough to put Gregorson down... but that
dadgummed chain'll do it to Stevie for sure!

GM:  Gregorson's coming after Stevie Scott!  He's coming for-

[The cheers turn to boos as Scott slides from the ring, fleeing the
scene of the crime...

...but the momentary distraction is enough for the ring to fill with AWA
officials, getting between the chain-wielding Gregorson and the downed
Velikov.]

GM:  The ring is filled!  We've got officials holding back Gregorson!

[Despair climbs back into the ring, moving to his partner to slap him on
the back before stepping up to the second rope, screaming at a
retreating Russian team.]

GM:  The Russians are bailing out.  They're getting out of here in a
hurry.  And Gregorson and Despair want more, Bucky!

[Stepping up to another midbuckle, Gregorson hoists the steel chain high
in the air to the roar of the crowd and lets loose one of his trademark
howls.]

GM:  Fans, we need to get some control out here!  We'll be right back!

[We hold on a shot of Despair shouting at the Russians and Gregorson
holding their chain high over his head before fading out to black...

...and then fading back up on a very long shot of the exterior of a
pretty dingy looking building.]

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

"Of your friends and family seeing you on television?"

[And just a little closer, revealing a red, white, and blue sign that
reads "AWA Combat Corner."]

"Well, now you can make all your dreams come true by signing up today at
the AWA Combat Corner - the official training school for the American
Wrestling Alliance!"

[We cut to the interior of the building where we can see lots of
standard gym equipment surrounding a very basic wrestling ring.  There
are people lifting weights, running on treadmills, and of course,
working out in the ring.]

"With the very best trainers in the business, the AWA Combat Corner is
the most-equipped training facility to get you in shape and get you in
the ring in the shortest amount of time!"

[Cut into the ring where Todd Michaelson is barking out instructions.]

"With former World Champion Todd Michaelson leading the classes, you can
guarantee that you will be prepared for in-ring action upon graduation
and with the AWA expanding by the day, you will have a place to work on
Day One!"

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

"So, stop by the Combat Corner today... call our offices... visit our
website... and let them know that you want to be the next AWA Superstar!
You want to be the future of the business!

You want to wrestle!"

[Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner.  We
freeze there for a moment...

...and then back up on the WKIK Studios where we spot Calisto Dufresne
standing in the ring, presumably for the Hour One Main Event, and then
almost immediately Merle Haggard's "The Fightin' Side of Me" plays in
the WKIK studio as Tin Can Rust comes out to a quick ovation... but then
kind of a disappointed reaction.]

GM: Is that right? Is Tin Can Rust injured?

BW: When I see a man's arm in a sling, Gordo, sure thing.

[Indeed, Tin Can Rust looks to be in no condition to wrestle tonight as
his right arm's in a tight sling as well as Rust being in his street
clothes of jeans and a black A-shirt. He approaches the studio desk,
with a solemn look on his face.]

GM: Mr. Rust, is this true? Are you injured?

[Rust nods.]

TCR: That's right, Mr. Myers. My arm's busted.

GM: But your injury wasn't on the report released -

TCR: I know, I know... I thought I could keep it under ice and all, but
it never recovered right. I hurt it when I fell after being hit last
time... And I really wanted to get back at that punk there -

[Rust points into the ring, at Dufresne.]

TCR: For what he did, side-swiping me like that... Like a damn coward!
But I can't wrestle tonight. It's, uh, doctor's orders. But -

BW: Then what about tonight's match? That means you're forfeiting,
right? You can't just duck Dufresne there.

[Rust shakes his head.]

TCR: Naw, see, I got someone to take my place - someone -

[Just then, the opening strings of Chet Atkins' version of "Classical
Gas" play in the WKIK Studios, bringing the fans to their feet in a huge
response!]

BW: You're kidding!

TCR: SOMEONE that Mr. Dufresne may know quite well!

GM: It just may be, folks!

[Another huge round of cheers from the fans erupt as the man from
Liberty, Kentucky strides through the entrance of the WKIK studio. The
man who's wrestled all over this country... from county to county, city
to city... All three hundred plus pounds of him...]

TCR: CITY JACK!

[The crowd gives another cheer for the indy superstar as he raises his
hands in acknowledgment. Dressed in his usual brown wrestling singlet
and black boots, Jack passes by the announcer table to shake hands with
his longtime friend, Tin Can Rust, and gives a nod to both Myers and
Wilde. Besides looking a little thinner than last seen in federation
competition, one can also see that his right knee is clad in a knee
brace. As he passes by the fans, he slaps or shakes their hands, taking
as much time as possible - to the annoyance of Dufresne.

Once finally at the ring, City Jack does a little jukin' n' jivin' up
the steps and into the ring. There, he continues his little dance to the
delight of some of the fans... and then stops and points right at
Calisto Dufresne before talking a bit of smack to the young up and
comer.  Without warning, the referee calls for the bell and an irate
Dufresne sprints towards his new opponent.]

GM:  And what an Hour One Main Event we have on our hands, Bucky!  No
offense to you, Mr. Rust... but we just got the renewal of a rivalry
that went unsettled years ago out in Los Angeles... and Calisto Dufresne
doesn't look the slightest bit happy abou-

[Dufresne's rapid approach does absolutely nothing to intimidate City
Jack who simply rears back and lets go a Metropill forearm shot that
knocks Dufresne clean off his feet...

...where he promptly rolls under the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  Haha!  And that's gotta be a great sight for you to see, Tin Can
Rust.

TCR:  It sure is.  But you can just pretend I'm not even here.  I want
to pay all my attention to this.

GM:  Not a problem at all.  Bucky Wilde, what do you know about City
Jack?

BW:  I know he's an old, big, fat goof just like his buddy!

GM:  Be careful, Bucky.  I think Mr. Rust might be willing to do the
fans a favor and sic City Jack on you tonight as well.

BW:  He would not!  Stop giving him ideas, Gordo!

[An irate Dufresne stalks around outside the ring, screaming at anyone
who'll listen about "contractual obligations," "forfeits," and
"unscheduled opponents."]

GM:  Calisto Dufresne is totally irate... completely out of control,
Bucky.

BW:  Can you blame him?  The guy already thinks there's a conspiracy
against him by the AWA front office and now he just got a match changed
on him at the very last second.

GM:  I'll be surprised if he even- yep!  There he goes!

[The crowd boos wildly as Dufresne waves off City Jack and starts
walking towards the entrance.]

GM:  Calisto Dufresne is walking out of here!  He is walking out on this
match!

BW:  Smart move, Gordo.  This is a no-win situation for Calisto
Dufresne.  He's not prepared for this opponent.  He didn't expect City
Jack... he didn't prepare for him... so he should walk on out and live
to fight another day.

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky.  This is pure cowardice on his part - plain
and simple!

[The Ladykiller gets near the entry, turning to face the ring where City
Jack is leaning against the ropes, waving for him to get back inside the
squared circle.]

GM:  City Jack wants him back in there.  He wants this match to
continue.

BW:  Of course he does!  He knew who he was fighting!

[Dufresne makes an obscene gesture in CJ's direction before turning
around to make his exit...

...and walking right into an approaching Stevie Scott.]

GM:  Now what in the world is _he_ doing out here?  Hasn't he caused
enough trouble for one night?

BW:  Hey, City Jack's got Tin Can Rust out here... why shouldn't
Dufresne be seconded by someone?

[Scott slips an arm around Dufresne's shoulder, whispering to him while
gesturing towards the ring.]

GM:  I have no idea what's going on here, fans, but- well, it looks like
Stevie Scott is getting Dufresne back over towards the ring.  Dufresne
doesn't look happy about it but he's climbing back up on the apron,
jawing at City Jack now.

BW:  These two go back a long ways, Gordo.  I'm sure Dufresne's got a
lot to say to-

[Rushing forward, City Jack grabs the top rope, yanking hard on it and
slingshotting Dufresne over the ropes and into the ring!]

GM:  He brings Dufresne in the hard way and-

[And as the Ladykiller scampers up to his feet, he gets caught with a
big elbowsmash to the top of the head that knocks him right back off his
feet.]

GM:  Down goes Dufresne again!  

BW:  He's right back up though...

[But as the Ladykiller gets to his feet, City Jack pulls back his
forearm for another big Metropill smash...

...which causes Dufresne to dive backwards, rolling back under the ropes
and out to the floor to the boos of the WKIK Studio audience.]

GM:  Oh, come on!

BW:  Another smart move by Dufresne.  He saw that big forearm comin' and
he got clear just in time.

[Stevie Scott quickly sprints around the ring apron, shouting words of
encouragement to Dufresne as he slaps both hands on the ring apron,
pointing an accusing finger at City Jack.]

GM:  Dufresne's losing his cool out there.

BW:  You're right, Gordo.  But he needs to be focused.  Everyone knows
City Jack has a bad wheel.  Dufresne needs to take advantage of that if
he wants to succeed in this one.

[Outside the ring, Scott and Dufresne huddle up for a bit before
Dufresne climbs back up on the ring apron... very careful to not grab
the top rope with both hands this time.]

GM:  Dufresne steps back in now, getting more words of advice from the
veteran Scott as he does so.  

[We catch a glimpse of Dufresne nodding at the "Hotshot" as he eases out
towards the middle of the ring where the grizzled veteran City Jack is
waiting for him.]

GM:  Collar and elb- right to the eyes goes Dufresne!

[The Ladykiller gets a big smirk on his face as the now-blinded City
Jack stumbles back to the corner.  The referee reprimands Dufresne for
the illegal act but he ignores the official, moving in on his prey.]

GM:  Back to the corner goes City Jack... Dufresne right behind- ohhh! 
Big chop across the chest!

[Dufresne turns to the crowd, mocking City Jack's blindness...

...and pops him across the chest with another big chop.]

GM:  Dufresne establishing some control in the buckles.  Oh, just look
at this!

[The crowd jeers wildly as Dufresne struts out of the corner...

...and as he turns around, he gets caught with a snapping jab to the jaw
from a partially-blinded City Jack.]

GM:  Big jab!

[City Jack snaps off a couple more jabs, dancing in a circle around
Dufresne, then windmills his right arm...

...and _pops_ Dufresne with a big elbowsmash that lays him flat!  Huge
ovation!]

GM:  Down goes Dufresne again!

BW:  Not for long.  He's back up, charging in-

[The cheers grow louder as City Jack catches him coming in in a big
bearhug, calling for the Metroboom.]

GM:  He's going for that big belly-to-belly!

[But again, Dufresne sticks a thumb in the eye, breaking what was sure
to be the end of the match...

...and waves for Stevie Scott to join him in the ring.  The "Hotshot"
quickly obliges, forcing the referee to call for the bell.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  That's a DQ right there!  

[Scott and Dufresne shove City Jack back against the ropes, raining
blows down upon him...

...when suddenly at the announce desk, Tin Can Rust whips the sling off
his arm, throwing it down to the floor with his supposedly injured limb
and stomps towards the ring, diving under the bottom rope.]

BW:  What the-  he's not hurt at all, Gordo!

GM:  Apparently not!  It looks like Tin Can Rust got sick of Stevie
Scott's goldbrickin' and decided to play a few mind games of his own,
fans!  Tin Can Rust is in the ring and Stevie Scott hasn't seen- now he
has!

[The "Hotshot" immediately drops down to his knees, begging for mercy as
a fired-up Tin Can Rust balls up his fists, nodding his head, and
pointing at the kneeling Scott to the roaring cheers of the fans.]

GM:  Tin Can Rust is finally gonna get his hands on Stevie Scott!  He's
finally going to-

[Dufresne turns around as well, spotting Tin Can Rust on his feet, and
sprints towards him...

...and gets sidestepped, grabbed by the hair, and thrown through the
ropes to the floor!  Huge roar from the fans!]

GM:  HE CLEARS OUT DUFRESNE!

[And as City Jack pulls up to full height, Stevie Scott now finds
himself stuck between the two friends.]

GM:  They've got him trapped like a rat, Bucky!

BW:  Somebody needs to help Stevie!  I'm goin' in!

GM:  You are not.  Stay right here, Bucky Wilde!

BW:  Lemme go, Gordo!

[Slowly getting to his feet, terror in his eyes, Stevie Scott spins to
make a run for it...

...and gets drilled with a right hand by Tin Can Rust to a big cheer. 
The impact of the blow sends him spinning around, right into a waiting
City Jack.]

GM:  And a right hand from City Jack sends him staggering back the other
way!

BW:  This isn't fair!  This isn't right!  

GM:  They're pinballin' Stevie Scott around the ring... oooh!  Another
big right hand by Tin Can Rust...

[The crowd roars as City Jack windmills his arm...

...and _levels_ the dazed Hotshot with a Metropill forearm that levels
him from his feet...

...and allows Calisto Dufresne to hook him by the ankle, pulling him
under the ropes and out of the ring.]

GM:  He got out of there before any more damage could be done but for
now, Tin Can Rust and City Jack are standing tall and the Ladykiller and
the Hotshot are runnin' out of here with their tails between their legs,
Bucky!

BW:  Look at those two goofs in there.  Like they accomplished somethin'
by backjumpin' Stevie and Calisto!  Ohhh, real big men they are!

GM:  Backjump?!  You've gotta be kidding me!  And I'd watch what I said
about City Jack and Tin Can Rust if I were you... they're on their way
over here right now!

BW:  What?!

[The crowd roars as City Jack and Tin Can Rust exit the ring, grinning
broadly as they make their way to the announce desk where Bucky Wilde
has managed to scurry away.  City Jack leans over the proffered mic
first.]

CJ: Well, hel-lo A-WA!

[Another crowd roar!  Gordon Myers has a grin on his face as he pulls
the mic back.]

GM:  City Jack, I must say what a pleasure it is to have you here in the
AWA but everyone wants to know... what brought you here tonight?

[Jack grins as he shakes the hand of Gordon Myers.]

CJ: See, I was just strollin' around this here fine city of Dallas when
I got a call from my man the Can Crusher.

[Jack pats TCR on the shoulder and he nods back.]

CJ: And I when I heard what done happened down here in the WKIK studio
last time out? More point, I should say, when I heard WHO had done what
was done to my man's jaw here? See, I couldn't pass that there
opportunity up! No sir, no sir, no sir!

[Myers nods his head.]

GM: You're referring to Mr. Dufresne and your past dealings with the
man.

[Jack nods.]

CJ: Now I wouldn't call that little runt "mister" or a "man" none, but
yeah. I done owe him a beatin' of his life! And Dufresne? Stevie Scott?
You done both a testin' our Kentucky Pride!

[And with that, Jack and Tin Can Rust walk away from the announce desk,
leaving a grinning Gordon Myers behind.]

GM:  And that puts Hour One in the books... don't go away, fans, as the
Power Hour is up right after this break!

[We fade away to black...

...and then fade back up on a black screen with the AWA logo splashed
across it.]

"Join your favorite stars of the American Wrestling Alliance throughout
the state of Texas this week for exclusive meet-and-greet sessions."

[A scrolling list of names and locations flash by in white text:

Clayton Shaw
Dallas American Legion Hall - Dallas, Texas
April 27

Rough N Ready
Austin Fairgrounds - Austin, Texas
April 28

The Masked Menace
South Dallas Shopping Center
May 1

Buddy Lambert
Houston Town Center
May 3

Ron Houston
Fort Worth Convention Center 
May 4

The names end, leaving just the AWA logo behind.]

"All the stars of the AWA are comin' your way so don't miss 'em!"

[And with that, we fade back to black...

...and back up on the smiling faces of Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde.]

GM:  Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling, fans, and it's time
for the Power Hour!  Earlier tonight, we found out that our Main Event
for tonight would be Ron Houston taking on Buddy Lambert in a match that
has huge implications for Lambert.  But we also found out that the
Championship Committee was going to be holding session all night
backstage as they determined the final four entries into the AWA Title
Tournament.

BW:  We're halfway through the show, daddy, they must have picked
someone by now.

GM:  Moments ago, this envelope was brought out from that closed door
session and we have been instructed to read it to our audience right
here and now so...

[Myers opens the envelope, pulling out a sheet of paper.]

GM:  Here we go... "By order of the AWA Championship Committee, the
following announcements are to be made:

Number one, by virtue of the fan poll recently held regarding the
institution of a top rope rule, at this time, the Committee has ruled
that no such rule will be established.  However, the Committee reserves
the right to review this situation again in the future.

Second, due to his performance in the past few weeks as well as here
tonight, the Committee is pleased to announce that "Showtime" Rick
Marley has been added to the AWA Title Tournament - which leaves three
remaining spots to be filled before the end of tonight's show.

And finally, the Committee is pleased to announce that after much
debate, we can now officially announce that the championship that will
be filled on May 24th will be called... the AWA National Championship."

[Myers sets the paper back down on the desk.]

GM:  Some very big news there, Bucky.  Your thoughts?

BW:  Five men in the hunt for the belt that now can officially be called
the AWA National Championship... three more to go.  The pressure is on
every man who appears in the second hour of this show, Gordo.  

GM:  Rick Marley joins Ron Houston, Marcus Broussard, Tumaffi, and Ricky
Royal in the tournament to be held on Memorial Day in the Ft. Worth
Convenion Center.  And one man who you can imagine is very hopeful that
he will be added to the Elite 8 is the man about to join us here at the
announce desk, Erik Reid.

[From off-camera, Erik Reid walks into view.  He is wearing a pair of
jeans and a black, button-down shirt with  AWA  across the right side of
the chest in white.  Reid is pacing only a few steps back and forth next
to Gordon.]
 
GM:  Erik, let's talk about what happened at the Rumble.
 
[Erik stops pacing, staring intently at Gordon for a moment.]
 
GM:  You don't look happy, Erik.
 
[Erik shakes his head a little in disbelief.]
 
ER:  Happy, Gordon?  Why would I look happy?
 
GM:  Are you upset with how you did at the Rumble?
 
[Erik holds his hands out a bit from his body, even with his shoulders
in a "What the" gesture.]
 
ER:  Upset with how I did, Gordon?
 
[He shakes his head.]
 
ER:  No, I'm not upset with how I did.  I laid it on the line before. 
I'm satisfied.  I gave it my all.  I'm not satisfied with Tumaffi trying
to end my career.  That's not what wrestling is about.
 
GM:  You're referring to him tossing you over the top rope and to the
arena floor past the padding.
 
ER:  Yes, Gordon.  That's the _exact_ incident I'm referring to. 
 
[Erik turns and look at the camera.]
 
ER:  This sport is about competition.  It's about using your skills to
best the man across the ring.  I don't know what they teach you on that
island, Tumaffi.  Wrestling is not about trying to injure the opponent
or put him out of this sport.  Thanks to you, Tumaffi, I'm on the
sidelines until a further evaluation of my physical condition.
 
[Erik winces as he touches his chest.]
 
ER:  This is all because of you.
 
GM:  The doctors want to evaluate you to make sure you're at one-hundred
percent.
 
[Erik looks at Gordon.]
 
ER:  I'll sign a waiver to step into that ring against Tumaffi, Gordon. 
I don't care.  It's gone from competition to personal now.
 
[Erik looks back at the camera.]
 
ER:  Ricky Royal, look me up if you need help against Tumaffi.  I plan
on being in the building to prevent Tumaffi from repeating the incident
from the Rumble.
 
GM:  What about "Pistol" Paul-?
 
[Erik interrupts Gordon, not even bothering to look at the announcer.]
 
ER:  Paul, stay out of my way or history will repeat itself.
 
[Erik leaves the announce area as Gordon turns and watches Reid leave.]

GM:  There you have it, fans.  A little bit of a mystery when it comes
to Erik Reid and Paul Driscoll but there's absolutely no mystery when it
comes to how Reid feels about Tumaffi.  

BW:  He's willing to sign a waiver to face Tumaffi?  The guy's nuttier
than Mama's Holiday Fruitcake, daddy!

GM:  And speaking of Tumaffi, let's go up to the ring where the big
Samoan is about to be in action!  Take it away, Melissa!

[We cut to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time... at
5'11, 217 pounds from Tulsa, Oklahoma... Jason Thomas!

[Thomas raises a skinny arm to a small cheer.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[A single deep bass drum beats... BOOM.  Then again, a little louder. 
And again.  With the sound of rain in the background, the drum beats
resound throughout the WKIK Studios, like the approaching footsteps of
some terrible monster.  Upon their climax, the crackling BOOM of a
thunderbolt is heard over the PA and the behemoth form of Tumaffi steps
forth from the curtain to the loudest jeers heard on the evening.]

GM:  Here he comes, Bucky... the mighty and massive Tumaffi.

BW:  The most fearsome, the most dangerous competitor here in the
American Wrestling Alliance and if nothing else, I hope someone notified
Jason Thomas' next of kin, daddy.

[The monstrous Samoan pays the fans little mind as he marches down the
aisle.  A mountain of muscle and fat, the dark-toned Tumaffi has massive
shoulders, thick limbs, and a big round gut.  His hair is nearly as
mountainous as his physique, as he sports a wild black mane that would
make a lion envious!  His long, cascading hair and beard seem connected
in a way that leaves little visible determining point as to where one
ends and the other begins.  So hairy is the man that it is difficult to
make out his brown-eyed, big-nosed face.]

MC:  From the Island of Samoan, weighing in at four hundred and five
pounds...

TUUUUUUMAFFI!!!

[Clad in a loose flowing black silk robe with a dark-colored floral
design, Tumaffi strides up the ring steps and onto the apron.  He wrings
his taped hands expectantly, before stepping through the ropes to a even
more jeers.  Shedding his robe to reveal full-length black trunks with
metallic copper outlined patterns on it (depicting a beachfront storm),
and taped bare feet, Tumaffi sneers at the fans before extending his
arms out to his sides in a proud, defiant "what do you think of this?"
gesture.  Bellowing at the top of his lungs, Tumaffi decrees his
defiance of any that would dare oppose him...

...and the bell rings, cueing Jason Thomas' attempt to get a quick edge
by sprinting across the ring.]

GM:  Here comes Thomas and-

[The approaching Thomas flails away like a madman, striking any part of
Tumaffi that he can with wild punches...

...to which Tumaffi simply replies by grabbing Thomas' hair and
delivering a thunderous headbutt that knocks the Tulsa native off his
feet and down to the mat.]

GM:  Good grief!

BW:  This match is over right here, Gordo.  Tumaffi could pin him right
now if he wanted to.  I think he knocked him out cold with one shot!

[The Samoan sneers at the jeering crowd, reaching down to pull Thomas'
limp form off the mat...

...and immediately hurls him up into a fireman's carry, pausing and
turning to face all four sides of the ring before letting loose a mighty
bellow and crushing Thomas on the canvas with a Samoan Drop!]

GM:  Whew.  Four hundred and five pounds... right down on the sternum.  

BW:  And Erik Reid wants to take this guy on with a chest injury?  He
could have his career ended with one move.  That one Samoan Drop could
shelve Erik Reid forever, daddy.

GM:  Tumaffi is fired up here tonight, Bucky.  He almost won that Rumble
last Saturday Night Wrestling but the actions of Ricky Royal-

BW:  -and his boot!

GM:  Well, yes.  Royal did use his boot to great effectiveness to get
Tumaffi out of the ring.

BW:  After he had been eliminated, Gordo!  It was disgusting!

GM:  Ricky Royal was fined by the Championship Committee for his
actions, Bucky.  Isn't that enough?

BW:  I'm going to guess Tumaffi doesn't think it is.

[Standing over the motionless Thomas, Tumaffi leans over to pull him off
the mat again, having to use both arms to keep his victim from slumping
back down to the mat.  He holds Thomas up by the hair with his left
hand, looking out at the jeering crowd...

...and with another loud cry, he _obliterates_ Thomas with a standing
lariat across the neck and chest that dumps the Tulsa youngster back
down to the mat where the worst is still to come.]

GM:  Big lariat by Tumaf- NO!

[And as soon as Thomas hits the mat, Tumaffi leaps as high into the air
as he can propel his four hundred pound frame...

...and drops it all right down across the chest!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  He calls that the Polynesian Burial!

GM:  And the name is quite fitting as Jason Thomas might as well be six
feet under at this point.  A one... a two... and a very easy three.


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match at a time of one minute and seventeen
seconds... TUUUUMAFFI!

[The crowd continues to jeer as Tumaffi slowly pushes himself off the
motionless Jason Thomas, having his beefy arm raised in triumph...

...but he quickly yanks it away from the official, threatening a
backhand that sends Meekly diving for cover.]

GM:  What is wrong with this man?!  There's no need to threaten an
official like that!

[Tumaffi leans over, pulling Thomas' leg off the mat.]

GM:  What's he doing now?  It looks like he's undoing the lace- he's
untying the boot!

BW:  I love it!

GM:  But why?  Why would he be taking the boot off this young kid?

BW:  Why do you think, Gordo?

GM:  That's not- there's no reason for that!  This kid did nothing to
Tumaffi!  He did-

[The crowd buzzes as Tumaffi yanks the boot off the foot, holding it
high overhead...

...and then swinging it down, smacking Thomas across the forehead with
it to a huge shower of boos.]

GM:  Oh, come on!

[Pulling the Tulsa youngster to a seated position, Tumaffi stands behind
him still holding the boot and swings it down violently and repeatedly,
smashing the leather against the skull of Thomas over and over and over
again.]

GM:  We need to get some help out here for this kid!  We need to-

[Tumaffi slips his arm into the boot, winding up and throwing a
boot-covered punch that connects squarely between the eyes, causing
Thomas to slump down to the mat unconscious.]

GM:  Oh my!  This is totally unnecessary!

BW:  According to you!  I think this was very necessary, daddy.  Tumaffi
needed to send a message that he is not to be taken lightly... that he
is not to be messed around with.  This man means serious business and
his eyes are locked on the AWA National Championship!

[Tumaffi walks away from the downed Thomas, drawing more jeers from the
fans as he holds the boot over his head, stepping out to the ring
apron.]

GM:  Well, at least that's over with.

BW:  Oh yeah?

[The crowd begins to buzz once again as Tumaffi turns his attention to
the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Oh no.  Oh dear lord in heaven, no!

[The buzz grows louder as the four hundred pounder steps up to the
second rope, then putting one foot on the top.]

GM:  Somebody... anybody... please get out here and-

[The crowd roars as Erik Reid comes charging from the locker room...

...but a step too late as Tumaffi leaps from the top rope, coming down
with a top rope Tidal Wave splash complete with his boot-covered hand
smashing the face of the downed Jason Thomas.

The crowd goes silent from the impact.  The announcers likewise.  The
WKIK Studios falls to a hush as Tumaffi pushes up off the motionless
Thomas, letting loose a mighty bellow as Erik Reid climbs up on the
apron.  

Tumaffi casts an a glare in his direction, almost daring him to get into
the fray but before Reid can respond, the ring fills with AWA officials
to keep the two men apart.  

Tumaffi bellows at Reid who returns the icy stare...

...and we fade to black.

And then right back up on a screen with the AWA logo splashed across the
top with a "Live Events Schedule" graphic underneath.  The backdrop is
some generic space photograph showing the moon and some stars.]

"Join all the stars of the American Wrestling Alliance as they come to
your town!"

[The screen changes to show a graphic reading "May 10th - Dallas,
Texas."]

"The AWA returns to Dallas, Texas, on May 10th for another television
taping at the WKIK Studios!  All of your favorite stars will be on hand
for this one so don't miss out!"

[The graphic changes to show "MEMORIAL DAY MAYHEM - May 24th, Ft.
Worth Convention Center."]

"Celebrate your Memorial Day Weekend with the help of the American
Wrestling Alliance as we will be in Fort Worth on May 24th for a HUGE
live event!  It's Memorial Day Mayhem and you will see the first AWA
Champion crowned on that night in the Convention Center in Ft. Worth!"

[Another graphic change to show a list of cities, venues, and dates.]

"On May 25th, the AWA invades the Arena Theatre in Houston, Texas for a
Non-Televised Live Event and then the next afternoon in San Antonio for
a very special daytime show on Memorial Day at the Freeman Coliseum.

Join us on tour in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, Little Rock, Arkansas, and
New Orleans, Louisiana as well with dates to be announced!

[The graphic changes back to the original AWA logo and "Live Events
Schedule" showing a smaller version of the three announced shows.]

"The AWA - the Major League of Professional Wrestling!  Don't miss it
when it comes to your town!"

[And we fade away from the graphic...

...and back up on the announce team as they stand behind their table. 
The massive Tumaffi is standing next to them, the fans still booing
wildly as the Samoan holds Thomas' boot in the air.  Gordon Myers looks
totally irate as he begins to speak.]

GM: Tumaffi, that was totally uncalled for!  Why did you...

[Tumaffi turns his gaze on Myers, interrupting.]

Tumaffi: TUMAFFI WILL TELL YOU WHAT IS CALLED FOR AND WHAT IS NOT!  And
the mighty Tumaffi has called for the utter and complete destruction of
all those in my path, and for one reason only!

You see, previous to the Battle Royal, Tumaffi was content to merely
crush his foes.  Simple injuries that would heal in time.  Even a
witless mainlander surely must expect to recieve such treatment in this
sport.  But then, the state of Mississippi, which as you are aware is
backwards even by the laughable standards of the mainland, decided to
release Ricky Royal from the padded room in which all such madmen should
be kept!

[Gordon looks confused.]

GM: Madmen?

[Tumaffi cuts off Gordon's throught by slamming the boot into the
announce desk with a loud SMACK.]

Tumaffi: HE ATTACKED TUMAFFI WITH A _BOOT_!  Tumaffi could see if you
had attacked me with a tire iron or a sword or dynamite, things which
may have inflicted actual damage to the awesome Tumaffi.  Tumaffi could
respect that decision, even as he annihilated you for such an offense. 
But no... you, a man who spent his time taking about "guts" and "heart",
enter the ring AFTER BEING DEFEATED... hypocrisy of the highest order...
and assail Tumaffi with a boot!  A _BOOT_!  AND YOU WEREN'T EVEN SMART
ENOUGH TO KEEP YOUR FOOT IN IT!  Did you think that was going to hurt?! 
Tumaffi was so appalled by this show of insanity, that he was distracted
enough for eleven mainlanders to swarm me and push me ov... 

GM: There were only three of the...

Tumaffi: DO NOT INTERRUPT ME!  If Tumaffi said there were eleven, then
there were indeed eleven, and any numerical system which disagrees with
me shall be destroyed!  NOW!  Royal attacked me with a boot... obviously
he is too clumsy to _kick_ like a normal person... and if that were not
enough evidence that he has lost his mind completely, he has challenged
Tumaffi directly, claiming that he will bodyslam me?  MADNESS!  

[Myers shakes his head at Tumaffi's words.]

GM: But what does that have to do with what you just did to this young
athlete?!  You might have ended his career!

Tumaffi: Everything!  Tumaffi could easily just find Royal backstage
right now, and empty the contents of his skull as one might juice an
orange!  But that is too easy!  Surely, upon seeing that, the rest of
the AWA would merely chalk it up to the bumbling of an obviously
deranged fool who couldn't defend himself!  Tumaffi must make it clear
that I will not be slighted!  And that is why all of the AWA must pay
for Ricky Royal's insane attack!  Tumaffi will surely destroy everyone
with whom he comes into contact, in the name of Ricky Royal.  Careers
will end, bodies will be shattered, and Ricky Royal shall bear full
responsibility!  Unlike Royal, Tumaffi is no hypocrite... as he says, so
he will do!

Then we shall see where his talk of "guts" and "heart" goes, for Tumaffi
will show these gullible fans far more guts and heart than Royal did one
week ago!  The fact that the guts and hearts will belong to his
opponents is of no consequence. 
 
Therefore... HEAR THIS PROCLAMATION!  Just as Ricky Royal has instituted
a Bodyslam Challenge to prepare himself for Tumaffi, so Tumaffi will do
the same.  Tumaffi hearby institutes the Survive-A-Match-Against-Tumaffi
Challenge!  Victory is survival, and defeat bears but one consequence.

[Tumaffi waves offscreen, and a stagehand hands him the thing he had
'asked' for... a stretcher.]

Tumaffi: Take MY challenge... if you dare.

[And with that, Tumaffi cackles and walks out of view.]

GM:  This poor kid, Jason Thomas, was indeed carried out of here on a
stretcher with Erik Reid with him the whole time.  Tumaffi has indeed
sent a message... a big message... here tonight to the entire AWA.

BW:  And after we just witnessed that, can the other four men entered
into the AWA National Championship tournament be thinking anything other
than "How can I possibly stop that?"

GM:  I would have to agree with that.  How... and who... can stop the
mighty Tumaffi on his way to the AWA National Title?  Who can-

[The fans boo all crazy-like again as "High Profile" Darryl Styles walks
onto the set of the WKIK Studios, dressed in a purple suit as he flaunts
a brand new grill on his teeth.]

DS:  Tumaffi this, Tumaffi that... do you people talk about anything
other than Tumaffi?

[Gordon Myers looks irritated.]

GM:  I'm not sure what you're doing out here, Mr. Styles, but this is
definitely not your time-

[Styles interrupts.]

DS:  Oh, I beg ta differ, ya dig?  By my watch...

[Styles reveals a large Flava Flav-esque clock hanging under his suit
jacket.]

DS:  ...it's _exactly_ my time around the AWA.  You can sit out here and
talk about Tumaffi... you can talk about Ron Houston... you can talk
about Ricky Royal... you can talk about Gregorson and Despair... but you
know who I want to talk about?  

[Myers shrugs.]

DS:  I want to talk about Kevin Slater.

[The crowd cheers for the "Wild Thing" and Styles cracks a big blingy
grin.]

DS:  But I ain't here to do that yet, ya dig?  Slater, your time is
comin' but it ain't right now.  No, now is Announcement Time on the
Power Hour, ya dig?

[Myers nods his head.]

GM:  We had heard you had a major announcement to make here tonight
regarding the Upper Crust.

DS:  Oh, I do, I do, Gordy.  Ya see, when I shocked the world during the
Rumble and brought my O.G. Spyder LZ out here, I sensed the time...

[He taps the large clock.]

DS:  ...was right to make a big move.  Darryl Styles is always one step
ahead and three steps beyond, ya dig?  So, as I checked out my
entourage, I saw a problem.

LZ is street, ya dig?  He's a thug... and he rolls like a thug.

[Styles rubs his chin.]

DS:  But the Bling Bling Baby and the man who breaks the sound barrier
on bare feet... they don't roll like that.  They like the good life, ya
dig?

So, I made a move to keep the peace.

[The crowd buzzes with confusion.]

DS:  At this time, let me introduce to you... the man who I sold the
contract of the Upper Crust to... 

The Agent To The Stars... BEN WATERSON!

[The fans boo as Waterson steps into view, clad in a stylish black suit
and sporting a very obvious Bluetooth earpiece as he joins the announce
crew, shaking hands with all three men.]

GM:  Ben Waterson, welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling.  We've
heard that you've been on a scouting trip to Africa.

BW:  Absolutely, Mr. Myers.  But that is not at all the reason I'm out
here tonight.  This is about business, pure and simple.  And tonight, my
business is the acquisition of the best tag team in the AWA.  

GM:  Acquistion?  You bought their contracts?

BW:  Without a doubt, Gordon.  Signed, sealed, and delivered... Mr.
Styles here took a very fair offer and sold the Upper Crust to myself so
he could concentrate on other matters.

GM:  What do Beaumont and Stokes have to say about that?

BW:  They're my employees.  They don't get a vote.  Mr. Styles, it was a
pleasure doing business with you.

[Another quick handshake as Waterson hands a briefcase over to Styles
who hands a folder of paperwork back to the Agent To The Stars before
the two men exit the interview area.]

GM:  You have to wonder what Beaumont and Stokes will have to say about
this?

BW:  Who cares?  Like Waterson said, they're employees... they don't get
a vote!

GM:  Fans, let's go up to the ring for our next match!

[Melissa Cannon stands in the ring with the wild-bearded Cuban Assassin
#6 circling around like a caged animal.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time...
from the Isle of Cuba... weighing in at 260 pounds...

He is the Cuban Assassin #6!

[The fans boo the wild-bearded rulebreaker as he bellows in their
direction.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The instantly recognizable beginning to "Black" by Sevendust blasts out
WKIK Studios as the fans let loose a loud reaction for the local
favorite. The curtains are quickly swept aside and out from the back
strides "Pistol" Paul Driscoll.  Driscoll is clad in dark blue wrestling
trunks, with matching boots and kneepads. His hands are heavily wrapped
up in white athletic tape, much like a boxer. Driscoll also wears a
sleeveless denim vest to the ring.]

MC: Hailing from Odessa, Texas and weighing in tonight at 263 pounds...

"PISTOL" PAAAUUULLL DRIIISSCCCOOOOOOOLLLLL!!!

[Driscoll's chin length, wavy brown hair is shiny and wet looking,
slicked back against his head although he shakes it loose as he walks.
As he enters the ringside area, Paul quickly hops up the steel stairs
and enters the ring, whipping off the denim vest and throwing it
outside, then ascending the nearest turnbuckle, raising one hand into
the air and surveying the crowd.]

GM:  The singles match debut for Paul Driscoll, "Pistol" Paul Driscoll
they call him and he is absolutely no stranger to Texas wrestling fans,
Bucky.

BW:  Absolutely not.  His family is legendary in the state of Texas
amongst pro wrestling fans.  His father is "Gentleman" George
Driscoll... of course, his older brother is John Driscoll who has
competed all over the state for years.

GM:  But Paul hasn't competed in Texas for quite some time.  He wrestled
here after returning home from the Marine Corps but since then, he's
been all over the country... so the AWA is happy to be able to bring him
home.

[The bell rings to start the match as Paul Driscoll eases out of the
corner, eyeing the sneaky Cuban Assassin #6 warily as the wild-bearded
competitor lunges into a collar and elbow tieup.]

GM:  Big tieup to start this one off... both men jockeying for position
and-

[The crowd cheers as Driscoll powers the Assassin down to the mat with a
big shove.]

GM:  Ohh!  Big throwdown by Driscoll.

[The Assassin immediately springs to his feet, complaining about a pull
of his ponytailed hair which Driscoll denies to the official who
questions him.  The fans boo the Assassin as he shakes his head, looking
for another tieup.]

GM:  Back to the tieup...

[And this time, the Assassin grabs Driscoll's hair, pushing him back to
the corner where the referee calls for a break...

...and gets one just before the Cuban drives a knee into the
breadbasket.]

GM:  Ohh!  Shot to the gut by the Assassin... laughing at the booing
fans...

[With no attempt to hide it, the Assassin wraps his hand around the
windpipe of Driscoll, shoving him back against the turnbuckles in a
blatant choke.]

GM:  Come on, referee!  That's a choke!

BW:  Ya think?

GM:  Two... three... four... the Cuban breaks at the count of four.  And
as a former Marine, you've gotta think that Paul Driscoll might harbor a
little bit of ill will to someone so proudly from the Communist state of
Cuba.

[The Assassin grabs Driscoll by the hair, raking his eyes across the top
rope out to the middle of the ropes.]

GM:  Ropeburn on the top rope strand!  A vicious move by the Cuban. 
Irish whi- reversed by Driscoll!

[And as the Cuban rebounds, Driscoll catches him, pivoting quickly, and
_plants_ him on the mat with a spinning powerslam!]

GM:  Whoooa my! 

[Driscoll rolls away from a pin attempt, rubbing at his burning eyes
which allows the Cuban time to recover as well resulting in both men
reaching their feet at about the same time.]

GM:  Both men back up.  The Cuban with a right han- blocked by Driscoll!

[The crowd cheers as "Pistol" Paul uncorks a trio of right hands that
stagger the big Cuban...

...and then unleashes a big discus punch that sends the Sixth Cuban
Assassin falling back into the ropes where he staggers out into a
waiting Paul Driscoll's fireman's carry.]

GM:  Driscoll's got him up on the shoulders... ohhhh!

[Driscoll _spikes_ the Cuban down to the mat with a Death Valley Driver
to a huge roar from the crowd as he rolls across the Assassin for an
easy one - two - three.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match in one minute and forty-three seconds... 

"PISTOL"  PAUL  DRISSSSCOLL!

[Driscoll raises an arm in victory before dropping down to the mat and
rolling under the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  A fine effort from "Pistol" Paul Driscoll, who is coming over to
the set to join us for a moment.

[Driscoll walks over to Myers and wipes the sweat from his face.]

PD:  Hi Gordon.

GM:  Congratulations on your first victory here in AWA, Paul.

PD:  Thanks Gordon, I 'ppreciate the thought.

GM:  You had a fine showing in the the Rumble as well, Paul, but a lot
of people have said that your entrance to the match, when you flew into
the ring and _floored_ Erik Reid, was something more than just
competition.  Earlier tonight, I asked Erik Reid about the same
situation and got shut down.  Care to comment?

PD: Well, if I sat here'n told ya that I knew that little runt from
somewhere, it'd be a lie. Never seen 'em a day in my life. But I know
his brothers'n his family, I know his ol' man real well, an' that right
hand to the face was well deserved. It ain't nothin' personal, he never
done nothin' to me, but if my Pop knew that I didn't take a chance to
drop someone who's las' name is Reid, well, he'd be rollin' in his
grave.

GM: It sounds like there's some history between your family and Erik
Reid's family, Paul Driscoll.

[Driscoll shoots a glare at Myers that says the story.]

PD: ...I s'pose you could say that, Gordon, ain't no reason to play
dumb. But I'd prefer if ya jus' let it go.

GM: Fair enough. What are your plans for the immediate future here in
AWA?

PD: I ain't somebody to let the music play, y'know what I mean? I signed
a contrac' to get back into this business, an' that contrac' say pro
wrestler. It don't say pro dancer or pro musician. It says wrestler,
Gordon.

So I'm gonna take this time right now to ask someone to fill my dance
card, y'understan', I'm sayin' that next time out on Saturday Night
Wrestlin', I'm gonna be waitin' in that there ring an' whoever's got it
in they mind to come out'n throw down, I'd be more'n happy to take 'em
up on it.

GM: You're laying out an open challenge?

PD: I'm layin' out an _open challenge_ for next time on Saturday Night
Wrestlin', an' I'm gonna open it up to whoever's in the buildin'.
Tumaffi, Royal, Shaw, Houston, Slater, whoever got the guts should come
on down, because I damn sure got the glory. I ain't someone who can jus'
ease my way back into things, Gordon, I cain't take it easy. I'm divin'
headfirst into the volcano startin' nex' show, an' I won't be picky. If
ya think you can take Paul Driscoll, an' even if ya don't, belly up to
the bar an' we'll go from there.

In two weeks, this same time, I'll see ya right back out here Gordon.
See ya then.

[And with that, Paul Driscoll strides out of view.]

GM:  There you have it, fans.  Paul Driscoll with an open challenge.

BW:  And with Mark Shaw making an open challenge earlier tonight, you
just have to wonder...

GM:  Boy, what a match that would be!   Fans, don't go away, we'll be
right back with more action!

[And with that, we fade away from our announcers to black...

...and then back up to a shot showing the logos of Pro Wrestling
Revolution, Sin City Wrestling, and Southern Championship Wrestling.]

"From Day One, the American Wrestling Alliance was determined to give
its fans the very best action available.  And on Day One, our video
library is officially open for business!"

[Cut to a closeup of the Sin City Wrestling logo.]

"Check out "High Profile" Darryl Styles on commentary.  See the Upper
Crust in action before they were the Upper Crust!"

[Now to the Southern Championship Wrestling logo.]

"Ricky Royal lit up the rings in SCW before he came to the AWA!  "Stars
and Stripes" Clayton Shaw was a SCW staple as well!"

[And then the PWR logo.]

"See Calisto Dufresne in action!  And don't forget the ever-dangerous
Kolya Sudakov!"

[Cut back to the wide shot of all three logos.]

"Events from all three promotions are available NOW exclusively through
the AWA website via DVD or download!  So, be the first on the block to
be an AWA expert and check out all of this great action today!"

[Fade to black...

...and then back up on the announce team.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, to the Power Hour and what an exciting night
we've seen so far.  And it only is going to get better.  Just before our
commerical break, we heard "Pistol" Paul Driscoll make an open challenge
for the next AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.  Well, we can now make it
official.  The next time we are in the WKIK Studios, we will see Paul
Driscoll go one-on-one with the Hellion, Mark Shaw!  What a physical
showdown that's gonna be, Bucky!

BW:  That should be quite the throwdown, daddy.  It's gonna be like one
of those hot Sunday afternoons down in Atlanta when you and your cousins
decide to walk down to the local tavern for a beer and run across a
couple big ol' burly boys from the other side of the tracks.  You know
the rest, Gordo.

GM:  I... I really don't think I do but-

[Without warning, the crowd begins to cheer as "Wild Thing" Kevin Slater
walks into the WKIK Studios.]

GM:  Well, it looks like we're about to be joined out here by Kevin
Slater... but I can't say that I was expecting this.

[Slater approaches the desk wearing black boots, jeans, a white long
sleeve button-up shirt with the top two buttons open, a green bandanna,
and sunglasses, and sans Flaherity.  He heads toward Myers with a
purpose.)

GM:  Kevin Slater, this is unexpecte-

[Slater cuts him off.]

KS:  Sorry Gordon, but I'm gonna get right to the point.  You know, I'm
a little miffed.  Since day one in this league I've had a price on my
head.  I've had first the Masked Menace coming for me, and just when I
finally get my hands on the guy, I have Styles' new cronie, Spyder LZ
show up.  I'm tired of this Gordon, I'm tired.  I'm not hard to find,
and I'm not running.  Either of those two want to take a crack at me,
I'm right here, let's see if you guys can deal with taking someone on
face to face and not from beh-

[Slater stops as The Masked Menace steps through the curtain, heading
towards the Wild Thing.  Without missing a beat, Slater immediately
starts jawing at the large masked man.]

GM: Oh, wait gentlemen, wait, not right now... please don't-

[Apparently tired of talking, Slater sprints towards the masked man and
the fight is on!]

GM:  Here we go!  Here we go!

BW:  What in the world has gotten into everyone tonight?!

GM:  I have no idea!

[The crowd roars as Slater and the Masked Menace stand just a few feet
away from the front row of the WKIK Studio audience, trading big right
hands to a stalemate.]

GM:  The fans are going absolutely crazy!

[The cheers die down a bit as the Menace buries a knee into the gut of
Slater, grabbing him by the hair and slamming his head into the ring
apron.]

GM:  Ohh!  The Menace caught him with the knee and- now he's shoving
Slater into the ring.

[Stepping up onto the apron, the Menace climbs into the ring, sizing up
the downed Slater...

...and drills him with a running stomp to the side of the face that puts
Slater back down on the mat.]

GM:  This could be it, Bucky.  After all these weeks, the Masked Menace
and Kevin Slater are alone in the ring and the Menace is going for that
bounty, you can be sure of that!

BW:  You'd better believe it.  I got a chance to talk to Ms. Chow before
the show and she said tonight's the night, daddy!

[The 321 pound Menace measures Slater again before driving another boot
down to the back of the head, smashing Slater's face against the canvas.
 He turns to the camera, sneering out from behind his black mask with
red leather trim around the nose, eyes, and mouths and screams something
about "Make the check out to Ms. Chow!"]

GM:  Right now the Masked Menace is... ohhh!  Big leg drop down on the
back of the neck of Slater!  The big masked man is  really doing a
number on the former World Champion right here and now!

BW:  He's gotta hit Slater with something big to take him out and
collect the bounty though.  

[The Menace, nodding his head, slowly pulls Slater up off the mat by the
hair...

...and gets caught squarely in the jaw with a big right haymaker!  The
crowd roars from the punch!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Slater's fighting back!

[A barrage of right hands knocks the Menace back against the ropes where
Slater goes for an Irish whip.]

GM:  Whip by Slater... 

[And as the Menace rebounds, Slater lifts him into the air by the upper
thighs, rotating...

...and _planting_ the Menace down on the mat with a spinebuster slam! 
The crowd erupts as Slater pops up, pumping his fists.]

GM:  Slater's got the big man down... now what's he-

[The crowd explodes again as Slater turns the Menace over, sitting back
on a Boston Crab!]

GM:  BOSTON CRAB APPLIED ON THE MASKED MENACE!

[Slater is screaming as he wrenches back on the Crab.]


"You had enough?!  You done with me?!"


[The Wild Thing drops down to a knee to increase the pressure as the
cries of pain from the Masked Menace increase.]

GM:  Slater's got him hooked!  He's got him trapped in that Boston Crab
in the middle of the rin- no!

[The crowd roars as Spyder LZ suddenly races out of the locker room,
stepping through the ropes...

...and _throwing_ his entire three hundred and fifty pounds into the
upper body of Slater, breaking the Boston Crab attempt!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  This big... this thug, Spyder LZ, has hit the ring and he
just took out Kevin Slater from behind!

[LZ wastes no time in yanking Slater off the mat, pulling him into a
double-handed choke, lifting him into the air...

...and then driving Slater down to the mat with a sitout slam!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Come on!  We need to get some help out here!  We need to-

[Slowly, the Masked Menace pulls himself to his feet, clutching his
lower back and spots Spyder LZ now standing over the downed Slater.]

BW:  Uh oh!  This could be a problem.  Two monsters like that going
after the same money?  Like Cyndi Lauper once wisely said, "Monnnnaaaay.
 Monnnnaaaay changes everything!"

[Thanks for the song, Bucky.]

GM:  The Menace is glaring at Spyder LZ.  And this may be Kevin Slater's
only chance, Bucky.  If these two start fighting with each other, this
might be-

[The crowd boos wildly as the Menace gestures with one hand sawing the
other in a "right down the middle" signal.  Spyder grins at the masked
man, nodding his head...

...and the two men start stomping the Wild Thing into the mat together.]

GM:  No!  This isn't right!  This isn't- somebody needs to stop this
right now!  Somebody needs to-

[Suddenly, someone dashes in from the locker room area, dressed in a
pair of jeans and a blue hoodie sweatshirt with the hood up over his
head.]

GM:  Who- who is that?

[Spyder LZ turns to face the new man in the ring and eats a big right
hand for his effort.  A pair more back the big man against the ropes
where the hooded man goes for an Irish whip.]

GM:  Irish whi- reversed by Spyder LZ...

[And as the barrel-chested Thug waits for his prey with an extended arm
aiming for a clothesline, the hooded man leaps into the air, floating
over the arm...

...and _spiking_ Spyder LZ's skullfirst into the canvas with a floatover
DDT!  The crowd erupts!]

BW:  Wait a second.  That looks familiar!

[Popping to his feet, the hooded man barely gets up before the Masked
Menace starts drilling him with right hands, knocking him back against
the ropes where he yanks the hood down...

...to an enormous roar from the AWA crowd!]

BW:  Are you kidding me?!

GM:  LUKE STEELE!  LUKE STEELE IS IN THE RING!!

[And with a big ol' grin on his face as the Masked Menace is completely
oblivious to Kevin Slater on his feet behind him.  Steele points behind
the Menace who turns around...

...and gets _drilled_ with a running boot under the jaw that causes him
to stumble towards Steele who pops him with an uppercut that sends him
falling back towards Slater who somehow powers the Menace up off the
mat, slamming him down with a bodyslam!]

GM:  OHHHH MY!  DOWN GOES THE MENACE!!

[The Wild Thing drops down to the mat, peppering the masked man's head
with right hands as Steele slips out to the apron, pulling off the
sweatshirt and quickly scampering up to the top rope.  And as soon as
Slater clears out...

...Steele hurls himself into the air, flipping backwards while sailing
forward...

...and _smashes_ down across the chest of the Menace!]

GM:  REAL STEELE PRESS!  REAL STEELE PRESS!

[Steele bounces up off the mat, celebrating as the Menace rolls under
the ropes to avoid Slater who lunges at him, just barely missing getting
his fists on him again as the Masked Menace beats a retreat away from
the ring.]

GM:  AND LISTEN TO THESE FANS!  LUKE STEELE HAS HIT THE RING TO
SAVE HIS FRIEND AND THESE FANS ARE LOVING IT!

[Steele grins at the reaction as he yanks Slater off the mat, trading an
embrace in the center of the ring as a grinning Megan Flaherity steps
into view, joining the announce team as Slater and Steele make their
exit from the ring, Slater still fuming as he stomps over towards the
announce desk.]

GM:  Kevin Slater, Megan Flaherity, and Luke Steele!  What a trio this
is and these fans are still roaring!  Kevin Slater, what did we just
witness?!

[Still fired up, Slater slaps his hand down on the announce desk with a
"THUD!" glaring into the camera and pointing a sole finger as Steele and
Flaherity exchange a high-five in the background.]

KS:  I told you, Gordon!  I told you I was tired of it!

[Slater slams his fist into the desk again.]

KS:  Day one, I've had to deal with the face that someone who hasn't
revealed themselves yet wants me gone.  And I've had those two on my
back because of it!

[The Wild Thing shakes his head, slipping an arm around Megan's waist.]

KS:  And Megan was right, I needed backup.  And when you need backup,
you go with someone you can trust.  

[The crowd roars.]

KS:  A close friend, hell, almost family.  I go with my old partner in
the Cult of Personality, I go with the "Real Deal" right here, Luke
Steele.  I have someone I can trust to watch my back.  Now I can deal
with what needs to be dealt with.  

I can go after Masked Menace, I can go after Spyder LZ.  And go after
them I will.  

[More cheers as Steele slaps his partner and friend on the shoulder.]

KS:  I've been beaten up, I've been eliminated from a match that I went
forty-five minutes in and lost my guaranteed shot at the title.  And I'm
through,  I can go after one, or I can go after them both now, because I
have my friend here watching my back. Tell 'em Luke!

[Slater gives Steele a pretty firm slap on the chest.]

LS: WELL... I may be new around these parts but a fair fight just seems
like the way to go here.  And for some reason this bounty over my
buddy's head has attracted the real dregs of the wrestling scene.

[Myers interrupts.]

GM:  Luke Steele, does that mean you're officially coming to the AWA to
back up Kevin Slater?

[Steele nods his head to the cheers of the fans.]

LS:  That's right Gordo.  Spyder, Menace, you two like to run around
with the numbers advantage and hassle my pal Kev here.  Let's see how
frisky you boys are now that the sides are all squared up.  The Wild
Thing should be preparing for a title shot and instead he's got to deal
with a couple of  guys who're named after supervillains.  I say it's
high time the Cult of Personality rode again.

[A big roar from the WKIK Studios crowd.]

KS:  That's right Luke, that's right.  You know what Gordon, I want to
do something.  I want to make something easier on the Championship
Committee.  I want to take my name out of consideration for the Title
Tournament.  

[The crowd boos with disappointment... but Slater holds up his hand to
stop them.]

KS:  But I have a reason Gordon, I have a reason.  Because I'm tired of
this, and *WE* want Menace and Spyder.  So, you take me, you take Luke
here, and on May twenty-fourth, me and Luke, you put us in the ring,
against Menace and Spyder.  

Make that match, let the four of us hook 'em up, let us at each other. 
And we settle this.  And you...

[Slater stares at the camera.]

KS:  You, whoever you are that put the bounty on me.  I don't care if
you're my ex-wife, ex-girlfriend, Curt and Rose Hansen, or whoever you
are that wants me gone so bad.  I invite you to show up.  I beg you,
after "Real Deal" here and I take out your errand boys, you show your
face, so I can show you, that no matter how much money you put up,
you're not taking me out.  

[Another hard slap of the announce desk.]

KS:  You're *NOT* putting me down.  

Show up, so I can see the face of my tormenter, and shove a fist down
it.

SHOW UP, MAKE THE MATCH!

[And with that, the Wild Thing strides out of view with a smirking Megan
Flaherity close behind.  Watching his friend leave, Luke grins and pats
Gordon on the shoulder.]

LS:  Now _this_ is gonna be fun.

[Steele follows his friends in walking off leaving a grinning Gordon
Myers behind.]

GM:  Whooo boy, this night just gets crazier and crazier... and we're
not even done yet!  We've still got our big Main Event with Ron Houston
taking on Buddy Lambert to come... _and_ the Ricky Royal Bodyslam
Challenge!  That's coming up next so don't go away!

[We fade away from the grinning Gordon Myers to black.

After a moment, we fade back up on a very long shot of the exterior of a
pretty dingy looking building.]

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

"Of your friends and family seeing you on television?"

[And just a little closer, revealing a red, white, and blue sign that
reads "AWA Combat Corner."]

"Well, now you can make all your dreams come true by signing up today at
the AWA Combat Corner - the official training school for the American
Wrestling Alliance!"

[We cut to the interior of the building where we can see lots of
standard gym equipment surrounding a very basic wrestling ring.  There
are people lifting weights, running on treadmills, and of course,
working out in the ring.]

"With the very best trainers in the business, the AWA Combat Corner is
the most-equipped training facility to get you in shape and get you in
the ring in the shortest amount of time!"

[Cut into the ring where Todd Michaelson is barking out instructions.]

"With former World Champion Todd Michaelson leading the classes, you can
guarantee that you will be prepared for in-ring action upon graduation
and with the AWA expanding by the day, you will have a place to work on
Day One!"

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

"So, stop by the Combat Corner today... call our offices... visit our
website... and let them know that you want to be the next AWA Superstar!
You want to be the future of the business!

You want to wrestle!"

[Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner.  We
freeze there for a moment...

...and then fade back up on the announce team who are obviously ready to
continue but before anyone can speak...]


"CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!"


BW:  Awww, jeez...

[The lovely whispers of the cowbell then give way to the crunchy opening
guitar riff of "Mississippi Queen" by Mountain. The crowd roars and,
just as that next squealing guitar note rips through the building,
"Ragin' Rebel" Ricky Royal, Jr. bursts through the curtain!]

#Mississippi Queen you know what I mean
#Mississippi Queen, you taught me everything!

[Ricky wears his wrestling gear--red boots and kneepads and a pair of
red trunks with the "Stars and Bars" adorning them. The back of his
trunks reads "Heritage Not Hate" in navy blue while the front says
"Ragin' Rebel". He also wears a sleeveless, dark blue Dallas Mavericks
t-shirt.]

GM: Ricky Royal, back again for another Bodyslam Challange, as promised!

BW: Anybody can slam a fan, Myers, but tonight we'll see what this guy's
really made of. If anybody in the back is ready to answer the call.

GM:  Well, we've got some gamers here in the AWA, Bucky. I'd bet my left
arm we've got a challenger for Royal tonight. 

[With the beefy, angular '70s rock song blaring behind him and a big
smile plastered on his stubbly face, his long hair hanging down past his
ears, Ricky walks the aisle. He shakes hands with Myers and Wilde at the
announce desk. Myers offers him a microphone, which he takes as his
music dies down.]

RR:  I'm back, baby!! I'm back! Ricky Royal is back in town! And I wanna
know if Dallas is ready to rock and roll with another Bodyslam
Challenge!?

[BIG CHEER! Ricky slaps hands with the fans at ringside as he yells into
the microphone excitedly.] 

RR:  Say it again, Dallas, I just couldn't hear ya!

[HUGE ROAR!]

RR:  Tha's right, tha's what I wanna hear outta ya!

[Ricky rolls into the ring under the bottom rope and pops up to his
feet, saluting the crowd with his free hand and holding the mic with the
other.]

RR:  All right, folks, got no time to waste here tonight. I've got
places to go and peple to see after this. I had to take on some
lawnmowin' jobs back in Vicksburg so I can pay off this $1,000 fine what
I incurred for--

[... and here he jumps up onto the second turnbuckle for emphasis,
pumping his fist with each syllable and addressing the crowd with an
enthusiatic shriek:] 

RR:  KICKIN' TUMAFFI'S BIG FAT HEAD!

[The crowd roars again! Ricky drops down and turns toward the
entranceway.]

RR:  So, whaddawegot, ay-dubbya-ay?  Whaddawegot? Who's back there with
enough guts to come get the glory? Who's got enough--

[Cutting Royal off, the sounds of "Stars And Stripes Forever" blasts
over the PA, bringing the patriotic crowd to their feet.]

BW:  Aw jeez... not this guy again...

GM:  I'd say your history with this man is well documented, Bucky. 

["Stars and Stripes" Clayton Shaw bursts through the curtain in a black
singlet with a camo fatigue t-shirt underneath.  He is carrying an
American flag on a wooden pole over his shoulder. He pauses just inside
the entrance, hoisting the flag into the air and waving it back and
forth to a big ovation.  Lowering the flag, he quickly walks to the
ring, stepping up onto the apron where he holds the flag high again and
then ducks between the ropes.

He locks eyes with Royal, who tosses him the mic.]

CS:  Ricky Royal... I have absolutely nothing but respect for you and
after what you did to that big goof during the Rumble, I've got even
_more_ respect for you.

But if you want to come out here lookin' for someone with guts to take
on your Challenge, you're lookin' at the man to do that job!

[The crowd roars!]

CS:  You want to slam me?  I'm gonna give you all I got to make sure it
doesn't happen.  We're gonna tussle... there's gonna be a winner...
there's gonna be a loser... and then we're gonna shake hands.

[Another cheer.]

CS:  In fact, I say we _start_ this contest with a handshake too.

[Shaw offers his hand, which Royal accepts without hesitation. Backing
up again, Royal turns to the timekeeper and shouts with a mic:]

RR:  Gimme sixty secon's!

[Like last Saturday Night Wrestling, an animated clock appears in the
corner reading ":60".

DING! DING! DING!]

GM:  And we're off! The Bodyslam Challenge is on!

BW:  I hope Royal bodyslams this punk right through the mat, right on
top of his head, daddy, and breaks his damn neck!

GM:  I know you do, Bucky. I know you do.

[The two circle each other as the clock begins ticking down, feeling
each other out. Simultaneously, they lunge in at one another.]

GM:  Collar and elbow tie up! Fighting for control here... Shaw runs
about 280, up a bit from the 275 pound AWA fan that Royal slammed last
week. Of course, he's also a few levels up in skill level from Brian
Kraig.

BW:  I hate this son of a-

GM:  Bucky!

[They grapple for a moment in the tie up, the clock reaching forty
seconds. Shaw takes the advantage, backing Royal up toward the ropes.]

GM:  Shaw in control... and he's got Royal! Side headlock by Clayton
Shaw. Oh! Royal with an elbow to the gut to break it up...

[But it doesn't last long; in position behind Royal, Shaw reaches his
left arm under Royal's arm in a half nelson and wraps the other around
Royal's head...]

GM:  Swinging cobra! Stars and Stripes Forever! Here it comes!

[As the clock winds down to twenty seconds, Royal is expecting this and
is ready for it. A hard back elbow to Shaw's face knocks him back,
stunning him! And another to his gut bends him over!]

BW:  Yeah, break his damn neck, Royal!

GM:  Royal showing some quickness here... Shaw is reeling... Royal hooks
him! HERE IT IS! THE LIFT!




"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"




GM:  There's the slam!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  And the Challenge is over! Royal wins again, with only twelve
seconds left this time, though!

BW:  If that redneck Shaw wasn't so stupid, he'd have just waited out
the clock, he was in control and could've won if he hadn't gone for that
ridiculous swingin' cobra clutch of his!

[In the ring, Royal offers a hand to Shaw, who accepts it and allows him
to pull him to his feet. The two shake hands vigorously and then Shaw is
man enough to yank Royal's hand up into the air in victory as the two
fan favorites turn to the crowd with arms raised...

...a celebration that is cut short as Erik Reid walks into the WKIK
Studios again, making a beeline for the steel ringsteps that he quickly
scales before stepping into the ring.]

GM:  Erik Reid is out here as well now.  He said that if Royal needed
his help with Tumaf-

[A handshake from Royal to Reid is offered...

...and declined with a hard shove to the chest by the Texan, knocking
Royal back a few steps to the surprise of the crowd.]

GM:  What was that?!

BW:  Apparently, Erik Reid doesn't feel much like celebratin', daddy!

[Reid seems to demonstrate that by snatching the mic away from Royal.]

ER:  What is this?

[Reid seems a little agitated as he gestures around the ring.  Royal
looks confused, shrugging his shoulders with a "What?"  Clayton Shaw has
backed away, trying to stay out of it.]

ER:  Ricky Royal's Bodyslam Challenge?  That what they're callin' this?

[Royal grins at the crowd's cheering, nodding his head.  Reid nods his
head as well.]

ER:  So _this_ is what you're worried about while that big monster you
fired up is ending careers?

[Royal looks a little confused at Reid's accusation.]

ER:  You know that's what happened, right?  You took your boot to
Tumaffi's head... got him all riled up... and now he's lookin' to put
people in the hosptial!

[Reid's ire seems to catch Royal offguard who raises his hands in
protest.]

ER:  You know what?  I don't even want to hear your excuses.  All I know
is that while I was helping load a kid on a stretcher into an
ambulance... while he was crying for his mother and pleading with his
maker to save his career... you were backstage worrying about who you
could bodyslam out here tonight.

[The crowd buzzes a bit as Reid shakes his head in disgust.]

ER:  Royal, you made it clear that you're going after Tumaffi.  You want
to be the one to stop his rampage.  You want to be the one to take him
down a notch.

[Royal nods his head.]

ER:  Well, after what I saw tonight... I don't think I can trust you
with that.

[The crowd boos a bit... although there are some cheers as well.]

ER:  The Championship Committee is meetin' backstage, watchin' the show.
 So, if you're watchin' now?

[Reid pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket, the camera catching his
signature on the bottom, and drops it on the mat.]

ER:  That says that I waive the AWA's responsibility for my health. 
That says I'm ignorin' doctor's orders.

[Reid points a warning finger into the camera.]

ER:  And that says that I want Tumaffi in this ring on the next Saturday
Night Wrestling... and if _you_...

[He points the same finger at Ricky Royal.]

ER:  ...don't care enough about what you caused out here to stop him...
_I_ will.

[Reid drops the mic and exits the ring, leaving a protesting Ricky Royal
behind to be consoled by Clayton Shaw...

...as we fade to black.

And then fade back up on a black screen with the AWA logo splashed
across it.]

"Join your favorite stars of the American Wrestling Alliance throughout
the state of Texas this week for exclusive meet-and-greet sessions."

[A scrolling list of names and locations flash by in white text:

Clayton Shaw
Dallas American Legion Hall - Dallas, Texas
April 27

Rough N Ready
Austin Fairgrounds - Austin, Texas
April 28

The Masked Menace
South Dallas Shopping Center
May 1

Buddy Lambert
Houston Town Center
May 3

Ron Houston
Fort Worth Convention Center 
May 4

The names end, leaving just the AWA logo behind.]

"All the stars of the AWA are comin' your way so don't miss 'em!"

[And with that, we fade back to black...

...and back up on the smiling faces of Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde.]

GM:  Fans, welcome back.  And just moments ago, you heard Erik Reid ask
for... no, I'd say he _demanded_ a match on the next Saturday Night
Wrestling with Tumaffi!  He has waived the AWA of any responsibility if
he suffers further injury because of it.

BW:  He's crazy... or just plain dumb... I haven't decided yet.

GM:  During the break, we received word from the Championship
Committee... and they have honored his request.  On the next Saturday
Night Wrestling, we will see Tumaffi take on Erik Reid in the Main
Event!

BW:  Reid and Tumaffi?  Mark Shaw and Paul Driscoll?  What a night
that's gonna be, daddy!

GM:  You'd better believe it.  And fans, we've been talking all night
about Memorial Day Mayhem.  We've been talking about the big eight-man
tournament to crown the National Champion.  At the start of the night,
we promised that we would announce all eight members of the tournament
before this night is over... and now we will.  With a very special
Memorial Day Mayhem Control Center, let's go to Mark Stegglet!

[We fade away from Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde to a very patriotic
looking Memorial Day Mayhem graphic with "CONTROL CENTER" written across
the bottom and John Williams' theme to JFK playing in the background.

The music fades as we switch to a shot of Mark Stegglet sitting behind a
desk in a black sportscoat over a red polo shirt with the AWA logo in
white on the top.]

MS:  Welcome, fans, to the Memorial Day Mayhem Control Center.  We are
less than one month away from this major AWA event and I am here to run
down the announced lineup as well as make a few additions to it.

First, let's start with one of those additions...

[The shot slightly changes to add a graphic to the upper right corner of
the screen where we see photos of City Jack, Tin Can Rust, Calisto
Dufresne, and Stevie Scott.]

MS:  After what we saw earlier tonight, it should come as no surprise
that the Championship Committee signed a tag team showdown to be added
to the card on May 24th as the team of City Jack and Tin Can Rust,
Kentucky's Pride, will take on the duo of Calisto Dufresne and Stevie
Scott in what should be a very heated encounter.  

Remember, this will be the very first time we will see Stevie Scott
compete in a sanctioned AWA matchup as he has somehow managed to get out
of every scheduled match so far.  But on the 24th, he will be teaming
with Calisto Dufresne for the very first time as they take on two
longtime friends.

[The graphic disappears as Stegglet continues.]

MS:  That makes two tag team matches on the show as we had announced
last week that Werewolf Gregorson and Despair will take on the Russians
in a big tag team matchup.  Gregorson and Despair were out for some
payback a little earlier tonight during Stevie's Hotspot and did get a
few licks in before the Russians made their escape.

And in breaking news, we found out that moments ago, the Russians have
invited Stevie Scott to join them at Memorial Day Mayhem... as, you
won't believe this one, their official flag bearer!  The Hotshot waving
the Russian flag in Fort Worth?  I can't wait to see that one.

[A new graphic arrives, this one showing the five men who have been
announced for the AWA National Title Tournament so far.]

MS:  Moving on, we heard earlier tonight that "Showtime" Rick Marley has
been added to the tournament.  Marley, Ron Houston, Marcus Broussard,
Tumaffi, and Ricky Royal are the five men in... and now, it's time to
add one more...

[Stegglet's face disappears as a large photo of "The Hellion" Mark Shaw
fills the screen.]

MS:  ..."The Hellion" Mark Shaw will battle for the AWA National
Championship at Memorial Day Mayhem!  That makes six men in the
tournament with two more spots to fill.  We'll get back to that in a
moment but in a bit of a shocker earlier tonight, we had someone
actually request that their name be _removed_ from consideration for the
tournament.

[Back to the shot of Stegglet.]

MS:  Kevin Slater has _demanded_ a tag team match with he and Luke
Steele taking on The Masked Menace and Spyder LZ!  He has spoken and the
Championship Committee has answered!  That match _will_ happen at
Memorial Day Mayhem!

[A big graphic pops up of Slater, Steele, the Menace, and Spyder LZ
before fading back to a shot of Stegglet.]

MS:  Two more spots in the tournament to fill.  All night long, the
announcers have speculated that Buddy Lambert just might make the
tournament... depending on his performance here tonight.  But the
Committee has just ruled that Lambert has done enough!  He's in!

[Big graphic of the seven men in the tournament.]

MS:  One more spot.  A lot of people eagerly waiting to hear this.  And
a lot of people are going to be quite surprised.  The Championship
Committee has stated that the AWA is all about the fans and we have
proven that time and again in our short history by looking for the input
of the fans on major decisions.

But never have the fans been consulted on something this major.

Tonight, a poll will go up for the fans to vote on.

They will have the choice of selecting _any_ competitor who has shown
his face on an AWA television show... and yes, that does include _every_
wrestler competing in other matches on the Memorial Day Mayhem show.  

The winner of the poll will get the "Wild Card" spot in the tournament
and will battle seven other men for the right to be the first AWA
National Champion!

[Stegglet grins widely at the announcement.]

MS:  That leaves us with just one more thing to announce here tonight...
and that's the bracketing for the tournament itself.  Here we go...

In the first match of the tournament... and this is absolutely _huge_
news, fans...

The Ragin' Rebel, Ricky Royal, will meet... the MIGHTY TUMAFFI!

[Stegglet's face disappears as a graphic of Royal vs Tumaffi appears for
a moment before pulling down to fill the first slot in the tournament
bracketing.]

MS:  The winner of that match will have their work cut out for them as
well as they will take on the winner of a match between...

"Spitfire" Buddy Lambert and... "The Hellion" Mark Shaw!

[Another big graphic pops up before pulling down next to Royal/Tumaffi
in the bracket.]

MS:  We just mentioned that one competitor will be given the spot by the
fans in the form of a Wild Card position.  But that person will be in
for a tough battle as they take on "Showtime" Rick Marley!

[Marley's face pops up next to a blackened out figure with question
marks.]

MS:  And of course, that means that the final match of the first round
will be the match we were _supposed_ to see right here tonight as the
San Jose Shark, Marcus Broussard, _finally_ collides one on one with the
Athens, Georgia Madman... Ron Houston!

[One final graphic pops up before pulling down into the bracket.]

MS:  So, there it is.  The Elite Eight... all with a chance to become
the AWA's top star by the time May 25th rolls around.  Only one man will
go out on tour with the AWA as the National Champion.  Who will it be? 
You've gotta tune in to WKIK on May 24th for a very special edition of
Saturday Night Wrestling to find out!

[The shot of Stegglet fades away to a Memorial Day Mayhem graphic with
the full lineup listed:

AWA National Championship Tournament
***
Ricky Royal vs Tumaffi
Mark Shaw vs Buddy Lambert
Rick Marley vs Wild Card Entry
Marcus Broussard vs Ron Houston

Werewolf Gregorson/Despair vs The Russians
Kentucky's Pride vs Stevie Scott/Calisto Dufresne
Kevin Slater/Luke Steele vs The Masked Menace/Spyder LZ

And it holds for a moment before fading back to ringside where Gordon
Myers and Bucky Wilde are standing.]

GM:  What a night it's going to be in just under a month's time, Bucky. 
Eight men battling for the National Title... national pride on the line
between Gregorson/Despair and the Russians... Slater and Steele trying
to stop the bounty hunters... Kentucky's Pride taking on Scott and
Dufresne in a grudge match.  Whew.  It's gonna be something else in the
Fort Worth Convention Center on May 24th for Memorial Day Mayhem.

BW:  An amazing lineup, Gordo, but who's gonna be the Wild Card?!  It
can be _anyone_ who has been on an AWA show?

GM:  That's what Mark Stegglet announced.

BW:  Even us?!

GM:  I hope not but you never know!  Fans, it's Main Event time here on
the Power Hour so let's go up to Melissa Cannon for the introductions!

[Cut to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with TV time
remaining.  Introducing first...

["Living After Midnight" By Judas Priest hits the airwaves!]

MC:  Hailing from Brentwood, Tennesse, weighing in this evening at 240
pounds...

"SPITFIRE" BUDDY LAMBERT!

[Lambert steps into the entrance way to a big ovation! He waves to the
crowd, obviously overjoyed at the announcement of his inclusion in the
title tournament, then starts his jog to the ring.]

GM:  And here comes of the eight men who will compete in that big
tournament to crown the National Champion!

BW:  There's a lot of do-gooders in that tournament, Gordo.  This goof,
Marley, Royal - I'd like to see someone like Tumaffi or Broussard run
the table through 'em all, daddy!

GM:  I'm sure you would.

[Buddy -- clad in basic wrestling trunks, pads to match, and white boots
-- is sure to slap as many hands as possible as he walks around the ring
before hopping up on the apron, where he shoots a fist into the air,
much to the delight of the fans in attendance. Lambert launches himself
over the top rope and jogs around the ring for a moment. Buddy then
removes his waist length ring jacket, which is white, sequined with an
image of flames coming up from the bottom and has "Spitfire" emblazoned
on the collar in red stitching. He hands it to the ring attendant and
continues getting loose, waiting for his opponent.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The haunting piano of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" begins to play.]

MC:  He hails from Athens, Georgia... standing 6'7 and weighing 286
pounds... he is "The Athens Georgia Madman" ...

RON HOUUUUSTON!

[The crowd roars again as the imposing figure of Ron Houston steps
through the curtains. Clad in a full length tan trench coat with the
Confederate Flag seamed into the back, his black wrestling tights, elbow
pads, knee pads, and boots underneath.]

GM:  He is the man who won the very first spot in the National Title
tournament by winning the 30 Man Rumble last time on Saturday Night
Wrestling.  He won the right to pick this Main Event because of that
victory as well.

BW:  But Broussard outsmarted him.

GM:  Outweaselled him perhaps.  The San Jose Shark got the night off
from the front office and Houston ended up with Buddy Lambert instead. 
He gave Lambert the match saying he owed him one because of what went
down between the two at the Rumble.  Of course, he's referring to his
accidental elimination of Lambert.

BW:  Accidental, my toe.  If you think Houston meant to do anything but
knock that Boy Scout over the ropes, my Mama would like to sell you her
ostrich farm down in Corpus Christi, daddy!

[Houston raises his large fists in the air as he marches down towards
the ring. He reaches ringside and and leers at the audience around
him... slightly embracing their warmth. His eyes measure the ring. He
reaches up with one big paw, followed by the other, and begins to climb
onto the apron, entering over the top roughly."The Athens Georgia
Madman" raises his arms above his head and begins to pace around the
ring, slowly removing his jacket which he tosses nonchalantly to the
outside. He paces around the ring awaiting the bell.]

GM:  Here we go... and as much as we thought this was going to be an
important match to get Lambert into the tournament, it now becomes very
important for both of these men as they try to build some mometum
heading into the tournament itself.

BW:  It can be so important.  Momentum is key.  It gets your confidence
up, it gets you feelin' like you're on top of the world and can do
anything you want inside the ring, daddy.

GM:  And as we look in that ring at a man 6'7, 286 taking on 6'3, 240...
you know for sure that Buddy Lambert does _not_ want to match power with
the big man.

BW:  Not at all.  He wants to go after that shoulder, Gordo.

GM:  I don't know if he will.  The sportsmanship of-

BW:  Sportsmanship, schwartzmanship, Gordo!  You go after that injured
left shoulder if you get the chance.  If you don't get the chance, you
make the chance!  This isn't some merit badge contest, this is a
wrestling match.  You think Houston would turn down the chance if
Lambert had an injury to exploit?

[With the fans clapping in unison, rallying the two men to action, the
referee calls for the bell to start the match.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  This match is underway!

[Houston stands in the center of the ring, waiting for Lambert who
quickly moves out to join him, eyeing the big man warily...

...and then slowly lifts his right hand up, calling for a test of
strength with a grin on his face.]

GM:  Heheh... smart move.  This might be the only time he'd ever win a
test of strength with Houston.

[The big man from Georgia chuckles a bit, rolling his neck from side to
side before lunging into a collar and elbow tieup, slowly pushing
Lambert step by step back across the ring and finally shoving him all
the way against the ropes.]

GM:  Backed ino the ropes... the ref calling for a break... 

[Houston leans on Lambert for a moment, letting the 22 year old feel his
power...

...and then backs off cleanly, stepping back to the middle of the ring
as Lambert nods his head, clapping his hands once in appreciation as the
crowd cheers the clean break.]

GM:  Nice clean break there to show the feeling of sportsmanship is
mutual.

BW:  For now.

GM:  What does that mean?

BW:  It means that I've looked into Houston's eyes and he wants that
title so badly he can taste it.  If he has to?  He'll waffle Lambert
with a tire iron to get to that title.

GM:  We might be getting a preview of the AWA National Championship
tournament finals here.  Now that we know the brackets, we know that the
only way these two could meet on May 24th is in the final matchup.

BW:  Not gonna happen.

GM:  You just never know, Bucky.

BW:  I _do_ know.  Lambert would have to get past Mark Shaw - not gonna
happen.  If it did?  He'd have to get past Tumaffi.

GM:  Or Ricky Royal.

BW:  Like I said, he'd have to get past Tumaffi - not gonna happen.  And
to top it off, the one-armed bandit in there would have to get past
Marcus Broussard!  Not... gonna... happen!

GM:  One-armed bandit?

BW:  You saw him steal that win in the Rumble, didn'tcha?

GM:  Clever.  Real clever.

[The two men tie up again, this time with Buddy Lambert quickly slipping
into a rear waistlock, hanging on to the lanky man from Georgia.]

GM:  Lambert trying to hang on... trying to wear the big man down a
bit...

[Suddenly, the Spitfire breaks the hold, lunging forward to snap Houston
down to the mat with a quick fireman's carry takeover that Lambert rolls
through into a cradle.]

GM:  One!  Two!  TH- 

[The crowd "ooooohs" with a mix of relief and disappointment as Houston
fires a shoulder off the mat just in time to break the pin attempt.]

GM:  That was close for the man from Athens, Georgia.  Real close.

[Houston slowly regains his feet as a fired-up Lambert bounces back and
forth from foot to foot, waiting for Houston to rise.]

GM:  Look at the energy on the Spitfire!  He's ready to go for sure in
this one!

BW:  He'd better be.  

GM:  Another collar and elbow... Houston pushing him back to the ropes
again... a lot of power on display there...

[Breaking cleanly, Houston grabs the wrist of Lambert, firing him off to
the ropes.]

GM:  To the ropes... Lambert ducks a clothesline...

[And as the man from Tennessee bounces off the far side, he leaves his
feet, knocking Houston down to the mat with a high cross body block!]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  TH-

[Houston fires a shoulder off the mat again, breaking the pin attempt as
Lambert pops back up...

...and catches a rising Houston in the face with a dropkick that stuns
him!]

GM:  Big dropkick by Lambert... right back up and another!

[But this time, his feet lash out and accidentally connect with the
injured left shoulder, causing Houston to cry out in pain as he falls
back into the buckles.]

GM:  Oh!  He caught him in the shoulder!

BW:  See?!  I told you!  

GM:  You did not!

BW:  I told you Lambert would go after the shoulder!  I saw it in his
eyes!  He's got a dark side, daddy!

[Lambert gets back to his feet, ready to strike again, but holds off,
spotting an injured Houston grabbing his shoulder in the corner.]

GM:  Buddy Lambert is not pressing the advantage.  He sees a hurt Ron
Houston and he's not moving in on him.

BW:  That whitebread, baby-kissin', hand-slappin' fool!  Finish him!

[The kid known as "Spitfire" moves in slowly, asking Houston if he's
okay, trying to lean over to check on his hurting foe...

...who responds with a hard right hand to the jaw that knocks Lambert
flat on the mat and draws a little bit of a mixed reaction from the
crowd!]

BW:  SEE?!  SEE?!  I TOLD YOU, GORDO!

GM:  Would you stop?  Give me a break!

[Shaking his hurting left arm, Houston winces as he moves out of the
corner, ignoring the reaction of the fans as he drives a few hard boots
into the side of Lambert's head.]

GM:  Houston on the assault.  He knows what's at stake for him in this
match as well as Lambert does.  Buddy Lambert rolls away from Houston,
out on the apron now... and the referee backs Houston away, giving
Lambert time to recover.

BW:  You think that'll stop Ron Houston?  Knock him to the floor!  Go
out there and ram _his_ shoulder to the post!  Show some killer
instinct, daddy!

GM:  You're retired.  Remember that.

BW:  I know, daddy, I know.  But sometimes... well... sometimes...

[Lambert uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet, Houston nudging
past the referee to move in.]

GM:  Houston perhaps looking to bring Lambert in the hard way and-

[Dropping down, Lambert slingshots his shoulder between the top and
middle ropes into the gut of Ron Houston, doubling him up...

...and then slingshotting over the ropes, taking Houston down in a
sunset flip!]

GM:  Sunset flip by Lambert!  One!  Two!  Th- shoulder off the mat
again!

BW:  And every time, it's the right shoulder, daddy.  He gets the
healthy shoulder up.  Someone needs to go after the right shoulder. 
Someone needs to put more of their weight on that shoulder when they go
for the pin attempt.

GM:  Some expert analysis by the six-time Southern Manager Of The Year.

BW:  Seven-time, daddy!  Seven-time!

GM:  My apologies.

[Lambert scrambles to his feet and still seething from the right hand to
the jaw, grabs the left wrist of Houston...

...and executes a full armtwist!]

GM:  Armtwist by Lambert and listen to the cries of pain from Ron
Houston!

[The Spitfire quickly puts his boot on the back of Houston's knee,
forcing him down to his knees and applies an armbar from behind,
cranking on the shoulder.]

BW:  Heheh... I love this, Gordo!  Two goody-two-shoe Boy Scouts are
trying to break each other down.  The fans don't know what to think out
there.  Houston threw the right hand when Lambert was checkin' on him. 
Lambert's cranking on the injured left shoulder now.  This is beautiful!

GM:  Only you would enjoy this, Bucky.

[Houston screams out in pain again as Lambert pulls back on the arm,
tweaking the shoulder even more as the Athens, Georgia Madman struggles
to find an escape.]

GM:  Lambert holding the armbar... no, he breaks it now... but holds
onto the wrist, pulling Houston up... whip to the corner.

[With the big man in the buckles, Lambert leaps up to the midbuckle,
pumps a fist in the air, and starts raining down blows.]

"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
"SEVEN!"
"EIGHT!"
"NINE!"

[Before the tenth punch comes down, Lambert pauses to pump up the
crowd...

...which gives Ron Houston a moment to drop down, slipping out of the
corner where he grabs Lambert by the back of the trunks and snaps him
down off the ropes, the back of his head smacking the canvas with a loud
"THUD!"]

GM:  Oh!  What a counter by Houston!

[Looking to end the match before suffering more damage to the shoulder,
Houston drops down, his right forearm jammed against the cheekbone of
Lambert.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Th- Lambert slips out the back door!

BW:  No leg hooked at all by Houston.  Just a sloppy, sloppy cover.  He
had Lambert stunned with that hard blow to the back of the head and he
just didn't take advantage of it.

GM:  Houston rolls over on top of Lambert...

[Kneeling over the downed Lambert, Houston grabs the Spitfire by the
hair with his left hand and drives clenched fist after clenched fist
into the temple of his opponent before dropping down in another pin
attempt.]

GM:  Another cover... and again, Lambert's out at a two count.  Just
before the three.

[Houston pushes off the mat with his right arm, climbing back to his
feet and falling back against the ropes, gesturing for Lambert to get
back up.]

GM:  Houston looks like he's in a lot of pain, Bucky... a _lot_ of pain.

BW:  Of course he is.  Marcus Broussard has attacked that shoulder
mercilessly whenever he got the chance.  And wherever he is, enjoyin'
his night off, I'm sure he's lovin' this!

GM:  I'm sure you're right.  Of course, it was supposed to be Broussard
in this match with Houston but he somehow got the night off from the
front office which left Buddy Lambert with his big opportunity.

[As Lambert wobbles up to his feet, still doubled up, Houston rushes in,
hooking a front facelock with his left arm...]

GM:  DD- no!

[Grabbing Houston's left wrist, Lambert spins out of the front facelock,
torquing the arm before ducking his head under Houston's left armpit,
wrapping his arms around his waist, and snapping him over with a
Northern Lights Suplex!]

GM:  OVERHEAD SUPLEX!  WITH A BRIDGE!

[Referee Michael Meekly drops down to make the count.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  THRE- 


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Just barely!  Houston just barely got the shoulder up!  

[Lambert quickly pulls Houston up, smelling victory in the air, and
uncorks a pair of right hands that knocks him back to the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Back in the corner... big whip by Lambert... here he comes!

[The crowd cheers as Lambert scores with a leaping flying forearm in the
corner that rattles the big man.  Grabbing the arm again, he whips
Houston back the other way.]

GM:  And right back across the ring... he charges again... LEAPS!

["Spitfire" goes for a second flying forearm to the corner...

...but gets snatched out of the air, powered down to the canvas with a
thunderous modified uranage slam!]

GM:  OHHHH!  

[A hurting Houston drops down on Lambert, this time reaching back with
his right arm to hook a leg.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  THRE- SHOULDER UP!  SHOULDER UP!

[An irate Houston slaps the canvas in frustration, showing three fingers
to Michael Meekly who responds with a head shake and two fingers.]

GM:  Just a two count.

BW:  I don't know about that one, Gordo.  That was close.

GM:  It was very close but the referee says it was just a two count. 
You can see just how tough this match is on Ron Houston.  No powerslams,
no powerbombs, no suplexes.  All of his power comes from those massive
arms and he just can't get any lift with them right now.

[Houston reaches down, dragging Lambert to his feet by the hair, and
smacks him with two hard right hands up against the turnbuckles. 
Reaching down with his right hand, he executes a weak one-armed Irish
whip across the ring to the opposite corner.]

GM:  Not much on that whip.  Houston's still wiggling that arm, trying
to get some feeling back in it...

[The Athens, Georgia Madman sprints across the ring towards the dazed
Spitfire...

...and _crushes_ him against the buckles with a running corner splash!]

GM:  Avalanche!  Avalanche in the corner by Houston!

[Still leaning in the buckles, holding Lambert up, the big man quickly
hooks a side headlock on his opponent, charging out of the corner.]

GM:  BULLDOG!

[At the last moment, Houston leaps into the air, driving the Tennessee
native's face into the canvas with the move!  Houston slumps back down
to the mat after the move, unable to make a cover.]

GM:  He can't take advantage of the bulldog headlock.  He hit it and he
hit it good but he just can't make the cover, Bucky.

BW:  That could cost him.  Lambert looks all shook up after that big
bulldog headlock.  He might've been able to finish 'im off if he had it
in him right now.

[Rolling to his right side, Houston powers himself off the mat with his
good arm, reaching down with the same hand to pull Lambert off the
mat...

...and right back into another side headlock.]

GM:  He's going for it again!

BW:  He knows he hit the last one good.  If he hits this one, it's
definitely over, daddy!

[Houston pauses for a moment, sucking some wind, and then charges away
from the corner, leaping up...

...and staying up as somehow, someway Buddy Lambert manages to hold the
270 pounder in the air!]

GM:  COUNTER!

[And with Houston held high, Lambert takes a few more steps and brings
him down _hard_ on his bent knee!]

GM:  ATOMIC DROP!  BIG TIME ATOMIC DROP!

[The impact of the atomic drop sends Houston sailing into the
turnbuckles where he slams chestfirst into them, falling back...

...right into a schoolboy by Lambert!]

GM:  SCHOOLBOY ROLLUP!  ONE!!!  TWO!!!  THRE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  So close!  Buddy Lambert was a heartbeat away from winning this big
Main Event matchup here on AWA Saturday Night Wrestling!

[And this time, it's Lambert's turn to show some frustration, slapping
the mat in frustration before yanking Houston up off the mat, driving a
right hand home to the side of the head that puts Houston on the ropes.]

GM:  Lambert's got him on the ropes... irish whip, reversed by Houston! 
Lambert off the far side...

[The "Spitfire" leaps into the air for another high cross body
attempt...

...and just before he makes contact, Ron Houston lashes out with a right
hand driven directly into the heart of the 22 year old!]

GM:  OHHHH!  PULSE KILLER!  PULSE KILLER!

BW:  He hit the heart punch as a counter to the cross body and-

[And he collapses onto a downed Lambert, reaching waaaaay back to hook
both legs with his good arm and clinching them tightly.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  THREEEEEE!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match at a time of nine minutes and seven
seconds...

RONNNN HOUUUUSTON!

[The crowd roars as Houston has his right arm raised in victory, just
barely sitting up on the mat as he reaches down with his left hand and
lightly pats the chest of the downed Buddy Lambert.]

GM:  Ron Houston wins it with an incredible counter.  Lambert went for
the cross body again and Houston just popped him in the chest with the
Pulse Killer to take him down.  Amazing!

BW:  The heart punch was directly on target and with enough impact to
knock that big missile out of the sky!  Ron Houston is like the AWA's
own version of the Patriot missile, daddy!

GM:  Houston is your winner and that just gains a little more momentum
for the big man from Athens, Georgia as he takes another step towards
the big AWA National Title tournament on Memorial Day.

[A tired Lambert rolls from the ring, dropping to a knee on the floor
and clutching his chest as Houston climbs to his feet, pointing towards
Lambert and drawing cheers from the fans for both men...

...when suddenly a man dressed from head to toe in stark bright white
comes charging from the locker room area, diving headfirst under the
ropes and popping up to his feet.  We quickly notice he is wearing loose
fitting pants.  His feet are bare but wrapped in tape around mid-foot
and ankle.  His upper torso appears to be wrapped repeatedly in a white
cloth to cover his entire stomach and chest.  his arms from biceps down
are exposed except for his wrists and hands that are heavily taped.  A
mask covers his face except for his eyes and eyebrows.]

GM:  Who is that?!

BW:  That's gotta be the bodyguard, daddy!  Marcus Broussard said he'd
hired a man from the Far East to be his backup!

GM:  He looks... he looks like some kind of a ninja!

[Houston looks surprised by the arrival of the man but doesn't act on
it, striking a fighting pose and waiting for the masked man to strike.]

GM:  Houston's ready!  If this guy is looking for a fight, Ron Houston
is ready to give it to him, Bucky!

BW:  And I think this guy is- SHARK!

[The crowd roars as the San Jose Shark, Marcus Broussard, charges in
from out of nowhere, diving into the ring and _nailing_ Houston from
behind with a running attack that knocks the big man off his feet to the
canvas.]

GM:  Ohh!  That dirty... that son of- I can't believe this!  He's not
even supposed to be here!

BW:  But he's here!  Marcus Broussard is here and... look at this,
Gordo!  They're going for the shoulder!

[Boos pour down from the capacity crowd as the San Jose Shark and his
new bodyguard from the Far East repeatedly strike at the injured
shoulder of Ron Houston with stomps and kicks.]

GM:  We need to get some help out here!

[The masked man quickly pins the arm as Broussard leaps into the air,
driving his knee down on the shoulder joint.]

GM:  Ohhh!

[From outside the ring, an injured Buddy Lambert starts to get back into
the ring...

...but a hard kick to the chest from the bodyguard knocks him back
down.]

GM:  This... this ninja knocks down Lambert who was trying to get in to
help Ron Houston and-

[The crowd loses their collective minds as Broussard rolls Houston to
his belly and applies the Fujiwara Armbar!]

GM:  NO!  We saw this... we saw this during the Rumble!  Broussard
learned this hold from Jeff Matthews, the _master_ of the Fujiwara
Armbar back in their days as allies!

[Demonstrating his expertise with the hold, Broussard plants his feet
and pulls back hard on the arm, Houston screaming in agony from the hold
with the San Jose Shark screaming at him.]

"It's my title!  My gold!  You're nothing, you hear me?  Nothing!"

[The screams of pain from Houston echo throughout the WKIK Studios as
Broussard pulls back even further, arching his back to put as much
pressure on the injured left shoulder as possible.]

GM:  Ron Houston... look at the angle of the arm!  Look at the torque on
the arm, Bucky!  This is a bad situation for- Broussard has snapped! 
Broussard has lost it!

BW:  The San Jose Shark smells blood in the water, daddy!

[Houston's cries of agony fill the air, the crowd roaring for someone,
anyone to do something...

...and then someone very unexpected walks through the entranceway.  And
the roof is blown off the WKIK Studios in Dallas, Texas.]

GM:  Is that-?!

BW:  Oh... my... god!

[The crowd rises to their collective feet as the figure calmly walks out
to the ringside area, promptly rolling under the ropes and getting to
his feet...

...and stares dead in the eyes of Marcus Broussard whose face goes white
with shock.]

GM:  IT'S ADAM ROGERS!  ADAM ROGERS IS... MY LORD, ADAM ROGERS IS
IN THE WKIK STUDIOS!  THE NATURAL IS IN THE WKIK STUDIOS!  

BW:  Wait a damn second!  Does this mean... _what_ does this mean?!

[The former World Champion and former ally of the San Jose Shark stands
motionless in the middle of the ring, glaring right at Broussard who
continues to hold the Fujiwara Armbar...

...and doesn't even move even as the masked ninja steps in front of
Rogers, striking a martial arts pose.]

GM:  Uh oh!  We've got a showdown!  We've got-

[Suddenly, Rogers screams out.]

"Let him go, Marcus!  This isn't you!"

[Broussard stares right back at the man known as the Natural...

...but continues to hold the Fujiwara Armbar, cranking back on the arm
again to Rogers' annoyance.]

"MARCUS!  LET GO OF THE ARM!  IT ISN'T WORTH IT!"

[The San Jose Shark seems to loosen his grip a notch, still obviously
stunned at his former ally's arrival in the WKIK Studios...

...and his eyes go even wider as Rogers moves towards him only to be
stopped short by his ninja bodyguard wrapping a hand around the
Natural's throat.]

GM:  Oh!  The ninja's got Rogers!  The ninja's got Rogers!

[Rogers brings his own hands up, trying to pry the ninja's grip free
from his arm but the ninja forces him back against the ropes, cocking
back a fist, ready to strike...]

"No!  Wait!"

[Broussard suddenly cries out as his bodyguard, stopping the assault on
Rogers, and then releases the Fujiwara Armbar on Houston, climbing to
his feet with a confused look on his face.]

GM:  What's going to happen here?  We've got a standoff!

[The San Jose Shark stares without emotion at his former ally and
stablemate...

...and with a lone hand on the bodyguard's shoulder, the ninja releases
his grip.]

GM:  He called him off, Bucky!  Did you see that?  He called his man off
of Adam Rogers!

BW:  I don't know what that means though, Gordo!  Broussard obviously
didn't expect him here!  He obviously didn't-

[And without even a word to Rogers, Broussard steps through the ropes,
dropping off the apron to the floor, his bodyguard just a step behind
him.  

Together, the two men back away from the ring, Broussard's eyes locked
on Adam Rogers who returns the stare.]

GM:  What a night of surprises!  City Jack arrives!  Luke Steele
arrives!  And now, the biggest surprise of them all... "The Natural"
Adam Rogers is in the AWA!  Fans, we're out of time!  We'll see you next
time... at the matches!

[A long shot catches the staredown between Broussard and Rogers...

...and we fade to black.]