Saturday Night Wrestling

Archived show text

Rendered from the original legacy TXT file. The source file remains unchanged.

**********************************************************
**********************************************************
**********************************************************
                           American Wrestling Alliance 
                                 Proudly Presents 
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the WKIK Studios 
                                   Dallas, Texas 
                                 March 15, 2008
**********************************************************
**********************************************************
**********************************************************

[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, ladies and gentlemen.  It is my great honor and
privilege to be the first person to utter a word on this, the premiere
episode of Saturday Night Wrestling brought to you by the American
Wrestling Alliance.

[Myers pauses to let his words sink in.]

GM:  And for the first time in well over a decade, professional
wrestling... _real_ professional wrestling has made its' home in the
Lone Star State here in Texas.  We are _live_ in Dallas, Texas at the
WKIK studios for what promises to be an exciting two hours of action. By
my side for the next one hundred and twenty minutes is former Southern
Manager of the Year, Bucky Wil-

BW:  Good lawd have mercy, Gordo!  I can see that the few months we's
spent apart from each otha hasn't done you no good.  You still the same
yappin', borin' son of a gun you evas was.

GM:  It's good to see you too, Bucky.  And it's great to see these fans!

[As Gordon utters these words, we cut to a panning shot of the WKIK
Studios.  Smackdab in the center of the studio is your standard
wrestling ring... red, white, and blue ropes from top to bottom with the
matching turnbuckles in the corner.  The hard camera also shows a parade
of flags on the back wall... everything from the USA to Canada to Mexico
to Japan to the UK to Italy and some points in-between.

There are sets of bleachers set up on three sides of the ring, raising
up about six rows.  Not very high but enough to see over the people in
front of you.  The fourth side of the ring is clear, leaving a direct
view for the announcers still standing behind the announce desk we saw
earlier.]

GM:  It's been a long time since Dallas, Texas has had the peak in pro
wrestling in their town, Bucky, and the AWA is honored to be the ones to
bring it back to town.

BW:  There's a lotta history in pro wrestling in this town, in this
state, daddy.  And the AWA is proud to be a part of that history
startin' right here tonight!  And you know what they're even prouder of,
Gordo?

GM:  What's that?

BW:  They're proud to be employin' and presentin' the Mighty Mouth
himself... the multi-time Southern Manager of the Year... the man who
makes the world keep turnin'... Mr. Buckthorn P. Wilde himself!

GM:  I see.  What's the "P" stand for?

BW:  Wouldn't ya like ta know, daddy?  Wouldn't ya like ta know?

GM:  Fans, it's going to be an interesting night here in the WKIK
Studios where we are ready to KICK it up a notch.  For Bucky and myself,
we're very glad you are able to join us here tonight so relax, settle
in, and let us take you on a pro wrestling journey of greatness over the
next two hours.  So, without anything further, let's go up to the ring!

[And with that, we dissolve to the ring where Melissa Cannon is
standing.  A little more subdued from her Pro Wrestling Revolution days,
Melissa is wearing a fairly conservative black skirt with a white top.
She beams brightly as the mic lowers from the ceiling to her hand.]

MC:  Wrestling fans, welcome to the WKIK Studios and the premiere
edition of AWA Saturday Night Wrestling!

[The fans cheer wildly at the announcement.]

MC:  The opening 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...

["Living After Midnight" By Judas Priest hits the airwaves!]

MC:  Hailing from Brentwood, Tennesse, standing 6'3 and weighing in this
evening at 240 pounds...

"SPITFIRE" BUDDY LAMBERT!

[Lambert steps into the entrance way to a big pop! He waves to the
crowd, then starts his jog to the ring. Buddy -- clad in basic wrestling
trunks, pads to match, and white boots -- is sure to slap as many hands
as possible on the way to the ring.]

GM:  And you can tell from moment one that this young man has the fans
solidly behind him, Bucky.

BW:  I'm not sure why.

GM:  He's a genuinely good person for one thing.

BW:  That's his first mistake, daddy-o!  You can't survive in this
business by slappin' hands and kissin' babies.

[When he gets to the ring, he grabs the middle rope and hoists himself
onto 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, ready for the bell.]

GM:  Are you ready for the first match in AWA history, Bucky?

BW:  As ready as I'm gonna be.  Couldn't we have started this off with
the Masked Menace or something?


"DING DING DING!"


[The fans cheer as the bell rings to start the first AWA matchup.]

GM:  We are underway here on Saturday Night Wrestling and the WKIK
Studios is rocking already for this young man from Brentwood, Tennessee.

[True to his nature, Lambert immediately extends his right hand to Keith
Smith, looking for a handshake.]

GM:  A good show of sportsmanship here, Bucky.

BW:  A good show of exactly what I was talkin' 'bout, daddy!  This kid
is more interested in making the fans cheer than being smart inside the
squared circle.

GM:  Nothing wrong with making the fans cheer.

BW:  It's hard to make the fans cheer when you're busy nursin' a busted
melon cause you turned your back on a bad, bad man.

[Keith Smith looks a little suspicious at the grinning Lambert but
slowly offers his hand as well...

...and yanks on the arm of Lambert, pulling him up into a fireman's
carry and snapping him over to the canvas to the jeers of the capacity
crowd.]

GM:  Ohhh, these fans did not like that one bit.  A cheap shot by Keith
Smith.

BW:  And he's not even a bad, bad man, Gordo!  If he'd done that with
someone like Marcus Broussard, he'd be counting the lights in the
ceiling right now, daddy!

GM:  Buddy Lambert seems a little disappointed as he climbs back to his
feet.  He's holding the back of his head, glaring at Smith who seemed to
be expecting a bit more fire out of the young man.

BW:  Spitfire, my left big toe, Gordo.  This kid's more like a
moderately warm heating pad.

GM:  You familiar with those?

BW:  My mama's got a bad hip, I thank ya for askin'.

[Lambert soon shakes off the fall, dancing around the ring a bit as he
claps his hands in rhythm, causing the fans to do the same.]

GM:  And here we go again... right into the collar and elbow tieup.

BW:  Now, the kid should have an edge in this one.  More size, more
strength.

GM:  You are correct, Mr. Wilde, as he easily pushes Keith Smith back
against the ropes.  The referee, Michael Meekly, is immediately in there
to call for a break.

[Lambert immediately steps back, breaking cleanly.]

GM:  Clean break by the Spitfire.

BW:  Big surprise there, daddy.

GM:  You say that like it's a bad thing.

BW:  I'm tellin' ya, Gordo.  This kid is in for a rude awakenin' if he
thinks that Boy Scout stuff will work in the AWA.  This may be our first
show but we've got some world-class competitors still to come out here
tonight.  Someone like Stevie Scott would kick his teeth down his throat
if he broke clean like that.

GM:  Keith Smith seems a little surprised as well... but he's heading
right back out to the middle, looking for another tieup.

[But this time as Lambert attempts the collar and elbow, he catches a
thumb driven right into his left eye.]

GM:  Oh!  Cheap shot to the eyes by Keith Smith!

[The referee steps in immediately to reprimand Smith for the illegal
strike.]

GM:  Smith being- he ignores the official... shoving right past him...

[Smith rears back with a right hand as he approaches the momentarily
blinded Lambert...

...who somehow manages to duck down, hoisting Smith up onto his
shoulders and dumping him down to the mat with a fireman's carry slam of
his own to a big reaction!]

GM:  Haha!  How do you like that one, Bucky Wilde?

BW:  The kid got lucky with a fireman's carry.  You expect me to call
him a future champion now?

GM:  Well, he may be only 22 years old but he's been in the business for
a few years and has quite the bright future in my estimation, Bucky.

BW:  Yeah, well... your estimation is the reason they hired me to stand
here next to you, daddy!

GM:  I see.

[Lambert is pumped up now as he waves for the now-kneeling Smith to get
back to his feet.  He claps his hands together, pacing around the ring
with as the cheering crowd keeps him fired up.]

GM:  This kid is just a bundle of energy inside that ring.  I'd credit a
lot of that to his youthful enthusiasm.

[With the crowd cheering him on, Lambert connects with a big backhand
chop as Smith gets to his feet, backing him against the ropes.]

GM:  Into the ropes... irish whip by the Spitfire...

[As Smith rebounds back, a boot catches him squarely in the gut.]

GM:  Big boot driven into the solar plexus by Buddy Lambert... to the
ropes!

[With his opponent doubled over, Lambert hits the adjacent ropes,
rebounding back...

...and snapping Smith down to the canvas with a running swinging
neckbreaker.]

GM:  Big neckbreaker by the Spitfire and listen to these fans, Bucky!

BW:  I hear 'em, I hear 'em.

GM:  Lambert with a lateral press.

[The youthful competitor dives across his opponent, reaching back to
cradle a leg.]

GM:  One!  Two!  Two count only for Buddy Lambert right there.

[Lamber quickly scampers up to his feet, meeting Smith as he rises with
a hard elbow smash across the back of the head.]

GM:  Elbow on target there... another whip...

[The Spitfire drops down as Smith rebounds, causing him to leap over the
downed Lambert to hit the far ropes.]

GM:  Off the far side now... ohhh!  Leaping back elbow by Lambert!

BW:  But look at him, Gordo!  He's walking around, pumping his fists in
the air, riling up these fans instead of-

GM:  He pulls Smith off the mat.

BW:  Oh, never mind me!  It's not like I was talkin'!  It's not like I
have something valuable to contribute 'round here!

GM:  Belly to back suplex coming up perhaps?

[Lambert hoists Keith Smith high up into the air, pausing for a
moment...

...and then drops him tailbone-first across the Spitfire's bent knee!]

GM:  BIIIIIIG atomic drop by the Spitfire!  Ohhhhh!  And out to the
floor goes Keith Smith!  What a big-time atomic drop that was, Bucky!

BW:  You don't see that much anymore but that one was well done, I'll
give him that much.

GM:  These fans are pumped... just as pumped as the Spitfire!

[With his opponent out on the floor, Lambert pumps both fists in the air
letting loose a howl of triumph.  The crowd responds in kind, causing
the enthusiastic Lambert to high-step it around the ring, calling for
Smith to get back in the ring.]

GM:  Wow!  In our first match here on Saturday Night Wrestling, the fans
are going craaaaazy for this young man from Tennessee, Bucky!

[Out on the floor, Keith Smith is walking with a bit of a limp,
clutching at his tailbone as he complains to the referee... and then to
the cheering fans.]

GM:  Keith Smith is getting on the case of our fans... and that won't
win him any favors, Bucky.

BW:  Well, it certainly won't.  But I get the feeling he doesn't care
about that.  He wants to win at all costs.

[The fired-up Lambert leans over the ropes, yelling for Smith to get
back into the ring.  Smith waves him back from the ropes, yelling for
the referee to get him under control.]

BW:  And this is a smart move from Keith Smith, Gordo.  Let the kid work
himself into a frenzy and tire himself out while Smith rests out on the
floor.

GM:  The referee is backing Lambert away from the ropes, giving Smith a
chance to climb up on the apron... but he's still not getting back into
the ring, barking at the official...

[Having had enough of the stalling tactic, Lambert quickly approaches,
grabbing Smith by the hair...

...and catching a rake of the eyes for his efforts.]

GM:  Again!  To the eyes again!  What's he doing now, Bucky?

[Grabbing the hair of Lambert, Smith drops down off the apron, driving
the Spitfire's windpipe into the top rope strand, snapping him back into
the ring.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Brutal whiplash type move by Keith Smith.

[Rolling under the ropes, Smith quickly applies a lateral press.]

GM:  A cover... one!  Two!

[The crowd roars as Lambert fires a shoulder off the mat.]

GM:  Kickout at two.  Lambert's still hurting though, holding his throat
as-

[Popping to his feet, Smith immediately starts stomping on the downed
Spitfire.]

GM:  The crowd's getting on his case but Keith Smith is stomping the tar
out of the Spitfire here in Dallas, Texas in the WKIK Studios where it's
Keith Smith kickin' it up a notch!

[Leaping into the air, Smith brings his extended leg down across the
throat of Lambert.]

GM:  Oh!  Big legdrop on target there!

BW:  And this all goes back to what I was saying, Gordo.  The kid's got
no killer instinct and someone who's got a bit of a vicious streak in
them is taking advantage of that right now.

GM:  Another cover by Smith.  One!  Two!  Th- no!  He barely slipped a
shoulder up there, Bucky.  A close call for the man from Tennessee.

BW:  Pssssh.  Man?  He's just a boy livin' in a man's world, daddy.

GM:  Keith Smith is complaining about the count to the official.  He'd
better stay focused on the Spitfire.

BW:  He is.  Don't you worry about it.

GM:  Pulling Lambert up by the hair.  What's he-

[The crowd roars in shock as Smith applies a sleeperhold.]

GM:  Sleeper!  The sleeperhold is locked in by Keith Smith!

BW:  And the Spitfire may be about to be put out, Gordo!

GM:  He's fighting it... the kid is fighting hard, trying to figure a
way out of this hold...

BW:  Forget it, daddy!  He's a-fadin' fast!

[Smith manages to force Lambert down to a seated position on the mat,
forcing all his leverage down on the hold where Lambert's arms start to
move a lot slower.]

GM:  Buddy Lambert's in serious trouble here, fans!  Keith Smith is
bearing down on that sleeper and this one may be over right here.

BW:  Check 'em, ref!

GM:  Referee Michael Meekly is right there on the spot.

[Meekly grabs the right arm of Lambert, lifting it in the air...

...and watching it drop down.  Meekly holds up one finger as he reaches
for the arm again.]

GM:  The arm dropped once.  If it drops three times, the match is over.

BW:  Ring the bell... this one's over, daddy!

[Meekly lifts the arm again, holding it high...

...and then dropping it back down to the canvas.  A shout of "That's
two!" comes from the referee.]

GM:  One more and we've got a winner.

BW:  And more importantly, we've got a LOSER!  Ehehehehehe!

[Meekly lifts the arm for the final time, holding it steady, and
releasing...

...and then waving it off as Lambert's arm holds still in the air!]

GM:  No!  It's not over, Bucky!  The kid's still got some fight in him!

BW:  I don't believe it!

[With the roaring crowd cheering him on, Lambert pushes himself up to
his feet...

...and buries an elbow back into the gut of Keith Smith!]

GM:  He's trying to fight his way out!  One elbow!  And a second elbow
breaks the hold!

[Lambert rebounds off the closest ropes, leaping into the air and taking
Smith down with a high cross body block!]

GM:  A big cross body press by Lambert... but he can't make the cover!
He's still trying to shake off the effects of the sleeperhold from Keith
Smith.

[The crowd roars as Smith crawls back to the corner and Lambert pushes
himself back to his feet.  He pumps both fists in the air, pointing a
finger at the kneeling Smith who is begging off.]

GM:  Yeah!  Get him, Spitfire!

BW:  Oh, that's nice.  So much for objectivity in the AWA, Gordo.

GM:  The crowd is roaring... they want to see it too!  They want to see-

[And as Smith gets back to his feet, Lambert winds way back...

...and pops him in the jaw with an uppercut!  The crowd explodes as
Smith sails through the air, smashing into the buckles before staggering
back out.]

GM:  Keith Smith is on the corner of Dream Street and KO Corner, Bucky
Wilde!

[Smith staggers from the buckles, barely able to stand.]

GM:  Keith Smith is- boot to the gut by Lambert!  Front facelock!

[And the Spitfire leaps into the air, _spiking_  Smith's skull into the
canvas!]

GM:  LEAPING DDT!  ONE!  TWO!  THREE!


"DING DING DING!"

MC:  Your winner of the match at a time of 7 minutes, 43 seconds...

"SPITFIRE" BUDDY LAMBERT!

[The referee raises Lambert's arm as he climbs back to his feet, soaking
up the roaring cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  A hard-fought victory here in our opening contest for Lambert. That
was not an easy match for him and he is well-deserving of the cheers
he's getting right now, Bucky.

BW:  A win's a win, I suppose, but the kid's got a lot to learn if he
expects to make it in the American Wrestling Alliance, daddy!

[Buddy leaves the ring heading over to the announce table. The crowd
lets Lambert hear their appreciation for his effort and victory, and
"Spitfire" responds by shooting a fist in the air. He nods, turning
slowly, acknowledging the crowd from all angles. Gordon Myers scoots out
of his seat and around front of the table, where he meets Lambert.
Lambert gives one last wink and a wave to his fans who respond with a
brief cheer, and Myers chats him up.]

GM: A very nice showing out there, Buddy.

BL: Thanks Mr. Myers, it's an honor to stand here and talk with you. It
was a pleasure to get back into a wrestling ring tonight, too. It's been
too long.

GM: Call me Gordon.

BL: Alright, I will... thank you, Gordon.

GM: Buddy, until tonight, you were out of action for nearly a year. The
wrestling world is happy to have a bright-eyed youngster like you back,
and it seems the fans are too.

[Another explosion of cheers!]

BL: Thanks, it's good to be back, Gordon... and I promise I'm gonna be
around for a long, _loooong_ time to come! I'm young, fresher than ever,
and ready to fire things back up around here. And as long as they keep
throwin' me in that ring, I'm gonna keep throwin' down.

GM: Any rust around the edges?

BL: Gordon, I'm 22 years old. I ain't old enough to be rusty yet,
hell... I'm just gettin' good. 'Sides, while I was away I spent time in
the gym, spent time clearing my mind, spent some time with the _ladies_
...

[Big shower of squeals from the adoring female fans.]

BL: ...haha, and I spent some time with my hometown boys too. And now?
Well, now I'm ready to drive some heads into the mat.

GM: Anyone in particular you're gunning for?

BL: I'm gunning for the top. Gunnin' for everyone! Everyone who's
standing in my way lookin' to kick me back down the ladder. And if I do
get kicked down, I'll hop right back up and throw fists o' fury. Ain't
no stoppin' this fire, Gordon... I'm spreading like wild, lightin' up
every darn thing along the path. Can you feel it!?

[More cheers! Gordon smiles and pats the youngster on the shoulder and
Buddy's face lights up, energized by the crowd.]

GM: Well you certainly have the right attitude for success. Just one of
the reasons they call you "Spitfire", Buddy... it's all this energy.
Where does it come from?

BL: Born with it. It just sits there all the time, pent up inside my
veins... and when these fans get goin'... the great fans o' Texas ...
greatest darn fans in the whole wide world...

["That's us!" cheers.]

BL: Yeah, that's right I'm talkin' about you guys. Well, when you start
gettin' behind me, then I get all riled up. I start to feel it boilin'
and bubblin' in my blood and I can't contain it any longer. I gotta sock
it to ya with a few jabs here, a few jabs there... next thing ya know
whole arena's been turned upside down and I'm standin' there lettin' out
a howl!

[Myers nods while the crowd shows Buddy more of their support. Gordon
wraps things up.]

GM: And we certainly appreciate the heart you display every time you
perform. Thanks Buddy, for your time, and good luck to you in the
future.

BL: Luck? Haha... when you're armed with this legion of fans, the
fightin' spirit, and a good old-fashioned DDT... ya don't need luck.
Thanks Gordon!

[With that, Lambert gives one last wave to the crowd, and they let him
hear it once again. His theme music hits the airwaves again as he makes
his way back to the locker room, slapping some hands and even signing an
autograph or two along the way.]

GM:  Fans, we are off and running with a tremendous start to tonight's
show so don't you go anywhere.  We'll be right back with more of AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling!

[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 to our announce duo.]

GM:  Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling, fans.  We're off and
running for sure and we're going to jump right back into the ring for
more AWA action!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a fifteen
minute time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring, first... he
hails from Dallas, Texas... standing 6'0 and weighing in at 230
pounds... Pat Parker!

[The crowd cheers for the hometown boy.]

MC:  And his tag team partner, standing 6'3 and weighing in at 260
pounds from Oklahoma City, Oklahoma... Max Steel!

[The large man throws a muscular arm in the air to soak up some small
cheers.]

MC:  And their opponents...

[Melissa does a doubletake at her notecards.]

MC:  Their opponents request that you please rise and pay the
appropriate respect for the Soviet National Anthem.

[The crowd boos wildly as the referenced music starts up.]

BW:  It's a good thing we're already standing up, Gordo.

GM:  I wish I had a seat so I didn't have to be.

BW:  No respect!  What did the Soviets ever do to you?

GM:  How much time do we have?

[The curtain parts and two large Russian men walk into view.]

MC:  Hailing from Kemerovo, Russia... at a total combined weight of 510
pounds...

Kolya Sudakov... Vladimir Velikov...

THE RUSSIANS!

[More boos pour down for the big men from the former Soviet Union as
they head towards the ring.

Sudakov is the smaller of the two at 6'2, 240.  But he is built for
fighting with an athletic build.  He's in a pair of black MMA style
trunks with the hammer and sickle of Soviet Russia on the leg.

His uncle Vladimir is right behind him.  At 6'0, 270 pounds, Velikov is
rotund to put it mildly.  He looks like he might have been in excellent
shape at one time in his life but not anymore.  A large metal chain is
draped around his neck as he makes his way down towards the ring.

The two men stop at ringside.  Velikov shrugs the chain off his
shoulders, dropping it on the ring apron as he glares at the jeering
fans.]

GM:  These two men are-

[Velikov barks a single word, "NOW!" to his nephew.  Sudakov immediately
dives under the bottom rope, deftly springing to his feet and barreling
towards the stunned opposition.]

GM:  We don't even have a bell yet!

[The referee frantically calls for a bell to start the match as Melissa
Cannon bails from the ring before she gets attacked.  Sudakov quickly
corners the smaller Parker, rocking him with brutal snap kicks to the
body.]

GM:  No sportsmanship at all from the Russians, Bucky.

BW:  Did you expect something different?  They are brutal, ruthless, and
will do whatever it takes to win.

[Parker slumps down to a seated position in the corner as Sudakov backs
away, coldly staring at him...

...and charges right back in, _driving_ his knee into the face of the
seated Texan.  The crowd groans from the move, even as the referee steps
in to shove Sudakov away.]

BW:  This might be over already, Gordo.

GM:  The referee is taking a look and-

[Velikov shakes his head at his nephew and bellows in a gravelly shout,
"Do not let him up!"]

GM:  Oh come on!

[Sudakov storms back into the corner at his uncle's insistance, shoving
the official aside as he drives a few hard stomps into the chest of the
downed Pat Parker.]

GM:  The referee got thrown down.  That might earn them a- Max Steel has
seen enough!

[The crowd roars as the muscular Max Steel rushes into the ring,
barreling across and drilling the distracted Sudakov across the head and
neck with a running double axehandle.]

GM:  Down goes Sudakov!

BW:  Uncle Vladimir's not going to like that.

[Indeed he does not, screaming instructions at his nephew to "Get up!
Fight like true Russian warrior!"]

GM:  Max Steel is pulling Sudakov off the-

[And just as Sudakov gets to his feet, he buries a knee into the ample
gut of Steel.  Grabbing two hands full of the stringy black hair,
Sudakov pulls down on the head as he snaps his knee up into the face,
causing Steel to stumble back into the ropes.]

GM:  Steel's on the ropes and he's-

[Sudakov charges forward, connecting with a big clothesline that takes
Steel over the ropes and down to the floor.]

BW:  Good grief, daddy-o.  This guy's a fighting machine!

GM:  And poor Pat Parker is left alone against the Russians... this can
not be good news for him.

[Grabbing Parker by the hair, Sudakov yanks him off the mat and promptly
hurls him back down to the canvas across the ring.]

GM:  I'm not sure of the point of that.  He's just trying to embarass
this young man now, I think.

BW:  He's setting up for that kick... that lethal head kick!

GM:  We've seen it before.  And if he hits it, it's over!

[But from outside the ring, Uncle Vladimir waves him off, demanding a
tag into the ring.  Kolya complies, making the exchange as his uncle
slowly scales the ropes.]

GM:  A near three hundred pounder going up the ropes.  I don't like the
looks of this one bit, Bucky.

BW:  I hope they reinforced the ring!

GM:  Velikov is up top...

[And with a lunge, he sloppily throws his weight off the ropes,
crunching the skull of the face-down Pat Parker with a flying kneedrop.
Vladimir quickly rolls him to his back, pressing down with his weight as
the referee drops down to count.]

GM:  This one is academic from here.  One, two, and thank goodness, a
three.


"DING DING DING!"


MC:  Your winners of the match at a time of 2 minutes and 12 seconds...
THE RUSSIANS!

[The crowd rabidly boos the announcement as Velikov continues to press
his near three hundred pounds down on Parker despite the match being
over.  He looks up at his nephew and barks, "Go finish the spare."]

GM:  Now what are they- oh, give me a break!

[Sudakov rolls out to the floor where he drills a rising Max Steel with
a running clothesline, snapping his head back down on the concrete
floor.  A few hard stomps later and Sudakov departs, joining his uncle
back in the ring where they both raise their arms in victory.]

GM:  A brutal and fairly easy victory for the Russians.  Let's take
another look at the closing moments of the match.

[We cut to a slow-motion replay showing Vladimir Velikov leaping off the
ropes, crushing Pat Parker's head with a kneedrop before applying the
winning lateral press.

And as we come back from the replay to the announce desk, the Russians
are approaching.]

GM:  A very dominant victory for the Russians... now on their way to
join us here at the announce position and I have to admit, I have a good
mind to let Bucky handle this one.

BW:  Not on your life, daddy.

[The Russians arrive, the gravelly voice of Vladimir Velikov heard
before he walks into view with the heavy steel chain slung over his
shoulder.]

VV:  You have nothing to fear from us, Comrade Myers... I assure you.
Despite your role as the voice of propaganda for the AWA.

GM:  Propa- well, we won't get into that one.  That was quite the
impressive victory we just saw, Mr. Velikov.

VV:  You sound surprised.  Why?

GM:  I'm- uhh... I don't-

VV:  Calm yourself, Comrade.  What you just witnessed was the total
domination of the Soviet Union over two pitiful Americans... the same
thing you've witnessed for decades.

[The crowd boos.]

GM:  We were surprised to learn that Kolya Sudakov, who has enjoyed much
success throughout the wrestling world as a singles competitor, was
going to be joining the AWA in a tag team with you.

VV:  My nephew... my nephew has grown soft in his time alone here in
your America.  With Comrade Waterson leading him, he was allowed to
train in fancy gyms... he was allowed to stay in your big, cushy
hotels... he was allowed to live the American lifestyle and it made him
soft.

My mother Russia sent me to bring back the _real_ Kolya to the world.
The man who broke bones and spirits... the beast who shattered spines
and careers... the warrior who carried the blood of the Russian people
in his veins and their hopes on his back.

[More boos.]

VV:  You Americans boo us like we are your enemies?

[Velikov chuckles a disgusting phlegm-rattling laugh.]

VV:  Good, godd.  We _are_ your enemies.  For far too long you have
mocked the Russian people for the fall of our great society... and
failed to notice your own society collapsing all around you.

We did not.

[Another chuckle.]

VV:  And now we're here to witness it firsthand.

[Gordon Myers interrupts.]

GM:  That's all well and good, Velikov... but what are your goals here
in the AWA?

[Velikov snorts.]

VV:  Goals, Comrade Myers?  The same goal we've always had.  Total
global domination.  The rest is... how you say... the means to an end.
My vas pokhoronim.  We will bury you.

[And with that, the Russians walk away from the announce desk leaving
Gordon Myers shaking his head behind.]

GM:  Fans, don't go away, 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:

Buddy Lambert 
Dallas Ford And Mazda 
March 16

Ricky Royal 
Ft. Worth Cadillac 
March 16

Mark Shaw 
Laredo Indoor Marketplace 
March 18

Tin Can Rust 
San Antonio Shopping Plaza 
March 20

Kevin Slater 
Dallas Mavericks FanFest 
March 21

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 then fade back up on the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing
with a average sized Mexican man pacing around the ring.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring at this time... he
stands 6 feet even and weighs in at 250 pounds... from Laredo, Texas...
Miguel Cortez!

[A mixed reaction for the Texan.]

MC:  And his opponent...

["Go" by Powder blares over the loudspeakers.]

MC:  Hailing from Los Angeles, California.  He weighs in at two hundred
and seventy pounds, and stands six feet two inches.  He is the
Hellion... here is:

MARK SHAW!

[The tall and well built Hellion pushes the curtain aside, stepping
forward.  He's dressed simply, wearing only a pair of long black
wrestling pants, which vanish into a pair of black boots.  The only
colors that are not gold are the gold stenciled words "Shaw" on his
boots, and the white tape that covers his right arm from knuckles to
elbow.  Written across the white tape is the word "HELLION" in thick
black ink.  Making his way through the crowd, ignoring everything that's
around him, Shaw steps into the ring and settles in the corner, standing
with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting and ready.]

GM:  Whew, look at the size of this guy, Bucky.  What a beast he is in
there.  Very physically intimidating.

BW:  6'2, 270... and a real attitude problem to boot.  He may be a
hand-slapping good guy outside the ring but inside the ring, he just
likes to beat people up.

GM:  He comes from a family of fighters and I'd imagine he's no
different.  He's one of the competitors I've really been looking forward
to seeing in action, Bucky.

BW:  Me too.


"DING DING DING!"


GM:  There's the- LOOK OUT!

[Without wasting a second, Shaw rushes across the ring and bulldozes
Cortez down to the canvas with a hard clothesline.]

GM:  My goodness, Bucky.  That's certainly one way to start a match.

BW:  You can say that again, daddy.

GM:  Shaw's not done by a longshot either.

[Easily pulling Cortez off the canvas, he quickly wraps his arms around
his waist...

...and hurls him up and overhead with a German Suplex, letting go in
mid-throw to dump Cortez on the back of his head and neck on the
canvas.]

GM:  Ohhhhh!  You could see it coming a mile away but it didn't make it
any easier to watch!

BW:  That's the kind of suplex that shortens a career, Gordo.  A total
disregard for his opponent's health and safety... and I kinda like it!
Why does he have to be a babykisser?!

GM:  The fans seem to be a little bit in awe of his power, Bucky.  They
don't know if they should cheer him or not.

BW:  When he unleashes that power on one of the Russians or someone like
Tumaffi, I get a feelin' they'll make up their minds real quick, daddy.

[A gaze of intensity chiseled onto his face, Shaw slowly stalks towards
his opponent who is writhing in pain on the mat.  The referee steps in
to warn Shaw... but an icy gaze freezes the referee in his tracks.]

GM:  Shaw reaches down, pulling Cortez back off the mat... uh oh!

[The crowd gasps as Shaw easily muscles Cortez overhead into a gorilla
press and starts walking around the ring with him.]

GM:  Look at the brute, raw power on display by the man known as the
Hellion!

[Still holding the press, Shaw actually walks to all four sides of the
ring, showing off his trophy...

...and then finally hurls him down to the canvas.]

GM:  Whew.  Now _that_ was impressive, Bucky.

BW:  This guy is on the attack... completely overwhelming his opponent
inside that squared circle.

[With his opponent flat on his stomach on the mat, Shaw immediately
pounces on his back, scissoring his legs around the torso as he slips an
arm across the throat.]

GM:  A rear choke hold applied!  The ref should take a close look at
this.

BW:  Come on, Gordo.  This is a rear naked choke.  It's not a trachea
choke so it's completely legal.

GM:  I see.

BW:  Not an MMA fan?

GM:  I don't care much for basketball, no.

[The referee slides into position to check for a submission but Shaw
breaks the hold before that can happen, quickly rolling to his back and
locking his legs around the neck of Cortez.]

GM:  I suppose you know this one too?

BW:  A quick transition into a triangle choke... very impressive.

[But again, Shaw breaks the hold before a submission can occur, quickly
rolling to his feet where he yanks Cortez up by the back of the tights,
hurling him bodily into the corner.]

GM:  Tosses him into the corner... what's he got in mind now?

[With his dazed and injured opponent leaning against the buckles, Shaw
completely drops his guard and invites a punch from Cortez.]

GM:  He's _asking_ Cortez to hit him?

BW:  Maybe he doesn't think he's gotten enough of a workout in this one.

GM:  I see.

[Cortez leans against the ropes, looking surprised at the wide-open Shaw
who now has his eyes closed, waving again to invite the blow.]

BW:  This may be your only shot, Cortez!  Pop him one!

[Seizing the moment, Cortez lashes out...

...and connects with a pretty embarassingly weak right hand.]

BW:  That's it?!

GM:  Not exactly what Shaw had in mind apparently.

[Looking annoyed, Shaw slaps himself across the face and screams at
Cortez, "DO IT AGAIN!"]

BW:  Better make it count if you're going to-


"WHAAAAAAAAAP!" "OHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  He caught him good with that one!

[Reeling from the right hand, Shaw looks furious as he turns back
towards Cortez who fires another right hand.]

GM:  Right hand ducked by Shaw... side waistlock...

[With his arms wrapped around the waist of Cortez from the side, he
hoists the Mexican into the air...

...and dumps him down on the back of his head and neck!]

GM:  BACKDROP DRIIIIIIIIVER!!!

[The crowd groans with sympathy for Cortez as Shaw applies a light cover
following the crushing Backdrop Driver.]

GM:  This one's history, Bucky.  One.  Two.  Three.


"DING DING DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match at a time of 2 minutes and 47 seconds...

"The Hellion"

MARK SHAAAAAW!

[Shaw gets a beefy arm raised in victory as he stares down at a
motionless Cortez.  He walks away from Cortez, wiping a hand across his
barely sweating brow.]

BW:  Barely even broke a sweat in there, Gordo.

GM:  It was certainly impressive... that's for sure.

[Shaw leans against the ropes, glaring at the locker room entrance for a
moment before we fade into the replay of the Backdrop Driver.]

GM:  There you see the powerful lift... and just an absolute
obliteration of Cortez' head and neck with that drive into the canvas.

BW:  That'll make your chiropractor very, very happy.

GM:  And very, very wealthy.

BW:  Same thing, isn't it?

[As the replay wraps up, we fade back to live action as Hellion Mark
Shaw makes his way to the announcers desk.  He seems angrier than when
he first came out, which is hard to believe.  The big man is breathing
only slightly heavier than he was before going to the match, and
noticeably absent is any sweat on his brow.  Gordon Myers turns to Shaw,
looking a little uneasy at the rough wrestler.]

GM:	An impressive win for the Hellion.  Any comments, Mr. Shaw?

[Mark Shaw yanks the microphone away, and turns to look directly at the
camera, eyes narrowing dangerously.]

MS:	All I gotta say is this.  That better not be it! That better not
be all this place has got to offer.  I dont drive my butt to this arena,
lace up my boots and get myself ready for that.  I aint here to mess
around.  I aint here to act like an idiot and get my face on TV.  Im
here for competition.

And I expect a damn sight better than I got!

[The mic is handed back to Myers.]

GM:	With all due respect Mr. Shaw, surely youve seen the other
matches tonight and the amazing talent on display.  I dare say that you
havent even had your first test here in the AWA.

MS:	Im hopin Myers, that youre right.  My life is about competition.
I need it, I crave.  These people

[There is a brief cheer from the crowd, as this is the first time Shaw
has acknowledged their presence.]

MS:  They come here expectin the best outta Mark Shaw, and you can bet
Im gonna give it to them.   Im here to fight.  Im here to win.  And
there aint no one gonna stop me.

GM:	Certainly it is clear that someone is going to have to work
awfully hard to stop you, Mr. Shaw.  But if we can talk specifically
about one person on this roster.

MS:	Youre the interviewer, well talk about what you want to talk
about.

[Myers grimaces a little, almost preparing himself to speak.]

GM:	Your last name, Shaw, is shared by someone else in the AWA

[Shaw takes the microphone away.]

MS:	No, we aint talking about that.  That subject is off limits.  And
this interview is done.

[Shaw drops the microphone and stalks off, leaving a bewildered Myers.]

GM:	Well fans, weve seen how impressive Mark Shaw is in the ring. And
certainly, he is a man of mystery.  All I can say is, tune in fans, and
we will try to get to the bottom of this mystery.  Fans, don't go away,
we'll be right back with more AWA Saturday Night Wrestling!

[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:  We've seen an exciting night of action here so far on Opening Night
for the AWA and it's only going to get better from now.  Don't forget
that as we go into our second hour, the Power Hour, we will be bringing
you that incredible Main Event as Marcus Broussard tangles with the
"Wild Thing" Kevin Slater!

And now, at this time, Marcus Broussard has joined the set to give us a
few words before his big match in the main event. Mr. Broussard, how are
you feeling tonight?

[The camera shot zooms out to reveal Broussard as he leans into the
microphone, wearing his wrestling gear and a towel around his neck. He
looks cool, calm and collected as he speaks into the microphone.]

MB: I feel great Mr. Gordon Myers. In a little over an hour, I'll have
the opportunity to step into the ring with Kevin Slater and get back to
doing what I do best. Y'know when you have something taken away from
you, you learn to appreciate it so much more. After World Pro 1 died
off, I thought that maybe wrestling just wasn't in the cards. I tried so
many times and was on the verge of success so often that everytime it
got taken away from me, it was a little bit more cruel. Everytime I got
that closure notice and that resulting pink slip, it took a little more
out of me.

So when I got this chance to compete in the AWA, I made a little promise
to myself. Gone are the days of Marcus Broussard, zen buddhist
philosopher. Gone are the days of Mr. Let Good Things Come To You.

Starting tonight, I'm taking everything I want. I'm not going to sit
back and wait for luck, I'm going to create my own.

GM: This is a more aggressive Marcus Broussard than we thought we'd
hired. Why the change in attitude?

MB: Because I know what it's like to have it all taken away.

[Broussard looks at Gordon glares for a second.]

MB: It doesn't feel good not being able to put food on the table, it
doesn't feel good not knowing if the mortgage is going to go through. I
_am_ Marcus Broussard, the best damn technical wrestler on the planet,
and somehow I was out of work while these other five and dimers were
making millions of dollars for doing ten minutes of work.

That ain't right, Gordon Myers, that ain't how it's supposed to be.
There's no use to being great if people don't know it, and from this
show on I'm going to make sure everyone in this studio knows it,
everyone watching on TV knows it and everyone working for the AWA knows
it.

It starts with Kevin Slater tonight, and it doesn't end until every kid
is watching AWA in their Marcus Broussard pajamas while playing with
their Broussard action figures and reading the authorized biography of
Marcus Broussard.

GM: Those are some high expectactions, Mr. Broussard.

MB: And it'll take some high quality ability to reach them, Mr. Gordon
Myers. Luckily, I come equipped with just such a rare ability. Tonight's
just the beginning, Gordon.

You'll see.

[Broussard abruptly walks off the set leaving a surprised Gordon Myers
behind.]

GM:  A very focused Marcus Broussard, ladies and gentlemen, looking to
step onto his path of glory here tonight in Dallas, Texas.  Fans, let's
go up to the ring!

[We cut to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing with a trio of
competitors walking around the ring.]

MC:  The following contest is six man action scheduled for one fall with
a twenty minute time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring at
this time... at a combined weight of 700 pounds... the team of Lord
Azteca, the Super Red Ninja, and the Cuban Assassin #6!

[Yep, cue the team of freaks.  Azteca is in a gold and blue full
bodysuit and mask and looks like a stereotypical luchador.  The Super
Red Ninja is a... well, super red ninja.  And the Cuban Assassin #6 is a
beffy man in full fatigues with a wicked looking beard.]

MC:  And their opponents... at a total combined weight of 648 pounds...
the team of "High Profile" Darryl Styles... Bling Bling Beaumont... and
"Supersonic" Shannon Stokes.  Together they are...

THE UPPER CRUST!

[The sounds of Kanye West's "The Good Life" starts up to a pretty good
sized reaction from the AWA fans in the WKIK Studios.]

#Like we always do at this time I go for mine, I got to shine (Now throw
your hands up in the sky)#

[With the crowd cheering a bit, the trio makes their way through the
curtain.  Styles leads the parade in a red and black singlet that covers
his entire upper body and runs to just above his knees.  Right behind
him is Shannon Stokes in a pair of full-length red and black tights.
Bringing up the rear is Bling Bling Beaumont who is wearing plush red
velvet pants and is... well, using a black pick on his monstrous afro.]

GM:  One of the most exciting, most innovative, and certainly most
entertaining groups I've ever seen in action, Bucky.

BW:  They certainly were impressive in Sin City Wrestling.  I wasn't
around there very long but when I was, these guys were easily the top
attraction in Las Vegas.  Much more than Celine Dion or Wayne Newton.

GM:  Well, I found Mr. Newton quite entertaining when the wife and I
were there on vacation.

BW:  You a gambler, Gordo?

GM:  I, uhh... hey, this match is about to get started!

[All three men slingshot over the ropes into the ring to a big cheer
from the crowd.  A quick game of rock-paper-scissors put Styles and
Beaumont out on the apron as Shannon Stokes gets ready to take on Lord
Azteca.]

GM:  It looks like Lord Azteca and Shannon Stokes will be the first ones
in there.  And from what I recall, we're in for quite the display of
lightning fast action with Shannon Stokes.  There's a reason they call
him Supersonic, you know.

BW:  That's brilliant, Gordo.  You oughta be a friggin' detective on one
of them CSI And Order episodes on the telly.

GM:  Uh huh.  And we're underway!


"DING DING DING!"


[Stokes immediately sprints from the corner, dazzling fans with his
speed as Azteca ducks under a clothesline attempt.  But without a break
in movement, Stokes leaps to the middle rope, springing back and snaring
Azteca in a headscissors before snapping him down to the mat.]

GM:  Whoa!  What did I tell ya, Bucky Wilde?

BW:  I've seen him before too!  I've seen him in Vegas, in Georgia, in
Los Angeles.  Don't act all superior to me, Gordo!  You know I'm the
reason that the ratings and skirt hems rise around here!

GM:  I apologize for that, fans.  Sometimes Mr. Wilde just can't hold
himself back.

BW:  The only things having trouble holding things back around here is
your waistband and my zip-

GM:  Bucky!

[Stokes holds his ground, staring at Lord Azteca as the luchador from
Tijuana, Mexico climbs back to his feet.  He mockingly applauds Stokes
and then lunges into a collar and elbow tieup.]

GM:  Tieup in the middle of the ring... and into an overhand wristlock
by Azteca...

[Backing to the ropes, Stokes grabs the top rope with his free hand,
backflipping away from the pressure while keeping his arm tied up with
Azteca, armdragging him down to the mat and out to the floor.]

GM:  Oh my!  Out to the floor goes the luchador and-

BW:  Clear runway #2, daddy!  Someone's about to take flight!

[Stokes quickly... and I do mean quickly... runs to the far ropes,
rebounding off as he sprints towards a recovering Lord Azteca...

...and takes flight through the ropes, connecting with a breathtaking
tope dive that knocks Azteca several feet from the ring before
depositing him on the floor by the announce desk.]

GM:  What a dive!  A missile-like dive by Stokes!

BW:  I bet that dive has a name, daddy.  Do I need to get Dane and
Stegglet out here to call the play-by-play for ya?

GM:  I'm doing just fine, thank you very much, Mr. Wilde.

[With Stokes and Azteca splattered on the floor, the big Cuban Assassin
#6 steps into the ring, shoving aside a protesting Meekly as he lumbers
across the ring...

...and drills Darryl Styles with a meaty forearm to the back that knocks
him off the apron and down to the floor.]

GM:  Ohh!  Give me a break, referee!

[The Assassin promptly reaches out to grab Beaumont by the afro, hurling
him over the ropes and into the ring with it.]

GM:  He brings in Bling Bling Beaumont the hard way!

BW:  Do you even know what "bling bling" means, Gordo?  I don't think
they had that term in Civil War times.

[The 300 pound Assassin drops a crushing elbow across the chest of a
stunned Beaumont before rolling into a two-handed choke.]

GM:  A choke!  Blatant choke by the Cuban Assassin #6!

BW:  The referee's counting.  He's got a five count, you know?

GM:  The air being strangled out of the man from Compton, California.

[At the count of four, the Assassin breaks his grip but pulls Beaumont
off the mat by the afro...

...and drives his extended fingers into the throat of Beaumont, causing
him to fall back into the rulebreaking trio's corner where the Assassin
makes the tag.]

BW:  A legal tag there.  Happy now?

GM:  Not really.  In my view, Lord Azteca is still the legal man.

BW:  Under lucha libre rules, he wouldn't be.

GM:  Is this match under lucha libre rules?

BW:  I think we're required by law to use those rules when Lord Azteca
is in the ring.  Affirmative action or somethin', daddy.

[The Super Red Ninja steps into the ring and uncorks a thrust kick into
the chest of Beaumont, knocking the afro-sportin' pimp into a seated
position in the corner.]

GM:  Beaumont is down... Shannon Stokes is helping Styles up on the
floor.  The Upper Crust is in a little bit of disarray here at the
outset of this one.

BW:  Look at the Ninja in there!

[Winding up with some funky kata, the Ninja lashes out with a martial
arts strike to the throat of Beaumont, earning the wrath of the
referee.]

GM:  Illegal blow to the throat by the Super Red Ninja... ohh!  Spinning
mule kick right to the chest of Beaumont... right to the heart.

[The Ninja slowly pulls Beaumont up by the afro, driving home a headbutt
that sends Beaumont staggering into the ropes where he hooks onto the
top rope to stay on his feet.]

GM:  Beaumont's barely able to stand right now and the Super Red Ninja
is just having his way with him right now.

BW:  Hey, Lord Azteca made it back to his feet in the corner.

GM:  He should be in the ring right now.

[The Ninja scores with another thrust kick to the ribs, causing Beaumont
to topple out to the ring apron.  Reaching over the ropes, the martial
arts expert pulls his opponent to his feet.]

GM:  Beaumont's on the apron... right han- blocked by Beaumont!

BW:  Good thing.  That would've sent him to the floor for sure.

GM:  And a left- blocked by Beaumont as well!

[With both hands in the air blocking shots, Beaumont swings his arms
together, clapping them on the head of the Ninja.]

GM:  EARCLAPPER!

[The Ninja staggers away from the ropes, grabbing at his head, which
gives Beaumont the clearance to leap up to the top rope, springing
off...

...and _driving_ both feet squarely in the chest of the Ninja, sending
him toppling head over feet the other direction.]

GM:  Did you see- my heavens, did you see the height he got on that
dropkick?!

BW:  He could've changed the light bulbs while he was up there, daddy!
Unbelievable!

GM:  Both men are down.  Both men are hurting... Beaumont is crawling
towards his corner...

[And as the Ninja rolls over to slap the hand of the Cuban Assassin #6,
Beaumont leaps across the ring and slaps the hand of Darryl Styles.  The
crowd roars!]

GM:  Double tag!  Fresh men on both sides of the ring!

[The Cuban Assassin stampedes across the ring...

...and eats a leaping leg lariat by Styles that knocks the Assassin back
into the ropes.]

GM:  The big man is dazed... Styles with a whi- reversed by the
Assassin!

[Styles rebounds off the far side as the Assassin sets for a
clothesline.]

GM:  Clothesli- Styles slides through the legs!

[Popping up to his feet behind the Assassin, Styles leaps into the air,
hooking the Assassin's head and dropping onto his back, driving his
knees up into the back of the Assassin in a lungblower.]

GM:  Ohhhh my!  He calls that the Back In Black!

[With the Assassin down, Styles pops off the mat as Shannon Stokes races
across, leaping into the air with a split-legged dropkick that knocks
both Lord Azteca and the Super Red Ninja off the apron.]

GM:  The Upper Crust is cleaning house!

[Stokes quickly climbs the corner, sitting down on the top rope as
Styles climbs up the buckles behind him...

...and steps up onto his partner's shoulders before leaping into the
air, crashing down on a stunned Assassin with a frog splash!]

GM:  MILE HIGH FROG SPLASH!!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!


"DING DING DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match in 4 minutes and 40 seconds...

THE UPPER CRUST!

[Styles pushes up to his feet, exchanging hi-fives with both Stokes and
Beaumont as they soak up the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  Wow oh wow.  Let's take another look at the closing moments of that
one, Bucky.

[We cut to slow-motion footage of Styles sliding through the Assassin's
legs and dropping him to the mat with the Back In Black lungblower.]

GM:  You see the big backbreaker type move there.  I think it might have
been over after that alone but the Upper Crust wasn't finished with the
Cuban Assassin #6.

[Dissolve to Shannon Stokes connecting with the split-legged dropkick.]

BW:  They weren't done with the Ninja and Azteca either apparently,
knocking them down to the floor with that dropkick right there.

GM:  And then, the coup de grace...

[Styles leaps off the shoulders of the seated Shannon Stokes, sailing
through the air, and crashing down on the chest of the Cuban Assassin
for an easy three count.]

GM:  And there you have it, fans.  The Upper Crust the winners in some
exciting six man action and we're about to be joined by- wait a darn
second here... this isn't you time to be out here.

[Cut to live footage of the announce desk where we expected to see the
Upper Crust and instead we find "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson
standing with the announcers.  He's clad in a bright golden suit and has
a Bluetooth headset tucked into his ear.]

BW:  Mr. Myers, Gordon, my old friend... please.  This'll just take a
moment.  I just have some business matters to attend to.

[Waterson turns to face the camera.]

BW:  As the world is aware, I am world-reknowned for being the agent for
the greatest competitors this sport has to offer.  I find them when
they're nobody, I sign them, I take them to greatness.  That's my job...
it's what I do.

[The self-proclaimed "Agent To The Stars" has the most smarmy grin ever
on his face right now.]

BW:  With the launch of the American Wrestling Alliance, a new era is
upon us... a new beginning.  And as such I was more than happy to sell
Kolya Sudakov's contract back to the Russian government and as you saw
earlier, Kolya's developed into quite the fighting machine under my
tutelage.  Right?

[He doesn't wait for an answer because he really doesn't want one.]

BW:  So, with that in mind, I'm here to make an open offer to the entire
AWA.  To the men with the talent, the raw potential, the men who _are_
without a doubt the next big thing in our industry...

Your Uncle Ben wants you!

[He strikes a pose similar to the famous Uncle Sam pose.]

BW:  I'll be scouting the AWA for the first month or so... I'll be
looking to see who has what it takes to be truly, legitimately great.
I'll be looking for those intangibles the other people miss.

I'll be looking for legends in the making.

I'll be looking for you.

[A meaty finger pointed at the camera.]

BW:  It isn't often that the Agent To The Stars comes a-callin'... so
when you hear opportunity knocking, I expect that door will sail open
and the man on the other side will be there to say, "Yes, Mr. Waterson.
I'm ready.  Make me famous."

[A huge grin on Waterson's face is broken up by the arrival at the
announce desk of the Upper Crust.  Styles has a few well-chosen words to
fire off in Waterson's direction.]

BW:  Hey!  Easy, man... you could be exactly what I'm looking for!  I
like what you guys did in there!  I like-

[An angry Shannon Stokes is right next to Waterson now, nudging him
away.]

BW:  Alright, alright... no need to be hostile.  I'm out of here.
Darryl, I'll be giving you a call.

[Styles does the "dirt off my shoulders" gesture as Waterson makes his
exit.]

DS:  Whatever, homie, whatever.  Mr. Gordon Myers... I ask you... in all
your years... in all the time you've spent in this game...

[Dramatic pause.]

DS:  ... have you _ever_ seen greatness like this?

[Myers chuckles as he shakes his head.]

GM:  It was a very impressive victory, Darryl.  I have to admit, you
guys are out there doing moves that I don't even know the name of.

[Styles gives a skeptical look.]

DS:  That ain't sayin' a whole lot, you know?  I mean, didn't you stop
learning the names of new moves in 1980?

[Bucky Wilde cackles... well, wildly.]

BW:  That's exactly what I was telling him!

[Styles looks up and down at Wilde... then does it again... then again.]

DS:  Man, what in the _hell_ are you wearing?

[Myers chuckles as Wilde's exasperated look.]

BW:  My mama gave me this suit!

DS:  Your mama?

BW:  That's right!

[Styles smiles.]

DS:  I don't want to be _that guy_ but... well, I gotta be.  Is your
mama colorblind?

BW:  No, she's-

DS:  Is she gettin' her freak on with Joseph and his Technicolor
Dreamcoat?

BW:  Hey!  My mam-

DS:  Maybe she's been drowning her sorrows in boxes of Lucky Charms.

BW:  Look here, buddy!

DS:  What?

BW:  I will not take that kind of talk about my mama!

[Styles chuckles again and as Stokes and Beaumont step behind Wilde.]

DS:  Just what did you think you might do about it?

[Wilde looks around frantically... spotting members of the Upper Crust
on all sides.]

BW:  You- err... you just watch your mouth!

[Styles freezes in his tracks, staring down Wilde for a lonnnnnnng
moment.]

DS:  Yeah... maybe I will.  Take it easy, boys.  We're out.

[The Upper Crust walks off the set, Styles glaring at Wilde as he makes
his exit.]

GM:  Whew.  A tense moment here on AWA Saturday Night Wrestling.  You
okay, Bucky?

[No answer.]

GM:  Fans, we'll be right back - 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 to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing
with a wrestler tugging on the ropes to loosen up.]

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 6'4 and weighing in at 235 pounds... Kendall Stanton!

[Mild reaction for the lanky youngster.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The opening riffs of ZZ Tops "Sharp Dressed Man" reverberate throughout
the small studio as heads snap towards the aisle. The curtain parts to
the side and from behind it emerges a group of five men. The first four
spill out into the aisle as curious looks appear on many fans faces. All
four men are dressed in well-tailored wool suits with striped ties. All
are African American and are of various heights, though all look to be
in excellent shape. Two of the men are carrying a small podium and are
shuffling quickly towards the ring. ]

GM:  Now, what on earth is this all about?

BW:  Looks like someone's got something to say.

GM:  In the ring?  That's not how we operate around here!

[Myers sighs deeply.]

GM:  I'd better go see what I can find out.

[The fifth man in the group may be more recognizable to wrestling fans;
standing a few inches over six feet and in extremely good shape, "The
Ladykiller" Calisto Dufresne is clad in a black three piece suit, his
wrestling boots impeccably polished and his blond hair pulled back into
a tight pony tail. The look on his face is a stoic one as he trails
behind the entourage of well dressed men towards the ring.

They climb into the ring where the two podium-carrying men quickly set
up the podium as Gordon Myers climbs in the ring, microphone in hand.]

GM: Hello, gentlem-

[One of the four men, the leader apparently, snatches the microphone
from Myers and mounts it on to his podium and begins.]

MAN: My name is T. Myers Jackson, partner at the law firm of
Jackson-White-Clark and Tinley and I represent the man standing behind
me; a man you know as Calisto Dufresne.

[A smattering of boos.]

TMJ: I am here to make a public statement to make light of the
deplorable treatment of my client, Mr. Dufresne. A few years ago Todd
Michaelson signed a young star to a contract - an unfair and illegal
contract - for his fledgling wrestling organization, Pro Wrestling
Revolution. This man single-handedly kept that organization financially
above water for months as the first and only Pacific Champion.

[The other three attorneys nod solemnly.]

TMJ: And how does Michaelson repay him when it becomes obvious that he
doesn't know how to balance a checkbook and that this organization is
going to fail?

By refusing to allow my client out of his contract so that he can help
another organization - an organization that cares about its employees -
turn a huge profit with his superstar presence.

[The lackeys shake their heads with sour looks on their faces.]

TMJ: We are still in the process of pending litigation against Mr.
Michaelson and the AWA, but as a sign of the class act that my client
is, he will continue to fulfill his commitment to this deplorable
contract he was coerced to sign so many years ago. A contract that pays
far below market value for a star of his caliber. A contract that
refuses to allow him to reach his full potential.

But know this - we WILL have justice!

[He emphasizes this with a well-timed shaking of the fist.]

TMJ: Any questions?

[Myers attempts to get a word in edgewise.]

GM: Yes, I ha-

TMJ: That's all the time we have for today. Thank you.

[The attorneys scurry to leave the ring as Dufresne begins to slowly
remove his three piece suit and to prepare for the start of the
match...]

BW:  Ehehehehe.  Gordo just got dismissed.  I love it, daddy!

[Myers slowly makes his way back to the announce desk.]

BW:  Welcome back, Gordo!  You get the big scoop?

GM:  Obviously not.  But I think we should clarify some facts for our
fans at home.  This young man was under contract to Pro Wrestling
Revolution, which was indeed owned and operated by current AWA management member Todd Michaelson.  When the AWA purchased PWR, the AWA
was entitled to any and all talent under contract... including Mr.
Dufresne.

BW:  I don't think he's disputin' that at all, Gordo.  He's sayin' that
the contract isn't fair for a competitor of his status.

GM:  And as usual with the modern athlete, it all comes down to money.
This Dufresne character, while talented in the ring, believes he's owed
more money and instead of keeping it behind the scenes like a true
sportsman would... he's airing his dirty laundry in front of our fans.
Despicable, Bucky... despicable.  And look at him in there taking off a
suit to get ready to wrestle!

BW:  This guy's really got you heated up, Gordo.

GM:  Disrespect for the sport drives me batty, Bucky.  This guy hasn't
even wrestled in the past few years and he's out here acting like the
king of the world.  Makes me sick.

[Dufresne goes through a few stretches, further enraging the crowd
before signalling to the official that he's ready to wrestle.]


"DING DING DING!"


GM:  Finally.  We're ready to go.

[But before Dufresne can start, he offers his hand to young Kendall
Stanton which immediately gets boos from the studio crowd.]

GM:  Oh, give me a break.  There's not a person in this building that
believes Dufresne is on the level about this.

BW:  Did you hear him, Gordo?  He just apologized for the beating that
Stanton's about to receive.  Ehehehe.

GM:  Oh yeah.  Hysterical.

[With the extended hand offered, Stanton looks skeptical for a few
moments but then extends his own...

...and gets a thumb in the eye for his efforts.]

GM:  Cheap shot... I'd expect nothing more from this guy.

[Dufresne argues with the official who calls him out for the illegal
blow.]

GM:  Dufresne moving in... ignoring the ref...

[The crowd explodes as Stanton blasts him with a right hand that knocks
Dufresne flat on his rear end.]

GM:  Big right hand by the kid from Florida!  He took down the former
Pacific  Champion and-

[Dufresne pops right back up, full of piss and vinegar as he charges
in...

...and catches another haymaker upside the jaw, knocking him flat.]

GM:  Down goes Dufresne again!  Kendall Stanton is taking it to him and
this time, he yanks Dufresne off the canvas.

BW:  You've gotta remember that Dufresne hasn't been in the ring for a
while now and-

GM:  Another big right hand puts him back against the ropes... irish
whip by Stanton...

[And he sends Dufresne sailing through the air, crashing down to the
canvas courtesy of a big back bodydrop!  The crowd roars in support for
Stanton as he pumps his fist, reaching down to pull Dufresne back up
again.]

GM:  He drags Dufresne back to his feet...

[Bending down, he pops the Louisiana native in the jaw with an uppercut
that causes Dufresne to sail over the top rope, crashing down to the
concrete floor in a heap!]

GM:  My goodness!

BW:  You're loving this, aren'tya?

GM:  I've seen worse.

[Stanton backs off at the referee's direction, allowing him to begin a
count on the downed Dufresne.]

GM:  A count is started.  What a big win this would be for young Kendall
Stanton.  Inactivity or not, Dufresne is a top flight competitor and a
former champion.  A win over him would really catapult Stanton up the
Top 10 Contenders list.

BW:  What's Dufresne doing?

[An irate Dufresne, now on his feet, is glaring at Stanton... then waves
him off, turning away from the ring.]

GM:  Is he- this guy is walking out on this match!  He's decided he'd
rather take a countout loss than stay in there and fight!

BW:  Well, uhh... not sure what to say about that.

GM:  I know exactly what to say about it but we'd get kicked off the air
after our first show, Bucky.  I want-

[The crowd roars as Kendall Stanton decides he's seen enough and steps
through the ropes, jumping down to the floor.]

GM:  Stanton's going after him!  He's going after Dufresne!

[Dufresne is completely unaware as he is almost to the entryway when
Stanton reaches him, spinning him around...

...and blasting him with another haymaker!]

GM:  Goodness!  What a shot!

[Grabbing Dufresne by the hair, Stanton drags him back towards the ring,
firing him under the ropes back into the ring.]

GM:  Yeah!  He's got him back inside the ring!  And now he's getting
back in there as well... back in the-

[But as Stanton stands up, Dufresne rolls under the ropes out the other
side.]

GM:  Dufresne's back out!  This guy is-

[Dufresne seizes the chance, snaking his arm back under the ropes and
jerking Stanton's legs out from under him, pulling him towards the
ringpost...

...where he slams Stanton's knee into the steel!]

GM:  Ohhh!

BW:  That was beautiful, Gordo... absolutely beautiful...

GM:  He's got the legs of Stanton... what's he-

[The crowd jeers wildly as Dufresne ties up the legs, falling back in a
ringpost figure four!]

GM:  Oh, come on, referee!  This is blatantly illegal!

BW:  And he's doing major damage to the knee of Kendall Stanton right
here, daddy!  That ringpost figure four leglock does a lot of damage for
sure.

GM:  The referee is counting... two... three.. four...

[Dufresne breaks the hold before the five count, dropping down to the
floor where he smirks at the booing crowd.  He pauses to scream at an
overweight fan, advising him to drop some weight, before rolling back
into the ring.]

GM:  The referee is right there to- ohhh!

[The crowd roars as Dufresne gives the official a hard shove, knocking
him aside as he pulls Stanton off the mat...

...and right into a standing headscissors before _spiking_ Stanton
skullfirst into the canvas with a implant DDT.]

BW:  Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma'am!

GM:  That'll do it.  There's no getting up from that one.  A cover...
one, two, thre- oh give me a break!

[The crowd roars with disapproval as Dufresne breaks his pin attempt,
pulling Stanton off the mat by his long blond hair.]

GM:  He had him beat.  He had this match won.  And he chose not to
finish it.  This is totally uncalled for, Bucky.

BW:  You may be right, Gordo.  Maybe he thought he didn't do enough
damage to keep him down for a three count.

GM:  I know you don't believe that for a second.

BW:  Believe it or not, daddy, Calisto Dufresne is the one walkin' on
air tonight!

[Grabbing the injured knee under his arm, Dufresne turns over into a
half Boston Crab, sitting way back on the hold, wrenching the injured
limb.]

BW:  Half crab applied!  He's really working over the leg!

GM:  With that injured knee, it won't be long until-

[And just like that, the referee signals for the bell to end the match.]


"DING DING DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match via submission in 3 minutes and 17
seconds...

"LADYKILLER" CALISTO DUFRESNE!!!

[The crowd boos the announcement... and then boos even louder as
Dufresne continues to keep the hold locked in.]

GM:  What's going on here?  Break the hold, Dufresne!

BW:  Look at the torque on that knee, Gordo!  He's gonna snap his leg!
He's gonna snap his leg right here on Saturday Night Wrestling!

GM:  The referee needs to get this hold broken!  He needs to-

[Dufresne refuses to break as the referee orders him to, screaming at
the camera now getting a closeup of him.]

"This is your fault, Michaelson!  Keep bringing me out here and you'll
be looking for new talent every single week!"

[The former PWR Pacific Champion leans back further, cranking the leg as
much as possible.]

"I want to be paid like I deserve or you let me walk!  It's your
choice!"

[Dufresne continues to pull at the leg, finally breaking the hold when
the referee physically pulls him off by the hair.]

GM:  Whoa!  The ref pulled him off by the hair!

[An angry Dufresne cocks back a fist at Michael Meekly, who quickly
bails from the ring, just barely getting clear before Dufresne lets it
fly.]

GM:  Meekly barely cleared out of there in time... just barely.

BW:  Dufresne may have gotten lucky there.  If he hit an AWA official,
he... well, he may have gotten exactly what he wanted.  They might have
released him from his contract.

GM:  Fans, we need to get some control out here.  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:

Buddy Lambert 
Dallas Ford And Mazda 
March 16

Ricky Royal 
Ft. Worth Cadillac 
March 16

Mark Shaw 
Laredo Indoor Marketplace 
March 18

Tin Can Rust 
San Antonio Shopping Plaza 
March 20

Kevin Slater 
Dallas Mavericks FanFest 
March 21

[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 then fade back up on the announce desk where our announcers are
standing next to a rough and tumble looking competitor who checks in
somewhere around 6'2 and 280.  He's wearing a black singlet and camo
fatigue shirt with cut-off sleeves underneath.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, and joining us at this time is the man known as
"Stars And Stripes" Clayton Shaw!  Clayton, welcome to the AWA!

[Shaw nods his head with a grin as the crowd roars.]

CS:  Thanks a lot, Mr. Myers.  And thanks to all these fans out here who
just hollered their heads off for me.  Apparently my reputation precedes
me a bit.

GM:  It would be hard for it not to.  Your exploits in the AWA are well
known as is your military background.  The Marine Corps are represented
very well by you.

[Shaw grins sheepishly.]

CS:  And thanks again, Mr. Myers.  It was an honor to serve my country
overseas and it's an honor to be here with you in the AWA, ready to make
my brothers in the Corps proud.

GM:  I've gotta ask the question.  You must have seen the "Hellion,"
Mark Shaw out here earlier tonight.

[No response.]

GM:  Well, I guess I'll be blunt.  Are you and he-

[Shaw interrupts.]

CS:  I'm going to give you the same answer he did, Gordon.  I've got no
comment on that situation.

GM:  But I-

CS:  Period.

[Myers stares up at the steely-gaze of Clayton Shaw.]

GM:  Alright.  Well, I guess the only question I have left is... after
looking at all the talent who has been through here tonight, did anyone
catch your eye?

[Suddenly, a very voluptious, shapely woman walks into view dressed for
success... if the success results from looking like a businesswoman who
is ready to have sex to get a promotion.  Her name is Sunshine Stevens.]

SS:  Well, well, well... Gordy here asked the same question I have for
you, Clayton.

[She leans over the desk, revealing her assets.]

SS:  Did anyone... catch your eye?

[Shaw straightens up, trying his best to look her in the eye.]

CS:  I think this interview is over.  Thanks again, Mr. Myers.

["Stars and Stripes" gives a little nod to Sunshine Stevens.]

CS:  Ma'am.

[And with that, he makes his exit leaving Gordon Myers looking confused,
Sunshine Stevens looking hot, and Bucky Wilde lookiing at Sunshine
Stevens' assets.]

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

[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... from Dublin, Ireland... weighing in at
225 pounds... Red O'Martin!

[The wild-eyed Irishman throws an arm in the air to some cheers.]

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 arena, like the approaching footsteps of some
terrible monster.  Upon their climax, the crackling BOOM of a
thunderbolt is heard over the PA.]

BW:  Uh oh, Gordo.  This is trouble.

GM:  For Red O'Martin?

BW:  For the wrestling world at large.

[Hollow-sounding drumbeats and reedy-toned woodwinds form an ominous
tune (amongst the backdrop of the thunderstorm) over the PA, as the
behemoth form of Tumaffi steps forth from the curtain to what amounts to
stunned silence.]

GM:  My lord in heaven!  Look at the size of that man!

[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 Samoa... weighing in at 405 pounds...

TUMAFFI!

[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. 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.]

BW:  Gordo, I'm scared of this guy and I'm not even in the ring.

GM:  I hear you, Bucky.  This guy is intimidation in its purest form...
and I can't believe Red O'Martin even agreed to face him in the ring!

[The bell rings as Red O'Martin seems to suck up some fighting spirit
and sprints across the ring.]

BW:  Is this guy nuts?

[O'Martin hurls himself into the air with a leaping shoulder block...

...and basically bounces off, dropping down to the mat and leaving
Tumaffi standing.]

GM:  Dear heavens.  I think O'Martin thought that might be the way to
get an early edge but-

[But as O'Martin climbs to his feet, he gets a crushing Mongolian Double
Chop to the sides of the neck that take him right back down to the mat,
clutching at his neck.]

GM:  Tumaffi didn't even feel that flying tackle and now he's-

[The stunned crowd falls even more silent as Tumaffi lets out a wild
bellow before leaping into the air and crushing the body of the prone
O'Martin with an elbow drop.]

GM:  My... I don't even know what to say here, Bucky.

BW:  Somebody needs to call 911 because we're about to have an emergency
in the WKIK Studios.

GM:  Tumaffi... this monster from Samoa isn't even going for a cover at
all.

BW:  Why bother?  This match is his whenever he wants to finish it.

[Pushing his 400 pounds back to his feet, Tumaffi pulls O'Martin up by
his bright red hair... and then _hurls_ him halfway across the ring so
that his spine slams into the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Look at the power!  Just sheer scary power.  I don't even- oh no.

BW:  You've gotta be kiddin' me.  He's not gonna do it.  He's not gonna-

[Tumaffi backs into the opposite corner, slapping his chest once as he
lets loose a mighty roar before rumbling across the ring...

...and squashing the helpless O'Martin in the corner with all 400
hundred of his pounds.]



"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"



GM:  You can hear... you heard the fans' reaction to that and-

[Tumaffi throws the motionless O'Martin out of the corner by the hair,
placing a lone foot in the middle of his chest.]

GM:  One.  Two.  Three.  That's it.


"DING DING DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match in 105 seconds...

TUMAFFI!

[The crowd is mostly quiet... a few boos from the brave souls who figure
Tumaffi is done destroying people for the night.  Tumaffi stares at the
stunned fans, glaring a hole straight through them as ringside doctors
rush to attend to Red O'Martin.]

GM:  Fans, that was... that was absolutely awe-inspiring.  I don't know
any other way to put it.

BW:  How about insane?  How about terrifying?  How about horrifying? How
is it possible one man can be that destructive?!

GM:  I don't... well, maybe we'll ask him.

BW:  Are you kidding me?!  You're actually going to interview this
monster?!  You're going to-

[Tumaffi bursts into view, bellowing loudly.]

Tumaffi: RRRHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

[The monstrous Samoan takes up the vast majority of the screen as he
stalks about, seemingly looking for someone else to destroy.  His hair
alone is enough to push the announce team out of view.  The look on his
wild eyes is one of ferocious rage, so Gordon shies away in
understandable fear as Bucky outright vacates the area.]

GM: Uhh... can we... uh... quote you on that?

Tumaffi: FOOLISH MAINLANDER!  Did the great Tumaffi permit you to
address me?!

[It's hard to say whether Gordon is more taken off by the question, the
intimidating factor of a four-hundred-plus pound monster filling his
world with his presence, or the blatant abuse of English grammar.  All
of the above, it seems, as he stammers out a reply.]

GM: Well... uhh... that is our job.

Tumaffi: SILENCE!  Tumaffi shall do your job for you, feeble mainlander,
and immediately inform your insignificant audience as to what important
details they need to know!

[After that statement, Tumaffi turns towards the camera.  He now fills
the entire view, as his shoulders are so wide that he forms a human wall
when seen front-on.  He proceeds to bellow out his proclamation]

Tumaffi: HEAR NOW THE WORDS OF THE MIGHTY TUMAFFI!  The AWA is hereby
annexed in the name of great Samoa!  Tumaffi now rules this land, and he
is not a kind and gentle master!  Tumaffi has decreed that there shall
be great destruction and violence cast upon the masses, for they have
committed the worst of offenses!  They have attempted to marginalize the
awesome presence of Tumaffi by not declaring me the champion!  SUCH A
THING IS UNTHINKABLE!

[Apparently, this line of thought has only made him angry.  Tumaffi
bellows some more in an infuriated rage.]

Tumaffi: RHAAAAAA!  TUMAFFI DECLARES HIMSELF THE CHAMPION OF THE AWA!
THAT APPELATION IS MINE BY RIGHT OF POWER!  Anyone who disputes my claim
is guilty of heresy and madness!  The die is cast!  Let him who hears
this proclamation be forewarned.  There shall henceforth be no excuse
relating to ignorance, when Tumaffi destroys your body and terminates
your pitiful career!  Such is the fate of all those who dare oppose me!
TUMAFFI DECLARES THESE THINGS TO BE ABSOLUTELY TRUE!

[And then, Tumaffi turns, and lashes out with a huge arm, and snatches
poor Gordon by the scruff of the neck!

The crowd screams, as it appears that Tumaffi is going to kill a poor
helpless announcer.  Myers has the look of a man who has just realized
that he is dying... total fear and disbelief.  The giant lifts up Gordon
and... very gently places him back in his customary announce position.
He pats Gordon on the head in a very patronizing manner.  To Gordon,
though, it's probably the biggest relief in his life.]

Tumaffi: Tumaffi is nothing if he is not magnanimous to his lessers;
therefore I permit you to continue this program.

[And with that, he leaves.  Gordon Myers is thirteen shades of white.]

GM:  Fans, I-

[He gives up, just waving a hand at the camera which quickly fades 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:  Fans, I would like to apologize for not being able to... well, to
send the show to commercial in an appropriate fashion.

BW:  No one blames you, Gordo.  You almost got launched all the way to
San Antonio, daddy!

GM:  Perhaps but I apologize nonetheless.  And with that in mind, I
would like to welcome one and all to our second hour of AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling... the Power Hour!  As we mentioned earlier, we've got
our big Main Event still to come later tonight with Marcus Broussard
going one on one with "Wild Thing" Kevin Slater... but that's not all
we've got coming up.  We've got a lot of fantastic talent making their
debuts here in the AWA tonight and right now, it's time to take a look
at another one.  He's a veteran of the game and certainly one of the
most controversial personalities in the American Wrestling Alliance.
Let's go up to the ring for the debut of "Showtime" Rick Marley!

[Cut to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing.  She looks a little
nervous because there is a fairly large masked man stalking around the
ring near her.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit and is the opening contest on the Power Hour!  First, already
in the ring at this time, from Parts Unknown, weighing in at 320
pounds... he is The Black Shadow!

[A beefy arm is raised to the jeers of the crowd.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The arena lights dim for a five count as a hush spreads across the
arena, broken by the opening line...]

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

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

He is "SHOWTIME"... RICK MARRRRRLEY!

[As "It's My Life" by Bon Jovi begins to play over the PA system, the
audience sees "Showtime" Rick Marley making his way to the ring.  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.  Marley pauses about 15 feet
from the ring, looking around the crowd giving him a mixed reaction...

...and sprints the rest of the way, sliding under the bottom rope.  He
immediately climbs to the second rope, raising both hands in the
direction of the crowd as they cheer.]

GM:  Welcome to the AWA, Rick Marley and-

BW:  From the blind side!

[With Marley distracted, the Black Shadow seizes the moment to lumber
across the ring and blast "Showtime" in the back with a forearm shot,
knocking Marley over the ropes and down to the barely-padded concrete
floor below.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Cheap shot by the Black Shadow!  That might be worthy of a
disqualification, Bucky.

BW:  The bell hasn't even rung yet.  How can you DQ the man?

GM:  Marley hit hard out there.  One of the smallest men in the AWA,
Marley's going to have his work cut out for him and the Black Shadow
just managed to make that work much, much harder.

[The referee screams at the Black Shadow, backing him away from the
ropes as Rick Marley lies on the floor, ravaged in pain.]

GM:  Marley could really use the support of the fans to get him back to
his feet right now.  You know, he really does give his all for the fans
out there and just can't seem to earn their trust.

BW:  Why should they trust him, daddy?  He's been on both sides of the
fence so many times.  He's burned the fans over and over and while I
personally love it, I can see why they don't!

GM:  Those days are behind him, he claims, Bucky.

[The Black Shadow orders the referee to call for the bell and start a
ten count.  But Meekly refuses, still reprimanding the big masked man
for his attack.]

GM:  Out on the floor, Rick Marley is using the apron to pull himself
up.

[And that's the only motivation that the Shadow needs to stalk across
the ring, reaching over the ropes to pull Marley up on the apron by the
hair.  The referee reluctantly calls for the bell to start the match.]


"DING DING DING!"


GM:  And this match is officially underway, fans!

[The Shadow throws a pair of heavy right hands, holding onto Marley to
keep him from falling off the apron.  The referee moves in to reprimand
him once again.]

GM:  He's got Marley by the head and neck... ohhh!  Big throw over the
ropes into the ring!

BW:  He threw him halfway across the ring, daddy!  Lots of power on
display from the man from Parts Unknown.

GM:  Marley in a lot of trouble in the early goings here in this one.
The smaller man just hasn't managed to get on track yet.

BW:  It's gonna be tough for a fella like Marley here in the AWA, Gordo.
Lots of big, mean dudes runnin' 'round here and the little jumping
bean's not going to have an easy time of it.

[The Shadow greets Marley as the Florida native regains his feet, using
his weight to push Marley back against the ropes...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!" "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd groans at the big overhand slap to the chest of Marley,
leaving a bright red welt on the torso as "Showtime" drops down to a
knee, wincing in pain.]

GM:  The Shadow on the attack, dragging Marley off the mat now...

[Grabbing Marley by the arm, the Black Shadow fires him into the ropes.]

GM:  Irish whip by the Shadow... clothesli- ducked by Marley, off the
far side... biiiiig back body dr-

[The crowd roars to life as Marley somehow twists his body in mid-air,
landing on his feet facing the Shadow's back.]

GM:  What a counter by Marley and-

[And as the masked man turns around, Marley deadleaps high into the air,
snaring the Shadow's head between his legs and somehow dragging him down
to the mat with a rana.]

GM:  Nice!  A beautiful headscissors type takedown by the man known as
"Showtime" and with a move like that, we can see how he earned that
nickname, Bucky.

BW:  All that flash and stuff is fine... but when it comes down to it,
is he tough enough?

[The Shadow is quickly back to his feet where Marley snaps off a
dropkick under his jaw, knocking the Shadow back a few steps.]

GM:  Big dropkick by Marley... and a second dropkick to the chest puts
the Shadow against the ropes...

BW:  Side headlock applied... what's he gonna do here, Gordo?

GM:  He just called for the bulldog!  Charging out, here... we... go!
OHHHHH!

[Gordon's cry is echoed by the WKIK Studios crowd as the Shadow hoists
Marley into the air, hurling him down to the mat to counter the bulldog
attempt.]

GM:  And just as Marley snapped off a nice counter a moment ago... we
see just as nice of a counter by the Shadow, using that weight and brute
power to his advantage.

BW:  That's exactly what I'm talkin' 'bout, daddy.  How on earth does
Marley expect to compete with the big boys?  The guy's barely over two
bills in there.

[Breathing a little heavy, the Shadow pulls Marley up by the hair,
tossing him into the nearest corner.]

GM:  Uh oh.  And this is exactly where Rick Marley doesn't want to be in
there, Bucky.  Cornered with a big, big man is not the place for someone
his size to try to fight from.

[With Marley backed into the buckles, the Shadow drives a few heavy
forearms into the chest of his opponent.  Leaning over, he slams his
shoulder into the ribs of Marley.]

GM:  This is bad, bad news, Bucky.

BW:  If you're a fan of Marley's, it sure is.

[A second shoulder connects before the Shadow straightens up, grabbing
Marley by the wrist.]

GM:  Irish whip from corner to corn- what the-?!

[The crowd gasps as Marley runs up the turnbuckles and as the Shadow
rumbles across the ring, Marley leaps backwards, twisting through the
air into a cross body press!  Huge cheer!]

GM:  WHAT A MOVE!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[A powerful press breaks the pin attempt for the Shadow, deflating the
crowd as Marley rolls away, popping back to his feet as the Shadow rolls
to his stomach, pushing himself off the mat.]

GM:  The Shadow trying to get off the mat before "Showtime" but Marley
is just too fast for him and-

[Sprinting across the ring, Marley drills the Shadow squarely in the
face with both feet.]

GM:  Another dropkick by Marley!  Right on the button!

[Marley is immediately back up, pumping a fist and drawing some cheers
from the fans as he backs away, measuring the Black Shadow as the masked
man tries to recover.]

GM:  The Shadow is very slowly back to a knee, trying to get back to his
feet.

["Showtime" quickly approaches, hooking a front facelock.]

GM:  He's calling for a DDT... trying to pull the Shadow to his feet...

[But as soon as he does, the Shadow straightens all the way up,
backdropping Marley to the mat.]

GM:  Wow!  And just when you think that Rick Marley is going to get on
offense in this one, the Shadow uses all that power and size to counter
it.  And if nothing else, Rick Marley's gotta be happy with the way the
fans are reacting to him in this one.

BW:  Lots of sympathy in gettin' your butt kicked, Gordo.

[A few hard stomps from the Shadow buys him some breathing time before
he leans down, pulling Marley into a front facelock by the hair.]

GM:  Perhaps a DDT of his own by the Shadow... no, look at this, Bucky!

[The crowd buzzes as the Shadow sets for a vertical suplex, hoisting
Marley as high into the air as he can...

...but at the peak of the lift, Marley somehow manages to wriggle free,
twisting in mid-air to hook an inverted facelock.]

GM:  OHHHHH MY STARS!

[A huge reaction from the fans as Marley manages to drive the back of
the Shadow's head into the mat with the Rewrite inverted DDT!]

GM:  He calls that modified DDT "The Rewrite" and he may have just
rewrote the record books with that one to put his name in the W column,
Bucky.

BW:  That was clever, Gordo.  You're about as sharp as an axe after
cuttin' down a redwood, daddy-o!

GM:  Both men are down now... both men are trying to recover.  And
suddenly, this becomes a race to see who can get to their feet first
because that man will have a definite advantage.

BW:  The Shadow's definitely sucking wind in there.  Marley's kept up a
quick pace and managed to wear the much larger man down.  A good
strategy from him.

[Marley is the first to his feet, pumping a fist as he moves in on the
masked man to more cheers from the crrowd.]

GM:  He pulls the Shadow the rest of the way up to his feet... not sure
why you would want to do that but- an irish whi- no, reversal by the
Shadow!

["Showtime" quickly rebounds back as the Shadow rears back with a big
right hand...

...and Marley baseball slides between his legs.]

GM:  Oh!  Marley avoids the right hand... back to his feet and-


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"


[The crowd erupts as Marley scores with a huge superkick right to the
jaw of the big man, causing him to fall back against the ropes, slowly
rebounding off.]

GM:  What a kick by Marley!

BW:  He calls that one the Casting Call and I think the Shadow may need
a casting couch after that one, daddy!  He needs to lay down in a hurry
before he falls-

GM:  Boot to the gut of the Shadow... front facelock...

[And the lightning-quick Marley swings from the facelock into a three
quarters nelson, _driving_ the skull of the Black Shadow into the canvas
with a three-quarter nelson bulldog.]

GM:  Ohhhh my!  He spiked him with that, Bucky!  That's the move he
calls the Limelight and- one!  Two!  Three!


"DING DING DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match in a time of four minutes and 57
seconds... "SHOWTIME" RICK MARLEY!

[Marley raises a triumphant arm, saluting the cheering fans.]

GM:  A big, big win here for Rick Marley... let's take a look at some of
the exciting action we just saw.

[Cut to a slow motion replay of Marley countering the vertical suplex
into the Rewrite DDT.]

GM:  Here's that DDT counter.  Marley was very successful in this
matchup with his counterwrestling.  A lot of big moves came more on
defense than offense, Bucky.

BW:  Absolutely.  You saw the DDT there... now take a look at this
superkick...

[Slo-mo of Marley sliding between the legs, popping to his feet, and
connecting with the Curtain Call superkick.]

GM:  Boom!  And that right there, fans, is our WKIK "Kick of the Night"
- WKIK, where we kick it up a notch and Rick Marley did exactly that
right there.

[Off the kick, we see the quick facelock spun out into a diamond cutter
that spelled certain victory for Rick Marley.]

GM:  There's the finish there... the Limelight... and that was all she
wrote for the masked man from Parts Unknown.  Your winner, ladies and
gentlemen, "Showtime" Rick Marley!

[We come back up from the replay and join "Showtime" Rick Marley at the
announce position.  The dark haired cruiserweight stands opposite Gordon
Myers and "Big Bucks" Bucky Wilde.  Marley, still breathing heavily
stares in mixed horror and fascination at the former manager's flashy
duds, his eyes squinting like a guy staring into the noon-day sun...if
the sun were going to actively try to bite him.]

GM: Congratulations on an impressive win, Showtime, and welcome to the
American Wrestling Alliance.

BW: You managed not to get squashed like a bug in that one, not too bad
for a guy that looks like he hasn't stopped growing yet.

[Marley continues to stare in horror as Myers moves the mic closer to
the high flier.]

RM: Its...almost like if you look at it JUST right, you can see the
fibers trying to run away from those horrifying colors...like they know
that they're a phone call away from one of those fashion horror story
shows that my girlfriend watches...

[Marley shakes his head as Bucky opens his mouth in protest.]

RM: Sorry, got distracted by...the...

...

...

[Marley looks up at the ceiling.]

RM: There we go.  It's a pleasure to be here, Gordon.  The fans in
Dallas have always been some of the best in the country, and the idea of
coming here and having them pulling for me week in and week out was more
than I could pass up.

BW: Listen Ricky, how do you justify even wasting our time?  You're a
half pint of a wannabe jumping bean who's gonna get crushed the second
he comes up against anyone with half a killer instinct.  I mean, the
Black Shadow's a tough man, but he's nowhere near the level of a true
beast like Tumaffi or The Masked Menace?  How are you going to deal with
someone like them?

[Marley looks back down at Wilde, his eyes wide vapid.]

RM: Gee, I've never had a match against someone BIGGER than me before,
Bucky.

[Shaking his head, the cruiserweight smiles broadly at the announcers.]

RM: It's not like the fact that I'm on the short end of the scale is
news to me, guys.  I'll do the same thing I've been doing since I
started in this business: I'll show 'em what Showtime's all about.

GM: We'll see if Mr. Marley can bring "Showtime" here to the AWA!

BW: They're gonna need a spatula.

GM: We'll be back after these commercial messages.

[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 to the announce desk.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans, to the Power Hour of AWA Saturday Night
Wrestling!  We've still got our big main event of Marcus Broussard
taking on the "Wild Thing" Kevin Slater still to come.  It's going to be
a tremendous matchup... but we've got a lot more to come as well.  In
fact, if you would please join me right now in welcoming one of the
AWA's major signings... "Hotshot" Stevie Scott!

HSS: It's tiiiiiiiiime for Steviiiiiiietaiiinmeeeent!

[The supra-loud lead guitar of Nigel Tufnel blasts over the P.A.,
followed by the other lead guitar from David St. Hubbins.  The fans'
jeering immediately fires up, and leaping into the entrance portal,
striking his Superman Pose (tm) is none other than the innovator of
Stevietainment, the purveyor of all that is silly...

"Hotshot" Stevie Scott.]

# You've been bad You won't do what I say You don't listen And you never
obey I wanna teach you But you just won't be good You won't behave the
way a big girl should I'm gonna give that whip a crack I'm gonna have to
take you back to Bitch school! Bitch school! #

[Stevie's clad in street clothes, his dirty blonde hair pulled back into
a ponytail.  Soaking in the boos, he flashes the infamous STEVIEGRIN~!
and trots towards the announce desk where Gordon and Bucky are waiting.]

GM:  Stevie Scott, welcome to the AWA!

[Stevie starts to speak... but winces, reaching up to grab his throat.
He pauses, looking out at the fans which draws some more boos.]

GM:  Is that a problem. Mr. Scott?

[Stevie gestures Gordon closer and then leans over to whisper in his
ear.]

GM:  Oh, I see.  Well, fans... apparently Mr. Scott is suffering from
severe laryngitis and is unable to speak with us here tonight.  We
apologize but-

[Stevie leans over again, whispering a bit more.]

GM:  You want me to... really?  Well, it's a bit unusual, but I guess we
can-

[The master of Stevietainment gives a big thumbs up and gestures towards
the ring, waving Myers to come with him.]

GM:  Fans, Stevie Scott says that he wants to address his fans from the
ring... and because of his illness, he wants to me... well, basically to
translate for him.  So, in just a moment here, we'll have words with
Stevie Scott.

[Myers shakes his head as he walks out from behind the announce booth,
climbing the steel steps to get into the ring where Stevie Scott is
waiting for him.]

GM:  Okay, Mr. Scott.  We're in the ring.  What would you like to say to
your fans?

[Stevie leans over, whispering again.  Myers looks a bit surprised a few
times, nodding his head.  After a bit, Stevie pulls away and gestures
for Gordon to speak.]

GM:  Alright, well... Mr. Scott would like to thank all of his fans for
being in the WKIK Studios here tonight.  He says he knows it's been hard
on all of you to have to sit through...

[Myers looks at Stevie who gestures to continue.]

GM:  ...such useless, worthless, talentless, personality-less, hopeless
wannabe wrestlers who aren't worthy of...

[Another glance between the two.  Gordon looks really uncomfortable and
sighs deeply before continuing.]

GM:  ...carrying the jockstrap of the great "Hotshot" Stevie Scott.

[The fans boo wildly.  Gordon has a "don't shoot the messenger" look on
his face.]

GM:  Fans, I apologize for this but I was only-

[Stevie rushes forward, speaking again.]

GM:  Okay, okay... Mr. Scott would also like to apologize for being
unable to wrestle here tonight but with the throat issues, the
illness... the doctors would not clear him to compete.  However, he says
that even though they told him he can't wrestle... he can still fight.

[Stevie flashes the infamous grin, balling up his fists and bouncing
around shadow-boxing.]

GM:  Mr. Scott, you've never been known as the most... uhh... courageous
of individuals.  Are you sure you want to-

[But before Gordon Myers can say another word, the sounds of Rush's
"Working Man" kicks in to zero reaction from the crowd.  After a moment,
a paunchy, grizzled looking older black man strides into view.  He is
Bubba Jackson.]

GM:  Bubba Jackson on his way out here now, Mr. Scott.  Perhaps he can
give you the fight you're looking for.

[Jackson steps up into the ring, leaning over the offered mic.]

BJ:  I came here tonight to Dallas hoping to get a match... but more
than that, I was looking for a chance.  I've been in this business for a
long, long time and quite frankly, this might be my last chance to-


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"


[The crowd explodes in boos as Stevie Scott flashes out, popping Bubba
Jackson right under the jaw with a superkick that takes the veteran off
his feet and leaves him out cold on the canvas.  Stevie cackles,
pointing at the downed man before waving Gordon closer again.]

GM:  There was no call for that, Mr. Scott!  No call at-

[Stevie whispers to him.]

GM:  No.  Absolutely not.  I will not say-

[Stevie looks stern, whispering again.]

GM:  I will not taunt this man for you.  All he wanted was a chance to
compete.  He came out here in good faith to take you up on your offer to
fight and-

[Stevie looks stern again, this time lifting a clenched fist at Gordon.]

GM:  Threaten me all you want, Mr. Scott!  I am out of-

[Scott reaches out, grabbing Myers by the collar and rearing back with
his right hand.  The crowd boos wildly, fearing for the first for the
veteran announcer...

...and then erupts into cheers as another man comes charging into view,
jogging towards the ring as quickly as he can.]

BW:  It's Tin Can Rust!  That old fossil is on the move!

[The 6'6, 259 pound Kentucky native rolls under the ropes, getting to
his feet as Scott shoves the announcer aside, turning to face his new
challenge...

...and getting blasted with a right hand to the side of the head,
knocking Scott a couple steps back.]

BW:  Whoa daddy!  A big haymaker from Tin Can Rust rocks the Hotshot...
and Gordo just got out of the ring.  He's on his way back over here to
the announce desk and I'd say he owes Tin Can Rust a TV dinner, daddy-o!
One of those Hungry Man ones too!

[A couple hard jabs backs Scott into the ropes where Tin Can Rust grabs
him by the wrist, firing him off the ropes...

...and knocking him flat with a big tackle!]

BW:  Down goes the Hotshot!

[Stevie Scott immediately starts rolling for the ropes, trying to escape
the ring...

...but a hard stomp cuts him off, allowing the Kentucky veteran to pull
Scott back to his feet, throwing him to the ropes again.]

BW:  He's winding up...

[And the crowd erupts as Tin Can Rust scores him a huuuuge wind-up right
hand.]

BW:  Tin Jaw Rocker, daddy!

[Scott sails backwards, flipping head over heels as he hits the match...
and then rolls right out of the ring, holding his jaw as he staggers
away from the ring.]

BW:  Gordo!  You okay, daddy?!

GM:  I'm- I'm alright, Bucky.  Thanks to Tin Can Rust... and thanks to
Tin Can Rust, Stevie Scott is running for cover!

[The crowd continues to cheer as Tin Can Rust stands on the second rope,
pointing a threatening finger at Stevie Scott as the Hotshot stands near
the entryway, looking back before backing out of view.]

GM:  And he's out of here.  Tin Can Rust has saved the day for yours
truly and he's chased Stevie Scott clear out of the WKIK Studios
thankfully!

[Rust hops down from the middle rope, stepping out to the apron, and
down to the floor.  He purposefully seems to set on a course to take him
nowhere near the announce desk.]

GM:  Tin Can Rust!  Over here, please!

[Rust takes a glance but keeps walking the other way.]

GM:  Rust?  Can we get a word with you?

[The veteran shakes his head, continuing all the way to the locker room
entrance.]

GM:  Well, apparently my hero for the night is a very private man and-
wait one moment... we're being told, yes- Jason Dane is trying to catch
him!

[We cut to just inside the entryway where Jason Dane has planted
himself, mic in hand.  Tin Can Rust starts to walk by him but Dane
throws himself in his path.

JD: Tin Can, a moment?

[Rust stops for a slight moment... but then keeps walking.]

JD: Tin Can? Moment of your time?

[The 6'6" man stops again... and turns, looking a little perturbed.]

TCR: Well, I guess I hafta.

[Rust walks back to the announcer.]

JD:  That was something else we just saw out there.  I think I speak for
everyone in the AWA when I thank you for what you just did.

[Rust looks around, obviously uncomfortable, and delivers a curt nod.
Dane looks a little surprised but presses.]

JD:  So, uhh... well, so what brought you to AWA?

[Rust looks around again, almost like he's looking for a way out. Seeing
none, he sighs and begins to speak.]

TCR: See, I... I guess I just wanted to get back down here to the
Southern fans. Been away too long from the best of the best, you know?
Uh, I wasn't much wanted no more in the place I was before, so this
looked promising. Back to the basics.

JD: With twenty-two years in wrestling -

TCR: That's twenty-five, son. You got your information mixed up there.

JD: So you're 41 years old now.

[Tin Can nods.]

JD: You're then one of the eldar statesmen on the roster and-

TCR: Look, I ain't much for words now, ok? I ain't that old and I've
proved here that I can still bring anybody on the roster down with just
the regular meat n' potatoes style. I don't see how my age, at only 41,
makes much of no difference.

JD: Age, injurie-

[Rust looks agitated as he holds up his hand.]

TCR: Didn't you just see me out there? Do I look crippled, son? I don't
mean to be rude, but just cause I got a wrinkle here or there doesn't
mean I lost any muscle. Yeah, I got a past and it's a long one, but I
see it more as experience.

JD: Experience at lower levels of wrestling, right Rust? This isn't a
backwater Kentucky operation.  This is a big time organization!

[Rust closes his eyes and sighs.]

TCR: Look, I came to fight, not talk. I'm not here to get my button
pushed by any man that's not willing to go to the ring to settle it.

[ Tin Can starts to turn away, but against Dane gets an arm on him
before he leaves.]

JD: One last question, Rust. There are some rumors of you bringing in a-

[Tin Can waves off Dane.]

TCR: I ain't talking about that anymore than I'll say I just rather let
someone else do the talking for me, ok?

[With that, Tin Can Rust finally escapes the torture of the interview
and strolls past to the locker room area.  Dane looks back to the
camera.]

JD:  There you have it, fans.  Let's go up to Melissa for more action!

[We cut back 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, currently in the ring, from Fort Worth,
Texas... weighing in at 260 pounds... Curtis King!

[The non-descript Texan raises an arm to no reaction.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The familiar, rhythmic clanking of a cowbell elicites a big crowd
response! When the crunchy opening guitar riff to "Mississippi Queen" by
Mountain kicks in, there's no question who the music can be heralding.
And just as that next squealing guitar note rips through the building,
"Ragin' Rebel" Ricky Royal, Jr. bursts through the curtain to another
big ovation!]

#Mississippi Queen you know what I mean #Mississippi Queen, you taught
me everything!

[Ricky is sporting red boots and kneepads and a pair of red trunks with
the "Stars and Bars" Confederate flag design 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 t-shirt with his
moniker emblazoned on it.]

MC:  Now coming down the aisle... weighing in at 270 pounds... he hails
from Vicksburg, Mississippi... the "RAGIN' REBEL" RICKYYYYYYYYYY
ROOOOOYAAAAAAAAAAAL JUUUUUUUUUUUUUNIOOOOOOR!!!

[With the beefy, angular '70s rock song blaring behind him and a big
smile plastered on his stubbly face, Ricky slaps hands with fans as he
walks purposefully down the aisle. Upon reaching the ring, he quickly
hops up the ringsteps and ducks under the top rope. He turns and salutes
the crowd vigorously, several times. Each time, they give him a big pop.
Then he jumps up onto the second rope in one corner, facing the crowd,
and salutes them once more to even bigger cheers! Finally, Ricky pulls
his t-shirt off and tosses it into the crowd before dropping back down
to the mat and readying himself by jogging in tight circles in his
corner.]

GM:  Quite the reaction for the Ragin' Rebel here tonight in Dallas,
Bucky.  Apparently his reputation from his SCW days has preceded him.

BW:  Well, that and he's a member of the legendary Royal family, Gordo.
And love 'em or hate 'em, the Royals are like... well, royalty in the
wrestling business in the South.

GM:  Very true and-


"DING DING DING!"


[Without wasting a second, Royal charges across the ring and catches a
stunned opponent with a barrage of right hands, knocking him back into
the corner.]

GM:  Wow!  An early burst of offense by Ricky Royal and-

[Royal jumps up to the midbuckle without missing a beat, clenching his
fist and bringing it down repeatedly on the man from Texas.]

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THREE!"

"FOUR!"

"FIVE!"

"SIX!"

"SEVEN!"

"EIGHT!"

"NINE!"

"TEN!"

[Royal drops down off the ropes, the crowd roaring for his early offense
as he grabs a handful of hair, charging across the ring...

...and hurling King headfirst into the buckles, sending him sailing
through the air before crashing to the mat.  The crowd erupts again!]

GM:  Whoooa my!  That was a hard drive into the buckles, facefirst into
the buckles...

[King regains his feet but quickly finds himself up on the right
shoulder of Royal, muscled up with ease.]

GM:  Is is- he's going for the Delta Driver incredibly early in this
one, Bucky!

BW:  He's looking to make a quick impact in this one.

[With King shouldered, Royal charges across the ring before slamming
King down to the mat in a sitout powerslam.]

GM:  DELTA DRIVER!  DELTA DRIVER!  ONE!  TWO!  THRE-

[The crowd groans as King just barely shoots his shoulder off the mat in
time to avoid the pinfall.]

GM:  He almost had him, Bucky.  So very close right there.

[A frustrated Royal slaps the mat before cradling the head of his
opponent, driving fist after fist into the skull.]

GM:  Boy, Ricky Royal Jr. is fired up here tonight in Dallas and I can't
say that I blame him.  There's a lot of energy in the air tonight... a
lot of enthusiasm.  It's infectious.

BW:  You know what I wish was infectious around here?  Stevie Scott's
throat problem.  Maybe then I wouldn't have ta listen to you jabber on
about nothin', daddy!

GM:  Nice.  Very nice.

[Royal pops back to his feet, pulling King up by the hair and firing him
to the ropes...

...and _planting_ him to the canvas with a spinning powerslam!]

GM:  Look at the big moves... the high impact offense of Ricky Royal is
on display here tonight in Dallas and another cover!  ONE!  TWO!  THRE-

[The crowd groans again as Royal _just_ misses a victory.]

GM:  So close.  So, so close yet again.

[Royal pushes back up to his feet, walking across the ring where he
leans against the ropes, waving for King to get back to his feet.]

GM:  He's waiting, waiting for Curtis King to recover.

BW:  He may be waiting a while.  King has taken two very hard slams to
the mat, daddy.

GM:  King is stirring though, looking to grab the ropes to pull himself
up to his feet.  Here comes Royal!

[The crowd roars as Royal races towards Curtis King, looking to
clothesline his head off...

...but King ducks down, pulling down the ropes to cause Royal to tumble
over the top and down to the floor!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[King taunts the jeering fans, pointing out a couple abusive ones and
threatening to backhand them as he steps out to the apron...

...and drops off with the point of the elbow smacking the top of the
kneeling Royal's skull.]

GM:  Ohh!  Big falling elbow smash off the apron to the head and Royal
is laid out on the floor again.

[A few more words fly from King at the ringside fans before he drives
the flat of his boot down on the back of Royal's head, smashing his face
into the floor.]

GM:  Curtis King is doing a number on Royal on the floor.  Another hard
stomp to the back of the head.  The referee is telling King to get it
back into the ring.

BW:  He's got a ten count, daddy.  He should use it all.

[King reaches down, pulling the brawler off the floor.  He teases
tossing Royal back in...

...but instead scoops him up, _slamming_ him viciously down on the
barely-padded concrete floor!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Bodyslam on the floor!

BW:  That might do it right there, Gordo.  He should roll 'im in, cover
'im, and finish this thing off, daddy-o!

[Smirking at the jeering crowd, King pulls Royal up, shoving him back
into the ring before rolling back in to apply a lateral press.]

GM:  Lateral press... Meekly to count... one!  Two!  Thr-no!

[The crowd roars as Royal's kickout... but quickly turns back to booing
as King blatantly wraps his hand around the throat of Royal, choking
fiercely.]

GM:  He's choking the Ragin' Rebel!  A blatant and illegal choke!  Come
on, referee!

[King holds til four, breaking just before the DQ to pull Royal off the
mat, shoving him back against the ropes...

...and blasting him across the chest with a chop.]

GM:  Big chop on the ropes... irish whip...

[Royal rebounds off the ropes, deftly avoiding a clothesline attempt
before hitting the far ropes...

...and _exploding_ into the air with a flying tackle that floors the big
man from Texas!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Big flying tackle!  Both men down... and listen to these
fans!

[The fans start to clap in rhythm, trying to inspire the Ragin' Rebel to
get back to his feet.  The clapping grows in speed and intensity as
Royal starts to wave an arm, pushing up to a knee as he starts shaking
with intensity.]

GM:  The cheers of the fans are in the blood of Royal, giving him
strength... giving him inspiration...

[And both men reach their feet at the same time, Royal immediately
connecting with a running clothesline on King.]

GM:  Ohhh my!  Big clothesline by the Ragin' Rebel!

BW:  But King's right back up!

[The crowd roars as Royal connects with another.]

GM:  And right back down goes Curtis King!

[A dazed King uses the turnbuckles to pull himself back up to his feet...

...and gets sandwiched in the corner with a leaping corner avalanche
splash!]

GM:  What a move by Royal!  He's got King in trouble and now he's- he's
putting King up top!

[The crowd buzzes as Royal hoists King into the air, depositing him on
the top rope before stepping up to the middle rope himself, setting up
the Texan...

...and then hoisting King into the air, holding for a moment before
dropping him down to the canvas!]

GM:  Second rope belly to back suplex!  A high impact move by the Ragin'
Revel and-

[Filled with the energy from the crowd now, Royal pushes himself up,
pulling King into a standing headscissors.]

GM:  What's this?  He may be going for it, Bucky!

[With King trapped, Royal lifts his arms in the air, saluting the fans
before reaching under King, crossing his arms across his chest before
lifting him up...

...and _spiking_ him down to the canvas!]

GM:  MISSISSIPPI RIVER PLUNGE!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!


"DING DING DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match at a time of 4 minutes and 13 seconds...

The Ragin' Rebel... RICKY ROOOOOYAL!

[Another huge ovation for Royal who is absolutely jacked, running around
the ring celebrating like a maniac.  He quickly rolls to the floor,
trading high-fives and hugs with all of the ringside fans as they
continue to cheer wildly.]

GM:  An impressive debut here in the AWA for Ricky Royal and he has
quickly cemented himself as one of the fan favorites here in the WKIK
Studios where we certainly managed to just kick it up a notch, Bucky.

BW:  He's working his way over here to us... it may take a while with
all the ninetahfivers huggin' up on him.

GM:  Ricky Royal...

[Gordon pauses as Royal stops to slap a few more hands before jogging
the rest of the way over to the desk.  Wired as hell from his first AWA
match, Ricky is soaked with sweat and breathing heavily.  His chest is
heaving and his face as red as an apple. Gordon Myers turns to him with a microphone.]

GM: Ricky Royal! Congrats on the first big win! It must be exciting.
What have you got to say?

RR: Aw yeah, aw yeah! I been doin' this a long, long time, m'friend, but
I ain't never done it like this, in front a' all these people.

[Taking a deep breath, Ricky looks around the arena, his eyes wide.]

RR: This here's the big time, baby. I come from a long line a' rasslers
and rednecks and the Royals has been champions all over the South. But,
boy, I got my eyes on the prize, all right. I got my eyes set on some
AWA gold right here and now. That's right!

[Big crowd pop! A huge smile crosses Ricky's face, his chest still
heaving, still unable to catch his breath.]

RR: It sure does feel good to get that first win notched onto m'belt,
but I ain't lyin' when I promise that there gon' be a hell of a lot more
like that one a'comin'.

GM: Well, it looks like you're here to stay, Ricky.

RR: That's right, I am. And I promise... to all you fans watchin' here
tonight...

[Raising his voice, he points to the crowd, using that hand to salute
them once more.]

RR: I promise, you stick with me, you stay on me, I'm a' take you for
the ride of your life. I'm the Delta Dog, the Ragin' Rebel, and I ain't
never disappointed the fans!

[One last big crowd pop as Ricky throws one more big, hearty salute to
the crowd before shaking Gordon's hand andmaking his way back up the
aisle.]

GM:  Fans, Ricky Royal is on the scene and the AWA is happy to have him.
Don't go anywhere, 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:

Buddy Lambert 
Dallas Ford And Mazda 
March 16

Ricky Royal 
Ft. Worth Cadillac 
March 16

Mark Shaw 
Laredo Indoor Marketplace 
March 18

Tin Can Rust 
San Antonio Shopping Plaza 
March 20

Kevin Slater 
Dallas Mavericks FanFest 
March 21

[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 then fade back up on 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, from
Tijuana, Mexico... weighing in at 183 pounds... El Lobo Loco!

[A luchador in a pair of brown trunks wearing a... well, a furry brown
mask with some nasty teeth stitched onto it raises a hand and lets loose
a howl.]

MC:  And his opponent... standing 6'3 and weighing in at 225 pounds...
from Duluth, Minnesota... he is...

"PEERLESS" JAAAAAMIE LIIIIILAS!

[The opening guitar riff for 'Buses No Buses' by Bear vs Shark blasts
over the P.A. signaling the arrival of 'Peerless' Jamie Lilas. Nine
seconds in as the lyrics hit, Jamie slowly strolls through the curtain.
His cocky face barely hides the disdain he has for the fans around the
ring, but he still manages to make sure each and everyone of them reads
his cut off t-shirt, with his name on the front and 'ABSOLUTELY
PEERLESS' on the back, both in fancy golden font.  A towel with the same
logo is hanging over his shoulder.]

GM:  Another new competitor here in the AWA, "Peerless" Jamie Lilas and
I have to admit I know very little about him.

BW:  Didn't do your homework, Gordo?  You're lucky I'm here!

GM:  You know Mr. Lilas?

BW:  Stand back, Gordo.  You're about to be dazzled by my skills.

[Once he hits the ring Jamie wipes his feet on the apron before entering
the ring. Once there he pulls his shirt off and stands on the second
rope having very meaningful conversations with the fans, as he awaits
the bell.]

GM:  So, what do you know about Lilas?

BW:  He's 19 years old for one thing, Gordo.  19 years old... but the
business is in his blood.  He's the son of "Luscious" Larry Lilas and
the nephew of "Loudmouth" Larry Lilas, a brother tag team that dominated
the Mid West in the 1980's.


"DING DING DING!"


GM:  There's the bell so here we go... but I'd like to keep going with
his background while we call the match, Bucky.

BW:  No problemo, daddy-o!  In about 1997, the Lilas Brothers opened up
the Triple L Gym, a pro wrestling training school that has become the
the premier spot to train in Minnesota.  And at the age of 9 years old,
this kid started hanging around the gym.

[Lilas dances around El Lobo Loco, occasionally dashing in towards him
but withdrawing before they can tie up together.  The crowd quickly
grows tired of this and boos the young man.]

BW:  So, you can imagine that by this point, he's had quite the lengthy
training at the hands of his father and uncle.

GM:  Right now, he's not showing off any of that training just yet.  How
long has he officially been training?

BW:  In 2003, at the age of 15, he started his official training, Gordo.
When he turned 18, he put on a mask and wrestled all over the Midwest to
get experience in the ring.  And now?  Now, he's ready to compete under
his family name here in the AWA.

[Lashing out again, Lilas ducks in behind the luchador, snaring a rear
waistlock.  He quickly lifts him high, dumping him chestfirst on the
canvas.]

GM:  A nice rear waistlock takedown by Lilas and- ohh!  He just
paintbrushed him across the back of the head!

[The fans boo the arrogant act and then even louder as Lilas leans over
the ropes, taunting a ringside fan.]

GM:  Well, Bucky... you obviously did some research on this young man
and I thank you for that.

BW:  That's why I get paid the big bucks.

GM:  You do?

BW:  Heh, more than you, Gordo... that's for sure, daddy!

[With Lilas standing on the second rope, screaming at the fans, the
luchador seizes the moment to deadleap HIGH into the air, snaring Lilas
around the head and _snapping_ him down to the mat with a neckbreaker!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Leaping neckbreaker!  ONE!  TWO!  THR-

[The crowd groans as Lilas kicks out of the pin attempt and quickly
rolls out to the floor, dropping to a knee and clutching his neck.]

GM:  That was a near fall for the luchador and Lilas just showed the
world just why you can't carry an attitude... can't carry that ego like
that inside the AWA rings.

BW:  Don't count this kid out yet, Gordo.  He's been training his entire
life for this moment and one fluke move by a jumping bean isn't going
to-

[The crowd roars as El Lobo Loco sprints across the ring, dropping down
into a baseball slide...

...but Lilas sidesteps the attempt, _blasting_ the luchador with a right
hand as he lands on the floor.]

GM:  Oooh!  What a right hand by the man known as "Peerless."  What an
arrogant thing to claim to be.  Everything about this guy is pure ego,
Bucky.

BW:  Hey, some people have got it and some people don't.

GM:  And we definitely don't know which of those people this kid is yet.

[Grabbing the luchador by his furry mask, Lilas slams his head into the
ring apron before shoving him back into the ring.  Lilas steps up on the
apron and quickly strikes a single bicep pose.]

GM:  And now he's on the apron posing?  It's not like he's a bodybuilder
in there either.  He's in good shape but...

[Lilas steps back into the ring, smirking as the luchador pushes himself
to his feet, still doubled up...

...and absolutely _blasts_ him with a running kneelift that sends the
luchador sailing down to the mat.]

GM:  Goodness!  What a kneelift!

[Lilas smirks again, taking a moment to trashtalk some fans as he slowly
walks towards the downed luchador.]

GM:  Say, Bucky... you know a lot about this kid, what's his problem
with "Spitfire" Buddy Lambert?

BW:  What do you mean?

GM:  I was backstage before the show and this kid Lilas was really
running down Lambert to anyone who would listen.  I heard him call him a
"redneck"... a "hillbilly."

BW:  Isn't he?

[Lilas pulls the luchador off the mat, still taunting the crowd as he
whips El Lobo Loco across the ring.  He strikes a double bicep pose
before charging across...

...and coming up empty with a running back elbow as the luchador front
rolls clear!  The crowd explodes and then grows louder as the luchador
leaps to the midbuckle, raising a clenched fist into the air.]

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THREE!"

"FOUR!"

"FIVE!"

[But before the assault can continue, Lilas ducks out from the corner,
grabbing the luchador by the back of the trunks and _hurling_ him down
to the mat!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  The back of El Lobo Loco's head just slammed into the mat.
What a high-impact leverage move by Lilas!

BW:  The kid is good, Gordo.  You've gotta give him credit.

GM:  Perhaps I do.  I'm certainly impressed so far.

[An angry Lilas pulls the luchador up, hooking in a full nelson.]

GM:  Full nelson applied by the luchador and-

[Dragging El Lobo Loco towards the corner, Lilas drives his face into
the buckles.]

"ONE!"

[And again.]

"TWO!"

[And repeatedly, mockingly counting with every blow.]

"THREE!"

"FOUR!"

"FIVE!"

"SIX!"

[But before a seventh faceslam, the luchador leaps up, pushing off the
top buckle with both feet, flipping back into a pinning position.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Close!  Very close there!

[The luchador quickly regains his feet,  charging at the rising Lilas,
and leaping over him to take the "Peerless" one down in a sunset flip.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[But Lilas again slips out of the pinning predicament, quickly getting
back to his feet and uncorking a right hand that the luchador ducks,
reaching back to hook the arms for a backslide.]

GM:  BACKSLI- blocked by Lilas!  Lilas is fighting it!  Lilas is-

[Turning the tables on his opponent, Lilas pushes off the ropes with his
feet, somehow managing to flip over the top of the luchador where he
quickly buries a boot in the gut, hooks a front facelock and grabs the
luchador's leg.]

GM:  What the-?

[He hoists El Lobo Loco off the mat, spiking him headfirst to the mat
with a fishermanbuster!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

BW:  The AP Driver!

GM:  This one's academic from here.  One.  Two.  Three.

"DING DING DING!"

MC:  Your winner of the match in a time of four minutes and seven
seconds....

"Peerless" JAAAAMIE LILAS!

[Lilas has his hand raised by referee Meekly and then quickly jerks his
arms away, holding his hands high in the air on his own.  He reaches
down to slap the masked face of the luchador one more time to the boos
of the crowd as he steps over him.]

GM:  Absolutely uncalled for.  There's no need for that after you've
beaten the man, Bucky.

BW:  Ehh... sometimes you just need to send a message, Gordo.  You
wouldn't understand.  You've never been in the ring.

GM:  And you have?

BW:  Never saw my Tuxedo Match from 1994 against Bootsy Sikes?

GM:  Thank goodness, I have not.


[A victorious Jamie Lilas rolls out of the ring and after grabbing his
towel from his corner he makes a bee line to the announce table.
Apparently he has something to say.]

JL: MYERS! Myers I hope you called that like it was, a DOMINATION. The
greatest victory... in the history of humankind! But that's not why I am
here, everyone saw what I did, what I am capable of. That doesn't need
to be harped on. Instead I am here for this...

[Lilas drops his towel in front of Gordon Myers]

JL: Myers! Dry my brow, I am sweating here and it doesn't look good on
the television!

[Myers looks stunned.]

GM: You can't be serious!

[Beside him Bucky Wilde is apparently dying from laughter]

JL: You're not going to do it? Of course not, because you still don't
recognize that I'm the one you should be selling as the young star on
the rising.

[Lilas finally wipes his face off before dropping the towel on Myers
shoulder, which brings a look of disgust from Gordon that causes more
laughter from Wilde]

JL: Buddy Lambert, you talentless, backwoods jackwad, everyone around
here wants to anoint you future king. Well, the man in front of you is
the future king and PRESENT soon to be champion of the AWA, and if I see
you and your low IQ around me backstage I'll slap the stupid off your
face.

[Lilas drops the mic before doing a slow spin to mock the crowd, his
interview is over as we watch him stroll to the back]

GM:  Fans, what can you say after that?  We'll be right back for more
AWA action!

[We fade 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 in the ring.]

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 Parts Unknown... weighing in tonight at 260 pounds... he is The
Executioner!

[The Executioner leans over the ropes, bellowing at the jeering fans.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The haunting piano of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" begins to play.]

MC:  From Athens, Georgia ... standing 6'7 and weighing 286 pounds ...
he is "The Athens Georgia Madman" ...

RRRRROOOOOONNNNNNNNNNN HHHHOOUUUUUSTTTTOOOONNNN !!!

[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:  Ron Houston, a tall drink of water with a tough, tough demeanor is
on his way down to the ring and I would not want to be the Executioner
in this situation, Bucky.

BW:  What situation would you want to be the Executioner in, Gordo?

GM:  Erm... well...

BW:  Maybe when you're at the bank?  That's always a good place to be a
masked guy with an intimidating name.

GM:  Well, I-

BW:  How 'bout the airport?  Think they'll let you on the plane with
that mask on?

GM:  Okay, that's enou-

BW:  Maybe the DMV?  I might like having a driver's license that says
The Executioner on it.

[Inside the ring, Houston removes his jacket and hands it over the ropes
to an attendant as he paces around the ring, waiting for the bell to
ring.]


"DING DING DING!"


GM:  Here we go... and immediately, the Executioner's extending his
hand.

BW:  Ehehe... who would shake the hand of an Executioner?

GM:  Very true.  He doesn't seem like the most trustworth- well, would
you look at that?

[Houston doesn't even hesitate to extend his hand, grasping the
Executioner's...

...who predictably pulls him towards him for a short-arm clothesline.]

GM:  Clothesli- ducked by Houston!

[Houston quickly hooks a side waistlock, hoisting the masked man up into
the air, and dropping him hard on the back of his head with a
belly-to-back suplex!]

GM:  Haha!  He knew it was coming!  He knew the cheapshot was coming and
he was ready for it!

[Fire fills the eyes of the big man from Georgia as he straddles the
chest of the Executioner, balling up his fists and throwing wild rights
and lefts to the masked skull.]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard right hand by the big man!

BW:  The Executioner really riled him up with that attempt at a
cheapshot.  Not sure why.

GM:  You're not sure why?!  It was completely cowardly!

BW:  It was smart!  It was a clever attempt to get an early advantage
and it just happened to backfire.

GM:  Well, it's really backfiring now that he's beating the tar out of
the masked man!

[After a few more shots, the referee steps in, forcing Houston to back
off.  Houston rises to his feet, reaching down to pull the masked man up
by the mask.]

GM:  Back to his feet... what's he going for here?

[Houston bends over, hoisting the masked man up in a fireman's carry.]

GM:  He's going for the Fade To Black!  He's trying to finish it right
now!

[But as he tries to spin the masked man, the Executioner wriggles free,
burying a knee in the kidneys of Houston as he lands on his feet.]

GM:  Oh!  The Executioner slips out the back door... side headlock...

[With the side headlock applied, the Executioner leaps straight into the
air, smashing Houston's face down into the canvas with a standing
bulldog headlock!]

GM:  Ohhh my!  Big bulldog headlock!  He didn't run with it but it still
had plenty of impact for sure.  Houston went for the kill but he
couldn't get it done quick enough.

BW:  That may be his problem here in the AWA, Gordo.  He's not the
quickest, he's not the smartest, he's not the most technically sound.

GM:  Perhaps.  But when he hits you, you may not wake up til tomorrow.

[The masked man rolls Houston onto his back, hooking the leg.]

GM:  A cover.  One!  Two!  That's it though... not enough to get the
win.

[The Executioner gives Meekly some grief for a slow count as he climbs
back up to his feet, pulling Houston off the mat with him.]

GM:  Both men back to their feet... the masked man pushing him back to
the ropes...


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAP!"


GM:  Big chop by the Executioner!

BW:  I think the masked man is proving to be a little tougher than
Houston envisioned.

GM:  You may be right.  Irish whip by the masked man...

[But as Houston hits the far ropes, he hooks onto them, blocking the
rebound as the Executioner drops his head for a backdrop.]

GM:  Houston hangs on to the ropes.. the Executioner didn't even-

[When the masked man raises his head in surprise, the crouching Houston
races forward...

...and _obliterates_ the masked man with a running lariat, completely
flipping the big man onto his stomach from the impact!]

GM:  OHHHHH MY STARS!

BW:  That was... mama have mercy, Gordo... that was brutal!

GM:  One of the most devastating lariats I've ever seen, Bucky.  I think
this match is over right now.

[But Houston disagrees, pulling a motionless Executioner off the canvas
and into a fireman's carry, hoisting him into the air.]

GM:  He's got him up!  He's got him up for the Fade To Black!

[Houston does a quick spin and hurls the Executioner off his shoulders,
spinning him down to the canvas in a big facefirst drop.]

GM:  FADE...TO...BLACK!   ONE!  TWO!  THREE!


"DING DING DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match in one minute and 55 seconds...

RON HOUUUUSTON!

[The crowd cheers for the big man from Georgia as he raises a mighty arm
in the air.]

GM:  A big, quick win for Ron Houston.  Let's take another look at some
of the action from that one.

[Cut to a slo-mo replay of a crouching Houston exploding away from the
ropes and connecting with that brutal lariat that flipped the
Executioner head over heels onto his stomach.]

BW:  I can't get over that lariat, Gordo.  That's a big man to get
flipped over like that.  Ron Houston's got quite the weapon in his
arsenal with that.

GM:  And that's not even his finisher.

[We switch to a shot of Houston hoisting the Executioner up onto his
shoulders, spinning, and dropping him with the Fade To Black.]

GM:  Now _that_ is his finisher.  The Fade To Black claims its' first
victim here in the AWA.

[We cut back from the replay of Houston delivering the devastating Fade
To Black back to the announcers table where Bucky Wilde and Gordon Myers
stand with the massive Houston. Houston's broad shoulders drip sweat as
he pulls his tan "Confederate Flag" trench coat onto his back. He grabs
his black cowboy hat off the table.. holding it in his hands before
raising his head and surveying the scene around him. The Athens Georgia
Madman speaks in his traditional southern drawl as Gordon Meyers holds a
mic up in front of Houston.]

RH: Ah must say...

[A small "HOUS-TON" chant reverberates through the studio, catching the
big southerners attention, startling him before he continues.]

... it sure as _hell_ felt good to be back out here 'tween those ropes,
tonight.

[Houston takes his black cowboy hat and plunks it down on his buzzed
head. Somewhat emotional over his long awaited return to the ring.]

Ah've seen a lot of things over the years. Things an ordinary man reckon
best not ta see. Things that darken a man's soul.

Ya see, this business takes it's toll on a man... Ah've seen men,
heroes, climb as high as the gods... and ah've seen those same men
plummet back down to earth. Drowned in the deceit, or ill will, of their
own corruption. Ah've seen villians darker than this here hat on mah
head... men with hearts so black you'd swear you'd fallen into an abyss
just lookin' at 'em.

Ah've seen people... people like _YOU_...

[Houston slowly rotates in a circle... pointing at the audience with his
big paw of a right hand.]

... ah've seen ya lookin' up to these here men like gods only to have
'em disappoint ya. Only ta have 'em break ya hearts... ta have 'em take
the easy way out... fer their own personal gain... ta cheat you and them
of their integrity...

[Houston directs his blue eyes directly at Myers.]

... and where they may disappoint ya'll....

[Houston peers back up, adjusting his hat as he begins to walk away.
Parting with one final line, before drifting out of the makeshift arena
for the night.]

... I won't. That's a promise.

[As Houston strides away, Gordon Myers takes his spot in front of the
camera.]

GM:  A man of great intensity, Ron Houston!  And with that, let's go
right back to the ring for some tag team action!

[Cut back to the ring where Melissa Cannon is standing with a couple of
non-descript wrestlers milling about.]

MC:  The following tag team match is scheduled for one fall with a
twenty minute time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring at
this time... hailing from Dallas, Texas... weighing in at a combined 443
pounds... Joey Moore and Jerry Stone!

[The aforementioned non-descripters wave to the fans.]

MC:  And their opponents... at a total combined weight of 485 pounds,
the team of Werewolf Gregorson and "The International
Nutcase"...Despair!!

[And the crowd reacts huge as the haunting cry of a lone wolf echoes
throughout the arena and "Dance Monkey" by Sage Francis begins to blast
out over the PA.]

GM: And here they come, Bucky, one of the most sought after tag teams in
recent memory and the first team to officially join the ranks of the
AWA, the 6'8" tall Werewolf Gregorson and the internationally renowned
superstar known as Despair!!

BW: I don't see what the big deal is about these two, Gordo. On the one
hand you've got Gregorson...

GM: A decorated combat veteran who's wrestled for some of the most
prestigious organizations in North America.

BW: And on the other you've got this "nutcase," Despair...

GM: Who just so happens to be one of the most popular wrestlers in
Japan.

BW: As I was saying, I just don't see it.

[Myers shakes his head and turns around in his sear as Gregorson and
Despair come up on the announce desk from behind.]

GM: Gentlemen, welcome to the AWA!

WG: Thank you, Gordon, and, on behalf of Despair and myself, let me just
say it's an honor to be here.

GM: So tell me, Werewolf...

BW: That's not your real name, is it? What kind of a name is Werewolf?!?

[Gregorson smirks.]

WG: I was just going to ask you the same thing, Bucky.  And, yes, it
really is my name.  But we're not here to discuss the circumstances of
my birth, are we, Bucky?

[Gregorson glares down at the former manager-turned-color commentator
and Wilde swallows down a sarcastic reply.]

WG: I didn't think so.  You see, when the AWA offered Despair and myself
the opportunity to compete on the roster, we knew that things would be
different here.  We knew that, unlike some of the other promotions that
we've both wrestled for in the past, the AWA was an opportunity to start
fresh, to earn our spots fairly, and to prove, once and for all, that,
either in singles competition or as a team, Werewolf Gregorson and
Despair had the makings of a true champion.

[Despair nods his head, staring at Bucky.]

D:  You see...Bucky, this lil old nutcase might have a reputation for
doing a crazy thing or two dozen but that doesn't mean I don't know a
good oppurtunity when I see one.  But I'm sure there are many out there
that aren't that familair with the two of us. Most likely they know all
the superstars in the past that were handed spots and given a golden
road to fame.

[Bucky nods his head vehemately.]

D:  But not us, no we've earned the right to be here through blood,
sacrifice and relentless work day in and day out.  And I'll let you know
now that the Werewolf and I do not plan on resting until we can take our
proper place among the top stars of this sport and have gold around our
waist to show for it.

GM: And, let me tell you, gentlemen, that the fans of the AWA are
looking forward to seeing you achieve that goal!

WG: Thank you, Gordon, and we hope to do them proud. Now, if you'll
excuse us, I'd hate to keep our opponents waiting any longer.

D: That's right, big man, because, like you always say...oh, never mind.
I think we need a new catchphrase, don't you?!?

[Gregorson grins at his partner as the duo walks away from the announce
booth, heading up to the ring....

...and then Despair breaks into a sprint, diving headfirst under the
ropes into the spring, popping to his feet and sprinting at the closest
opponent.  Caught off guard, the referee signals for the bell to start
the match.]


"DING DING DING!"


GM:  This guy's like a ball of energy, Bucky... just look at him!

[Despair barrels Joey Moore back into the corner with a flurry of chops
and martial arts thrusts.  Once in the corner, Despair snaps off a pair
of kicks to the ribcage.]

GM:  Moore's trapped in the corner... the 200 pound Despair is-

[The crowd groans as Despair scores with a hard headbutt to the temple
that knocks Moore off his feet.]

GM:  Goodness!  That'll crack a skull and- ohhh!

[Despair runs across the ring, leaping into the air to connect with a
flying knee strike that knocks Jerry Stone off the apron to the floor.]

GM:  Down to the floor goes Jerry Stone!  He got cracked with that
flying knee to the side of the face and... now what on earth is Despair
looking to-

[Grabbing the top rope strand, Despair leaps into the air, springing off
the rope...

...and slamming down on the recovering Stone with a plancha.]

GM:  Ohhhh!  Big dive by Despair... now Gregorson's in.

BW:  No tag!  No tag!

GM:  Their certainly wasn't.  The referee is trying to get Gregorson out
of the ring but these guys are intense!  There's no stopping them!

BW:  This is their first chance to really shine on their own, Gordo.
They've goth been in the shadows of former partners for years and this
time... they're on their own and out of control!

[Gregorson rips Moore off the mat and immediately hoists him up into a
vertical suplex...

...before rapidly spinning to the side and _planting_ Moore on the
canvas with a powerslam!]

GM:  Ohhhh my!  Gregorson showing off his power... Despair showing off
his agility and insanity... this is going exactly the way that they told
us to expect it to-

[The crowd erupts into jeers as out of nowhere the two massive Russians,
Kolya Sudakov and Vladimir Velikov, burst on the scene, sliding into the
ring to ambush a surprised Werewolf Gregorson.]

GM:  THE RUSSIANS!  IT'S THE RUSSIANS!

[Velikov is the first to attack Gregorson...

...but the former GI holds his ground, throwing rights and lefts to keep
pace with the heavier man.]

GM:  The Russians out of nowhere to assault Despair and Gregorson!  What
in the world is going- here comes Despair!

[Crawling back under the ropes, Despair looks to help his partner...

...and gets _drilled_ with a running soccer style kick to the side of
the face from Sudakov, a kick that causes the high flyer to fall off the
apron and back down to the floor.]

BW:  SOCCER KICK!  SOCCER KICK ON TARGET!

[Gregorson manages to throw enough forearms to back Velikov into the
corner.  The Alaskan spins around, connecting with a spinning backfist
that knocks the big Russian down to his knees in the corner.]

GM:  Gregorson is taking control on Velikov!  He's fighting off the-

[But as he turns to face the attack of Sudakov, the former shootfigher
scores a double leg takedown, knocking Gregorson off his feet and
immediately drilling him with punches from the mount.]

GM:  Come on, referee!  Get some control out there!


"DING DING DING!"


GM:  The match is over.  This thing was thrown out.  I guess Gregorson
and Despair win by DQ but... this is bad.

[Sudakov connects with a few hard shots, waiting for his Uncle to
recover.]

GM:  Velikov's back on his feet and- oh no, he's got the chain!

[The big man wraps the chain around his arm, ordering his nephew to pick
Gregorson up off the mat.  As he does so, Velikov winds waaaaay back...

...and _blasts_ Gregorson across the side of the head with the chain.]

GM:  OHHHHHH!  DOWN GOES GREGORSON!!

[Velikov sneers at the fallen Gregorson, standing over him with the
chain held high overhead.]

"Look at your proud American military man!  Look at how weak he is
before Russian warriors!"

[Sudakov drives a few hard kicks into the ribs of the motionless
Gregorson.]

GM:  This is sick, fans.  Absolutely disgusting.  We were in the midst
of what was a great showcase of the talents of Gregorson and Despair and
these Russians... these darn Russians...

BW:  They asked for it, Gordo!  Those two out here getting all the hype
in the tag division... being told they were the obvious "next big thing"
in tag team wrestling.  The Russians heard it, the Russians didn't like
it, and now the Russians have shown the world just who the next big
thing in tag team wrestling are.

GM:  Fans, I'm physically sickened by this.  Let's go to commercial.
We'll be right back.

[We fade away from the carnage in the ring 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 to our announce duo.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans.  It's been an exciting night of action here on
the first edition of the AWA's Saturday Night Wrestling.  You just
witnessed a brutal attack right before we went to the break.  I'm happy
to say that while shaken up, it appears both Gregorson and Despair were
okay as they were able to walk out under their own power.  So, at least
there's that good news before our main event.

BW:  And the bad news for the Russians is you've gotta expect that next
time out, it'll be Gregorson and Despair looking for some payback.

GM:  Fans, it is now time for our main event and-

[Without warning, a gorgeous, modestly attired Asian woman saunters up
to the announcer's desk as Myers and Wilde try to avoid staring at the
rather captivating figure. Myers straightens up as Wilde adjusts his tie
as she looks on with a cold glare full of contempt and disdain.]

GM: We are joined now by none other than the lovely Mina Chow ...

[Chow immediately raises her finger.]

MC: Hold it right there. You will not address me as 'Mina'. We are not
friends. I am MISS Chow to you. And I can also do without the
adjectives.

[Wilde raises a curious eyebrow as Myers blushes and attempts to
recover.]

GM: Well, I ... uh ... I beg your pardon, MISS Chow.

MC: That's better.

GM: Well, since you are here, let's talk about your arrival here in the
AWA and, perhaps more importantly, the arrival of your ...

MC: Client.

GM: ... client, the Masked Menace ...

[As the words escape from Myers' lips, none other than the Masked Menace
himself enters the scene. The burly masked grappler looms over his
relatively tiny manager and folds his massive arms impatiently.]

MC: Yes, let's talk about him. Let's talk about, Mr. Myers, how he will
be the pre-eminent force in the AWA. Let's talk about how he will render
the competition obsolete. Let's talk about how the AWA Heavyweight title
WILL be ours for the taking.

GM: Well, Miss Chow, I would argue that there is a quite a few roster
members who would object to what you're saying here ...

[The Masked Menace stands a little closer to Myers who nervously looks
away. Then in a rather forceful Southern accent, he states ...]

MM: Let 'em object. Hell, I want one o' 'em to come up to me personally
and object. I ain't too damn hard to find, son. I'm the big guy in the
black and red mask. So boys, y'got a problem with what Mina here's
saying ...

[He pounds a massive fist into an open palm.]

MM: ... let's talk 'bout it.

[A sly grin spreads across Chow's lips as she leads Masked Menace away
from the table.]

GM:  And there you have it.  The Masked Menace is here... and apparently
with some bad intentions.  Let's go up to Melissa for the main event!

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

MC:  The following contest is our MAIN EVENT of the evening.  It is
scheduled for one fall with TV TIME REMAINING!

[The crowd cheers for the announcement of the main event.]

MC:  Introducing first... hailing from San Jose, California... standing
6'3 and weighing in at 252 pounds...

["Super Bon Bon" by Soul Coughing starts up to a large shower of boos
from the AWA fans in the WKIK Studios.  After a moment, Marcus Broussard
struts into view.]

MC:  MARRRRRCUS BROUUUSSAAAARD!

[Broussard smirks at the jeering fans.  He is already ready for battle,
clad in a pair of dark blue brief style trunks with gold stripes on the
sides and a shark in gold on the backside.  His boots are dark blue and
reach mid-calf with gold tassles.  The San Jose Shark walks to the
steps, slowly climbing them before stepping into the ring.]

GM:  The first signee to the AWA.  Broussard will be 32 years old in May
but many still consider him the "next big thing" in our industry.

BW:  And I'm one of 'em, Gordo.  But he's gotta do it now.  He's had his
chance in the EMWC... in World Pro 1... but every time he looks like
he's about to break into superstardom, he gets it ripped right out from
under him.  At 32 years of age, he's no longer a promising rookie.  He's
gotta do it now.

[Leaning against the ropes, Broussard stretches his arm, tugging on his
tape-wrapped wrists to loosen up.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The crowd starts cheering as the opening chords of Dropkick Murphys'
"I'm Shipping up to Boston" starts up.]

MC: Accompanied to the ring by Megan Flarheity, from Boston
Massachusetts, weighing in at two hundred and fifty-five pounds, here is
"WILD THING" KEVIN SLATER!

[The crowd pops as first Flarheity, wearing black boots, a black skirt,
and green blouse, then Slater step through the curtain into the arena.
Slater is in his normal wrestling attire of  green short tights with a
white stripe on the sides, black knee pads, black elbow pads, white
wrist tape, and white boots with green and white fringes.  Also wearing
a green bandanna, sunglasses, and his white leather sleeveless duster
with "Wild Thing" in green lettering on the back.]

GM:  And there he is, Bucky.  A former two-time EMWC World Champion
trying to fight his way back to the top.  He's been on top of the
mountain and tumbled all the way to the bottom.  Now it's his last
chance to climb the long road back up.

BW:  And ironically, he's also 32 years old, Gordo.  I don't want to put
down Marcus but... same age, _very_ different levels of success in this
game.  Marcus Broussard is still looking for his first major piece of
gold in wrestling.  Slater's held arguably the biggest prize in the
game... twice!

[They walk towards the ring, Slater slapping hands along the way with
fans.  When they reach the ring, Megan steps up on the apron, followed
by Slater, who holds the bottom two ropes open for her, then enters the
ring himself, heading for the corner nearest the hard camera and
mounting the second turnbuckle, holding his hands out and appealing the
crowd.  He turns back, and begins removing his jacket and glasses,
handing them to the attendant at ringside, then awaits the start of the
match.)

GM:  Both men are chomping at the bit, ready to go in this big
matchup... the first main event in AWA Saturday Night Wrestling history
and this is one heck of a way to finish off the first show, Bucky.

BW:  Not bad, Gordo, not bad at all.


"DING DING DING!"


GM:  And here we go!

[The crowd roars as both men walk out of their respective corners,
circling one another, looking for an early advantage.]

GM:  Both men feel they have something to prove here in the AWA so it
will be very interesting to see how we-

[Slater is the first to attack, lunging in to a collar and elbow tieup.
The bigger Slater takes the early edge, pushing Broussard back against
the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Slater backs him down... will we get a clean break here?

[The Wild Thing holds his position for a moment before stepping back,
raising his arms to signal the clean break...

...and getting slapped squarely across the face!]

GM:  Oh!

BW:  I think the feeling out process is over, daddy!

[A fired-up Slater charges in on his opponent but Broussard uses his
speed edge, side-stepping and throwing Slater into the buckles.  As
Slater turns around, still ready to throw, Broussard drops down to the
mat, snaring Slater's leg in a drop toehold.]

GM:  Drop toehold by Broussard takes Slater down out of the corner and-

[Broussard simply stands up out of the hold and reaches down to
paintbrush the back of Slater's head at full force.]

GM:  Come on, referee... give me a break.

BW:  What do you want the referee to do about it, Gordo?  DQ him for
slappin' the man?

GM:  Reprimand him or something.  That's just unneccessary.

[The San Jose Shark backs off to the corner, smirking at Slater as a
pissed-off Wild Thing gets back to his feet.]

GM:  Slater is upset and deservedly so, Bucky.  Marcus Broussard has
done nothing so far in this match except try to embarass Kevin Slater.

BW:  If Slater's not embarassed by how far and fast his career fell on
him, he never will be, daddy.

[The referee steps in, preventing Slater for charging the cornered
Broussard.]

GM:  The ref's trying to maintain some control... trying to keep this
fight in the middle of the ring.

[Broussard shrugs his shoulders, walking out of the corner, and quickly
gets wrapped up in a collar and elbow, easily shoved back against the
ropes.

But this time, Kevin Slater does not break cleanly.]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"


GM:  Big chop by the Wild Thing!

[Broussard cringes from the impact on the chop, clutching his own chest
before Slater slaps his arm down and repeats the process.]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"


GM:  Goodness!  Slater's lighting up the chest of the man from Northern
California.

[Grabbing the arm of Broussard, Slater fires him off the ropes.]

GM:  Backdr-

[Pulling up short, Broussard hooks Slater's head, pulling him down in a
small package.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!  THR-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  That was incredibly close, Bucky!

BW:  Broussard has some of the best cradles in the game.  Small
packages, sunset flips, backslides, school boys.  You just never know
when he'll end a match just like _that_ with one of those and Kevin
Slater almost found that out right there.

GM:  You've gotta wonder how much scouting Slater did.

[Outside the ring, Megan slaps the canvas hard, screaming at Kevin to
"get his head in the game!"]

GM:  Slater right back to his fe- ohh!  Hard back elbow under the jaw by
Broussard.

[With Slater dazed, Broussard applies a side headlock, quickly taking
Slater down to the mat with the hold.]

GM:  Headlock takedown, wrenching away at the neck of-

[Slater wraps his arms around the waist of Broussard, rolling him back
onto his shoulders.]

GM:  One!  Two!

[A hard pull of the hair by Broussard gets the leverage going back his
direction as he pushes back down off his shoulders.  Megan immediately
cries foul, getting the referee's attention.]

GM:  The ref's asking if he pulled the hair.  Broussard says no.

BW:  Which is true.

GM:  Are you kidding me?  He pulled the man's hair, Bucky!

BW:  Must've missed that one.

[With Broussard pleading innocent to the referee, Slater manages to roll
him onto his shoulders again.]

GM:  Another pin attempt.  One.  Two.  TH- no!  Broussard pulled the
darn hair again, Bucky!  Did you see that one?

BW:  Hrmm?  No, I didn't.  That little hussy Megan caught my eye.  She's
a fiesty little minx, I say.

GM:  Can you try to stay focused on the match?

[With the referee still arguing with Broussard, the San Jose Shark
releases the hold...

...and gets taken down by a surging Slater throwing himself into a
double leg takedown!]

GM:  He got him down!  Slater took him down!

[And the crowd roars as Slater pummels the downed Broussard with big
right hands repeatedly!]

GM:  The referee's counting... three... four...

[Slater breaks the mount, arguing with the official...

...then deadleaping into the air, slamming down across the chest of
Broussard with a senton.]

GM:  Quick cover!  One!  Two!

[But it's not enough to keep Broussard's shoulder pinned down as he
escapes relatively easily.]

GM:  Broussard out at two.  Slater's on the attack though, dragging him
up by the hair... another big chop sends Broussard falling back into the
ropes.  Slater's moving on on him...

BW:  So much for the fair play and sportsmanship.

GM:  Broussard threw all that out the window himself, Bucky.

[Grabbing Broussard by the back of the head, Slater bends down and
_pops_ the San Jose Shark in the jaw with a brutal European uppercut
that almost sends his opponent over the ropes.]

GM:  Whoooa my!  What a shot that was!  Broussard down to a knee now but
Slater yanks him back up by the hair.

[The crowd groans as Broussard drives a thumb into the eye of Slater,
temporarily blinding him and causing him to stagger away towards the
opposite ropes.]

GM:  Cheapshot by the Shark and-

[With Slater blinded, Broussard takes the chance to race across the
ring, leaping up and driving his knee into the back of Slater, a blow
that sends the Wild Thing sailing through the ropes and out to the
padded concrete floor!]

GM:  He caught him from behind... caught him with that leaping knee and
Slater hit hard out on the floor.  His valet Megan is immediately to his
side, checking on him.

BW:  Broussard needs to go out after him, Gordo.  He needs to show that
killer instinct that'll make him a champion.  Show no mercy out there,
daddy!

[Seemingly hearing Bucky's advice, Broussard nudges past the warning
official and steps out on the ring apron.  He screams at Megan to "get
the hell out of the way" before leaping off the apron with a double
axehandle blow across the back of the head.]

GM:  Ohhh!  Broussard must've heard you, Bucky, because he's out on the
floor... on the attack on Kevin Slater.  The Wild Thing is in trouble
and they're just feet away from us at this point.

BW:  Hopefully they stay over there.

GM:  You'd better believe it.

[Out on the floor, Broussard pulls the injured Slater off the floor,
tugging him into a front facelock.]

GM:  Uh oh.  What do we have here, Bucky?

BW:  Finish him off, Marcus!  Don't waste any time!

[But it is time that Broussard is wasting as he trash-talks the nearby
Megan.]

BW:  Forget the broad!  Hit the move!

GM:  There's no need to be disrespectful to the young lady, Bucky.
Broussard's- he's going for a suplex on the floor!  He's got Slater
hooked for the suplex and- he lifts!

[At the peak of the lift, Slater lashes out with a knee to the head,
breaking the momentum and landing back on his feet on the floor...

...and applies a front facelock of his own, signalling for a DDT!]

GM:  DDT?!  A DDT ON THE FLOOR?!

[But before he can spike Broussard's skull into the concrete, the San
Jose Shark lunges forward, slamming the lower back of Slater into the
ring apron.]

GM:  Ohhhh!

[With the referee's count at seven, Broussard quickly rolls back into
the ring, waving for the ref to continue counting...

...but the Wild Thing follows quickly behind, rolling under the ropes at
the eight count.]

GM:  Both men back in... but Kevin Slater's in a lot of pain right now,
Bucky.

BW:  The edge of the apron is one of the hardest places you can hit in
the entire ring, daddy.  Broussard drove his spine into it so you can
bet Slater won't be sleeping on his back tonight.  But he may be laying
on his back looking at the lights in a minute when Marcus gets done with
him.

[The San Jose Shark quickly pulls Slater off the mat, hooking him again,
and this time snapping him over with the vertical suplex before floating
over into a pin attempt.]

GM:  One!  Two!  THR- no!  Shoulder up by Slater!

[An irate Broussard slaps the canvas before pushing up to his feet.  He
nudges Slater onto his belly with a boot...

...and then leaps into the air, bringing his knee down across the lower
back of the Wild Thing!]

GM:  Ohhhh!  Kneedrop to the lower back!

[Broussard quickly moves to straddle the back, applying a camel clutch.]

GM:  Uh oh!  This could be it, Bucky!

BW:  You can see the anguish on the face of Slater.  His back took a few
hard shots and Broussard's looking to capitalize on that.  Slater's
trying to figure a way out of this but... there just aren't that many,
daddy!

GM:  Broussard's pulling back hard, yelling for the ref to ask him.

[The referee immediately checks for a submission.  Getting none, he
waves off Broussard.]

GM:  Slater's hanging in there so far.  The San Jose Shark smells blood
in the water but the Wild Thing will not go down without a fight, my
friend.  He's been in this business too long and has too much pride for
that.

[Outside the ring, Megan begins slapping the mat, getting the fans to
cleap in rhythm with her, cheering on the Wild Thing as he looks for the
strength to break the submission hold.]

"CLAP!" "CLAP!" "CLAP!" "CLAP!" "CLAP!"

[The fired-up Slater slips his knees underneath himself, pushing up off
the mat with Broussard on his back...

...and then drops backwards, slamming Broussard spinefirst into the
canvas!  The crowd erupts!]

GM:  HE BREAKS THE HOLD!  Slater breaks the camel clutch.  Both men are
down though.  Outside the ring, Megan is trying to rally her man to his
feet... trying to inspire him to get back up and continue the fight.

[Broussard rolls to the side, pushing himself up to all fours as Slater
crawls to the corner, pulling himself up with the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Slater's on his feet in the corner... Marcus up in the middle of
the ring...

[The Wild Thing charges out of the corner, a bit slower than usual
because of the injured back...

...but gets caught in a bearhug just before Broussard pops the hips,
rotating and _slamming_ Slater to the canvas with a twisting belly to
belly suplex!]

GM:  BELLY TO BELLY!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  So close!  Broussard was a half count away from getting a three
count there!

[Broussard angrily screams at the official, holding three fingers up and
insisting the count was slow.  He climbs up to his feet, grabbing the
referee by the collar and shoving him back into the corner.]

GM:  Hey!  Stop that!  There's no bullying of a referee allowed in the
American Wrestling Alliance!

BW:  Just announcers, right?

GM:  Apparently so.

BW:  Meekly's arguing with Broussard... this is a mistake from the
Shark, Gordo.  He needs to stay focused on the Wild Thing and not allow
himself to get distracted like this.

[Finally, Broussard releases his grip, turning back to go after
Slater...


...who pops to his feet with a right hand to the midsection!]

GM:  Slater's fighting back!

[The crowd roars as the Wild Thing uncorks a second right hand.  A third
on the mark knocks Broussard back against the turnbuckles.]

GM:  Slater's got him on the ropes... on the buckles to be more precise.
Grabs the arm... irish whip across... ohhh!  Broussard hits the buckles
hard!

BW:  Another whip like that and it may be Broussard clutching his back,
Gordo.

GM:  The Wild Thing's in the corner, breathing heavily, trying to suck
back the pain in his back.  He's got his eyes locked on the San Jose
Shark and-

[The crowd buzzes as Slater races across the ring at top speed.  A few
steps from the corner, he hurls his body through the air...

...and slams sternumfirst into the turnbuckles as Broussard dives out of
the way just in time!]

GM:  OHHHH!  Slater missed the corner splash!

[With his opponent in trouble, Broussard quickly moves into action as he
spins the Wild Thing around in the buckles.  He bends over, hoisting
Slater over his shoulder and depositing him on the top rope.]

GM:  Uh oh!

BW:  I smell a superplex, daddy!

GM:  Kevin Slater's been dropped on the top... and Marcus Broussard is
climbing up there with him!  He's-

[But Slater fires back, slapping his arms together on the ears of
Broussard hard enough to cause him to slip from the buckles down to the
mat.  The crowd erupts for the counter!]

GM:  DOWN GOES BROUSSARD!

[Outside the ring, Megan Flaiherty continues to cheer on the Wild Thing
as he steps up on the top rope, preparing to drop the flying elbowdrop
on a motionless Broussard.]

GM:  Slater's up top!  He's set for- HE LEAPS!

[The Wild Thing sails through the air and buries his elbow in the heart
of the San Jose Shark.]

GM:  ELLLLBOW!

[The crowd erupts as Slater throws himself over Broussard.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-  NO!!  NO!!  SHOULDER UP!!

[Slater buries his head in his hands, frustrated at being unable to get
the pinfall...


...when suddenly a scream comes from outside the ring.]

GM:  What in the-?!

[The crowd roars in shock as Mina Chow has appeared in a rush, tackling
Flaiherty down to the floor where she has wrapped her hands around the
windpipe of Slater's manager.]

GM:  Min- errr, Miss Chow has attacked Megan Flaiherty!  What is going
on out here?!

BW:  I have no idea.  I don't even think Slater realizes what's going
on.

[But as the Wild Thing pushes himself off the canvas, he spots his
manager down on the floor trying to defend herself.]

GM:  He sees it now!  He's going to try to help her- wait, Michael
Meekly's holding him back.  Meekly says to stay focused on the match
while he-

[And as soon as the referee turns to go aid the attacked woman on the
floor, Marcus Broussard seizes the chance to drive his arm up into the
groin of the Wild Thing!]



"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"



GM:  Low blow!  Low blow by Broussard!

BW:  What?!  Where?!

GM:  How could you not see that, Bucky?

BW:  I was watching Meekly trying to separate the ladies.  I was-

GM:  Slater's down, hanging onto the second rope and trying to recover.

[But with the Wild Thing clinging to the middle rope, in agony from the
low blow, his head is completely exposed...

...making him an easy target as The Masked Menace charges into view and
_blasts_ Slater with a clenched right hand, sending him collapsing
motionless back into the ring.]

GM:  SLATER'S DOWN!  SLATER'S OUT!  What is the Masked Menace doing out
here?

BW:  I don't know but- look at that, Gordo!

[The Menace quickly pulls something from out of his clenched fist,
tossing it aside as a dazed Broussard rolls on top of the unconscious
Wild Thing.]

GM:  No!  Not like this!  Not like-

[And just like that, Mina Chow breaks away from Megan, pointing out the
pin in the ring.]

GM:  Meekly!  Don't do it!  Don't-  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREE!!


"DING DING DING!"


MC:  Your winner of the match in a time of ten minutes and seven
seconds...

MARCUS BROUSSARD!

[The crowd boos the decision wildly as Mina Chow rejoins the Masked
Menace, both backing away from the ring as the San Jose Shark has his
hand raised in victory.]

GM:  Marcus Broussard is the winner.  Marcus Broussard has defeated the
Wild Thing, Kevin Slater, in the first AWA Saturday Night Wrestling main
event but... what on earth got the Masked Menace involved in this,
Bucky?

BW:  I have no idea, Gordo.  We've always heard the Menace is a bit of a
rebel... an outlaw... but I've never heard of any issues between he and
Slater.

GM:  This is a big surprise to end our first show.  Broussard wins the
match but with the aid of the Masked Menace... and you'd better believe
both Kevin Slater _and_ Megan will be out for payback after this night!
Fans, we're out of time!  We'll see you next time... at the matches!

[The camera zooms on a smirking Mina Chow as she and her charge slowly
back away from the ring... then cuts to Marcus Broussard having his hand
raised high in triumph...

...and we fade to black.]